Fire. Hot and dangerous, it surrounds the little temple at
the top of the hill, and the monks who live in it.
Dust in his face, fear, and the stench of burning flesh.
"Dennis!" he shouts for his friend, who vanished in the
dust. A minute ago, he was able to see him. Amazed, as if
admiring the fire, that destroyed a world and burnt down a
past and memories. "Dennis! Don't leave me!" and his voice
no longer his own, no longer the voice of a twelve year old
teen, but the voice of a small child, fearing the
loneliness. "Dennis!"
Then he notices the sight. A little, bald head, little
Richie, who was laying on the floor. He reaches for the boy,
and falls to his knees, shocked at the weight of a human
body.
An explosion tares the northern wall apart. His father is
there, seeking with his unseeing eyes.
"Father!" he shouts, but the man walks away, and the hot
ceiling falls over his head. Too hot!
The heat is burning his flesh, yet gives him a sort of
numbness. The numbness you feel before you die, he knows.
"Do not resist me, young Caine!" Ping Hai, a Master, a
priest, a family friend, pulls him up with his old, powerful
arms.

Peter sat, once again leaning against the cold stone. He
tried to find the warmth of the being that was once his
father. But it is what it is. Just a cold, gray stone.
Still, he can feel his father's presence, somehow. He
expects him to show up, his smile, his hug, his love back in
Peter's life. But alas, it cannot be. No. Because Peter
knows better. Sadness, grief and pain flush his heart and
soul as he thinks of it. He knows, right now, sitting by
this stone. His father, Kwai Chang Caine, was dead.

NOT!!!