by Wendy Shywalker

Part one

"When you said we were going on a road trip, Pop, you weren't kidding. I've never heard of some of these places, " Peter said, reading a sign for another little town in the middle of nowhere. "Population one hundred and twenty -- jeez, Pop, a bustling metropolitan city, this one."

Caine smiled as he opened his arms. "One should see as much of his own country as he can. There is so much to see and learn, even in small towns like...Sandsberry."

Peter laughed. "Yeah, not to marry your cousins."

Caine gave Peter a disapproving look.

Peter smiled. "Sorry, Pop."

After looking down at the gas gauge, Peter searched the little town for a gas station. "Don't know about you, Pop, but I'm as hungry as this car. Let's stop and grab something to eat."

"As long as it is not...hot...dogs again." Caine smiled.

As Peter's Stealth drove through town, it was the center of attention; not many fancy cars like his passed through.

"There you go." Peter grinned as he pointed to a one-bowser gas station/store. " Everything we could want in one place."

After they filled the car, they entered the store to find something to eat. As Peter looked around, he couldn't help but laugh as he saw a sign for hot dogs. "Hungry?" He smiled, pointing at the sign. "Don't worry, Pop. Excuse me, sir," he said, turning to the storekeeper, who had been eying the strangers. "Is there somewhere we can get something to eat?" Peter asked.

The jingle of the doorbell took the storekeeper's attention for a moment. "Aaah...eat. Yeah, there's Molly's Cafe down the street. If that's all, that'll be twenty five dollars for the gas, mister."

As Peter paid for the gas, the two men who had entered circled Caine, looking him up and down.

"Can you believe this, Dullboy? Looky at this one, would ya?" the older one said to the younger one.

Caine ignored the jibes. He was used to the looks and remarks that his presence caused. As he looked over at the reddening face of his son, he knew that, as usual, Peter's patience was running thin.

"Man, would you look at the get-up -- sandals and this handbag." The older one laughed as he flicked at Caine's bag.

Caine gave a small bow as he asked, "Can I help you with something?"

"Hey, Sonny, he talks funny, too," Dullboy smirked.

Peter had had enough. "Okay, Heckle and Jekyll, leave my father alone. He's a priest."

Sonny and Dullboy again looked at the stranger. "He's no priest. Well, no priest we've ever seen," Sonny argued.

"I am a Shaolin priest," Caine explained.

Peter wasn't in the mood to stand around explaining their lives to strangers. "Come on, Pop. Let's go and get something to eat."

Sonny grabbed Peter's arm, swinging him around. "Hey, we ain't finished with you yet."

Peter looked at his father and shook his head. <I know, Pop. Stay calm.> But as Sonny's finger dug into his arm, he lost his patience. Peter grabbed Sonny by the nose and twisted it.

Sonny's legs buckled and he fell to his knees, crying out in pain. "Let me go! Hey! You're breakin' me nose. Let me go!" he yelled.

Dullboy stood back, not knowing what to do, as Caine tapped Peter on the shoulder.

Peter looked back to see his father's disapproving look. "Okay, I know, my methods we will talk about later." Letting go of the man's nose, he went to the counter and grabbed some fruit and orange juice. "I'll take these, thanks," he said as he paid.

After the two strangers left, Dullboy rushed to Sonny's side, but Sonny tossed away his brother's hands as he clutched at his bloodied nose. "That bastard is going to pay for that. Get the truck, Dullboy," he ordered.

"But, Sonny, what will Boyd say?" Dullboy asked nervously.

"I don't give a fuck about Boyd. Do what I damn well tell you, idiot. Get the fucking truck now!" he yelled at his brother.

The storekeeper came running around from the behind the counter with a towel in his hand. "Are you all right, Sonny? I saw the whole thing," he said as he tried to make up for the slight against the town's leading sons. After all, these were the Sandsberry boys.

As the truck pulled up outside the store, Sonny shoved the bloodied towel back at the storekeeper. Shoving Dullboy over into the passenger seat, he spun the wheels and took off.

Part Two

The Stealth was about ten minutes out of town, and Peter was still fuming. "I don't understand small minds. What is wrong with people like that? They see someone different, and they have to make fun." Looking over at his father, he partially smiled. "I don't know how you do it, Pop. How can you not get angry with people like that?"

Caine shrugged as he always did in situations like this. "But your anger proved nothing but putting that man to shame."

Peter looked around, festering. "I could have done worse, Pop. As it is, Heckle will only have a sore nose for a few days." Remembering, he couldn't help but laugh. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he caught a small smile curving on his father's face. "Ah ha! You thought it was funny, too, didn't you?"

Caine pointed his finger at his son. "Maybe, but we will be talking about..."

"...this later. I know, I know," Peter finished for him.

Peter checked his rearview mirror and saw another vehicle coming up fast behind him. <Where's a traffic cop when you need one?>

Sonny could see the fancy car not far ahead. Reaching down beside the seat, he pulled up a rifle. "Hold the wheel," he ordered.

"Shit, Sonny, what do you think you're doing?" This wasn't part of the plan as far as Dullboy was concerned -- Sonny always went off half-cocked.

"Shut up and steer," Sonny shouted as they started to pass the Stealth.

Peter turned to see the truck passing him. In the split second that he heard his father call his name, he jerked the wheel to dodge the truck and the rifle, but everything was too late.

Sonny pulled the trigger, watching as the fancy car veered off the road. Screeching to a stop, he watched as the car rolled down the embankment. He smiled as the car flipped over and continued on its way until a tree stopped it with a sickening crash.

"Let's go," Sonny called happily as he ran down to check out the two passengers. Dullboy reluctantly joined his brother. When they reached the mangled remains of the car, they were surprised to find that both of the strangers were still breathing.

Reaching into Peter's jacket, Sonny pulled out his wallet. Taking his money, he noticed the policeman's badge. "He's a cop."

Dullboy began to rubbed his hands nervously down the side of his pants. "What do we do now?"

Sonny pocketed the wallet as walked around to the other side of the car. Opening the glove box, he found Peter's Beretta. "Would you looky here at this -- fancy car, fancy gun. Now, no car, no gun." He smiled.

Pulling Caine's bag from him, he searched it. "What's this shit?" he spat, screwing up his face as he threw Caine's medicines to the ground.

Dullboy looked loser at the young cop. "Sonny, I think you got this guy. He seems to be bleeding an awful lot."

Sonny began to walk back up the embankment. "Accidents happen. Get your arse back up here."

Running after his brother, Dullboy called out, "What's Boyd goin' to say? Sonny, he ain't goin' to be happy."

Sonny swung around and grabbed his brother by the shirt. "We don't have to tell him, do we?"

When they arrived back in town, Boyd was already waiting. The storekeeper had been quick to tell the elder brother all about the incident in his store. Walking up to them as they parked the truck, Boyd stopped Sonny from getting out of the truck by holding the door shut. "Where have you been?" he asked his middle sibling.

"What? I'm not allowed to go for a drive in my own truck now? Need your permission for everything, do I?" he snarled as he pushed his way out of the truck, followed by the sheepish Dullboy.

Boyd look suspiciously at his two brothers. "Okay, Dullboy, what happened?"

Dullboy tried to back off from his eldest brother. "Nothin', Boyd. Honest, nothin'."

Boyd looked from one brother to the other, suddenly noticing the butt of Peter's gun. "What the hell is this fancy thing, then?" he demanded, pulling the gun out of Sonny's belt.

Sonny stood his ground, so Boyd turned his attention back to the weakest link, Dullboy. "Spill, li'l brother."

Realising he was more scared of Boyd than of Sonny, Dullboy spoke up. "Well, Sonny got a might upset with that city fella, Boyd. We sort of chased 'em, but their car crashed and we went to check 'em out."

Boyd stared back at Sonny. "What?" he asked as he looked back at Dullboy.

"Well, they were out. There was blood, and Sonny found the gun...and a badge. Jesus! Boyd, the young one, he's a cop. I didn't want nothin' to do with killin' no cop," he whined.

"Instead, you're leavin' the cop alive to bring the wrath of the Almighty down on us. Can't you two put both your brains together and come up with one idea between ya? Do I have to do everythin'? Get in the truck," Boyd ordered. Seeing Sonny standing his ground while Dullboy couldn't get in fast enough, he glared at his middle brother. "Don't you start with me, brother. I will snap you in half like a twig if you push me, you know that."

Sonny knew all right. He had been on the wrong end of his brother's fist more times that he could count, so he obediently climbed into the truck beside Dullboy.

Boyd shook his head as he started the truck. "With any luck, they're long dead. If not, I will clean up your mess, as usual."

Part Three

Through the darkness of unconsciousness, Peter slowly clawed his way to awareness. "Pop," he called weakly. Not getting any reply, he began to panic. "Pop," he began to call with more urgency. He turned to look for his father, and a pain shot through his side. Grabbing towards the offending agony, he found part of the door had broken away in the crash, spearing him in his side. Unable to turn his body any further, and looking at the empty seat where he had last seen his father, he prayed, "Damn it! Pop, please be all right?"

"Peter," his father called, coming up from behind him.

Peter closed his eyes, sinking back in his seat. "Pop, what are you trying to do to me? Are you all right?" His father's bloodied face had not gone unnoticed.

Caine looked at his son's face. "Better than you, I believe." As he moved to pull at the twisted metal that used to be Peter's door, Peter put up his hand. "I wouldn't do that, Pop. Part of that door has grown quite attached to me," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Caine nodded as he assessed the situation. "I am sorry, Peter, but I must pull this out. It is not the ideal situation for us, but I do believe we will be in danger should we stay here. Your arm needs tending as well, my son."

Peter flinched as his father touched his arm. "Pop! Jeez, that smarts. It's broken, isn't it?" he asked, his distress obvious. Looking at his father's injuries, he reached out to tenderly touch his father's bloodied forehead. "That looks deep, Pop."

Caine gently pried his son's hand from his head. "It is nothing, and yes, your arm is broken. Are you ready? We must get this out." He gestured at the piece of metal.

As Peter sucked in his breath, he tried to smile. "Okay, just do it, Pop."

Caine retrieved a t-shirt from the back seat of the car. He was about to rip it up when Peter objected, "Oh, Pop, not my Academy shirt. Come on, please."

"Sorry, my son," Caine said, reaching for another and holding it up for inspection. "Better?" he asked.

Peter smiled nervously as he took what was left of his shirt. "Much," he replied.

Caine put his hand softly to his son's face. "I am sorry to do this to you, Peter. When I pull, hold the material to your wound as tightly as you can."

Peter nodded and took a deep breath. "Okay, Pop, now or..."

Before he could get the words out, Caine yanked open the door. Peter's scream reverberated through the trees. Gasping for breath, Peter tried to do as his father had asked, but his shaking hand wouldn't let him. Lost in his agony, he let the shirt fall from his grip.

Caine reacted quickly, catching the shirt as it fell. He pressed it onto Peter's wound.

"Okay, Pop...let's not...do that...again," Peter said between breaths. Stars where dancing in front of his eyes as the darkness threatened to take him. Taking a couple of deep breaths, Peter tried to keep himself in the land of the conscious.

Caine reached into the back seat for more shirts that he could rip into bandages and a sling for Peter's arm. Peter's shaking hand held the material, which was now soaked in blood, as his father rendered his clothes into rags. "At this rate...Pop...I am going to have to walk around naked...'til we get home." Peter tried to joke as he raggedly sucked air.

As Peter waited for his father to finish, he looked around at his car. That's when he noticed the glove box open, his gun gone. Peter tried to move, to see if the gun had fallen in the accident, but his father restrained his movements. "It is of no use. Your gun is not here. You will also find your wallet missing. The men who did this have been and gone, though I do believe they will be back. "

"They hurt you--they wreck my car--steal my gun and badge. Damn, now I'm really ticked off. I was right the first time, Pop: they are inbred...I think we are in trouble--again," Peter said as he scanned the road for traffic.

"Are you up to moving, my son?" Caine asked as he grabbed his bag, already refilled with the things that Sonny had thrown out.

"Do I have a choice, Pop? Let's get going before Heckle and Jekyll return for more comedy capers." Looking at the dried blood that clotted his father's hair, he had to ask again, "Pop? Are you sure you're all right? That cut looks pretty deep." Peter's mouth dropped open as he saw that the wound had healed. "Pop, how do you do that? Man! You have to teach me that trick," he exclaimed as he kissed the top of his father's head, just grateful that his father wasn't badly hurt.

Caine took hold of Peter's arm and gently pointed toward the forest. "I do believe it would be in our best interest to take the back way into town. Heckle and...Jekyll, as you call them, may well come the way of the road, do you not think?"

Peter nodded as he took a last look at his once beautiful car, and holding his side with his good arm, he gingerly followed his father into the woods.

Caine made sure Peter was still behind him. He would offer assistance when his son really needed it, and he would be needing it very soon.

Part Four

As the truck made its way down the highway, Boyd was still struck at his brothers' stupidity.

"Why couldn't ya just leave the stranger alone? What do you think Papa is going to say when he hears about this?" he snarled.

Dullboy bit his nails nervously. He didn't like being penned in between his big brothers in situations like this. "Papa might'en find out, Boyd," Dullboy said hopefully.

"Since when have you known Papa not to know everthin' that is goin' on in town, especially when Sonny can't keep his damn fool mouth shut?" Boyd, spat as he clipped Dullboy around the ears.

"Aw, Boyd, why ya hittin' me? I didn't do nothin'. It was Sonny; he did it." Whispering, he continued, "My name's Delroy. You know that."

Sonny, who had said nothing until then, clipped Dullboy around the head. "Shut it...Dull...boy," he teased, a smiled coming to his face.

Boyd glared at his brother. "And you can wipe that smile off your face, as well. You remember, it's your fault we're in this bloody mess. Now, where did ya say ya ran this car off?"

"Just down here a ways," Sonny huffed. "All right, what do we if they're still alive?" he asked as he absently stroked the fancy gun that rested on his hip.

Boyd saw where the skid marks started. After checking the road for traffic, he turned down the embankment. "Well, at least you can't see the car from the roadside, and as for your question..." He looked at Sonny's hand as it fingered the gun. "I suppose you get to use that fancy gun you stole -- but this time finish what ya start, for once in ya stupid life."

As Sonny jumped from the truck, eager to use his new toy, Boyd turned to see Dullboy still sitting in his seat. Leaning in, he grabbed his younger brother by the arm and dragged him out of the truck. Pointing his finger into Dullboy's chest, he pushed home his point painfully. "We are all in this, you included, Dullboy, so get your arse over there. Now" he ordered.

"Boyd, you'd better get over here," Sonny called from the wreck of Peter's car.

As Boyd pushed Dullboy in front of him, Dullboy whined back at his brother, "Boyd! Cut it out."

" 'Boyd, don't. Boyd, cut it out.' Stop your whining, you idiot," Boyd snarled. Hearing Sonny's call, he pushed Dullboy ahead of him again. "What is it now?" he asked Sonny in exasperation.

"Well, they're not dead," Sonny said, gesturing to the empty car.

"Fuck it!" Boyd shouted, punching his fist on the roof of what was left of the car. "And you can wipe that smirk off your face and all," he said as he pounced on Sonny, slamming him against the car. "This is all your fault, you stupid fuck. I should have drowned you when you were a baby. We have a cop out there, who, if he can get outside help, can put you and Dullboy here away for a long time. Now, I don't give a flying rat's arse about you, but Mama seems to favour idiot boy here."

"Boyd!" Dullboy pleaded. He hated being talked about like that.

Boyd turned, glaring at Dullboy and pointing his finger. Dullboy knew when to shut his mouth, and cowered back.

Giving Sonny a push, Boyd let him fall against the car. He ran his hands through his hair, wondering which brother to pound on first. When he saw the blood that had dried on the grass, he commented, "Well, it looks like you got real lucky this time, Sonny. You said the cop was driving? Well it looks like he might be hurt bad; he can't have got far. Dullboy, get the rifles from the truck. Let's see if we can finish this before it gets any more out of hand than it already has."

Part Five

Peter hurt. He needed to rest, but he didn't want to be the cause of them having to slow down.

Caine, however, was already slowing, having sensed his son's distress. He walked back to his breathless son, who had now stopped, leaning his back against a tree, with his eyes closed. Caine casually touched his hand to his son's face, not realising what a comfort that one action gave to Peter.

Peter smiled at the touch. "Hi, Pop...Sorry, I'm ready now," he said, taking a breath and beginning to push himself away from the tree.

Caine gently pressed his son to stay, tenderly wiping the sweat from Peter's brow. "Rest. I will take this moment to check your injury."

Peter tried to push his father away. "Pop, it's fine, honest. We haven't got time for this," he argued.

Caine turned from his examination. "We have time, Peter. Now stand still, please." Caine shook his head as he reached into his bag. "Peter! Why didn't you tell me it had started to bleed again?" he reproached.

Peter shrugged. "Well, not that much, Pop," he defended himself. "Anyway, we haven't got time. I think you are right about these guys. They can't afford to leave us alive." Putting his good hand on his father's busy hands, and in between gasping breaths, he pleaded, "Pop, please, we have to go."

Caine lightly touched his son's hand away. Looking up at his face, he stated firmly, "I will finish."

Peter knew he had lost the fight. Leaning his head back against the tree, he tried to focus, centering himself away from the pain of his father's ministrations.

"Damn it! Dullboy, stay with us. You're as slow in your movements as ya are in the brain -- and before you start, don't. I don't want to hear one whining word until this is over, you got it?" To get his message across, Boyd smacked Dullboy across the face, sending him reeling.

Dullboy recovered, silently nodding as he rubbed his face. The inner man began to stir and seethe. Years of physical and mental abuse by his bully boy brothers was starting to steel his heart toward his siblings. <One day, they better watch out! This worm will turn.>

Sonny came running back from checking ahead. "I don't believe it. It looks like they are heading back toward town. What do you think they're up to?" he wondered out loud.

Boyd stared ahead, as if looking through the trees. "I don't know, but it's going to be dark soon," he said as he looked into the sky. "At this rate, we are going to have to stay out here overnight. But the good news is, with that cop hurt, so will they."

Sonny looked to make sure Boyd wasn't looking, then reached into his jacket. Pulling out a small bottle of whiskey, he took a sip. Slipping it discretely away, he called to his brothers, "Well, let's get on with it then. I'm in the mood for hunting pig."

Part Six

They had been walking for what seemed to Peter to be forever, and still all he could see were trees and more trees. As he walked, his feet began to drag, and his arm and side ached, but he had slowed down their progress too much already. No matter how exhausted he was, he wasn't going to be the reason for anything happening to his father. He would have offered to stay while his father went for help, but he knew how far he would get with that idea.

Caine interrupted his son's thoughts. "Peter, we are not going to make it to town tonight. We will stop and rest for the night." He had sensed Peter's weariness and he was still worried about Peter's injuries; his son had to rest.

Peter shook his head and continued to walk. "I am fine Pop. We can't stop. They will be coming."

Caine put a hand to Peter's shoulder, trying to slow his son down. "They will have to rest as well, my son. Come," he guiding Peter to a fallen log.

Having settled Peter in behind the fallen tree, he began to move away. Peter grabbed hold of his jacket. "Pop, where are you going? You're not going to do..." Peter asked as he started to get up.

Caine carefully removed Peter's hand. As he lightly pressed his son back to the ground, he ran his hand through his son's hair. "I will not do anything, I promise." He disappeared into the night.

Caine had been gone a long time. Peter was agitated, and cursed himself for not going with his father. Suddenly, out of nowhere, his father reappeared. "Jeez, Pop, can you whistle or something before you do that. Where have you been? I was getting worried." His voice was tinged with a little annoyance.

Caine gave a slight shrug. "I am sorry to worry you, my son, but we are safe for now. The men have come, but they, too, have stopped for the night."

"You saw them!" Peter's eyes started to dart around. Realising they must be safe for the moment, he calmed himself. "What are Heckle and Jekyll doing?"

Caine set about checking and rebandaging Peter's wounds. "They number three, now. We shall rest for a couple of hours. Then, if you are up to it, we will make our way again?" Caine settled Peter, so that his son leaned more comfortably against his chest. "Is that a bit better, my son?"

Peter leaned in, against his father, reminding himself of the many times his father had comforted him that very same way. Smiling, Peter yawned. "Yeah, Pop, if I have to be chased by three yokels out to kill me, with a broken arm and a bleeding hole in my side, there is no one I would rather be with."

With the fire going, Boyd had settled down for the night, while Sonny finished off the last of his bottle. Pulling Peter's gun from his belt, Sonny began to walk around, waving the gun and posing with it. Doing one particularly dramatic action, he tripped, nearly landing in the fire; shrugging, he settled himself down against a tree, and quickly fell asleep.

Dullboy watched his brother's little dance from the corner of his eye. He would have laughed, but knew he would get a backhander, especially as Sonny had been drinking all day. Dullboy waited until he saw that Sonny and Boyd had fallen asleep. Sneaking over to Sonny, he began to carefully slip the fancy gun from his brother's fingers.

Sonny felt the gun being eased out of his hand and sprang up, knocking Dullboy to the ground. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he shouted, pouncing on his little brother.

Dullboy tried to get away, tried to move out of his brother's drunken grip. "I just wanted to look at it. Sonny, please, I didn't mean to...honest..." he pleaded as he struggled in his brother's grasp.

Sonny stood up with an evil grin on his face. "You wanted to look at it...I'll give you a good look." He spat. Pointing the gun at his cowering brother, he fired past him, but close enough to make Dullboy jump away.

"Please, Sonny, I..."

He didn't finish the sentence. He saw Sonny go flying as Boyd sprang at him. "You stupid idiot, what the fuck do you think you are doin'?" Then, realising, he picked up Sonny and slammed him against the tree. "You've been drinking again, haven't ya?" he screamed at Sonny.

Sonny had enough. In his frustrated, drunken state, he unconsciously brought the gun up to Boyd's stomach.

Boyd looked down. Seeing the gun and glaring into his brother's eyes, he warned him, "You better be willing to use that. Give it to me."

Sonny held the gun, not moving.

Boyd grabbed hold of the gun and they began to fight over it.

"It's mine. Fuck off," Sonny snarled as he grappled with his brother.

Dullboy watched his brothers fight, hoping they would kill each other, when a shot went off. Dullboy watched as Boyd and Sonny stepped away from each other, both with a look of disbelief on their faces.

Sonny slowly sank to his knees. "Boyd?" he asked weakly as he fell face first into the dirt, Peter's gun still pressed in his hand.

Boyd stood there, stunned, as Dullboy scampered over to his fallen brother. "Sonny? Wake up, Sonny, please," he begged, but his brother stayed still. Dullboy reached his shaking hand to Sonny's neck. With watering eyes he cried, "He's dead, Boyd! Sonny's dead. What are we going to do?"

Boyd woke from his daydream and looked down at his fallen brother. He couldn't bring Sonny back, but he could save his own arse. Grabbing Peter's gun from Sonny's hand, he shoved it in his pocket. Pulling Dullboy up from the ground, he scowled. "We are going to take Sonny home, and we are going to tell Papa how the cop killed our brother. You got that?"

Dullboy shook as the tears streamed down his cheek. "But...Boyd...he..."

Boyd shook Dullboy by the shoulders. "It was an accident, Dullboy. I was protecting you, remember? The cop's gun killed Sonny, so the cop killed Sonny. Right?"

Dullboy read the unspoken threat. "Okay, Boyd." Looking down at his brother's dead body, he said sadly, " I understand."

Part Seven

The woods natural night sounds, were broken, with the sound of gunfire. The sudden echoing of the shot, jerked Peter from his exhausted sleep. As he moved, his injuries reacted badly, and a curse escaped his lips. Holding his side with his good arm, Peter rocked slightly as he tried to ride out the pain.

Caine had been up for while, watching and listening, letting Peter sleep a bit longer, knowing he would need as much rest as he could get. The sound of the gunshot had surprised him, he realised that it could mean, the men were on the move again.

Turning back to Peter, he heard his son's curse of distress, and hurried to his side.

Peter felt his father’s gentle hands, as he began checking onPeter’s wounds again.

"Was that a shot I heard, Pop?" Peter asked, as he tried to move, trying to peer through the semi darkness.

Caine gently touched Peter’s shoulder, gesturing for him to stay, Yes, but they are still some distance away from us."

Peter watched his father work. His father’s face full of compassion for his pain, as he gently reapplied, more herbs and bandages. This was all his fault, Peter thought as he closed his eyes. <If only I had ignored them, like Pop always taught me. Looked what I have done. Put him in danger again>" I’m sorry, Pop," found himself saying out-loud.

Caine had felt his son’s distress, "Peter, you must not do this. Your are not responsible for the actions of others. No one forced them to do what they did to us...to you. They followed their own path." He said tenderly pushing a stray strand of hair back off his son’s face.

Peter caught his father’s hand and smiled, " Okay Pop, but how come when they’re following their path, they have to cross over in to mine? Damn, I always have to step in it. " Peter shook his head slightly, they didn’t have time for these self recriminations, he had to get moving, to put distance between his father and these men. " We had better get moving, " he said as he winced.

Caine took hold of Peter and helped him to his feet, "We will move when you are ready."

Peter patted his father’s back," As ready as I will ever be Pop, lets go."

The drive, was made so far with no words spoken, Boyd had said them all back at the campsite.

As the road passed quickly under their wheels, drawing them inevitably closer to home, Delroy glanced back at the body of his dead brother, laying in the tray of the truck. <This was wrong, what Boyd was doing was wrong, but I’m not strong enough to fight him...to fight forthe truth>

"Delroy? Delroy!" A voice called, pulling him from his thoughts. <Delroy?> Delroy looked over to Boyd, " What’ya call me, Boyd?" he asked, thinking he must have misheard.

"Well, it’s your name ain’t it." Boyd snapped, then realising how muchhe needed Delroy’s help to keep his secret, his voice softened a little. " Delroy, you gotta understand boy, this is all this stranger’s fault. Anyway, if he hadn’t got Sonny so riled we wouldn’t have been out there. You understand that, don’t you--why we gotta do this?"

Delroy didn’t understand, but what he was beginning to enjoy, was the hearing of his real name, he was at last getting respect from Boyd. Maybe now things would be different, now maybe Boyd would listen when Delroy spoke.

As they drove up the hill, the Sandsbury house stood out, jutting out among the trees. The Sandsberry money had paid for the huge two story house to be built over a century ago, and with diversification, thefamily’s wealth had not deminished over the years.

Randall Sandsberry ruled his home as he did his town, as Boyd neared the house, he took a deep breath, as he saw his father sitting on the porch; The lie begins.

Part Eight

Randall Sandsberry had been watching as Sonny’s truck made it’s way up the drive. When the pickup got closer he could see that Boyd was driving,with Delroy sitting beside him. Where was Sonny? <Drunk again, I guess. What am I going to do with that boy?>

Randall paced the porch, the cane he carried clicking on thewooden porch floor. As the truck pulled up near the house,he could make something out in the tray. "Boyd! What’s going on? Is your brother drunk again?" he yelled as he made his way down the steps toward the truck.

Boyd took a deep breath, and with a quick look at Delroy, he rushed from the car. "Pa! Pa! It’s Sonny! Someone shot him, Pa."

All the colour went from Randall’s face," What ya talking about, boy?" he demanded as he limped over to the truck.

Looking over the side, he reached down and gently touched his son’s cold skin. Randall’s face contorted with rage. Turning to Boyd and Delroy, he demanded," Who did this? Who killed my son?"

Boyd took a second to wonder would his father have cared as much if it was his body laying there, not Sonny’s--maybe for a minute, then he would have been forgotten.

Boyd tried to refocused his attention back to his father, as he spluttered his lie," Strangers, pa. You ask Clell. They were in his store today picking on Sonny. Well, you know Sonny. He got mad and chased them. We got separated at Lowder’s woods, and then we heard the shot--we found Sonny, and this gun." He said reaching into his jacket, he pulled out the Baretta.

Randall took the gun from Boyd’s hand, and looked over to Delroy, who had kept quiet while everything had been said. Randall called to his youngest son, "Delroy, come here, boy."

Delroy, who stood to the side biting his nails nervously, shuffled meekly toward his father. A tear falling, as he glimpsed at his fallen brother.

Delroy looked down at his feet as he sniffled, " It was an a..." Glancing at Boyd from under his eyelashes, he recovered," it was awful--Pa."

Randall looked at his two surviving sons, he couldn’t help thinking, why Sonny--why his boy? Turning back to Delroy, Randall asked his son, " Is what your brother said true, boy?"

Delroy nodded as he wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve, "Yeah Pa. Happened just like Boyd said, he whimpered.

"What are we going to do about this, Pa? Sonny’s killers are still are out there--in Lowder’s woods. We can’t let them get away with it! Boyd demanded.

Randall glared at his eldest son, "Noone is getting away with nothing, Boy! But first things first, we have go inside and tell your Ma that her middle son is dead, then we will see the sheriff and sort these bastards out."

Looking once more to Sonny, he pressed his hand to his son’s still heart. They’ll pay son, I promise. They’ll pay."

Part Nine

They had been walking for what seemed forever. Peter's arm ached more now, though surprisingly his side injury felt better. "Hey, Pop!" Peter called quietly. "You've got to market these herbs. We could make a fortune."

Caine smiled. Peter was talking a lot more now, was not in so much pain. His wounds would still have to be looked at in a hospital, but he was pleased Peter's side was healing.

"My medicines are for everyone for free, Peter. You know that. What do I have need of money?" Caine shrugged.

Peter loved having his fun with his father. "Well, for a start, you buy your son a new car. The old one seems to have a few minor dents in it," he joked.

Caine smiled more broadly as he looked back at his slow-moving son. "Ah, but you match your car so perfectly, my son." Caine looked past the last group of trees. "You can rest in a moment, Peter. We are here."

Peter caught up to his father, his steps quickening at the thought this could be nearly over. As he viewed the town that was now only metres away, he kissed his father's forehead. "Thanks, Pop. Couldn't have got this far without you." Looking toward the town, he began to step away. "Now to find the local sheriff, and get these pea brains off the streets before they kill someone, us included."

"Peter, do you not think it would be better if you saw a doctor first? That arm has to be set," Caine suggested.

Peter shook his head. "Sorry, Pop, first things first. This has waited this long, it can wait a bit longer. These knuckle-scraping throwbacks could have killed you. So you coming or what?" he asked as he began to walk away.

Caine shook his head as he followed his son.

The sheriff was refreshing his coffee when the noise of his door opening caught his attention. "Can I...?" He stopped as he turned to see the two disheveled travelers. "Eh, can I help you folks?" he asked, suspicious of the two strangers. He couldn't help but notice the blood that stained the younger man's clothes.

'You certainly can, Sheriff," Peter said as he held out his hand.

The sheriff ignored Peter's greeting and sat down, leaning back casually in his chair.

Peter looked at Caine then, sighing at the slight. "I am Detective Peter Caine. This is my father, Kwai Chang Caine. We passed through your town yesterday. After an altercation with a couple of your locals, we were followed out of town and shot at, which caused us to crash."

The sheriff's eyes hadn't left Caine. "What did you say your name was?" inquired the sheriff, a hint of distaste in his voice.

Peter was getting aggravated. "Detective Peter Caine. Did you hear a word I said, Sheriff?" he snapped.

The sheriff's attention jerked back to the younger man. "Every damn word, Boy. Now I asked you a question." He nodded toward Caine.

"Kwai Chang Caine. What has that to do with anything?" Peter asked, incensed.

The sheriff peered over the desk, taking in Caine's sandaled feet. "You Chinese or somethin'?" He didn't attempt to hide his bigotry.

Peter started to move toward him, but his father restrained him, a gentle hand touching his shoulder. "Have we not been here before?" Caine stated.

Peter took a deep breath as he nodded to his father. Turning back to the sheriff, Peter tried to calm his voice. "Sir, as one policeman to another, I would like some assistance in finding the people responsible for this attack."

The sheriff took a drink of his coffee and seemed to think on it for a moment. "You have identification, I take it, to prove you are who you say you are?" he asked casually.

Peter took a deep breath as he explained, "My identification, along with my wallet and gun, was stolen when my father and I were unconscious after the accident."

The sheriff took another drink as he placed his feet up on his desk. "So, no identification, then."

"I am here to report a crime, Sheriff. That is, if that is still your job -- or do you just fetch coffee?" Peter snarled.

The sheriff shot up out of his chair, his face turning red. "You watch your mouth, Boy. I don't care who you say you are. You walk in here with no identification and proceed to tell me what to do in my own office," he blustered. Reaching for a piece of paper, the sheriff slammed it on the desk in front of Peter. "Fill out this report, and I will see what I can do."

Peter began writing as his father looked at the sheriff. "Does this town have a doctor? My son has injuries that must be seen to."

The sheriff glared at Caine as Peter finished the form and slid it back over the desk to the sheriff. "Just down the street to your left. His name is Doc Forrester."

"Thanks for all your help...Sheriff!" Peter snapped as he left the office. Once outside, Peter spun around. "I can't believe this! Is this place completely populated by small-minded eggplants?"

"Peter, please! It does not matter. Come, we have a doctor to see," he said as he gently prodded his son.

The sheriff watched through the window as the two strangers moved down the street. "Damn half-breeds!" the sheriff snorted. He was about to crumple up the form when he noticed the two names the stranger had written down. "God damn it!" he cursed. He grabbed his hat and headed out the door.

Part Ten

The Sheriff waited until the two strangers had gone into the doctor's office before grabbing his hat and heading out the door. He was about to climb in the squad car when he saw Sonny's truck making its way up the town street, closely followed by Randall's red Cadillac. "Shit! Here's trouble," the sheriff cursed, straightening his uniform.

The vehicles came to a stop in front of the sheriff's office. Boyd and Delroy jumped out of the truck, but stayed close to it as they waited for their father. They knew their place.

The sheriff waited until Randall and his wife Barbara stepped out of the car before going to meet them. He could see that Barbara had been crying; as she meekly followed her husband, her eyes were still wet from her shed tears.

"Randall, what can I do for you. Is there something wrong?" the sheriff asked, feigning ignorance of the boys' altercation with the two strangers.

"Damn right there is something wrong, Sheriff Hopkins," Randall barked, walking over to Sonny's truck.

Hopkins could never understand Randall. They had grown up together and been best friends when they were kids, but Randall still refused to call him by his first name. He treated Hopkins as his own personal security guard. The sheriff was sick of it, but there wasn't much call for an out-of-work small town cop. So Hopkins followed Randall as usual, his obedient servant, as they made their way over to the truck.

"I want the man who did...this," Randall ordered, uncovering the body of his son.

Barbara's tears started to flow again as Sonny lay exposed in the bed of the truck. Her grief became audible as she lost control.

Randall had had enough. He had been listened to her blubbering all the way over. "Damn it, woman, will you shut the hell up? You are getting on my nerves," he growled. When she still didn't get control of herself, Randall stormed over to her and struck her so hard she fell to the ground. "When I tell you to shut up, woman, I expect you to do what I say."

It took all of Hopkins' self-control not to run and help Barbara as she picked herself up from the ground. But he knew if he made any show of emotion in her direction, she would suffer for it, as she had already, many times. Taking a deep breath and trying to control his anger, Hopkins tried to steer Randall's rage back to the strangers, back to people he didn't care about. "Randall, what happened here. What happened to Sonny?" he asked, drawing Randall's attention away from his terrified wife.

Randall stared at his wife for a moment before judging his son's death a more important issue. She could wait.

"Two strangers passed through. Boyd tells me they started a fight with Sonny and Dullboy there. Then one of them shot my boy. I want him, sheriff. I want his hide nailed to my wall."

Randall looked over at Boyd and Delroy. "One of them strange looking? The other a younger man that was hurt?" he asked the young men.

Boyd got suddenly animated, his eyes darting from his father to the sheriff in a frantic motion. "That's them, Pop. They're the ones." He smiled as he felt the noose loosening on his own neck and tightening around someone else's.

"Where are they?" Randall demanded, his eyes searching the street.

"Randall, I am still the sheriff here, and I will handle this. They are over at the doctor's. The boy is getting wounds checked out. How do you know he killed Sonny?" the sheriff asked Randall.

Randall looked down the street in the direction of the doctor's office, his face growing in its rage. "Boyd, get the gun," he shouted to his son.

Boyd smiled as he rushed to the back of the front seat, reaching in and pulling out Peter's Beretta.

"Here you go, Pa. This is the gun we found near Sonny," Boyd said as a smile played on his lips.

The sheriff took the gun from Boyd. "Fancy weapon. Did you see this happen, Boyd?" He looked at Delroy and his face softened a little. "Delroy?"

Delroy nervously shook his head and he bit his nails, letting Boyd talk for him. "No, we heard some shouting and fighting. By the time we got there, Sonny was already dead, and that," he said nodding at the gun, "was lying beside him."

"Okay, then, I will go and check this out," Hopkins said as he started to leave.

Randall walked over to his car and reached into the back seat, pulling out his rifle.

"What do you think you are going to do? I am still the sheriff. This guy says he is a cop. Now, I can't have you shooting no cop. Not in front of the whole town, anyway. You take care of Sonny; he needs tending to. I will see to our two strangers."

Randall looked at his dead son, still seething that his son's killer were so close and that this piss ant sheriff was telling him, Randall Sandsberry, what to do. "Okay, Hopkins, I will do what you say -- for now. But I will be coming for the boy that did this, and not you or the almighty himself will stop me."

Part Eleven

The doctor finished setting Peter's arm. He was impressed with the healing of Peter's side wound. "Your herbs helped your son a great deal, Mr. Caine. And the arm should heal fine; it was a nice clean break. Just take it easy for a while, okay ... Peter, wasn't it?"

Peter gingerly slid off the examination table, and his father began to help him on with his shirt. Suddenly the door burst open and the sheriff stepped in, his gun drawn. "Okay, everybody stay right where you are," the sheriff ordered.

The doctor was livid at the sheriff's interruption. "Tom! What the hell do you think you are doing? I am consulting here."

The sheriff gestured for the doctor to stay out of the way as he kept his gun trained on Peter and Caine. "You are consulting with a murderer, Ben. Did he tell you that?"

"Sheriff, what is this all about?" Peter demanded, as he moved a step toward the armed officer.

The sheriff took a step back "Stay where you are, Boy. You are under arrest."

Peter was stunned. "Okay," Peter said as he put up his hands in surrender, wincing slightly as his side pulled. "Who did I supposedly kill?"

Still not taking his eyes off Peter, the sheriff reached for his handcuffs. "Boy, did you think you could get away with it?"

Peter nearly laughed out loud. "Get away with what! What the hell are you talking about?"

"Peter Caine," the sheriff said as he grabbed one of Peter's wrists and cuffed it. "If that IS your name? Your are under arrest for the murder of Sonny Sandsberry."

As the sheriff tried cuffing Peter's neatly plastered wrist, Caine stepped forward.

"I have been with my son all the time. He did not kill anyone," Caine said as he watched the sheriff roughly handling his son. "Please, Sheriff, take care. My son is still hurt," he pleaded.

The sheriff barely got the cuff around the plastered wrist and roughly pushed Peter toward the door. "Unless you want to join your kid, you'd best get out of my way, Chinaman."

"Pop, please, it's all right. I'll get a phone call. I'll call the captain and sort this out. Don't worry. I'll be fine." Peter didn't know who he was trying to convince, his father or himself. He didn't think it was working on either count.

The sheriff marched Peter out the door. Caine was about to follow, when the doctor called him back. "Mr. Caine, your son will be all right for the moment. Can I speak to you?"

Caine stopped and turned back to the doctor. "Of course. How can I help you?"

The doctor walked to the window, and stared out. "Mr. Caine, this is a small town, a very small and very cloistered town. Everybody knows everyone's business, like most small towns. The Sandsberry boys have been a pain in this town's butt for years, and I am afraid to say, Sonny is no great loss to it. But if what you say is true and your son didn't do this, he is in big trouble. If Randall Sandsberry believes your son is guilty, he is not going to be safe for long. Randall will see to that."

Part Twelve

Peter was pushed roughly down the street. All Peter's efforts to explain were met with a jab of the sheriff's baton in his back. As they made it to the sheriff's office door, the sheriff opened it with one hand and pushed at Peter with the other. The shove was not a gentle one, and Peter lost his balance and stumbled into the room.

Peter put out his chained arms to save himself. He was grateful in that moment that the sheriff had handcuffed them in the front -- until his arms hit the floor. The pain that shot through his broken arm was excruciating, and he was sure any good the doctor had done had just been undone.

"Get up!" the sheriff ordered, encouraging Peter with a shove from his boot. "Didn't you hear me?" he asked as he brought back his foot for another swing.

"Okay...I heard you," Peter gasped, trying to pick himself up from the floor without leaning on his injured arm. Once he was standing and had brought his pain under a measure of control, he turned back to the sheriff. "When do I get my phone call?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Moving Peter over to the cell doorway, the sheriff smiled, "The phones are out of order at the moment. Could be days. Now get your arse in there," he growled. He pushed Peter into a cell, locking the door behind him.

Peter held out his aching arms. "What about these?" he asked, gesturing to the handcuffs.

"You've being charged with murder. Can't be too careful with a murderer. Enjoy your stay -- I don't think it will be a long one." The sheriff smiled ominously.

Peter looked around the cell, what little patience he had left giving out. "Damn it!" he swore under his breath, leaning his back against the wall.

Caine listened intently to the doctor's story. "You believe my son will not get a fair hearing?"

The doctor sighed. "Mr. Caine, what I am saying is that your son will be lucky to make it through the night. This not the wild west. We have all the modern conveniences, and we do have laws. But we also have Randall Sandsberry. People have paid harshly for lesser slights against him. What do you think he will do to the man he believes killed his son, Mr. Caine?"

"I am grateful for your help, Doctor," Caine said with a slight bow. Then his face darkened, an expression not unnoticed by the doctor.

"Mr. Caine...? "

Caine started for the door. "I am sorry. My son is hurt. I must go to him."

The doctor's eyebrows went up. "Eh...pardon? You know when your son is in pain?" he asked, incredulous.

Caine shrugged. "We are close."

The doctor put his hand in the air as he went to grab his bag. "I don't profess to understand you, Mr. Caine, but if your son is hurt, I would probably have a better chance of seeing him than you have. Let's go."

Part Thirteen

The sheriff sat at his desk, pondering the situation he found. <What do I do now?> He had to investigate the murder. He was the law -- but Randall, he was the justice. <How far do I go to protect this man?>

The door to his office opened, interrupting his thoughts. Looking up, he was not at all surprised to see the cop's father and the doctor walk in. "Well, well, well, look what the fortune cookie predicted. How did I know you would turn up? What do you want?"

The doctor ignored the acid tone in the sheriff's voice. "Sheriff," Forrester said, using Hopkins title in the same tone. "Mr. Caine and I would like to see his son. We would like to make sure he is all right."

The sheriff snickered. "Would you now?" He pretended to go back to some paperwork. "Well, you can see him in the morning."

The doctor leaned forward, slamming his hand on the paper that Hopkins was feigning work on. "Tom!"

Hopkins looked up at Ben, trying to decided how to play this scene. Finally, he decided the best thing was to go along for now. He grabbed the key from the desk drawer and headed toward the cell. "You will find him just the way you last saw him." Unlocking the door to the cells, he pointed to his prisoner. "See, I told you he was fine."

Caine moved quickly to the cell bars. "Peter?"

Peter moved gingerly to the bars. "Pop, what are you doing here?" Looking toward the sheriff, he continued. " As the sheriff said, Pop, I am fine."

Caine could see Peter's pain and weariness. The last few days had obviously taken a toll on his son. He shook his head. "No, Peter, you are not. Please, Sheriff," Caine asked again.

The sheriff took a deep breath, cursing quietly as he opened the cell door.

The doctor shook his head as the door locked behind them. "Gee, you're all heart, Tom."

"Call me when you're finished, and don't be too long at it," the sheriff ordered as he glared at Peter. "Wouldn't like anybody to think I am not letting my prisoner rest, now would I?"

When the doctor began to examine his patient, he saw that the cuffs had embedded themselves into the plaster, and that something had caused the plaster to bend and rip. Ben was surprised to find that Caine had been right. The arm had, in fact, been reinjured, and he could bet who had something to do with it.

"Your plaster...what happened?" the doctor asked the detective.

Peter shrugged. "Nothing important. Pop, you shouldn't be here."

"Nothing important...! Sheriff!" the doctor called, marching over to the bars.

The sheriff returned, smiling as he readied the keys to unlock the cell. "That was quick."

The doctor glowered at the sheriff through the bars. "Quick nothing, Tom. Take the handcuffs off him. How can I be expected to look after my patient if I can't get at his injuries?" Ben asked, refraining from asking how his patient had been reinjured, fearing that if he caused a fuss the sheriff wouldn't allow them to see Peter at all.

The sheriff stepped closer to the bars, snarling as he pointed at his prisoner. "No way. This man is a murderer. He's staying cuffed. You look at him as is or get out. Now, I'm busy. Call me when you're ready to leave."

Turning back to Peter, Ben resumed his doctoring as best as he could under the circumstances. "You were right again, Caine. His side is bleeding again -- not bad, though. You're lucky, Peter. So what did happen?" he asked again.

Peter looked at his father and shrugged. "I tripped...with a little help from my friend out there," He flinched as the doctor began to apply a bandage over the broken cast in an effort to brace it.

"Sorry," the doctor apologized, trying to be as gentle as he could.

Peter smiled. "I've had worse. Right, Pop?"

Caine looked disapproving. "Yes, my son, you have."

The doctor returned his attentions to Peter's side. Reaching into his bag, he began to apply something different to his patient's wound.

Peter raised his eyebrows as the smell of his father's herbs drifted upwards, shaking his head he smiled at his father.

The doctor shrugged. "Well, it seemed to do the trick, and we are all here to learn." He looked toward the sheriff's office. "Some more than others."

Peter could think of only one other person who could help. "Pop, you have to call Kermit. We have to handle this right. I'm sure no matter what the sheriff thinks of us personally, he'll still obey the law."

Ben grinned. "You're kidding, aren't you?"

Peter looked at his father, touching his hand for reassurance. "No, just wishful thinking. What about you, Pop? Where are you going to go?"

Caine shrugged off the question. "I will be fine. Please, Peter, do not worry about me."

"Can I ask you two something? Are you always like this? I mean so in tune with each other. You just about answer the question before it's asked," Ben commented.

Peter looked at his father, the love for this man radiating from his face. "He's my father. I'm his son. We are one. Isn't that right, Pop?" he said, kissing his father's forehead.

"I think we would be even closer, Peter, if you would stop calling me 'Pop'," Caine chided his son gently.

"As for your father, Peter, he can come home with me," the doctor offered.

Peter grimaced as he tried to make himself comfortable on the bed. "Do you always take in murderers' fathers?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Ben started to pack up his things. "You know small towns, Peter. Anything to spice up the boredom." Touching Peter's shoulder, the doctor offered some advice. "Try not to upset Lobo out there, okay?"

Peter nodded and looked at his father. "You watch yourself, Pop, okay? Don't worry about me."

Caine stood up, bending down again to kiss his son's cheek. " And you! Do not talk too much. You are in enough trouble already, my son."

"Thanks, Pop. I'll try to remember," Peter said as he watched the sheriff let them out. As he felt his father's presence leaving, he closed his eyes, feeling solitude and slight panic take its place.

Part Fourteen

As their father worked out the details of Sonny's funeral once the body was released, Boyd and Delroy waited in the waiting room, watching the street per their father's instructions.

Boyd paced. His mind traveled every escape route he could think of to find a way out of this predicament he found himself in. "Sonny! The stupid bastard! He fuckin' got off easy," Boyd whispered as he leaned down to Delroy. "You two couldn't leave fuckin' well enough alone. This is all your fault. You know that, don't you? Sonny's dead because of your idiotic mistake."

Water began to well up in Delroy's eyes and he fell back into his submissive pose -- head bowed, looking at his feet -- as he tried to defend himself. "But, Boyd, I..."

"I nothing...Dullboy," Boyd warned, making Delroy flinch at the return of the name that still haunted him. "You listen to me. We have to stick to our story. You could end up in jail, just the same as me." Hearing his father coming, he leaned closer to his brother. "Either that cops pays or we do, so do what I say, ya hear?"

Delroy nodded. He watched his father enter the room, followed closely by their still sobbing mother. Randall ignored his wife's distressed state, and walked over to Boyd, leaving her to cry on her own.

Delroy stood, wanting to be with his mother, to comfort her, but before he could takes two steps, his father pulled him back by the shirt. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Delroy bowed his head again as he answered quietly, "Nowhere, Pa."

"Well?" Randall asked Boyd. "Did you do as I asked, or did you just stand here wondering how to find the window?" he taunted his sons.

Boyd frowned as his father's jibe hit its target. "Pa! We watched just as you asked. The sheriff took Sonny's killer back to the jail. The doctor and the other one came, but they left a little while ago. What are we going to do about him, Pa? You goin' to let him get away with it?"

"No! I am not going to let him get away with it, Moron. You know me better than that." He glared at his son. Randall could still hear the his wife behind him, grating on his nerves. "Jesus, woman! Shut up or go home," he yelled, making her jump.

Barbara took a deep breath, trying to control her anger at this man who over the years she had grown to hate so much. <Why couldn't it have been you? Why my son? This is your fault, and you are going to pay.>

As Caine hung up the telephone, he knew Kermit was already out the door and on his way. He was a good friend. Maybe a small show of strength would hold off the confrontation Caine could feel building.

"Mr. Caine, would you like something to drink before I make up the settee for you?" Ben asked, not really sure what to offer the priest to drink.

Caine thanked Forrester with a bow. "Water would be fine, thank you, and please call me Caine. You will not be needing to make a bed for me. I will meditate on the floor, if you do not mind?"

The doctor just shrugged. "Wherever you are comfortable, M...Caine, is fine with me. Please have a seat," Ben said, gesturing to the kitchen chair.

Placing his coffee and Caine's water on the table, Ben took a seat beside Caine. "I haven't heard your side of the story. The sheriff said your son shot Sonny. You say he didn't. What happened out there?"

Caine shrugged. "I only know what we saw and heard. My son was injured when his vehicle was run off the road. When we recovered, my son's badge and weapon were missing. We were followed. As we rested that night, there were shots. Who was firing the weapon, we did not know. We then arrived in town for help for Peter's injuries. That is all we know," he explained.

"It's not a lot. If Peter's gun was used to kill Sonny, it's going to be hard to prove he didn't shoot him, even with your alibi. After all, you are his father." Leaning back in his chair, Ben started to work it all out. "Okay, so Peter didn't shoot Sonny, and we can gather that the Sandsberrys had his weapon. You don't have to be a genius to figure out that one of the boys must have shot his brother."

Caine knew the pain of a relationship with a brother who could become violent. His time with his brother Damon had nearly ended in his own death and could have cost him the life of his son. He was lost in memories for a moment, but when he spoke, it was with compassion for the loss the young man would be feeling. "Then he must be in a great deal of pain. He will need help coming to terms with what he has done."

"Pardon?" Ben said, straightening up in his chair. "These boys nearly kill your son and yourself, then blame your son for a murder they committed, and you care how they're feeling? I like you, Mr. Caine. I really do. But you are a very strange man."

"I can say the same about you, Doctor. You have taken my word, my son's word. You have cared for him," Caine countered.

"Ah, yes, but I am a doctor. it is the Hippocratic oath to take care of the sick and ailing," Ben smiled.

"Even giving lodging to their fathers?" Caine asked.

"That's in the small print. Well, we'd better be up early in the morning, just in case. Are you sure there is nothing I can do for you, to make you more comfortable?" Ben asked Caine as he cleared the table.

"Please, you have done enough. I will be fine. Thank you." Caine bowed respectfully.

Barbara watched through the window of the funeral parlour as her husband and children walked over to Sonny's truck. She had not been close enough to hear what they were saying, but she had known Randall long enough to know when even the devil should start being afraid.

Barbara watched as Randall and Boyd walked calmly into Tom's office, closing the door behind themselves. She saw Delroy jump into Sonny's truck and drive it toward the back of the jail. <Show some backbone, Tom. Stand up to him, please. You didn't have the courage to fight for me or our son; at least fight for a man's life,> she prayed. She didn't know if this man was guilty of killing her son or not, but she wasn't going to let the last of her sons' lives be ruined because her husband couldn't wait for the wheels of justice to turn.

Randall was in no mood to argue. As he walked into the sheriff's office, he knew he would not be leaving without the man who murdered his son.

Hopkins heard the door opening, and was not surprised when Randall and Boyd entered. "You know why I'm here."

The sheriff stood up and walked around to the front of his desk. "Of course I do, but I just can't hand him over to you. I'm still the sheriff."

"You are for now. I could change that, just like that," Randall said, clicking his fingers. "The choice is yours."

Hopkins looked at Randall and his boys, their weapons held firmly in their hands, and then at the door to the prisoner cells. He didn't like his options. "How do I explain this?" He sighed as he rubbed his hand through his hair.

"I don't care," Randall ordered, bringing up his rifle and resting it against his folded arm. "You prisoner is about to escape, and of course you put up a valiant fight, but lost," he said as he nodded to Boyd.

Boyd stepped over to Hopkins and smiled. "You'll thank me for this." Boyd's fist struck the sheriff, knocking him to the floor.

Hopkins started to move as Boyd picked up the keys to the cells.

"I wouldn't. I could make that position a permanent one," Randall threatened.

Between the pain and anger at his situation, Peter tried to make himself as comfortable as possible. He had found some peace in meditating on the floor of the cell. He still found it a struggle to obtain a full meditative state, but he finally found a place close enough. He smiled as his mind drifted and his father's soothing voice lulled his fears. <You are getting better, my son.> The thoughts were a pleasant distraction, so Peter doubled his effort to concentrate.

<Trying, Pop. You know -- practice, practice, practice. I am worried, Pop. Did you get to Kermit?> Peter breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Kermit was on his way. He didn't know exactly what Kermit could do, but he always felt better with Pop's skills and logic and Kermit with his elephant gun standing behind him. Not that he couldn't look after himself. <Look at the wonderful job you did this time.>

<Did you say something, my son?>

Peter realised that he was cross-thinking. <Sorry, Pop...thinking out loud. I really am sorry about all this. You know that, don't you?> Without realising, Peter spoke out loud. "I really am sorry."

"Not as sorry as you are going to be, Boy."

Peter suddenly became alert to the danger that had crept up on him at the same time as he heard his father's voice call out to him.

Boyd had never seen anything like it. The man was just sitting there, with his back to the cell bars. He didn't even seem to hear him as he opened the door, but the look on the his face was priceless as the cop sensed his presence -- but too late. The butt of Boyd's gun struck, hitting the cop near his temple, knocking him senseless to the floor.

<Peter!> Caine bolted from his position on the floor.

Ben had been standing in the doorway watching the priest go through his meditative routine. Suddenly he felt like a peeping Tom. He was about to call it a night when he heard Caine's cry.

"Caine! What is it? Are you all right?" he asked as he rushed into the room.

Caine shook his head. "I must go. My son is in danger."

The doctor was confused. "Wha...? How do you know?" Grabbing his bag, he surrendered to the unknown. "Never mind. Let's go."

Barbara waited, but for along time nothing happened. Then she heard a noise and looked up to see Sonny's truck taking off. "Shit!" she spat as she ran across the street to Tom's office.

Tom was just picking himself up from the floor when Barbara burst through the door. "Where is he?" she shouted. She ran to the back cells and found them empty.

Rubbing his face, Tom tried to look confused. "I don't know what..."

Barbara glared at him. "Don't give me that shit. You rolled over and played dead, just like twenty years ago. My white knight," she said with disgust. " Whatever happened to taking us away from all this? Instead, you are letting our son become a party to murder." Grabbing at his gun, Barbara pulled away from his groping fingers.

"Damn it! Barbara, give me that. What the hell do you think you are doing?" he snapped.

Pointing the gun at him, she shouted back at him, "Your damn job, and taking my sons back."

Part Sixteen

Tom stood leaning against his desk, stunned, after watching Barbara take off after her family. <Your damn job, and taking my sons back.> Her words echoed in his head. "When did I give up?" <Don't give me that shit. You rolled over and played dead, just like twenty years ago. My white knight.> Her contempt of him pierced his heart.

That same heart had loved him once. He had promised to take her and her sons -- their son -- away from Sandsberry and Randall, but he had become a coward. <No more.> Hopkins walked over to the rifle case and took out a weapon. He was still loading it as Caine and the doctor rushed in.

Ben noticed the open door to the cells. "You were right, Caine. He's gone. Where is he, Tom?"

For once in his life, Hopkins was going to stand up for himself and tell the truth, no matter what the cost. "I let Randall and the boys take him." Looking at Caine, he continued, "I'm sorry. I allowed my personal prejudices and my own cowardice get in the way of doing my job. I will get your son back, and I'll resign as soon as they can find a better man for the job."

Caine looked at the sheriff for a moment and said, bowing, "If you know your mistakes and your weaknesses and try to change them, you are already a better man. Do you know where they have taken my son?"

"I have a fair idea," Tom said as he started to the door. "Well, you two coming? I don't know how brave I am yet. I might need a bit of spinal backup," he said half-jokingly.

Peter was awakened when he was jostled by a heavy bump. He didn't move. He lay there trying to get his head to stop pounding so he could think clearly and plan how he was going to get himself out of this mess.

<Pop!>

<Peter! Where are you?> he heard his father ask.

<You tell me, Pop. Your guess is as good as mine. I'm sorry; I don't know. But it's a one-way trip, Pop, and if you have nothing better to do at the moment, would you mind swinging by and saving me?>

<We are doing our best, my son.>

"You awake yet?" A amused voice made its presence known. "You know you're going to die."

Peter turned to the voice as the truck kept moving. He didn't recognise the face. "It comes to all of us eventually. Who are you?" Peter asked.

"I'm Boyd, the brother of the man you killed."

Peter looked closely at the man, working it out as he went along. "You were one of the men chasing us. Pop said there were three of you. You were the third one! You know I didn't kill your brother. You know that because you were there. So who did, Boyd? Which one of you killed him?"

Picking up Peter by the shirt, Boyd scowled at him. "It doesn't matter what happened. Any way you look at it, you're the one that is going to pay."

Peter meet Boyd scowl for scowl. "You might kill me, but you're the one who's going to have to live with the fact you killed your own brother."

Peter knew he had guessed right when Boyd backhanded him across the face. The force of the blow knocked Peter into the side of the truck. His head's contact with the metal stunned Peter.

Barbara didn't have to follow too closely; she had a fair idea where Randall and the boys were going. Her hands were trembling even though she gripped the steering wheel like a vice. She took a quick glance at the gun that lay on the seat beside her. She was afraid of what she was about to do, but that didn't change her resolve. Randall had to be stopped, once and for all.

Ben watched Caine through the rearview mirror as the priest closed his eyes and seemed to drift away.

The action had not gone unnoticed by the sheriff, either. "Is the Chinaman okay?"

Ben shook his head. "His name is Caine, Tom."

Tom looked slightly embarrassed at his slip. "Yeah, sorry. Is Caine all right?"

Ben looked again as he tried to explain. "I don't know how to explain it myself, but you can bet that when he opens his eyes, he will know if his son is all right or not."

The sheriff looked incredulously at Ben and quickly glanced at the mirror, "You kidding? I told you there was..." He thought better of what he was going to say. "Whatever. I just want this over before anyone...before Barbara or my ..."

"I'm sure Barbara and Delroy will be fine, Tom," Ben tried to reassure him.

"How...?" Tom was stunned. He had thought it was a secret.

Ben smiled. "I am Barbara's doctor, Tom." Turning around, he saw that Caine seemed to be back with them. "Is Peter all right?"

Caine nodded. "But we must hurry. Their journey will be over soon."

Ben looked at Hopkins, whose mouth had dropped open to say something. "Told you. Caine will be right. We have to hurry. Can you make this thing go faster?" Ben asked urgently.

Part Seventeen

Peter felt the truck starting to slow down and knew his journey was about to come to an end, one way or another. As the vehicle pulled to a stop, he was still trying to clear his head and look for a chance to get away. With the three of them, he would have to take any opportunity that presented itself.

"Get him out!" Peter heard another strange voice call from inside the cabin.

He saw Boyd smile as he jumped from the truck. He felt Boyd grab his legs and begin to pull him roughly down the bed. Peter looked around, checking to see if the others were watching; they seemed to have started to argue in the front seat. Peter realised this might be his last chance. Waiting until Boyd had pulled him down to the end of the bed, Peter kicked out with the only defense he had left, his free legs.

The kick connected with Boyd's chin and sent him crashing to the ground. Peter knew it was now or never, and as Boyd lay stunned, he started to run. He had gotten only a short distance when he heard shouting starting behind him. Then the firing began. Peter tried to zig and zag as he attempted a dash to the safety of a small cluster of trees.

For just a minute, as the trees got closer, Peter thought he was going to make it. Tripping, he fell to the ground, landing awkwardly but opportunely as a bullet flew passed him. Quickly picking himself up, he began to run again, but he was out of luck. He felt a burning in his leg. The pain forced his leg to give way and he hit the ground again.

Randall smiled as he watched his target hit the ground. He had deliberately aimed to bring him down, not kill him -- not yet.

Delroy had tried to dissuade his father in the truck, begging him not to do this, but Randall would not listen. Now, as he watched the cop lying helpless, with nowhere to go, he was reminded of the number of times he had felt the same way against his family's tirades. "Pa, please, that's enough," Delroy begged.

Randall stopped and glared at his son. "It will be enough when he is no longer breathing. You remember, Dullboy, this man killed your brother."

"But Pa, that's..." Delroy was interrupted as Boyd stepped up beside him.

"You heard Pa, Dullboy. Now shut your hole," Boyd ordered.

Peter tried to move as his attackers moved in on him, but this time he had nothing left to use and nowhere to go. <Sorry, Pop, I thought...Love you.> Taking what he believed to be his last exhaustive breaths, he stared up at his assailants. As the sweat beaded his face, Peter brought himself up to a sitting position. If he was going to die, he wasn't going to do it lying down.

Randall stood watching the blood that flowed not only from Peter's leg wound, but also stained his shirt, and was very pleased with the pain that he could see on the young man's face. Bending down, he looked closer at the leg wound. "That's gotta hurt," he said, reaching over and pressing his fingers into the wound.

Peter's teeth clenched to keep inside the scream that wanted to tear loose. Unable to stop the trembling, he glowered at Randall and the boys. His voice faltered as he stated, "I didn't..kill your son. Have you the courage to...find out who did?"

Boyd started to fidget as he held a gun on Peter. "Pa, let's get this over and done with."

Randall sighed as he stood up. "You're right. Enough..."

Delroy couldn't believe what he was about to do. Jumping in front of Peter, he cried, "Pa, you can't! It's murder!"

Boyd's face turned red with rage. "Get out of the way, idiot! He has to pay."

Delroy glared at Boyd. This was the day he decided where he stood. "Pay for what, Boyd? Your mistake?"

Randall turned away from the cop and, for the first time, saw the nervous sweat that covered Boyd's top lip. "What's Dullboy talking about, Boy?" he demanded.

Boyd rubbed the back of his neck nervously, a habit that always gave him away. "I don't know what he's talking about. Come on, Pa, think of Sonny."

Randall slowly moved so that his gun was pointing toward his son. "I am thinking of him. He was the only decent thing I had, and you...killed him? Your own brother?"

Part Eighteen

Boyd began to step back. "Pa, please, it was an accident. Honest! Sonny was drunk. It wasn't my fault," he begged, dropping the gun he had been holding.

Peter tried to move, appealing to the father, "Mr. Sandsberry, please, he's your son."

Randall swung the gun back at Peter. "Stay out of this. I can still kill you next," he threatened.

This wasn't what Delroy had wanted at all. He wanted the truth. He wanted respect, not this. He was about to do something he had thought he would never do -- step in and help Boyd -- when his father's Cadillac came speeding toward them.

Barbara was stunned to see the scene before her. She had been expecting to have to protect the policeman, but to see Randall advancing on their son...that was the final straw. Slamming on the brakes, Barbara grabbed the gun and leaped from the car. She moved quickly toward Randall, carrying the gun behind her back. " What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Randall was somewhat taken aback. He hadn't heard Barbara speak to him like that in years. "You stay out of this," he demanded.

"I will not! This is my family, and this is my son you are threatening!" she shouted back at him.

"Well, your son killed his brother. What do you think of your precious son now?" Randall spat back at her.

Barbara choked back a sob and looked at her terrified son. As he turned his head away, she heard him whisper softly, "I'm sorry, Mama. It was an accident."

Barbara's heart broke for her son. "It's okay, Baby. I know."

Randall stepped toward Barbara. "It's not okay," he raged at her. " He killed the only good thing to come out of this family."

"My kids are what you made them. Sonny was a drunk and a bully -- just like Boyd -- just like you. I have lost one son to you. I will not lose another," she promised, her fingers playing with the gun she still held behind her back.

Randall heard another car as it approached, its siren identifying it as the sheriff's patrol car.

Boyd sighed with relief. Feeling safe, he took a step toward his father. "Pa, I'm sorry." He implored his father to understand.

"Yeah, so am I, Son," Randall said coldly as he turned and fired.

As Boyd fell to his knees, his face registering his shock, he looked up to his father. "Pa...sorry." He coughed once and fell face first to the ground.

Peter watched, stunned. "No, damn it! Stop this!" <Pop, please hurry. I can't stop them.>

The sheriff's car pulled up just in time for Tom to see Barbara bring her arm forward. " You bastard!" she cried as her finger pressed the trigger. She flinched as the gun bucked in her hands, but she fired again. Tears blurred her vision, and she couldn't hear Tom as he ran toward her calling for her to stop. All she could see was another dead son and the man responsible. She pressed again, and again. She pressed until there was nothing but the clicking of an empty chamber.

Tom ran as fast as he could, but arrived only in time to take the empty gun from her still pressing fingers. "It's okay, Honey. You can stop now. It's over," he crooned as he pried loose her fingers.

Barbara seemed to wake from her trance, and with tears falling down her face, she looked at the carnage that lay at her feet. "Oh, my God, Boyd!" Her legs began to buckle, and she would have fallen had Tom and Delroy not reached out and grabbed hold of her.

Caine rushed past them to Peter's side. His son's face was pale, and he had lost a lot of blood.

As soon as Peter saw his father, he forced a smile. "Glad you could make it."

Caine brushed his son's hair back from his forehead and shrugged. "Where else would I be."

Part Nineteen: Epilogue

Kermit arrived as promised to find the small town of Sandsberry busy with the gossip of the day. They had never had such excitement, three deaths in the same family within the same week. This was going to keep the coffee and tea clutches going for a year.

Peter woke up and was not surprised to see his father sitting beside his bed. "Hi, Pop." Peter smiled through clenched teeth. "I see I'm still here."

Caine reassured both of them with a gentle stroke of his son's cheek. "You are, and I am very grateful. I could have lost you."

With his good hand, Peter took hold of his father's hand. "I'm not that easy to get rid of," he joked.

"But you do keep trying to tempt fate, don't ya, Kid?" Kermit quipped as he entered the room.

Peter and Caine both looked at Kermit. Peter smiled and stifled a yawn. "Well, it's about time, Kermit. You're a bit late."

Looking at Caine, Kermit smiled back. "I knew your father was here. I thought I might be slight overkill. What is it with you, Kid. Do you have to try every hospital in every town you visit? Just once I would like to see you not lying down with an IV sticking out of your arm." He moved closer to Peter, touching his shoulder. "I'm glad you survived another one, Kid. Make sure you make a habit of it."

"I'll try. Kermit, can you find out when I can get out of here?" Peter asked.

"How long has it been, a couple of hours? That's about right on schedule for the 'Peter Caine staying still' routine," Kermit said, shaking his head.

"No, for once you can take me to any hospital you like. Honest! Just get me out of this town. I will do anything you say. I promise," Peter begged his friend.

Kermit laughed. "Oh, this I have got to see. Peter Caine doing anything I tell him. I don't think you will be going anywhere for a couple hours, but I will see what I can do," he offered as he left the room.

Peter got a faraway look on his face. "Pop? How is the mother? Is she all right?" he asked sleepily.

Caine shrugged. "She will be in pain for a long time. But she has her son to help her heal, as once I had mine," he said, kissing his son's forehead. "I love you, Peter."

Peter smiled as his eyelids began to droop and he faded into sleep. "Love you, too, Pop."

The End