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