A Caine Journal Page
The interrogation room was just a small cell without bars or windows, only a table and two chairs, their color matching the drab gray of the walls and floor. The occupants of the room tried to maintain their civility to prevent the anger that each felt, from erupting.
A knock on the door brought their attention away from their prisoner and former co-worker.
Captain Simms glanced at the brown clad figure that stood in the doorway, unasked question on her lips.
"This is Peter's father." Strenlich said, glad for the interruption.
With her arms across her chest and disgust on her face, she looked at the visitor, taking in his attire of tan pants and satchel and the love for his son in his eyes. "I'm sorry to meet you under these circumstances." Then she turned to her Chief of Detectives, "five minutes."
The burly ex-marine nodded and followed her out of the room, giving father and son a few minutes alone.
As the door closed, Caine looked at his son and drew the younger man into an embrace, giving his son what strength he could. "What has happened?"
Peter pushed away from his father, the graveness of the situation finally hitting him, confusing him. "The woman I was involved with, was murdered." He turned from his father. "I'm a dangerous man. Don't you listen to Sandra Mason on Channel 3?"
Caine looked at his son, the pain in the hazel eyes reflected back to the older man. "No."
Realizing his father had no television or radio, Peter let it drop. Instead, asked the question everyone had asked him. "Come on, Pop. You gonna ask me if I did it?"
Keeping his voice even, Caine answered with all honesty, "I know you did not do it. Do you know…who did do it?"
The anger Peter had been riding on, ebbed. He leaned on the table, "Someone who hated me, or hated her. Sit down," he pointed to one of the chairs.
"As you would say…not much to go on. What was the victim's name?" Caine was curious, he had not known Peter was involved with a woman. The last he knew, his son was having an on again, off again relationship with a fellow officer, Kelly Blake.
"Rebecca Calvert. She was…well…she was an assistant district attorney. I've been seeing her for about three months." Rebecca's face and body flashed through Peter's mind, he couldn't believe she was gone, never to hold again.
"Why have I not heard about her?"
Peter's emotions switched gears quickly; preventing him from lashing out at those that only wanted to help. "Am I supposed to tell you about al my girlfriends? I mean, there was a time when you…you weren't even there."
Caine felt the sting of Peter's words, but kept it where it belonged, away from his heart. "When motorcycles and race cars and hockey were replaced by girls?"
Sorry for his words, remembering the other man who was there when Peter needed to know about the opposite sex, "When I was at the orphanage." He omitted saying Paul's name. He had already hurt his father enough with the stinging words said before.
"Well, I am here now."
**
Caine sat his son's desk, recalling the words that had been recently cemented into his mind. It was true. He had not been there for Peter when puberty struck, when love was in bloom for the 'orphaned' teenager. Instead, it was another man and his wife that helped Peter through the agony of adolescence.
Paul and Annie Blaisdell were the ones that talked Peter through his first crush, his first date, and his first prom. They were as much Peter's parents as Caine was his father, but it was the Blaisdell's that raised him.
Without understanding why, Caine's eyes fell to the bottom desk drawer. Opening it, he found his journal lying on top of his father's and grandfather's. A brief smile was all he allowed himself, thinking that Peter actually read the words of his ancestors. Picking up his journal, Caine thumbed through it.
**
Aug. 1982
I have only today, realized what day it is. In the four years I have wandered, this is the first time I had forgotten my son's birthday. The pain of loosing him has diminished, though, not disappeared.
Seeing the children I work with, I realize all I have missed with my son. I have so many questions. Would he be tall, like me? Would he want to continue at the temple?
When my father and I left the temple in China so many years ago, I thought we would go to another in America. Instead, we traveled. We did find a temple, the one just north of San Francisco. He left me there to go find something. That something killed him. He never came back. I hated the world and never wanted to visit it or the town that was only a few miles from my new home. Girls were not allowed there, though I did know the difference. The masters taught us about life. I already knew about death.
Peter would be sixteen today. It is a day that signifies independence for the child, a day that marks the journey from childhood to adulthood. Unlike me when I was his age, Peter loved to go into the town. He loved the sights and sounds, the mixture of peoples. If Dao had not destroyed the temple, I believe Peter would have left when he was sixteen. I would have at least had four more years with him, though.
One of the children here turned sixteen yesterday, reminding me of my loss. Michael, that is the boy's name, is excited. His parents have given him a car of his own and permission to date a girl. I have seen him with this girl - they sit hand in hand and steal kisses.
I remember when I met Sabrina. She was the first woman I had met. I know now, it was not love, but instead, infatuation. I had only left the temple a few days before. The Masters stating that either I become a priest or earn money. I had no interest in becoming a priest, not then anyway. Getting a job was easy; people were always looking for cheap labor.
Peter had already met girls and at the age of twelve, was showing signs of puberty. He would grow angry at the teachings, confused with what his body was telling him and what the teachers were telling him. If the temple had not been destroyed, he would have become disheartened with the life he had always known, and left me.
I ask myself now if I could have taken that easier than knowing he was dead. Knowing that he will never know the touch of intimacy with a woman, never know the thrill of being a father, never hearing his favorite band or seeing the television show he had grown to love.
**
Caine closed the journal and slipped it back into the desk drawer then silently closing it, sealing his past in the darkness. His son had lived, had known the intimacy of love, had learned about the world, had grown up and learned about fast cars and fast life.
A tear escaped and ran down Caine's face. It didn't go unnoticed by Mary Margaret.
"He'll be all right, Caine," she said, hoping her words were true. "I don't believe he did it. No one else does either."
Caine nodded, unable to answer. He had lost out on Peter growing up to another man. He would not loose his son to a false charge.
Sitting up with renewed strength and determination, he looked at the brunette detective. "We will solve this…mystery."