Before Mariston could answer, Caine rushed passed them all and through a
partially opened door on the opposite side of the room.
"Paul, Kermit, he is here."
Kermit nodded to Paul as he leveled his Desert Eagle at Roger Mariston's head.
"Go to your son. I'll take care of this lousy sonofabitch."
Paul threw him a grateful look, not bothering to warn him against killing their prisoner. Part of him, the moral and ethical part, told him that the warning was not necessary, that Kermit would not just kill the man in cold blood. The more sensible side slapped that thought down as unrealistic, revealing it as the calculated rationalization that it was. Kermit could easily cut the bastard down without even blinking. Still, that certainty did nothing to persuade him to call back a warning. Silently, he disappeared into the room where Caine and Peter waited.
Kermit twitched, his finger desperately wanting to add pressure to the trigger. His mind played the tapes of Peter's torture over and over as he walked closer to the perpetrator of his nephew's agony. He watched Mariston, warily, through green tinted lenses. The fear on the other man's face was gratifying.
"Give me a reason, any reason, why I shouldn't blow a hole in your head right now," he growled.
Mariston was silent. Surprised, Kermit looked into his eyes and through two crystal blue windows to insanity.
A wave of unsettling altruism washed over him. His original intent to purge the man before him of existence receded just a tiny bit. Instead, he settled for calling the station to have Karen send a black & white out to escort Mariston to the nearest asylum. As his attention was momentarily diverted to dialing, Mariston rushed him, slamming into him with unrestrained force and sending the phone and Desert Eagle skittering across the floor.
"You killed him and then just left him behind, you bastard. He didn't deserve that."
A balled up fist descended toward him, but was caught in the ex-mercenarty's powerful grasp. Kermit twisted his body and rolled over, pinning the other man beneath him. Taking hold of the his shoulders, Kermit lifted the crazed man slightly before slamming his head and shoulders hard against the concrete floor.
"I did the only thing I could do, dammit. Kyle would have made the exact same decision had our roles been switched, and I damned well would have wanted it that way." He pushed himself up and off the dazed man and quickly retrieved his phone and gun. As Kermit turned to again level his sights on the man, Mariston made a break toward the door. Kermit called out a single warning, though admittedly a rather soft one, before firing.
Just as his hand grasped the doorknob to freedom, Mariston felt a fiery pain slice through his back. He looked down just in time to watch a flower of blood blossom on his chest as the bullet exited. Oddly, it struck him as one of the funniest things he had ever seen. His own maniacal giggling turned into his death lull-a-bye, rocking him to oblivion.
*****
After assuring himself that Roger Mariston really was dead, Kermit entered the room he'd watched his two friends disappear into. He found Caine and Paul kneeling on either side of Peter, both providing reassuring physical contact. The kid looked like hell, but he was apparently awake. Bleary, cloudy hazel eyes opened at his arrival. The younger man started to speak, but was halted by two forefingers, one from either side, being laid gently over his mouth. Kermit grinned down at his nephew but valiantly refrained from obvious commentary. Instead, he took a more serious route.
"Mariston's dead."
Peter closed his eyes and breathed a heavy, shuddered sigh. Paul looked up from his son, curiosity warring with concern. Kermit shook his head, indicating the story would be told later, and closed the gap between himself and his partner/nephew/friend. He knelt down to add his own presence to the comforting mix, taking his own reassurances from the steady rise and fall of Peter's chest. He glanced over at Caine, whose eyes were also shut, and reached out to steady his brother as he swayed unsteadily.
"Are you okay? Is it Peter? Caine, what's going on?" Paul's tone indicated that this was not the first time he had posed these questions to the priest.
"His chi is very weak. I am trying to supplement it with my own, but he is draining me quicker than I expected."
Again without any idea as to how he did it, Kermit leaned toward Caine and allowed his own energy to pass to the other. Caine looked up at him, startled. Kermit just shrugged in typical Caine fashion. The corners of Caine's mouth tugged upward as he returned his attention to his son, his own strength now augmented.
Paul watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow. The question and answer session he fully intended on sharing with his old friend was rapidly growing in content. A soft moan pulled his attention back to his child. Peter had finally succumbed to a sleep borne of warmth and safety rather than refuge, but his furrowed brow was a clear indication of impending nightmares. He and Caine acted in unspoken concert, the latter reinforcing comfort through their link while Paul whispered soft words meant to soothe. It worked. By the time the ambulance arrived, Peter had settled into a calm, healing slumber.
End Part 14
