Pawns
"Damn it!" Masterson cursed under his breath. Caine had more lives then a cat. "You're dead, you hear me, DEAD!" he whispered harshly. He ran out of the office and down the corridor to the old bottling room. He'd end this here and now. He smiled as he waited for his prey to come to him.
Peter carefully made his way up the staircase to the second floor. He kept his back against the wall as he crept towards the office. He slowly opened the door, his eyes scanning the room and found it empty. He couldn't help notice some papers on the desk. Taking a closer look, his mouth dropped open. There were pictures of his father's final resting place. Detailed photos showed his father being placed in the coffin. Other images showed him and his grandfather at the site, standing in front of the angel statue, the funeral behind them. Then another shot showed the coffin being lowered into the open grave. Masterson was still toying with him. He picked up the pictures and tore them in two.
'I'll get that bastard,' he muttered as his rage built to a fevered pitch where the air nearly crackled around him. Peter stalked out of the room and looked up and down the hall. He turned towards a sound coming from the other end of the hallway.
"Come and get me Caine!" Masterson laughed loudly. "I got rid of one of your fathers. Look at it this way, you won't have to choose between them any more."
Peter stopped at the door, slipped inside, and hid behind the old conveyor belt. He looked around the room, desperately looking for Masterson.
"BANG!" Peter felt the bullet whiz by his head as he quickly ducked.
"You'll have to do better than that Masterson!" Peter screamed at his assailent. Another bullet was discharged and it missed him again.
CREAK BING BAM!!!!!!!!
A crate of bottles fell off a group of shelves on the wall next to Peter. At the last minute, Peter felt the displacement of air and managed to move out of the way just in the nick of time to avoid getting injured by flying glass. He laid on the floor, turned his head, and found himself staring into the barrel of a gun.
"This has been fun Caine, but now it's time to join your father." Masterson stood over Peter, and cocked the gun. His finger ready to pull the trigger. "I hate you. You never had to suffer the way I have. You had not one but two fathers who loved you. Do you know what it's like to have to beg your own father to love you, to accept you to be a part of your life? NO YOU DON'T! It should have been me. I should have gotten the promotions, the accolades, I should have had my father in my life like you did. You took away everything that meant anything to me. Now I took something away from you. How does it feel, Caine, how does it feel to lose your father? For good this time!" His hand was shaking and his breathing came hard as his anger grew.
Peter quickly took advantage of this small opportunity and brought up his hand where he could focus his chi. The gun glowed red hot and Masterson dropped it in surprise and pain. With that opportunity lost to him, Masterson did not see Peter rise from the floor and kick out. Masterson went flying across the room. Peter jumped over the conveyor belt and continued his assault on his father's killer. He pulled Masterson's legs from under him and tried to wrestle him on the floor, but Masterson rolled out of the way and climbed to his feet. He took a swing at Peter, but Peter easily evaded the blow. He kicked Masterson in the stomach, driving the air out of him. Peter's fist met his face and Masterson went down to the ground. Grabbing him by the collar, Peter stared down at his now helpless victim. Blind rage filled him as his chest heaved from the breaths he was fighting to take in.
"You will pay for my father's death. A life for a life."
Peter pulled out the ceremonial dagger from behind his coat and raised it above his head. He took pleasure in watching Masterson's face grow pale with terror.
"Peter, No!"
The words barely registered, but it was enough for him to hesitate. He slowly started to lower the knife, but shaking off the warning, he again lifted the knife into position.
"No, my son. Do not do this."
No. It was a trick. It couldn't be. Again Peter hesitated, this time confusion showed on his face. Then a hand reached up and grasped his. It was a familiar touch and yet it seemed impossible that it would be here. Then another hand brushed his face, cupping his cheek, and forcing Peter to face whomever it was that spoke to him.
"Please, Peter, do not do this," the familiar voice pleaded again and Peter's vision cleared.
"Father?" Peter's voice came out in a whispered gasp of confusion. His eyes moved up to his arm, still poised and he suddenly realized for the first time what he had nearly done. He dropped the dagger to the floor and grasped his father tightly in his arms. The sudden release of rage caused Peter to crumble and both men collapsed on the floor. Peter's emotions broke like a damn, flooding out. All the grief that he held in at what he thought he lost came rushing forth.
"Father, I'm so sorry."
Peter cried against his father's shoulder, soaking the collar of his silk shirt.
"It is all right, my son. You did not harm him. It is over. You are safe now."
Peter continued to cry unashamed as his father rocked him in his arms as he once did when Peter was a small boy. He continued to stroke his son's back until he could sense that there was no more rage left. Peter's soul was safe, once more.
Masterson watched in envious silence as his dreams of revenge were again thwarted, but grateful for once that his life had been spared, ironically, by the very man whom he had tried to destroy earlier. Then strong arms were lifting Masterson off the floor and his hands were being forced behind him and handcuffs were being placed around his wrists.
"All right Masterson," Kermit said. "You're under arrest. You two, you better witness this." Kermit said to Matthew and Lo Si standing by the door. "You have the right to remain silent. Should you choose to give up that right, everything you say may be taken down and used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. Should you refuse that right, an attorney may be appointed to you . . ."
Masterson barely heard the words as he continued to keep his eyes trained on the two men locked in each other's embrace.
'Why couldn't my father do that to me,' he thought. For once, Masterson regretted everything he had ever done. If only for the love of a father.
Kermit took the prisoner out to his Corvair. He enlisted the help of both Matthew and Lo Si to watch Masterson while he called in the bust. It would be another fifteen minutes before father and son were ready to leave the building.
End of Part 17
Alisa Joaquin & Linda Schwartz Copyright@2000.
This story cannot be reprinted or sold in any other form without strict permission from
the author. It is being distributed here solely for your enjoyment.
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