Prodigal Son
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After getting away from the prison, the ambulance stopped along a deserted highway.
"Here, take off and don't ask too many questions," the doctor handed the ambulance driver a large envelope.
"I haven't heard of you and I've never seen you before. And I just quit my job as a paramedic," the driver said then quickly headed down the road without looking back.
Noises coming from the back confirmed that a struggle was ensuing. It wasn't long until the noises stopped.
"That takes care of the guard," Masterson stated, as he wiped his hands on his pants. "You paid the paramedic?"
"Yeah. We've got to dump this thing before someone discovers it's gone."
"I have the perfect place," Masterson stated.
"Oh here, you're going to need this," Peterson tossed Masterson a large envelope. "I took the liberty of making certain your special ID's weren't discovered in that brewery. You're going to need them, especially if you want to take care of Caine."
"Thanks. I also have another job that needs taken care of. We'll head there next."
"You said you were going to go after Caine once you got out," the man in the lab coat stated.
"I changed my mind, Peterson," Jack Masterson replied. "There's someone else I want to see. It's long overdue and necessary."
"You and I have unfinished business. You want the younger Caine dead, I want the older."
"You never told me what your beef is with Kwai Chang Caine."
"That's my business."
"Seems you didn't do your job either. So, what is it?" Masterson countered.
Peterson gave an exasperated sigh, "Kwai Chang Caine let my sister die. Isn't that enough?" He then returned to the subject at hand. "So, who is it you're going to see?"
Masterson was silent for what seemed like an eternity, "My old man."
***
A figure in the shadows watched the old man reading news clippings yellow with age. The unknown figure puzzled at the old man's expression. What was it? Sadness? Regret? Impossible. Still he needed answers and only this old man could provide them.
The figure in the darkness approached the house, his heart was numb and yet anger still tainted his soul. Betrayal was a bitter pill to swallow. It just should not have been that way. If it had been another time and place, perhaps things would have been different, but nothing could change the past. As the figure approached the open window, he could hear the old man talking to himself.
"Things are just not the way they used to be," grumbled the old man. "In my father's day people cared. Fathers and sons worked together . . ."
"Is that right old man?" the figure interjected.
"Who's there?"
"Don't you know me, Father?" A young man now in his early thirties stepped through the open window.
"You. What are you doing here?"
"Oh just repaying an old debt."
"No, stay away from me! I banished you!"
The young man stopped just a few feet away. "I Just want to talk."
"I don't want to talk to you," the elder man turned his back.
"Don't turn your back to me," the younger man pleaded. "I have a right to know why. I came home to get some answers."
"Well you heard my answer years ago. You betrayed your family."
"Yeah, I know. You didn't want me to go to the Police Academy. There was no shame in that, Father. I could have become far greater than you made me out to be. I could have become Commissioner of this city if you had supported me, but you didn't." As the young man spoke, his words were bitter. He came here for one reason, to ask for forgiveness, but the old man was still unwilling to forgive. So he would have to do what he knew all along what had to be done to end his suffering. Images of another father and son embracing each other in love flashed through his mind.
'Why couldn't it have been that way with you,' he thought. 'Why do you hate me so, Father?' The young man wanted answers, but he would not get them. Blind, unadulterated hatred welled within him as the mocking face of his father loomed before him, replacing the loving pair. The young man picked up a nearby object and struck at that leering face.
"Stop leering at me!" he screamed. "I hate you!"
He heard the sound of crunching bone as blood spattered everywhere. The young man continued to smash at the face until it was no longer recognizable. When he finally came to his senses, the young man's features were a mask of horror as he saw what he had done. He dropped the object and backed away, his eyes riveted to the very spot where his father fell, his hands trembling with fear.
"What have I done?" the young man gasped as tears welled in his eyes. And like a bewildered child, the questions came, "Everything always seems to go wrong. Why won't anyone listen? Why is it that I end harming others? Why doesn't anyone care what I want?" The young man felt worthless, alone, abandoned by all.
Then another face appeared. One who had tried to be his friend, many times. He had come to him in the prison and tried to help him. He felt confused and troubled where this face was concerned. He did not understand why he felt the way he did.
“Friend or foe? What do you think?" He could not decide. "You have no friends,* the voice deride in his mind. *It's his fault for what's happened. He caused you to murder your father. He must pay, just as your father has paid for hating you. Then once he is gone, you know what you must do to stop your suffering. You will be free.*
He would be free. The voice was right, but how would he go about it? Whispers once again told their tale and the young man's mind began to listen to the beginnings of a twisted plan that would end in death. He would go to Chinatown, ask for Caine. It would be so simple.
Continues with Part 5
Alisa Joaquin Copyright@2006.
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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