THE PURIFICATION

By Wendy : Shywalker

"We are living in the days of purification, and if we are to breathe in balance with God's work, we must purge from the house of worship the sins of the people. Those who are not willing to live in harmony with Christ, to work in this divine forum of his justice -- those who do not cleanse the heavenly soul temple of every profanation -- will join Satan as the enemy of my God and of every righteous man."

-- the Preacher

Part one

The sky had burned with fire, its glow scarring the black night red. Now, with their nourishment long consumed, the flames starved and died on the charred corpse. The air that had carried the screams of a dying voice was still and mute. The silent woods would carry forever the ghost of that once- breathing life.

Not so silent was the man who stood with his head uplifted in rapture to the night sky. " 'Hallelujah!... for true and righteous are his judgments.' "

A chorused "amen" was whispered by the bowed disciples, a semicircle of six men who waited, kneeling in front of their hand of God, for the next word of God.

The glazed eyes, lost in the joys of purification, withdrew reluctantly from the heavens to look down at his adulating followers. "Praise be to God."

"Praise be to God!" they responded in unison.

Holding the Bible in front of him, the black-suited man glanced at the smoldering ashes and smiled. "God is pleased. We have purified the temple of the Lord. There is one less sinner to stain his Heaven on Earth."

"But he is not the last, Father," one of the men called out.

"I know, John. He is not. They are many who need the purifying flames of our Lord's breath to free them from their transgressions, so that they may find in death the Heaven that their sins in life have denied them."

"And you are the Lord's hand, Father," a young man of about twenty years of age proudly stated.

Stepping over to the young man, the preacher lovingly touched the top of his son's mane of red hair. "I am but an instrument of the Lord, Daniel, and as such, I only do His will. All praise and love is therefore due to God."

"Then glory be to God, Father, and to His will."

The preacher stooped to kiss the top of his son's head. "And to you, my son." He scanned across the other men, who still kneeled, heads bowed in respect. "And to my apostles of fire." He gestured for them to stand.

Turning to his son, the preacher held out the Bible in front of himself. Crowding around the Holy Book, the men one by one placed their right hands on it and again bowed their heads.

"We now pray for the soul of the dead, who claimed his redemption in the baptism of fire . We pray for sinners we shall encounter on our new travels, and we now pray for the strength to continue our struggle for the righteous. In the name of our Lord, amen."

"Can you believe this guy!"

The full attention of the bullpen was now focused on the television, which was replaying the day's press conference. The voice was unmistakable as that of the visiting evangelist known as 'Father Josiah'.

" 'What then? Shall we sin, because we are not under the law, but under grace? God forbid. Know ye not, that to whom ye yield yourselves servants to obey, his servants ye are to whom ye obey; whether of sin unto death, or of obedience unto righteousness?' "

"But Father Josiah," a reporter interrupted. "It is easy to quote scripture, is it not?"

"Oh, that was a mistake." A voice chuckled in the bullpen.

Father Josiah glared at the critic for a moment. "Easy to quote it, young man -- not so easy to live by it, as I'm sure you have found out."

"What about the deaths that seem to be following you around the country, Father Josiah? And the man that calls himself the 'Preacher'. He too preaches the scriptures, with notes left at the murder scene. What about him?" a voice all in the bullpen recognized as Sandra Mason called out.

The crusader seemed to ponder the question before answering. "These deaths, though horrible...given that they are perpetrated in God's name...are a retribution borne by the sinner. Had these people lead a godly and blameless life, they would be alive today."

"So you agree with what this 'Preacher' is doing?" another reporter asked.

"That is not what I said," Father Josiah explained, his voice soft and patient. "Follow the path of righteousness and God will protect you. Take the wrong path and Satan will lead you to your damnation."

"What about the threats that have been made against your life?" Sandra spoke up again.

The Father smiled. "Well, young lady, a follower of the Lord does not fear death. As long as I am faithful to my God's words, he will protect me -- and, from what I am told, so will your local police department."

The rest of the interview faded into the background as dozens of voices now swamped the bullpen. Astounded and stunned, the voices all carried the same question: who would be the unlucky bastard to draw this assignment?

Captain Simms had been listening to the broadcast from her doorway and was not surprised by the reactions to the evangelist's last statement. She didn't have to wait long to find all eyes looking at her, waiting for her answer.

"Detectives Skalany, Griffin, and Caine, my office, if you please."

"Shit!" Peter muttered under his breath as he moved toward the captain's office.

Kermit put down his coffee and followed. "Shit? Is that all you could come up with?" he snarled. "I had another word in mind."

"Sorry, Kermit," Mary Margaret joined in. "It's taken."

The three detectives shuffled unwillingly into the office.

Part Two

As Kermit closed the door behind himself, he could tell it was going to be a race to see who would get their question out first. The winner was no surprise. "This is just a coincidence, right, Captain? Please don't tell us that Father Josiah is our case," Peter pleaded.

The Captain took her seat and opened a file on her desk. "Detectives, contrary to some opinions, I still run this precinct, and that means you will take the assignments I give you. The mayor has asked for my best team, not only to protect the visiting...evangelist --" Karen didn't blame her detectives. The thought of having her officers protect someone who used God to advocate hatred turned her stomach, but it was her job as well as theirs. "-- But see if you can get a handle on this so-called 'Preacher', the self-proclaimed judge and jury."

"But..."

"No buts. No ifs. No why. Just do your job, Detectives. Skalany, Caine, your primary job will be the welfare of Father Josiah while he is in our city. I have been told he already comes well equipped with bodyguards of his own. I am sure you will let them know who carries the badges."

"With pleasure, Captain." Mary Margaret smiled knowingly at Peter.

"And me?" Kermit asked.

Karen smiled. Closing the file, she handed it over to the waiting officer. "You, Detective Griffin, are going to do one of things you do so well. I want everything there is to know about Father Josiah and about these killings. Okay, any questions?"

Peter opened his mouth, but it was covered immediately by Skalany's hand. "No, Captain, other than the address of our newfound friend." Taking the address from Simms, Skalany pushed her annoyed partner out the door.

Kermit watched them leave. He opened the folder and asked while scanning the contents, "What aren't you saying?"

Karen smiled. It always surprised her how much this man saw, hidden as he was behind the glasses. "I don't know, Kermit. I have a job to do -- to see that Father Josiah is protected -- I have the Commissioner and Mayor breathing down my neck--and maybe a serial killer joining the fun. I want to know everything that you can tell me about this 'Father Josiah' --and yesterday would be good."

Closing the folder, Kermit smiled. "Done!" He was about to leave when he stopped and turned back to Karen. "Any time you want to know what else I do really well, you only have to whistle. You know how to..."

"Don't even go there, Detective." Karen scowled half- heartedly.

Kermit swore he heard a little chuckle as he closed the door on his way out.

"Crusading must pay very well. The best suite at the best hotel in the city. You know, Skalany, I think we took up the wrong line of work." Peter couldn't believe the difference. His father was a priest, as this man professed to be, yet they were worlds apart. His father had nothing that was worth money, and even when he received such things, he didn't have them for long. There was always someone who needed them more than he did. This so-called man of God seemed to be swimming in every luxury Peter could envisage for a visiting king.

"Breathe deep, Partner." Mary Margaret spoke through clenched teeth as the elevator doors opened.

It wasn't hard to pick out where the Father was. "Do you think that's the room we're looking for?" Peter asked out of the corner of his mouth as he eyed the door where two large men stood on guard.

"If not, Jon Bon Jovi flew in unannounced." Skalany giggled, but her face turned to stone as they approached the two men.

Showing their IDs, Peter put on his best diplomatic smile. "Police. I believe Father Josiah is expecting us."

Each man scrutinized a badge and the face of the person holding it. One of the men finally said with a look of disdain, "Wait. I will see if Father will see you."

Part Three

Peter rocked back and forth on his heels as he looked at the ceiling and around the hallway, waiting. Looking at the black-suited man, he smiled. "Nice weather we're having, isn't it?"

The guard stood silent, staring directly ahead, his arms crossed in front of himself, the bulge in his coat not going unnoticed by either officer.

Peter's quizzical look to Mary Margaret was broken as the door opened.

"Father will see you now," the returned doorman said.

"Oh, joy, we have been granted an audience with the great and almighty 'father'," Peter whispered, eliciting a nudge in his ribs from Skalany's elbow.

Watching Mary Margaret enter, Peter couldn't resist. As he passed the door guard, he whispered into the man's ear, "You know, you will never get any girls dressed like that. How about one of those ties with the Hawaiian dancers on them, break up that funeral look you've got going there?"

The scowl he received from the man was nothing compared to the one he got from Skalany. She pulled him to join her on the other side of the door.

"What was all that about?" she whispered.

"Thought the guy should get a life, that's all." Her unrepentant partner grinned.

"Wait here," the guard ordered as he left the room.

"Jeez, what a surprise: more waiting. This is getting ridiculous. Who does he think he is, anyway? God Himself? Damn zealot bigots!" Peter huffed.

"Oh, don't hold back, Partner. Tell me how you really feel," Skalany whispered as loudly as she dared.

Peter started pacing as memories flooded back of another time and place. "I've met people like him before. Hating anything that is different, no matter how pure it is."

~Flashback~

The minister had been staring at him for what seemed like hours. Peter had tried to sit still, but the constantly condemning eyes made him uncomfortable and he began to fidget in his seat.

"Sit still boy!" the severe face ordered.

For a moment, Peter was transported to hear another voice, a kinder and warmer voice. "I was never very good at sitting still, Sir. Father used to say..."

"Your father is not here, Boy. That life is over now. You are too young to know what a blasphemous life you have led, and it is only by the grace of God that you were freed from that cult."

"No!" Peter shouted as he leaped from the chair. "There was no god there that night-- the night my father was murdered-- they took my light away." One of the tears that had been threatening to fall made its way down his cheek.

The minister stood up, towering over the boy. "Your light will be the light you get from growing up in the brilliance of God's word."

"But I am Shaolin," the boy said defiantly.

The minister suddenly grabbed the boy's shoulders, his fingers digging in his point. "If you ever want to leave this place, to have a new family, you must forget that life. No one wants a freak for a son."

Peter pulled himself from the man's grip. "I'm not a freak!" he screamed as he ran from the room. "I'm Shaolin! I'm Shaolin!"

~End of flashback~

"Earth to Caine," Skalany prodded.

Peter became aware of Mary Margaret's prompting and found himself once again in the evangelist's room.

"You said something?"

"Are you all right?"

"Fine." Peter smiled weakly as his eyes scanned the room. "Look at this," he said with disgust. "A man of God?" He picked up a very expensive crystal cross.

"Not everyone stands up to judgment when compared with your father, Peter. Now put it down before you break it," she ordered.

"Just curious."

"And there is nothing wrong with curiosity, though I do believe it killed the cat, Detective...Caine?"

Peter nearly dropped the cross. He set it gingerly down back where he found it and turned to see the black-suited leader standing with five others in the doorway leading off the living room. <What is with these guys and black?>

Ignoring Peter for the moment, the pastor held out his hand to Skalany. "Detective Skalany? Nice to meet you. I take it you and this curious young man are the officers who have been sent to keep an eye on me."

Skalany watched Peter out of the corner of her eyes as he walked over to join them. "Well, I wouldn't put it that way, Sir."

"Please call me 'Father'."

<Yeah, as if that's going to happen,> Peter thought. Out loud he said, "Sir, it is our job, while you are here in this city, to make sure nothing happens to you. Man of God... or not...you have made many enemies with your...sermons."

Peter saw the looks he was receiving from the other men in the room and could feel the air entering his shirt through the holes made by the invisible daggers being fired at him. One in particular had stepped forward, a young man of about twenty with flaming red hair, whose face was becoming rapidly approaching the color of his hair.

"How dare you speak to my father like that. His words are the Lord's words. He speaks for the Lord. You are not fit to draw the same breath as Father." The young man looked as if he were about to burst a blood vessel, until the touch of his father's hand on his shoulder brought him to instant silence. Without a word of argument he stepped back.

"You will have to excuse my son, Daniel, Detective Caine. He tends to be very protective of his father, as do all my followers. But I have not introduced you. Please forgive me. My son Daniel you already know. The others are Michael, John, Simon, Patrick, and, of course, Luke out guarding the door. As you can see, Detectives, my safety is well in hand."

Nodding acknowledgment of the introductions, Peter gestured to John, the one who had been guarding the door with Luke. "Sir, I couldn't help notice that both Luke and John there are armed. Are the others?"

"Oh, yes, Detectives, indeed they are. Though, thanks to the Lord, they have never had to use them. If that was a subtle way of asking, yes, Detective, they are legal." Father Josiah made his way to an oversized chair, gesturing for the two detectives to take a seat on the couch beside him.

"Sir, these threats to your life...do you still believe they may come from the man known as the Preacher?" Mary Margaret asked, trying to break the tension.

The man laughed. "I am not a police officer. I leave the police work up to you. God is my Savior, Detectives. I have nothing to fear from someone who knows the Lord's words, who speaks them with such reverence. In a way, we walk the same path."

"But this man kills, Sir," Peter pushed.

Father Josiah glared at Peter. " 'Blows and wounds cleanse away evil, and beatings purge the innermost being.' "

"Ahh...but does it not also say 'if your enemy is hungry, give him bread to eat; And if he is thirsty, give him water to drink'?" Peter responded.

<Whoa! Where did that come from?> Even Mary Margaret was stunned by Peter's knowledge.

The older man smiled. "A policeman who can quote scriptures. Very interesting."

"My father taught me many things at the temple," Peter replied.

A frown crossed Father Josiah face, and he moved to stand behind the chair. "The temple? Just what type of religion are we talking about here, Detective Caine?"

"Does my religion matter?"

"Put it down to curiosity."

"Just as well that cat has nine lives." Peter threw the minister's words back at him. "To answer your question, Sir, I am Shaolin."

Part Four

"Shaolin? A very old cult," Father Josiah pondered outloud. "I am surprised you were taught the Gospel, Detective Caine. I mean, I have read about those places -- heathen dens of blasphemy."

Cult. There was that damn word again. Peter bristled at the comments, and it took all his effort not to retaliate. "My RELIGION is open to all things -- unlike some others, that are closed to everything but themselves -- but we are not here to talk about my education, or what you see as my lack of it, are we, SIR. We are here because your life is being threatened and it is our job to make sure nothing happens to you."

"And of course you would do that to the best of your abilities?" The minister no longer made any effort to hide his contempt of the younger man. "I think I would be safer with this so-called 'threat to society'."

"You're unbelievable! If..."

Skalany saw the danger signs, as agitation pushed Peter to begin to rise from his seat. Quickly applying gentle pressure on her partner's arm, Mary Margaret interrupted the conversation.

"I assure you, Sir, that our religion plays no part in our ability to do our job, and I am sure that is the point my partner was trying to make," Skalany defended Peter, as she released his arm.

Against every emotion he had been holding against people like this since childhood, Peter took a deep breath. "I'm...sorry...if something I said...offended you in some way, Sir. My ability to effectively do my job does not hinge on your religious persuasion, any more than on mine."

"We shall see, won't we." Ignoring Peter, Father Josiah turned his attention to Mary Margaret. "As you can see, I am well protected here tonight and very tired from my trip. I will speak on this tomorrow."

Duly dismissed, Peter watched as John opened the door for them to leave. With a shake of his head, the cop headed for the door, glad to be out of the same breathing space as the pious man of God. The door closed quickly behind them, and Peter stormed down the hallway to the elevator, not caring that he was still within earshot of the door guard.

"Damn! Can you believe that guy? Who the hell does he think he is? That I have to justify myself or who I am to him, so that I can do my job. I have half a mind..."

"Yes, and you will be using that half a mind if you act on what you are thinking, Partner." Pushing the elevator button, Mary Margaret could see Peter was about to explode. With a gentle shove, she pushed him into the lift and out of harm's way.

The next morning, Peter was no better; in fact, if anything, he was worse. He had stewed on the minister's words all night, words that brought back all the pain and verbal abuse he had suffered at the hands of another 'man of God', a man who had tried to erase everything that the child was, everything his father had taught him. Peter had struggled to hold on, to keep the beliefs, to believe. He had eventually lost.

That was what was walking around cursing at the world this morning: guilt. Peter had given up just about everything all those years ago, all that he was, to become part of 'normal' society. He had betrayed himself, his beliefs -- and, worse, he had betrayed his father.

"Peter?"

Peter quickly scanned his father's face before looking away. He knew that anything he was thinking would be like a turned page for his father; he would be read and catalogued within seconds. He hadn't spoken much about that particular part of his orphanage stay, and how he had caved and given in; he didn't feel like opening up now.

"Pop? Is there something I can do for you? I mean, I don't want to sound abrupt..."

"But you are busy. I understand." Caine slightly bowed. "I shall take only a moment of your time."

Peter seemed to sag a bit as he put his hand on his father's shoulder and smiled. "I'm sorry, Pop. Forgive me. What can I do for you?"

Caine shrugged off his son's apology. "Nothing to forgive, my son. I was speaking to Jason again. He would like to speak to you about the...police academy."

Forgetting his problems for a moment, Peter smiled broadly. "And you didn't try and talk him out of it, Pop?"

Shrugging again, Caine questioned his son. "I should have tried? Why? My son is a...cop...and a very good one."

Peter's smile couldn't have gotten any bigger. He quickly kissed his father's forehead. "Thanks. Tell Jason to..."

Caine saw his son's smile suddenly drop, and followed his gaze to the source of his son's sudden change of emotion. There was darkness about the man who had just entered, a darkness that stared from empty eyes. Those eyes glared at his son with the deep intensity of lack of soul.

Peter watched as Father Josiah walked toward Captain Simms' office, the Evangelist staring back. Never once did he and Peter break eye contact until the captain's door closed behind the religious campaigner.

"Who is that man, Peter?" Caine asked, a memory stirring.

As Peter stared at the closed door, the venom was thick in his voice. "Father Josiah," he spat. "A man of God."

Caine stood lost in memories that flowed with pain, dark memories from another time and place.

~Flashback~

The young boy cowered on the ground, doing everything in his power to protect himself from the whip that rained its slashes against his body. His shirt was torn and frayed, showing the full damage. His dark skin glowed, slick with blood and sweat, and his voice had long since stopped pleading; all that remained was a frail whimper.

The shadow that loomed over him was breathless, eyes lost in the dementia of fervor. "I will drive the devil out of you, boy! Drive him out so that you can be cleansed to walk the earth free of sin," he screamed, his lips curled back in a grotesque snarl. No longer able to discern reality from the religious rage into which he had worked himself, he raised his arm to strike again at the defenseless child.

His arm was halfway toward the boy when a sudden pain gripped his arm, forcing him to stop.

"What in God's name?" he spat, turning toward the reason for his arm's sudden lack of mobility.

"I cannot allow you to hurt this child," a soft voice stated.

The dark-suited tormentor looked the stranger up and down. From his long hair to his sandaled feet, he was the embodiment of everything against which the man of God fought. "And from what Hell did you descend, to condescend to tell me, a man of God, what to do?" he asked with disgust.

The stranger allowed the man to pull his arm from his grasp, as he looked down at sobbing the child. "I am just...Caine. If you were a true man of God, you could do not have done this to an innocent child."

"Innocent! This child is a thief! He needs to be taught the error of his ways," the man blustered, raising the whip into the air again. With a sudden action, nearly too quick for his eye to catch, the whip was snatched from his hand. He watched as the stranger snapped it like a twig and threw it away.

"He is...a child. Nothing else matters. You will not hurt him again. I will now take him and tend to his wounds." Caine said turned to pick up the child from the ground.

"HE must suffer for his sins, as we all must--as YOU WILL, for interfering with God's will." Taking a swing at Caine, he was surprised as the stranger seemed to sense him coming and dropped out of range of his fist.

Ducking to a crouch, Caine's swept out his right leg to knock the man onto his back. The resulting escape of air sounded like a gasp of pain. As the so-called man of God lay, teeth clenched in pain, he watched the stranger ignore him and gently pick up the child. "You will pay for this, Caine. God will see to it. I WILL SEE TO IT!" he screamed at the stranger's back.

Caine turned to look at the man once more. "Do what you must, but you will never touch this child again."

~end of flashback~

"Pop?"

Peter's concerned voice called Caine back from the visions of an innocent's torture.

"Pop? What is it? You look like you have seen a ghost. Do you know him from somewhere?"

Caine clasped his hands in front of him. "Another time. A time that cannot be changed."

Realizing again that he would get no more explanation than his father wanted to give, Peter didn't press. It was just one more small tidbit his father deemed to throw to him.

"Well, hopefully I won't have anything more to do with him. I believe he is here to have me removed from his security detail. I sort of rubbed him the wrong way."

"You?" Caine jokingly mocked; then his face became serious. "Be careful around this man, my son."

Peter smiled. "Careful's my middle name, Pop. You know that."

Part Five

Peter found himself at a loss for words and somewhat confused when he was called into the captain's office and, instead of the dressing down he expected for his lack of tact in dealing with the evangelist, found himself being praised for his conduct. Wondering what Twilight Zone episode he had just left, he walked back out of the captain's office so lost in thought that he nearly collided with a waiting Father Josiah.

"Detective Caine? I was hoping to run into you. I do believe we got off on the wrong foot yesterday." Josiah smiled, raising his hand in an apologetic gesture.

Every instinct told Peter he was shaking hands with a rattler, but he took the offered hand anyway. "Sir, I have a job to do. We don't have to like each other for me to carry out that task."

"That is so true, Son." Josiah took note of Peter's flinch. "But it does make life more comfortable, if every time we meet we don't make each other bleed. Now, your captain has arranged for an escort for me back to my hotel. I will be working all day and will not be needing your services until tomorrow. So, until ten am then." With an amiable nod, he and his followers left.

Peter was stunned. <Where the hell did that come from? Hate is a heavy burden, not one to be shrugged off so lightly. Isn't that right, Pop? And it was hate I saw -- felt -- in that hotel room.> Hearing a noise, Peter cleared his thoughts and looked around to see Kermit trying to get his attention from his office doorway.

"Want to see something very, very interesting?" Kermit asked, his eyes glinting with a secret over the top of his lowered glasses.

Shrugging, Peter walked past Kermit into his office. "Why not? Make a nice change from the wacky world of Ripley's Believe It or Not I'm in at the moment." Making himself comfortable on the nearest chair, he looked at Kermit expectantly. "Okay, you look like you found proof of who shot Kennedy. Let it out, Kermit. You'll feel so much better for it."

"Chauncey Satacoy."

Peter waited for the other shoe to drop. When it didn't, he couldn't help but ask, "Chauncey Satacoy? Is that some rare disease, or who shot Kennedy?"

"Patience, Boy Wonder, and all shall be revealed." Kermit smiled as he opened a folder.

"Then I suppose this is the Bat Cave." Peter chuckled. "So that makes you Ba..."

"Finish that sentence and die," Kermit warned.

"And risk the perks that come with sidekick status? Never! Okay, Chauncey Satacoy. What about him?"

"One Chauncey Satacoy." Kermit passed a photograph over his desk. "We know him as the illustrious Father Josiah."

Peter sat up straight, looking at the photograph to see a much younger Father Josiah staring back at him. "That's bizarre."

"What is?" Kermit asked without looking up from the papers he was reading.

"His eyes. Even then you could see the hate staring out from them." He suppressed a shiver as he looked away from the picture. "Okay, so he had another name. A strange name, but it's only a name."

"Ah, but this name comes with more than twenty alleged charges of violence." Kermit passed more papers over to the now very interested detective.

"Alleged violence? Abstract term, Kermit," Peter commented as he began to check the papers for himself.

"Covers a multitude of sins, Kid. Everything from personal injury to destruction of property."

Looking up from the papers, Peter shrugged. "Alleged is right, Kermit. None of this was ever proved. He has no record."

"Funny, that. Missing witness and retracted statements. Does tend to make for lack of court dates."

Peter eyed Kermit carefully. The excitement of discovery seemed to have left the man's face, intent as he was on one page in particular. "Okay, Kermit, didn't your mama ever teach you to share?"

"Sorry, Kid. Third page." He offered Peter a fistful of additional papers.

Peter flipped to the third page and quickly scanned it. His fingers began to crinkle the side of the paper, tightening in reaction to what he was reading. "Damn him! I asked him about this. I asked him, and he told me as much as he wanted me to know. I've had enough of this bullshit." Leaping from his seat, Peter was instantly out the door.

Within seconds the door was open and Kermit found himself alone in his office. "We all have a past, Kid. Some of us just bury ours deeper."

Part Six

The footsteps came closer, their thunderous vibration a forewarning of the storm that was fast approaching. Moving to stand from his meditative position, Caine stood in the center of the room waiting for his son to enter. He didn't have to wait long.

"Father!" Peter's voice carried on the breath of anger.

"I am here, my son," Caine called, waiting, his hands clasped calmly in front of himself.

Peter stopped in his tracks when faced with the source of his frustrations. He took the time to think for a moment; he had so many things to say, but all that finally sounded was one word. "Why?"

"I do not understand, my son."

"Well, stand in line behind me, Pop. I haven't understood half the things you have done since..." Becoming exasperated, Peter tried to slow himself down. "I specifically asked you if you knew Father Josiah. What wasn't clear in my question?" he snapped.

Caine shrugged, unsure what answer his son was looking for. "I believe I explained that I did know this...Father Josiah."

Running his hand through his hair with one hand, Peter waved the papers he still held in the other and began to pace the floor. "This tells me you more than knew him. You were one of the people who made allegations against this 'good' man over the death of a twelve-year-old boy. Why didn't you tell me? Why the big secret?"

"I...have no secrets from you." Caine said gently.

"No, just things you haven't told me." Peter stopped pacing and rubbed his forehead with his fingers before continuing. "What I know about your life while we were apart I can hold in my fist. I don't need to KNOW what you had for breakfast on June the fifth five years ago or the relationships you had on your travels; some things belong to you or are just not that important. But I will be damned, Pop, if an inanimate object is going to know MORE about your life than I do."

Caine stepped closer to his son, trying to reach through the anger. "What happened while we were separated...is in the past. I wandered, searching for something that I would...eventually find in another time, another place. My life began again when I found you. That is all you need to know."

Still too angry to let the sentiment in his father's words soften his resolve, Peter again waved the file. "What I need to know is what happened to Samuel Baker the day before he died."

Caine's shoulders sagged as he thought back to that day. "Father Josiah found young Samuel...taking money from his morning collection. His punishment was harsh and cruel on a defenseless child. I arrived too late." His eyes looked away from his son's increasingly sympathetic gaze. "I did everything I could, but he succumbed to his injuries the next day." <Another innocent I could not help.>

"And Father Josiah?" Peter spoke less harshly this time.

Shrugging, Caine struggled to explain. "It was another time, Peter. I was a stranger, a Shaolin priest. Samuel was not only from the wrong side of town, but -- for some -- the wrong color."

"So they dismissed the charges for lack of evidence, even with an eyewitness?"

Caine nodded. "Yes. That is what they told me. There was nothing more I could do. Samuel had no one and was gone. It was done. I had prayed for...Father Josiah...to find some peace with his rage."

"Well, I don't think your prayers have been answered, Pop, but that is police business, not personal." Allowing his anger to dissipate farther, Peter moved closer to his father and kissed the top of his head. "I don't NEED to know everything, Pop. Just no more surprises, okay?"

Caine smiled, touching his son's cheek with his hand. "I can make no promises, my son. I have been around many years, but I shall do my best."

Part Seven

Peter left his father's apartment still full of unanswered questions, but his anger had given way to some understanding. The pain was still evident on his father's face, even after all these years.The death of the child and subsequent whitewash must have been hard on him, and Peter was not about to add more to it. More than ever, he was determined to find out more on this counterfeit 'man of God'.

"Peter! Hey, Peter, wait!"

With one leg in the car, Peter turned toward the sound, and smiled when he saw the running figure of Jason Chang. "Where's the fire?"

Catching up, Jason stooped over, gasping for breath. "Th- ought I-I w-was g-oing to m-iss you."

Trying to stifle a chuckle, Peter struggled to keep a straight face. "Miss me? Oh, Jason, I didn't know you cared. You want to see me about something?" Peter asked, feigning innocence.

With his breath back to normal, Jason straightened himself up, pushing his long dark hair from his face, a flash of disappointment crossed his face. "You now very well, Peter. It's the same thing I have been asking you about for two years. You know it's my birthday in a couple days?"

"I know. Oh, boy, do I know. You have been reminding me every day for the last six months," Peter teased his young friend.

"Not every day," Jason defended himself sheepishly.

Checking his watch, Peter smiled. "Look, I have some time today. Come to the precinct in about thirty minutes and, barring any callouts, yes, I will help you fill out the enrollment form."

"Thanks, Peter! This is so cool!" Grabbing Peter's hand, Jason shook it furiously. "I'll just go home and get everything." He rushed away.

Smiling, Peter called after him, "Hey, Jason! You know that hair will have to go."

Turning and skipping backwards, Jason called back, "Small price to pay. You know, I might even work with you one day, Detective Caine." Turning back, he broke into a run.

"God forbid!" Peter laughed as he climbed into the car.

Kermit was relieved to see Peter's familiar figure return, his gait seemingly less tense than when he left. The older man was relieved to see fewer worry lines etched on Peter's forehead and the brief smile that lit the man's face as he spoke to a passing officer.

"No bruises, I see! And your father?" Kermit asked wryly as he moved from his doorway back into his office.

"We'll both live to fight another day. I hope you put my absence to good use?" Peter asked as he followed Kermit in. "You know, Kermit, I was thinking..."

"Hell, Kid, don't do that. You might break something," Kermit cut in as he sat down behind his desk.

"Smartass! As I was saying, why do you think this killer targets Satacoy's preachings? What makes him so special?" Peter puzzled as he made himself comfortable in the chair he had vacated not long before.

"What, other than his being a sanctimonious waste of space? Nothing that I know of -- yet." Kermit's fingers resumed their keyboard dance.

"There hasn't been a death for over a month. With any luck, someone drove the sicko over a cliff. I'll just be glad when Satacoy clears our city and belongs to some other underpaid, overworked civil servant," Peter complained, checking his watch and peering through Kermit's open doorway.

"Got a date?"

Peter grinned. "Actually, I'm waiting for Jason Chang. He should've been here by now. He was going home to get his forms and meet me here. I'm going to help him fill in his academy application." He couldn't help but wonder what could be keeping the excited youth.

"Oh, God. The pipsqueak is old enough to join the police force? Is it too late for me to resign? At least the constant questions will stop now."

"You're kidding, aren't you? Now, instead of a civilian asking a million questions, we'll have a cadet asking a million and one questions." Peter groaned.

"Oh, yeah." Kermit chuckled as he thought back to Peter's first years on the force. "Ain't payback a bitch."

Part Eight

As the heavy shroud of nothingness began to drift away, Jason awoke, confused and in pain. Every muscle screamed an ache through his body, ordering him to stay still. Ignoring his body's commands, he struggled to move, only to realize he couldn't.

He looked around, trying to figure out what nightmare he had just stepped into. He saw clearly, for the first time, the ropes that tied him to the wall of what looked like an old, rundown barn. Straining at the ropes that held his legs and arms firmly attached to the old but sturdy boards, he let his eyes scan the dimness that was lit by only the faint light that streamed through the broken roof slates.

He tried to remember what had happened. He recollected leaving Peter in a mad dash to go and collect his entrance papers, but then there was nothing. "Damn it!" he hissed. He pulled again at the binds, only to find that, if anything, they had gotten tighter.

A slight movement in the shadows suddenly caught the young man's attention. He tried to adjust his eyesight through the prisms of light and dark that crisscrossed the barn. Jason caught a quick glimpse of the stranger as he passed through a beam of light before dissolving into the shadows again. The man was dressed completely in black, even to the wide- brimmed hat he wore.

Jason's terror at the motives of his unknown attacker surfaced in an uncontrollable trembling of his body and a voice that choked as he spoke to his watching shadow.

"P-p-please, I don't know what's going on, but you have the wrong person. Just let me go and I will forget all about this, okay?"

"No, I think not," the shadow answered, his voice emotionless.

Jason tried to think who he could have pissed off so badly that they would go to these lengths to frighten him, but came up blank. "Tell me what the hell is going on, damn it! This isn't funny." Jason's voice grew louder as anger began to override his fear.

"God's work is never amusing. It is a blessed hardship that I endure with love for my God. I have to free this mortal world of the sick, decayed, rotting flesh of sin."

<God! This can't be happening. It's gotta be a joke. God, let it be some sick joke.> Jason began to strain harder at his ropes, rubbing and burning his wrists as he did so. "WHAT HAVE I EVER DONE TO YOU?" The sweat beaded Jason's face as he screamed into the darkness.

"I saw you," the voice snarled." You and that heathen Peter Caine. He was begat by an amoral, and his taint is on everything he touches. He needs to know the Preacher has come to clean God's house."

"But Peter's father is a priest!" Jason defended his mentor, still confused about what any of this had to do with him.

"PETER CAINE WAS WHELPED BY A WHORE WHO SLEPT WITH THE UNCLEAN, A BRANDED DEVIL. THEIR DRAWING OF BREATH IS A SHAKING FIST AT HEAVEN'S GATES, AND BY GOD'S HAND I WILL WIPE THEM FROM THIS HALLOWED EARTH."

Jason wrestled down his panic as he saw the stranger emerge from his darkness and move toward him, a glint of metal catching his eye. "Please. Whatever you are thinking, you can't do this, please. I have done nothing wrong. Please."

"You will shed your blood for God. Then, when your voice cries to the heavens for forgiveness, I will burn away your sins. There the purification will open the gates of Heaven to you."

"No! Please!" Jason screamed as the blade sliced his chest. He lost his voice as a second swift slice dissected his stomach. As his blood began to mingle with the dirt on the ground, a soft whimper was his last sound.

" And I will kill her children with death; and all the churches shall know that I am he which searcheth the reins and hearts: and I will give unto every one of you according to your works." The flames sparked to the heavens.

Part Nine

Climbing the stairway to the Chang apartment, Peter was still trying to figure out what could have caused Jason to miss something that was so important to him. Arriving at the apartment door, he hesitated before knocking. <What if there was nothing wrong, if Jason had just lost track of the time?> He didn't want to scare Jason's mother if his feelings were wrong and he prayed as his knuckles rapped at the well-worn door, <Please, let me be wrong.>

As the door opened, he was greeted by the ever-smiling face of Linda Chang. "Peter! How wonderful to see you. Please, come in." Moving back her wheelchair, Linda made room for him to enter.

Peter was always amazed by Linda Chang. After the liquor store robbery and the bullet that had ended her walking life, she had carried on as if nothing had changed. She had raised Jason alone after the death of her husband, and had done a fine job of it, too.

"How's life been treating you, Linda?" Peter asked discreetly scanning the room.

"Can't complain. Is there something I can get you? A coffee or..."

"No, thanks, I'm fine."

"Then what can I do for our city's most handsome detective?" she asked, wheeling to his side. "If you are looking for Jason, he's not here. He went to see your father, though I really think he was looking for you. You and the police academy, that is all he has been talking about for the last six months." Her face lit up when she spoke of her son. "And I have to thank you for that, Peter." She took Peter's hand into hers. "You have done so much for my son. You have been a wonderful friend to Jason and to me."

Peter patted Linda's hand. "You don't have to thank me. Jason's great, just like his mom. You are right, though; he probably is looking for me. I told him I would help him fill out his application. I had some free time. I suppose I should have checked with him first, huh?" He tried to sound casual.

Linda wheeled over to the coffee table and picked up the forms, passing them to Peter. "You take these, then. I will tell my errant son when he gets home that I gave them to you."

"Thanks, and when he gets home, make sure he calls me, okay?"

Linda caught the slight inflection in the detective's voice. "Peter? Is there something wrong?"

Smiling, he bent over and kissed her cheek. "Of course not. I just know how important this is to him, that's all. I might go and check Pop's place while I have some extra time on my hands. I'll bet I'll find him there."

Linda frowned slightly, then dismissed her thoughts as the product of an overactive imagination. "Well, I won't get up," she chuckled." You know your way out -- and in. You're welcome any time, Peter, but you know that."

"Of course, and don't you worry; I will take you up on that. See you soon." He let himself out. Once in the safety of the hallway, Peter allowed himself to feel the strain of Jason's non-appearance. "Let me be wrong. Please let me be wrong," he whispered.

Birds hovered overhead, circling the rubbish and refuse of modern life, everything that was no longer needed or wanted and was disposed of without a second thought. It was here in this fly-blown garbage dump that Henry Brown spent his mornings, collecting discarded treasures. Items that would be, by definition, waste to some, were a bounty of delight for this gentle old man. Today Henry moved around like he always did, lifting and shifting, looking for that commodity that would give him a couple extra dollars for his pocket.

Humming to himself, Henry picked up some tossed aside aluminum cans and threw them in his trolley. He was about to move to a new section when he noticed a large piece of tin, a valuable find. Removing the scattered rubbish that covered a portion of it, he lifted it up and started to drag it away. With a slight struggle and grunt, the large sheet was soon deposited on his shopping cart. It was turning out to be a great day for Henry. Resuming his humming, he turned back to see what else was to be found. He suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth gaping and silent.

Fingers, curled and burnt into a bizarre claw, seemed to reach out to him. The face was unrecognizable, and the body seemed to have crawled into a ball before its agonized death. Through timeless moments he had stood paralyzed, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, before he realized the truth of it and his stomach threatened to lose its meager lunch. Not wanting to look at the gruesome sight any longer, he moved as quickly as he could to get help -- or just to get away.

Part Ten

Peter stood behind Father Josiah at his sermon in the Carstair's Hotel banquet room. As he scanned the room for trouble, his mind was still on Linda Chang's frantic midnight phone call; Jason had not made it home last night. He didn't want to be here listening to this hypocritical drivel; he wanted to be looking for his young friend -- but it had been too late to find a replacement. Kermit had promised to check with his father again, and for the moment that was all he could do.

He tried to focus on the room, on his responsibilities, but Jason's smiling face kept plaguing him.

~ Flashback~

"Look, I have some time today. Come to the precinct in about thirty minutes and, barring any callouts, yes, I will help you fill out the enrollment form."

"Thanks, Peter! This is so cool!" I can still feel his hand shaking mine, so grateful. "I'll just go home and get everything."

I stood watching him rush away, his long black hair blowing over his face. "Hey, Jason! You know that hair will have to go."

He turned back to me and, with a skip backwards, called out, "Small price to pay. You know, I might even work with you one day, Detective Caine." Turning back, he broke into a run.

"God forbid!" I joked.

~End of flashback~

Bringing himself back, Peter caught sight of Mary Margaret standing guard at the back of the room. Her concern for him was obvious; she smiled reassuringly at him as she continued her surveillance.

Nodding to his partner, Peter indicated he had everything under control, including his emotions. He was lying. Recentering himself, he focused on his job at hand. Glancing over the faces of Daniel and the disciples, who stood protectively around their leader, Peter ignored their glares that aimed spasmodically in his direction.

"People cannot be repeatedly lost and saved. They're either saved once and forever or not saved at all, and if they are not and do not confess their sins unto God, then they forfeit all rights as decent members of society. Our community is overrun with the lost and sinful, because they have forgotten God's words; they have forgotten the rules that we all must live by."

Peter watched the audience, members of the elite of Sloanville, all smiling and nodding agreement at the visiting evangelist's words. He didn't know what he'd been expecting. It cost money to come to this dinner and sermon: the tickets were a hundred dollars a seat.

<I definitely took up the wrong profession.>

"Thank you all for your time. After you partake of your luncheon, I will be here to sign my books and cassettes and answer any questions you may have. Please enjoy."

Peter was so set on his job, watching Father Josiah step down from the podium, he didn't notice Kermit enter the room and whisper to Skalany. With a sad nod of acknowledgment, she moved toward Peter.

Starting to step in behind and follow the Reverend, Peter felt a not-so-gentle shove, followed by a spiteful voice. "You don't belong here." Turning, Peter found himself facing the father's son, Daniel, glaring at the detective. "We can protect father. We don't need your kind fouling our family."

<I don't need this shit right now.> Peter was about to answer the young man's snide remarks when he felt a hand on his shoulder. When he saw Mary Margaret, he quickly defended himself. "I wasn't going to do..."

"Peter," she interrupted softly. "Kermit needs to see you. I'll take over here."

Jerking his head around, he found Kermit standing in the doorway waiting for him. A sudden lack of air left him gasping. He knew from the looks on his friends' faces; he didn't need the words. They seemed pointless now. Feeling Mary Margaret's hand like a burn, he shrugged himself out from under it.

"Go, Peter," Skalany gently pressed.

As Peter walked toward his waiting friend, he wished the room was the size of an arena. The longer the walk, the longer it was before he would have to hear what Kermit had to say.

After Kermit led him into a corner of the foyer, Peter folded his arms around himself and implored Kermit with his eyes to tell him that what he was thinking was wrong, tell him that he was here to announce that Jason was home alive and well.

"I'm sorry..."

"Oh, God!" His voice was barely audible. "Linda! I have to tell her."

"She already knows, Kid. I took your father. I thought it would be better coming from a priest. I've never been too good at this kind of thing, and she deserved more than a stranger in uniform."

Peter could see Kermit was hurting, too, though he tried to keep it hidden behind the glasses. "Thank you. I knew it! Damn it! I knew there was something wrong. What happened?" His shock was rapidly turning into anger at himself and at whatever or whomever had taken his young friend.

This was the part Kermit had been dreading, when he would have to tell Peter the truth about Jason's horrible death. He knew exactly what would happen when the kid learned the whole truth and his part in it.

His slow response time was all Peter needed to assume that Kermit was holding back. "Tell me."

"Jason was found this morning...at the rubbish dump."

Peter's face paled. Swallowing hard, he waited for more.

"I'm sorry, Kid. There is no easy way to do this. He was tortured and...it looks like he was burned alive."

All Peter could see was that smile and that voice full of life. <"You know, I might even work with you one day, Detective Caine."> Jason's voice called out to him, echoing through the corridors of his mind.

"There's more." <Peter has to know all of it.>

"W-what more could there be, Kermit?" It was a silent plea for it all to stop, all become just part of a bad dream.

Reluctantly reaching into his pocket, Kermit pulled out a piece of paper enclosed in an evidence bag. "This was found...in his mouth." His own anger showed as his jaw clenched.

If Kermit thought Peter's face couldn't get any more pale, he was wrong. He watched as his young friends hands shook as he read the note.

<The earth opened its mouth and swallowed them, and they served as a warning sign. Consider yourself warned, Peter Caine. The Preacher.>

<Oh, God! This is all my fault.> Grief and guilt tore at his heart.

No one took any notice of a smile that crossed a knowing face.

Part Eleven

Peter didn't remember leaving the hotel or Kermit getting him to the Corvair. Suddenly his body registered the motion of the car and he scanned his surroundings. "Where are we going?" His voice echoed the sound of his dead heart.

<At least he's talking at last.> "I'm taking you home. You need..."

"NO!" Peter shouted, then added more softly, "Take me to Jas...to see...I have to see Linda."

Kermit pointed the car toward Peter's apartment. "I don't think that's a good idea, Kid. I really think..."

"Don't think," Peter pleaded, grabbing the sleeve of Kermit's coat. "Please, I need to see her. Please!"

It was against Kermit's better judgment, but if it would help the kid sleep better tonight, maybe it was the best thing to do. That's also where he left Caine; if anyone could help the kid through this, his father could. Kermit turned his car around.

"Thank you," Peter whispered, staring blankly out the window. "So no one did drive that bastard off a cliff after all," he said to no one in particular.

It took all of Peter's energy to make himself climb the steps, but he didn't want to take the elevator. He needed the time to think, or not to think. His foot collected a step, which caused him to stumble and stop. Leaning his back against the wall, he closed his eyes, allowing himself to slide down till he collapsed to the step, his head resting in his hands. <I can't do this. How can I look her in the face? Her son is dead because of me. I can't.>

"Hey, Kid. I was getting a bit lonely out there in the car." When Peter didn't answer, Kermit parked himself on the bottom step. "Don't mind if I grab a pew, do you?" Still no answer. "Well, I'll take that as a yes."

"Don't do this, Kermit," Peter beseeched his friend, refusing to look up.

Kermit removed his glasses, pondering how to handle Peter's fragile state. "Don't do what, Kid? Help a friend who is tearing himself apart over something that's not his fault?"

"Leave me alone."

"Sorry, Kid, can't do that."

With one last shudder, Peter jumped up. "Then I'll do it for you." There was no anger in his voice, just an exhausted plea of pain.

Kermit grabbed Peter's arm as his friend tried to get past him. He noted the effort the younger man took not to look at him. "This is not going to solve anything. We have to find out why this asshole picked Jason, and catch the bastard."

"He picked Jason because of me. Why? Doesn't matter. He's dead."

Kermit moved so Peter had no choice but to look into his eyes. "It does matter, because a good friend of mine could be next -- and if you think I am going to stand by and let that happen...well, it's just not going to happen, period."

Peter tried to maneuver his arm from Kermit's grip, but it was a pathetic attempt; the mercenary's hand held firm. "Please, don't."

"Please what? Don't what? Enough, Kid. I'm taking you home, where I should have taken you in the first place. You are going to get some rest, and then in the morning we are going do what we do best. We are going find this sick bastard and send him to hell--if he's lucky."

A faint turn of the lips was the first clue that Kermit's words had an impact. "Yeah--if he's lucky," Peter echoed weakly, looking up the steps toward the Chang apartment. "I'll go, but there is something I have to do first."

"You know where I'll be." Kermit made himself comfortable on the step again.

Making his way up the steps, Peter whispered to himself, "Yeah, watching my back, as always."

Part Twelve

The door was like an emotional force field, a wall his guilt refused to pass. Only yesterday he had stood in this same place with unanswered questions and fears that were now a horrible reality. <No, not going there. Not now.> His knuckles were white and his hand hesitated at the door. Before he had made up his mind to knock, the door opened slowly. Startled, Peter unconsciously took a step back.

"P-Pop?" Peter had forgotten that Kermit had brought his father to look after Jason's mother. He quickly averted his eyes from the concern and comfort his father's face offered. "How is Linda? How is she taking...the news?"

"How does anyone...cope with the loss of their only child?" Drawing on his own pain, Caine sighed. "They cry for their loss. They breathe their pain in every breath, as you do for the loss of your friend."

Peter's chin trembled slightly, as the control he had been struggling to retain on his emotions threatened to release its grip. Fighting to regain his control, he looked past his father. "W-where is she?"

"She has been waiting to see you."

"You told her I was here?" Peter's voice nipped at his father.

Caine shrugged, his face showing his attempt to understand his son's pain. "No, I did not. I believe she expected you to come."

"Then I'd better go and see her."

"Peter? Don't do this to yourself." Caine reached out to touch his son.

Blocking Caine's touch with his forearm, Peter waved him off. "I can't do this. Not now, Pop. Please."

With a ceding bow, Caine stepped out and closed the door so Linda and his son could speak alone. He needed to center himself. His son's guilt had blazed a destructive trail of emotion through his heart. <Oh my son, why must you believe that all happens is just a validation of your unworthiness? This is not you fault.>

Caine had shared Linda Chang's pain, drawing on his own experience, reliving his agony when he had believed that his only child was dead. Caine had been one of the fortunate ones - - he had gotten his child back -- but Linda would not be so lucky.

Peter's eyes searched the room, settling finally on Linda's lonely figure. Her wheelchair was positioned near the light of the window, holding something tightly to her chest. Her tear- stained face slowly rose until she locked eyes with the guilt- stricken man.

"Peter!" Linda's voice choked and the tears renewed their flow as she reached out a hand toward him.

<Don't look at me like that, like you will find comfort in me. It should have been me.>

"I'm so...Please forgive me." Peter dropped to his knees beside her.

"Oh, Peter, there is nothing to forgive. You did your best. You weren't to know what had happened." Linda gently ran her hand through Peter's hair, just as she had so many times done to Jason, then tenderly brought down her hand to touch his cheek. Smiling, she remembered the last time she had seen her son. "He was so looking forward to working with you one day."

<Don't, Linda. Please!>

"He wanted to be just like you."

<Please.>

"You were like the brother he never had, you know that?" She gently fingered Jason's picture that she held at her breast. "He was so proud to call Peter Caine his friend. Thank you for giving my son that."

<Giving him death. I have to tell you the truth.>

"Linda, I..."

"It's all right, Peter. I understand."

"No, you don't."

"I'm sorry, Peter. I'm tired. I think I would like to sleep, maybe even dream a little. Yes, I think I would like that." Placing the cherished photo on her lap, she excused herself and started to make her way to her room.

"Do you need anything?" Peter called quietly after her.

Stopping, Linda smiled sadly. "Only something you can't give me. Thank you for everything, Peter." The wheels turned again and she was gone.

<Only something you can't give me. God, Jason, why you? Why didn't he take me?>

Peter didn't know how long he stood there, lost in the middle of the Chang apartment. He tried to block out the sports trophies that lined the wall, the pictures that traced a baby's life to barely adulthood. The room echoed with Jason's existence -- and now, the lack of it. He had needed to tell Linda the truth. "I'm a coward. She had the right to know the truth."

"The truth? Or your truth?"

His father's voice surprised him. Peter hadn't heard him enter the room.

"No difference, Pop. Jason is dead because of me. That is all the truth that matters. Linda had a right to know how her son died and why."

"And whose pain would that heal,to know the torture her son endured? Linda's? Yours? No, my son, you cannot change Jason's death, nor can you inflict more guilt on yourself than you already carry. There is only one truth: an evil took Jason's life, leaving your name as its weapon. Please don't allow it to take my son's life as well."

Peter changed the subject as he refused to meet his father's gaze. "I don't want her to be alone."

Caine sighed at his son's refusal to ease his pain. "She will not be."

Peter was exhausted. He was tired of thinking. With a weary nod of his head, he walked from the room, ignoring his father's pleas to stay and talk.

It was only when the full expanse of his son's pain left the room that Caine felt the presence and turned to see Linda's hardened glare.

Part Thirteen

"I...felt bad about leaving...your son the way I did." Linda slowly wheeled her chair into the room. "I...didn't want to disturb your discussion, knowing how...UPSET...your...son was."

Linda's slowly paced and pointed words, added to the avoidance of Peter's name, told Caine that she had heard most of their conversation.

"What I want to know now is how my son died and what your...son...had to do with it?" Linda's grief was looking for someone to blame, and Peter's worded guilt was the weapon she had been seeking.

Caine spoke softly, understanding her need to strike out. "Linda, the cause of Jason's death is not known. There was obvious damage to his outer body, but until the full truth is..."

"What damage?" Linda steeled herself, knowing the priest would not lie to her.

"Please, do not do this to yourself," Caine wanted to avoid telling Linda the truth of Jason's death. He tried to calm her, but failed.

"Do what to myself? Demand to know the truth? He is -- was -- my son. I have the right." She was suddenly quiet, an unnerving smile slowly spreading across her lips. "It's ironic, isn't it?"

Caine cocked his head at her pause. "Ironic? I do not..."

"You once thought that Peter had been killed in your name. Now my Jason has paid the price in your son's name. Oh, but there is a difference, isn't there, Caine? Mine is really dead." She wheeled her chair around sharply, refusing Caine's outstretched hand and offer of help. "I don't need anything from Peter. In fact, I don't need anything from anyone with the name of Caine. Get out! I don't want to see either of you ever again."

Caine watched the grieving woman as she disappeared through the doorway. He was dismissed, and he had no choice but to leave for now. He could only pray that, with time, Linda would understand the truth of the tragedy that had befallen her. He would be there when that time came.

"I don't need a babysitter," Peter snapped, fumbling with the keys to his apartment door.

"I don't remember offering to be one." Kermit leaned casually against the hallway wall, waiting for the younger man to unlock his door. "But not offering a friend a drink is the extreme in bad manners."

"Then call me rude and leave. I don't need to talk."

"Maybe not," Kermit said and moved past Peter, who had finally succeeding in opening the door. "But you need a friend, and I sure as hell need a drink."

Peter's teeth clenched as he fought back the urge to tell Kermit to go to hell. Instead, with an exasperated sigh, he followed him inside.

Kermit was busy making himself comfortable. Having thrown his coat casually over the couch, he was in the process of helping himself to a drink, when he heard the door slam. <Honey, I'm home.>

Ignoring the heavy steps and the clatter of keys being thrown on the table, Kermit finished pouring the two drinks he had been preparing. With glasses in hand, he turned around to see Peter sitting on the couch, his head lying back, his eyes closed.

"Kermit, please just go." Peter never opened his eyes.

"Sorry, Kid, haven't had that drink yet." Moving over to sit on the coffee table in front of the distressed man, he nudged Peter's leg, forcing the younger man to open his eyes.

Peter realized he wasn't getting rid of his unwelcome guest until he did what Kermit wanted. With slow and exhausted movements, Peter sat up, taking the offered drink in trembling hands. He never tasted a drop, but tossed the liquid straight down his throat. Coughing as the drink hit his stomach, he wiped his mouth and glared at Kermit. "Happy? Now finish your drink and leave."

"I like to take my time with a good whiskey," Kermit drawled, sipping slowly. Having taken his glasses off long ago, he stared intently into Peter's eyes, making the younger man turn away.

"What do you want, Kermit?"

"I want to make sure that someone who would blame himself for World War II is laying the blame where it belongs."

Leaning forward, Peter returned the intent look. "And where would that be? I don't know who this bastard is. I don't know why he has turned his attentions to me, and at this very second I don't give a SHIT. My father always said everything is connected. A young man whose life was just beginning is DEAD, and he wouldn't be DEAD if he hadn't known me. So you tell me, Kermit: where does the blame lie?"

Kermit watched as Peter verbally flayed himself, until his young friend's natural urge to move caused him to jump up and begin to pace the room.

"What do you want me say, Kid? Okay, it was your fault. If you hadn't known Jason, he would be alive today. The man that tortured and killed him had nothing to do with it. THIS was all your fault. Feel better now? Do you get some perverse pleasure out of this?" Kermit slammed down the glass and stood to join Peter. "You know, you remind of one of those people who cut themselves just to feel the pain. They like to see themselves bleed. Well, put a bandaid on it and wake up, Sunshine. This isn't about you! This is about a sick mother out there who killed an innocent kid. So if you would stop feeling sorry for yourself for just one DAMN second, you would start to use that cop brain Blaisdell instilled in you and we could start looking for the SON OF A BITCH!"

Peter reacted as if he had been slapped. He gasped and his shoulder's sagged; then he slowly released his breath in resignation. "Okay, you're right."

Kermit smiled. "Was there any doubt?"

Peter managed a faint smile. "Don't get too cocky. Even mercenaries can be wrong."

Kermit seemed to think about it for a moment. Then, carefully replacing his glasses, he chuckled. "Nah! Never happen."

Part Fourteen

Word traveled quickly in normal circumstances, but when murder was involved, it seemed to travel at the speed of light. The compassionate looks and sympathetic gestures that Peter had been receiving since he walked into the precinct that morning were all he needed to know that the grapevine was up to its usual standard.

"Jason was a good kid," an officer said in passing.

"Sorry, Pete. It's not right," another lamented.

"Don't worry. We'll get the bastard, Pete." A hand comforted his shoulder.

All the detective could manage in return were nods and half-hearted smiles. Every sympathetic look or gesture was a slap in his face, and it took all his control to choke down the guilt and not voice the words.

Peter had listened to what Kermit had said last night, and for well into the night his friend had returned the favor. He knew that what the older man had said was right; the logical part of his brain told him it was true. He also knew the contrition in his heart, the pain that words and best intentions could not erase.

Trying to escape through the bullpen without too many more kind words, Peter made a beeline to his desk. He wanted to be anywhere today but here, doing his job. The thought of having to relieve Mary Margaret and stand out there, while the Preacher gloated unseen, made him sick to his stomach.

Through the window of her office, Captain Simms watched her detective's progress. "I'm sorry, but my decision stands." Walking over to the door, she opened it. "Detective Caine, if I can see you for a moment..."

"Yes, Captain." When he entered, Peter was surprised and unhappy to find Kermit standing in the center of the office. "What's going on?" He immediately noticed Kermit's frowning turn toward the captain.

"Have a seat, Detective."

Peter looked from his captain to his friend and back again, unsure as to what part of a conversation he had missed.

"I'm fine, thank you."

With a quick glance at Kermit, Simms moved to stand behind her desk. "First, may I tell you how sorry the whole precinct is over the death of Jason, and how sorry I am that your assignment has personally cost you so much."

"Thank you, Captain." Peter looked at Kermit and back to Simms. "Why do I feel a 'but' in there somewhere?"

She took a seat. "Probably because there is one. Detective Griffin and I--" She glanced again at Kermit. "--Were just discussing..."

"Is that what you call it!" Kermit huffed.

Karen glowered at the older detective. "As if it had ever been open to discussion, Detective!" Her face softened a little as she leaned back in her chair. "We didn't expect the Preacher to reappear, nor did we have any idea he would deviate from his usual pattern and attack you, by taking your young friend's life. Here's the but: BUT maybe we can use this to our advantage and hopefully catch the bastard."

Now it was Peter's turn to frown. "Why do I get the feeling I'm the goat being tied to the bait post?"

Kermit glared an 'I told you so' look' at the Captain as she tried to explain. "I could pull you off this assignment, and this maniac would probably go back to sending 'Dear John' letters to Father Josiah. This is a man of God who finds it somewhat comforting being the poster-boy for a serial killer. Now, as I said, I could do that -- and I will, if it's what you really want -- but I think that you, like me, want this man stopped before he kills again."

"That's unfair and you know it," Kermit snapped. "Of course he wants to catch him. We all do. But you're asking the kid to become a target."

"I'm not asking him to be anything he isn't already, Kermit," Karen retorted.

"That's bullshit, Karen, and you know it. We could pull him out. This isn't right," Kermit shot back. Neither realized they were resorting to first names.

"We have already had this argument."

"Damn it! Enough."

The voice snapped their attention back to the person about whom they'd been arguing.

" You're like two children. This is my decision, no one else's. The captain's right, Kermit. I want this. I want him caught, and if that means standing out there in the open, then I will. But remember: he never went after me. As my friends, you might be better off watching your own backs."

Part Fifteen

Leaning back against the elevator wall, Peter closed his eyes, trying to remember the faces that had stared back at him since this assignment had begun. Somewhere in his mind had to be the face of the Preacher standing there watching him. <How did he do it? How did he choose which of my friends had to die? Did he first look over Skalany or Kermit, even Pop, before selecting Jason? What gave you the right to play God!>

The captain had been right: if this maniac had changed attentions to him, for whatever reason, it was best he stayed in the open. All they could hope -- all he hoped -- was that this bastard would come after him personally. <You know, I might even work with you one day, Detective Caine.> Jason's voice was a ghost that followed him; there never seemed to be an escape. The elevator wall paid the price for Peter's rage as he smashed his fist against it. "Shit!" He wasn't sure if it was the pain from the unforgiving wall or his anger that caused the curse; all he knew was he was hurting, one way or the other.

The doors opened and Peter stepped from the lift. He couldn't help a quick glance toward the stairwell doorway as he sensed a watching presence. <Couldn't resist, could you, Kermit?> Balancing between anger and gratitude for his friend's concern, Peter decided to ignore his presence. After Kermit's refusal to allow Peter to drive himself to the hotel, it didn't surprised him at all that he was waiting for Peter to arrive safely at the hotel room.

Glaring down the hallway, Peter sighed at the sight of Luke at the door again. <You can go now, Kermit. I have to keep pond scum safe from its own kind. Wish they would just kill each other and save me the effort.>

Thinking himself unseen and sure his friend was safe, the ex-mercenary slipped back down the stairs.

Peter stopped in front of the burly guard. "Hey, Kono, I'm here to relieve Detective Kincaid." When Luke made no move to open the door, Peter huffed, showing his badge with just enough extra jacket movement to show the gun at his belt.

The corner of Luke's mouth curled. "Wait here."

After a minute the door reopened, Luke scowling as he stepped back to allow Peter entry.

"Thanks, Kono. Didn't take me up on that advice about the tie, I see."

Ignoring Peter's barbs, Luke brushed by him to retake his position in the hallway. Pausing briefly, he whispered, "So sorry to hear about your friend. Maybe you're the one that needs a tie -- to hang yourself. Do us all a favor." Smiling, he walked on, shutting the door as he went.

Pushing down the urge to open the door and take on Luke in the hallway, Peter took a deep breath.

"Peter? Are you all right?"

Taking another deep breath, Peter shook his head. "TJ, if I had a dollar for each time I have been asked that..."

"You would be a millionaire. I know. And I know it wouldn't help you one bit. At least you have people that care about you."

"I know. Thanks." Peter gestured to the doorway. "Listen, TJ, the Neanderthal that guards the door, he mentioned...Jason." He hadn't realized how hard that name would still be to say. "How did he know?"

TJ shrugged. "Don't know, Pete, though I guess they must have overheard Detective Skalany and me talking before the shift change. I'm sorry; you have enough to deal with. I can take your shift if you would like?" he offered kindly.

"You're a good man, TJ." Peter patted his coworker's shoulder. "But no, I will be fine. If I need you, I know where you'll be."

As the door closed behind TJ, Peter acknowledged the other presence in the room.

"Like listening to other people's conversations, do we?" Peter turned around to watch Daniel, now discovered, stepping from the shadows.

"You knew I was here?" The young man glared at the detective.

"Your red hair gave you away."

"No, you knew I was here." Daniel walked closer, sizing up Peter. "My father told me there was something strange about you people." He looked at Peter with disgust. "He was right. You are an abomination to God's Heaven on Earth."

Peter was in no mood for this hypocritical man-child. "Why don't you get a new line, and then ask your father how he met...people like me? Then maybe you'll wonder which of us is the real abomination?"

"I thought I recognized the face of the man you were talking to at your station -- older, but he hasn't changed," the crusader commented from his en suite doorway. "Caine." He chuckled as he walked slowly into the room. "I should have guessed. You don't look like him. What does that make you? A bitsa, doesn't it? A little bit Chinese, a little...what was your...mother?" He spat the title with distaste.

"Beautiful. What was yours...Lassie?" Peter snapped back.

The preacher's face darkened before he smiled again. "My, you aren't your father's son with that mouth."

"That is where you're wrong. I am very much my father's son. The only difference is I'm a cop, and as a cop it is my job to put killers behind bars, and I do so enjoy my job." Peter made a deliberate swipe at Josiah.

"Indeed, when the innocent are made to suffer, the guilty should be punished. On the other hand, God does not judge those who work in his name, so how can you set yourself up as his equal by judging others?"

"Like the Preacher? He works in God's name, so he is righteous? He says he kills in the name of God, when in fact he kills for the joy of it. He kills the helpless and innocent because he is a coward, a coward that hasn't the courage of his so-called convictions to stand up under his own name."

"His courage is selfless. He sees sin...and tries to save these people from...themselves. You forget, Detective...Caine, that these people that he...punishes...are not...innocent," he defended himself, slightly breathless.

"Murder is murder, Sir. It doesn't matter under what name it is perpetrated, revenge, justice, or punishment." Peter noticed that the preacher seemed to be flushed and his words seemed to be disjointed, but he put it down to their overly animated conversation.

"Your grief is...showing, Detective. I heard about...your...Daniel! Hurry! My medicine." Father Josiah grabbed for his chest and collapsed to the floor.

"Michael! John! Patrick! Get Father's medicine! Hurry!" Daniel pushed past Peter to fall at his father's side.

"I'll call an ambulance." Peter moved to pick up the phone.

"No! It's my father's heart. All he needs is his medicine. You, Detective, have done enough," Daniel spat, never taking his eyes off his father. "You will be all right, Father. God is not ready for you. Remember, there is still so much to be done," he whispered into his father's ear.

Michael rushed into the room and began to administer something that Peter couldn't see onto Father Josiah's skin. Then, after soothing words, Michael and John gently picked up their ailing leader and carried him from the room.

Peter was honestly concerned for the man. "Is he all right?"

The son watched his father disappear into the other room and Patrick taking guard at the now shut doors. Then Daniel swung around, a look of pure hatred scoring his face. "You will leave, Detective Caine. Now! It is not up to me to judge what you have done this day. But judgment will come."

Part Sixteen

As Kermit walked in to the bullpen, his guilt over his discussion with Karen was still preying on his mind. He wanted to talk to her. His attack on her had not been fair; she was only doing her job. They had a killer to catch and, in Peter, she had seen an opportunity to catch him, something any good cop would do. Kermit knew he had retaliated with emotion, something that was rare for him these days. This emotion had led to words he would never have thought to say to this woman whose friendship and respect he valued so much. His feet started toward her closed office door. <What to say?> Their direction changed and, instead, headed to the coldness of his own office. <For a mercenary, you're a damn good coward.>

He tried to do his best to keep his mind on the job at hand, but his words kept coming back to haunt him. He determinedly jumped up from his seat. <Damn it, Griffin! You have faced men with bazookas. What's so hard about apologizing to...> His self- incrimination was interrupted by a knock and his door opening.

"Griffin, the captain wants to see you." Strenlich was gone before Kermit could reply.

<Shit! Why don't they make Kevlar vests for this sort of thing?> Finding himself standing outside her office door, he took a deep breath and knocked.

"Come in."

Before Kermit had even closed the door he bit the bullet. "Captain, shit! Karen, I'm sorry about...I had no right to say what I said. This is your precinct. I'm sorry if I was out of line."

A smile passed over Karen's face as she looked up from her work. "Damn, Kermit, I bet that was hard."

"You'll never know, so don't ask." He managed to smile back.

"I'll save your dignity and won't, but it seems all our screaming at each other was for nothing. I received a phone call from Detective Caine. Father Josiah has taken ill, and our young friend was told, in no uncertain terms, to leave."

Kermit smiled before he realized Peter wasn't at the precinct. "So where is he?" he asked, a bit more impatiently than he had intended.

Karen had to admit to herself she liked this side of Kermit, the side that worried about his friends. She hadn't taken everything he said to heart, like he thought she had. Although pissed that her orders were being argued, she understood the reasons behind it, maybe even more than Kermit himself did.

"Keep your gun in your holster, Kermit. I sent a patrol car to pick him up. It seems someone left him without a ride." Her eyebrows lifted. "Anyway, I have given him the rest of the day off. He said something about seeing his father. I think he needs that." Looking directly at Kermit, she made sure he understood. "But this changes nothing. As soon the evangelist is well enough to resume his schedule, so will Detective Caine. We can't let this killer leave this city."

Kermit gave himself a mental note to check on the kid as soon as he could. "I know. Did you read the file I gave you on Satacoy and his fellow scumbags?"

"Yes, I did." She reopened the file. "So what are you getting at here, Kermit? The Father's camp was one of the first ones checked out. They all had alibis, and with the Father's' bad heart they were crossed off the suspect list a long time ago. Do you know something these investigators didn't?"

"No, I guess not. It's just that there is something...I just can't put my finger on it."

"Thanks, John you can go now." Peter tapped at the window of the patrol car.

John frowned. "Are you sure? Maybe I should wait."

Peter shook his head. "I'm fine. The captain told you to give me a ride, not become my babysitter. Go and catch some bad guys. Thanks again." He waved the officer off.

The young officer shrugged. "Okay, Pete, take care," he called as he drove off.

Peter wanted to see Linda, but she was refusing to take his phone calls. <Who can blame her. She must have learned the truth: her son is dead because of me.> With a sigh, he wearily made his way up the staircase.

"Pop."

The silence was overpowering. <Why do I always feel alone?> Walking into his father's empty room, the light from the candles drew him to them, as always. He stood staring into their flames, seeing his own fears and disloyalty staring back at him.

~flashback~

"How long do you intend to keep this up, boy? It does you no grace to hold on to these silly ideals. Look at you: a bloody lip for your trouble. What was it last time, a black eye?" the minister admonished.

Peter's eyes didn't leave the floor. His tirades in defense of his former life had become fewer and fewer, as his struggle to stay Shaolin weakened against the force of loneliness. "The others came off worse."

"Is that pride I hear in your voice, boy? We have discussed this many, many times over the last months. I thought you were at last learning the way the world works. You must forget this other life, this other Peter. He's gone; that life is gone forever. You will never get it...or your father...back. I know that sounds cruel, but life can be cruel to those who do not follow in God's path." The preacher moved to stand beside Peter, his hand resting not so gently on the boy's shoulder. "As long as you keep clinging to these heathen beliefs and refuse to open your eyes and see the real world for what it is, you will always be alone and lost. Without the real God to guide you, you will always be nothing, Peter."

Tears that had been threatening for a long time slid slowly down the boy's cheeks. Closing his eyes, he prayed out loud for forgiveness for finally giving in. "I'm sorry, Father. I don't want to be alone anymore," he sobbed.

Thinking the young man was talking to him, the minister allowed a smile to crease his face. "That's it, son. The Lord God welcomes you."

~end of flashback~

"Peter?"

Peter opened his eyes to find his concerned father's face staring at him. The tears he had been remembering now flowed anew. Stepping away, distancing himself, Peter wiped the tears he had unknowingly shed. "Sorry. I didn't hear you come in."

"I see that. Can I help you?"

"Yeah," Peter answered, trying to regain control. "Tell me what is going on with Linda Chang. Why won't she accept my calls?"

Caine knew his son, and even though he knew his son's concern for Jason's mother was real, he could tell when Peter was changing the subject. As it was, he had just come back from another unsuccessful attempt to see Linda, and he had been dreading having to tell his son the truth.

"Pop?"

"Jason's mother overheard our conversation before you left her apartment." Caine noted Peter's stricken look, but continued. "She no longer wishes to see us."

"Not even you? It wasn't your fault." Peter's voice choked.

"Nor is it yours, my son, no matter how much you defend that guilt." Caine stepped closer to comfort his son, but Peter again moved out of reach.

"No, this isn't right. I have to talk to her. She can think what she likes about me -- I deserve it -- but she needs you. I have to talk to her." He started to leave.

"Peter!" Caine called after his son. "Please. She needs time. She will see the truth when she looks past her pain -- as you will. You have to give both of you some time."

Peter stopped and turned back to his father. "She needs you now, not later. She needs you before she gives up on everything, including herself."

"Peter, please!"

He was gone. <She needs you before she gives up on everything, including herself.> He knew his son was talking about himself, not Linda. <What other pains are you bearing now, my son?>

Part Seventeen

The black car, its tinted windows hiding its occupants from the outside world, slowed down and pulled to a stop at the kerb. Nothing unusual, as dozens of other vehicles coming and going in the flow of the day's traffic had done the same. But not all had followed a police car at a discreet distance and watched as the unit's passenger entered the building doorway.

Reaching into the glove box, a hand quickly retrieved a pair of latex gloves and placed them methodically on each finger. Covered fingers interlaced and arms flexed outward, causing the knuckles to crack. Folding again, palm to palm, the hands met in prayer.

The conversation with God over, one gloved hand delved into a jacket pocket, producing a tube and opening it slowly. One hand squeezed the contents two inches long onto the other. Rubbing the two sets of fingers together, careful not to spread the ointment too thin, he waited.

Peter's feet hit the pavement of the street. Moving quickly, he had no thought but reaching Linda Chang's apartment, making her understand that his father was blameless. Convinced in his guilt-obsessed state that this was the only way he could right one of his many wrongs, he turned the corner toward his destination. With his haunted eyes focused ahead, he didn't notice another shadow meld suddenly with his own, but he felt the constricting grip around his throat.

The arm tightened its grip as Peter struggled against the sudden attack. Gasping for air, he pulled at the arm just as the pain hit him. A white flash forced his eyes shut; he tried to block out the piercing pain in his head. He knees began to buckle and he wanted to fall, but the the arm kept its steady grip, forcing him to stay on his feet. The debilitating headache took hold, his whole body throbbing to his heart's painful beat.

The air in the room filled with Peter's anguish. Caine knew his son would have no chance of changing Linda's mind, with Jason's death so fresh in her mother's heart. Peter's attempt to relieve Linda's pain was only going to cause two innocent people more grief. Grabbing his satchel, Caine moved down the stairwell, not to stop Peter but to be there when Linda reacted with her broken heart.

The sensation of anguish was suddenly swamped with the agony of pain. "Pet..." His son's name choked in his throat, and he moved quickly toward his son's silent desperation.

Half-carried, half-dragged, Peter could find not one clear thought to help him call out as his head's torment strangled his words. He was past caring when his body hit the leather of the back seat of a car; he just wanted the pain to stop. And, as a moan escaped his clenched teeth, it was of no importance that the vehicle moved. He just needed the pain to stop.

He was too late. Caine stood staring hopelessly as the car disappeared into traffic. He knew it was carrying his son toward a destiny he had to stop. With the car's license plate numbers planted securely in his mind, the desolate father started looking for the fastest way to reach the one person he knew could use his information to its best advantage.

Discarding the gloves on the floor of the car, the hands roughly shoved the incapacitated passenger, maneuvering the still unaware body so his handcuffs could be reached. There was no fight, just a whimper as the mind-crippled man's arms were yanked behind him, the force dislocating the prisoner's left shoulder. And there was no contest as the captive's feet were tied at the ankles, giving him no chance of escape.

Caine rushed through the station doors, wasting no time in getting Broderick's attention. "I must see Kermit. It is very important."

Broderick was in the middle of moving files, balancing the phone to his ear as he struggled to keep the files from falling from his arms. "If he is anywhere --" he answered, gripping the phone between his chin and shoulder and quickly scanning the busy precinct, "-- he will be in his..." He turned to see the priest was gone. "God, I hate when he does that." Frowning, he finally lost control of first the files and then the phone. "Damn it!" Sighing, he set to work finishing the phone call as he picked up the files from the floor.

Moving quickly through the noisy bullpen, Caine acknowledged the greetings but never stopped. In his haste to get to Kermit, even Mary Margaret was left open-mouthed. Caine opened the door to Kermit's office after only a quick knock and without his usual good manners.

"What the-...? Caine?" The detective's face relaxed a bit before his muscles twitched and his instincts kicked in. "Peter?"

Caine nodded slightly. "I am sorry, Kermit. I do not have time. Can you find me a car? License number VG-456."

Kermit's fingers automatically touched the keyboard as soon as he heard the numbers. "How long ago?"

Shrugging, Caine thought on it. "Not long. Maybe five minutes."

"Damn it! I knew this was going to happen. I should have been watching his back," Kermit whispered.

"Please do not do this, Kermit. This is no more your fault than mine or Peter's. Guilt is a senseless act that serves no purpose."

A sudden, authoritative voice cleared a path through the crowd that had begun to gather at Kermit's doorway. "What's going on here?" Simms asked, making her way through the commotion. "What's happened?"

Kermit took his gun from its drawer, checked it, and holstered it. Glancing at his computer screen, he jumped from his seat, his chair slamming into the wall behind him. "Son of a bitch. I'm going to kill the bastard."

"Detective Griffin! Tell me what the hell is going on in my squad room?"

The smell of leather added to Peter's rising nausea, but as clarity slowly returned, the pain in his head subsided to merely a dull ache.

<Damn! What hit me?>

Trying to get some idea of what was happening, he attempted to move sit up. The pain that lanced though his shoulder didn't slow him down; compared to the agony his head had been through, it was nothing. What did slow him down was the realisation that his arms and legs weren't going anywhere. By the look of things, neither was he.

"Damn it!"

The movement was sudden and quick.

A glimpse out of the corner of his eye was all Peter got as the fist connected with his face, sending him spiraling again into darkness.

Part Eighteen

The four police officers traveled in relative silence as the elevator made its way to Father Josiah's floor. "Maybe we shouldn't have left Caine downstairs. He might have been of some help up here," Skalany suggested, finally breaking the strained silence.

Simms had explained to Caine why he should be left behind. She had seen that the priest had understood their need to do something, to be part of the solution that would bring his son back to him, so he had quietly agreed to wait. "I'm sure he could be very helpful, but this is our part of the job. Anyway, he has enough to worry about."

"Not as much as these bastards will have."

Skalany and TJ ignored Kermit's remark, but watched their mercenary friend out of the corners of their eyes.

"Detective Griffin." Simms homed in on Kermit. "Understand me. Do not, I repeat DO NOT do anything that I am going to be sorry for."

"Of course not," Kermit answered placidly, turning to look at his captain. "Trust me." He smiled and used a finger to push his glasses back against his face.

"Yeah, right." Simms turned away. "Just remember, Griffin -- and this goes for all of us -- no matter how we feel personally, we all carry a badge."

<But I don't need one,> Kermit promised himself as the doors opened.

Luke watched the lift door open and, though he didn't know all the players who stepped out toward him, he did recognize their purpose. Widening his stance, he made sure his broad frame obscured the doorway.

Simms grabbed Kermit's sleeve, holding him back, attempting to take control of the problem before it could arise. "We would like to see Mr. Satacoy."

Flinching at the use of the Father's real name, Luke glared at the woman. "Father Josiah is unwell and will not see anyone today."

"Will not? Listen, Ugly, we weren't asking," Kermit threatened. "Oh, shit! We haven't got time for this."

Pulling himself free of his captain, he cleared his gun of its holster in a blink of an eye. With one hand he slammed Luke against the door, and with the other he pressed the tip of the gun hard under the guard's chin. "You know, Ugly -- " Kermit scowled, shoving the gun even harder into the man's neck. "-- I don't need your permission. You are going to move your mindless, pathetic frame out of this doorway or learn to fly in one easy lesson." He used the gun to move Luke's face so he could see the end hallway window.

As feeling started to revive in Peter and he struggled to force his eyes open, there was a sudden shock of something cold and wet snapping him back to reality. Spluttering as his mouth unconsciously caught the water, he tried to move, only to find himself being choked as something pulled at his throat. He blinked his eyes a couple of times. His sight cleared, and at last he could see what was going on.

Peter could make out that he was tied to a wall of an old barn, but with his neck movements restricted as they were, he could only hazard a guess what was holding him there. Moving as slowly as possible -- trying to minimize the burn of the rope on his neck -- he turned to see his arms pinned to the wall on each side with a thick rope. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he tried to move his legs, he found that they, too, were bound, slightly spread.

He was tied to the one wall that the destroyed roof allowed the sun to shine on; the rest of the room was spasmodic ribbons of darkness and light. Eyes watched him from the shadowed recesses of the broken and battered old building.

"Coward!" Peter spat at the shadows. "You hide from me even now." He shook his bindings, showing he was not a threat. "You're a gutless coward!"

"Oh, no, Caine. The coward was the one that stood right where you are standing now," a voice called from the darkness.

Peter's ears picked up a scraping noise. With relief he felt the rope relent its grip on his throat. Breathing in a liberating breath of air, he took a second to stretch his neck, noting the rope that was controlling his newfound freedom.

"Look down!" the voice ordered.

Doing as he was ordered, his slowly scanned down to the dirt. Although dry, the patchwork of red and rust colors beneath his feet was still unmistakably blood. Registering the significance, Peter face suddenly paled as his rage grew. Jerking up his head, he searched the darkness for the monster. "You son of a..."

The words strangled in his throat as the rope abruptly pulled tight on his neck. Peter's head crashed back against the wooden wall. Momentarily stunned, he could manage only a moaning sob. "Jason!"

The door to the suite burst open just as Michael was closing the doors to the Father's room. He turned to see Luke's hefty frame land awkwardly in the center of the room.

"What is the meaning of this?" Michael demanded of the officers who followed Luke's untimely entrance. In seconds they were joined by Simon and Patrick, who, on hearing the noise, came running, their guns drawn.

Mary Margaret took Luke's gun, pressing him down and holding her gun on him, as Kermit and TJ aimed their weapons at the armed disciples.

"Don't drop 'em; make our day," TJ warned.

"Dirty Harry, eat your heart out," Skalany whispered in the young man's ear as she watched the guns hit the floor.

Moving to pick up the discarded weapons, Mary Margaret let Luke go, glancing up as Simms waved a piece of paper in the air. "This a search warrant, gentlemen. We want to see Chauncey Satacoy, and we want to see him now."

Michael smiled as he looked at the bedroom door and then back at his friends, who now stood, arms crossed, side by side. "He's not here. You can't touch him."

"Let's make sure of that, shall we?" Kermit stormed to the bedroom doors, kicking them open.

<Don't let him kill the asshole,> Karen prayed as she waited for Kermit to emerge from the bedroom.

Kermit holstered his weapon as he walked back into the sitting room. "He's right. Satacoy's not here. " He looked oddly defeated. "The bastard's dead!"

Part nineteen

"Dead! What do you mean dead?" Karen demanded, storming past Kermit to check out the room for herself.

"I mean he's dead. What part of the 'not breathing' process don't you understand, Captain?" Kermit snapped, his gaze following Simms. "Damn it!" he cursed softly to himself as he finally trailed her into the room. He found her hunched over the bed, checking the body.

"You can yell at me all you like, Kermit," she stated as she checked the man's jacket and pocket. "It won't change anything or tell us where Det...Peter is. Damn. Nothing." Exasperated, she scanned the room. " We have a dead body in here and four..."

"Four! I could kiss you." Kermit smiled as he ran from the room.

"At a later time, feel free." She chuckled, then solemnly followed her detective out of the room.

Kermit raced back into the sitting room to find the four men standing in a circle, heads bowed, holding hands. Their whispered mantra was being softly spoken in unison, as a stunned Skalany and TJ looked at Kermit and shrugged.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. If I could interrupt this little hands-across-the-world thing you've got going on here, I have some questions."

Michael slowly raised his head, his eyes following suit. The eyes blazed at Kermit, but the words were calm. "We are mourning a death, Detective. The loss of a great man, the spiritual truth on this earth."

"And where would the rest of this mourning sextet be? There seem to be a couple of people missing. The heir apparent, for one."

"Daniel has gone to make the arrangements for Father," Michael stated flatly as the others continued their prayers.

"I see." Kermit stepped closer to the disciple. "And the other one?"

"John," Skalany offered.

"And John?" Kermit asked Michael.

"He drove Brother Daniel. After all, our new leader is very distressed over the death of not only his father, but our conduit between man and God."

"I see. And Peter Caine?" Kermit heard the mantra stop as all eyes looked up at him. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"Just after he killed Father."

"Whoa! Say that again."

Michael became enraged. "It is Detective Caine's fault that our light has left this world. It was his words, his hateful words, that he used as a sword to strike Father down."

"Words? You mean they had an argument?" Kermit's patience was running thin. He didn't have time for this, but he couldn't push. Not yet.

"Murder is murder, no matter the weapon." Michael scowled.

Kermit stepped threateningly close, whipping his glasses from his face. "Remember that, won't you?" Stepping away, he replaced his shades. "Now, back to the Bobbsy Twins. They'd be driving to make these preparations in the black Cadillac?"

"I don't know which car they took."

"Well, I think you do, and I think you know where they went. And if you don't suddenly find a very good memory, you will be joining the dear departed," Kermit promised.

Michael looked past the threatening detective to the other police officers. "Did you hear that? This officer threatened me."

Mary Margaret shrugged. "Didn't hear a thing. What about you, TJ?"

TJ put his finger in his ear, pretending to try to clear it. "Sorry, Skalany, what did you say? Damn water in the ear. What about you, Captain?"

Karen looked blandly at her officers. "Tinnitus," she said, pointing her ears. "Ringing in the ears. Can't hear a thing."

"You're the police. You can't break the law of man or God," Michael stated with certainty.

Kermit looked at the four men. "Are you sure of that? I will let you in on a secret. I can carve you pissants up and, with one phone call, you will disappear and the pieces will never be found. Be sure to understand me. I'm not trying to scare you; I'm telling you. Make a decision." Pulling his gun from its holster, he saw he had their attention. "Tell us where Detective Caine is or I'm going to kill you. Not your God's law, mercenary law. My law."

Ignoring the pain at the back of his head, Peter talked to the darkness, knowing he would be heard. "So why am I still alive? Get off on this shit, do you?"

The rope tensed and tightened,