Punched by an Angel
by Henry Wyckoff

A crossover between Kung Fu: The Legend Continues, Millennium, and Touched by an Angel

Chapter 2

Peter Caine woke instantly to the sound of his cell phone. He could ignore the regular phone, but the cell phone meant that it was police business. Shaking the sleep out of his voice, he answered.

"Peter. I need your help." It was Kermit, and he didn't sound much like anything. He wasn't rattled or light-hearted, which meant that something big was going down.

"Kermit, what's up?"

"I crossed paths with the Killer of the Angels."

It took a moment for it to register. "That guy who butchered that girl on the north side?" North side of Chinatown, that is.

"That's the guy. Peter . . . I shot that guy, and I could swear he wasn't wearing a vest. He thanked me for doing it and said I was 'a sport.' A moment later, he knocked me out. That was murder number three. He gutted Valerius with an axe. Number four just happened."

That stunned Peter. Valerius was one of those stiff-upper-lip types in a very positive way. Unemployed and homeless, he somehow always managed to find ways of helping people get back on their own feet. The guy had even helped Peter out of the blue in a moment of great need. "Did you get a good look at his face?"

"You betcha. I don't have his name, but if I cross paths with him again, he's going down."

Peter didn't like the sound of that one bit. It sounded far colder and more ruthless than anything else Peter had heard Kermit say. "What are you not telling me?"

"You've been given the case. It's all yours now, and Frank Black -- someone from the Millennium Group -- is here to help you out."


"You just got the case. Came down from high places, and they're teaming you up with Frank. You don't have a choice. So get your ass down here."

"Kermit. It's . . . three in the morning."

"So? Imagine what it's like for Frank. He's got so much jet lag he's lost his sense of humor!"

* * *

Peter walked into the precinct, trying to keep his mind on trivial things like coffee and music. He didn't want to face what he knew he would face, but he also knew that he didn't have a choice. There was just something about this case that had spooked him from the word go.

Kermit and a stranger were waiting at Peter's desk.

The stranger's looks screamed 'FBI' as he stood up and shook Peter's hand. "Frank Black, of the Millennium Group."

Peter had the strangest sensation, as if he was shaking hands with the priest of some pagan church. There were no visions of some bald guy with a goatee playing organ music. Instead, it was the subtle aura that anyone can pick up from a member of the clergy. This was the same sensation -- just a darker feel. Not sinister. Just dark.

Kermit had also been right in his own assessment. This guy wasn't going to have a sense of humor. From the looks on Frank's face, he probably didn't even believe in eating food.

Peter tilted his head, "Are you with the FBI?"

"Not anymore."

Peter sat down and waved at Frank to do the same. "All right. I was just told that this case is mine. I suppose the first thing we should do is touch all the bases. What is the Millennium group and why did you volunteer your services? The last time the United States was interested in Toronto, it wasn't a pretty sight."

"This isn't a pretty sight either. I haven't met the killer in person, but I've followed his trail often enough. I can tell you this much from the onset; his personal problems are motivating him to kill the saintly and the innocent. He's killed others who stood in the way, but it appeared that tose were merely unfortunate accidents."

The last shocked Kermit. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Frank shrugged, "I don't like to waste time repeating the same information."

Peter waved it off. "It's perfect timing. How about I start the coffee and you pile up all the background papers. I want to be totally up to speed before the business day is supposed to start. Let's start with the Toronto cases first."

* * *

Saint Andrew's Cathedral. A most Catholic monument of gray stone and stained glass that had a split personality. The inside was filled with the most colorful of paintings that rivaled the Vatican.

Andrew sat in the first pew, his hand covering his face, as if he could somehow hide his tears.

Unknown to him, two women sat in the back of the empty church. One was an older, heavyset black woman. The other was a much younger Irishwoman whose face radiated innocence.

The Irishwoman spoke, "Why is Andrew so sad?"

Tess was also sad. "Because Andrew's day is dark. He saw a good friend of his die a violent death, and he could do nothing to prevent it."

"It must be a very good friend. I've never seen him this sad."

"There's more to that, Miss Wings. His friend was Valerius. He was an Angel, and died for real. Even his soul was destroyed."

Monica's eyes widened in shock. "How is that possible?"

"I don't know . . . but I do know this. You have yourself a new assignment."


Tess laughed until she nearly turned white. "No, child . . . it's someone with almost as much of a dark past as our killer of Valerius, but who chose to walk towards the light. Let's go meet him."

* * *

Monica saw Kermit, Peter, and Frank in a conference which involved the continual passing of pictures of murder victims. "Tess. Who is that man?"

Tess sighed, "That's Frank Black. Let's just take things one step at a time. The assignment you need to focus on is sitting on the far side. The man with the green shades."

"Tess. Those look black."

"I know. You'll find some peculiar traits around these three. Kermit's peculiarity is the fact that you can almost see his soul through his eyes. That's why he wears the shades, so nobody can see what he truly is, that he's not some cold and heartless killer. Sometimes people see black, but if you look closer with open eyes, you'll see that they're really green."

"Are you saying that the black isn't really there?"

"Not quite, child. I'm saying that the black is a mask that he wears to protect himself. Right now, the black and the green are struggling. If he makes the wrong choice, he might find himself trapped in the prison of that mask."

"Is that my assignment?"

"Not quite. Just stay with him. Observe and interact with him, and when the sign appears, you'll know what you're meant to do."

"What about Andrew?"

Tess looked sad again. "Angels have lessons to learn too, and struggles of faith."

Monica looked unhappy for the first time, "I'd pray for the man who killed Valerius. I can't imagine what would make a man try to kill an Angel, let alone find the way."

* * *

In a run-down motel room. Latro opened yet another beer. He couldn't taste the beer. All he could see was blood. He drank blood. He saw blood wherever he looked. He saw that screaming face, its eyes not showing any expression of fear. Almost laughter and rage. Or was it eyes of fear and a mouth of rage?

Latro started sobbing, holding onto himself with both arms, afraid that he might burst into tiny shreds of meat, blood, and intestine if he didn't clamp down on himself.

* * * *

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