DISCLAIMER: “Kung Fu: The Legend Continues” is the legal property of Warner Bros. TV and Michael Slone. I’m just continuing the journey. This story takes place in between my stories “Secrets” and “Revelations”.

Inside the 101st precinct, Samantha and Peter Caine had just reported for work when they were approached by their commanding officer, Captain Karen Simms.

“Good, I’m glad you’re both here,” she said. “We just got a call from Rachel Bennett who said her husband showed up on her doorstep this morning waving a baseball bat and making threats against her.  I want the two of you to go down there and take a statement from her, then bring her husband in for questioning.”

“Why us?” Peter asked. “Domestic disputes are usually a job for the uniforms.”

Simms handed them a file marked ‘Bennett’. “We’ve had lots of calls there, but she always refuses to press charges. Given Samantha’s own history with an abusive parent, I was hoping you two could change her mind.”

Peter gave a quick nod of acknowledgement, then turned to Samantha. “Let’s go.”

The two detectives pulled up in front of the Bennett home. Located only a few blocks from the precinct, the house was quiet, and peaceful; the outside showing no signs of the conflicts that had taken place within its walls.

“Nice house,” Peter remarked.

“Don’t judge the book by its cover,” Samantha paraphrased. “According to the file, this house has seen more fights than the local gym. Bennett has developed a fondness for using his wife as a punching bag.”

“How charming,” Peter responded sarcastically. “Maybe I should offer to return the favor when I’m off duty.”

“I understand the sentiment, but I don’t think it would go over well with the captain,” Samantha replied wryly.

She got out of the car, Peter following. Reaching the front door, Samantha gave a light knock, and a few moments later it slowly opened. A young woman approximately twenty years old stood in the doorway, her bruised face a silent testament to her husband’s abuse.

“Rachel Bennett?” Samantha prompted gently.

The woman gave a curt nod, and Samantha carefully withdrew her badge as she introduced herself. “I’m Lieutenant Samantha Caine from the 101st precinct, and this is my husband, Detective Peter Caine. May we come in?”

Wordlessly, Rachel stepped aside, and Samantha and Peter entered the house. Rachel escorted them to the living room, and through the glass door the detectives could see a pair of small children playing in the yard.

“Mrs. Bennett, you placed a call to the precinct this afternoon to report your husband was threatening you. Is that correct?” Samantha questioned.

“Yes,” Rachel confirmed. “He showed up at about ten this morning screaming foul names at me and waving a baseball bat in my face. He kept telling me I was a worthless bitch, and he was going to kill me so the kids could be raised by a real woman.”

“When did he give you those bruises?” Peter inquired.

“Last night. We got into an argument, and Johnny ended it by planting his fist in my face.”

“Has he ever hit your children?”

“He knocks them around once in a while,” Rachel admitted, “but most of the time he just ignores them.”

Rachel kept her gaze focused on the floor, not meeting either of the detectives’ eyes. Samantha and Peter exchanged a look, and the former addressed Rachel.

“Mrs. Bennett, given what you’ve told us and in light of your physical condition, we have sufficient evidence to arrest your husband. I think you know that, but I also think you don’t want us to. Am I right?”

“What good would it do?” Rachel challenged in return. “He’ll be out of jail in a few hours anyway and will come straight back here to pick up where he left off. It happens that way every time.”

“If you get a restraining order he can’t come within five hundred yards of you, your children or this house without being arrested,” Peter informed her.

“If Johnny decides to come after me, a restraining order won’t make any difference,” Rachel countered. “He’d kill me before anyone could get here.”

Peter released a sigh. “How old are you Rachel?”

“Twenty-two.”

“And how long have you been with Johnny?”

“A little over five years.”

“Out of those five years, how many has he spent beating you up?”

Rachel did not answer aloud, but her expression told Peter all he needed to know, and he exchanged another glance with his wife.

“It doesn’t have rot be like this, Rachel,” Samantha said. “If you press charges against Johnny and are willing to testify against him in court, we can put him in jail long enough to ensure that he’ll never hurt you or your children again.”

“What would you know about it?” Rachel retorted.  “Pretty lady like you with an equally pretty husband, both cops.  I’d bet my last dollar that your husband’s never hit you.”

“No, he hasn’t,” Samantha confirmed, “But my father did, and I grew up watching him physically abuse my mother.  She was a lot like you; young and scared and convinced that no one could help her. So she kept her secret, and the abuse worsened. Eventually it reached the point where my father beat her badly enough to put her in the hospital half dead, and then he kidnapped me.  Thankfully my grandfather was able to send someone to rescue me, but ten days later my mother vanished without a trace.  My father had frightened my mother to such a degree that she abandoned her children rather than risk his wrath by telling anyone what he was doing.  I never saw either of my parents again.  Is that what you want for your children?”

Rachel did not respond, but it was clear from her expression that she was considering what Samantha had told her.  The lieutenant exchanged a look with her husband before saying, “With your permission, I’d like to talk with your children for a moment.”

The younger woman shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Samantha headed outside, and Peter waited until she was out of earshot before addressing Rachel.

“If you won’t do this for yourself, Rachel, then at least do it for your children. Don’t let them grow up watching Daddy beat up Mommy and think that the abuse was acceptable. He has no right to hit you. We can take you to a center for abuse victims; they’ll offer you support and counseling, for you and the children. You’re not alone.”

Rachel did not respond, and instead walked over to the glass door to watch Samantha with her children.  After a few minutes, she turned her attention back to Peter.

“All right,” she said at last. “For my children.”

No sooner had Rachel given her consent than someone began pounding on the front door.

“Rachel!” a male voice shouted. “I know you’re in there, bitch. Open the damn door!”

Peter glanced at Rachel, who had frozen in fear. “Is that Johnny?” he asked, and at Rachel’s nod added, “Go outside and get my wife, now!”

As Rachel made a dash for the backyard, the front door suddenly burst open to reveal Johnny Bennett standing in the doorway, once again wielding a baseball bat. Peter immediately withdrew his gun and aimed it at the tall, massive man.

“Police, Johnny; drop the bat.”

“Where’s my wife, cop?” Johnny demanded.

The detective ignored the man’s question and repeated his earlier instruction.  “Drop the bat, Johnny. I won’t tell you again.”

Again Johnny ignored the warning, his glazed eyes and crazed expression indicating he was under the influence of narcotics. “I want my wife!” he shouted, and strode into the dining room, then the living room. “Rachel, where are you?”

As if in answer to his question, Rachel peered into the house from outside, and Johnny immediately started for her, holding the bat above his head. Peter promptly fired a warning shot, which whizzed by the other man’s head but did not stop his approach.  The detective fired a second time, and this time the bullet hit Johnny’s left shoulder. Again Johnny was unfazed and continued his advance, this time focusing on Peter. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, Peter hesitated; he knew Rachel and the children were watching and had no desire to kill Johnny in front of them. He moved forward to block their view, and Johnny took advantage of his distraction to swing the bat and knock Peter’s gun from his grasp, breaking his wrist in the process. Lifting the bat over his head, Johnny swung it around again and struck the side of Peter’s head. It connected with an audible crack, and he crumpled to the floor. Samantha entered from the backyard just in time to see him go down, and saw Johnny heading toward her. Without wasting time to shout a warning, Samantha drew her gun and fired, dropping Johnny with a single shot. Glancing over her shoulder, she shouted instructions to Rachel.

“Call 911,” she ordered. “Tell them we need a pair of ambulances here right away.”

Rachel quickly did as instructed, and ushered her children out of the room as Samantha checked on Bennett. He was dead, so Samantha turned her attention to her husband, who was turning ashen as his breathing grew more labored. Grabbing a pillow off the couch, she carefully eased it under Peter’s head, then removed her jacket and pressed it against Peter’s injury in a vain attempt to staunch the flow of blood.

“Don’t die on me, Peter,” she pleaded. “Please don’t die!”

Several hours later, Samantha, Simms, Kermit and Caine stood in the corridor of the ER, anxiously awaiting word on Peter. As Samantha began to pace for the umpteenth time, Kermit put a hand on her arm.  “Samantha, if you don’t stop pacing you’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” he scolded.

The beautiful blonde appeared not to have heard him. She shook off his hand and continued her pacing as she cast a frustrated glance down the hallway in search of the doctors. “He’s been in there too long,” she said. “Something’s wrong.”

“You don’t know that, Kid,” Kermit replied.

Samantha whirled to face him. “Don’t placate me, Kermit!” she snapped. “You didn’t hear the sound that the bat made when it connected with Peter’s head, or seed him collapse like a rag doll. You didn’t see the blood gushing from his head…so much blood…”

The lieutenant’s voice trailed off as her anger vanished and was replaced by increasing fear for her husband’s life.  Caine walked over and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Your anger and frustration are understandable, Samantha, but lashing out at your friend will not help Peter,” the priest admonished gently.

“I know,” Samantha allowed. “I’m sorry, Kermit.”

“No reason to be,” Kermit returned.

Any further conversation was prevented by the arrival of one of the doctors, and he glanced at Samantha. “Mrs. Caine?”

“Yes; I’m Samantha Caine.”

“I’m Doctor Matt Birman, the neurosurgeon handling Peter’s care,” he said.

“How is he?” Samantha asked.

“Lucky to be alive, quite frankly. If the blow had landed directly on his temple, he would have been killed instantly. By some miracle, however, the impact only caused a minor skull fracture and severe bruising along the left side of his brain.”

“Is there any permanent damage?” Kermit interjected.

“According to the CAT scan, Peter doesn’t seem to have suffered any lasting effects,” Birman replied, “but we won’t know for certain until he comes to.”

“May I see him?” Samantha requested.

“It will be several hours before he begins to come around. I suggest you go home, get some rest, then come back in the morning.”

“I’d prefer to stay with my husband,” Samantha requested.

“Of course. I’ll have one of the nurses take you to him.”

Bidding the others farewell, Samantha followed Birman down the hall and they disappeared around the corner.

“Peter’s got more lives than a cat,” Simms remarked.  “I’m going to head back to the precinct and give everyone the good news.  You coming, Kermit?”

“Right behind you,” Kermit said. “What about you, Caine?”

“I am staying here,” Caine said. “I must call Annie to let her know our son is all right, and then I wish to see him as well.”

“You can tell him for me that if he pulls another stunt like this, I’ll put him in traction myself,” Kermit declared. “I had enough gray hairs to begin with, but since befriending Peter I get a new one every day.”

Caine managed a small smile. “My son still suffers from the youth-related delusion that he is immortal,” he replied.  “When he wakes up, Samantha and I will talk to him.”

“Good luck,” Simms said, and she and Kermit exited the hospital.

Late the following morning, a groggy Peter slowly came to. Carefully easing himself to a sitting position, Peter grimaced at a sharp pain in his head just as a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Good morning, my son.”

The detective glanced over at the softly spoken greeting to see his father standing a few feet away, and flashed him a small smile.  “Morning, Pop.  Where’s Sam?”

“She is at the nurses’ station filling out paperwork for the insurance company,” Caine told him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve got a hell of a headache, and my wrist is throbbing, but otherwise I seem to be okay. How are you feeling?”

It was an inane question, but the younger Caine was not thinking too clearly.

“I am fine, but I am not the one who almost died,” Caine reminded him.

Peter shrugged. “It’ll take more than a knock upside the head to take me out of commission,” he declared confidently.

“Do not make a joke out of your brush with death, Peter,” the priest said sternly. “I have lived through your death once. I could not survive it a second time.”

Peter was clearly taken aback by the vehemence in his father’s voice. “I’m sorry, Pop,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I am not angry at you, my son, but at your attitude,” Caine clarified.  “Over the years I have seen you deliberately and unnecessarily put your self into dangerous situations many times. Do you want to die?”

“Of course not.”

“Then perhaps you should be more careful to ensure that does not happen,” the elder Caine suggested.  “Aside from my own grief, think of the effect your death would have on those who love you. How do you think Samantha and Annie and your sisters would feel if they were to lose you?”

The question was rhetorical, and Caine neither expected nor received an answer, After pausing a moment to allow Peter to absorb his statement, Caine continued. “We are all aware of the danger involved in what you do, Peter, but that does not mean you must seek it out. Look at your life from our perspective, and its value will become clearer.”

Just then the door opened to admit Samantha, and she broke into a relieved smile upon seeing Peter awake and coherent.

“Well look who’s back among the living,” she said, and crossed over to give him a brief kiss.

“Hi, Princess,” Peter greeted.

“You’ve gave us quite a scare, Detective,” Samantha admonished.

“I’m okay. You really don’t have to worry about me.”

“That’s a matter of perspective, Handsome,” his wife responded.

“So I’ve been told,” Peter allowed, and exchanged a knowing smile with Caine.

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END