The Way Lost: A Prequel

By Wendy Shywalker

Part One

The snatch had been difficult, but easier than Burroughs had expected, given the talent of his prey. The only problem he had was finding Peter Caine alone. The man had more friends, acquaintances, and girlfriends than Elvis. As he watched Peter exit the elevator in his apartment car park alone, Burroughs smiled and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, Elvis has left the building."

Without need of further instructions, his six men waited for Peter to pass by the van before jumping from it. One of the men started his attack, but Peter felt it coming. His leg connected with a force that sent the man flying into the bonnet of a car. The next two tried, with the same effect, though with more awkward landing positions.

Burroughs watched the scene unfolding, realising Peter Caine had turned into a formidable adversary since he last knew him. Watching his men hitting the ground with a monotonous regularity, he shook his head, speaking to himself as pulled a gun from his belt and fired. "If you want something done..."

The dart struck Peter in the upper arm, but he was too busy fighting off the continuously attacking aggressors to stop and dislodge it. Burroughs stood back, leaning against the front of his van as he nonchalantly looked at his watch. With the adrenalin pushing Peter's blood through his veins at breakneck speed, it didn't take long for the drug from the dart to work.

Burroughs put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. Upon hearing it, his men stopped and stepped back. Burroughs stepped forward and stood just out of reach of the now drug-affected Peter. "Remember me, Caine? Don't suppose you do. But you will, and you won't forget me, ever again," Burroughs made a smiling promise.

Peter stood still in a stance of defence as he tried to focus on the face in front of him, shaking his head as the world started to spin. The face opened its mouth, looking to Peter like a garish clown. Peter tried to recognise the sounds the clown made, but nothing made any sense; it was a jumble of irritating noises.

Burroughs watched as Peter fell to his knees. His smile spread as Peter struggled to stand again, his legs refusing the commands Peter's brain tried to send to them. Burroughs watched, amused, as Peter tried to drag himself across the surface of the car park floor, only to pass out inches from Burroughs' feet. Burroughs nodded and headed back to the van, as his men each picked a body part and unceremoniously picked up Peter and carried him to the van.

As Peter started coming around, and the haze covering his mind began to lift, he began to check out his circumstances. Bits and pieces of what had happened to him flashed through his memory. <What the hell?> There was nothing but darkness; Peter couldn't see.

As soon as full awareness came back to him, he realised his head was covered with some sort of material. Trying to concentrate, he felt the material covering everything but his ears, with air holes for his nose and mouth. He tried to move, to pull the mask from his head, but he found his arms were spreadeagled, caught by the wrist against the wall by what he assumed were handcuffs.

Peter wrenched at each arm, trying to free them from their bonds, but only succeeded in causing himself pain. He knew it had been stupid, and pointless. He knew that there was no way out of them without the key. But he also knew that he was in deep trouble, and he had to get out, somehow. Peter was still pulling at the cuffs when something pricked at his consciousness. "Who's there?" he demanded as he heard the shuffling of feet moving toward him, but no voice answered his call.

As Peter felt his silent companion moving closer to him, he began turning his head, following the sound of the footsteps, trying to reach through his isolation. "What do you want?" he demanded of the darkness. Without warning, Peter felt a sharp jab in his upper arm. "What the hell?" he cried as he brought his leg around in a sweep, trying to defend himself against his unseen attacker.

Peter was still attempting to kick out, but all he found was air as his antagonist, with the advantage of sight, avoided his legs. Then whatever had been injected, pushed along by adrenalin, started to mix with his blood, and as his wrists strained at the cuffs, his body began to weaken. "Damn it! what did you...do to me...you..." His words fell silent, his head lolling forward as he passed out.

Part Two

As Peter began to awaken to some sense of awareness, he was startled by his lack of sight, and in his panic tried to reach for the smothering material. He was again reminded of his position, as his arms ached in retaliation for the abuse inflicted on them.

He had lost all sense of time, and had no idea how long he had been under, or even how long it had been since he had been taken.

He tried to focus, to clear his mind of the drugged thoughts that still swirled around inside his head. Try as his might, Peter was unable to form a clear thought, to reach out to his father. Each time he tried, the thought would disappear, and confusion would take its place.

"Nice to see you back in the land of the living, Caine," a voice greeted him.

"Dddamn...it!" Peter shouted, his words faltering, making his frustration at his situation even worse. "Lllet mmme...ddamn yyyou."

"Well, let me bring you up to speed on your situation. You, my dear friend, are in deep shit. Now, if you want to get out of it, you will give me some information. I need the whereabouts of one David Curry, and all this will be over," the disembodied voice continued to explain.

Peter was confused. " Ggo tto hhell, ddon't know aaanyone... "

"Now, I know that's a lie, Peter. If you are going to keep lying to me, I am going to have to get a lot nastier than I already have. Don't worry. The effects you are feeling will pass; it's just something to help us get the information we need. There is nothing you can do, so just sit back, relax, and go with the flow -- it's going to be a fun ride." The laughter faded away, and Peter found himself alone.

Peter had just about given up on finding out what was going on, and wondered in his rare moments of clarity whether he was going to die like this -- die chained to the wall like a dog, left to die of starvation and thirst.

He wondered, until the day a new voice came. "Well, Caine, you must be very thirsty and hungry by now. I have food here, and I am willing to feed you, but you must behave. Good behaviour gets you nice things, like food and water; bad gets you...well, we won't worry about that just yet. I'm sure you are willing to behave, Detective."

Peter tried to kick out with his feet, a half-hearted effort at best. "I see, he was right, you are going to make this hard. Maybe you will hungrier tomorrow."

Peter listened for the footsteps to leave, but, without warning, the needle struck at him again, and within minutes his mind became black.

Burroughs watched as Peter's head began to loll about and droop forward as the drugs began to take effect.

"Why are you taking the long way? Just let me at him. I'll find out where Curry is." Carter smiled as he pulled up Peter's unconscious head by the hair.

"Regardless of the enjoyment I would get out of watching you have your fun with Caine, I need him alive...but knowing Caine the way I do, you will still get to have your fun." Burroughs smiled. "We both will."

Part Three

As Peter woke, the haze took longer to lift this time, or so it seemed to Peter. It took him a moment to realise he could see. As he felt his face for the mask that had been covering his face, it suddenly occurred to him that he was free. He brought his hands forward, looking at them as though he had just seen them for the first time. He tried to stand, but he was weak and his legs didn't want to obey, so he sat for a moment, savouring his new freedom.

Peter took this chance to look around the room. The windows were all covered, which made the room dark, and with his eyes unaccustomed to any vision at all, it was hard to make out the room's features. He tried to centre himself, trying to plough through the mire of confusion that was his mind, but all he found were walls that hit back at him with pain.

He tried to get to his knees, but slipped and fell to the floor. That's when he heard it: laughter. He looked around, trying to find where it was coming from, but he was alone. That's when he realised the laughter was coming from inside him. <Damn it, stop it!> he mind shouted, but his body continued to be wracked with convulsions of mirth until it gave way to tears of pain and confusion.

Burroughs and Carter watched Caine's joy at finding himself free turn to hysterical laughter. His confusion at the involuntary noise he was making played on his face until the tears came. "That drug works better than I expected," Carter said, impressed with his new toy.

"We wait until he gets a bit rational. He will have to eat. It's been two days. As soon as the drugged food takes effect again, I want him back hooded and chained. The trick is to keep him off balance." Burroughs hadn't realised how much he was going to enjoy this job. As he watched Peter squirm, all that time of being one step behind him at the academy came back to haunt him.

Carter was confused. "I know this is fun for you -- a bit of revenge thrown in with a paying job -- but I still think you are taking the long way about this."

Burroughs turned and glared at Carter. "And what makes you think your opinion means shit to me? You do what I say," he said as he looked at the monitor. "I know this man. I know how he thinks. He will not give up the information no matter what it costs him, even his life. Peter was born with an exaggerated sense of conscience."

Carter laughed. "Something you've never been burdened with."

"No, I'm not...and you would do well to remember that," Burroughs warned.

Carter looked into Burroughs' eyes. "Oh, I do. Don't you worry about that. I do."

Part Four

The corridor that Caine walked down was a myriad of colours and sounds. He could hear laughing. It sounded like Peter, but the laughter was not...was not joy, but pain and confusion. Caine tried another door, but as he attempted to open it, a voice screamed out in agony. Caine felt himself being thrown back to the world of reality with a force he had never felt from his son.

"Kwai Chang Caine, are you all right?" The Ancient was concerned. The strength it had taken Caine to reach out to Peter, only to be thrown out with such a force, had weakened him considerably.

Caine waved off the Ancient off. He tried to stand, but his strength was depleted and he would have fallen if the Ancient hadn't caught him.

"Kwai Chang Caine, you must rest," Lo Si stressed to his friend.

Caine took a couple of weak steps as Lo Si prepared a drink for him. "His pain was so...overpowering...I cannot...rest until I find my son." His anguish was etched on his face.

"You cannot look for your son if you do not look after yourself first. Please drink this," Lo Si asked as he passed Caine an herbal drink.

Caine reluctantly took the cup from Lo Si and drank, but the memory of his son's pain caused him to strike out at the wall with his fist.

"Does that change anything?" the Ancient calmly asked.

"I am sorry, Master. No, it did not. I am unable to find him. His confusion and pain stop me from reaching him. What can I do?" Caine cried helplessly.

"Well, you could do what Peter would do in the same situation: ask for my help," a voice interrupted.

Kermit stood leaning on the doorframe, and at Caine's look of surprise, he straightened and walked into the room. "Hey, he's late for his shift, his beloved car is still in the car park, and you look like...well, pardon me, but you look like you just lost your best friend...and mine. Okay, what's the kid got himself into this time?"

Caine shrugged, "I do not know."

Kermit was totally taken back that Caine seemed so helpless. "What do you mean, you don't know? Can't you do that mind meld thing you Shaolin do?"

"That 'mind meld thing', as you put it, Kermit, gives us feelings, emotions, visions that I can use to usually find my son, but this time there are no visions. Peter is being held somewhere in the dark. His pain and confusion are so great that I cannot get through to him." Caine sighed.

Kermit never did understand how Peter and Caine were connected the way they were, but he was grateful. It might be the only thing that could save Peter this time.

Part Five

The tears and laughter eventually subsided, leaving Peter exhausted, but he could feel his mind, though still jumbled, starting to clear. Pushing himself up from the floor, he forced himself to stand, even if it did mean leaning on a wall for support.

His head was pounding, and attempts at concentration caused only more pain. <Why is this happening? The voice, what does it want?> he asked himself, forcing himself to fight through the pain. "Curry? Who the hell...? David...Paul...so long ago. A promise made. Paul...I promised Dad...I'd protect...him." Peter suddenly panicked. "Dad! No, if they had Paul, they wouldn't need me. Safe, he's safe."

Peter rubbed his forehead, trying to get the thoughts to clear. <Keep going, Peter...Need help...Paul needs help...No, no, I need help...Damn it, Peter, concentrate.>

Taking a look with some sense of clarity around the room, he saw, through the darkness, a table with what looked like food and water. Peter looked at it. He wanted it so badly, but was it a good idea? He knew it probably wasn't, but he was too thirsty and hungry to care anymore. Slowly making his way over to the table, his shaking hands took the glass, swallowing all its contents.

Within minutes Peter had cleared the table of the food and water, and he had to admit he felt better for it. He was about to move away from the table when the first pain struck him. The pain hit him in the stomach, forcing Peter to double over and fall to his knees. <Pop, help me!>

The pain gripped him like nothing he had felt before. Peter tried to stand, but pain was like razor blades cutting him from the inside. He fell once more to the floor and lay there, tears falling down his face. He pulled up his legs to his chest and held on for dear life. <Make it stop, Pop. Please! Make it stop.>

Burroughs smiled as he watched Peter satisfy his need for food and water, and as the drugs took effect, the smile broadened.

Carter watched as Burroughs looked closer at the screen as Peter writhed on the floor in agony. "I have never seen you like this before. What the hell did this guy do to you?" Carter asked, fascinated that someone could get Burroughs' emotions going, especially when Carter didn't think Burroughs had any.

Burroughs' eyes never let Peter, but seemed to drift away as he answered Carter's question. "Top of our class at the academy. Every time I scored high, he would score higher -- on everything," he said seriously.

Carter tried to stop the smirk that was threatening to appear. "Let me get this straight. This man is going through the agonies of hell because of a school squabble, because he was better at things than you were. Give me a break."

Burroughs sprang at Carter and slammed him against the wall. "I'll give you a break, all right. Which fucking limb? Never underestimate the power of my hatred for the smallest of slights against me. Everyone pays. Want to join the list?"

Carter shoved off Burroughs' hands. "Keep your shirt on. You hate this guy and want to see him suffer, okay. Just remember what we are here for. They're not going to wait forever, just for you to have your fun," Carter said as he straightened his clothes.

As if on cue, one of Burroughs' men knocked, and stopped dead as he entered and saw what was happening on the monitor. Remembering what he came for, he said, not taking his eyes of the screen, "Phone call, sir. Says it's important."

Burroughs made his way out of the room as the new man stared with interest at the screen. "What's going on here?" he asked offhandedly.

Carter looked at him curiously. "Nothing that need concern you, Lee. Was there anything else?"

"No, sorry, sir," Lee apologised as he left the room. As he closed the door, Lee closed his eyes, leaning back on the door. "Why you, Caine? Of all people, why did it have to be you?"

Part Six

Lee was disturbed by what he had seen on the monitor. He hadn't been with the group that had taken the prisoner, so he'd had no idea who it was, until now. What they were doing to Detective Caine didn't bother him -- he had seen and done worse himself -- but this was a debt of family.

~flashback~

"What are you going to do, Caine? Arrest me?" Robert Lee spat at Detective Caine.

Caine shook his head at the young thug. "I have every right to do that, Lee. I can arrest you for breaking and entering and attempted burglary, as well as resisting a police officer, but I'm not going to. When was the last time you were home, Lee?"

Lee shook himself out of the detective's grip. "What's that got to do with you, cop? You're not my father," he snapped back.

"If you would stop acting like a wise guy for five minutes, that's why I am here, you idiot. My father has been with yours for two days now. Lee, your father's very ill. He's been asking for you, and it is my job to get your smart arse back to see him. Pop seems to think it will help your father's recovery." Grabbing Lee by the shirt, he glared at him. "So you are getting into my car, and we are going to see your father. Remember this, Lee. I have given you a second chance. Pop has given your father the same. Don't blow either of them."

~End of Flashback~

The Lee family owed the Caines a debt of honour. Caine saved his father's life, and even though he hadn't taken it, Lee owed Peter Caine for giving him that chance.

Lee pondered Caine's situation. He wouldn't last much longer, but Lee knew Burroughs was not a man to be crossed lightly.

Peter tried to get up, but the room started to sway, and he fell to his knees. He tried to catch his breath as the pain assaulted him again and again, but all he could do was hold on as he rode the waves of pain to their conclusion of unconsciousness.

Carter was watching on the monitor -- as Peter at last gave in to the pain -- when Burroughs returned and commented, "Well, nothing's changed. Blaisdell has disappeared off the planet. Caine is our only hope of finding Curry, so we work on him. Let's go and get him ready."

As Peter woke, his stomach rebelled against the drug that been slipped to him, and he felt sick. " P-please...I...sick," he pleaded to the darkness.

When Burroughs didn't move, Carter leaned over to him. "It's not going to be attractive if he is sitting in his own mess. You have to let him go to the bathroom, even if it's for our sake," he suggested. Burroughs looked at the convulsing prisoner. "All right, but you make sure, no tricks, or you'll take his place," he warned.

Part Seven

Peter strained against the darkness. <Damn it! Not again. Please, not again.> He knew it was pointless to try and move his arms, but that stubborn part of him that always infuriated Pop wouldn't give in. <Damn it, Paul. This is your fault.>

~Flashback~

<Peter, I would never put you in any danger I didn't think you could handle. You're a man and you will be a damn good cop, but more than that, I trust you to know the right thing to do if the situation ever arises, OK?" Paul smiled.>

~ End Of Flashback ~

"D-d-damn you to h-h-hell. H-h-haven't got the g-guts to f-f-face me," he shouted, to what he thought was thin air.

"Oh, and of course you are the bravest little soldier in the world, aren't you, Caine?"

The voice startled Peter, making him jump a little. He hadn't realised he wasn't alone. "N-n-no, but b-b-better than...y-y-you," he stammered.

Peter heard a small growl and smiled as he realised he must have hit a nerve, but he didn't expect the sudden attack as something connected with his ribs.

As the air left his lungs and he struggled to catch his breath, Peter felt air hit his face as the hood was lifted from his head. Peter was, for a moment, grateful for the breathing space, until he saw the face smiling down at him.

"Remember me, Caine?" the face snarled.

Peter searched his memory, and for a moment he was lost, sidetracked through the freedom of sight, but as a hand gripped his head and forced him to face his tormentor once again, a small memory returned. "N-n-never...f-forget...arseholes." He grinned.

Peter's head flew back as Burroughs' fist connected with his jaw. "The great Peter Caine. Do you know how long I have been waiting...to be there when your armour cracks? To watch Peter Perfect fall?"

"Y-y-you...g-got t-to get out m-more," Peter baited. "You think this is the worst I can do to you? You want to see how far you can push me, Caine?" He threatened, "I am warning you now, Caine, for old time's sake: tell me where to find Curry, and it will be all over -- now, this minute."

"W-w-well, I think-k-k...we a-are in f-for a l-long...down m-memory l-la-ane..." Peter was exhausted, his ribs were on fire, and his mind was getting lost in the pain and confusion that were fading in and out.

"Well, I'm up for the trip. Don't know about you, though. Well, I'm a bit tired of looking at that ugly puss of yours, so light's out." He laughed as he started to pull the hood back over Peter's head.

Peter tried to fight the panic that was growing inside, and before he realised it, the words had been said. "N-no. P-please...n-no!"

Burroughs was pleased it was starting to work. "So, tell me what I want to know. Where can I find Curry?"

<Burroughs, no, you're not going to win.> Peter bit back any reply, and kept quiet.

"Okay, have it your way, but I haven't even started with you yet. You think on that as you sit here in the dark," he menaced as he finished pulling on the hood.

Peter watched the light disappear and the dark curtain fall. He tried to fight the confusion, to find a memory that would cause Burroughs to hate him this much, but all he could see was the darkness and pain.

His ribs were aching a lot more now, and as he tried to maneuver around the pain he was reminded of the cuffs that held him to the wall; he pulled in frustration at his arms, but only succeeded in hurting himself more. Peter's daze at his situation was beginning to wear him down. < Damn it to hell.> He wanted to be Peter again, have his control back. He wanted this over.

Peter suddenly realised he had begun shivering, but not through fear -- though he was sure that also had something to do with it. It was cold. The temperature had suddenly dropped; the room was freezing, and so was he. Pulling up his legs, painfully, as close as he could, he tried to huddle, to keep warm. <What next?...God what next?>

Part Eight

"Well, that was damn clever," Carter remarked as Burroughs joined him in the monitor room. "What did you prove by that?"

Burroughs smiled as he remembered the look on Caine's face when he finally recognised him. "Nothing to prove. Personally, I wanted him to know who was doing this to him. Call it vanity. When he breaks, I want him to know who broke him. It doesn't matter; he's a walking dead man, anyway. Now if I have your permission, I have a game that only two can play."

Carter watched from the monitor room as Burroughs positioned himself on a chair on the other side of the room from the prisoner. Carter was at his wits' end to understand the way Burroughs' mind worked. A good beating would get the desired effect, without all this school boy bullshit.

Burroughs sat there watching. He had seen Caine's head turn and follow him as he listened to his movements. Burroughs could almost read Caine's thoughts, trying to figure what Burroughs was going to do next.

Burroughs smiled as he deliberately scraped the chair across the floor, watching as Peter shivered. <Shit, this is fun.> Burroughs smiled as he made himself comfortable.

<What was that?> Peter had heard the footsteps. He tried to get some control, but it wasn't just the cold that caused him to shiver. <Leave me alone. I need time to...to what? Think, Peter. Where am...Paul, no! David...must forget...Pop, damn it, where are you? Gone again. Pop always leaving me. Never here for me.> Peter's anger and fear were starting to scare him. He was losing it, forgetting. What if he forgot what he said, what if...

Burroughs sat watching as Peter started to mumble to himself. Burroughs couldn't make out the words, but the change in Caine proved he was making headway. He couldn't wait to see how Peter Perfect would handle the next stage of the game.

Peter was still, still trying to organise his jumbled thoughts into logical sentences when a shot rang out, landing in the wall just next to his ear. "W-w-what the h-hell?" Peter shouted as another bullet hit the wall on the other side. "D-d-damn you!"

"Wouldn't move, Caine. As you will remember, you were a always the better shot, and--well, I may be bit rusty." Another shot was fired, landing again near Peter's head. "Oops, nearly got you there, Caine. You gotta stop fidgeting, boy. You could cause a nasty accident, and we wouldn't want that, now, would we?" Peter had lost count of how many, shots had been fired at him, and he didn't really care, he just wanted them to stop.

Part Nine

The faces were tired and lost. Even Caine was preoccupied in his own thoughts as they tried to puzzle out Peter's disappearance. There was nothing: no clues, no Peter. He had been missing for five days now, and they were no closer to finding him.

"There are no cases he was working on that could have caused this sort of incident. I've gone back six months -- nothing. I don't know what else to do," Jody said softly.

Mary Margaret patted Jody's shoulder as she offered her own lack of information. "The word is no better on the streets. I've asked Donnie; I've asked everyone. No one has heard a damn thing. It's as if he has fallen of the face of the earth."

There was a knock at the door, and they all looked up to see Sgt. Broderick poke his head through. "Excuse me, Captain. The patrol car running its usual check of Peter's apartment has just reported in. Peter's car is missing from the garage."

The captain leaned back in her chair, throwing her pen on the desk. " Damn! What next?" Looking at the others, she shook her head. "So did Peter come back for the car or what?"

Caine had been standing in the background, his son's pain and confusion assaulting him at every moment, but he was grateful to have some sense of his son. Without these emotions, no matter how painful, he would have nothing. Peter's pain was all he had left to prove his son was still alive. "No. Peter did not. Peter is unable to leave the place where he is. Someone else has taken his car."

The captain turned back to Broderick and ordered, "Put out an APB on the Stealth. I want to know who has that damn car."

Caine suddenly blanched and closed his eyes. He tried to concentrate, to reach out to his son, but his son's reactions assailed him as he felt Peter's fear at the bullets attack. Caine's involuntary, reflexive closing of his fists hadn't gone unnoticed by the others.

Kermit, standing closest to Caine, was suddenly panicked at Caine's paled features. "God! Caine, are you all right? What's happened?"

Caine looked sadly around the room at his son's friends and colleagues. "I am fine," he sighed as he tried to control the anger that was threatening to surface. "But my son is not. His mind and body are in...in such pain."

Kermit's teeth clenched at the thought of what might be happening to Peter. "Caine, are you getting anything else? Where he might be? Anything?"

"No, but it is getting worse for him. Whatever they are doing to him, he is becoming weaker, more distant. I feel I am losing my son." Caine's desperation at his son's predicament silenced the room.

The air of hopelessness was broken with another knock at the captain's door. "Come in," the captain called.

Karen looked up to see Blake entering the room carrying a bag of some sort of electronic equipment. "Yes, Blake, what can I do for you?" she asked. The rest of the precinct couldn't stop just because one officer was missing, no matter who it was.

Blake gestured with hand signals for everyone to leave the office. Once they were all out, and Blake had pulled the captain's door shut behind them, Blake explained his strange actions to the confused group.

"The bag you are holding, Captain, is full of electronic bugs. Someone has been listening to this precinct for quite a while; by the look of it. With your permission, Captain, I'll do your office now. I'm sure I'm going to find more in there."

Karen looked at the bag, then passed it on to Kermit. "What're the odds this has something to do with Peter's disappearance?" Karen nodded to Blake to go to work on her office. "Good work, Blake. Very good."

Blake went to work, happy to have helped but wishing he could have done more. Pete was a good friend -- is a good friend. Anything he could do to help, he would do, and more.

"Caine..." Kermit turned around to find Caine had disappeared. <Why does that not surprise me? Well, you're not getting rid of me that easy, Caine.> Passing the bag to Mary Margaret, Kermit started to go after him.

"Where the hell you going?" Mary Margaret asked as she grabbed Kermit's arm.

Kermit stopped, taking her hand. "Sweetcakes, Caine is the only link we have at the moment to Pete. However slender that link is, it's all we have. I'm his shadow until we get the kid back. And we will get him back -- that's a Kermit promise."

Part Ten

As Peter woke, he felt sweat rolling down his face and back. Slowly opening his eyes, he squinted at the bright lights that shone in his face. It took him a moment to realise he face was free from the hood that had been his mask for the last few days. Then Peter noticed he had moved to a chair that was positioned in front of a table. His hands were still tied, but this time to the arms of the chair.

Peter thought he saw movement through the glare of the lights. "What...n-now?" he stuttered, as he saw the shadow coming closer.

Burroughs sat down on the empty chair that stood at the other side of the table. Burroughs smiled as he placed a gun in the centre of the table. "Nice, isn't it. I know my weapons, and a Dan Wesson is one of the best. Don't you agree?" He watched Peter's eyes widen at the sight of it.

Burroughs picked up the gun and spun the chamber, toying with it as Peter's eyes never left the firearm.

"Now, I was just wondering if you have reconsidered your position?" he asked as he pointed the revolver at Peter, pulling at the trigger of the empty gun.

Peter flinched at the click of the gun. It was such a small noise, but it echoed through Peter's head. The beads of sweat still ran down the side of his face, but now even more so. His eyes watched Burroughs' every movement, but his courage would only go as far as a shake of the head.

"Well, so be it," Burroughs said, reaching into his pocket. "I really have no need for you, then, do I?" Pulling his hand from his pocket, he produced a bullet.

Burroughs leaned in closer so Peter could see everything he was doing. He even slowed down the action for more effect. He placed the bullet into the chamber, snapped it closed, and spun it. Burroughs smiled at the look of comprehension on Peter's face.

Burroughs spun the chamber again. "Around and around it goes; where it stops, nobody knows. Heard that one before, Caine?" he asked as he cocked the gun and pointed it at Peter's head.

Peter watched as Burroughs' finger slowly pressed on the trigger, squeezing -- click.

Peter closed his eyes as the hammer hit home, but nothing happened. His heart pounded as he watched Burroughs move in closer, spinning the chamber for another shot.

Peter looked down the barrel as the finger squeezed the trigger once more -- click.

Peter's heart stopped in that split second, and started again when nothing happened. Closing his eyes, he prayed for an end to this, one way or the other, but it wasn't over, not yet.

Burroughs stood up from his chair, and walked around the table to stand at Peter's side. Leaning down, close to Peter's ear, he whispered, "I think this one's got your name on it, Caine."

Placing the barrel at Peter's temple, he began to squeeze the trigger for the third and last time.

Carter had stood back, watching Burroughs as he played his second ace. He was getting the desired effect. Carter could see Caine's tied hands shaking, and the flinch at each shot.

As Burroughs began to squeeze the trigger, Carter walked up behind Peter. With meticulous timing, he hit the back of Peter's head at the same time as Burroughs would have pulled the trigger.

Pulling a syringe from his pocket, Carter once again injected Peter. "Did you have fun? Man, you're good! I didn't even notice; where's the bullet?" Carter asked, curious as to where Burroughs had stashed it during the game.

Burroughs smiled as he aimed the gun in to the air and pulled the trigger.

Carter jumped, as the gun fired, leaving a bullet hole in the ceiling "Shit, Burroughs! What if you'd killed him?"

Burroughs shrugged. "Hey! Shit happens; haven't you read the T shirt? Put him back in the dark. Some more visits to happy land, and the cracks I am seeing should split wide open. But, just in case, I still have a few more tricks up my sleeve." he said ominously.

Part Eleven

Kermit quietly sat at the side of the room, not moving as he watched Caine trying again to contact Peter. They was nothing else he could do. He had never felt so useless, knowing the kid was out there somewhere, and that he couldn't help. He had even tried to reach Paul, hoping that he would be able to help, but his usual contact wasn't answering his e-mails -- curious, but not unusual.

Kermit felt for his gun. Its comforting presence was all he needed to remind him what he would do to the animals that had Peter. Looking over to Caine, he remembered that the priest could pick up on his angry thoughts, and any distractions wouldn't help Peter. He got up to leave.

"Where are you going, Kermit?" Caine quietly asked.

"I thought I would wait outside. I don't think my anger is helping your concentration, Caine," Kermit explained as he continued to walk.

Caine smiled at his son's friend. "You do not understand, Kermit. I, too, have anger for these...people, but alongside that are love, concern, and faith that we will get Peter back. Your love, concern, and faith are part of Peter; you are part of Peter. I draw on all around me to fight this wall of isolation that my son is building around himself. Please stay...for me...for Peter."

Kermit nodded, silently making his way back to the seat.

Caine closed his eyes, his face a mask of concentration as again fought through his son's fear. Caine found himself again in the corridor of his son's mind. Each door he tried to open, a voice would call, pleading for help -- Peter's voice.

As Caine tried to open the door, Peter's voice screamed back at him, "No! Go away, leave me alone," and the door slammed shut. Every door he tried, he received the same reaction, until the exhaustion of his efforts weakened him and he was thrown back out, and sat expended.

Kermit got up from his chair and moved quickly to Caine's side. "Are you all right?"

Caine took Kermit's hand, as he helped Caine stand. "I will be all right in a moment."

Kermit noted Caine's despondent look. "Still nothing?"

Caine shook his head. "Again, emotions, but there was heat, cold, light, and darkness...Someone is trying to break my son's spirit."

Kermit tried to put his doubts to the side. "Hey, the kid's strong. He'll make it, Caine."

" My son will fight. He is fighting, but he cannot win. His spirit has been weakened, and continues to be attacked. Peter is fighting for his life, Kermit, and he is losing." Caine choked on the last words, as the tears gave in to his own fear and fell.

Part Twelve

Peter didn't know what day it was. His time was taken up shivering or sweating; he had no thoughts other than for this to end. He put up only token resistance now, as he was fed and led to the rest room. All that was needed to stop any insubordination at all from Peter was to produce a gun.

Burroughs watched the monitor as Carter injected Peter again. Today was the day for more fun and games. Though Peter's veneer had cracked some, he still held on to the information, and the buyer was losing patience. Burroughs had to admit, though, the information had become secondary to the fun he was having at Caine's expense.

The hanger had been set up for the new game, one that, if Burroughs had anything to do with it, would send Peter over the edge.

*******************

"Peter, Peter" the voice called through the darkness. "Peter, Peter!" it continued to call. Peter dragged himself through the murkiness. <The voice...I know.> "P-Pop?" his voice rasped as he followed the voice into awareness.

The first thing that the awareness brought him was pain, excruciating pain in the sockets of his arms. Opening his eyes and focusing, he became sick to his stomach as he found himself hanging from the ceiling. <No-no-no...not this...>

"How's the view up there," a voice called from below him.

Peter looked without thinking and regretted it, as the movement sent his head lurching into dizziness. "L-l-let..down" Peter called, trying not to sound like a child.

Burroughs laughed,. "Sorry, Petey, can't do that." Looking over to Carter, he asked, "How high do you think he is? Forty, fifty feet?"

Carter looked up, pretending to judge the distance. "I don't know. I think he could be as high as sixty. Nasty mess if he fell, and I'm not cleaning it up."

"Peter" the voice called again.

"P-Pop?" Peter murmured as he tried to look around the room. <Damn.> The room began spinning again.

Burroughs turned to leave the room. "I have some things to do, so try not to squirm around too much; it tends to make your vertigo just that little bit worse. Just a little bit of advice, friend to friend. Now, you just hang around; take it easy. I'll be back." He waved.

"Peter! Why don't you just tell him," his father's voice called to him.

"P-Pop, I can't. Pop...Paul...promised!" he cried. "Pop, w-where...? Why haven't...? Help me."

Burroughs smiled as he watched Peter carrying on the conversation with the disembodied voice. "The tape is perfect. Caine really thinks he is talking to his father. In the state he is in, he is going to let it slip any time now."

"You sound disappointed," Carter remarked.

Burroughs stared into the monitor, watching Peter's pain. "Not disappointed. Maybe sorry the date's over. Get one of the men to let him down every twenty minutes, and keep playing the tape. I have a phone call to make."

Carter watched Peter as he carried on his one-sided conversation. He shook his head; he couldn't believe it. "Jesus, Caine, I sort of feel sorry for you." Smiling, he continued, "But I'm sure my pain will be eased with my share of the payoff. Your pain, on the other hand, I think will be eased with a bullet."

Part Thirteen

Lee stood watching as Caine struggled, high above him. Looking at his watch, he saw he still had five minutes before he could let Caine down. Watching the detective struggle for sanity as he begged for his father's help, he couldn't but think of the shame his father would feel if he knew his part in all this.

The five minutes took forever to pass, and with a minute to go, he gave in and started to let the cop down as slowly and carefully as he could.

Lee watched Caine's legs fold beneath him as his feet touched the ground. Even with care, Peter ended up landing awkwardly.

As Peter endeavoured to right himself, he heard his father's voice call to him again. "Peter."

As Lee reached down to help, Peter turned to him, a look of hope breaking through his confusion. " P-Pop...you..." Peter's face took on a look of terror as he saw the handle to Lee's gun poking out from above his belt.

Lee watched, stunned, as Peter began to cower away, trying to cover his head with his chained hands in some sort of defense. "N-no...P-p-please...don't sh-shoot...P-please..." he begged.

<Christ! What have they done to you, Caine?> Lee backed off a bit to give the cop some room as he put up his hands. "Hey, it's all right, Peter. I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered, not wanting to be overheard.

"Peter!" His father's voice called to him again.

Lee watched as Peter's eyes peered from under his hands, searching the room, looking for the body that went with the voice. "Peter." Lee was uncomfortable calling the detective by his first name, but he was hoping it would help the cop to orient himself. "Peter, that voice you're hearing is not your father. Do you hear me? It's not your father. It's a tape. A machine." Getting no response from the policeman, Lee moved a little closer. "Damn it, Caine, you are Shaolin, for Christ's sake! Father always spoke of the insight of your people. Search for the truth."

Peter didn't want to listen. <Lies to make me...make me? Paul...> Now he remembered. " P-P-Paul...I'll r-remember...D-D-David...h-he's..."

Lee realised what Peter was about to say and shook his head. "Shut up, Caine. Jesus! I'm sorry." He bought down his fist, smashing Peter into unconsciousness. He knew as soon as Peter told what he knew, he would be dead. <Damn. I'm supposed to be the bad guy.>

Lee turned to see Burroughs coming up behind him, his face set in a mask of rage. Picking Lee up by the shirt, he half-carried, half-pushed him to the wall. As Lee hit the hard surface, the wind was knocked out of him. Burroughs' face glared into his. "What the hell was that all about?" he demanded of Lee.

Lee wondered what the hell he had set himself up for. Was family honour worth all this? Remembering that his father was alive and well thanks to this cop's father, he took a deep breath. "I hate cops. So shoot me."

"While I debate taking you up on that proposition, Lee, understand this: nothing -- nothing! -- happens to this man that I don't order. And to make sure you understand..." Reaching his arm back, he smashed it into Lee's face, knocking him out.

Dropping Lee to the floor, and kicking him for good measure, Burroughs walked over to Peter. Bending down, he stared at the unconscious man. "You're mine, Caine, 'til one of us stops breathing."

Part Fourteen

The voices had changed; when, he didn't know. In fact, there wasn't much he did know anymore. Peter had given up listening to the voice of a father who dangled rescue in front of him like a carrot, to the voices of friends -- "Hey Kid! Partner! Pete!" -- all calling to him, but none helping.

As he sat in the chair facing the table, the table where the gun had lain, his mind replayed the sound -- click, click -- and as he watched, the gun suddenly appeared in front of him. The gun was cocked. Peter strained at the ties that bound him, trying to tear himself away. The finger squeezed. "N-n-no! D-d-don't! P-p-please!" he begged. The hammer hit. Peter watched as the bullet left the barrel in slow motion. Peter suddenly left his body; he watched, floating above himself, as the bullet hit its target and Peter's face exploded in a bloody, fleshy mess.

A sudden pain brought him back to reality, and as he focused, he found this man, his demon, rubbing his hand.

"Wakey, wakey! You were daydreaming again, Caine." The demon smiled.

Burroughs moved the table and placed a chair in front of Peter; he took a seat. His face softened somewhat as he looked at Peter's distressed face. Shaking his head, he sighed and leaned on his knees. "You are tired, aren't you, Pete? Tired and hurting."

Peter tried to close his eyes, but the voices called him back again. "P-Pop?" he unconsciously called.

"Oh, yes, Peter," Burroughs said, straightening up. "They're there., outside this very room. Pop. Your other father, Paul -- the one that put you in this situation. Kermit. Your partners Mary Margaret and Jody. Even your captain. They are all outside this room, watching your pain, listening to your pain...laughing at your pain."

Peter's fearful eyes darted to the door of his prison, as the voices indeed began to laugh. Spinning his head back toward Burroughs, he became light-headed for a moment. "Truth. Search for the truth." <Where did that come from?>

Peter watched as Burroughs' hand began to reach out to him. He tried to get away from the pain that was to come, but he had nowhere to go. Instead of the expected pain, Burroughs' hand touched his cheek lightly and he smiled kindly at Peter. "Peter, I'm your friend. These people," he said, gesturing to the voices in the air, "don't care about your pain and suffering. I do, and I want it to end. I can make all this bad stuff go away. Just tell me where David is, and it will be all over. "

Peter's mouth began to open. He wanted to tell, to make all the pain go away. <Search for the truth.> The voice wouldn't leave him alone. <What truth?> Looking at Burroughs again, he didn't see the kind, caring face anymore. He saw that garish clown that started all this pain and fear. <Even if I am alone, and no one wants to help me, no one dies for me.> "G-g-go...to..."

Peter didn't get the rest out, as Burroughs' fist slammed into his face. Burroughs turned at looked up at the camera. "Carter, you want a turn, go for it -- but don't kill him. That pleasure's all mine," he snarled as turned back to Peter and hit him again.

Conclusion

The beating didn't last long. It was getting late, and as Burroughs had so nicely put it as they heard Caine's nose break, "No use flogging a dead horse. Tomorrow is another day, and there's another and another, until he gives up or stops breathing."

They didn't even bother with the hood this time; the beating had taken its toll, and he wasn't a threat to anyone in his condition.

Lee had made up his mind that he had to get Caine out, and tonight would be his last chance, by the look of the cop's face. Turning off the cameras to Caine's room, he made his way in. It was Michael's turn to look after Caine and he had taken a trip to the little boy's room, so Lee found his chance and took it.

Undoing Caine's cuffs was a chore as the cop began to feebly fight him. "Damn, Caine, I'm trying to help you. Stop fighting me." Grabbing Peter's face in his hands he stared into his eyes. "Search for the truth, Peter. Don't look; feel." Lee couldn't believe what he was saying, but he continued anyway. "Feel it, Peter -- the truth, feel it. Now get you arse up; I have minutes to get you out of here," he whispered. resorting back to the street talk he knew and was more comfortable with.

As Peter weakly stood, Lee grabbed one of Peter's arms. Pulling it over his head and around his shoulders, struggling with the burden, Lee said, "Come on, man. You gotta help me here."

They were making their way through another room when Lee heard someone coming. Placing Peter against the wall, he ordered him, "Stay there. I don't care what you have to do, but try and get his attention. Hear me, Peter? You're a cop, remember? You know how to do this."

Lee stood behind the open door as the footsteps came nearer.

Peter's mind clicked. <Cop, remember? Truth, feel.> He pushed himself away from the wall as Michaels entered the room.

Michaels couldn't believe it. "How the hell...?" The door closed quietly behind him. As the butt of Lee's gun crashed down on Michaels' unsuspecting head, Michaels' finger hit the trigger of the gun he held. As Michaels fell to the floor unconscious, Peter fell, also, a bullet having struck him in his thigh.

"Christ, Caine! What are you, a bloody magnet for trouble? Why can't anything be easy with you?" Lee complained as he pulled the bleeding officer up from the floor.

Once outside, having made sure no one was around, he shoved Peter into a car and drove off into the oncoming daylight.

*******************

Caine was still meditating when he grabbed at his leg. As pain attacked him, he spoke the words, "Search for the truth."

Kermit shot up from his position on the chair where he had half dozed off. "What? Caine, what is it?"

Caine jumped up from where he was sitting, grabbing his coat and bag. "Kermit, your car. We must go," he said urgently.

Kermit at last had something to smile at. "Oh, yeah." He was after Caine in a flash.

Lee found the roadside he had been looking for, and going around to the passenger side of the car, he gently moved Peter around in the seat so he could get a look at the wound. "I'm sorry, Caine. I wish I could have done more. There is a road just over there. It's traveled quite a lot; someone should find you by tomorrow." Getting no recognition from Peter, he took him from the car and gently laid him down.

As Lee was about to leave he turned back. "I don't belong in your world anymore, Peter, anymore than I belong back there. I can never face my father after the things I have done. Caine, if you remember this -- and I doubt you will -- tell Father...No, doesn't matter. Search for the truth, Caine," he said sadly as he jumped back in the car -- heading back to an uncertain future, but he didn't care anymore.

*************************

They had been driving for an hour now. The road before them had gone from a busy highway to dusty dirt; the city had disappeared over half an hour ago. Caine said little as he sat with his eyes closed, concentrating on a place that they hadn't found yet. Kermit sat beside him. He didn't ask where they were going. He didn't need to; Caine knew where they were going. Kermit kept his eyes hidden behind his glasses, focused on driving somewhere ahead. He didn't know where. All he knew was that Peter needed them, and if it took driving into Hades itself, then that's what he would do.

Caine sat with his eyes closed, his head moving slightly to the side, as though he were listening to an unknown sound. Suddenly, his eyes flew open. "Hurry, Kermit," he said urgently. "Turn here," he said, pointing.

Kermit looked where Caine had directed. "Er, Caine, there isn't any road there." Kermit shook his head. "Sorry, forgot who I was talking to. To the left we go," he said as he veered to the right, crossing the lane and nearly causing an accident.

After fifteen minutes of driving, following Caine's directions, Kermit began to think this time maybe Caine was wrong. Maybe the worry over Peter being missing for so long, maybe even thinking he was dead again, might have screwed up his Shaolin antenna. But the determination on Caine's face renewed Kermit's faith; he knew Caine would find Peter. He just knew it.

Suddenly Caine's door flew open. Kermit reacted quickly, and the Kermitmobile came to a screeching, dust-tossing stop. "Caine! What the hell do..." His words were cut off as he watched Caine jump from the car and begin running.

Kermit searched past the running figure to try and see Caine's target. "Oh, Christ," Kermit swore as he saw what had caught Caine's attention.

Caine ran for his son's life. The sun was beating down and he didn't know how long Peter had been lying out in it. As his feet neared their target, anger began to rise -- anger against the people who had done this to his son. Caine had tried everything to contact Peter while he was missing, but Peter's mind had been full of confusion, a jigsaw puzzle of pain, anger, and fear. As Caine ran, he realized that the anger he was feeling would not help his son, so he let it go and focused on Peter.

Caine reached his son's fallen body. Peter's face lay down in the dirt. Kermit thought for a moment that Peter was dead, but was relieved to see Peter's chest move ever so slightly, with a rattling breath. Caine gently turned Peter over. Both men were taken aback by the damage that had been inflicted on Peter. He had been badly beaten. His face was swollen, and his nose looked broken again, but the worst was the heat generating from a bullet wound to his thigh.

Intent on running his hands up and down Peter's body, Caine tried to find the damage. The list of injuries grew as he searched: a couple of broken ribs and a badly bruised kidney. Without taking one second of his concentration off what he was doing, Caine said to Kermit, "He is in great danger. We must get him to the hospital as soon as possible." Kermit knew his cue and broke into a run for the car................