PATTERNS OF FATE By Denysé M. Bridger Sequel to Web of Lies of Fate.pdf · Patterns of Fate by...

Patterns of Fate by Denyse M. Bridger Page 1 of 38

PATTERNS OF FATE

By Denysé M. Bridger

Sequel to Web of Lies

18499 words

Chapter 1

The tabletop was again visible through the bottom of the glass, and she glared into the tiny poolof clear liquid that gave the wooden surface a blurred look. Lemon tea had been the beverage ofchoice earlier in the evening, due to the fact that she'd sung her throat raw with the force of heranger. The tea had been abandoned for the lemon gin once the last set was over, and she was leftsitting in a nearly empty club waiting for someone who had no intention of showing up.

Damn Peter Caine to hell! Tyler thought furiously. She'd swallowed her pride and called thedetective, arranged a meeting with him, and proceeded to wait the entire night for him to showup. He had decided to call at one point to say he'd be late; that had been at one a.m., it was nownearing four a.m., and she was totally pissed at him.

The bartender, a college kid named Jamie Baldwin, cast another glance her way, and she resistedthe urge to hurl some completely inappropriate insult at the man. He wanted to go home; afterthe past ten hours, it wasn't a difficult thing to understand. Problem being, Tyler Smith didn't feelunderstanding toward anybody just now. She pushed herself out of the chair and slid the glassacross the polished bar top as she headed for the door.

The night was oppressively hot, even at this hour, and she peered into the blackness. The drinkswere leaving a definite buzz in her head, and the humidity that had been hanging like a blanketover the city wasn't doing a thing to alleviate the pulses of angry heat running through her veins.There wasn't a cab anywhere in sight, no big surprise there, and she knew she wasn't in anyshape to be driving. To hell with it, she thought, annoyance going up another notch; she'd walk.

Decision made, Tyler stepped out of the nightclub doorway and onto the sidewalk. The neonblue ‘Agrippa's' sign winked out seconds later, and she suffered a moment of fear when sherealized the darkness had grown deeper. Her apartment was several blocks away, and thedistance suddenly seemed endless. If Peter had been with her she wouldn't have noticed.

The inadvertent reminder did nothing to improve her mood, but it did push aside the twitch offear, and she headed down the deserted sidewalk. It was unbelievable, she fumed silently; she'dfinally called Peter, and this was his response. She'd even told him what was on her mind, tosome extent, anyway. She was lonely, plain and simple, and the loneliness was for Peter Caine.The Blaisdell wedding had brought it all back, the passion, the longing to be part of something,the fascination for the very things that had kept them apart so much of the time. She loved Peter,and she desperately wanted a chance to make things work this time.


Naturally, the job was already putting doubts into her mind. Peter's occupation had been thecause of more than one disagreement during their relationship, and it was clear he had nointention of giving the job less of his time. He was probably out somewhere now, tracking downan obscure lead that would help him nail the ‘bad guys'. Then, there was the added pressure ofPeter's newly arrived father. Kwai Chang Caine was a complete mystery to her.

Peter had never talked about his life prior to being taken into the Blaisdell home. He'd barelytalked about his adopted family, she reflected. How much did she really know about Peter? Theanswer, when it came, was both disturbing and unwelcome.

The wandering thoughts had eaten up most of a couple of blocks, and she shivered in the heavyair as she neared a particularly black alley. Her footsteps slowed, and she hesitated, uncertaintyholding her still, illuminated in the soft glow of an overhead streetlight. Before she could decidewhether she wanted to continue, or head back to the club and ask Jamie for a lift, the choicevanished.

Tyler felt a scream rise in her throat, only to be cut off by the steely grip of a hand closing overher mouth. The light dissolved into a blur of darkness as she was flung forward into the alley.She stumbled, groped blindly for something solid to hang onto, and crashed into the stone wallwhen a foot slammed into the lower part of her back. Pain exploded through her body and shemoaned softly as she went down into a crumpled heap, clinging to the warm brick wall. Shecould taste blood in her mouth, and more of the stickiness streaking her face where it hadimpacted with the stone.

Before she could get her bearings, Tyler was hauled to her feet and a hand closed on her throat,the slow increase of pressure blotting out the distant sounds of the city. Pinpoints of diamondsharp brilliance began to sparkle against the inky black that was gradually blotting out consciousvision. The smell of sweet, sickening smoke permeated the air as the stranger leaned closer toher, breath fanning across her face like a perverse caress. She heard breathing, rapid and shallow,the erratic rhythm of excitement. Another soundless step and a face began to appear against thethickening blackness. Recognition hovered on the fringes of her mind, only to shatter an instantlater.

Light glinted off a sliver of silver, and Tyler's scream began. Horror filled her with strength andshe pushed with all the terrorized force of which she was capable. The world careened wildlyinto a wash of crimson haze, and the shriek dissolved into an obscene gurgle of spurting scarletas her throat was slit open.

Blood gushed over the Strangler's hands, making his grip slide over the ornate hilt of the knife heused. The razor-edged steel shifted in his grasp, and the second strike ran from the frothing gashin her neck down her chest, then up and under her rib cage. He withdrew long enough to allowTyler's body to fall to the filthy, litter-strewn ground, then he knelt beside her. He twisted theblade into her body again, carving a pattern to suit his mood. Her eyes were still open, and hesmiled at the idea of her watching him as he worked.


Long minutes later, the flow of warm blood had started to diminish, and he moved back. Hisknees tingled where they rested in the pool of gore, and he wiped his hands on his pants in aneffort to cleanse some of the crimson that stained his fingers. He dropped the knife into hispocket, and smiled at the dead woman. Before he rose, he bent over her and placed a kiss on herforehead, the only unmarred spot available.

As soundlessly as he'd entered the alley, he slipped away, a black wraith moving within a blackermadness.

* * * * *

Caine shuddered into wakefulness, his mind alert to a shift within the air. He eased the too rapidbeat of his heart and reached outward, seeking a source for the disturbance. His first thought hadbeen that Peter entered the studio; his son had been working the graveyard shift since his returnto duty, and had dropped in twice during the past couple of weeks. The recovery from a drug-induced paranoia had gone quickly, but it had left the young man a little shaky. Paul Blaisdellhadn't been able to deny the request for a return to work, but the captain steadfastly resistedPeter's plea to remain on the Chinatown Strangler case. The compromise had meant this nightshift for several weeks, and Peter grudgingly accepted the decision.

The Strangler. Caine felt a ripple of apprehension work its way along his spine, and he swung hislong frame into a sitting position. For several seconds, he searched inward, attempting to tap intothe swell of violence that usually accompanied his brushes with the serial killer's consciousness.It had been almost two months since the first death, and during that time, Caine's son had beendrawn deeply into the web of madness that marked this string of murders. The Shaolin priest wasattuned to some aspect of the Strangler's aura, and Caine knew another young woman had died.It was her death scream that woke him.

Caine rose, the action like the silent fall of sand through an hourglass, a smooth, precise flow ofnature. He was dressed in seconds and glided from the studio like one of the night shadows hewas now chasing. The street was dark, the humidity an entity clinging to him as he movedunerringly toward the place of her demise.

The police cruisers surrounding the crime scene went virtually unnoticed by Paul Blaisdell as hepulled in to the curb. He got out of his car and ran a hand over his hair, weariness settling overhim like a visible cloak. He was tired, he admitted to himself, and the long hours involved in thisStrangler case were starting to take a toll on him, as well as on the detectives who'd beenassigned to the investigation. He'd be pleased when this damn case was behind them; it had costtoo much already. The thought had hardly formed in his mind when he spotted the blackCorvette gliding to a stop behind one of the squad cars. Paul's mood darkened considerably whenthe detective emerged from the vehicle and headed toward the alley. He intercepted the otherman immediately.

"What the hell are you doing here, Peter?"


Peter stopped at the light touch on his arm, startled as much by the anger in the demand as hewas by the unexpectedness of it.

"I just swung by the club, and heard the call. I thought --"

"No, Peter," Blaisdell interrupted sharply, "you didn't think, that's the problem. That's been theproblem all along. You were pulled off this case. I fully expect you to stay away from it, since I'drather not have to assign you to a desk."

Peter bristled at the tone, and natural stubbornness settled into his features. He fidgeted, restlessenergy emanating from him as he squared off against the captain.

"I said I just happened to hear the call," he snapped. "What is it you want me to do, Paul, ignoreanything that might be this lunatic?"

"I want you to stay away from this case," Blaisdell repeated. He placed a hand on Peter's elbowand led him aside, deliberately ignoring the inquisitive looks they were getting. "Peter, this hascost you enough. Let it go. Please."

"I'm just tryin' to do my job," Peter objected.

If Blaisdell had an answer, it was never voiced; the body was wheeled by, and Detective JamesThomas stopped next to them.

"What have you got, Jim?" Blaisdell asked, keeping a close eye on Peter. The younger man waseyeing the zipped body bag with an expression in his eyes that made Paul edgy. The memoriesinvaded too swiftly to prevent them, and he shuddered when he recalled the wild, unbridledterror in Peter's face when Caine and Blaisdell had found him on a rooftop two weeks earlier.Peter had been walking a fine line then, obsessed with finding the Chinatown Strangler, (themedia name for the serial killer), and another part of his father's past had caught up with thedetective. Peter had been drugged and manipulated into very nearly killing himself -- all to strikeout at Kwai Chang Caine. The past couple of weeks had been shaky for Peter. Blaisdell hadreluctantly put the kid back to work, choosing the night shift as quieter, something Peter had notcommented on, despite Paul's certainty that he knew exactly why he'd been reassigned. Now, thebrown eyes were too intent on the body, something that sent a shiver of dread up Paul's spine.

"It's the Strangler again," Jim Thomas answered, drawing the captain's look back to meet his."This one is really messy, sir. We found this beside the body, killer must've missed it." He heldout a clear plastic evidence bag, a delicate gold chain inside, with a ring dangling from it like apendant. Before he could say anything else, the bag was snatched from his fingers.

"Open the bag!"

Blaisdell flinched at the panicked sound of Peter's voice, and his heart started to pound furiouslyin his ears. The young detective was ghostly pale, and the trembling in his body was clearlyvisible.


"Do it!"

The attendant looked past Peter, waiting for a confirmation before he accepted the order.Blaisdell nodded, stepping closer to Peter as he did. Peter's hand was gripping the plastic sotightly, Paul heard the telltale breath of air escaping the seal.

"Peter?"

Peter didn't hear the soft sound of his name as the world suddenly veered off into a crazy spin ofdarkness. He stared down at the revealed face of the Strangler's latest victim, and his heartwrenched like it was being torn from his chest. He felt Paul's hands pulling him away, and hetried to cling to the edge of the stretcher, only to have his fingers pried free. The loss of contactmade him stagger back, and Blaisdell braced him, supporting him against the tidal wave of griefthat suddenly crashed down on him.

"Close it!" Blaisdell ordered, anger lacing the directive despite the inappropriateness of theresponse. Peter was shaking, muscles tense and quivering beneath Paul's fingers as he forced hisson to move away. Peter's eyes strayed back to the body being loaded into the wagon, andBlaisdell shook him. The action turned Peter to face him, redirecting the focus of the dark eyes.

"Peter?"

"She called me earlier," he whispered, his voice barely more than a hoarse gasp. "I was supposedto be here, hours ago. God! If only I'd been here -"

"Peter!" Paul placed a firm hand on Peter's shoulder. "This is not your fault."

"She wanted to talk about getting back together," Peter said, his voice still vague, still obliviousto everything around him. His mind was filled with the image he was sure would never leave him-- Tyler with her throat slit open, blood covering a body that had been ripped to shreds by somemadman's knife. He stumbled, and would have gone down if the building hadn't now beendirectly behind him.

"Captain?"

Blaisdell glared at Thomas, and the detective spread his hands and retreated.

His stomach twisting into knots, pain and nausea fighting a duel for dominance in his system,Peter shook his head again. His mind was spinning with images, and he caught a glimpse of theblood that stained the alley. Lights were strung up to enable the lab people to photograph everyinch of the crime scene, with and without the body. There was so much blood, he observed,though the thought never quite translated to his conscious mind. Peter felt like he was drowningin a sea of scarlet, and he bent over against the wave of sickness, retching violently.

Paul kept a tight hold on his son and felt the sting of bitter tears in his eyes. He would have givenanything for this to have been a bizarre nightmare, something he could wake Peter from and


comfort him through because it wasn't real. The young man had suffered enough because of thisbastard; it seemed too much to accept that the latest victim was the woman Peter had loved.When the retching eased, Paul dragged him away from the mouth of the alley, the lack ofresistance as disturbing as the haunting blankness in the dark eyes and the pallor on his features.

"I should've been here," Peter whispered, unable to deny the tremendous guilt that settled overhim. If he'd met her when he was supposed to, she would never have been walking the streetsalone at this hour.

"She should have known better than to be out alone," Paul remarked before he could consider thestatement. Peter glared at him, betrayal lurking behind sudden anger. "I'm sorry, Peter," hewhispered instantly, brushing a gentle hand over the dark hair.

"Peter?"

Both men turned at the soft voice, and Paul felt an instant of genuine anger at the unobtrusivepresence of the older Caine. As always, the priest appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, assoundless as a shadow. The expression in Caine's eyes was one of sadness and gentleunderstanding. Blaisdell relinquished his hold before Peter even started to step toward his father.

"Why are you here, Father?"

"I had a dream," Caine answered, hesitating as he evaluated the words, then rephrased them. "Avision. Another death. I felt your pain, my son."

Peter turned away, his hands running through his hair in a gesture of near-frenzied confusion. Hedrew a deep breath, searching for some respite to the storm of pain waiting to ambush him. Hecompleted his turn to come face to face a second time with Caine's steady stare. "It was Tyler."He choked out the name, and tried to back away before the trap could spring shut. Caine's gazewas hypnotic, and Peter shook his head, denying the touch before his father's soothing fingersreached up to him.

The caress was light, barely grazing over the smooth skin of Peter's cheek, yet it stirred theagony to life with compelling force; Caine felt it touch him like a blow, and he closed his eyes ashe drew his son into his arms.

Blaisdell heard the first sob before he turned his back to them and forced himself to trade themantle of father for the role of police captain. Thomas was waiting for him beside a squad car.

Caine absorbed the shudders of anguish, drawing Peter's pain into himself as he stroked the softhair and waited for a break in the torrent of tears. Deep inside, Caine was wondering why hehadn't been able to see this death. The others had been strangers, and he had seen faces; thiswoman had been his son's lover, and Caine had not been able to help her. Was it coincidence?Or, was there something eluding him? Some tiny fragment of knowledge he should be aware of,but was not seeing?


Caine dismissed the questions from his mind and concentrated on the young man in his arms,soothing the tremors of emotion that swept over him. The gentle touch quieted the tears, butCaine knew that, too, was only illusion; the pain would wait for Peter to relax and it would seizehim again. How often had Caine felt that terrible, crippling agony, the loss of a part of himselfthat he'd thought to hold forever? He searched within his son's heart, looking for a way to readwhat was needed. Was this truly the loss of Peter's lifemate, or was it the loss of a lover whowould never touch his son's soul?

Before Caine could decide what the possible answer to his question might be, Blaisdell returnedto them. Peter eased away from his father and turned glistening eyes to the other man he called‘father'. Wiping away the traces of wetness that stained his cheeks, Peter made a visible effort togain control.

Chapter Two

"What progress has been made in this investigation, Paul?"

Blaisdell heard the demand buried beneath the layers of tears and pain, and he hesitated. Thetruth was, nothing had developed since he'd pulled his foster son from the case, and he didn'tknow how well that news would be received.

Peter saw the reluctance, interpreted it correctly, and his temper bypassed his grief.

"Nothing! That's what you're trying not to tell me, isn't it, Captain? You pulled me off this case,and Thomas hasn't found a damn thing since."

"This case is weeks old, Peter," Blaisdell said softly, pitching his voice so they would draw nofurther attention. He caught Peter's arm and steered the detective toward the Corvette. "I tookyou off this for your own good," he continued, "something you're perfectly aware of, so don'tyou dare jump me about protocol. In case you've forgotten, your father and I pulled you off aroof less than two weeks ago, and I was not ready to put you back on the street this soon. This isjustifying that decision, kid."

The tone and the anger behind it caught Peter off guard. He took a step backward, once againencountering the solid presence of his father as Caine's hands closed on his shoulders.

"I don't care, Paul," the detective stated softly. "This just got personal, and I don't intend to beput off. I'm gonna find this bastard, and I'm gonna bury him!"

Before Blaisdell could object, Peter whirled and was folding his body into the Corvette, fullyprepared to leave them both. Caine surprised the police captain by slipping into the vehicle withPeter.

"I don't need a damn babysitter!" Peter snapped at his father.


Caine nodded. "I require a ride back to the studio," he offered quietly, knowing full well his sonwould not raise objections to the statement, even in his present mood. Caine was not prepared toleave him alone, not with grief so close to the surface, and so close to pushing Peter into arecklessness that might get him killed.

Peter pulled away from the site amid the squeal of tires and a burst of unnecessary speed. Caineremained silent in the face of the childish defiance.

Despite the remark about needing to go back to the kung fu academy, Caine wasn't surprisedwhen Peter headed directly for his apartment. When his son headed up the stairs to his secondfloor home, Caine followed. The door was open when he reached it moments behind Peter.

"I want to be alone," Peter told him as soon as the door was closed. "I'm not in the mood for any‘lessons', or words of wisdom."

Caine tilted his head to one side, considering the younger man's words with a thoughtfulexpression on his features. "I have not come to offer lessons, Peter."

"I should have been there," Peter whispered. The words triggered the pain and he turned his backto Caine, then walked to the window and stared out into the blackness. Tyler's face swam beforehim, the expressions shifting and creating a whirlpool of emotion that threatened to draw Peter inand never release him. She'd been so beautiful, he thought. Now, all of that was gone. Thepassion that he'd shared with her, the dreams, the hopes that they would someday find a way tolive with each other. She'd wanted to talk about that, he recalled, feeling the knife in his hearttwist deeper. He leaned forward, his forehead touching the window frame.

Caine watched in silence, felt the rise and fall of the waves of loss tormenting his son, and slowlycrossed the room. He placed a hand on Peter's arm and drew him from his blind vigil.

"You must rest," he said with infinite gentleness.

"I must find the man who did this to her," Peter countered. "Don't you understand, Father? I haveto!"

"There will be time," Caine said. Peter would have pulled away if Caine hadn't maintained hishold, and he led the young man into the bedroom that adjoined the living room.

Peter allowed himself to be led to a seat on the edge of the mattress, then he dropped down andfelt weariness overwhelming him. Caine took a step back and Peter grabbed at him, his fingersclutching at the rough material of the brown jacket his father wore. Caine turned, looked at him,nodded, and sat.

"You loved her."

It was more statement than question, but Peter nodded, his eyes again filling with tears. He wastired of the tears already, tired of the weakness they revealed to his father. He needed to gain


some control, to pull himself together. The effort was wasted when Caine's arm went around hisshoulders and Peter leaned naturally into the offered comfort. He closed his eyes as another sobrose in his chest and fought for release. Peter turned and his fingers knotted in the front ofCaine's shirt as the older man drew the younger's head down to his neck. The gentleness touchedPeter's soul and provided a haven to cleanse himself of the incredible pain consuming him.

Caine held the shaking young man close, and he felt an old wound opening within his own spirit.Peter's tears poured salt into an injury his father had long thought healed, but the beautiful faceof Caine's wife hovered over them both as the child suffered. Caine felt the tiny splash of hisown tears striking the hand that caressed Peter's head, and he bent closer, kissing the soft, darkhair. He continued to hold his son, long after they'd both cried themselves dry, and Peter slept.

* * *

The funeral was a small, quiet gathering. Tyler had no real family, and those few friends whohad been close hovered in a tight group, watching the face of Peter Caine. The detective wassomeone many of them had known, but the bleak, expressionless face Peter greeted them withwas the face of a stranger.

At the service, Peter had remained separated from everyone, a lone figure, dark and shadowy,withdrawn from the people around him. He accepted the sympathy with a nod, and nothing more.Paul Blaisdell, his wife, and Frank Strenlich watched with growing concern. Kwai Chang Caineremained conspicuously at his son's back, his eyes reading every nuance of expression and eachtoo-rapid movement Peter made.

The service ended with the burial, and once again, Peter kept apart from the gathered mourners.He dropped a white rose onto the coffin as it was lowered into the ground, and shut his eyesagainst the swell of grief. Annie felt the stab of agony as acutely as Caine did, and she moved toher son's side. Peter glanced down at her, covered the small hand on his arm with his own, thenbacked up a step.

"Peter, you can't be alone now," Annie whispered, desperation tinting the words, giving them thesharpness of a plea. "Let us help you, please."

"You can't." For the first time, Peter deliberately shut her out. He removed the light restraint ofher hand, and backed up a few steps. Without another word, he spun on his heel and headed forhis car, the beautiful array of flowers and green grass becoming a shifting blur of colour as hestarted to run.

Blaisdell was at Annie's side instantly, completely unsurprised to note that Caine was at her otherside. He glanced at the priest, read his own helplessness in Caine's deep eyes, and felt some partof himself shatter in the face of Peter's loss.

* * *


The squad room was unusually quiet, something that was noted by both the chief of detectivesand the captain as they passed through the room. Frank didn't bother going into his own office,simply continued to trail after Paul. They'd stopped long enough to leave Annie at home, thenthey had headed directly back to the precinct. It seemed that the only thing they could offer Peterwas the man responsible for Tyler's death; they both knew it wouldn't change a thing, but it wassomething.

Blaisdell seemed mildly surprised to find he wasn't alone, and his curiosity grew when Strenlichgave the door a light push and it slammed shut. When the chief stayed silent and dropped into achair across from Paul, Blaisdell knew they were going to discuss his son. Frank wasn't long ingetting to the point.

"How long are you going to let him run?"

"I'm not letting him do anything, Frank," Paul retorted, not anticipating the other man's firstwords to be quite this direct. "Peter's taking this hard, I don't want to push him too quickly."

"You don't want to risk stepping on Caine's toes," Strenlich corrected. "That's not what's best forPeter, and we both know it. You allowed him to deny his father's death for years, how long areyou going to let him hide from this?"

"You're assuming I have that choice," Blaisdell snapped, truly agitated by his friend's attitude. "Ican't make Peter talk to me, Frank! He needs time. Right now, that seems to be the only thing Ican offer him. It's got nothing to do with Caine, and everything to do with what my -- what Peterwants."

"Your son, Paul," Frank noted. "Peter's your son, just like he always was. Caine's resurrectiondoesn't change that. Don't let it!"

"What are you suggesting I do?"

Strenlich was quiet, his own thoughts a muddle of concern and confusion. He cared for PeterCaine, and like the captain, he did more than was necessary sometimes to keep the kid in onepiece. This was something that seemed impossible to deal with, and his inability to help eitherfriend was frustrating. He knew, as Paul did, that there was no easy answer. Like Paul, he hatedthat knowledge.

Strenlich saw Blaisdell watching him, waiting for the impossible answer, some part of himwanting Frank to give him something to go on in spite of his knowing better. Frank wished hecould offer a suitable suggestion. Instead, he rose and left the office, as tired and angry withhimself as he knew Paul was feeling.

* * *

The night was quiet and much too still. The humidity hadn't broken, but the promise of a summerstorm loomed in the heavy air. Caine walked the silent studio, his thoughts uncharacteristically


chaotic; peace had eluded him since the night of Tyler's death. He could not escape the images ofhis son's pain, the loss that seemed to be slowly draining the young man's spirit. Abjecthelplessness wasn't an emotion Caine often fell prey to, but he truly felt powerless in the face ofPeter's anguish. He wanted to find a way through the bleakness his son chose as a shield; yet,nothing seemed to achieve that contact.

The candles were burning low, some of the narrowest tapers sputtering in the tiny puddles ofwax they'd become during the long vigil. Caine ignored them, barely noting the hisses of soundas some of the illumination in the room faded in the death throes of candles winking out. Hepicked up his flute and dropped into a seat on the floor. Long fingers smoothed over thegleaming silver surface of the instrument, and he raised the flute. Not a single note would beplayed.

Caine set aside the instrument and stared into the growing darkness, his eyes seeing as clearly asif bright sunshine bathed the room in radiant light. He saw Peter watching him, hidden within thedarkness, blending into the blackness as he never had before. The shock sent an icy chill alongthe priest's spine as he waited for his son to venture into the room. The minutes he waitedseemed endless, but eventually Peter stepped forward.

Caine waited, enforcing the silence in a way he had never had to before. Something inside himwarned that this time it would have to be Peter who broke the tension, who asked the questionshe needed to understand.

Peter stared down at his father, indecision warring with the desire to simply turn and flee. Paulwould reassign him if he ever caught wind of the visit to Caine, and the reason for it. Still, Peterhadn't been overly successful in his efforts to return to work, so maybe it didn't matter that muchright now. He lowered himself to the floor, and crossed his legs, mimicking his father's posture.Brown eyes met hazel, and Caine nodded, the only gesture of encouragement he'd offered so far.

"I need to know everything you know about this killer, Father." The words, said with a calm thatwas deceptive and almost eerie, hung between them for several moments. "You've been at thescene of every killing. That's not coincidence, and I know you couldn't have heard about itquickly enough to be there before we've cleaned up."

"Why must you know, Peter? Why now, after so many have died?"

"Because I loved her," Peter answered, keeping none of the bitterness from his voice. "I have toput an end to this, one way or another. Don't you understand, Father? It's the only way I can befree of what's happened. There has to be some kind of justice to it."

"Justice is not what you seek, my son. Vengeance is not a wise path for any man to travel."

"I'm asking you to help me find my way back from this madness, Father. I can't do it alone."Peter's voice broke on the admission and he would have looked away; Caine's hand on his chinkept their eyes locked.


"You will never be alone, Peter. Whatever path you chose, it will not be one you walk byyourself." Caine felt the pain in the young man, tasted the fear and the confusion that dominatedso much of the bright spirit. The shadows were blooming swiftly, encompassing the loss andfeeding the darker thoughts that drove Peter into this desperate plea for help.

"Does that mean you'll help me?"

"I will help," Caine acquiesced with a nod, then added, "but, only if you do as I ask of you."

"Who is he?"

The question was asked too quickly, and Caine shook his head, refusing to answer. "Your word,Peter. You must promise me you will accept my decision about this man."

"You don't intend to kill him, do you?" Peter challenged, faint betrayal in the too soft tone.

"There may be another way," Caine agreed.

"There is no other way, Father! This bastard has killed nearly a dozen women. The last two werewomen I knew. Doesn't that suggest something to you?"

"What should it suggest, Peter?" Caine enquired, his even tone visibly frustrating his son.

"What if this guy is after you, and he's going through me to get to you?" Peter had never giventhat possibility a moment's thought, but as the words came out, he couldn't help but wonderabout the truth in them. He made a mental note to run a check on all of the victims once he wasback at the precinct. It was a long shot, but if he had known more of the dead women? Heshrugged off the chill that whispered over him like an icy breath, and continued. "I loved Tyler.If this guy was watching, he'd know that. Nita was with me, at the club. What if he saw her thereand that's the reason she was chosen?"

"You are not being rational, Peter," Caine chided gently.

"Rationality's got nothing to do with this!"

"What is it you think I know?"

"Who's doing this."

"That, I do not know," Caine remarked with a bow of his head.

"Then tell me what you can. Please?" He resisted the urge to stand, to pace the nearly blackroom. Caine's gaze was hypnotic, and Peter held the intense eyes, feeling a kind of soothingpeace washing over him as he leaned forward, letting his head rest wearily against his father'sshoulder. Caine's hands smoothed over Peter's hair, healing some of the pain with the love in histouch.


"I have not seen this man," he began quietly. "But, I know he is near. I have felt the madnesswhen it overcomes him. He commits these acts without conscious understanding, driven by somedemon within his soul." The priest shuddered as he allowed memory of the darkness to pass overhim. "Yet, there is another woven into the madness. A darkness that is malevolent, driving thistroubled spirit to the evil which possesses him."

"Are you telling me there's more than one killer?" Peter demanded, his head moving quicklyfrom Caine's shoulder. Caine shook his head and Peter relaxed, listening to his father's nextwords.

"He will search tonight for another victim. This time he will be closer to us, Peter."

"Then it is you he wants." Peter shivered, dread coursing through him with the unwelcomeknowledge.

"Perhaps," Caine said.

"I'll call Blaisdell," Peter decided, preparing to rise. He aborted the movement when his father'shead snapped upright with an abruptness that made Peter's stomach lurch.

"There is no time," Caine murmured, unfolding from his position with natural grace. He bent tohelp Peter to his feet.

"Great," Peter muttered furiously, trying to relax the tension in his legs. He never wouldunderstand how his father could twist his body into such uncomfortable positions, maintain themfor hours, then stand up like it was nothing. Of course, for Caine, it was simply that, nothing.

Gun immediately in hand, Peter followed his father from the studio, his heart pounding wildly inhis ears. The night air was heavy and cloying with an imminent promise of rain. The humiditycloaked them like a blanket, making it difficult to breathe. Peter forced his breathing to a steady,even rhythm and trailed his father; Caine's footsteps were silent, and he moved like a wraithamong the dark shadows. For one brief instant, Peter shuddered, wondering if the Stranglermoved the way his father did.

Caine felt the lure as clearly as a voice calling out to him, and he followed the instinct thatwhispered inside his head. The blood lust was growing within the killer, making him hunt morefrequently, and making the deaths more violent. Unless he was stopped, the madness wouldcause death on a much larger scale.

Dismissing the wave of weakness that threatened him, Caine halted and listened intently,searching the night air for the essence of blood and madness. It came swiftly, and he was movingagain, conscious of Peter at his back, countless questions tumbling through the young man'smind. A low rumble broke the stillness, warning of the storm that had been lingering in the airfor several days now. Rain began, first as tiny splashes of coolness, then growing to a stream oftears from heaven. Caine felt a tiny shiver of reaction ripple along his spine, and the tension inhis stomach drew tighter the second before the night sky was set ablaze with awesome light, the


huge, brilliant fork like a dagger shredding heavy velvet. Peter stumbled into him, fingersgripping his arm almost painfully.

"Jesus!" The word was little more than a breath of air, and Peter stared around in confusion."Where are you going, Dad?"

"To save a life," Caine answered, no trace of doubt in his voice.

Chapter Three

The rain was picking up force as they headed deeper into the heart of Chinatown's businessdistrict. Along with the onslaught of rain came the torrential winds, whipping Peter's leatherjacket open and soaking him to the skin. He thought about zipping the jacket, then dismissed it asuseless. Caine was only a few steps ahead of him, but it was getting more difficult to keep him insight, and Peter quickened his pace. In the back of his mind, he knew he should stop at a phoneand call Blaisdell; the thought was no sooner formed than he cast is aside. What could he reallytell the captain? That his father was pursuing a phantom image? Hardly a solid lead.

Thunder exploded above them, the low, ominous grumbling reverberating down to Peter's bones.His breath caught in his throat when the night was lit with glowing white another time. He hatedthis. They were bypassing the main strip, the lack of people on the streets hardly surprising withthe sudden breaking of the storm. Caine hadn't slowed a bit, and Peter was beginning to wonderjust how far they were going to have to go to find this madman. He was already regretting theabsence of his car.

Caine was nearing the entrance to a parking garage when he glanced back to warn his son. Peterstopped, his hand moving naturally to Caine's arm, and he stared at his father.

"Is he in there?"

Caine considered the question for a moment, then shook his head. "No, but he will come."

Peter wanted to ask why Caine was so certain, then realized even if he was given an answer, itprobably wouldn't make a whole lot of sense. He opted for a nod and gestured toward the interiorand the maze of cars. At least it would be dry inside, he thought, running hands through hisdripping hair, wringing water from the dark locks.

Caine turned into the garage and headed toward the centre, Peter only a few steps behind him.He could feel the concern radiating from his son. Some inner voice warned him that Peter hadbeen right when he speculated on the probable target. Despite the seeming randomness of thekillings, there was a pattern -- each of them had moved closer to Caine. The next victim wouldbe Peter if Caine didn't put an end to the madness. He shivered, contemplating the life he wouldhave to end in order to protect his son. Despite the inherent horror of the attacks, Caine wasreluctant to take even this man's life. The murderer had once been known to the priest, somethingCaine was only now beginning to understand.


The storm echoed in the hollow garage, and the boom of thunder rocked the building to its core.Lightning forked across the sky, the blinding white visible to them even now as they moveddeeper into the shelter. An instant later, the open mouth of the garage faded into shadow.

Peter stood next to his father, staring around at the cars as if expecting them all to spring intoanimate life. He held the gun in a steady grip, eyes peering into the dimly lit spaces around them.

"How long -- "

Caine never gave his son time to ask; he felt the lunge the second the garage disappeared intoblackness. Instinct made him push Peter away, and he heard the young man's muttered expletiveas he was flung into a concrete column. Caine moved into position, protecting his son as hesought out the life force moving within the inky darkness. He could hear the killer's breathing,erratic and sharp with excitement. Caine waited for a movement that would betray the man.

"Father!"

Peter's voice was shrill with panic, and he stared around wildly, unable to discern anything. Thepower failure left him groping, blind to everything except his terror. His father was close by, buteven his untrained senses felt another presence with them.

"I am unhurt, Peter," Caine assured him, tone pitched low and gentle. "Stay where you are. Donot move, Peter."

"Let's get out of here."

"I cannot. You must trust me, my son."

Peter didn't have time to decide if he was going to trust anybody. He heard the scream, nearingthe place where he groped in the pitch black. He raised his gun, but didn't fire when he heard hisfather intercept the killer.

Caine caught the man's arm as he passed, and brought the limb up with a sharp jerk that elicited agroan of agony. The crunch of bones seemed much too loud in the garage, as did the hiss of ragewhen the killer escaped his grip. Caine was ready when his attacker whirled and leaped towardhim. The lights in the garage flickered, flooding the area with brilliance seconds before winkingout again. It was distracting enough that Caine wasn't able to fully deflect the kick that wasaimed at his chest. He caught the blow high on his shoulder and flew backward.

Peter saw the killer lunging for his father and he sighted the gun by pure instinct. Before hecould fire, the light failed again and he heard the low exhalation of air a second later, Caine'sgasp of pain as the Strangler managed to strike him. Peter headed toward the last place he'd beenable to see them, his gun gripped almost painfully now. He prayed for another reprieve to thedarkness and circled, trying to hear every movement, to anticipate the next strike -- and who'd bemaking it. He refused to release the yell lodged in his throat, and trusted his heart to tell him hisfather was still alive.


The seconds were like hours as Caine rolled back onto his feet and braced himself for the nextattack. The brief glimpse of light had given him the face that always hovered on the fringes ofthe dreams -- Kim Soo, a former student of Shaolin philosophy, until he was lured into darkerstudies. Caine had seen him in Chinatown often during his time here, but they had never spoken.Caine had never sensed Kim's madness, either.

Peter dared to breathe again when the lights began to flicker and he could make out the shapes ofhis father and the man nearing Caine. He didn't wait for the priest to order him away; Peter fired.The shot caught the Strangler between the shoulder blades and sent him sprawling forward toland in a heap at Caine's feet. There was a murmured sputter of words, words only Caine heard,then the killer was dead.

Peter braced himself for the reproach he knew would be in Caine's eyes when he looked at him,and some part of the detective wept for the pain his choice would cause his father. No otherchoice... How many times had those words been spoken between them?

Caine stepped over the body at his feet, and he walked to his son. Without a word passingbetween them, Caine enfolded the trembling man in his embrace, and felt the desperate grip ofPeter's arms going around him, clinging to him.

"I'm sorry, Father," Peter whispered next to Caine's ear.

Caine pulled the dark head away, just enough to let their eyes meet. He smiled, the expressiongentle and understanding.

"There is nothing for you to be sorry for, Peter."

Before Peter could question him, Caine led him toward the entrance of the garage. There was atelephone there, and he released Peter to go make the call that would bring Blaisdell and his men.The priest stared upward into the storm-tossed sky, and he closed his eyes when he felt theweight of death touch his soul.

It was not over.

* * *

The days that followed Kim Soo's death had been a time of quiet mourning, a time that drewfather and son closer. Peter had finally returned to the Blaisdell home, and had made his peacewith his other family. Annie had been delighted at the return, and had asked both Caines toattend a special dinner. Paul had somewhat reluctantly put Peter back to work on his regularshift, and the young man appeared to be adjusting to the losses he'd suffered in recent weeks.

Caine could not escape the dreams, they were more plaguing now than they had been while Soolived and stalked the streets of Chinatown. The Shaolin priest had been right; it was far fromover. There would be no easy escapes for them - unless he could find the true source of themaddened darkness that had threatened them. Peter had suffered most of all, and Caine, despite


years of discipline and training, found he was unable to forgive with an open heart. Hequestioned his motives, sought answers, but all he could retain was the anguish in his son's soul.

The academy was empty for the first time that day, and Caine was wandering around the silentrooms. The lights were off, casting elongated shadows across the shining wooden floors. Thepriest stopped in front of the altar-like table and lit several candles, his eyes searching the flamesfor a calm he knew he would not find. The darkness would not be banished, despite his attemptsto persuade himself, and Peter, that they were safe. The detective had taken to dropping by on adaily basis, and Caine had not commented on the obvious need for reassurance. He found asmuch comfort in his son's presence as the boy clearly did in his.

Caine's face was lit by a smile as he heard the soft swish of the studio door opening. Peter's voicereached him seconds before the tall detective entered the room.

"Dad?" Peter came to a halt when he spotted his father. "I thought you might want to have dinnerwith me."

It wasn't quite the statement Peter intended, and Caine nodded in response to the note of query inthe words. Peter's loneliness reached across the space that separated them, and Caine's heartached anew for the sense of loss and isolation he saw in the deep brown eyes. Yet, despite thepain his son was experiencing, the priest could not escape the knowledge that this woman Petermourned was not the mate he imagined her to be. Perceived guilt was already colouring Peter'smemory of Tyler, creating an illusory attachment that had died long before she had. Peter neededto get away from this madness, just as Caine did; they both needed time to heal.

Caine dropped the jacket he had picked up and Peter's eyebrows rose in enquiry. Caine gesturedto the stairs, and his son preceded him. For once, the younger man didn't question; he merelywent to the small apartment and dropped comfortably into a seat to await his father's explanation.When Caine hesitated to speak, Peter's natural impatience brought him to his feet and he beganto pace.

"You're worried, aren't you?"

Caine shrugged one shoulder, the gesture a non-committal answer that seemed to further agitatehis son.

"There's more to this than you've told me, isn't there?"

For a fleeting moment, Caine had no answer to the charge he heard in the quiet demand. Then,he nodded.

"Kim Soo was but a part of the madness, Peter. There is a greater evil waiting to strike."

"Strike who?" Peter demanded, fear sharpening the words unnecessarily.


Caine didn't answer; he knew there was no need. He walked to the window and stared outward atthe growing gloom. The murky shadows seemed to penetrate the walls of the studio andenshroud the priest in their spell of darkness. Caine's thoughts were lured outward, his eyes fixedunseeingly on the road that had led him into this city. A road which now beckoned him to leave,to travel back to another place - another time. To find that which had been so long lost.

"I must leave for a time, my son." Caine had hardly been aware of the words as they formed inhis mind. He had not consciously spoken them aloud, but knew he had when Peter's handsgripped his arms and swung him around. The young man's fingers bit into Caine's flesh, the holdpainful, and the brown eyes that pleaded with Caine were shocked and filled with fear.

"You can't leave, Father!"

Panic laced the words, pouring over Caine with an agony that made the priest shiver in reactivepain.

"I will not leave you, Peter." The words came naturally, the reassurance automatic. "You mustknow, I would never leave you."

The grip eased a little, and Peter felt his heartbeat slow as he dragged in several calming breaths.The swell of panic left him feeling dizzy, weak, and slightly foolish for the overreaction.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. He would have backed up a step but Caine's hand at the back of hisneck drew him closer, until his head rested against his father's shoulder.

"There are things I must face, within myself," he offered softly, trying to find words to explainthe instinctive need. "Things I have never done, despite the knowledge that I should long agohave faced the past."

"What about the past?" Peter pulled away, took a step back and met Caine's fathomless gaze withhis own challenge. "It's gone, and nothing we can do will change any of it. Why can't we leave itthere - in the past?"

"I must return to our Temple, Peter. It is a thing I have always known. I feel the answer to thisdarkness may be waiting there." Hardly the answer Peter wanted, and Caine was helpless againstthe wash of angry rejection he felt within his son. The brown eyes flooded with memories andtears, then grew hard again, all in the space of seconds. Caine knew the answer before Petervoiced the words, and he felt his heart accept the inevitable.

"I'm going with you," Peter decided. He'd follow his father to hell and back, without question -whatever it required to keep the priest safe, and part of his life. He'd spent so many yearsdenying his father's spirit, and the desire to honour the Shaolin teachings that made up so muchof Peter's innate sense of justice and right. He would not lose the most precious gift his life hadbeen given - his father's return.


"There is no need," Caine began, his fear for his son's safety demanding that he try to dissuadePeter. Before the words had settled between them, he sighed into a wave of affectionatefrustration; the expression on his son's face was one Caine had quickly learned to identify. "Iwould be honoured by your presence, my son," he said quietly. A smile accompanied the tinybow he offered Peter, and the young man's responding expression shifted from stubbornness togratitude.

* * *

Getting the time off work to go on the short trip had been relatively easy; Blaisdell had verynearly jumped at the opportunity to give Peter more time to adjust. Annie had been less obviousin her agreement, and Peter was finding it difficult to explain to her why he felt the need tofollow his father on this particular journey.

"You think you have to protect him, don't you, Peter?" She smiled as she made the enquiry, butthere was nothing mocking or indulgent in the expression, just a genuine need to state what theyboth knew to be true.

"I can't lose him," Peter acknowledged, with just a trace of reluctance to the admission. "Notafter just finding him again."

"You won't lose him, Peter. Not in the way that you fear," she assured him. "You have to let goof that," she insisted, "before it makes you smother him with good intentions."

"That's not what I'm doing!"

"That's not what you mean to do," she corrected. "Your father is a very special man, Peter. Partof what makes him so extraordinary is his love for you. Don't you understand?" Her smile grewand she reached across the table to touch his hand, her small, slender fingers barely covering hislarger ones. "You're what makes him strong, Peter, you've given him purpose. He spent fifteenyears, lonely and probably as frightened as you've always been. Finding you is as much a miracleto him as it was to us."

Peter's eyes misted at the uncompromising love in both her words and her face as she stared athim, a look that made Peter feel like she was gazing directly into his soul. Words seemed toelude him, not that he would be able to find any that could express what he was feeling, anyway.He turned his hand in hers and clasped the delicate fingers gently.

"I love you, Mom," he whispered softly.

Annie's smile grew and she stood, took the step that placed her next to him, and wrapped herarms around his shoulders.

Peter returned the embrace, as comforted by the gentle hands in his hair as he had been as achild, when Annie would soothe the nightmares he'd suffered for so long after coming into theirhome.


"Let go at least a little, Peter," she murmured into the thick, soft hair. "Do that, and you'll neverlose him."

"Do you think I should let him go back there alone?" He was genuinely afraid to ask thequestion, because he knew her answer would determine his final decision. She knew it, too.

Annie felt the edge of panic rise in him, and she shook her head. Peter had always been so urgentin his need to please her, and even now, after years of love, the requirement hadn't eased to anygreat degree. She'd long ago resigned herself to the truth of that, but it still bothered her becauseit implied restrictions on a bond that had never had real constraints of any kind.

"You should do what your heart dictates, Peter," she answered after a pause of consideration."Just like you always do," she added on a teasing note.

Peter grinned at the affectionate words and he stood up carefully. Standing, he was almost a foottaller than the lovely woman he had grown to love as his mother, and he pulled her into his armsagain, kissing the top of the golden head.

"I'll see you in a few days, then," he said quietly. Annie drew back, kissed his cheek and nodded.

"Give Caine my love," she said, walking to the door with her son, her arm looped through his.Her smile lingered long after Peter was gone.

* * *

The long drive back to the Temple had been made in relative comfort, though long trips in theCorvette were not something Caine would be quick to recommend in the future. Peter pulled intoa fast food outlet and was headed for the drive-thru when Caine's hand on his arm drew hisattention.

"Could we not find a proper restaurant, Peter?"

"Sure, Pop," he agreed with a grin. "I just thought you might want to keep going."

"An hour longer will make little difference," Caine pointed out with a patience that soundedmildly tested.

Peter shrugged, oblivious to the trace of weariness in his father's voice, and continued throughthe parking lot. The sleek black car reminded Caine of a prowling panther as it slipped intoevening traffic and Peter headed for the main strip of the small town they were passing through.

* * *

The ruins of the burned out Shaolin Temple stood silent and deserted, the charred remnants like ajagged scar against the glowing splendour of the setting sun. Peter shuddered as he stared at thetumbled stones and blackened rocks that had once stood proudly, home to so many, and to so


much knowledge. He turned to watch his father, trying to read Caine's reaction to the destructionand the encroachment of time upon the vast Monastery grounds. There was little left of themagnificent Temple they had once called home; brush and weeds had grown over land Peterremembered seeing charred black. He had come here only once since that fateful night, hisdesperate bid to find some trace of the father he adored, and believed lost to him. He had foundthe dagger that he so recently returned to Caine, the only trace of the priest. At the time, he hadblamed himself for another failure. Despite Ping Hai's graveside visit, Peter had never fullybelieved his father dead and buried. The absence of any sign of Caine's existence had beendoubly terrifying to an already frightened child.

"It's hard to believe anything stood here," Peter said softly, the tone pitched to a reverent low.

"Much was destroyed," Caine replied with a nod, his eyes not meeting Peter's, but straying overthe ruins. "But there is much that remains."

Peter's eyebrows rose, but he suppressed the question that statement practically invited. Heneedn't have bothered. Caine turned to him, serene features pulled into a smile.

"Reach out with your spirit, my son," he instructed gently. "What do you see?"

Peter's eyes closed and he inhaled deeply, letting his mind open as his body relaxed in responseto the meditative breathing. The subtle scents of wildflowers and greenery became morepungent, and his mind was filled with childhood memories...

His father walked beside him, the rich scents of a lush garden rising around him with each step.Yellow flowers seemed to surround them as they walked, and Peter's mind whispered that thesewere his mother's favourite blossoms. He smiled, feeling a sense of happiness well inside him, asecurity that grew when his father's hand rested lightly on his shoulder.

"Did she ever walk with you in this place, Father?"

Caine shook his head, but his smile was filled with the warmth Peter was experiencing.

"No," Caine said in his soft, gentle lilt. "But, in another place, very much like this, we walkedand dreamed together."

"What did you dream about?" the young child asked, eyes awed and glowing with expectation.

"A future," his father whispered, sadness tinting the words. "Brothers and sisters for you," headded, some of the momentary shadows leaving his expression. "So that you would never bealone, Peter." His hand shifted to touch the smooth skin of his son's head.

"I won't ever be alone, Father," Peter assured him with a bright smile. "We have each other."

Caine's smile was like the warm sunshine and he nodded. "Yes," he murmured quietly, his handlingering on his son's shoulder as they continued to walk...


"There used to be a field of flowers here?" Peter said, more question than statement. When hisfather nodded, he looked around again, watching the scarlet ribbons of the sunset streamingacross the few blossoms that remained, staining them with crimson. He shuddered at the imageof blood pouring over the ground, then the image was gone -- lost in the reassurance of Caine'shand on his arm.

"I'm okay," Peter said softly, not quite suppressing entirely the quiver in his voice. "Just tired, Iguess." Satisfied with his own excuse, Peter tried to look much more cheerful than he truly felt."Why don't we find a hotel?"

"A hotel?" Caine's look was one of disbelief.

Peter read the expression correctly and he started to shake his head as the knowledge flooded in."Oh, no... C'mon, Pop. You're not really going to insist we stay here?"

"You may stay where you wish, Peter. I shall remain." Before Peter could offer him any kind ofargument, Caine drifted further into the ruins, his eyes seeing another time, blind to the wreckageof a life never truly forgotten.

"Damn!" Peter muttered furiously. "I hate it when he does that!" Resigned to the inevitable, Petertrailed after his father, picking his way through fallen stones and mossy growth. When he almostwent down on one of the rocks, he called out to his father. "Hey, wait up, Dad!"

Caine turned, and waited for his son to reach him.

Peter glared at his father from across the fire that burned between them. He was less than happyto find he was spending the night on the ground, surrounded by the scarred ruins of hischildhood. Caine was perfectly at ease with the blankets that would be his bed for the night,making Peter wonder exactly how often his father had lived like this in the past.

"How long do you intend to stay here?" he asked, partly from real curiosity, and partly from theneed to fill the night with something other than the heavy silence that had been between them forthe past hour.

"As long as is necessary," Caine answered, the enigmatic reply typical of his way.

"That's not much of an answer, Pop," Peter pointed out with a scowl. He tried to settle back intohis own blankets and bit back a rather colourful expletive when his shoulder blade connectedwith a stone he hadn't seen earlier.

"It is the only answer I have to give you," Caine stated, ignoring the outburst of temper as if itnever occurred, just as he disregarded the annoying ‘Pop' his son insisted on using to addresshim.

"I can't believe we're doin' this," Peter mumbled, finally finding a position that was somewhatcomfortable. He pulled the blankets around him and watched as Caine, too, settled down for the


night. His gaze wandered upward, and some of the irritation left him as he began to seek outconstellations and star clusters -- a game he remembered playing with his father many yearsearlier. The night sky was a canopy of diamonds stretched across an endless scape of inky black,tiny pinpoints of icy brilliance dotting the darkness with flares of white fire.

"I'd forgotten how beautiful it was," Peter said quietly. He turned on his side to look at his fatherand saw the slight nod of agreement his words received. Restlessness had replaced his previousannoyance, and rather than try to sleep, Peter decided to take a walk around the silent ruins.They, too, were beautiful in their spoiled magnificence.

For just a moment, as he watched Peter stray from the circle of light cast by the small fire, Cainefelt an almost irrepressible urge to call the detective back to him. He dismissed the unease afterseveral moments of searching within himself. He could feel no danger, yet he feared to havePeter out of sight. An ironic smile touched the priest's face -- perhaps it was simply nothing morethan overprotectiveness. Peter had been through a great deal in the past couple of months, andCaine knew he would give anything to be able to free his son from the turmoil of pain anduncertainty that haunted him.

Peter picked his way carefully among the fallen stones and the brush that had invaded the oncesacred grounds. Fifteen years had made a world of difference, while touching very little of theold Temple. As he walked, the ancient building seemed to rise out of the ashes and take solidshape again. Walls formed in Peter's mind, and he strolled the corridors of his youth, recallingdetails of the monastery that he didn't realize he had retained.

There was a full moon rising in the velvet blackness of the sky, and as the pale radiance touchedthe ground with silvery light, Peter made his way toward the centre of the Temple. He shiveredin the white glow of the moon, and a tingle of apprehension began to creep upward along hisspine. He stopped walking and closed his eyes, drawing in several breaths of air in an effort tocalm his nerves. He couldn't resist the glance back a few seconds later, and he felt a genuinesense of peace when he spotted the silhouette of his father standing in the distance.

The harmony shattered, and Peter's heart leapt into his throat when he saw a shadow pass in frontof Caine, obliterating the priest's figure from his view. He took a step toward his father, a cry ofpanic locked inside him, begging for release. He tripped over a large stone he hadn't noticedminutes earlier and the world spun away at a weird angle as he fell forward, twisting his body ina effort to escape some of the impact. His hands dug into the spongy, dew-chilled moss thatcovered so much of the ground, and suddenly his stomach lurched wildly.

The memory crashed down on him with the force of a blow and Peter's voice rose in ananguished sob. He shut his eyes, but the image grew clearer. He saw himself, fifteen years in thepast, struggling to carry another child from the inferno that raged through the Temple. Despitehis determination, he was unable to reach the door that would take them to safety. He fell, theother child going down with him as he fought to breathe through thick, impenetrable smoke.Tremors rocked the ancient stones of the building, reverberating throughout the huge halls. Peterhad a distant awareness of rocks falling around him, then blackness intruded.


Caine reached Peter just as the young man shrieked in horror and pain, arms flailing as he battleda demon only he could see. Caine caught the thrashing limbs and shook his son, speaking softlyuntil he could read some focus in the huge, dark eyes that stared up at him. The expression in thebrown depths was imploring and stricken.

"I don't even remember his name, Father."

The gasped words made no sense, and Caine pulled his son close, soothing with his touch. Peterclung to him, shivering with the force of his memories. Now that the memory had surfaced, itrefused to release him, and as it played over in his mind, the detective's tears began to fall.

Caine felt the shudders wracking his son and he twisted his long body into a comfortableposition, prepared to hold the young man through this most recent bout of pain. So much hadhappened to Peter, but he refused to acknowledge the true depth of his hurt to anyone, even hisfather. Caine knew the tears needed to be cried, the anger released, otherwise it would eat awayat Peter's heart. His son's spirit was gentle and giving; Caine did not want to risk the loss of anypart of that nature.

"I tried to save him, Father," Peter whispered into his dad's chest as his hands fisted in Caine'ssoft shirt. "I tried... "

"Many were lost, Peter," Caine replied gently, his voice pitched to a soothing low; understandinghad come with the realization of where they were positioned in relation to the rest of the Temple.Ping Hai had told him of this place, this spot, where Caine's son had ‘died' trying to save another-- while Caine watched, helpless to do anything from where he stood across the vast hall. "I sawyou fall." Caine shivered as the cold memory swept through him. "I thought you were lost to me.I hated my failure to save you."

Peter's head came up at that statement, at the raw agony he could feel running through theadmission. His father's pain was tangible in the silent darkness. He reached up and touched thefine grey hair, his hand shaking visibly.

"I never knew you were so close," Peter finally said, his voice as unsteady as his hand.

"I, too, tried... to reach you."

"What happened?" Despite the obvious pain of the memories, Peter couldn't prevent thequestions, nor his need to know the answers only Caine could provide.

Caine shrugged, awkward with the young man so tightly held in his arms.

"The Temple was being destroyed, rocks fell. I was trapped, unable to reach you. I thought youhad died."

"How did you get out?"


"Those who were unhurt saved as many as they were able to, Peter." Caine's voice halted whenthe images assailed him, as searing and crippling now as they had been fifteen long years ago.He felt again the shock, and the agonized horror of watching the Temple crumbling, explosionstearing apart the very fabric of Caine's soul as he took a futile step forward -- the instinct of afather reaching back for the son he adores, but knows is lost to him.

Peter shifted in his father's arms and suddenly they were supporting each other, Caine's tearssilent but unmistakable in the silver glitter of the moon's glow.

"Do you know if... ?" Peter gulped in a breath of chilled night air and tried again to find thewords. "Did he make it, Father?"

Caine heard the anguish that laced the enquiry, knew what it was costing Peter to face this losson top of so many others, but he refused to be less than honest with his son.

"I do not know, Peter."

The answer was hardly unexpected, but Peter was shaken just the same. He wanted his father toknow. In his heart, Peter already did -- the boy had died. Before he could linger on the thought,Caine's voice drew him to a more immediate concern.

"How did you come to fall?"

Peter stared at him for a second as he adjusted to the shift in conversation, then he glancedaround.

"I was watching you, and when the shadow passed -- " That distracted him in mid-sentence andhe looked hard at his father's passive features. "What the hell was that, anyway? I thought wewere the only ones here."

"We are."

"I saw something, Pop. One minute you were standing over there, then you disappeared. I trippedon -- " Again, his thought was circumvented by disputing facts. He looked around, searchingwith his hands; there was no sign of a rock large enough to have made him go down. "It washere!"

Caine made no comment.

"Perhaps we should try to get some rest," he suggested quietly, his eyes watching the confusiongrow in Peter's face.

"Okay, forget the rock," Peter decided, "maybe I'm just not cut out for this camping out crap.But, you still haven't told me what happened to you."


"I was as you left me, Peter," Caine told him, the fathomless hazel eyes a study in speculativecuriosity. "I remained by the fire."

It took a few moments for that to sink in, then Peter shook his head and pushed himself to hisfeet. He fidgeted for a minute, ran his hand through his hair, and stared at his father as he, too,stood up.

"If you weren't standing over there, then we're not alone here."

Caine could offer no dispute to the assertion. He spread his hands in a gesture of compromise."We will check."

Twenty minutes later they'd covered the area twice. They were alone.

Chapter Four

If nothing else, the repeated circles of the Temple grounds had used up the remaining excess ofenergy that had kept Peter awake. He asked questions that Caine could offer no answers for, thengave up and tried to sleep. It wasn't easy.

Caine had watched closely until his son finally fell into a restless slumber. Peter's sleep wasbroken occasionally by a soft sigh of sound, and he tossed, but it was more from simply beingunaccustomed to sleeping in this manner than any horrors from inside him. Satisfied that his sonwas safe, Caine allowed his own body a respite. He curled into his blankets and settled on hisside where he would be able to watch his son. The realization of what he was doing lit a tinysmile on Caine's face, one that lingered as he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Peter felt the blackness receding, the comforting bliss of nothingness gradually being replaced byshadows that had no form. Peter knew they were there, though. Knew every word he and hisfather exchanged was being heard and absorbed by the presence. Too many things had gonewrong recently, and he felt helpless in a way he hadn't known since his childhood. Caine's returnshould have put some order into a chaotic life, Peter told himself in dreams. His father's presencehad always been synonymous with peace and order. So what had gone so terribly wrong?

Peter tossed fitfully as the thoughts chased him through the corridors of darkness that wendedthrough his mind like an ever-changing maze. When had the shadows become such a permanentpart of him?

Peter shook his head, rejecting the assertion, even as he sought to identify the voice that spokeinside his head. He knew those controlled, eerie tones, didn't he? Unwanted images began toflash before his mind's eye, and he wasn't able to escape any of them, nor the pain they woke.

It began with the deaths in Chinatown, and the near madness that had followed him through aninvestigation that he insisted no one but Peter Caine could handle. He couldn't even rememberhow many victims there'd been.


Again, denial coursed through Peter's being. His father had never taught anyone to kill. But, ithad been an enemy of Caine's who sought to destroy Peter amid the insanity of Kim Soo's reignof terror. Nita Chan's face floated before him, laughing and alluring.

The rooftop came into view, shimmering into fragments of light before the shards of memorycoalesced into solid form. The image was not enhanced for its sudden stability. Peter lookeddown, his knees shaking with the force of his fear. He felt the push from somewhere behind him,then he pitched forward, limbs flailing as he tried to find something solid to cling to. Hisheartbeat rose to a deafening roar within his head, but his voice refused to work. The screamstuck firmly in his throat, and he closed his eyes. He was going to die.

The voice filtered through the seemingly endless fall, making the rush of wind and the churn ofhis stomach all the more terrifying. He covered his face, as if the gesture could block thenightshades taunting him. When the impact came, it was more devastating than anything hecould have imagined. Peter felt his spine snap, felt bones crack as his entire body exploded in apain that should have meant instantaneous death to him. But, in this macabre dream of death, helingered, broken and bleeding, his life trickling away as he fought to breathe.

A touch turned his head, and pain erupted, burning trails of sheer anguish through his body andsoul. His terror became a thing that consumed reason when he saw her lying next to him. Tyler'seyes snapped open, glaring at him, accusing and filled with hatred. Her throat was torn open, buther mouth moved, forming words Peter couldn't understand. Her effort to speak sprayed goreinto his face and this time his scream escaped, rising on the sudden whirlwind that scooped himup and sent him spinning away from her death-maddened fury.

Caine's arms closed around his son as he bolted upright and a scream of pure, horrified terrorsplit the night air. Peter tried to push him away as he gasped loudly, struggling to find enough airto breathe as his eyes gradually found some focus. His hands knotted in Caine's shirt and hecarefully looked upward at the priest, his action one of someone fighting a fear so terrible he wasfinding it impossible to contemplate.

"You are safe," Caine assured him, smoothing dark hair off the sweaty brow. "There is nothinghere that can harm you, my son."

Peter eased away enough to find a balance, though he didn't release his father. Caine's presencewas the only stable thing in the middle of his dream's insanity.

"There's someone here, Father." It took several attempts, but he finally got the words out as arasp of sound.

Caine was about to point out that they'd already checked once, but chose to remain silent. Helooked around, his eyes and senses searching for some indication that another was close. ‘In thestillness, I can hear all things.' His own words came back to him, and he drew his son's headcloser to his chest, and allowed the stillness to permeate his being. He heard nothing.


"Don't you see the shadows, Father?" Peter asked, drawing back to look into Caine's hazel eyes.The confusion he found there was unnerving -- his father was never confused.

"I see nothing, Peter," he admitted with a slight tilt of his head. "Many have died here, my son.Perhaps, it is merely their spirits you sense."

"Do spirits talk? Did any of the priest's look like -- " He cut his words off abruptly. He shouldhave known they wouldn't go unnoticed by his father.

"Her memory haunts you," Caine remarked with a sad nod. "It will require time, Peter. Suchviolent, and senseless deaths are never easily understood."

"There's someone here, watching us," Peter insisted, not ready to even think about Tyler's face,much less talk about it.

"Sleep, Peter," Caine suggested, his fingertips going to the young man's temples, massagingpeace and relaxation into his son's body. The touch visibly eased some of the strain from theangular features and Peter's dark eyes closed with a sigh.

"Don't leave me, Father," he whispered, once he was again lying down with the blankets pulledclose to his chin.

"I will be here."

The words faded as blackness claimed Peter again, this time filling him with a serenity he hadn'tfelt in months.

Caine watched the first, faint streaks of sunrise tint the eastern sky. He folded his body into alotus and closed his eyes, lifting his face to the blossoming warmth as he sought a tranquil centrewithin his own disrupted peace.

The morning was quiet, offering a much needed respite from the terrors that had filled the night.Peter's sleep remained peaceful, and Caine was grateful. His own weariness dissipated with theforced discipline of years of will, and he found he was looking forward to exploring the vastgrounds in daylight.

His gaze wandered as the dawn flush of pink grew into a full bloom of yellow radiance pouringover the scarred landscape. The sun emerged completely, blazing down on the silent figures amidthe ruins. Caine absorbed the heat, drew strength and peace from the warmth, and he finallyturned away with real reluctance when he heard the soft moan that told him Peter was waking.

"God! I feel like shit!" Peter muttered, then glanced an apology to his father when his wordsregistered in his fuzzy consciousness. "Sorry, Pop. This just isn't my idea of a great time."

Caine's expression slipped into a fond smile, despite his intention not to indulge the young man'ssometimes exasperating humour.


Peter groaned even more loudly as he forced cramped muscles into motion they didn't want tomake. "We're not gonna be out here too long are we?" he wondered, certain his body wouldn't beable to endure, even if his spirit was willing to follow his father around. The silence Cainegreeted the question with was enough to give Peter a pretty accurate answer, and it wasn't theone he wanted. Oh, well, he thought around another sigh of resignation, he'd been the one toinsist on joining Caine for this trip back in time -- he'd best quit bitching about it if he expectedto last more than a day before Caine was sending him back to the city.

"Nice day," he commented once he'd rubbed the sleep from his eyes and was squinting into themorning sunlight. "So, what's the plan for today?"

"There is no ‘plan', Peter," Caine said quietly, watching his son with growing reservations aboutbringing him back here. The night had left its shadows in the dark eyes, and Caine could sensethe lingering fears that sleep had not been able to soothe. "If you would rather -- "

"I'm staying!" The words were too sharp, and he flinched at the force of them. His father madeno further comment and went about preparing breakfast. Peter decided it was time to stretch hislegs, and sort his thoughts.

Watching him leave the campsite, Caine was once again tempted to warn Peter not to go far. Afather's warning to his child, except, he reminded himself ruefully, his ‘child' was a man, andmore than capable of taking care of himself. Or so Caine hoped.

When an hour had passed without Peter's return, Caine began to worry. He hadn't dismissed theprevious night as casually as his son might think. Though he sensed no presence within the ruins,he couldn't help but wonder exactly what it was that plagued Peter's conscience. There was muchmore to it than a memory stimulated into facing pain.

Caine shivered as he glanced into the sunshine, eyes seeking some indication of Peter's location.Even the silence was becoming a thing of anxious fear. Another pause, then the priest headedinto the crumbling maze of stone and memory.

Without intending to, Caine began to slow his search for Peter and absorb the mood of peace thatcloaked the aged temple. Despite the violence that had caused its downfall, the crumbling hallsstill held fast to the serenity and security that had been so much a part of the world theysheltered. Memory teased Caine, taking him back to the many hours he had spent teaching Peter,and the other children who had filled the temple with laughter and bright spirits. There was stillso much of that child within the man his son had become. Peter tried desperately to dismiss thelessons of his childhood, yet the words and the meanings were always there, waiting for themoment they were needed. Caine's hand had been a guide to the young man's growth long afterthey had been separated.

Light pierced the deep shadows at the end of a hall, and Caine moved toward the gaping holethat dominated the once solid stone. In his mind, he heard again the pulses of explosions tearingapart the very fabric of his existence. He shuddered as he stepped through the unnatural portal


and stood in the bright rays of sunshine. He felt a chill pass over him, only then realising wherehe was.

With real reluctance, Caine walked toward the shimmering pool of water. He felt the sadnessflooding over him, threatening to drown him with each slow step forward. Only when he hadreached the pale stone marker did he allow himself to respond to the pain that assaulted him, andtears filled his eyes, blurred his vision until only the mist of time pervaded his awareness.

Caine saw again the images that would, in truth, never leave him, and he reached out a shakinghand to touch the smooth rock. It felt like yesterday. It had been over fifteen years. This spotmarked the place he had left his heart. Slender fingers brushed the sun-warmed surface, the touchbarely a touch at all. The priest was so deeply lost in memory, the sudden sound of anotherfootstep made him start visibly. He looked to the sound, his eyes filled with confusion when heregistered the rage on his son's features.

"What are you doing here, Father?" he demanded, his voice filled with anger which challengedhis expression for severity.

"This place was... " Caine hesitated, truly unsure of what words would be the right ones. Beforehe had a chance to decide, Peter came closer, and he placed his hand on the stone above hisfathers. Knuckles grew white with tension as Caine stared.

"He took me here after...," Peter halted mid-sentence. "He said you were buried here. I cried foryou, Father," he whispered, the tears of so many years ago once again creating a tremor in hisvoice. "I promised vengeance, here. And he watched, knowing you weren't..."

"I, too, cried in this place, my son." Caine moved his hand, fingers closing over the strainingknuckles of Peter's grip on the stone surface. He allowed his touch to stroke the rigid hand, andslowly relax the numbing tension in his son's clutch.

Peter's face was wet with tears he hadn't realised he was crying, and he waited for an explanationthat his mind was already forcing on him. He shook his head, rejecting the idea as one toopainful to accept.

"I believed you rested here," Caine confirmed, reading the agony in Peter's dark eyes. The painquickly transformed again, once more becoming apparent rage.

"Why?!" he hissed, his wrath making the single word little more than a choked breath. He shookhis head before his father could begin to answer. "Don't," he whispered thickly. "I don't want tohear how he did what he thought was right. He took away our life, Father. I don't give a damnwhat his reasons were, they'll never balance what he took from us."

"He is gone, Peter," Caine answered gently. "The lives he protected once more walk the samepath."


"And that makes what he did right?" Peter snapped, loosing some of the anger, undeservedly, onhis father. He didn't want Caine to forgive Ping-Hai, not this easily -- especially not when he,Peter, was so unable to let go of his bitterness toward the old priest.

"Would my hating him make your anger less damning?"

"Maybe," Peter replied, irritated with his own irrational responses. He wasn't at all surprised tosee the expectant tilt of his father's head as Caine waited for him to accept the futility of his rage.

"I hate this place," Peter finally whispered, his voice as haunted as the ruins that surroundedthem.

"Is that why you have never returned?" Caine wondered.

"I came back here, once," Peter told him. "Shortly after Paul and Annie took me to live withthem. I was sixteen, I had my first car, and this was going to be my trip of self-discovery. But,the only thing I discovered was the hole in my heart hadn't gotten any smaller. I came here thatday, too."

Caine nodded, his sadness mirroring the pain in his son's dark eyes. He reached out to place ahand on Peter's shoulder, Peter stepped aside then pulled him into a fierce hug. For long minutes,they simply held each other and tried to ease the hurts of a lifetime in the silent exchange of love.

* * *

Much of the day had been spent exploring the ruined Temple. Peter had listened with the samerapt attention that he had as a child when Caine pointed out things he'd forgotten, and sharedmemories that the boy hadn't then been old enough to understand. Peter offered his ownreminiscences to the exchange, and had delighted in his father's enjoyment of his childhoodexploits. There were several times when he was left with the uneasy certainty that Caine knew ofthe things he sometimes offered, but the priest said nothing to verify the suspicion. Inside, Peterwondered why he'd ever been foolish enough to think his father didn't know everything that wasgoing on around him.

Throughout the long day, Peter felt less and less weighed down by the things that had driven himfrom the city to follow his father. It seemed, literally, that they had turned back time, and he wasno more burdened now than he had been as a child. Thoughts of the Chinatown Strangler, eventhoughts of Tyler, all seemed to fade with the gift he and his father were sharing.

Staring across the tiny campsite at his father, Peter smiled, his happiness reflected in the warmththat had come back into deep brown eyes.

"I think this was a good idea," he finally said. When Caine's eyebrow rose at the admission,Peter's laughter bubbled forth. "I mean it, Pop. I know I wasn't too thrilled about things lastnight, but..." he stopped, suddenly reminded of the shadows and fears that had haunted so muchof the night. Caine's eyes narrowed at the swift change in expression, and Peter shook his head


immediately. "It's nothing," he assured his father. Before Caine could make any comment, Peterglanced skyward. "It's going to be getting dark soon."

"Yes," Caine murmured, concern still distracting him from everything except the anxiety that hadcome so quickly into Peter's face. The boy had never been afraid of darkness, yet the man wasworried by the approaching night. Caine heard again the warning Peter had voiced the previousnight, the certainty that they were not alone. As he had the night before, Caine closed his eyesand strained his senses. Again, there was only the blankness of tranquility.

"How much longer are we going to stay?" Peter tried to keep the question casual, but the note ofworry was there -- he could hear it himself.

"We will leave in the morning," Caine decided. It was not what he had planned, and there wasstill much he wished to see. But, the chill that touched the back of his neck had the eerie essenceof a warning. Whether it came from Peter, or not, no longer mattered. Caine would come backanother time, alone. His concern for Peter was more important than any need to explore the past.

"That's not what you wanted to do, is it?" Peter asked with uncanny timing.

"It does not matter," Caine evaded with a smile.

Peter wanted to object, but the truth was, he didn't want to remain in this place longer than hehad to. Something about the ancient ruins, the tumbled stones, the stillness in the air -- it all hadthe distinct feeling of being wrong. He couldn't find a more accurate articulation than that. It wasa vague, hazy worry, lingering on the fringes of his consciousness. It had faded with theenjoyment of the day, but the shadows of night were bringing it back with the same intensity offorce that had filled the previous night.

Caine watched the rise and fall of the emotions that crossed his son's features, and the hint of fearwas all he required to solidify the decision. Whatever haunted Peter's soul, they would discover itand conquer it, but not here. Not where so much had been lost, and so much pain had been born.He looked into the waning sunlight and rose. He had only one further place that he wished tovisit before they began the journey home.

"Where are you going?" Peter winced inwardly at the near panic that hued his enquiry. He wasn'ta kid, he chided himself, he didn't need to have his father hovering over him every minute."Never mind," he added seconds later.

"I will not be long," Caine assured him. "I wish to find the rooms I occupied here. There arethings which may -- "

"It's okay, Pop," Peter cut in. "Go and look," a grin lit his features suddenly, and he added, "I'llcook supper."

Caine felt his stomach twist at the prospect of one of his son's meals. His only consolation wasthe fact that most of the food they'd brought with them had been selected by Caine, himself.


Peter might still find a way to make junk food, though, he thought with a rueful shake of hishead. The smile he gave the younger man before turning away was indulgent.

Peter watched for several minutes, his gaze tracking every step that Caine took, until the priestdisappeared into the shadows of the Temple. Only then did Peter close his eyes and shudder,allowing the tiny release of fear to become visible. He hugged his chest and opened his eyes,looking at the darkening grounds. There was something here, something that meant them harm.Why couldn't his father feel it when he was so attuned to it?

"Your father sees only what he chooses to see."

Unlike the previous night, when he'd heard the words inside his head, the voice was now next toPeter. He whirled toward the taunting tone and found shock close his throat to any sound thatwanted to come forth. He shook his head, then the darkness claimed him when a hand reachedout to touch his neck. The pressure, expertly applied, stole his consciousness and he went limp inthe other's grasp. His last thought was not that he'd been right, but that he and Caine might yettruly die in this place.

Chapter Five

Caine felt the change in the atmosphere of the ruins, as if someone had suddenly opened a doorthat enabled him to sense the presence his son had known was with them. Peter! Before he tookthe first tentative steps that would lead him back to the campsite, Caine knew what he would findthere -- or, more accurately, what he wouldn't find waiting for him. He'd blindly walked awayand left his son a target for the menace that had been plaguing the boy's dreams. His steps turnedinto a run and he was gasping by the time he reached the spot where he'd left his son. There wasno sign of Peter -- something which came as no surprise to Caine. He bent to look at the ground,hoping desperately that there would be something which might tell him what had occurred in hisabsence.

The Strangler and his victims' faces drifted before Caine's vision and he felt the telltale tingle ofrecognition hovering on the fringes of his memory. As it had so often in recent weeks, theessence of recollection remained elusive, just beyond his grasp.

Caine straightened from his crouch and looked around, eyes scanning the ruins, senses reachingout. He felt nothing, no trace of his son's presence. He knew Peter was close, however. It wassomething that was as deeply ingrained as his own sense of self. His son was not gone, not in anyform.

Consciousness returned slowly, and as he woke, Peter felt panic rise within him. He tried to callout a warning to his father, realising the futility of such a response even as he recognised hisinstinct. He tried, anyway. The words refused to leave his throat and his eyes scanned the area ina desperate search for the priest. All he saw were the ruins, and the deep shadows thatsurrounded him.


The voice was in Peter's head, and this time he knew it wasn't imagination, or a bad dream. Hesquirmed against the impossible lethargy that held him in its grip, but his body wouldn't, orcouldn't, respond. He was immobile, and helpless -- totally at the mercy of a madman -- unlesshis father found him somehow. He felt the sting of bitter tears tease his eyes. His father hadn'tbelieved him the previous night when Peter insisted that they weren't alone at the ruined site.Caine might simply think that Peter had decided to return to the city early and leave him to hisretreat. Even as the thought was forming, his heart was rejecting it. He knew his father wouldthink no such thing -- Caine would search for him. If he was still in the ruined Temple, as Petersuspected, then Caine would find him.

the voice mocked.

Peter felt his heart lurch wildly with the threat, and once again he tried to pinpoint the source ofthe voice. Damn! he thought furiously. He'd been drugged in some way, and was completelyunable to do more than think -- his body was totally beyond his control.

Terror overwhelmed Peter, made a sob seize his chest in a painful vise. He remembered the firsttime his father had faced this enemy, and the very real fear that another confrontation mightprove fatal to the priest. He couldn't lose his father again.

"There's a certain symmetry to it, isn't there?" The Chi'ru Master said as he finally came intoPeter's line of vision and spoke to him without the sense of being in the cop's head. "You diedwith each other once before, in this place. It's only right that it end here. Kim Soo was the lure,Peter. I thought you might want to know that."

Rage flooded the dark eyes, the emotion so intense that it radiated from the young detective inmute protest. The Master watched in silent contemplation for several moments, then he turnedtoward a sound Peter hadn't heard.

"He's searching for you."

Without another glance, the tall, darkly robed figure vanished into the shadows.

Shadow Assassin. The name created a shudder of revulsion inside Peter, and then the achebegan. A dull, expanding pain that stretched over him and made him wonder if he'd ever survivethe madness he'd been thrown into. His father might die here, the worst loss imaginable to Peter.But, what about the others who had perished? Tyler Smith had been a part of Peter's world, andthis creature from an ancient myth had caused her death as certainly as if he'd branded her theway he had Kira. Kira... Another of the people Peter had been close to, even loved. Death hadbeen the most constant companion in his young life, he realised. From the time he was born, thepeople he loved had died -- could it really be because of their association with him? Even hismother had been taken from him before he could remember her face.

The agony grew and tears slipped from his eyes, trailing silently along the high, slantingcheekbones. He tasted the saltiness as the wetness trickled to the corner of his mouth, and he


closed his eyes as breath deserted him. The weight of grief, past and present, that settled over hischest threatened to suffocate him.

The Shaolin ignored the taunt as he walked into the area that had been prepared for the battle henow knew was inevitable. Candles burned everywhere, lighting the dusky night withimmeasurable dots of flickering gold. The glow gave the illusion of warmth, the reality wasapproaching death.

Caine felt the chill of ice along his spine and he halted his footsteps. He had reached the openarea in the centre of the ruined Temple. This had once been the forum for another battle whichchanged his life. He had fought, and humiliated the Master Dao in this very arena -- that actionhad eventually cost him his home, and fifteen years of his son's life. What would the price be thistime?

"Show yourself."

Caine felt the other presence before he turned to face the tall stranger. His eyes narrowed as hewaited for some action, some indication of why he being forced into this battle.

"I told you it wasn't over, Priest."

"Why?"

It might have been an absurd question from any other man, from Kwai Chang Caine, it deservedan answer.

"You should have let me deal with the author, Caine," the Assassin told him. The note of regretwas genuine, he hadn't wanted to involve a Shaolin priest, and this one had proved to be uniqueeven among that breed. The Chi'ru Master bowed, a gesture of respect that was authentic. "Thelives were not worth it, were they? Your own life is a high price to pay for a non-believer."

"My son?"

"Watches you die," was the soft answer. Then, a smile. "He'll join you shortly thereafter."

"I will not fight you," Caine said quietly.

"Then he'll die in your place," the Assassin remarked with appalling casualness. "The secretswere revealed, Master Caine. You knew the punishment. You allowed him to escape, and thatdebt is one you will pay." As he spoke, the Chi'ru master was circling the unmoving priest. Hisfirst strike was lightning quick, and caught Caine high on his chest. The priest staggered back,his face a study in concentration as he recovered with his customary swiftness.

So much was making sense now, Caine thought as he shifted into a defensive position andawaited another attack. The presence, the hint of a madness not quite Kim Soo's -- it had beenthe influence of this one. The young man had been a student, had done his Master's bidding as


he'd been trained to. The darkness was simply the madness of revenge. So many had died toinstill fear in Caine and his son -- a fear that had not truly touched them until the last victims.Victims who had been so very close to Peter.

Smoke filled the space that separated the two combatants, and Caine's inner vision warned himan instant before the bo staff would have split his skull open. He whirled away and launched intothe clearing haze. He met no resistance, and landed without the strike he had intended. Again hetuned into the movement of air, hands arcing gracefully as he prepared to meet the next advance.His mind strayed momentarily to Peter, sought his son's presence, and tried to ignore the lack ofawareness when nothing greeted his probing thoughts.

The drugs were wearing off enough to allow Peter some small measure of motion, and hedragged his body toward the rock ledge that he was now sure overlooked the centre of theTemple. It was only inches from his line of vision, yet it took agonisingly long minutes to crossthe tiny space. He was sweating and gasping against the exertion when he managed to prophimself on his elbow and peer down. The vortex of height made him fall back, and he started toshake. The ground surged upward in his mind, reaching for him, and he choked back the taste ofbile that accompanied the distorting images.

His second attempt was fuelled by greater fear when he heard his father's voice drifting upward.The sounds of shifting bodies weren't really sounds at all, more like rushes of air that told himthe two masters were engaged in combat. His father would win. He had to. Doubt filled hismouth with a bitterness that made him want to retch for the second time in moments.

The man was insane, he told himself. The Shadow Assassin had been beaten once already. Peterhad seen him go down. Yet there'd been no body when he bent to cuff his partner's killer. Onlyair. Would it be like this again? He shuddered, uncertainty like an icy finger of premonitionstroking his spine. It wouldn't matter, if Caine survived this encounter, there would be another.Obsession. Kwai Chang Caine was this madman's obsession. His death would be the only end toit. Peter wasn't prepared to pay that price a second time.

He got a grip on the edge of the rocks that surrounded him and kept him from his father's view.He pulled with every ounce of strength he possessed, and was rewarded when he was able to seethe ground below him. He focused on his father, blocking out the queasiness that teased him withlurches of his equilibrium. He tried to call out, only to discover that his voice still refused tocooperate.

Below his vantage point, the danse of death began in earnest.

Caine anticipated the next lunge from his opponent, and he side-stepped the rush with a gracefulshift of weight. As the other man started into a turn, Caine's open palm struck between theshoulder-blades, the heel of his hand jarring the spine with an impact that would have droppedmost men to their knees in agony. This assailant merely stumbled. It was enough to allow Cainea second strike, and this time his foot impacted with the lower part of the Assassin's back, and hedid go down.


"Where is my son?"

The quiet demand was spoken in a tone that was eerily calm, in direct contrast to the lethal ragein the hazel eyes. The Chi'ru shook his head and laughed.

"You have a choice, Priest? His life, or mine?"

Caine's expression changed again, this time confusion written deep into the priest's features."What have you done to him?" It galled Caine to have to ask anything of this enemy -- Peter'slife was worth far greater humiliations.

"He's here, Kwai Chang Caine."

It took only the barest alteration in his gaze, and Caine recognised the mistake as he made it. Heturned, searching the area around him for some sign of the Chi'ru. The endless rows ofcandlelight died as a gust of wind tore through the ruined Temple, swooping on the illuminatingflames like a bird of prey. Only the sudden clarity of the dark night registered, and the unnaturalstillness which followed the Assassin. Caine had felt this aura of macabre peace at each deathsite during the Strangler's reign of terror. He should have known, some inner voice insisted.

The tingle at the back of his neck warned Caine, and his hand shot back in automatic reflex. Henever knew where the blow landed. Peter's voice filled the night, a wail of terror-filled pain thatcut through Caine like a sword. He very nearly fell forward at the shock of his son's anguish.

On the ledge, Peter spasmed in an agony that seemed eternal. He shuddered violently when theinvisible hand that had seized his heart suddenly released its grip. He knew the thought wasludicrous, he couldn't escape the certainty that it had been real. His chest ached. His entire bodyscreamed in protest when he tried to voice his pain, and the sound echoed from the high perch toreverberate through the ruins.

For long seconds, Peter Caine was certain he had died.

The presence vanished as the last echo of Peter's cry faded. Caine was already halfway to theledge when he became aware of the quiet sobs that he knew were his son's. He reached thehuddled form in an instant and was on his knees beside the young man. Peter's hands clutched athis shirt front, and the large brown eyes stared at him in a mixture of relief and astonishment.

"I thought he'd killed you," Peter whispered. "God! I thought I'd lost you again. Just like before.Here!" He looked around, hatred etched deeply into pain lined features. "I hate it here, Father."

"We will go," Caine assured him. He knew the Chi'ru was no longer present. The return of nightsounds and the peace of the Temple was no longer tainted by evil. He found himself wishing itwould be so easy to erase the stain from his son's spirit. It might never happen, he acknowledgeddeep inside. Too much pain had grown from walls that once promised a haven of security andlove.


"He killed them, Father."

It took Caine a moment to understand that his son spoke of the deaths in Chinatown.

"Why?" Peter continued. "Why kill so many when you were his target?"

"He wished me to know what it is to be helpless, Peter." Caine curled his body into a sittingposition and Peter's head moved to his lap, long fingers combed the young man's dark curls."Next time he will demand a higher price."

"Next time?" There was sincere dread and fear in the soft utterance.

Caine nodded, face serious, and looked into the night sky. "He will return."

It was the pattern of fate, rising and falling away like a tide -- their paths had been joined, andwould no longer be entirely separate. Caine would have a shadow at his back, always, until oneof them ended the battle and claimed victory.

Peter's shadows would remain to haunt them both as father and son tried to find a future fromthe ruined past.

The End

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PATTERNS OF FATE By Denysé M. Bridger Sequel to Web of Lies of Fate.pdf · Patterns of Fate by...

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