Disclaimer: This story was written for entertainment purposes only.  No profit is being made from it.  No infringement on anyone’s copyright is intended. 

 

This story is a sequel to the episode Bloodbath and is the second of a two part series.  Take me to Part I:  Prelude to a Dream

 

Epilogue to a Nightmare

By Sue David and Valerie Wells

May 2003

 

“So how long is it supposed to take?” Hutch asked, the exasperation still evident in his tone of voice.

 

“Couple of days, tops,” Starsky replied.

 

“Two days!” Hutch exploded.  “What the hell kind of tune-up is it?”

 

“The best.  Will you calm down?” Starsky was sick of listening to his partner’s complaints.  Hutch’s car was, by Starsky’s assessment, “on its last rims.”  He had been pushing Hutch hard to take it to Merle for two weeks, since the last time it died in traffic.  So far, Hutch had managed to put off the inevitable, since getting around hadn’t been an issue.  He was with Starsky almost constantly since Simon Marcus was convicted. The cult leader’s overt death threat against Starsky had Hutch spooked.  On the way to the sentencing, Hutch stared sullenly out the passenger window while he watched the side mirror for cars following them. “It’s already done.  Even the White Knight can’t save him.”

 

“Earth to Hutch,” Starsky said after he realized Hutch wasn’t listening to him.

 

“Huh?” Hutch asked, turning away from the window.

 

“I said, aren’t you glad this is almost over?”

 

“You have no idea.”

 

Hutch was wrong.  Starsky knew.  He realized how tense his partner had been.  “Yeah, I do,” he said.  “He’s just a punk ass con man, Hutch.  Nothing more, and he’s about to go down for the count.  That’s all she wrote.”

 

“I hope you’re right, buddy.”

 

They pulled up outside the courthouse, not surprised to see the gathering of cult members and the media outside the building. They set a brisk pace up the stairs, shooting “no comment” at the inquisitive reporters as they went.  Starsky mumbled some other things under his breath as he passed them.  He found Hutch’s discomfort with the reporters amusing and teased him about how tough it was to be a celebrity.

 

Starsky had a superstition about going to the bathroom before a sentencing.  Despite Dobey’s chiding them for their tardiness, he decided to dash for it, ignoring Hutch’s amused smile when he announced that he’d be right back and darted for the door.

 

Well-planned and perfectly orchestrated.  That’s the only way to describe what happened next.  As Starsky trotted down the hallway to the men’s room, the crowd outside grew restless.  So restless, all of the uniformed police officers on duty for the occasion were called out front to manage the situation.  Even the cops guarding the courtroom were moving outside before the men’s room door closed behind Starsky. 

 

Starsky rushed, knowing he had limited time before the judge entered to pass sentence.  He barely registered the janitor cleaning in the corner of the washroom.  A moment’s lapse in concentration meant he didn’t see the blows before they came.  Starsky was caught in a squeeze play as two men stepped out from inside toilet stalls and moved against him.  The fight lasted only a few seconds.  When the first strike brought him to his knees, but didn’t completely take him down, the “janitor” moved toward Starsky and struck him in the face with the end of his mop.  He and one of the other assailants quickly picked up the unconscious detective, stuffed him into the empty trashcan, and took his gun.  The other man used a jar of blood as ink to paint a chilling message onto the mirror while his cohorts covered Starsky with towels and paper to hide his presence.  By the time the bailiff handed the planned note to Judge Yager, two of the men were wheeling the trashcan out the back of the building and down the loading ramp to a waiting black van while the third quietly exited through a side door.  The attack and kidnapping were over inside of two minutes.  The van was well away by the time Hutch raised the alarm.

 

The men in the van laughed at their prisoner’s moaning after they hung up on Hutch.  The sound of Hutch’s voice through the speaker had somehow reached the dazed man and he was unsuccessfully struggling toward consciousness. 

 

“If he wakes up before we get there, hit him again,” the passenger said to the man guarding Starsky. 

 

“What did Simone dream for him?”

 

“He dies tomorrow at sunrise.  First, he must be purified.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

By the time the van pulled to a stop, Starsky had been blindfolded and roughly slapped awake.  When they dumped him in the dirt and started chanting, he was angry.  He shouted at them, demanding they let him see them.  They’d only blindfolded him so they could get him inside without his knowing where he was, but they left him that way.  Starsky’s show of bravado to the cult members circling him accomplished little, other than a beating.  A beating until he was out cold again.  When he was still, they dragged him from the room.

 

Luke, Peter, and two other cult members stayed behind to discuss Simon’s dream for their “guest.”

 

“I said to tell Gail to go in and wait with him.  She must be the one to give him the bath.”

 

“Why?” Caleb asked.

 

Luke turned a withering gaze on the man.  “Because that’s what was in the dream.  Tomorrow, she will be the one to make the first cut. Simone dreamed that.  So she must be the one to purify him.”

 

“But, Luke--”

 

“The blood will make her strong.  She will prove she is one of us.  That cop laid his hands on our sisters.  Simone says he will pay with his life at the hands of one of them.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Hutch’s heart was revving faster than the Torino’s engine as he sped toward the old civic zoo.  He remembered Marcus’ victims with frightening clarity and his stomach lurched at the thought that a similar fate may well have already befallen his partner.  Tuning out the radio chatter as Dobey called for the cavalry to meet them there, Hutch kept a running mantra in his head.  Not too late.  Please, God, not too late.  Not like this.  Though the lab team had verified the blood on the bathroom mirror was not Starsky’s, they found his blood on a mop and in a trashcan discovered on the courthouse loading dock.

 

When Starsky came out of the drug-induced haze he’d been in, he found himself hanging by the wrists, his feet barely touching the ground.  He looked around at the black-robed figures quietly chanting Simon’s name. 

 

When Gail rose to meet his eyes, he knew.  Oh, God.  She’s going to kill me.

 

“You’re gonna kill me.”  Gail blinked tears back, her eyes trying to deny his words.  “Yes, you are, you’re gonna kill me and your friends are gonna watch.”

 

She shook her head, crying.  “No, I’m not going to kill you.  Thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not, shalt not....”

 

Gail was out of it.  Frightened, her nerves and fragile psyche stretched to their limits.  Starsky could see that and he hoped he could talk her out of it.  The sight of the weapons the other cult members held told him it wouldn’t do much good.  If the girl failed, the others would take care of him without her.  Buy time.  Got to buy time. Hurry, Hutch.  Oh, God, you’re not going to make it.

 

“Only make... the first cut. The first of hundreds, thousands, millions....” Her weakening voice broke in a sob.

 

Keep her talking.  Look at me, Gail.  See ME.  You can’t do this.  Your brother said you were a good kid.  Look at me!  He thought about trying to kick her away from him, but he had no leverage.  He was in a worse position than the first time she’d approached him with a knife.  You’d better be good with that, honey. I ain’t gonna go easy.  He tried to talk her out of it, but he was afraid it was over ... he was a dead man.

 

The Torino was still bouncing from the rough stop when Hutch leaped out and started up the hill, leaving Dobey to direct the other officers.  As he ran, Hutch looked around in desperation, listening carefully and using his connection with his partner to guide him.  Please be alive.  Could I still feel him if he’s dead?  Hutch’s mind raced as he ran up the hill, crouching in an effort to hide his presence and give him some advantage.  The eerie sound of Simon’s name being chanted sent a shiver down his spine and he picked up the pace.  Hutch came into view of a horrifying tableau.  He was just in time to see Gail moving toward Starsky with a knife, ready to strike.  Running even faster, he took aim at her with his Magnum, but realized as his finger began to tighten around the trigger that she was cutting the ropes, not his partner.  He released the trigger and holstered his gun, afraid he’d hit Starsky if he fired into the now moving group. 

 

The fight was short and brutal.  Starsky was down and Hutch had his hands full fighting off the weapon-laden cultists, while still protecting his vulnerable partner.  When it was all over, Starsky clung to him.

 

“What took you so long?” he asked, the attempt at humor not hiding his fear.

 

Hutch countered by telling him he had on a nice looking nightgown. We made it.  Thank, God, we made it.

 

Starsky’s shoulders began to shake as he started to cry.  Hutch had rarely seen him cry and he was afraid of what he would find out had been done to Starsky in the past twenty-four hours.  What did they do to you?  He wanted to get a good look at Starsky’s face, but his partner kept looking at the ground, refusing to allow that.  Hutch concentrated on calming him down, virtually ignoring the young woman who had cut him free.  When a uniformed officer took her away from her position attached to Starsky’s leg, the injured man whispered to him, “That’s Gail, Hutch. She saved me.  Take care of her.”

 

The poor girl was mumbling “I’m not one of them.  I’m weak.  Simone dreamed it,” as the officer led her toward a squad car.

 

“You’d better get her checked,” Hutch called after them.

 

“Sure thing, Sarge,” came the reply.

 

When a paramedic walked up behind them and touched Starsky on the shoulder, he jumped, his eyes wide with fright and his swollen hands trying to form fists.  He realized it wasn’t one of Marcus’ men, but he still growled out the order, “Don’t touch me.”

 

The man took a step back and put his hands out, saying, “You’re Detective Starsky, right?  I’m supposed to check you out for transport.”

 

“Easy, buddy,” Hutch said.  He was concerned about the cuts and bruises he could now see on Starsky’s face, but the angry burn around his eye was even more distressing.

 

“Take me home, Hutch,” Starsky said, his pain-filled eyes pleading.

 

“Starsk, you need a doctor.”  Hutch could tell Starsky was in pain and his eyes were showing clear signs that he’d been drugged.

 

“Home, please.  I just want to go home.”  Starsky sounded like a scared teenager.

 

By this time, Captain Dobey was walking up behind them. He’d heard some of the exchange. “No way, Starsky.  You’re getting checked out at the hospital.  That’s an order.”

 

Thinking that would be enough, the paramedic approached again. 

 

“Back off!”

 

“Starsky!” Dobey shouted.

 

“I gotta at least check your vitals,” the hapless paramedic argued. 

 

Starsky scrambled to his feet and tried to walk away, immediately stumbling into Hutch and grabbing onto his jacket again.  He scrubbed his hands down his face in an attempt to wipe away the tears and said, “Cap, I’ll go, but he ain’t touchin’ me.”  The tone was definite.  He looked at Hutch.  Only you.  Don’t let anyone touch me.

 

Seeing that his partner was breathing all right and, despite his lack of ability to focus his vision, he didn’t seem to be in danger from a head injury, Hutch decided he’d handle things his way.  “I’ll take him, Cap.”

 

The captain looked into Hutch’s determined eyes for a few moments and nodded.  Hutch put an arm around Starsky’s waist and started to walk him toward the car. 

 

“Let me know if you need to rest,” Hutch said, concerned by Starsky’s silence.  He could feel the tremors moving through his best friend’s frame.

 

“No, just get me the hell out of here.”  Starsky was determined not to stop, and he never looked back at the scene as they were leaving.  He kept his head down, refusing to even meet Hutch’s eyes.  He made no comment about Hutch having the Torino, but placidly allowed himself to be installed on the passenger side.  By the time Hutch slid under the steering wheel, Starsky had pulled his feet up onto the seat, making himself into as tight a ball as he could manage and still remain upright.  At that, he was leaning heavily on the door, looking out the window.   Hutch kept an eye on him, occasionally reaching over to touch him on the arm and tell him things were going to be all right, but he didn’t try to get Starsky to talk.

 

The emergency room doctor was not pleased Starsky was so insistent on leaving.  They had no idea what kind of drugs he’d been given, but they knew they’d made him ill.  Starsky was not interested in their desired observation period.   After he’d sworn at the nurses trying to tend to his myriad cuts in at least three languages and threatened to pull his IV out and walk, Hutch saw the doctor motioning him out to the hallway.

 

“I’ll be right back, Starsk,” he said with a reassuring pat on the arm. 

 

“Where are you going?”  The slight panic in Starsky’s voice was unexpected. He tried to sit up, as a prelude to following Hutch.

 

“Please, Detective,” one of the nurses begged, “let me finish.”

 

Hutch smiled at him. “Be a good boy and let these nice ladies do their jobs. I’m just going out to get your instructions from the doc.”  Starsky didn’t like it, but he settled back and allowed it, his eyes never leaving Hutch as he stepped out past the curtain and through the door.

 

Doctor Emory was a young attending physician.  He hadn’t dealt with many police officers before, and he was surprised at Starsky’s reaction to his touch and his suggestions.  “Detective Hutchinson, your partner’s reactions are ... distressing.  He’s been through a major emotional trauma, not to mention his physical condition.  We need to admit him, but we can’t force it.  Can you reason with him?”

 

“What are we looking at? Physically.”

 

“From the limited information I was able to get from him, I’d say he’s been unconscious two or three times from blows to the head or from drugs given to him in the water.  I’m sure he has a mild concussion, at least.  His blood pressure and blood sugar are too low, and he’s mildly hypothermic.  His ribs, back, and kidneys are bruised.  Although his wrists are lacerated, the swelling in his hands seems better since you brought him in.  None of the cuts require stitches, but that second-degree burn around his eye is worrisome.  We’ll have to watch that closely.”

 

Hutch sighed, squelching the anger he felt toward Marcus and his "family" for what they’d done to Starsky. “We’ve dealt with concussions, Doc.  I can handle that part, if you just tell me what else to look for.”

 

“You’ve taken care of him when he’s been injured in the past?”

 

Hutch knew the entire post-emergency room drill much better than he would have liked.  “Always.  He’s my partner.  I know you want to keep him here, Doc, but my instincts are good where he’s concerned.  I promise I’ll bring him back right away if anything happens.  Okay?”

 

Hutch had no intention of forcing Starsky to stay if he wasn’t in any immediate danger.   The only thing that was going to make Starsky feel safe was being with Hutch.  He was afraid; anyone could see that.  Even the doctor realized that was probably what Starsky needed, more than anything else.

 

“All right.  I’ll give you a list.  I’m also going to prescribe a mild sedative, in addition to the antibiotics and pain medication he’ll be getting.   He’s alert enough -- hyper alert if you ask me -- so I’m sure the danger from the head injury is minimal, but I don’t want you to give him the sedative, or anything for pain other than Tylenol until tomorrow morning, just as a precaution.”  The doctor continued with a daunting list of things to watch.  “Loss of consciousness, incoherence, blood in the urine, vomiting, double vision, or poor vision from his injured eye.” Hutch listened carefully, and took Starsky’s prescriptions.   

 

“Encourage him to talk to your department psychologist, Detective.  If not, then someone on the outside.  He’s going to need it.”

 

“Thanks, Doc.  I’ll try.”  Fat chance of that happening.  How am I going to get him to do that short of an order from Dobey?

 

Hutch returned to find that the nurse had removed the now-finished IV and Starsky had changed from his hospital gown into some sweats Dobey had brought to the hospital.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Just get me out of here.  I want a shower.”

 

“Okay. We need to stop and fill these prescriptions, then we’ll go to your place.”

 

Starsky nodded.  He looked up at Hutch and said, “I can smell them.  I need to wash it off.”  He shivered, trying in vain to zip up his sweatshirt jacket.  His fingers were too swollen and his hands were shaking too badly. 

 

“Let me,” Hutch said, moving in to help.  When he was done, he eased Starsky into a wheelchair and walked beside him as they exited the treatment area. 

 

“You all right, Starsky?” Dobey asked as they approached him in the waiting room.

 

“I’m fine.”  He looked anything but.

 

Hutch handed the bag with Starsky’s black robe in it to Dobey to take down to the station as evidence.  Promising to call him later, Hutch accompanied Starsky out into the cool-but-sunny January day. 

 

As they pulled away from the hospital parking lot, Starsky said the only thing he was going to say on the trip to the pharmacy.  “Thanks, Hutch.  I thought I was dead.”

 

Hutch glanced at him with concern, but Starsky had returned his gaze to the street and wouldn't meet his eyes. "Any time, buddy. You know that."

 

Starsky nodded to show he'd heard and didn't say anything else until they'd reached his apartment. "Gonna take a shower," he mumbled as he turned toward his bedroom.

 

"You gotta take some of this first," Hutch said to his retreating back, but Starsky put up a hand in a "later" gesture and shut the door. Having a door there was absurd, Hutch thought again, as he had many times, since the bookshelf that separated the bedroom from the living area was hardly a wall, but he shrugged and turned away to study the pill bottles and figure out which ones to give Starsky when.

 

Starsky leaned his back against the door for a moment and willed himself to stop shaking. It took several moments. And even when his body stopped, his knees continued to feel like jelly. In the other room, he could hear Hutch humming some popular tune to himself as he bustled around, probably getting a meal together or straightening up.

 

Starsky forced himself to stand upright and gather clean clothes. He went into the bathroom and turned the shower on hot, as hot as he could stand it. He hadn't been able to get warm since the cold bath Gail had given him but it hadn't bothered him until the morning "ritual." Staring down the hungry throats of a whole herd of sharp implements had sapped whatever reserves he had left.

 

God, he'd been glad to see Hutch.

 

No, "glad" didn't begin to express how he'd felt when that blond cyclone had burst into the circle and started swinging. Starsky hadn't been able to help with the fight much -- his hands were too numb and his legs wouldn't support him -- but Hutch hadn't really needed his help. He'd never seen anyone as focused or as angry as Hutch had been that morning. Ever.

 

"Thankful" was more what he'd felt when he saw Hutch. For just a moment, he hadn't recognized his own partner. He'd been so scared, unable to see anything but the knives, and the cleaver, and the chain ...

 

Stop it. It's over. You're safe. Hutch is safe. It's OVER.

 

He glanced into the mirror, already beginning to steam up, and was startled at the pallor of his own face, the ugly burn over his eye. He'd known the torch had burned him, but he hadn't realized how bad it looked until now. No wonder Hutch, Dobey, and everyone else had been so worried. He looked like warmed-over shit.

 

The scratches and cuts from the beating didn't look too terrific, either, but the burn was worst of all. He touched it gingerly and winced. Nothing he could do about it right now.

 

He climbed into the shower and the hot water felt so good against his aching muscles that he simply closed his eyes and leaned against the tile wall, letting the water loosen him up and wash away the smell of the freak show. But when he closed his eyes, he saw again the flashing blades in the early morning sunshine, and heard that horrible, terrifying "Simone...Simone...Simone...."

 

His shoulders began to shake and he started crying and he couldn't stop.

 

Don't let Hutch hear. Please, don't let Hutch hear!

 

Hutch was so worried about him already. He didn't need to see Starsky falling apart at the seams like this.

 

Starsky grabbed at a washcloth and covered his mouth with it to muffle the sounds. He tried and tried to stop ...

 

You're safe. It's over. You're safe.

 

... but he simply couldn't. He sank into a ball on the tub floor, with the water thundering down around him, and trembled and sobbed until his remaining strength was depleted. The water began to cool and somehow he managed to struggle to his feet and turn it off. Still trembling, partly from the cold now, he got out of the shower and wrapped his robe around his body and sat down on the closed toilet and buried his head in his arms. The tears finally stopped, but he couldn't stop the shaking.

 

"Starsk?" Hutch called from outside the room. "You want scrambled eggs or fried?"

 

Answer him. He'll come in if you don't. You want him to see you like this?

 

With an enormous effort, Starsky called back one word, "Fried."

 

"Gotcha." Hutch's footsteps went away.

 

For several more minutes, Starsky huddled into himself on the toilet lid, until his heartbeat slowed to a more normal pace and his trembling was under control. Carefully, he stood and reached for towels, the toothbrush, the razor.

 

Doing normal things when you don't feel normal helps you feel normal again, he told himself sternly. Ma used to say that. When he was upset about something that had gone wrong at school, or Pop came home after a hard day, she always said that. And she'd been right. Taking out the garbage, playing hoops with Nicky, doing something mundane and everyday, had always calmed him when he was frightened or angry. Maybe it was because you didn't have to think when you did those things. They were automatic.

 

And it worked again. Little by little, as he did those mundane things, he began to feel more like himself. By the time he was dry and dressed, he was under control enough to let Hutch see him. He knew Hutch would know something was wrong, all the same, but he could face him now.

 

He opened the bathroom door.

 

Hutch was relieved to see him come out at last. "Thought maybe you'd drowned in there, buddy," Hutch said cheerfully, though he could see the red-rimmed eyes and the slight hitch in Starsky's walk.

 

Starsky gave him a look that said "Please don't say anything" as clearly as if he'd spoken aloud, and Hutch obeyed that look, turning back to the stove where he was frying bacon.

 

"Food'll be ready in a few," he said instead, "and don't tell me you're not hungry. I don't care. You have to have food in your stomach before you can take the most important pill in the stack over there, and I'll bet the freaks didn't feed you."

 

"They didn't," Starsky said, reaching around Hutch to get a cup and pour himself some coffee. "Smells good, actually."

 

"Go sit down," Hutch said. "I'll bring you a plate when it's ready."

 

"I'm not helpless," Starsky began, but stopped. "Thanks, buddy."

 

Hutch gave his shoulder a quick pat and went on cooking.

 

Starsky wandered back in the direction of the couch and sat down, reaching for the newspaper that Hutch had brought in but hadn't opened yet. He took off the rubber band, idly thinking he'd see how the Lakers had done. He unrolled the paper and saw the headline.

 

Detective abducted by cult

 

Below the headline was a photo of him and Hutch walking up the courthouse steps and the caption, "Detectives David Starsky and Ken Hutchinson arrive for the sentencing of Simon Marcus a few minutes before Starsky's abduction Tuesday."

 

Eyes wide and heart thudding, Starsky read the first few paragraphs of the story. It said that the Bay City Police Department had refused comment, but that bystanders reported seeing a black van drive away shortly after the alarm had been raised about Starsky's disappearance and that Marcus' cult was suspected to be behind it. The police had sealed off the courthouse and set up a cordon and a massive manhunt to find "the missing detective."

 

Hutch saw what he was reading as he carried Starsky's plate to the couch and cursed himself. He reached out and took the paper out of Starsky's trembling hands. "Here. Eat. It's over. No point in rehashing it now."

 

"Hutch, I -- " Starsky's voice broke and he couldn't stop the shaking. Again.

 

Hutch put the plate down and sat beside him, putting an arm around him and holding him tight. "You're safe. You're safe." He repeated the words over and over.

 

There were no tears this time, but Starsky trembled violently for several minutes, making a low moaning sound that tore at Hutch's heart and frightened him. This wasn't like Starsky. He'd been in some very tight spots and had never just collapsed like this.

 

"Talk to me," Hutch said softly.

 

Starsky shook his head. "I don't ... I can't ... I'm sorry."

 

"Ssh, it's okay," Hutch said. "This is me, remember?"

 

"They just didn't even seem to think of me as human!" Starsky burst out and then the tears did come, not as violently as before, but a few drops streaked down his cheeks.

 

"They're the ones who aren't human, buddy," Hutch said. "Their minds are soup, Starsk. They don't even know who they are anymore." He drew back just a little and tipped Starsky's chin up. "Eat. You'll feel better."

 

Starsky grinned faintly. "You sound like my mom."

 

"She's a wise woman. Eat."

 

Starsky nodded, drew a trembling breath, and reached for the plate. Doing normal things when you don't feel normal helps you feel normal again.

 

Once again, it helped. He hadn't realized how hungry he really was.

 

"More?" Hutch asked when he finished.

 

"Is there more? Did you eat?"

 

Hutch indicated his own empty plate. "Yes, I did," he said with a grin. "But I made a mess of this stuff and I'm full. If you want more, I'll get it for you."

 

"Well ... "

 

Hutch's grin widened and he stood up and took Starsky's plate. "Be right back. Read the comics, buddy," he added when Starsky reached for the newspaper again. "Not the news."

 

Starsky nodded and resolutely ignored the news section, turning first to sports -- the Lakers had won -- and then to the comics. He was smiling over "Peanuts" by the time Hutch came back with a filled plate and plopped it onto the coffee table.

 

"That's better," Hutch said approvingly. "You're smiling."

 

Starsky put the paper down again and picked up the plate. He cleaned that one, too, and when Hutch raised an inquiring eyebrow, shook his head. "Nope. Couldn't eat another bite."

 

"Good. Now, take these," Hutch said, handing him the little handful of pills and a glass of water. "If you're a good boy, maybe you'll get a lollipop."

 

Starsky snickered and obediently took the pills.

 

Hutch watched until the last one disappeared and Starsky had leaned back, coffee cup in hand. "You want to talk about it?" he asked quietly.

 

Starsky sighed and leaned his head back, eyes closed. "Don't know if I can, Hutch."

 

"Might help."

 

"Might bring it all back, too."

 

"I don't think it ever left," Hutch said pointedly.

 

Starsky sighed again, deeper this time and nodded. "Yeah. You got that right." He was silent for a few moments, drinking his coffee, before he said, "I don't know where to start."

 

"How about that burn?"

 

"A torch," Starsky said. "I got away and got lost in the labyrinth of that zoo -- I think they were holding me in the part where they used to keep the lions or tigers ... "

 

"And bears, oh, my," Hutch interjected, smiling, but the smile vanished abruptly when the words made Starsky give a long, horrified shudder. Hutch moved to his side again. "What? What'd I say?"

 

"The bear," Starsky said softly. "They had a bear, Hutch. They chased me into this kind of cave and there was a bear. I thought ... I thought they were gonna let him kill me, like, like that kid."

 

"Shit," Hutch whispered. "A real bear?"

 

Starsky nodded. "Oh, yeah. He was real. And he looked ten feet tall and mean."

 

"What happened?"

 

"I picked up a rock," Starsky said, unconsciously miming the action as he did so, "like that was gonna be an effective weapon against a fuckin' bear." Starsky drew his hand back as if he were holding the rock in position to fight. "Then I heard this bell ring and the bear just dropped down to all fours and left through another door." Starsky dropped his hand. "I guess they just wanted to scare the shit outta me."

 

Hutch shivered. "I guess it worked."

 

"Sure did."

 

"What about the burn?"

 

"I was running and trying to find a way out and, as I came around a corner, one of the freaks stuck a torch in my face," Starsky said. "I jerked back but not before it burned me." He cocked his head to one side. "How'd you find me?"

 

"Marcus," Hutch said. "He kept giving me these damned cryptic clues and Dobey and Huggy and I spent a whole night listening to the tapes and we finally figured it out. Huggy did, really."

 

"I owe him," Starsky said. "I owe all three of ya. Wonder why Marcus helped?"

 

"He didn't," Hutch said bitterly. "He was trying misdirection. Wanted us to spend all our time trying to figure out his goddamned riddles instead of looking for you. It almost worked, too."

 

"Well, he's fucked now," Starsky said. "He's going away and he won't ever get out."

 

"Not in this lifetime," Hutch agreed. He paused for a few moments, then continued.  “What about drugs?  Do you know what they gave you?”  He’d already been assured Starsky wasn’t injected with anything.  Although that was a relief, he was still concerned about any lingering effects.

 

Starsky shook his head.  “Something in the water.  Made me sick.  Then, everything looked kind of fuzzy around the edges and big in the middle.  You know, like I was watching everything in one of those store security mirrors.”

 

“Did you pass out?”

 

“Not till after they told me I was going to die in the morning.  Then, I woke up hanging by my wrists, surrounded by those freaks.”  The shaking was returning and Starsky pulled his feet up onto the couch and tried to make himself warmer.  He closed his eyes and put his head down on his knees. Quietly, he added, “They were gonna chop me up into--”

 

“Don’t,” Hutch said.  “I know what they were planning.”

 

Starsky nodded and looked up at Hutch with haunted eyes.  “I think I need to sleep.  Maybe I’ll warm up if I do.”

 

Aw, Starsk, you’re not cold, you’re terrified.  “Good idea.  Don’t forget I’m gonna have to wake you up now and then, just to make sure your head’s still screwed on tight.”

 

“Was it ever?”

 

Hutch stepped toward Starsky, holding a hand out to help him off the couch.  “Come on, dirt ball.” 

 

He pulled Starsky up and watched him shuffle off to bed, half relieved Starsky was going to rest, half concerned with his current condition.  Even if he felt better the next day, his partner was going to need some down time after this ordeal.  No matter how long they sentence you, Marcus, you can never pay enough for all the lives you’ve damaged or destroyed.  Hutch suddenly remembered that Marcus would have been sentenced by now.  Dobey should know.   He waited a while to be sure Starsky was asleep before calling the precinct.

 

“It’s Hutch.”

 

“How’s he doing?” Dobey asked.

 

“‘Bout like you’d expect.  Did Yager sentence Marcus?”

 

“Yes.  Nine consecutive life sentences.  He’s going to be held in solitary for a long time, until all of his followers have been tried at least.”

 

Hutch sighed as he reached up and rubbed his forehead.  “What about Starsky?”

 

“Marcus has been charged with everything we could think of from kidnapping to aggravated assault to attempted murder of a police officer on that.  I want you to bring him down here to give his statement as soon as you can.  It’s going to take days to sort out which of the cult members to charge with what.  I told the DA he’d have to wait, at least until tomorrow.”

 

“I’ll talk to him about that.  What happened to Gail?”

 

“County Mental Health for now.  They say she’s all but catatonic.  She just keeps muttering ‘Thou shalt not kill’ over and over.”

 

“She saved his life, Cap.  Gave us time to get there. The DA knows, right?”

 

“Yes.  He’s already talking to the brother about a deal.  Immunity for her testimony against the others.  If she ever snaps out of it.”

 

“Starsky will be glad to hear they’re taking that into account.”

 

“I’m sending Carlisle and Biggs over with Starsky’s weapon. They recovered it at the old zoo.  Hutch, the crime team also recovered his clothes.  Looks like they were cut off of him with a knife.  They’ll be put into evidence.”

 

Hutch closed his eyes and dropped his head back, not knowing what to think about that.  “He’s going to be fine. Still, the doc said to let him rest a couple of days at least and I think he needs them.  I want to stay with him.”

 

“You’d just be on desk duty anyway.  Take two or three days.  If he’s still not ready, let me know, but I want you back at work in three days, understood?”

 

“Agreed.  Thanks, Cap.”

 

Hutch hung up and started his vigil over his partner.  The man was so exhausted, the officers knocking on the door to return his Beretta didn’t wake him.  Despite that, Hutch needn’t have worried about waking Starsky to check on his head injury.  Every time he drifted into the dreaming stage of sleep, he woke up drenched in a cold sweat from nightmares.  This went on for hours. 

 

Around four in the afternoon, Starsky gave up, changed into something he could wear out, and came out to the living room. 

 

“What are you doing up?” Hutch asked, looking up from the book he was reading.

 

“Can’t sleep anyway.  Every time I drift off, I keep seeing that damned bear.” He shuddered again at the memory.  “I need to go thank Huggy.  Let’s go down to the bar for dinner, huh?”

 

At least he’s hungry.  That’s a good sign.  “Sure, buddy.” 

 

Seeing that Starsky meant now, Hutch put on his shoes.  “You’re still looking pretty rough.  I’ll drive, okay?”  Starsky nodded and walked out the door, leaving Hutch to lock up behind him. 

 

On the way to Huggy’s, Hutch filled his partner in on the sentencing and what was happening with Gail.  Starsky was glad the DA was being cooperative, but he felt bad about her being in such a disturbed state.  Marcus’ “dream” had included Gail striking the first of countless blows intended to kill Starsky.  Her induction in blood was to be her proof that she was loyal to the megalomaniac, even if he was in jail for the rest of his days.

 

“I want to go see her.”

 

Hutch shook his head. “I don’t know, Starsk.  Do you think that’s a good idea?”  He was worried about the memories such a visit might bring to the surface.

 

“Does it matter?  She’s the reason you still have a partner.  I have to go.”

 

What a sobering thought.  Without the help of a pale, underweight, vulnerable young woman with a fragile psyche, Starsky would now be lying in the morgue in pieces.  “Dobey wants you to stop by the DA’s office to give your statement tomorrow.  What do you say we do that, then go down to see Gail?”

 

“Aw, shit, I hadn’t thought about that.  Okay.  I think I’ll be up for that tomorrow.”

 

Huggy was glad to see him.  After settling in a booth with his friends, he said, “Glad to see you up and around, amigo.”  He jerked his chin toward Starsky’s face and said, “Nice eye.  What happened there?”

 

“Torch,” Starsky replied.  He squirmed in his seat, needing to say thank you to Huggy.    “Hug, I know what you did to help. I don’t know how to thank you.”

 

Huggy smiled at him.  “That was a team effort, m’man.  Your fellow centurion, here, and the captain of the guard worked hard.”

 

“Yeah, but Hutch told me you figured it out, Huggy,” Starsky said.  “You’re the one who guessed the temple of the first kingdom had to be the old zoo.”

 

“The Bear is there when you need him, mon frère,” Huggy replied, using his typical turn of a phrase to lighten the atmosphere.  Starsky’s eyes spoke his gratitude and Hutch wasn’t the only one who could read what was in them.  Huggy was more than just a savvy street presence.  He was smart, quick thinking, and a good friend.  Starsky had always respected him, but this incident reinforced that respect.

 

“What do you suppose he hoped to accomplish?” Starsky asked.  “Snatching me like that.  I told them it wouldn’t get ‘em a fixed parking ticket.”

 

“I think I know the answer to that,” Hutch answered.  “You were the senior officer when the girls were arrested up at the ranch.  You touched them, and the children.  He wanted you to pay for that.  I’ve been giving that a lot of thought and I think that’s it.”

 

“He had to have known I’d be going to the can.  How?”

 

Hutch looked pensive.  “The DA is working on that.  We may never know, but we’re looking for someone inside the courthouse who may have a reason to know about your … habit.  Maybe someone who’s a follower or just sympathetic to that psycho for some reason.”

 

Starsky paled.  That had to be it. He’d never do that again.  Before his kidnapping, he never would have thought the courthouse bathroom could be a dangerous place.  Suddenly, his stomach was doing flips and he felt hot. 

 

“Starsky?” Hutch was concerned by the emotions flashing across his partner’s face.

 

Huggy was sitting next to Starsky, who was feeling decidedly claustrophobic.  When a waitress dropped a slippery beer mug, the sound of glass shattering made Starsky jump. 

 

“Starsky,” Hutch repeated.

 

“Let me out, Huggy,” Starsky said, his voice low and edgy.

 

“‘S all right, just a glass--” Huggy tried to reassure him.

 

Starsky didn’t ask again.  Before either Hutch or Huggy had time to react, Starsky scrambled up the seat, across the tabletop, and down to the floor beside the booth, high tailing it for the back door.

 

After a few seconds of stunned silence, Hutch stood to follow him as he said, “Shit!”  

 

By the time he got outside, he found Starsky hunched over with his back to the wall.  One hand was pressing against protesting ribs and the other was braced against his knee.  Hutch approached him quietly, noting that he was nearly hyperventilating. 

 

“You all right?” he asked tentatively.

 

“Just…” Starsky panted out, “gimme … a minute.”

 

He tried to quiet his breathing, with little success.  Finally, the pain in his side and the harsh breathing made him so dizzy, he needed to sit.  Hutch reached for him and helped him to the ground, guiding his head between his knees.

 

“Easy, buddy, easy.  Settle it down,” Hutch soothed.

 

Starsky felt embarrassed and foolish.  Why do I feel like this?  He breathed slowly and managed to get it under control.  When he looked up after several minutes, he was relieved to see that Huggy hadn’t followed Hutch out to the alley.  They were alone.  The depth of concern in Hutch’s eyes was almost painful to see.  He didn’t want to have put it there.  He wanted to feel normal and he felt anything but.

 

“I need to go home, Hutch,” he said quietly.

 

“Sure, buddy.  You think you can stand now?”

 

Starsky nodded and accepted a hand up from Hutch.  In the time they’d been outside, Huggy had put together a bag with some food for them to take with them.  He handed the bag to Hutch as they passed. Starsky nodded a thank you, but said nothing.  On the way back to the apartment, Hutch decided his partner was going to take that sedative. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Over the next two days, Starsky rested and began to heal.  Despite his desire to visit Gail in the hospital, he hadn’t felt up to it.  Dobey brought a stenographer to the apartment to take his statement so he wouldn’t have to come in to Metro.  That night, he told Hutch he wanted to go back to work.  No, he needed to go back to work.  Hutch agreed, cautiously.

 

The LTD was ready at Merle’s, so they decided to go there first.  They’d pick up the car and then drop it off at Hutch’s place before heading to the hospital to see Gail.  Her brother had contacted Captain Dobey to ask if Starsky was up to visiting her.  The psychiatrist said she needed to see that Starsky was alive as part of her therapy.  When she finally stopped muttering “Thou shalt not kill,” she had switched to a depressed insistence that she’d failed. Gail was convinced the detective was dead.  She couldn’t be persuaded to offer any testimony to help herself because she felt responsible for his “death.”

 

Starsky’s spirits seemed good that day.  He was cheerful about picking up the car and didn’t seem worried about his impending visit to see Gail or his return to work.  When Hutch saw his worst fears realized -- the LTD looked like “a parade float from Mars” -- he was furious that he’d have to leave the car another day or two to have what Merle promised would be a complete “furectomy.”

 

On the way to the hospital, Hutch sat fuming in the passenger seat.  He’d called both Starsky and Merle morons.  He was almost lost in his own petulance when he saw a man snatch a lady’s purse and take off down the street.

 

“Hey!” he said, pointing.

 

“I saw him,” Starsky assured.  He pulled to the curb so Hutch could jump out and begin a pursuit.  A quick glance back told Starsky the victim wasn’t hurt, just infuriated.   He turned back into traffic, stepping on the gas to fishtail around the corner to join the chase.  He spotted Hutch dashing into an alley and yanked the wheel hard to park.

 

Hutch ran into that alley, not realizing his suspect had stepped into a doorway, flattening himself up against the wall.  As Hutch’s long stride took him around the corner, the purse thief nailed him with a piece of plywood, knocking him to the ground in a daze.

 

By that time, Starsky was in the line of sight.  He called for the man to stop to no avail.  Knowing he had nowhere to go at the end of the alley, Starsky darted past Hutch.  He picked up speed, climbing up the back of a parked car to give himself some advantage.  He ran up to the roof and leaped off the vehicle, taking down the purse thief in a flying tackle.  They rolled on the ground for a few seconds until Starsky got his hands on the man.  He yanked him to his feet.

 

“You wanna resist, asshole?” he shouted at the hapless man.  When the suspect shook out of his grip, Starsky reached for him again, this time taking a well aimed swing at him that cracked him in the jaw, knocking him to the ground again.  He hauled him back to his feet, spun him around and slammed him, face first, into the tall, wooden fence that blocked the alley.

 

“Okay, man, I’m cooperating!” the man shouted.