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Subject: Third Time's A Charm (Part 2)
Date: Sat, 31 Aug 1996 22:49:41 -0500
Message-ID: <19960901034940441.AAA129@denp1-26.iglobal.net>

THIRD TIME'S A CHARM
by Deb Parizek and Rhonda Hallstrom

*****

Ziggy finally beeped the handlink and Al read her findings aloud. "All of
the suicide victims died in Sloanville between September 20th and 23rd,
1995...."

"And?"

"They were all members of an Internet mailing list on Chinese-American
culture, subgroup Taoist topics."

"That's it?" Sam asked, dejected. "Someone's killing Chinese-American
Taoists??? Sounds pretty iffy to me."

"Yeah, no one has ever tried to eliminate minority groups before," Al
reminded him sarcastically.

Sam stared at Al for a heartbeat, realizing that he had almost forgotten a
valuable lesson learned during all of his leaps - never dismiss a clue. He
received far too few of them most of the time. "You're right, Al. Let's look
into it. I'll see if I can access the Internet from here."

Sam completed his study of his host's computer set-up, then began typing. In
a short time, he had found the listserver and requested membership to the
mailing list. He turned a satisfied look to his compadre.

"Well?" Al asked, a bit irritated.

"Now, we wait," Sam replied, checking the time.

It was 2:45 p.m.

"Tell me, Al, what have you managed to dig up about this Kermit Griffin,
anyway?"

"Nada! Absolutely ZIP!" Al told him.

"Well, Captain Simms called me...uh, I mean Kermit, an ex-mercenary."

Al snorted. "Figures." He was still smarting from his inability to get
Griffin talking in the waiting room. The problem there was Al's own Vietnam
experiences. Interrogations gave him the creeps.

"So, he's a real mystery man, huh?"

"He probably likes it that way and deleted any info on himself," Al speculated.

At 3:00 p.m., the mail program activated and downloaded messages from the
server.

Sam read each message. "Al, most of these are just suggested reading lists.
There are three, though, that look like translations of Chinese text -
something like I'Ching, I think - into English. They all seem innocuous to
me. Get Ziggy to analyze them; see if she can figure out anything. I'll get
Peter in here to check them out. Maybe he'll spot something."

"Then, I'm outta here...." Al said, flipping a half-salute in Sam's
direction and depressing the handlink button to exit the imaging chamber.
The chamber door opened, accompanied by the familiar sound and bright light.
Sam felt a pang of homesickness as Al stepped through the door and the door
slid shut behind him.

Once Al was gone, Sam opened "his" office door and stepped out. Panic sliced
through him when he did not see Peter at his desk. Surveying the room, he
spotted Peter at the coffee machine and breathed a sigh of relief. Peter was
holding a full cup in one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other.

Sam crossed the squadroom to join Peter. "Peter, you okay?" he asked.

Peter opened his eyes. "Uh...yeah, sure."

"Why am I not convinced?"

"I just need to get my eyes - or maybe my head - examined," Peter said,
sounding tired.

"Why is that?" Sam looked the young man up and down, this time with a
practiced physician's eye. Peter didn't seem as energetic as he was at lunch.

"I...this sounds stupid," Peter protested. Sam nodded encouragingly.
Lowering his voice, Peter went on. "I saw...I THOUGHT I saw...a flash of
light or something. Twice. Once, here in the squadroom and another, in your
window. Geez, what am I saying? Must have been just a reflection...."

Sam looked at Peter's face. It was tight with tension, yet seemed innocent
in a way. Sam realized that he really liked Peter. *I'm going to help you,
kid,* Sam promised.

"Kermit? Yo! Earth to Kermit!"

Sam returned to reality.

"Were you looking for me?" Peter asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I found a connection between your suicides-"

"Kermit-! I'd kiss you, but people would talk!" Peter said, animating a bit.

"Save the kisses, you haven't seen what I've found yet. Join me, won't you?"
Sam stepped away from the coffee machine, expected he need not encourage
Peter to follow.

Peter was on his heels.

"There it is," Sam said, once they reached his office.

"There WHAT is?"

Ssam pointed at the computer screen. "Other than dying in Sloanville between
September 20th and today, the only connection is an Internet mailing list.
They were members of a list for people interested in the Chinese-American
Taoist subculture," Sam explained.

"C'mon...you're kidding me," Peter replied, skeptical.

Sam endeavored to keep a neutral expression as he stared at the young man
before him. It felt like the thing to do.

"...then again, probably not," Peter said.

"I've downloaded the most recent messages plus the archived messages for the
last month. Be my guest," Sam said, indicating - with a sweep of his hand -
that Peter use his chair.

Peter seated himself in Kermit's chair and scrolled through the messages.
Sam, uncertain what his host would do as he waited, sat down in the guest
chair on the other side of the desk, while keeping a critical eye on the
younger man before him. Again, he was grateful for the sunglasses.

After a few minutes of reading the messages, Sam saw Peter raise an eyebrow
then lean closer to the screen.

"Hmmm...looks like I'Ching...." Peter mumbled as an expression of intense
concentration fixed itself on his face. "Haven't seen any of this in a long
time...brings back a few memories...."

Sam suppressed the urge to inquire on the exact contents of the message
Peter was reading. He decided it would not be prudent to interrupt.

Peter stared at the screen for a few more minutes, then asked as he rose
from the chair, "Kermit, would you put the three I'Ching messages on a
diskette for me? I want to take a closer look at them...."

"Sure. Think there's a clue in them?" Sam asked, getting to his feet and
rounding the desk slowly, searching for a clue himself - specifically one on
where Kermit would store blank diskettes.

"I don't know," Peter replied. "At this point, I'll take anything I can get."

Reaching the chair, Sam sat down and realized he knew where the diskettes
were - second drawer down on the right hand side. Sam opened the drawer.
There they were. He slid one out of the box and pushed it into the diskette
drive as Peter hovered behind him. Copy complete, Sam ejected the diskette
and handed it to Peter.

Grateful for the assistance, Peter took the proffered diskette and said,
"Thanks...I owe you one!" Without waiting for Sam to respond, Peter was out
the door and covered the floor to his desk in two quick strides. Once at his
desk, Peter put the diskette into the drive and brought the messages up in
the word processor.

Sam checked "his" watch again. It was 3:45 p.m. With a shake of his head,
Sam thought, *A little over three hours until this kid blows himself away
but WHY...?" Sam decided his only course of action, for the moment, was to
watch Peter very closely.

*****

Meanwhile, Strenlich approached the two women detectives. "Powell, Skalany,
you got the Middleton case, pronto!"

"Chief!" Powell groaned as a protest.

Strenlich waved an arm, apparently overruling the objection before it even
got started. "Caine's busy, so snap to!"

Powell saluted sarcastically. "Yes, sir!"

Alia looked at Powell. "What's wrong with the Middleton case?"

Powell grimaced. "Hysterical father." At Alia's puzzled look, she said,
"I'll explain in the car."

Ten minutes later, they were on their way.

"Of course," Jody Powell explained, "he had every right to BE hysterical.
His son was apparently murdered during the kid's monthly visit - parents are
divorced."

"Have you already looked at the file?" Alia asked.

"No, heard the call-in through dispatch. I don't know...he seemed more
worried about what he was going to tell his ex than the welfare of his son.
Also, there's no body. Just a bloody jacket in the alley next to the dad's
apartment building. This case smells already."

Alia grimaced. She was no detective - she could only hope that Zoey could
help her out on this one.

*****

Caine breathed carefully, felt his chi and let himself drift. This task
would be most difficult. He had never been close to Kermit and had never had
the proper moment or opportunity to examine the man's soul. Kermit's whole
being was like quicksilver; elusive, secretive, and melancholy. Perhaps that
was what Caine should focus on.

His eyes closed but his spirit soared onward. *I do not even know his true
name!* thought Caine incredulously. Finding Peter was simplicity itself;
finding Kermit seemed impossible.

Caine moved through space and time. He found Kermit's sister; she was
carrying on as if nothing had happened. He found Kermit's empty apartment
and moved through it with a surge of hope. If he could find a personal item
that Kermit obviously felt strongly about, he could use it as a focus. Soon,
however, he discovered, as he suspected, Kermit was not the type to leave
personal items around where people could find them. Another dead end. At
least he did not sense any violence or danger.

As if in a dream, he heard the Ancient's voice. "Kwai Chang Caine, beware!"
it warned him. "Your body will tire - you must not be much longer!"

Caine pictured the look on his son's face when he announced his failure.
Caine moved his spirit onward. *Kermit!* His mind called out to the four
winds. *KERMIT!*

*****

*KERMIT!*

*What the hell was THAT!* thought the man in the pure white jumpsuit. He
looked around but didn't see anyone. His mouth twisted derisively. *I see,*
he thought to himself. *More mind games.*

He knew he had been right when he refused to give them any information. He
knew somewhere in his being that it would be worse for him if he admitted
that he couldn't remember things, not even his name. He began pacing. It was
weird! He could remember his sister, his neighbor, and even his paper boy,
but he could not even remember his own name!

As soon as he had arrived, he looked for anything, a gun, a chair, to use to
get out of here, but there was nothing. The place was more sterile than any
hospital he'd ever seen. The only thing he could think of was that some
foreign power, still ticked at him, kidnapped him like that time
in...in....What happened to his memory??? This was driving him nuts! How was
he going to get out of here? What did these people want,anyway??!!

And why did he keep thinking about FROGS?????

*****

She tried to shift her position but she could not move. She could not even
open her eyes. She also felt very uncomfortable. She felt hot and cold at
the same time, felt her skin prickling with static electricity, and her
muscles were jelly. She felt like she was gasping for air, yet she seemed to
be breathing evenly and regularly. She craved food and water, yet she was
nauseous and knew she wouldn't be able to keep anything down. *This was
bad,* she thought. *This is REALLY bad!* She knew she must be very ill. She
couldn't even remember how or when she was taken to the hospital.

"Hello, cupcake," a deep, male voice said. "How are we doing this evening?"

*Cupcake???* her mind protested.

"You are looking ab-so-LUTE-ly delectable, if that makes you feel better,"
the voice continued.

It didn't. In fact, no doctor ever talked like this to her. She frowned - or
tried to. Then, she could not believe what she felt next - a hand caressed
her thigh!!

She tried to summon all her energy to scream, to cry out, anything. All she
could manage was a dry croak. Her mind spoke volumes as she thought with
desperation, *CAINE!!! HELP ME!!!! HELP!!!!*

The voice continued relentlessly. "Yes, cupcake, you and I will have a
WONDERFUL time!!!"

*****

"Caine, here's another one for you..." a voice boomed outside Sam's office.
He turned and saw the big, Marine-looking guy, the one known as Chief of
Detectives Frank Strenlich (Sam had seen the nameplate on the man's desk
during a trip to the restroom) standing next to Peter's desk.

"Mmmmm," Peter responded, not looking up from his PC screen.

"Caine, did you hear me?" Strenlich asked, irritated.

Peter turned to him. "What?...Oh, yeah, Chief...another one..."

"Are you with us today, Detective?"

"Yeah, Chief," Peter told him, turning back to the PC.

"Any clues on these suicides yet?"

"Not yet, Chief...."

"Well, FIND one and make it fast!! The press and the mayor are all over this
one."

Peter nodded.

*Great,* Sam thought sarcastically, *add a little pressure. Could that be
what got to Peter?*

*****

Powell was right - even to Alia - it was obvious that the father was hiding
something. He was, at least, more panic-stricken about his son. He told them
that he had sent his son, aged 10, to the downstairs store for some milk.
The boy never returned so he went to look for him. After lengthy wanderings,
he looked in the alleyway and discovered the jacket.

A quick examination of the apartment did not reveal anything, except
"you-never-know" information. The father, Burt Middleton, was an army
veteran and had an impressive collection of army paraphernalia and a small
but expensive-looking gun collection. Middleton quickly assured them that he
unloaded them when his son came to visit. Powell looked over the guns and
nodded to Alia, implying that none of the guns have been fired recently.

They then checked out the alleyway and found the blood splatters. Powell,
with Alia's help, collected samples and put them in plastic bags. Now, there
was nothing they could do but wait for the research department - and tell
the mother.

*****

At 6:45, Sam rose from his chair, coffee mug in hand. The waiting - three
hours of it! - was getting on his nerves, despite its relative ease. Peter
had not moved from his desk or talked to anyone other than Strenlich in all
that time.

Sam crossed the office threshold and bumped into someone. Their eyes locked.
Sam recognized her immediately and, grasping her arm, pulled her into his
office. He shut the door.

"Alia!"

"Sam?"

Sam looked at her up and down. Her badge said "Skalany." "What...what are
YOU doing here?" he asked, alarmed. Every time Sam didn't think this leap
could get any worse, something else happened. Now Alia???!!! The last time
he saw her, she was trying to kill him. He had talked her out of it, but
just barely....He gasped as his swiss-cheesed memory engaged long enough to
remember how Alia left the last time: screaming in agony as if her very soul
was being tortured. Then she and Zoey had disappeared, leaving Sam and Al
with a serious case of the creeps and two missing days.

"Alia, what happened to you?" Sam asked urgently. "I saw you...saw you...."
He stopped. There were no words to describe it.

Alia held up her hands to stop him. She didn't want to think about it. "Sam,
I won't let Zoey know you are here, but I need to go."

She tried to leave but Sam stepped in her way. "I can't let you leave, Alia.
I have to know what you are here to do!" He was panicked; now, he knew the
reason why Ziggy was having problems with the percentages. Maybe Alia was
the one responsible for Peter's death!!! He didn't even want to think about
that! For if Alia could stoop so low, what was stopping him...He shook his
head to banish the thought. "Why are you here?!!" he demanded once more.

"I don't know!"

"I don't believe you!"

"Really, Sam, I don't know!" Alia protested. "Lothos can't decide what he
wants me to do!"

"What are the options?" Alia looked down. Sam, hardly ever moved to
violence, grabbed Alia's upper arms and shook her lightly. "TELL ME!!!"
Alia's eyes widened at his vehemence. Shocked at his own behavior, Sam let
her go. "Someone in this office is going to die and I am here to prevent
it," he told her brusquely. "So if you do something - ANYTHING! - I will
stop you!"

"Sam..." Alia never dreamed that Sam would speak to her this way. She placed
his tone: utter contempt and disgust. It wasn't fair!!! She didn't WANT to
do this! She didn't want to do ANY of the horrible things she had done.
"Sam...don't..." she stammered. She couldn't bear it if Sam turned his back
on her. Then she really would be alone.

"Tell me why you're here," Sam stated matter-of-factly. He was aching to put
his arms around her, to comfort her, to wipe away her tears. He couldn't,
though, until he knew why she was there and whom she was there to destroy.

Alia sighed. "There are several possibilities," she told him. "Zoey found
out that Skalany - my host - dates somebody named Kwai Chang Caine, who's
the father of Peter Caine here at the station. She wants me to play them off
each other."

"What does THAT mean?"

"You know," she said shamefacedly, looking down, "get one of them interested
in me, then drop him, and entice the other one."

Sam grimaced. "Peter definitely doesn't need that kind of thing right now."

"Is he the one who you're--"

"Yes," Sam said. "He doesn't need any more pressure. Is there a way you can
stall Zoey or--" He broke off. Alia obviously had not met Caine yet, so, she
didn't know the man's gift would probably enable him to see her as well.
Perhaps if he sent Alia to Caine, who could probably take care of
himself...No, Sam rejected that notion. Alia may work that way but he
wouldn't set others against each other.

"What?" Alia asked.

"I would forget it, Alia," Sam said. "I have a feeling these two are too
close for that."

"I don't make those decisions, Sam."

"Besides, Caine is...different," Sam said. "I've met him. He's...well, I
don't usually believe in this sort of thing but if anyone fits the
description 'mystical', it's him."

"I am not the one to convince, Sam," Alia protested. "It's Zoey. If this
Caine is 'mystical', then Zoey would be more convinced that I should go
after him."

"Alia, you can do what you want if you try!" Sam urged.

"I can't, Sam," she said. "I thought I explained that. I am...a prisoner. I
HAVE to do what they say."

Sam heard the imaging door open, then Al appeared before him.

"Hey!" Al greeted. "Thought you might need help at zero-hour." He saw Alia
and did a double-take. "Sam, WHAT is she doing here???"

Reminded of his task by Al, Sam looked out the office window into the
squadroom. Peter was gone. Sam's stomach knotted as he saw the time - 6:55
p.m.!!

"Damn it! Al, Peter's gone! Can you lock in on him?" Sam asked desperately.

Al pressed handlink buttons, paused for a second then read: "Ziggy says he's
downstairs...still alive."

"Thank God! Get to him, Al, and guide me!" Sam said and flung himself out of
his office, Alia completely forgotten. Heading swiftly for the stairs, he
almost ran Blake over.

"Kermit, what's up?" Blake inquired, bewildered, as he dodged to the side.

"Later!" Sam yelled as he took the stairs down two at a time.

"This way, Sam!" Al called from below.

Sam, following the familiar voice, found Al outside a door labeled "Men's
Locker Room." Al entered by passing through the wall; Sam had to use the door.

"Over here, Sam...better hurry! He has the gun out of his holster...!"

Sam raced through the maze of lockers and came out near the entrance to the
showers. He paused to take a breath then entered.

Peter sat half-lotus in the corner, his gun resting on the floor in front of
his legs. His head was bent forward, his eyes were closed, and his hands
were resting on his knees. To Sam, he appeared to be meditating.

Sam approached as quickly and quietly as possible, focussing on the
nickel-plated 9mm pistol on the floor. When he was close enough, Sam
stretched out his right foot, hoping to slide it out of reach. His foot made
contact with the gun - just as Peter's hand made contact with his foot.

Peter looked up. In all of his leaps, Sam had never seen such an expression
as worn on this kid's face. It was a mixture of fear and determination with
a vacant quality. Sam shivered.

Pain brought Sam back to the present; his right foot was sending signals to
his brain. "Damn it!" he muttered under his breath.

"Ooooo, that's gotta hurt..." Al said, wincing.

Peter had delivered a blow to Sam's instep, causing Sam to yank his foot
back from atop the gun. Now, Peter had the gun in his left hand and was
raising it toward his face.

Sam took a quick step forward and dropped to his knees. He grabbed Peter's
hand as it passed in front of Peter's torso. Then, taking a firm hold on
Peter's forearm, he wrenched upwards with all his strength. The gun went
off. Plaster dust from the bullet hole in the ceiling rained down on them.
Applying forward pressure on the gun barrel he now held, Sam freed the gun
from Peter's grasp then he stood up and took two steps back.

"Watch out, Sam!!" Al warned.

Like a snake uncoiling, Peter sprang at Sam and buried his right shoulder
into Sam's abdomen. His momentum carried him and Sam into the wall. The
force of the impact dazed Sam and the gun clattered to the floor.

Al winced again.

Peter, seeing the object he sought, let go of Sam and picked up the gun. He
turned and headed in the direction of the corner he just occupied.

"Come on, Sam! You gotta do something or he's dead!"

Sam, doubled over and gasping, was leaning against the wall. He knew Al was
right. He took a deep breath and, suddenly inspired, he pushed off the wall.
He made contact with the lumbar region of his opponent's back. Surprised,
Peter staggered forward and slammed up against the wall opposite the one to
which Sam had been rudely introduced, arms outstretched in a vain attempt to
absorb some of the impact.

Sam leaned in and held Peter against the wall. He reached up to grab the gun
from Peter's hand only to find another set of hands already performing the task.

"What the hell is going on here, Kermit?" Strenlich asked as he pulled the
gun from Peter's hand.

"I'm not sure..." Sam replied, trying to hold a struggling Peter still. "He
was going to kill himself, I think."

"Way to go, Sam. The death certificate is off the books," Al informed him.

"WHY?" Strenlich asked, horrified. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Only Peter can tell us for sure," Sam said.

Suddenly, Sam felt the tension leave his prisoner's body so he cautiously
backed off, confident that Peter would be contained should he be playing
possum. Besides the Chief, Blake and several other squad members were in the
locker room now. They must have been drawn by the gunfire.

"Pete, can you hear me?" Strenlich asked, concerned, turning Peter around.

Peter offered no resistance and, as he leaned lifelessly against the wall,
stared glassy-eyed at his supervisor. A chill ran down Strenlich's spine.
"We better get him to his father...."

"I'll take him," Sam offered. He also had reasons for wanting to see Caine.

*****

She was near tears now, or screaming, but she couldn't make up her mind. She
also could not seem to catch enough of a breath to do either.

The man - she knew now that this couldn't be a doctor - had hovered over her
for the better part of an hour. She would have been more worried but she
eventually figured out that he was, for the most part, looking, not
touching. If he did touch, he took care to do so briefly and to not move her
one iota.

Finally, she was rescued. It seemed like an eternity but at long last, some
women came in, the man mercifully left, and she was treated to a
comfortable, achingly-normal shower. She still felt as weak as a newborn and
couldn't help one bit. Now, even though her muscle tone was nonexistent, she
felt 100% better.

She sat in the room that they had placed her in. She was VERY worried that
she could not move very well, but they told her that she would now learn
what was going on. She assumed that meant they would explain her mysterious
illness. She only wished some of her loved ones were here - she could really
use their support about now.

*Why WEREN'T they here?* her detective mind asked herself.

She bit her lip nervously. She would not cry. She would listen to the doctor
and then she would do as they said so she could get better.

A booming voice suddenly cut through the silence. "MARY - HOW DO YOU FEEL?"

She jumped, startled. "Um...." she fought to clear her throat. "Umm...uh...I
don't feel well at all," she managed. "What's wrong with me?" she asked
tentatively, not really wanting to hear the answer.

"NOTHING THAT TIME WON'T CURE."

The answer sounded like whoever-it-was was enjoying a sense of irony but
there was no inflection in the voice to denote humor. None whatsoever.

"What's wrong with me?" she asked again. "Please tell me. Where AM I? Where
are YOU?"

"EARLIER, YOU WERE CALLING FOR ONE CALLED 'CAINE'. DO YOU REMEMBER HIM?"

She frowned. She was getting seriously angry that he wouldn't answer her
questions. But thinking of Caine, she decided to answer - perhaps her
cooperation would pay off.

"Yes, I remember Caine."

"TELL ME ALL ABOUT HIM."

*****

TO BE CONTINUED!