Wrong Place, Wrong Time

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Michael Knight was only vaguely aware of his surroundings. He tried to take a breath but a sharp pain exploded inside his chest. Movement at the moment was not an option.

Sensations slowly awakened in his body. He was sprawled, face down on a cold rough surface. A sidewalk he decided. A light wind tugged at his hair. He was outside. His left cheek felt cold, his right cheek felt the warmth of the sun. It was daytime. Slowly his mind deciphered more sensations. Something heavy lay across his legs. He tried to move them but he didn't have the strength. He heard excited voices droning in and out. He felt hands gently turn him over onto his back. The pain in his chest was excruciating.

Where was K.I.T.T.? He tried to open his eyes but his eyelids were too heavy. Something was placed over his nose and mouth and he felt cool air flush his skin. He tried to reach out, to feel for K.I.T.T., but someone grabbed his hand and forced it back down to his side. Something pricked his arm and he felt what little grasp he had on reality fade away.

Bonnie stared down at Michael, so pale, so fragile. I.V. tubes and wires festooned his body. This was to have been Michael's first real vacation in two years. Time to relax, to go fishing; rock climbing or just lay in the sun soaking up rays, not laying in a hospital bed fighting for his life.

She had left his side only for moments at a time since he was wheeled out of surgery. The doctors had nearly lost him on the table and he was still not out of danger yet.

She sat back in the recliner a kind nurse had pulled into the room and closed her eyes and remembered. She had gotten the frantic call from K.I.T.T.. Michael had been terribly injured. She could hear the pain in his voice at his inability to help his friend.

It took her three long hours to reach Crescent Utah in the Foundation's private jet. Devon would arrive later in the semi. So here she sat, catching a few minutes of sleep now and then, but mostly she watched Michael. He was heavily sedated but occasionally the pain would flare up through the drugs and he would moan softly. She vowed, by all that was Holy, that she would find out who did this and see them punished.

The reason behind the shooting was still a mystery. It had been a professional hit, of that she was certain. But who? And why? It had happened outside Tanner's Restaurant, three o'clock in the afternoon.

K.I.T.T had related the frightening ordeal: He had been parked in front of the restaurant. He told how Michael had just exited the building when two shots rang out. The first hit Michael dead center in the chest the second hit Helen Stern in the head. She was dead before she hit the ground. Michael lay sprawled face down on the sidewalk, the young woman collapsed over his legs. K.I.T.T. told how he watched Michael's blood ooze from beneath his chest and run down the sidewalk to puddle in the gutter around his tires. His voice cracked as he told Bonnie how helpless he felt, not being able to help Michael. How he had watched him slipping away. Desperately he spoke to his partner. Urged him to hang on, coaxed him to keep fighting. The paramedics arrived. Life support was administered and the ambulance sped away.

While Bonnie kept vigil over Michael in his hospital room, K.I.T.T. kept his own vigil outside in the parking lot. His lifeline to Michael, the com link, had been removed, hospital policy. But Bonnie had surreptitiously plugged K.I.T.T. into the hospital's mainframe where he could extract all the information on Michael. But he desperately wanted to be at Michael's side. To comfort him when he first regained consciousness. To help him through the pain. But for now he would have to be content with the hospital's mainframe.

Bonnie was suddenly startled back to reality. Michael's right hand twitched then his eyelids fluttered. He was crawling his way up through the drugs and the assault on his body toward consciousness.

She watched as his eyes slowly opened, at first blinded by the harsh lights of the hospital room. "Welcome back." She said softly, stroking his cheek. "You had us all worried."

"You're safe." She soothed, brushing his hair back off his forehead. "You're in a hospital. You're going to be fine."

"Right here Michael." K.I.T.T.'s voice emanated from the watch that sat on the bedside table. "It is good to hear your voice."

With Michael out of immediate danger the task of finding who shot him got under way in earnest. Devon had arrived three days after the attack and had spent an equal amount of time at the hospital with Michael and in the semi working on clues. But clues were scarce and after four days they were still no closer to finding an answer than the first day.

On the fifth day Michael was allowed to sit up for a few minutes. Bonnie worried about him. It was not only his pale complexion and weakness, but something in his eyes. They looked haunted.

"Twenty-six. Michael, this isn't going to help." Bonnie slipped her hand under his. "It was an accident that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"One year." Bonnie watched the tears well up in Michael's eyes. She didn't know how to comfort him, to convince him that he was not at fault. He wouldn't listen. Not to her or Devon or even K.I.T.T. He was slowly falling into that black abyss; guilt, and if they didn't find a way to free him soon he could be lost to them forever.

"It's good to have you back." K.I.T.T. said as they pulled away from the hospital.
Michael simply nodded.
"Bonnie rented an apartment for you until you are strong enough to make the trip back home."
Silence.
"Devon flew back to the Foundation for a few days. He has a meeting he can not postpone, but he will return on Thursday."
Silence.
"Michael, have I done something to make you angry with me?" K.I.T.T. asked hesitatingly.
"No K.I.T.T.." Michael sighed, "I'm just tired I guess."
"I understand. You are still weak."
"What can you tell me about Helen Stern?" Michael asked suddenly.
"It was an accident Michael." K.I.T.T. said gently.
"Tell me about her."
"Why do you continue to punish yourself for something that you had no control over?"
Michael ignored the question. "Helen Stern."
"She was twenty-six.."
"I know all that. Tell me about her."
"I'm not quite sure what you want to know Michael."
"Who was she? Where did she work?"
"This won't bring her back Michael."
Michael looked down at the voice box for the first time. The pain in his chest from the bullet wound was mild compared to the pain he felt in his heart for the innocent woman that had lost her life because of him. He had to know about her. Who she was, what she was like. He didn't want her to be just the eight by ten photo he saw in the hospital. "Please K.I.T.T.. I need to know."
"All right Michael. I will tell you what I know. She was married to Russell Stern, they had a daughter, Amy, fourteen months old. She was a cashier at the local Bank Of America. Two nights a week she attended college working on her B.A. in Sociology."
"Why did she have to be in front of that restaurant?"
"Just coincidence."
"Why was she there K.I.T.T.?"
"Her doctor's office was just two door down from Tanner's."
"Was she ill."
"No."
"Then why was she seeing a doctor?"
"There are many reason to see a doctor Michael. You don't have to be ill."
Michael heard the hesitation in K.I.T.T.'s voice. He knew something. "Why was she there K.I.T.T.?"
"Michael please, it won't help."
"Why K.I.T.T.?"
Reluctantly K.I.T.T. answered. "She was seeing her obstetrician."
"She was pregnant?" The words exploded in Michael's mind, he could barely catch his breath.
"Michael..?" K.I.T.T. was becoming very concerned. Michael's vital signs were becoming dangerously elevated. Michael had forced him to reveal facts that were too painful.
"How far along was she?" He whispered. He felt all his strength drain out of his body as if someone had pulled a plug.
"Twelve weeks."
He sank back into the bucket seat and let the encroaching darkness take over. Three months. Two lives taken by one bullet. He wasn't strong enough to fight this anymore. He didn't want to feel this kind of pain anymore. He felt incredibly tired. He heard K.I.T.T. call his name distantly through the ringing in his ears. He gave into the encroaching darkness, gladly.

"No Michael, I will not allow it." Bonnie stood in front of the door blocking Michael's way.
"You can't stop me." Michael smiled.
"Michael please listen to me, it won't help. She is gone. It was a terrible accident, but you have to get on with your life." It had been two days since K.I.T.T. brought Michael home and in that time he had barely uttered a word. But this morning he announced that he was going to see Russell Stern. "You have to let go."
"I can't." Michael pulled her toward him and looked down into her eyes. "This is something I have to do. You can come with me and be by my side if you want. But I am going."
"Damn it Michael!" she screamed, "Look at what you are doing to yourself. It was a terrible thing that happened. But it was not your fault. You have to get past this."
"I'm trying Bonnie." He felt her carefully wrap her arms around his chest. He couldn't explain to her why he couldn't let go. He couldn't explain it to himself. But he had always followed his instincts, his emotions. He had to follow this wherever it led. "Bonnie, I love you," he said tenderly, "I can't do this without you. Please."
Bonnie's legs nearly collapsed beneath her. She loved him too, dearly. More than she was willing to admit. She didn't realize how much until she had almost lost him. Now she was losing him again, to despair, and she wanted desperately to protect him from any more harm.
"You have to know that Russell Stern blames you for his wife's death." Bonnie said, trying to collect her emotions.
"I know."
"And you still want to go?"
"I have to." He whispered.

Russell Stern lived in a modest house in a small subdivision five miles North of town. The front yard was neat and clean, the grass mowed, the hedges trimmed. A child's car seat sat on the front porch. Michael made his way up the stairs with Bonnie at his side. His heart was beating so fast that he feared it would just explode. What was he doing here? What compelled him to do this? With shaking hands he rang the doorbell. He heard the shuffling of feet inside then the door slowly opened.

Russell Stern was a large man, nearly as tall as Michael and fifty pounds heavier. Michael just stood there, not knowing what to say. He started to extend his hand but pulled it back. "I'm sorry to disturb you. My name is.."
"I know who you are." Stern growled. "What do you want?"
Michael couldn't answer for a moment. This is what he needed to do, but he didn't know how to go about it. Behind Stern a young woman called from the kitchen, "Who is it Russell?"
He looked straight into Michael's eyes. "No one important." He said.
"I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about.." Michael began, searching for the words that he had rehearsed so often but..
Bonnie grabbed Michael's arm as the woman approached, a baby in her arms. Michael's knees nearly buckled. Stern gently lifted the baby from the woman's arms and cradled her against his chest. "Her name is Amy." He said coldly. "I don't know what I'm going to tell her when she gets old enough to ask where her Mommy is. Maybe I'll give her your name and you can explain it to her."
"Mr. Stern, please." Bonnie tried to keep her voice calm.. "It was a terrible accident that she was there at the wrong time. But Michael had nothing to do with your wife's death. He was nearly killed also."
Stern handed the baby back to the woman.
"Lady. I don't give a rat's ass. Now," he said as he closed the door behind him and took a step closer to Michael, "You get the hell away from me and my family. If I ever see you anywhere near here again I will kill you with my bare hands. Do you understand me?"
Michael nodded. The depth of the man's hatred and anger scared Bonnie. She grabbed Michael's arm and pulled him down the steps toward K.I.T.T.. That had been far worse than she could ever have imagined.

She helped Michael into the passenger seat then sat in the driver's side not moving, just watching him. Tears of grief and guilt came spilling over his face. He turned to her and buried his face in her shoulder and wept like he had never done before. All the hurt, emotional and physical, flooded him, overwhelming him. And she did the only thing she could. She gently held him against her and cried with him. K.I.T.T. quietly pulled away from the curb and headed back for the apartment.

A week passed and Bonnie prepared the semi for the trip home. Michael had recovered surprisingly fast after his encounter with Stern. It had been a catharsis for him. It allowed him to open up and free all the pent up emotions. He had spent his days working with Devon and K.I.T.T. on the shooting. K.I.T.T. had pinpointed the site of the attack and found powder residue from the rifle on a building across the street from the restaurant. They still had no idea who or why. They dredged through old cases. Followed up leads that led nowhere. At first they had assumed it was a vendetta. Someone Michael had put away. But everyone seemed clean. Michael resigned himself to the fact that they may never find out, unless the attacker tried again. And that worried K.I.T.T. He kept Michael under surveillance at all times. Whenever anyone approached his partner he was immediately on guard. He checked and cross- checked everyone that came near. But by tomorrow they would be back on the road headed home. He couldn't wait. The plan was for Michael to spend half the time with K.I.T.T. and the other half resting in the semi. It was the only way the doctor would release him for the long trip home. Bonnie wanted to make some last minute preparations so K.I.T.T. drove her over to the semi. It was parked on the outskirts of town near a closed amusement park, out of sight of prying eyes. K.I.T.T. didn't think about leaving his partner alone for the evening, he just wanted to get under way the following day, so he missed the men slumped in the Ford Mustang in the apartment's parking lot.

Michael was tired. He found he still needed the pain medication at night when he tried to sleep. During the day he coped with the pain and so he downed a pill and headed for bed. It felt good to be by himself for a change. He appreciated all of Bonnie and Devon's attempts to make him comfortable here, but what he really needed was time to himself. He crawled into bed and turned out the light.

The pain in his chest was excruciating. What was wrong? The room was pitch black. Michael reached out for the light on his nightstand but hands grabbed his wrists and yanked them behind his head lashing them to the headboard with leather straps. He tried not to panic. More hands grabbed his feet and his ankles were lashed to the footboard. He instinctively tried to scream out but a foul tasting piece of cloth was shoved in his mouth then held in place with a piece of duct tape. He breathed through his nose as slowly as he could, trying to keep his wits. But he was helpless. He knew there were at least three people in the room. He counted their footfalls. Someone pointed a flashlight in his eyes blinding him. Someone else leaned over close to his face and hissed, "You should have died the first time Knight. It would have been easier on you." The man's breath smelled of onions and garlic. Michael tried to keep the bile from rising from his stomach. Then someone started beating on his chest, reopening the wound. He gasped and the cloth in his mouth was sucked down his throat gagging him. Fists pounded again and again into his chest. He felt warm blood gush over his chest. He fought against the straps that bound his hands and ankles but they only grew tighter. He couldn't breath. He couldn't think. Someone in the room laughed. He swore he would never forget that laugh for the rest of his life. He gasped again and again, each time sucking the cloth deeper into his windpipe. He realized he would die of suffocation before blood loss. Why were they doing this? Who were they? Then they were gone. And he was left in the blackness hearing only his own tortured breaths as he tried to get air to his starving lungs.
He felt his grasp on consciousness slip away.

K.I. T.T. suddenly shuddered. Michael was in trouble. He called to Bonnie and Devon in the back of the semi, "It's Michael!" There were no other words needed. They dropped into K.I.T.T.'s bucket seats and the car backed down the ramp and hit the road with spinning tires.
"Do you know what's wrong?" Bonnie looked at K.I.T.T.'s monitor where Michael's vital signs were displayed.
"No Bonnie." The terror in K.I.T.T.'s voice sent cold shivers down Bonnie's spine.
"What's the E.T.A? K.I.T.T.?" Devon snapped.
"Three minutes."
Devon looked at the monitor, three minutes may not be fast enough.

They pulled up to the apartment building just as a black Mustang peeled out of the parking lot.
"Get a license plate." Devon ordered as he jumped out of the car.
"Already done."
Bonnie slammed the front gate open then headed down the hallway. The apartment was five doors down. Devon was right on her tail. She reached the door. It was locked. "K.I.T.T., the lock!" She screamed.
She heard the tumblers turn inside the locking mechanism and shoved the door open. All the lights were off. She headed straight for Michael's bedroom. It was pitch black. Devon flipped on the light. She nearly fell over from shock. Michael lay strapped to the bed frame. Blood was everywhere. It covered his chest, it was soaked into the mattress.. "Dear God...!" Devon ran past her. Horrified, he forced his shaking hands to peel off the tape and pull out the cloth that had worked it's way down Michael's throat. With a gasp Michael took a lung full of air. Bonnie was at his side, she had grabbed a towel from somewhere and pressed it against Michael's bleeding chest. Her hands shook, her heart pounded. She had never seen this side of Michael's work. He had been hurt before. She had rushed to hospitals too many times to count, waited in the lounge for word on his condition. But she always saw him after the doctors worked on him, after the nurses cleaned him up. She saw the bandages and the scars, but never this. Never the blood. Her hands were covered in it, her shirt, her pants, her shoes; everything was covered in Michael's blood. She knew she would never forget the smell.

Devon grabbed more towels. "K.I.T.T. the ambulance?" he shouted.
"E.T.A. one minute." K.I.T.T. reported from the com link on Michael's wrist.
He watched Michael's labored breathing. One minute. Time slowed to a crawl.

The sound of sirens wailing in the distance grew louder. Then there was commotion everywhere. Paramedics worked on Michael. Police asked questions. Devon remained behind to answer questions. Bonnie rode with Michael in the ambulance and K.I.T.T. followed behind, vowing never to let Michael out of his sight again.

Devon joined Bonnie at the hospital two hours later just in time to see Michael wheeled out of surgery, again. It had been a vicious attack. He could understand, in a way, taking a man's life with the pull of a trigger. He had done his share. He was not proud of it, but he understood it. But this was cruel, brutal. This was done to send a message to everyone.

Michael would recover. His doctor talked in length with Devon and Bonnie. The damage had been extensive, but he was young and strong and the prognosis was good. He would be confined to the hospital for several weeks then allowed to go home. This time Devon would arrange for medical transport back to the Foundation. Michael was in far too much danger to remain here. Police guards were posted at his door and no one except the hospital personnel assigned to his case would be allowed in.

Michael's recovery was slower this time. He was still weak from the bullet wound when the second attacked occurred. He would need to rest this time. He had no arguments with that, at the moment. But he knew he couldn't rest until he found out who was doing this. He stayed in the hospital for two long weeks then insisted on leaving, A.M.A., against medical advise. Devon, unable to persuade him otherwise, insisted he stay nowhere else by the semi and that they would begin the trip home immediately. Michael agreed and he was carefully transported by K.I.T.T. to the safety of the semi.

Devon and Bonnie had continued to dig for answers. Whoever was after Michael, if they were really determined, would follow him anywhere. They had to find him. Michael slept most of the time and when he did venture out of the small cubical they had fashioned for him, he was shooed away immediately. They were scheduled to hit the road tomorrow and Michael couldn't wait. He was already feeling the effects of the cramped quarters and Bonnie and Devon's care. They meant well, but they were suffocating him.
He decided to venture out again. Surprised to find Devon and Bonnie both gone he happily dropped into K.I.T.T.'s bucket seat.
"Michael, are you sure you should be out of bed?"
"Oh no, not you too. K.I.T.T., I am fine."
K.I.T.T. did a quick scan, "I would hardly call you fine Michael," K.I.T.T. scolded. "You are still suffering from..."
"Enough already! I appreciate all your concern but you guys are smothering me."
"I am sorry Michael. It's just that I feel that I failed you."
"Failed me? What are you talking about? You saved my life.. twice."
"If I had been more alert on both those occasions you would not have been hurt, nearly killed."
"K.I.T.T.,, you could never be more wrong." Michael gently patted the steering wheel. He never knew if K.I.T.T. felt the affectionate touch but it made him feel like he was more in touch with the A.I.. "We are in a dangerous profession. If it were not for you I would have been dead years ago. You are my lifeline K.I.T.T.. You could never have known about the first hit, and all of us, me, Devon, Bonnie, we all let our guard down and that's why they were able to attack the second time. It was our fault K.I.T.T. not yours."
"Thank you Michael. I may not completely agree but I do feel better."
"Good. Now, have you come up with anything?" Michael was glad to be able to change the subject.
"Just one. I was waiting for Devon and Bonnie to return."
"Really? What have you got?"
"After the ambulance and police.." K.I.T.T. still found it hard to talk about the attack.
"It's OK K.I.T.T.. You can talk about it."
"After they left I did a thorough scan of the apartment. I traced all the D.N.A evidence. Cross-referenced it with all the prior tenants."
"K.I.T.T., that apartment must be thirty years old. You couldn't possibly track down everyone."
"I'm aware of that Michael," Was there just the slightest hint of the old snippy K.I.T.T.? Michael smiled to himself. Just what the doctor ordered. "If you would allow me to finish."
"By all means K.I.T.T., please."
"I found the remains of a Jack In The Box wrapper. Jack In The Box opened here three months ago."
"K.I.T.T., anyone could have eaten Jack In The Box. People don't always cook at home, you know."
"I am well aware of that. I believe in all the years we have been together you have cooked a home meal on only seventeen occasions."
Michael stared at the voice box, dumbfounded, "You keep track of how many times I cook at home?" exasperation creeping into his voice. The pain medication was wearing off and he was beginning to find the conversation boring.
"I am a computer Michael." K.I.T.T. said simply.
"Alright, alright... Get to the point. Why is the Jack In The Box paper so important?"
"Because the D.N.A. on the paper belonged to Fredrick Hemler."
"And who is Fredrick Hemler?" Michael was willing to play along for another minute or two then he would head back to bed.
"He is a known hit man from New York."
Michael sat up straighter, suddenly interested. "What would a hit man be doing in an apartment like the Meadows?"
"Good question Michael. I am doing a complete background on him as we speak. Within the hour I should know what kind of toothpaste he uses."
"Great." Michael had a thought. "Check the banking records of everyone in town here. See if there was a large withdrawal of funds."
"Do you think someone in town hired him?"
"It's a possibility. Maybe I pissed someone off."
"You Michael? Never!"

K.I.T.T. kept his word. Within the hour he had new information. Michael had tried to rest, had gone back to his small cot several times but couldn't. He had the feeling that K.I.T.T. was on to something.
"Michael, look at this."
Michael eased himself into the comfortable bucket seat and looked at the monitor.
A picture popped up on the screen. Michael studied the face that stared back at him, a man in his mid fifties, balding, sporting a long ugly scar down his right cheek.
"Fredrick Hemler." K.I.T.T. reported. "He has used several aliases: John Simpson, Douglas Hodges, Carl Bellows and Arthur Huntz, to name a few."
"The man gets around."
"Michael I checked all the hotels, motels, hostels in town. There is an Arthur Huntz registered at the Fillmore Hotel."
"How long has he been in town?"
"He arrived two days before you were shot Michael."
"I think we better pay Arthur Huntz a little visit."
"Michael, you are in no condition to.."
"K.I.T.T., I can't let this guy slip through my fingers. I gotta know who and why."
"I understand, but shouldn't we wait for Bonnie and Devon?"
"And let him leave town?"
"Call the authorities, have them detain him."
"And tell them what? What proof do we have? They arrest him and he'll be back on the streets in hours, and then we'll lose him.."
"I guess the odds of talking you out of this are.."
"Let's go."

K.I.T.T. pulled up to a seedy motel on the outskirts of town near the railroad tracks.
"Room 117 Michael."
"Give me a scan. Is he in there?"
K.I.T.T. quickly scanned the small room. "Yes Michael."
"All right. Let's see if we can get some answers here."
"Michael, please be careful."
"Come on K.I.T.T., you know me, my middle name is careful."
K.I.T.T. let that little lie pass.

Michael climbed the two steps that led to the flimsy front door, already breathing hard. The pain in his chest was increasing but he didn't dare take any medication that would dull his reflexes. He took a deep breath turning the doorknob. It was unlocked. He stepped into a dimly lit eight by ten foot room. It smelled of old sweat and mildew. The carpet, what was left of it, was threadbare and stained. Dirty drapes hung over the windows keeping prying eyes out. The bedclothes were crumpled in a heap on the bed. Michael could hear the water running in the bathroom. A Magnum 44 lay on the cluttered nightstand. He picked it up and moved over to the bathroom door, and waited.

K.I.T.T. kept Michael's com link open as he quickly put through a call to Devon and Bonnie. Michael was in no condition, mentally or physically, to be in there with Huntz.

The bathroom door opened and Huntz stepped out, a towel wrapped around his waist, and froze. His gun was missing.
"Looking for this?" Michael hissed.
Huntz reeled around to face the intruder.
"Knight!"
"So you do know me," Michael snarled. "Mind telling me why you tried to kill me.. twice?"
Huntz judged the distance between himself and Knight. He might make it. Knight was pale and weak. "Just doing my job." Huntz eyed the gun.
"Who hired you?"
"Come on, that's privileged info. I tell you I lose my credibility."
"You'll lose more than that. I want answers."
Huntz shrugged.
Michael cocked the gun. "I won't kill you Huntz. That would be too easy. But a well placed bullet right through the kneecap.." Michael aimed the gun for Huntz's leg.
"Come on man.." A tinge of fear crept into Huntz's voice.
"You've got three seconds." Michael warned.
"All right, all right." Huntz stared at the gun. Knight's finger was still on the trigger and he didn't like what he saw in Knight's eyes. "The hit wasn't meant for you."
"What?" Michael's mind reeled.
"You just got in the way. Wrong place, wrong time." Huntz shrugged.
How many times had Michael heard those same words? But if the bullet wasn't meant for him..?
"Why the second hit?"
"Everybody thought you were the target. We wanted to keep it like that, so I hired three local thugs. They got a little carried away."
"Who? Who was the target?"
"It wasn't meant for you. Right? That's all you need to know."
"Who damnit!" Michael squeezed the trigger and a bullet whizzed past Huntz's leg. "The next one's for real."
Huntz knew the sound of a man's voice when he was pushed past the limit. Knight was there. His eyes were wild with anger. The man was serious. He was about to lose a leg if he didn't talk.
"Helen Stern."
The name hung in the air for an eternity.
Stunned, Michael fell backwards against the wall. "Why?"
"Don't know, never asked. I do the job, I collect my money and that's it."
"Who hired you?" Michael asked slowly, his voice full of venom.
Huntz hesitated. He saw the sweat on Knight's face. The man was close to passing out.
"Who?" Michael shouted.
"Russell Stern...."

Michael was still shaking as he climbed into the car. K.I.T.T. didn't like what he saw. Michael's eyes were wild with seething anger. He was afraid for his partner. Of what he might do.
"Michael?"
"Stern." He said bitterly.
"I know. I heard everything. I don't understand Michael."
"Neither do I K.I.T.T.."
"Michael, you didn't.." K.I.T.T. remembered the gun Michael held in his hand as he left the motel room.
"No Pal. He's tied up, waiting for the authorities." Michael brushed his hand over the gun laying on the center console. "Let's go."
"Where Michael?" But K.I.T.T. already knew the answer.
"Russell Stern's."
"Michael, I'm sorry, I can not be a party to this. Let the authorities handle it."
"Can't do that Pal." Michael pushed the start button.
"I have never disobeyed you before Michael, but this time I must. You are not thinking clearly." K.I.T.T. shut the engine down.
Michael stabbed the start button again. "I'll override your program."
"I can't stop you Michael, but please, don't do this."
Michael quickly punched a series of buttons and K.I.T.T.'s monitor went dead. "I'm sorry Pal. This is something I've got to do." He heard the sounds of sirens in the distance. Someone must have heard the shot and called the police. He shoved the car into gear and peeled away from the curb.

Cold sweat made his hands slippery as he walked toward the house, the Magnum in his right jacket pocket. He never carried a gun. He hated them. But this was different. He looked back at K.I.T.T. parked at the curb and wondered if things would ever be the same between them.

Driven by rage he kicked the front door open. Russell Stern stood in the center of the room a half eaten sandwich in his hand.
"What the hell..?" he yelled dropping the sandwich. The woman Michael had seen the last time he was there came running out of the bedroom. She looked remarkably like the photo of Helen Stern. Her sister probably.
"Russell!" She followed Stern's eyes and saw Michael. "What's going on?" She took a step back toward the bedroom.
"You better ask him." Michael said coldly.
"You better get out of here Knight."
"I talked to Hemler, you know him better as Huntz."
Stern's mouth dropped open.
"Why'd you do it? Your own wife."
The woman looked toward Russell, confused.. "Russell?"
"The man's crazy Diane."
Michael slowly pulled the Magnum from his pocket. Diane screamed.
"Why?" Michael snarled. "She was three months pregnant."
Stern looked toward Diane, looking for understanding. "The kid wasn't mine."
"You killed Helen?" Diane gasped.
Michael nodded, "He hired a hit man."
"The bitch was running around on me behind my back. I saw the doctor's report. The blood type didn't match mine. She was carrying someone else's bastard kid."
"You killed Helen?" Diane's voice shook as she repeated the question. "Dear God.. No."
"No woman fools around on me. Never!"
Anger and hatred broiled in Michael's mind. He slowly raised the gun pointing at Stern's head. "You want to know what it feels like to get a bullet through the brain? Do you think your wife felt it?" He cocked the gun and wrapped his finger around the trigger. "The baby?"
"No, you can't do this." Stern dropped to his knees, covering his head with his hands. "Please," he groveled.
Michael felt sick. His gun hand shook. He had never killed in cold blood before. But he couldn't find any justification not to. Huntz was less than human. He began to squeeze the trigger.
"Michael!!" Michael spun his head around. Devon and Bonnie stood in the doorway. "Put the gun down" Devon ordered.
"It was Stern. He ordered the hit."
"I know. K.I.T.T. relayed everything to us" Devon took a cautious step closer to Michael. "Let the authorities handle it from here."
"He deserves to die." Michael's hand shook.
"I agree. But he will be tried in a court of law and given the death penalty."
"It's too easy."
"This isn't the way Michael." Devon took another step closer. He could see the younger man's hand tremble. Michael had been through so much. His body and mind had been ravaged and the man responsible was groveling at his feet. Devon wasn't sure what he would do if he were in Michael's place.
"You will be no better than him if you go through with this. It will be murder, plain and simple."
Bonnie quietly made her way over to Diane.
Michael shook his head to clear it. The pain in his chest was becoming unbearable. He couldn't stand for much longer.
"He killed her." He roared applying pressure to the trigger. "He killed her.. he.." Suddenly from the bedroom he heard Amy begin to cry. God, what was he doing?
Devon was at his side now, lifting the gun from his hand. He aimed it at Stern. "You are beyond contempt. If I didn't face a lifetime in prison for murder I'd kill you myself."

Suddenly the room was swarming with Police. Two officers grabbed Stern handcuffed him and led him toward the door.
"It was a mistake you know." Diane called out, tears flowing freely now. "The lab test was a mistake. It was your baby Russell. Helen called me from the doctor's office just before...."
Stern looked back, stunned as he was led out the door.
Michael couldn't handle anymore. His legs buckled beneath him. Devon caught him and gently lowered him to the floor.
"It's over now Michael." He said leaning over him. "It's over."
Michael allowed himself to melt away, feeling free for the first time in weeks.

Michael sat quietly as they drove through a long expanse of empty freeway. He had been cleared by the doctors to head home. Devon headed back to the Foundation in the jet and Bonnie stayed with the semi. They had been on the road for three hours. The sun had already set and the cabin was bathed in the soft red glow of K.I.T.T.'s dash.
"Michael.." K.I.T.T. called softly. Michael had been deep in thought throughout most of the trip. "What do you think will happen to Amy?"
"Diane will raise her. If she's lucky she will never know about her father."
"Michael.." K.I.T.T. struggled to find the words to ask the question that was most on his mind.
"Yea K.I.T.T.?"
"If Devon and Bonnie had not arrived when they did, could you have..."
"Pulled the trigger?" Michael finished the sentence.
"Yes."
"I don't know K.I.T.T. I honestly don't know."

Silence filled the cabin once again, the man and the A.I. each reflecting on the frailties of human nature.