A Son's Treasure

A SON'S TREASURE
By Wendy : Shywalker

Paul's steps were heavy, as he had to force himself to take the stairs to Caine's apartment. It had been a month since Peter's 'disappearance'; a month of a desperate optimism, that was crushed, with the news of the discovery of his downed plane.

<I'm sorry Mr. Blaisdell, there were no survivors>

[But are you sure, I mean, there could be a chance...]

<No, I'm sorry. The plane exploded on impact. I am so terribly sorry.>

Paul had still clung to that barest of hope of his son's survival, but Peter's father had dashed that last thread, when he had tearfully related of his severed link to their son; they knew then, that Peter was really gone. Both men, had struggled over the last two weeks; each trying to cope in their own degree, with the loss of their son.

It was in this inner struggle that found Paul, sitting in the attic, lost among the dusty old boxes that had shielded his younger son's life. He caressed, the once everyday items, now priceless treasures as he lovingly held them in his hands. Echoes of laughter and tears, were in each page, Joys and sorrows in every trophy. Wiping at the tears that now completely saturated his cheeks, Paul was about to close the cardboard flaps, when he noticed a small package; its paper aged in time.

Now as Paul found himself at the doorway of Caine's apartment, this seemed to be the hardest thing to do. It appeared to be fated that he found it that day. After all the years of being forgotten, somehow it seemed to be Peter's final wish.

As Caine turned, both men studied each other; both aware of how much their son's death, showed on their face's, each worn and weary in their own way. At first the words wouldn't come, his voice was caught in the constriction of his anguish.

"I'm sorry to intrude, but..." How hard it was to say his son's name without demanding some retribution from God, for taking him. "I-I found this, it was in amongst some of --Peter's things. I think he would like you to have it now. I didn't open it," Paul sighed, as he offered the paper wrapped package. "it was addressed to you. I think it is time he gave it to you."

Caine accepted the package, trying to ignore the finality of the gift. The two fathers looked at each other with so much, and yet little to say. The tear that slid down Paul's cheek told Caine all he needed to know and without a word Paul turned and was gone.

Caine's shaking hands, studied the brown paper, so casually folded and held together with string. A smile appeared and faded at the childlike scrawl etched by his son's own hand. Silently lamenting this particular lost time in his son's life, he lovingly pulled at the string. Tenderly spreading the paper, like an unfolding flower, Caine's fingers revealed a beautifully carved Mahogany box.

Gently touching the tips of his fingers to the carved figure, he traced the ornamental dragon as it soared in flight on the lid. Caine's heart was breaking, as the gift gave him access to the mind of his young son. Smothering in his pain, he had to force himself to continue as he gently pried open the lid.

The box contained only one thing, an envelope, stained with long shed tears. 'Pop' it said in that same childlike scribble.

"Peter!" Caine's voice soared to the heavens. His legs were no longer able to hold his grief and folded beneath him. As the box slipped from his grasp, both he and his son's treasure fell to the floor.

The wooden box landed on it's side, sending it's one and only precious content; the letter sliding across the floor. Closing his eyes, Caine slowly reached across and picked up his son's unheard words. As the tears rained down his cheeks, his trembling fingers pried open the letter and he began to read.

Dear Pop, yeah I know, don't call you pop...How I wish you were here to tell me off, but you're not, you're gone. You left me. You promised; you promised you'd always be there for me.

Sorry, I started this letter to speak to you and the first thing I do is start an argument. I have been angry a lot lately, that's why Mom suggested I write this letter to you, even though you'll never read it.

Well, what do I say? Never done this before, not on paper anyway. I mean, we've spoken in my dreams. Well, I spoke, you usually looked at me shaking your head the way you always did when you didn't know what to do with me.

Okay, I suppose I can start off explaining who Mom actually is. Oh, you would like her Pop, Annie is everything, I think my real Mom would have been. You would like her a lot. She is so pretty and she loves me--well I think she does. She is blind--yeah, I know that is neither here nor there, but anyway, you'd never notice and I swear she sees more than she lets on, in fact I'm sure of it. She is able to catch me with my hand in the cookie jar before I've even lifted the lid, actually she reminds me of you in that way.

She has two daughters Kelly and Carolyn nice enough I suppose; for girls. They are nice to me and mean, so I suppose they think of me as one of the family, though I hate to think what they would do to someone they didn't like.

I suppose I have been putting it off, telling you I mean, about Paul. Well, what can I say, he saved me, Pop. Just when I thought I would be alone forever, left within those four lonely orphanage walls, he reached out his hand and saved me. You know, it was something you would have done. I think that is why I took the offered hand and held on for dear life, because he reminded me of you and the person you were.

That doesn't sound fair to Paul, he's not a replacement for you. He is a strong and fair man, who saw a lost child and gave him a home. You would like him too Pop, you would like all of them very much.

I miss you, Pop. I miss my home and more than anything else, I miss the warmth of your arms.

I love you with all my heart. Forever your son Peter

Caine thought his heart was broken, but with his son's heartfelt words cried from the past, he was suddenly sustained with hope. They had been lost to each other once before and had found that miracle...so few find. Was it too much to ask heaven for just one more?

Part two - A LOST TREASURE

It had been a long night. Doctor Addams checked his watch, "Okay," he sighed wearily. "one more patient and I'm out of here." Checking the clipboard he was carrying, he noted the last patient was a John Doe that had been brought in the night before. Entering the ward, he smiled at the few patients that were still awake as he made his to the end bed.

"Has he regained consciousness yet?" he asked the nurse who was checking the patient's pulse, as he took a quick look at the bandage that covered John's temple.

"Not really, Doctor. Well, nothing coherent anyway. He babbles and I don't have a clue what he's saying. I don't know if it's another language or just nonsense," she answered as she wrote the pulse rate down and started to check John's blood pressure.

"Well, his CT scan came up negative. Hpefully his body just needs some time. Whoever he is though, he is one lucky man. A little more to the left and that bullet would've had him singing with God's angels."

"Or six foot under, stinking up the ground where he should be," a voice spoke up behind him.

Recognizing the voice, but not the malice behind it, Doctor Addams turned around to see Sheriff Baxter walking toward him.

Walking over to greet him, the doctor was more than surprised to see the Sheriff out so late at night. "Tom, bit after visiting hours,

my friend." Addams welcomed him with a handshake. "What's with the army?" he nodded to the two deputies at the doorway.

"Is he going to live?" The Sheriff asked, ignoring his friends curiosity.

Realizing he wouldn't get the answers he wanted quite yet, he looked back at John Doe. "We think so. I would have liked him to have been more aware by now, but yes, I think he'll live. What's this about Tom?" he asked again.

"I want him moved. I want him placed in a room on his own where my men can watch him," Baxter ordered.

"Look, Tom, my patient doesn't go anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on. It is too late and I'm too tired to start playing twenty questions." The doctor frowned as he put himself between his friend and the unaware patient.

The sheriff was as tired as his friend seemed to be, but he couldn't go home knowing that this man might get away. "Jason, I'm just thinking of your other patients." Walking the doctor to the middle of the room, he pointed to John Doe. "Remember a couple of days ago, the widow Taylor killing?"

"What, are you saying he did it?" he shuddered. The killing had been particularly brutal of the seventy-four year-old woman and Addams wasn't at all happy to have a possible murderer in his hospital. "Are you sure?"

"Can't be too sure, but he fits the description of her nephew, Martin Larson. He was seen running from the house that night and I for one, am not taking any chances. I would've been here sooner, if one of my idiot deputies hadn't buried the file on your John Doe under piles of paperwork," he spoke loud enough for the deputy concerned to flinch.

Surveying the room, Doctor Addams looked over the full ward. He knew that the Sheriff was right, he could not risk the patients, if this man was indeed the killer. "Okay, we'll find him a spare room, then what happens?"

"Then, I’ll try and find out who this guy is. If infact he is this Larson person, I'll have a few questions for him when he comes around. If not, well, he gets a private room. I was told there was no ID on him, right?"

"Nothing as far as I know. I mean, I wasn't the admitting doctor. But, as he was brought in as a suspected mugging and marked John Doe, that's what I figure." Baxter shrugged, as he kept an eye on his patient.

"Well, let's get him moved before he comes round, though by the look of him, he ain't going far."

Kermit watched Paul as he walked through the bullpen. Nothing seemed amiss with his captain as spoke to co-workers before making his way to his office-- not until he passed Peter's now empty desk. It was barely visible to the naked eye, but the father's grief was a vibration so strong that it shook the ex-mercenary down to his soul. Absentmindedly running his fingers over the wood, Paul suddenly disappeared into his office closing the door behind him.

Not waiting to be invited, Kermit followed his friend.

"I don't remember asking to see you.," Paul said, as continued to hang up his coat.

"You didn't."

Sighing, Paul sat down and started to open the files that cluttered his desk. "I haven't got time for this today."

Taking his glasses off, Kermit took a seat, pausing as he watched Paul looking at the papers laid out in front of him, but knowing he wasn't seeing a word. "Talk to me friend."

"Nothing to say, Kermit. Leave it alone.," Paul said quietly.

"I miss him too, you know."

Paul slowly looked up and probably for the first time, saw how his son's death had effected his friend. "I'm sorry, Kermit. I just don't know what to do. Everywhere I go I keep expecting to see him. You know, from the moment I first saw him and talked to him-- I have never seen a child who's eyes revealed so much soul while reaching out and taking hold of mine like his did." Tears formed and fell down his cheek, "I miss those eyes, Kermit. I miss my son."

Part three - AN UNKNOWN TREASURE

At last she was alone. Everybody's concern had been too loud, overpowering the ghosts that Annie had been needing to hear. Now, isolated with her memories, she paced herself to her Peter's room. His scent was long gone, his room having been empty except for the occasional overnight stay, but it was still HIS room. Alone with her recollections, she sat down on the bed and waited.

A shadow moved passed by her. "Sorry, Mom. I'm cleaning up my room now." Then another called proudly as he ran through the doorway. "We won! I can't believe it, after all this time, we won." Still another promised, as he begged to go outside. "I'll do my homework later, I promise. Can I go at play with Tommy, please Mom?"

A tear slipped from under her glasses, as she reached out her hands, airbrushing the contours and features of her son. She felt the silky tresses, tenderly stroking a wisp of hair from his forehead. Gliding over his closed eyes, Annie felt the long eyelashes that fringed them. Smiling, her fingers felt the imperfection of the once broken nose; how she loved that nose, it was so Peter. Letting her fingers slide down to his lips, she felt the smile the smile up his face and for a moment it warmed her heart. "I love you, Mom." the lips mouthed, before dissolving under her touch. Shivering, she suddenly felt very cold and empty as she laid down on the bed and cried.

A sound shattered his darkness, sending him jerking into the light of awareness. "What the...," he groaned as he sat up, grabbing for the pain that surged through his head. Waiting for the ache to subside, he had his first look at his surroundings. All he saw where questions; nothing made any sense. Pushing back the covers, he found a gap, where one of the rails of the bed had been left down. Slipping through it, he slid from the bed, he legs buckling as they touched the floor, forcing him to grab the rails for support.

"What are you doing out of bed?"

Startled, he turned too quickly, causing the room to spin in a vortex around him.

Something grabbed at him, maneuvering him back on to the bed. He tried to ask just one of the many questions that were forming in his mind. The voice faded as darkness over took him again.

The pot shattered, its shell scattering into a hundred ceramic jigsaw pieces across the floor as it landed. Caine stood stunned, staring at the mess, but not seeing the remnants of the container. It had been faint, a whisper of breeze that had brushed his heart, but he had felt it.

"Peter?"

Caine closed his eyes, concentrating his chi, as he searched desperately for the sensation that had, for just a brief heartbeat in time, soothed his aching heart. A tear fell, as his hopeful quest was met only by an empty void. With his hopes dashed, Caine sadly stooped to pick up the broken pieces of terra cotta, wondering if his son's touch had been real, or a just father's grief.

Part Four - AN ABSENT TREASURE

Kermit turned the glass in his hands, the once cold beer now tepid and flat. Sitting in the corner of the bar, he wrestled his demons the same way he always did; alone. He was tired of his life ending this way. He had chosen a career that didn't make for a succession of life long friendships, only life long enemies. To lose a friend, one of the so few he had, had at last worn through the steel plate he wore to guard his heart. Not many had managed to maneuver their way under the layers of shields that he had barricaded himself behind, but Peter Caine had.

To lose your only brother, was a pain no person should have to endure. The loss of someone that had been at your side since childhood, that had shared everything that you had, even your deepest secrets, was too much. But this-- this was another gut punch to the private joke that was Kermit Griffin. To choose a friend, to allow yourself to care as you would've your own brother and then to lose him as well--he was letting them all get too close.

Slamming the glass down, Kermit splashed some of its contents as he threw money down on the table and left.

"What happened?" The doctor asked, as he entered John Doe's room.

The nurse finished pulling the blanket over the patient, before pulling at the rail, to make sure that they were all locked into position. "He's unconscious now, but he must have he woke up and got out of bed. I came in just as he started to collapse," she explained as she stepped out of the way so the doctor could check him.

"Well, that's good. That means he should be coming around for good soon. We should be able to get some answers today."

"Good, then maybe I can get some answers as well," Sheriff Baxter called from the doorway. "Is what my deputy told me true? Did he try to escape?" he asked as he walked to the other side of the patient's bed.

"I wouldn't call it escape, Sheriff, " the nurse attempted to clarify her statement. "The poor man just got out of bed. I don't think he even knew where he was."

"But, he did get out of bed."

"Yes, but,"

"I want him restrained," Baxter ordered, ignored the nurse's explanation.

"Restrained?" Addams was shocked at his friend's suggestion.

Leaning over the bed, Baxter glared at the doctor. "Restrain him 'Doctor Addams', or I will handcuff him to the rails myself. I saw what this animal did to Mrs. Taylor. She was a good friend and I will not lose this man, if I can prevent it.

"Tom, you don't even know if this is the right man. He hasn't even been coherent enough to tell us who he is. What ever happened to innocent until proven guilty?" the doctor defended his patient.

"Oh he's innocent--for now," the sheriff looked at the patient, unable to hide his disgust. "But he better be able prove that he's not Larson. Now, what's it going to be?" His hand moved toward his handcuffs.

Realizing his patient was now a prisoner and there was nothing he could do about it, Addams gave in. "All right, but not the handcuffs. After all he is still my patient and I won't have him hurt anymore than he already is. But if you insist, I will order the restraints."

"I do insist and don't worry Jason, if he turns out to be Larson, he won't be YOUR problem much longer."

Part Five - A SECRET TREASURE

Having used Peter's spare key, Jody let herself in to the darkness of his empty apartment. Walking around the living room, she fought back the tears as memories came flooding back. One day, she had pledged long ago; one day Peter would see what was in front of him. He would see with such clarity that he would return her love with the same intensity that she had so willingly given to him. But now there would be no somedays, the promises would remain unfulfilled.

She had no claim but friendship on Peter's spirit. She was another Mary Margaret, a Blake, she was Kermit; she was just a friend to Peter. No matter how hard she had tried, Jody had been a friend and partner; nothing more. Collapsing onto to the couch, she pulled her legs up and hugging her knees to her chest, allowed a fresh batch of what seemed never endless tears slip down her cheek.

The sheriff watched with interest as his deputy finished taking John Doe's fingerprints. The patient still hadn't regained consciousness, but it didn't matter, the officers didn't need the suspects permission for this particular procedure.

The young deputy was surprised that the Sheriff had stayed while the younger man fingerprinted their suspect. It seemed strange that he appeared so intent to be in on everything in this case, even the most mundane parts. Sheriff Baxter had mentioned that Mrs. Taylor had a been an old friend of his, so his interest was understandable, the young man guessed as he finished and started to pack the equipment away.

"Tim." The Sheriff stepped closer. "Give that here to me, I'll finish up for you. I think there might be an anxious new wife waiting for you at home."

The deputy was more than surprised by his boss's offer. "But I thought you wanted this as soon as possible?"

"What, you don't think I know how to use the computer, Tim?" the sheriff smiled. "I'm not that outdated yet. Off to home with you. Don't forget to say hello to Jenny for me and tell her I will accept that dinner invitation soon. " Having been married for only a month, the thought of going home early was not an unpleasant thought. "If you're sure. I don't mind finishing up."

"Go, before I change my mind," the Sheriff jokingly frowned.

"I'm going, I'm going," the young smiled back as moved quickly from the room.

The Sheriff waited until he was alone before opening the file that held the strangers fingerprints. "You know," Baxter spoke to the unconscious man, "I don't know who you are, but you came along at just the right time." Taking the paper imprinted with the unknown man's fingerprints out of the folder, the sheriff slowly tore the evidence to his suspects identity in half.

Part Six - A PERPLEXING TREASURE

Nurse Mary Reynolds whispered a mild curse as she tried to find a pulse under the leather straps that now bound her patient's wrists to the bed. "Stupid damn things. As if he is going anywhere." she muttered a too loudly. Watching for the deputy, who stood guard at the doorway, she loosened the straps a little, until she her fingers were able to find a beat. Beginning to time the vibration under her touch with her watch, a moan called her attention to a change in her patient's condition.

Reluctantly tightening the buckles on John Doe's wrist straps, Mary, watched as his eyes began to flutter and twitch.

"Mr.--" Realizing she had no idea what to call the stranger, Mary resorted to calling him by the name on his chart. "John?" She quietly called as she put a calming hand to his shoulder.

<John?> Something throbbed as awareness came back to him and he wanted nothing more than to go back to the painless void of darkness, but the voice wouldn't leave him alone.

"John?"

There it was again, why wouldn't it leave him alone? Reaching for the pain, that was the cause of his aggravation, he found himself unable to move. "What the .." His confusion and panic caused him to struggle more against the bindings that seemed determined to keep him in their grasp.

"Please, John, stop fighting. You are safe." Mary whispered, as tried to soothe his frantic tossing. "It's all right."

John listened to the voice, easing up on his resistance to the constrictions, as he managed to mouth through dry lips. "Wat-- drink,"

"Okay, hold on," Mary said as she reached for a cup of water from the bedside table. "Just a sip, you mind. No more." she warned as she held the straw to his lips. She watched his hazel eyes thank her, as he gratefully accepted the water. <This is a murderer?> she thought to herself with disbelief, then realizing that is probably what the girls that met Ted Bundy had thought, as she returned to nurse mode.

The liquid felt good as it slid down his arid throat and brought him closer to the focus of full awareness. "Thank you." he whispered. "Where am I?" he wondered outloud.

Returning the cup to the table, Mary knew her orders were to tell the deputy as soon as the patient woke up, but he was still so bewildered and she just could help herself--she felt sorry for him.

"You're in the hospital. How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Hospital?" John's eyes darted around the room, coming to rest on the leather restraints the covered his wrists. "I hurt," Flexing his arms, he yanked at the straps, "Why?" he gestured to his arms.

Mary ignored his question and tried to change the subject. "I have been calling you John, but can you tell me you name?"

John's frowned deepened, at her diversion and at her question. "My--name?" An easy question. It was there, right on the tip of his tongue, "My name," <damn if this pain would stop distracting me> His hands subconsciously tried to reach for his head again. "Damn it!" he snapped loudly in frustration.

"Mary? Are you all right?" The deputy came running in, nearly tripping over himself in his rush. "What's he tryin'?" he glowered at the patient, as his hands hovered over his holstered weapon.

Exasperated Mary shook her head at the over exaggeration, of the eager young deputy, who somewhat reminded her of Barney from Mayberry. "I'm fine Daryl." she sighed. " John has just woken up and he is a bit confused and upset that's all."

"Aw, Mary, you know you were supposed to tell me when he woke up. The Sheriff wants to talk to him real bad, you know that." his voice gratingly whined.

"Yes I know that deputy, but my responsibility is to the patient not Sheriff Baxter. But I can see you are just itchin' to go and give him the good news, so you'd better go and call him." Mary didn't know why she seemed to want to protect the stranger and couldn't help wondering if she would regret it later on.

"Cain't." Daryl drawled. "Not allowed to leave the suspect." he explained.

"He's not going anywhere deputy," Mary pointed to the restraints. "I am buzzing for the doctor now anyway, so you do your duty and I'll do mine."

Taking another look at the patient, the deputy weighed the odds before giving in. "Okay, but you watch him."

Watching the deputy leave, John drew Mary's attention to the leather as he balled his fists and pulled at his wrists again. "This? What did I do to deserve this?" he asked, his eyes haunted by an inner pain.

Part Seven - AN EMERGING TREASURE

Arched limbs glided through the air as they attempted to dance in time with the heartbeat of life. A flowing side kick into space was followed by his other leg folding, sending Caine to his knees.

"You search for peace, Kwai Chang Caine, yet I see no peace of mind here. What is there, other than your loss, that disturbs you so, my friend?" Lo Si asked. The loss of Peter was still a raw wound for both men. The older man himself had battled to come to terms with the reality of a past that now came back to haunt them. But this time, there would be no lie that would bring Caine's son back to them.

Pushing himself up from the floor, Caine bowed to the Ancient as he struggled to explain what he himself did not yet understand. "I know what I have been told. I myself, felt my son gone." He closed his eyes and tapped his chest. "here!" Opening his eyes, he looked into the Ancient's eyes with hope. "I cannot explain this, Master, but I sense a trace of--Peter."

"And you wish to know if this feeling is existence or desire?" Lo Si asked as he entwined his fingers in front of him.

Sighing, Caine moved, shaking his head as he pondered his own feelings. "For a brief moment, I felt confusion, pain--then it was gone. Nothing has Peter's name, yet the sensation is so familiar."

"You believe Peter may be alive?"

"I have no proof, not even my heart can be sure," Caine answered sadly.

Lo Si smiled as he shrugged. "You did not give up on finding the essence of your son before, Kwai Chang Caine and you were rewarded with Peter's life. I will pray that this new search takes you to that same path."

Bowing respectfully to his friend, Caine prayed the same thing as he went to change before leaving to see the only people he felt could help him; Peter's family.

Mary didn't know how to answer John Doe's questions. How do you explain to a man that doesn't appear to know who he is, that he may be a murderer?

"Please," he asked again. "Why the shackles? And why do I have to see a sheriff?"

Mary decided to take the easy way out, as she straightened his blankets. "I have called for the doctor, he'll explain it all to you. How's your head feeling?"

"Like someone used a two by four on it." He grimaced.

"Well that's what a bullet hitting your head will do to you."

Mary turned, relieved to see Doctor Addams enter the room and not the Sheriff.

"Where's the deputy? I thought this room was guarded? " the doctor asked Mary as he walked over to his patient and started checking John Doe's eyes.

"Daryl felt there was a need to inform the Sheriff of our patients return to consciousness as soon as possible," she answered a little more sarcastically than she had meant to.

The Doctor was surprised. "At this time of the morning? Oh well, I suppose we all have a job to do." Turning his attention back to his patient, he smiled. "Well, you seem to be doing very well. How are you feeling Mr.?"

"Confused. You mentioned something about a bullet?" John frowned.

Ignoring the fact that John Doe never revealed his name, the doctor went on to explain what was known of his patient's predicament "Yes, you were brought in as a suspected mugging. You were shot, the bullet just grazing your left temple, but it doesn't seem to have caused any lasting damage. You said you were confused and you didn't tell me your name. Do you know who you are?"

"No I don't and his nice young lady here," John nodded toward the nurse. "said you would explain why I have these," he pulled at the straps. "And why I will be needing to see the Sheriff?"

Sheriff Baxter slammed the phone down, contemplating John Doe's return to the land of the living. "Damn you, Larson!" he snarled as he hurled the phone across the room. "Your lucky your already dead, you son of a bitch!"

Part Eight - AN ENDANGERED TREASURE

It had been so easy to cosy up to the old widow, not a pleasant task, but one that was salved by the checks that she would fold into the palm of his hands. "Take it," she would say, "It will help you pay the bills for your poor niece's operation." But his 'bills' and the interest they incurred, were piling up and his loan shark was not willing to wait much longer for the money he was owed on the gambling debts.

Having no kin, it was easy for the 'responsible' Sheriff to explain that, "Being a widow, Eunice, you are in some need for someone who could take care of things. I mean, should anything; God forbid happen to you." Soon Eunice, was making him executor of her will and then it was only a short step for her take the 'ever lovin' Sheriff under her wing and leave him, her whole kit and caboodle; which added up to quite a tidy sum.

It had been all so easy and now; everything hinged on one man and a memory that had to stay lost.

Paul had been staring at the same page for over half an hour and he still hadn't read a word. <Perhaps Annie had been right and I should have taken some time off. Who you kidding Blaisdell, she's always right.> Taking off his glasses, he tossed them on the desk as he leant back in the chair and closed his eyes. <No, I can't just stand around; doing nothing, I have to be busy. Fill my mind with everything and anything, just so I don't have to think about him--being gone> Rubbing his hands over his face to refresh himself, he decided to make another attempt < Maybe this time I can bury myself deep enough> Opening his eyes, the startled man, jumped in his seat as he found Caine standing silently in front of him.

"Damn it, Caine!" the surprised man yelped. "What are you trying to do to me?" Taking a couple of deep breaths to slow his heart rate, Paul managed a half-hearted smile for his son's father. "Sorry," he apologized." you gave me a start. How are you, Caine?"

Caine bowed apologetically. "It is I that should apologize to you. You were in such pain, I did not wish to interrupt, but the need to speak to you weighed heavy on me."

Waving Caine to a seat, Paul closed the file on desk. "It wasn't as if I was actually getting anything done here. So, what can I do for you?" he asked.

The priest struggled to find the words to explain the faint promise of their son, that had touched him. "I am here about our son."

Paul visibly winced at the mention of Peter. "If it has something to do with the package--he left for you." the upset father explained, as rose from the chair and looked out of his office window at Peter's still empty desk. "I don't know anything about it, other than he would have wanted you to have it."

"I am grateful, but no, that is not why I am here, though it is about Peter that I have come."

If it was about Peter, Caine, now had the distracted father's full attention. Turning to look directly into the priest's eyes, Paul nodded. "Okay, you said the magic word. What can I do for you, Caine?" his face softened.

"I do not wish to upset you," Caine exhaled deeply. "or bring you hope that has no joy at its end, but I believe I felt the awareness of our son."

Paul waited as his brain sifted through the riddle of words, until it strained out the relevant information. Air escaped his mouth, as he tried to recover from this new heart punch and he move quickly to his chair before his legs gave out. "What are you saying? That --"

"That our son maybe alive--yes." Caine answered Blaisdell's unfinished sentence.

Part Nine - A SEARCHED FOR TREASURE

Though Paul was stunned at Caine's news, he didn't argue with it. If Caine said he felt a breath of life in their son, then Peter was out there somewhere and they were going to find him.

"Is he all right?" Paul asked, raising himself from his chair.

Shrugging, Caine tried to find the words to describe the feelings Peter had left with him. "It was--a caress-- a touch. There was confusion, then pain."

"He's hurt?" Paul frowned.

With a deep sigh, Caine nodded slightly. "I do believe so, yes."

Wasting no time, Paul moved quickly to the door. The venetian blinds clattered, as he forcefully pulled at the door, calling next door to Griffin's hole in the wall.

Paul had taken a couple of steps toward Caine, when Kermit called from the office doorway. "What do you need?" the spectacled detective asked.

"We need to find Peter, Kermit." Paul answered.

If he thought the information was going to cause argument, Paul was wrong. Without skipping a beat, his friend smiled. "Oh yeah. I'm on it." Without further discussion, Kermit disappeared back from where he had come.

"Peter is lucky to have so many who care for him." Caine's thoughts were voiced with genuine sincerity for his son's friends and second family.

Paul shook his head. "No, his real luck is you Caine. This link with Peter," he sighed, "I can't say I understand it. I don't think I ever will and if I am going to be really honest here, I suppose I'm a bit jealous. But if it wasn't for you," he shivered at the thought. "God Caine, if you hadn't," Unable to finish, Paul's eyes jumped around the room as he nervously waited. "I can't stand this. Let's go and see what Kermit is up to."

The plan had been so damn simple. Kill the old bag, frame someone else as her killer and reap the benefits as her sole beneficiary. Earl Holmes had been the perfect choice to play the long lost nephew Martin Larson. Martin owed the former prison guard; now Sheriff, a favor and the offer of such a good pay off was too much for the ex-con to pass up.

What had tipped Holmes off to the real plans to kill 'Larson' at the murder site, Baxter didn't know. Probably that criminal sixth sense. What he did know was Holmes had done the job and suddenly realizing the danger he was in, he had disappeared.

Quickly putting out a report on the murder, Baxter had been surprised to find that not only did someone fitting 'Larson's' description take a seat on a plane that had left the airport, but now he had a John Doe who could pass as 'Larson's' next of kin.

Baxter had been left with an unsolved murder and no pay off until he caught a killer; well, his 'killer' had just woken up.

Making his way down the hospital corridor, Baxter mulled over the ifs and buts of what might or might not happen. He expected his deputies to be looking for the answer to the 'faxed' fingerprint query, but he had plans for that eventuality. His main concern was the patient, if he was to shout loud and long enough about who he really was, someone just might stop to listen. No, he had to find a way to silence his John Doe, before the questions became too hard to answer.

Part Ten - A DISCONCERTED TREASURE

Nodding to the deputy standing guard, Sheriff Baxter was just about to push at John Doe's door when it gave way and was opened from the inside. Exiting the room, Dr Addams gently urged the Sheriff backward. "I would like to talk to you before you go in there, Tom."

"What?" Baxter frowned in impatience. "He's awake isn't he, not at death's door?" he asked impatiently.

"I know you were close to Mrs. Taylor, and I have told you, how real sorry for your loss, but the man in there is still my patient. He is still recovering a bullet wound,"

"Graze." Baxter huffed.

"John has a serious injury." The doctor defended.

The doctor's words suddenly received all of the Sheriff's attention. "John? I thought you said he was awake? Surely he told you his name by now?"

"That is why I wanted to see you before you went in. John's injury appears to have left him with a case of amnesia." The doctor explained.

<Oh this is just too perfect> Baxter turned away as he tried to control the smile that was threatening to spread across his face. Once he had himself under control, he turned back to Addams. "Seems rather convenient if you ask me. I thought you ran tests, no major damage, isn't what you told me?"

"And I was right, but we cannot always explain the impact of shock on a patient. I want you to be careful when you interview him, after all he is still not under arrest." the doctor reminded him.

"So you keep telling me. You know Jason, you're his doctor, not his lawyer." he said gruffly, before putting his hand up to placate his friend. "Don't worry, I don't intend to lay a finger on the poor lamb. I just want to ask him a few questions. If that's all right with you, that is?"

With an exasperated nod, Addams walked on to his next patient, knowing that soon John Doe's welfare would be out of his hands.

Entering the room, Baxter was pleased to see that the restraints still held his 'suspect' firmly in place. Walking slowly toward the bed, he noted the hazel eyes that followed his every move.

"Who are you?" John Doe asked as his curiosity got the better of him.

"Well Son," Baxter smiled as he grabbed a chair and took a seat beside the bed. "I happen to be the Sheriff."

"The Sheriff?" John frowned. "So this is your idea." He fisted his hands and pulled at the leather cuffs.

Baxter just nodded.

"Why?" the confused man asked.

"No one has told you, the good doctor perhaps?"

"Told me what?" he snapped as his patience gave way. "What am I supposed to have done to deserve this?"

Baxter held up his hand up to silence the now agitated patient. "I'll ask the questions first, son, if you don't mind. What's your name?" he asked.

"I don't know." John answered through clenched teeth.

"Where're you from?"

"I don't know."

"Where were you, Tuesday, June the fifth, about 1 am?"

"I don't know."

Leaning onto the back of the chair, the Sheriff smiled maliciously at his scapegoat. "You don't know much do you son?"

"Much less than you, it would seem." The hazel eyes glared at the Sheriff. "What am I supposed to have done on Tuesday, June the fifth at 1am?"

Baxter shrugged as he pushed himself up from the chair. "Not much son, just committed a murder that's all-- just a murder."

Part Eleven - A WANTED TREASURE

"M-murder?!" The word stumbled and fell from John Doe's lips. "I-I don't..." his heart was pounding so loud he thought his ears would burst. "I don't remember." he frowned.

The sheriff stood at the end of the bed, seemingly apathetic to the patient's dilemma. "You did make that quite clear, but it don't make no never mind whether you do or not. You're it as far as I'm concerned and as soon as I can, I'm having you transferred to my neck of the woods."

Becoming impatient at being helpless not only in this situation, but in the bonds that held him to the bed, John glared at the indifferent lawman. "Don't I get a lawyer?"

"Sat the bar have ya?" Baxter smirked. "You're not under arrest son --not yet anyway. I just need to ask you some more questions and in a more conducive atmosphere than this here hospital room. " "I'm not your son." John scowled as he wrenched at the straps again.

The sheriff's eyes narrowed. "Then whose son are you?" he asked contemptuously. "Tell me. I'll call them and they can come and vouch for their wayward bastard."

Meet with only enraged silence, Baxter moved closer to his suspect, so that their faces were now only inches apart. "What, no answer?" he gloated. "No one gives a shit about you and after your long dead, no one will even miss you. You are so alone boy, you haven't even got a shadow."

<You are never alone Pet--> "You listening to me son?"

The sheriff's voice abruptly shattered the faint tendril of memory and John silently cursed the man as he struggled to get his life back. "I told you I'm not your son and yes I'm listening," he answered sharply.

"Good." The sheriff nodded as he walked back to the end of the bed. "You just keep listening to good ol' Sheriff Baxter here and you won't have a worry in the world."

"Who's the pilot?" Paul asked as they climbed from the car to board the plane that Kermit had chartered.

"Just an old friend, someone who owes me a couple of favors. I'm just collecting on one." Kermit answered vaguely as he walked away from the two fathers to join the flier. After a whispered discussion, a nod and a shaking of hands, Griffin motioned for the two men to board the plane.

Paul was about to follow Caine into the belly of the plane when he stopped and looked at Kermit. "We're going to find him, right?"

Kermit shrugged, "With a Shaolin Master and two fully armed ex-mercenaries on the kid's side, what do you think?" He smiled as patted Paul's back nudging him into the plane.

Doctor Addams had not been unable to shake the unease he had concerning Tom and his amnesiac patient. He didn't know why that was. The sheriff was a friend, not a close one, but a friend all the same. He knew he didn't want to see Tom make a mistake by reacting personally with the suspect.

John Doe, now there was an enigma. Jason couldn't help feel sorry for the young man. To wake not knowing who you are would be a shock to anyone's system, but then to be told you may be a murderer, well that was something he couldn't comprehend.

Making his way down the corridor, Doctor Addams saw the Sheriff leave the room, taking a moment to stop and speak to his deputy before moving to leave.

"Sheriff!" the doctor called.

Baxter turned, acknowledging Jason with a nod, as he started down the hallway toward the doctor. "I was just on my way to find you."

"Good, I wanted to talk to you about John Doe."

"What a coincidence, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. He seems to be our favorite topic of conversation lately. I'll go first then shall I? I want him out of here."

"Pardon?" Jason's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You what?" "You heard me. You yourself told me there is nothing medically wrong with him."

"I'd say that amnesia falls under the medical category, wouldn't you?" Jason argued.

"All right so he can't remember who is, that's his only problem, right? Medically he is well enough to leave--right?" the sheriff pushed. "Medically, no I can't keep you from taking him for questioning. Technically he is well enough to leave, I just don't want you in your zeal to solve this case Tom, to push him too hard."

The Sheriff shook his head. "I don't understand you Jason. I told you this man could well be a cold-blooded murderer and you constantly protect him. Why?"

A look of compassion came over the doctor. "Baxter, that man in there, doesn't know who he is. If he is a murderer he doesn't know it and for that matter, neither do you. Until you have proof that this man is who you think he is, he is just another man and my patient. You know, innocent until proven guilty."

"Of course," the sheriff snorted. "Innocent until proven guilty. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Part Twelve - A FOUND TREASURE

The airport disappeared into the distance as they headed for the town where Peter was last seen alive. The taxi driver seemed more than a bit unnerved by his passengers as he kept looking through the rear view mirror at the two men in the back. But in reality it was the one that was sitting beside him in the front seat that unnerved him the most. The bespectacled man seemed to be staring straight ahead, but the driver swore the silent passenger was watching him all the same.

The oppressive silence was too much for the driver and he nervously made his usual taxi cab small talk. "Business or pleasure?" he inquired of his passenger's visit to his town.

"How about none of your business." Kermit scowled.

"Kermit!" Paul reproached his friend from the back seat.

"Oh that's okay, I get all kinds in here, especially since the plane crash. I suppose you heard about that. Tragic, real tragic. No survivors you know, but I always say, there are two sides to a tragedy. The taxi traffic, with inspectors, relatives, sightseers and all, well I haven't this much overtime in years."

"Well, isn't it nice to know that eighty people didn't die for nothing." Kermit spat.

"I-I'm sorry Mister, I didn't think. " He squirmed in his seat. Looking into the mirror again, he tried to ignore the man beside him. "Did you have a loved one on board the plane, sir?"

Paul's shoulder sagged as he closed his eyes for a moment. "No thank God." he sighed as he opened his eyes and looked at Caine.

"And lucky for you we didn't, or you'd be steering this cab with your teeth." Kermit menaced.

"Kermit," Paul's hand touched his friends shoulder. "you are making the poor man nervous. I would like us to get to the police station in one piece, if you don't mind." He hadn't liked what the driver had said anymore than Kermit had, but the small minded attitude of a taxi driver was the last thing he cared about. Watching as a slight nod of Kermit's head demonstrated his understanding, Paul leaned back and focused on Peter's silent father. "Anything?" he asked.

The frown that had been a constant mark on Caine's face, deepened, as he shrugged. "He is like smoke. I feel all around me; I can almost see him, but as I try to touch him and bring him back, he slips through my fingers."

"But he is all right?" Paul urged, needing to know more.

Sighing, Caine wanted to say yes, he needed the same reassurances that Paul was seeking from him, but he could not; he had to tell the truth. "I am only certain that our son lives."

"Hey Paul, you wanna bring that wheelchair down to----"

The voice in hallway faded as its owner moved further on down the hall. John closed his eyes and listened to the reverberation of the name in his head.

<Paul, come on please, you've gotta let me>

"Paul?" The name left John's mouth as a whisper, as he tried to fathom the link he felt to the unknown name. "Paul?"

"Pardon?" the nurse asked as she came in to follow the doctors orders and get the patient ready to leave. "Were you talking to me?"

"Paul," John stated a little more forcefully. "Do I look like a Paul to you?" he asked.

The nurse had just come on duty. She had been warned that the patient was an apparent amnesiac and worse still, the talk was all over the hospital, that he might even be a murderer. <Damn, Mary was right though, he is cute> Putting her mind back to her work, she prepared John's clothes. "I don't know. I don't think you look like a Paul, but then again, I don't think I look like an Esmerelda either." she smiled.

"Esmerelda?" John repeated.

"Mothers!" She shook her head. Her eyes came to rest on the restraints and she wondered what to do. "I need to get you ready, but--" Looking out to the doorway she called to the policeman that stood guard. "Deputy."

The deputy's hand went straight to his weapon as he moved quickly into the room.

The action was familiar to John, it stirred something that was just out of his reach.

"Is anything wrong Ma'am?" the deputy asked as he eyed the patient warily.

"No everything is fine, but I do need to get this patient ready to leave and I can't do that while he is strapped up like this. Do you have any suggestions that would be helpful deputy?" She asked.

"Well, Ma'am if you will unbuckle him and then step over to me, I can keep him well covered from here. I am sure this fella is well enough to dress himself."

"I maybe well enough deputy, but I don't feel like putting on a floor show for you. Some privacy would be nice, especially as I'm not under arrest."

The deputy thought on it before agreeing. "All right." Turning to the nurse, he gestured to the door. "I'll be just outside..be careful."

The taxi pulled up outside the police station and the three men stepped from the vehicle. Paul paid the driver, showing Peter's picture as he did so.

"Have you seen this man?" Paul asked hopefully

There was a moment of indecision before the driver shook his head. "No, can't help you. Sorry buddy." he apologized as he drove off for his next fare.

The three strangers entering the station went unnoticed as Sheriff Baxter stood by his car in the police parking lot. Checking his weapon, he re-holstered it before climbing into his car. He had a suspect to pick up

Part Thirteen - A JEOPARDIZED TREASURE

Deputy Stephenson was confused. The sheriff had told him that he faxed the information, but there was no record on file of it ever being sent or an answer being received. Giving up, Stephenson shrugged as he put it down to a glitch in the system that was the modern computer age. "Damn things," he mumbled to himself, "only work when they want to."

"Excuse me, Deputy," a voice asked for his attention from the front desk.

Sliding his chair back, Tim smiled as he stood and moved to the inquiry desk. "Officer Tim Stephenson, may I help you, gentlemen?"

Paul pulled out his badge, introducing himself to the young man. "I'm Captain Blaisdell of the metro division in Illinois. This is Detective Griffin and Mr Kwai Chang Caine," he gestured to his companions. "We are looking for Mr. Caine's son, Detective Peter Caine. He was supposedly booked on the flight that crashed just recently, but we believe he missed the flight and may be here."

Tim shook his head sadly, wishing he had some words of comfort for the grieving father. "I'm sorry Captain, Mr. Caine. The plane was full, everyone was accout--,"

Paul slid the photograph of Peter across the desk, interrupting the young officer's condolences.

"Shit!" he cursed, before apologizing. "I'm sorry, but that's our John Doe. You're saying he's a police officer?"

"John Doe?" //Surely Caine wasn't wrong and Peter was dead.// Paul's heart sank, as he tried to control his rising panic.

"It's a long story--"

Stepping up to the counter, Kermit pulled his glasses down the bridge of his nose, his eyes glaring over the rims. "Give us the highlights."

Wishing the sheriff was here to field the questions, Tim looked at his watch, silently praying the sheriff would hurry back. "Look, Sheriff Baxter has just left for the hospital to pick up the John--, Detective Caine and bring him here for questioning. If you take a seat, I'm sure he will explain it all to you when he gets back."

"Questioning?" Paul demanded. "Son, you'd better get your keys. You can explain all about it on the way to the hospital."

"And it better be damned good!" Kermit snapped, startling the young deputy.

Stephenson just about jumped to a salute stance. "Yes, Sir," he answered nervously, as he moved quickly to grab the squad keys from the wall. "If you would follow me, Gentlemen."

"Your shadow," Kermit menaced.

Charlie's last fare was a quick one. Now he was on his way to the hospital to pick up old Mrs. Dwyer. She was a regular pick from the out patient area of the hospital; a sweet old thing, but deaf as a post. Noting the police car heading toward the old mill road, the taxi driver tooted his horn and waved as the sheriff came into view and passed.

"I thought-- where are you taking me?" Peter asked from the back seat of the police cruiser. He had been picked up from the hospital and told he was to be taken in for questioning. Watching the scenery passing by, he was more than a little confused at why a police station would be this far out of town.

Baxter reached for the rear view mirror, adjusting it so he met eyes with the young man in the back seat. "I have nothing personal against you, Son." he said as he glanced back at the road. "How can I? I don't even know who you are, but you *are* a necessity to my plan."

Peter rubbed at his throbbing head with his handcuffed hands. "I don't understand."

"I'm afraid son, that is not a necessary requirement."

Having arrived at the hospital, the deputy's explanation of Peter's ordeal in the town had not gone over well with his family. Feeling uncomfortable with the situation Stephenson now found himself in and wanting to make distance between he and the bespectacled officer, Deputy Stephenson escorted into the entry way.

Caine stopped to hold the door for a stooped shoulder older woman, who tottered slowly on her cane.

"Mrs. Dwyer, wait up," Charlie called as he moved quickly down the corridor to join her. Nodding to the stranger who held the door, the taxi driver put himself directly in line of the old dears sight. "You are supposed to wait for me," he said as he enunciated each word slowly.

"Tim!" A voice called from down the hallway. "What are you doing here? I thought you would have been with the Sheriff interviewing that John Doe fella."

The deputy was totally confused now. There was only one road to the office and they hadn't pass the Sheriff's cruiser, //Where the hell was he?// "The sheriff has left already?" he asked.

"Yeah, took John Doe--"

"Detective Peter Caine!" Kermit interrupted, his voice rising.

Giving Kermit 'the who the hell is he?' look, Daryl ignored the stranger. "Who is this guy? What the hell is going on, Tim?"

As he was leading Mrs. Dwyer out the door, Charlie looked at the steadily growing commotion between the visitors and the police officers. Looking to Caine who still held the door for them, he nodded toward the group. "Did I hear them say they are looking for the Sheriff?"

Caine nodded. "And my son yes."

"Well, I don't know if your son was with him, but I saw the sheriff heading out the old mill road, if that is any help?" Charlie offered.

Caine bowed as continued to hold the door for the driver and his passenger. "I thank you. Yes, it will help us."

Charlie smiled, as he nervously bobbed his head a few times trying to mimic what the stranger had done. "Well, I was sorry about today, I was pretty thoughtless. I'm glad if I could help," he apologized as he returned to helping the lady to his cab.

The group conversation was gradually turning into all out war, when Caine's calm voice broke through. "I believe I know where the Sheriff has taken our son?"

Part Fourteen - RESCUING A TREASURE

"I'm afraid son, that is not a necessary requirement."

<Son?>

Peter watched as the paved road disappeared to be replaced with a well beaten dirt track that seemed to be leading to the middle of nowhere. "Why are you doing this?"

The sheriff's eyes glared back at his innocent prisoner. "Because I'm sick and tired of being a cop; a low paid civil servant, robbing Peter to pay Paul. Because if you don't pay with your life, I will pay with mine and I'm too into self preservation to allow that to happen, kid." <Rob Peter to pay Paul? Peter? Paul?> <I'm a cop that is what I am, that is what I do.> <Peter, my son, please be careful.>

<Paul, I'll only be gone two days>

All the voices rushed around his head like a gale force wind, forcing their memories to surface in a torrent of emotions. Despite his fear at his situation, Peter smiled, as the realization that he finally knew who he was, at last hit home. "Peter Caine." he whispered, wanting to hear the sound of his name again.

"What?" The sheriff barked from the front seat, "You say something?"

Peter pulled his slumped shoulders back and glared back into the eyes in the mirror. "I said," he slowly enunciated each word, "I am Peter Caine, *Detective Peter Caine*, and I *am* going to be missed."

Whatever surprise or shock the sheriff might have got out of the news, his eyes never betrayed his feelings. "I don't believe you, but if what you say *is* true, then you have made the job I have to do even more important."

Mulling over the shreds of conversation he had with the sheriff over the last--well, however long it was, Peter tried to piece the nightmare together. "Well, if I'm going to die, at least you can tell me why?"

Peter watched through the steel grill that separated the prisoner and lawman; the sheriff's shoulders shook; if something seemed to be amusing the older man.

"Oh, so I, the bad guy, feels he must tell the good guy, you, everything, thus when I am brought to justice, you know all the facts to put me away, right?"

Peter shrugged, as he put his arms out of sight and began to push and twist at the handcuffs. "Well, I am going to be dead right? The least you can do if you are going to bury a man without a name, is give him a reason for it. It had something to do with that murder you were trying to pin on me, right?"

"Just like one of those true crime novels," he sniffed. "the wealthy widow the benefactor and the inheritance. If you're a cop like you said, you can guess the rest."

Peter kept his face as stone as he tried to ease the cuffs down his wrists. He ignored the pain as the unforgiving steel scraped and bloodied his skin, "No will believe this." he said, as he stared straight ahead.

"As I said, don't matter anymore. I can't leave you alive, cop or not."

The deputy's head was full of questions. One was why the sheriff would be driving out to the old mill road. There was nothing out there but the old abandon wood mill and it hadn't been used in over than fifteen years.

"Peter." Caine whispered, his face absorbed in concentration.

Both Paul and Kermit reacted quickly to the name. "Caine, what is it?"

"Something wrong?" Kermit echoed Paul's thoughts.

The haggard look that Kwai Chang had carried over the last weeks, seemed to melt away, though the worry lines still remained. "I feel him."

"Is he all right?" Paul asked anxiously.

Stephenson listened to the conversation taking place behind him, shaking his head as his confusion became too much.

"He has pain, yes, but there is more-- apprehension than pain." Caine explained as he attempted to sift through Peter's emotions. His joy at being once again connected to his son was tempered with his own worry for Peter's safety. "Our son is in danger as we thought."

"Hang on a minute," The deputy called from the driver seat. "What do you mean he is in danger? He is with Sheriff Baxter." Stephenson defended.

"Yeah, who happens to be driving as far away from the town as he can get." Kermit argued.

"Well maybe he is being forced--by your Peter Caine." the deputy weakly supported his boss.

"You can't possibly believe that? Any good cop would realize there is something smelling up your sheriff and it isn't his cologne." Kermit snarled.

The deputy's shoulders slumped as he thought of the man he had always held in such high esteem; the man who had given him his job, could be a bad cop. There was nothing left to say, he just prayed the strangers were wrong

Part fifteen

The scenery gradually changed to a sparse landscape of half grown trees, mixed in stark contrast with discarded and rusted equipment. A view of wasted resources and mismanaged land. It was a mournful scene of man's harshness to nature and the parallelism did not escape Peter's attention. He didn't relish being the recipient of man's harshness to man and being left out to decay among the corroding iron and rotting wood.

The cuffs, like his skin were unmoving, unwilling to give enough for him to slip out of them, giving him pause to wonder why he never listened to his father's lessons all those years ago. //He'd be out of these things in a second//

"Wouldn't have any Tylenol would you? I don't feel so good." Peter asked, offering a small moan as proof of his illness.

The sheriff was pleased to hear the weakness in this prisoner's voice, it was a good sign that he wouldn't have much trouble dispensing with the young man. "Waste of tablet don't you think? A bullet going to put you out of your misery soon enough."

"Well you -- better hurry," Peter gasped as he coughed and dry heaved, "cause I don't -- if I can-- stop myself from--," he heaved again.

"Shit!" Baxter cursed. One thing he didn't need, was to have to explain how a violently ill prisoner overwhelmed him and got his gun. "Well," he said pulling over and bringing the car to a stop. "I suppose this is as good a place as any."

Pulling his weapon from its holster, Baxter left the car and moved to the back door. Lifting he handle, he slowly pulled at the door, making sure to keep his distance. "Okay, out!" he ordered.

Peter sat hunched over, his body seemingly wracked with powerful dry retching, "T-t-trying," he moaned.

Appearing to make an attempt to step from the car, Baxter was surprised as his prisoner apparently stumbled and fell toward him. He did not expect the ill man to regain his feet and surge toward him. The impact of Peter's head into the sheriff's stomach, pushed the air from his lungs, as it sent him crashing to the ground.

The head butt hadn't helped the pain in Peter's head, but it had felt good all the same. Unable to reach the gun with his hands still handcuffed behind his back, he aimed his foot at the hand that still held the weapon. Putting all his strength behind the kick, his boot connected with Baxter's hand, sending the gun sailing into the air.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!!" Baxter howled as he grabbed for his injured hand. "Your broke it!" he snarled as he attempted to stand.

"Lucky it wasn't you head," Peter snapped, as he tried to move to put as much distance as he could between the sheriff and the discarded weapon.

"Not so fast!" the sheriff snarled as his good hand snaked out and grabbed Peter's leg.

Caught of balance by the tug at his leg, Peter was sent crashing to the ground. With no hands to break his fall, he landed awkwardly on his left side, sending a bolt of pain through his shoulder as his body met the unresisting earth.

Ignoring the pain, Peter rolled on to his back and kicked out with his free leg to smash at Baxter's face. Blood streamed from the sheriff's nose as the bone snapped under the force of the blow. Using the brief seconds of the sheriff's agony to roll further away, Peter scrambled to his feet, in the process scuffling the gun further out of Baxter's reach.

Moving on the will of self preservation alone, Peter ran. His chest heaved and burned as he struggled to find breath, but he continued to run. If the sheriff had regained his feet and his weapon, he didn't want to know about. //Don't look behind you, just move your ass// he silently ordered himself.

With nowhere to hide, but scattered trees and open spaces, Peter ran toward the only place that offered any concealment; the abandoned saw mill.

Baxter groaned as he held on to his bleeding nose with one hand while he pushed himself up from the ground with the other, "Fuck!" he swore as he spat blood from his mouth. Scanning the ground, he quickly found what he was looking for, his gun had come to rest not far away from him. Breath laboriously through his mouth, the sheriff went to retrieve the weapon as he wiped the blood from his face with the back of his sleeve.

Searching his surroundings, the fleeing figure of this prisoner was easy to find. He watched the young man as he forced open the mill door with his feet and disappeared inside. Gently tapping the back of his hand to his nose, he glared at the open doorway as he stalked toward it. "Got you now, you bastard!" he spat.

If Peter thought the mill was going to offer any haven, he was sadly mistaken. As he pushed open the door and ran into the plant, he found himself standing in the middle of an empty shell. Light lit up the room as the sun's rays streamed in through broken windows and damaged walls and roofing. His shoulder was on fire but he knew he couldn't stop.

Spying a staircase, Peter ran toward it. Noting what looked like offices at the top, he knew it wasn't much, but it was somewhere to hide. The steps creaked and moaned under his weight. The door to the office was closed even though its windows were cracked and broken. Backing up to the door, Peter found between the lack of use and his slippery hands, the knob was hard to turn, but he eventually won that small battle. Trying not disturb too much the sawdust and dirt that layered the floor, Peter closed the door behind him as he knelt down out of sight.

After carefully checking the doorway for another high flying boot, Baxter made his way in. "I don't know how, but he got free. He went berserk, attacking and disarming me, before forcing me drive him out here. I guess, he was planning to kill me and escape." the sheriff explained his defense as he walked into the center of the room. "Not that I am pleased with the broken nose, you understand, but it does add to my account of this tragic case." he called out to his hiding suspect.

Lowering himself down as far as he could, Peter listened as the footsteps moved around below him.

When his voice was met with silence, Baxter raised it higher as he continued to search the room. "I WAS LUCKY AND RETRIEVED MY GUN, BUT HE KEPT COMING AT ME. I WOUNDED HIM, BUT HE WOULDN'T STOP. I DIDN'T WANT TO SHOOT HIM AGAIN, BUT HE JUST LIKE AN WILD ANIMAL; HE JUST WOULDN'T STOP." he smirked.

The sheriff's eyes fell on the steps. Taking a closer look at the dusty steps, his smile broadened as his sight trailed the disturbed dirt. "Well, hello Mr. Nobody." With his gun, uncomfortably gripped in his good hand he started up the staircase.

Peter could hear the wood repeating the same groaning noises it had under his own feet and knew Baxter was making his way up the stairwell toward him. About to move himself further back, he was startled by a tell tale metallic click.

"Hello there. Going somewhere?"

Looking up, Peter found himself looking down the barrel of Baxter's gun.

Pushing himself to a standing position, Peter was damned if he was going to die on his knees. "My name is Peter Caine."

The sheriff shrugged. "If that makes you feel better. I don't know if my aim will be that good, seeing as you broke my shooting hand. But I guess after a couple of tries, I should get it right eventually. Good-bye, Mr. Nobody." his finger flexed on the trigger and the sound of the guns discharge reverberated through the barren factory.

Baxter stood puzzled. His eyes staring intently at the young man in front of him as his brain tried to figure out why everything was becoming so dark.

Peter saw Baxter's body recoil at the sound and the surprise in the sheriff's eyes fade away as he fell lifeless to the ground.

"Peter!" a familiar voice broke echoed through the mill.

Epilogue

Sitting on the edge of the open ambulance, Peter hissed as the paramedic finished wrapping his bloodied wrists. The sound of slamming doors drew his attention to the coroner's van.

"A dollar for them?"

A weary smile looked up to Paul. "What happened to the penny you used to give me?"

A relieved father looked back, soaking in his son's face. "Inflation and I thought you could do with a raise." he joked before the smile faded. "Don't you ever do this again, son. The thought that I would never see you again--," he paused as the emotions rushed back, chilling him to the bone. "it's nothing I want to live through again, understand?"

"I'm sorry, dad, I didn't plan this you know." Peter defended.

"Okay finished," the paramedic interrupted. "Just keep them clean and dressed and they should be fine in couple of days."

"What about his head wound?" Paul insisted.

"I would get a doctor to check it out just to make sure, but from what I can see it looks like it is healing well. Still no blurred vision, nausea and just an above average size headache?"

Smiling Peter answered. "Yes, yes and yes. Everything up to my usual after a war standard. Can I go now?"

"Don't see why not." the paramedic said as he started to pack away his equipment.

"Thanks." Peter stood up just as the coroner's van started to drive off. Watching it make its way down the dirt track, he couldn't help thinking that if Kermit and the deputy hadn't been quicker it would be his body being carted away.

"I too, have thought the same thing, my son. I am sorry I did not get us here sooner." Caine apologized.

Peter pushed the morbid thoughts away, remembering how fortunate he had been." Pop, you were right on time--as always."

Caine pulled his son into a hug, savoring the smell and feel of having his son in his arms. "I missed you Peter. We thought we had lost you--a suffering that no one that loves you should have to endure. I never thought I would get to say these words to your face again. I love you my son."

"Me too Pop," Peter looked over to meet Paul's eyes and smiled at the love that brought his family to save him, "me too."

Gently prying himself from his father's arms, Peter took one more look around before shrugging the place off. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I have enough sightseeing for one day, can we go now?"

"I don't know, Deputy Stephenson?" Kermit asked.

The young officer stood looking at the empty Mill, lost in the replaying his boss's down fall in his mind. He still couldn't believe that he had, had a hand in bringing the sheriff down. That he was a murderer was just unthinkable, but he had seen Baxter attempt to murder a man with his own eyes.

"Deputy Stephenson?" Kermit called again.

"What? Oh, sorry, yes sure. I need you to come back to the station and sign some statements, but sure, we can go now if everyone is ready."

"Ready as I'll ever be," Peter smiled, the relief washing over him as he distanced himself from the mill. "Well, guys, I wish I could say I missed you all, but I'm afraid I can't remember." he joked.

"Not funny Peter." Paul admonished.

"Definitely flimsy kid." Kermit agreed.

"But Peter." Caine shrugged.

End