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

Thanks to Julie, the artist for this piece, who graciously agreed to allow us to publish her beautiful drawings along with this story.

We thank our publishers, Keri and Paula, who printed this story in their Zine, Venice Place Times I, in October 2001. We also thank our editor, Donna Engle, who helps us look as good as we possibly can. Their support and friendship is a treasure. This was only the second story we wrote together as partners, so it has a special place in our hearts.

This is Part I of IV.

The One Left Behind

By Sue David and Valerie Wells

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

J.R.R. Tolkein, The Fellowship of the Ring

Detectives Ken Hutchinson and Dave Starsky drove their separate cars to work that morning. Hutch had to leave for an appointment at his attorney's office and Starsky agreed to stay late and finish their paperwork so he could go. He didn't know what his partner was up to, but he knew Hutch would tell him when he was ready.

They had been working hard on a drug running case. Homicide was a little light in the city at the moment and Captain Dobey had loaned his two best detectives to the narcotics team to help break this case. Earlier in the day, they had finally made an arrest. One of the drug runners had been snared in a trap they set for him. Terrified of prison, the man wanted to make a deal. He had already given them valuable information on the group's plans. Starsky wrapped up the paperwork and headed to Hutch's to discuss their next steps.

When Hutch returned to Venice Place after his appointment, he had no idea he wasn't alone. Word of the arrest had quickly reached some of the higher ups in the drug cartel they were chasing. Another drug gang member had seen the arrest go down and had gotten away. He recognized Starsky and Hutch. Finding out where the blond detective lived had been a disturbingly simple matter.

As Hutch walked toward the kitchen, he heard the familiar sound of a gun being cocked and he froze.

"Good evening, Detective," the voice behind him said. "Turn around slowly and keep your hands where I can see them."

Hutch did as he was instructed. Two men were standing in his apartment holding him at gunpoint. Hutch recognized one of them immediately as Jack Terrel, the head henchman for one of the biggest drug lords in the area. The detectives had arrested Terrel on a possession charge early in their partnership and he still bore a grudge against them for the time he had served. The other man moved toward him and disarmed him. He didn't recognize the second man, but he was a giant. Must be one of Terrel's goons.

"What do you want, Terrel?" Hutch asked. His irritation was evident in his tightly controlled tone. His stomach was already twisting into a knot with the realization that he and Starsky had stumbled onto a big fish with this current case.

"Why, we want you, Hutchinson. You are going to help us complete our next delivery."

"You're crazy. I'm not going to help you," Hutch snarled at him.

"Oh, but you are. If you don't, we'll kill your partner. Why don't you just behave yourself and maybe neither one of you will get hurt."

That certainly had Hutch's attention. He hadn't seen Starsky in a couple of hours. Possibly, these goons had done something to him already. He started to say something else when he heard the distinctive sounds of the Torino as it pulled to a stop on the street underneath the open front windows. Terrel heard it, too, and he crossed to peek out the window, still training his gun on Hutch.

He and the other man ducked into the bathroom, ordering Hutch to keep his mouth shut and to get rid of his partner. "You make a false move and he's dead." The man knew how to control Hutch. "I've got someone in my van down there. If you come down those stairs with anyone other than me, he has orders to kill whoever it is. Especially if it's your partner." Terrel closed the door almost shut, leaving a crack he could peek through to keep an eye on the two detectives.

Hutch had no doubt the man would make good on his threat. He frantically tried to think of an excuse to get Starsky out of the apartment without him figuring out something was wrong.

Starsky bounded up the stairs and knocked on the front door. "Hey, Blondie, open up!"

Hutch took a deep breath, formulating what he hoped was a good lie in his mind as he opened the door. "Hey."

He walked away from the door, putting his best undercover face on so he could fool Starsky. He prayed his partner didn't need the facilities, but Starsky headed straight for the refrigerator, pulling out a soda to drink.

"Wanna talk about tomorrow?"

I forgot, we're supposed to plan tomorrow's action. Hutch quickly regrouped in his head.

When Starsky finally turned around to look at Hutch, he couldn't quite put his finger on what looked funny to him, but something wasn't right.

"Yeah, but let's do it over dinner, okay?" He figured that wouldn't be a hard sell.

"Sure, Huggy's?"

"Great. Why don't you head on over there, I'm gonna get cleaned up and I'll meet you."

Starsky looked at him closely. "You all right, Blintz ?"

Hutch did his best to hide his panic from his partner. He had to sell this and do it quickly.

"Yeah, of course, why?" Hutch did his best to sound casual.

"Don't you wanna ride down there together?" Starsky asked curiously.

Hutch had a ready answer for that and he hoped it would be enough. "I was thinking we could drop my car off at Merle's on the way back home. Almost didn't want to start again this afternoon and it's missing again."

The lie worked. Starsky was always on him to at least let Merle take a look at the car for him. "Okay. See you there in thirty?"

"That's great, thanks."

Hutch watched in relief as his partner left, but he didn't really relax until he heard the Torino pull away from the curb.

Terrel and his accomplice walked back into the room. "Very good, Hutchinson. Quite a performance."

"What's the plan, Terrel?" Hutch was worried about what would come next, but relieved he had gotten Starsky out of danger.

"Well, we hear you busted one of our runners this morning. No doubt he has already told you about our plans for tomorrow."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about. The man hasn't been in the lockup long enough to say much of anything. He hasn't even been arraigned." Hutch knew the lie wouldn't fool Terrel, but he had to attempt it.

"Nice try, Detective. Now, you're coming with us. We'll just give your partner a call later and warn him to keep everyone away from tomorrow's activities, if he wants you to live."

Hutch smirked at him, looking as confident as he could. "No way, Terrel. Starsky won't go for it and even if he would, the department won't. I'm a cop. Expendable."

"We'll see, Cop. Now move it."

While this discussion was taking place, Starsky had only made it a block from Hutch's place when he realized what had been bothering him. Hutch's holster was empty. No Magnum. Why would he take the gun out but leave the holster on empty? He swung the Torino into a quick u-turn and headed back to Venice Place.

Just as Terrel was telling Hutch to move, Starsky was creeping up the stairs with his gun drawn. Something bad was going on and he wasn't taking any chances. The other gunman heard the sound of someone on the stairs and moved to stand behind the door. When Starsky came through the door in a crouch, his gun pointed at Terrel, the other man quickly hit him across the back of the head with the butt of his pistol, sending Starsky unconscious to the floor.

Hutch took a step toward him, but Terrel pointed his gun at Hutch's head and told him not to move.

"Well, that's unfortunate. Brooks, take him into the bathroom and take care of him."

The other man grunted his understanding, picked Starsky up easily in a fireman's carry and took him into the bathroom. Tod Brooks was not a bright man. He laid Starsky on the floor, pondering what Terrel meant by "take care of him." He decided that must mean to kill him. How to kill him without making a lot of noise, though? He could drown him, but that would take too long. Besides, Starsky might come around and fight him. Suddenly, he had the solution. He pulled out a switchblade, and got to work.

A few minutes later, Hutch heard something clatter to the floor in the bathroom. When Brooks opened the bathroom door, he was horrified at what he saw. A bloody switchblade lay on the floor next to one of Starsky's arms. He could see a large puddle of blood forming under his partner's wrist and he went wild with the realization that the goon must have cut Starsky's wrists. He would bleed to death in minutes if Hutch didn’t help him.

Terrel had turned his gaze away from Hutch when Brooks walked out of the bathroom. He was yelling at the bigger man, "You moron! I didn't tell you to kill him!"

Hutch lunged for Terrel's gun, but Brooks saw what he was doing. Before Terrel could stop him, Brooks aimed at Hutch and fired. As Hutch fell, he hit his head on the sofa table. He lay on the floor bleeding and disoriented. He could hear the conversation going on over him.

"Dammit! Every cop in Bay City is gonna be here inside of five minutes. Check Starsky."

Hutch heard footsteps, then Brooks said, "He's dead."

Terrel yelled again, "Idiot! How's the plan supposed to work now? Bring Hutchinson. We'll take him along anyway. I'll think of something."

Hutch's mind was screaming. He weakly moaned, "No! Starsky!" He felt the big man pick him up as blackness overtook him.

The two men quickly left Venice Place, leaving a trail of Hutch's blood down the stairs. Brooks tossed Hutch into the back of a van the two men had left parked outside. He slid the door closed and opened the front passenger door to get into the van. Terrel aimed his gun at him and said, "Uh-uh, moron. One mistake too many." He fired a single shot, hitting Brooks in the head. The man was dead before he hit the concrete. Terrel sped away in the van. He had lied to Hutch. No other man had been waiting in the van.

Marjorie Taylor, one of Hutch's neighbors, had been out for a walk when she heard the shot coming from the apartment. She jumped at the sound, and stopped on the sidewalk below Hutch's place. She heard the yelling and could make out that someone was about to leave. She quickly ducked into a doorway to hide. From her vantage point she saw the men come out of the building carrying Hutch, but she didn't see his partner. Marjorie recognized Starsky's car parked at the curb across the street.

After the van sped away, Marjorie did something foolish. When she stepped out of her hiding place, she gulped at the sight of the dead man lying on the sidewalk, and then she assumed the bad guys were all gone and raced up the stairs to Hutch's apartment to see if Starsky was there.

Looking around the room, Marjorie took in several things quickly. Blood stained the floor in the living room and there was more on the sofa table. She had also seen a trail of blood on the stairs leading up to the apartment. When her eyes turned toward the bathroom, her heart nearly froze.

"Oh, my God, Starsky!"

Racing into the bathroom, Marjorie took one look at the pale, unconscious man on the floor and knew Starsky was in serious trouble. He still had a weak pulse, but he might bleed to death before help could arrive. Thinking quickly, she reached up and pulled the pony tail holders off of her long, dark braids. She used the elastic bands to help staunch the flow of blood from Starsky's wrists. Then she raced back to the living room, found the phone and called for an ambulance and the police. Cool and collected in an emergency, she had the presence of mind to tell them it was a police officer down, knowing that would get an extra measure of rapid response.

Returning to the bathroom, she grabbed some washcloths. Marjorie used them to apply pressure to both wounds, pulling Starsky's arms up well above his heart in an effort to slow down the bleeding. "Please don't die, Starsky. Help is coming!" she urged him. After what seemed like an eternity, she heard the mixed sounds of various emergency vehicles as they screamed up outside the apartment.

Knowing cops were about to charge in with their weapons drawn, she called out as soon as she heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, "Help, I'm in here!"

A sandy-haired officer in plain clothes appeared in the bathroom doorway with gun drawn. He took one look and went a little pale. "Starsky? Oh, God. Sean, quick, call an ambulance!"

The other officer backed away, but Marjorie said, "I already called an ambulance."

"Who are you?" the first officer asked, kneeling next to them and feeling the fluttering pulse in Starsky's throat. Starsky gave a low moan but stayed unconscious.

"A neighbor," she said. "Some man took Hutch away in a van."

"Did you get a license number?" As he questioned her, the officer took over keeping pressure on the wounds. Marjorie let him; her own arms were going to sleep from the effort.

"No, just a piece of it," she said. "It all happened so fast."

The second officer – Sean, this one had called him – produced a notebook. "Tell me whatever you can remember."

"It was a dark blue van, a Chevy, with those little round windows in the sides," she said. "There was a dent in the passenger door and a big rusty spot on one of the back doors. California license, ABJ 4 and two more digits, but I didn't get those. I'm sorry."

Sean was staring at her wide-eyed. "That's a damned good description for a quick look."

She shrugged and started to answer when she heard the siren of the approaching ambulance.

"Go tell them we're up here," the first cop told Sean. "Otherwise, they'll see the stiff and waste a lot of time, and Starsky ain't got any to waste."

"Right." Sean launched himself out the door.

Marjorie felt Starsky's forehead and he was too cool – going into shock from loss of blood. "Starsky, dammit, don't you die!" she said, gently patting his cheeks. "Come on, honey, the ambulance is here now."

The attendants hurried in and took charge, leaving Marjorie and the officer to watch. "I'll need your name and address," the officer said to her.

"Shouldn't somebody go with him?" she said, indicating Starsky.

"We'll call his captain," the officer said. "We have to report Hutch missing, too. Did he look hurt or anything?"

She swallowed, suddenly remembering how pale and still Hutch had been. "Yeah. He did."

~*~*~*~

The first thing Hutch felt when he came to was nauseated. He didn't remember what had happened, but he was lying in a heap on the floor of a van and between the pain in his head and the rocking of the van, he thought he was going to be sick. He raised one shaky hand to his aching head and it came away bloody. Blood...?

Then he remembered. Starsky!

Starsky, lying on his bathroom floor with blood all around him...dead or dying and no one to help him.

His head was foggy and his ears were ringing. He remembered the big goon saying Starsky was dead. Oh, God, Starsk! You can't be dead. Please don't be dead! He knew there was little hope that Starsky was alive now, though. His wrists slashed and blood flowing out at a rapid pace, Starsky probably really was dead before they even left the apartment. Hutch thought about the look on Starsky's face when he burst through the front door, then flashed on the sight of him lying in his own blood. He felt sick.

Despite the fiery pain in his shoulder, Hutch turned to his side and was violently ill. In his pain over the thought that Starsky was dead, he had forgotten he had been shot.

His captor looked back in his direction from the driver's seat. "Great, Hutchinson. Lie down and knock that off or I'll have to gag you." The man let loose an evil laugh. He knew if he gagged Hutch while he was nauseated it could kill him.

He didn't have to tell Hutch twice. As he took a sharp turn, the dizziness overcame Hutch and he passed out again. Jack Terrel pulled into the Mandalay Heights airfield. Terrel was going to fly Hutch out of Bay City and down to Rosarito Beach in Baja California. This would be the first step in a long journey, if the blond cop lived long enough to complete it.

~*~*~*~

The ambulance carrying Starsky screamed into Memorial's emergency bay. The paramedics quickly transferred the gurney into the hospital. David Starsky was almost out of time.

The emergency team scrambled to save Starsky's life. He had lost much of his blood volume and they immediately started him on O negative blood while they typed and cross-matched him. Dr. James Sorrento wasted no time, "Who's on call for vascular?"

One of the nurses answered, "Dr. Koenig."

"Page him to the O.R. stat. Let's prep him to transfer up there."

Another nurse entered the room with more bags of blood. She recognized Starsky. "Oh, my God, that's David Starsky!"

Dr. Sorrento looked up grimly. "What a mess."

The team cut off Starsky's clothes, throwing everything into a bag, they hung another unit of blood, then they moved him out to the elevator on the way to the operating room. "Hustle, he's bleeding it out as fast as we're putting it in!"

Dr. Sorrento stood and shook his head as the elevator doors closed. "Such a young man."

He turned to the nurse standing next to him and said, "Suicide on the police force is a problem. What a shame." No one had ridden in with Starsky. The doctor made a natural assumption that his patient had tried to kill himself. As he turned away from the elevator, Dr. Sorrento made a silent prayer that he didn't succeed.

Back at Venice Place, the crime lab team was crawling all over every inch looking for clues to what had happened. They were taking pictures of the bloody mess in the bathroom when Captain Dobey appeared at the door.

Dobey hollered at the lab boys, "Don't forget to analyze that blood on the stairs."

A quiet female voice replied, "It's Hutch's blood."

Captain Dobey looked toward the sound and saw a young woman sitting in a chair at Hutch's kitchen table. Her hair hung down in long, partially unwound braids and her clothes were soaked in blood.

One of the lab team boys walked up to Dobey and said, "Slashed his wrists."

Dobey said, "Who did?"

"Starsky."

"What!?" His voice was so loud, everyone in the place stopped what they were doing and stared. Dobey looked at them disapprovingly. "Well, don't just stand there, keep moving."

He walked over and sat at the table with the young woman. "I'm Captain Dobey. Hutchinson and his partner are my men."

Marjorie nodded. "Marjorie Taylor. I'm one of Hutch's neighbors. I know them both."

Captain Dobey looked at her with compassion and gently asked, "Can you tell me what happened here?"

Poor Marjorie was beginning to break down a little over everything she had seen. "So much blood. God."

"Starsky's blood?" he asked her kindly.

She nodded. "I tried to stop it." She reached up and touched her hair with a hand covered with dried blood. "Used my pony tail holders." Marjorie looked up at him, her dark brown eyes bright with tears that started to slide down her face. She wiped at them in frustration, "I'm sorry, Captain Dobey. I'm not helping. What can I tell you?"

Dobey was impressed with this young woman. She had obviously run into hell and done a good job of getting things under control. He thought she was entitled to lose it a little now.

"You're doing fine. What did you see?"

Marjorie recounted everything she had told the other officers. She told them how she had heard the gunshot and the argument from the sidewalk below. Marjorie had watched the man who drove away in the van shoot the dead man in the head. She pointed at the bloodstains on Hutch's floor and on the sofa table. The crime lab team had gotten blood and blond hairs off of the table.

"When I saw Starsky, I called for an ambulance. I told them there was an officer down. I thought they might go faster. Was that okay?" She looked lost and sad.

"Good thinking. Do you know what happened to Starsky?" Captain Dobey refused to believe Starsky had slashed his own wrists.

Marjorie shook her head. "I thought I heard Hutch scream 'No, Starsky!' just before the gunshot, but I'm not sure. I tried to help him. So much blood."

"Thank you," Captain Dobey said. "I'll have one of my officers take you home."

Her head snapped up at that, "No, I want to go to the hospital. He shouldn't be alone. "

How could Dobey deny her this request? She had acted so bravely and if Starsky lived, he would have her to thank for it.

"I'm going there in a few minutes. Would you like to clean up first?

She looked at her clothes and held her hands out in front of her, really noticing the dried blood and how much of it was on her. "Yes, thank you. I won't take long. Please wait."

Dobey held out his hand to help her to her feet. He watched her walk out of the apartment to go home. I hope it was enough too.

~*~*~*~

It was dark when Hutch came to again. At least he didn't feel like throwing up anymore, but his stomach was empty and rolling still. His shoulder was on fire with the pain from the bullet wound there and his headache was, if anything, worse.

But the pain in his heart hurt worst of all. He couldn't get the picture of Starsky lying there bleeding out of his mind, and he had no way of knowing if his buddy was dead or alive.

As his head cleared, he realized they weren't moving anymore. He blinked and raised his head a little to look around. He was in some sort of shelter, dirty and dark, lying on a dirt floor. He could hear the sounds of night insects outside but nothing else. No traffic. No voices. And except for himself, the shelter was empty. He struggled to a sitting position, gritting his teeth against the throbbing pain in his shoulder. The blood had dried and matted in his hair and his shirtsleeve was stiff with blood, too. So the bleeding had stopped. That was an encouraging sign, since Hutch was reasonably sure Terrel wasn't going to take him to a doctor.

His eyes adjusted a little to the dimness and he could make out the door. The shed appeared to be one of those small wooden garden sheds some people had in their backyards, but Hutch couldn't begin to guess where he was. There wasn't room to stand, and he wasn't too sure he could stand up, anyway, so he crawled over to the door and tried it. Locked. Of course. And with one arm all but useless, he didn't think he could break it down. He reached into his pocket for his watch, but it was gone. So was his wallet, his police ID and his holster.

Voices. Several yards away, but in the unearthly quiet of the night, the voices carried clearly to Hutch, listening in the shed.

"¿Debemos checar al gringo?" ("Should we look in on the American?")

"¿Por qué?" ("Why?")

"Podria estar muerto." ("He could be dead.")

A short laugh. "Hutchinson? No."

"Si está muerto, el señor estará muy enojado con nosotros." ("If he's dead, the man will be very angry with us.")

Low muttering, then footsteps approached the shed. Hutch immediately lay back down and shut his eyes. He was in no condition to try to overpower two men, and if they found him conscious, they might well do something else to him. He needed time to regain his strength.

The door opened and someone knelt beside him, felt his pulse, and pried one eye open.

"Está vivo. Cuídelo." ("Alive. You guard him.")

The door closed again and one set of footsteps retreated. Hutch heard the other man sit down and lean against the door, then he heard the sound of a lighter flicking. In a moment, he could smell marijuana burning.

~*~*~*~

Dobey and Marjorie arrived at the hospital while Starsky was still in surgery. No one was willing to tell them anything other than that he was being treated. So there was nothing they could do but wait.

In a couple of hours, a man wearing a suit and tie approached. "Captain Dobey?"

Dobey stood. "I'm Dobey."

"Dr. Petersen," the man said. "I'm a psychiatrist. We're admitting Mr. Starsky to the psychiatric ward if he survives the surgery."

"What?" Dobey roared, making Marjorie jump, and even the doctor took a step back.

"It's standard procedure in attempted suicides," the doctor said coldly.

"Starsky did not attempt suicide!" Dobey shouted. "He was attacked, and his partner was kidnapped! You are not admitting one of my best officers to the psych ward!"

"Captain," Petersen said, obviously trying to remain calm, "he slit his wrists."

Dobey opened his mouth again, but stopped when he saw Sean Cavanaugh hurrying down the corridor toward him. "Captain!" Cavanaugh called. "We lifted a good set of prints off the knife in the bathroom."

"Whose?"

"The man who was shot outside Hutch's. Tod Brooks," Cavanaugh said, stopping next to Dobey and nodding at Marjorie and the doctor. "Dumb as a porch post, that guy. He's got a record a mile long. Hill's going through his files now trying to figure out who he mighta been workin' with because we figure that's who's got Hutch."

"Good work," Dobey said. He turned to the doctor and with exaggerated patience, added, "Don't you suppose Starsky's fingerprints would have been on that knife if he'd slit his own wrists, doctor?"

"What?" Cavanaugh stared at the doctor. "You thought Starsky tried to kill himself? No way! How's Starsky doin', Cap'n?"

"He's still in surgery."

"Damn." Cavanaugh shook his head. "You stayin' with him, then?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'll get back to the precinct. You want me and Jack to stick with this, don't you?"

"Top priority," Dobey said.

"Right. I'll keep you posted. And I'll light a candle for the both of them soon's I get a chance, too." Cavanaugh turned to go, but as he passed the doctor, he muttered, loud enough to be heard, "Starsky commit suicide? No way...."

Captain Dobey turned back to the shocked psychiatrist. "Would you please tell them to check him for a blow to the head, too? If they think he slit his wrists, they probably didn't look for that. I guarantee you that David Starsky didn't go down without a fight. Especially if his partner's life was in danger."

Dr. Peterson nodded. "I will. Look, I'm sorry, you have to understand it was a natural assumption."

Dobey's face softened. "Of course, Doc. Just take care of him. I don't want to have to tell his partner if we lose him."

~*~*~*~

The door to the small shed flew open, letting a sudden shaft of light beam down on Hutch, lying on the ground, bloody and unconscious. The man who had been guarding the door stood aside while another man ducked his head in the doorway and took a step inside. The next thing he did was dump a bucket of cold water on Hutch's head, roughly bringing him back to consciousness.

"Despiérte, poli!" ("Wake up, Cop ")

Hutch groaned and rolled his head from side to side.

"Poli! ¿Hablas español?" ("Cop! You speak Spanish?")

Hutch managed to open his eyes a slit, squinting at the bright light. He wondered why he was hearing Spanish, but he answered, "Sí, un poco" ("Yes, a little")

"Levántese!" ("Get up!")

Hutch obliged, slowly. As he sat up, the shed began to spin. Rough hands grabbed him and hauled him up to his feet. Doing his best to stay on his feet, he felt the hands push his head down low enough to clear the doorframe and he staggered out into the morning breeze. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw he was standing next to a shed in the middle of a field of ocotillo and scrub. Looking to his right, he saw the ocean and felt the salt on his lips. A look at his two guardians and he was suddenly struck with a revelation. Oh, my God, I'm in Mexico.

"Where am I? Uh, dónde estoy?" He didn't believe they'd answer him, but he hoped they might at least confirm that he was in Mexico.

The two men just laughed at him and shoved him forward, toward the cliffs. The pain in his left shoulder was intense. A glance down at his shirt revealed that the bleeding had started again. He tried to reach up and move the shirt aside so he could look at the bullet wound, but his hand was grabbed and jerked behind him. When the guard yanked his left arm behind him to tie his wrists, he cried out from the pain and collapsed to his knees. His captor kicked him down to the ground, finishing the job of tying his wrists while Hutch retched. He had nothing in his stomach.

When the retching stopped, the large man dragged Hutch back to his feet. "Camina, perro!" ("Walk, dog!")

Hutch stumbled and tripped his way down near the edge, directly above the ocean. He blinked from the stinging in his eyes as he recognized Terrel walking toward him. He was holding a gun, a small bag, and a camera. Not a combination that made Hutch very comfortable at the moment.

Trying to sound tough, confident, and unintimidated while bleeding, dizzy, and nauseated is difficult. Hutch contemplated the irony briefly, then he said to Terrel, "What am I doing here? Where is my partner?"

Terrel smiled maliciously. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. All in good time, Hutchinson. Sosténgalo," ("Hold him") Terrel ordered the guards.

The two men each held Hutch securely, while Terrel stepped up to him. He handed the camera to one of the men, holstered his gun and opened up the bag. He pulled out a small jar and a not so small knife. Hutch swallowed hard, trying not to let any fear show on his face.

"What are you doing?"

"Patience, Detective. We have all the time in the world. Well, the rest of your time in it anyway."

Terrel pulled Hutch's sleeve up and dug the knife into the flesh of his upper left arm. Hutch gritted his teeth and fought the urge to pass out from the pain. The next thing Terrel did frightened and confused him. He put the jar up against Hutch's arm and allowed the blood to flow into it.

"Terrel?" he said through clenched teeth.

"You asked about your partner, hero. You don't need to worry about him. It's just you and me now."

Hutch's stomach felt like it had just dropped to his knees. "What do you mean by that crack?"

"Oh, not much. You see, he's dead. No need to worry about him"

"You're lying!" Hutch shouted at him as he tried unsuccessfully to jerk away from the vice-like grip of the guards holding him. His head was pounding, everything hurt, and he was sure he had a fever already. He was in serious trouble and still his heart ached.

"Don't you remember? My moronic assistant took care of him before we left your place. Slashed his wrists as I recall. Pity, such a young man bleeding to death like that. They'll probably think he killed himself."

Hutch struggled against the guards, his rage tiring him even more. He blinked back tears and snapped, "I'm gonna kill you, Terrel. Never pick on a man's partner." Hutch knew how ridiculous that sounded, but he didn't care. He was in shock and furious. Grief stole around his heart like a lead blanket. His only thought beyond the pain was that he would probably be dead soon and join Starsky.

Terrel was satisfied with the work he had done, and he nodded to the two guards, instructing them to walk Hutch right to the edge. After they did that, the two men forced the blond onto his knees.

"Hinquese!" ("On your knees!")

The two men released Hutch's arms and stood away from him. One of them pointed a gun at Hutch's head while Terrel took some pictures. Hutch was convinced they were about to execute him and he silently sent up his last prayers.

Hutch heard the shot and flinched, but he didn't feel the pain. The bullet struck the ground fifteen feet in front of him. Before he could turn his head to see what was happening, the guard walked toward him and hit him on the back of his head with the gun. Hutch fell over onto the dirt and rocks.

Terrel quickly walked forward and poured the jar of blood over the back of Hutch's head and across his face. He chuckled to himself. "Pretty convincing." He wanted just the right picture, so he stood back and snapped several fast shots of Hutch lying on the edge of the cliff. He looked dead. The sequence of pictures should fool the Bay City Police Department.

Terrel ordered his goons to pick up the injured and unconscious blond and take him back to the shed, which was set back from the cliffs in a small stand of eucalyptus and palm trees. "Tráiganlo." ("Bring him").

The breeze on his face revived Hutch slightly and he moaned. Terrel stopped the men dragging him and he picked Hutch's head up by the hair. Looking into the barely focusing eyes he sneered. "Now that your partner is dead, pig, the only thing remaining is to convince your captain that you are dead, too. These pictures should do the job. You're mine now." He released Hutch's head and they dragged him into the shed, dumping him onto the floor in the small, windowless shack. Sick and hurting, Hutch lay there and quietly cried angry tears. He was overcome with grief from the belief that these men had killed Starsky. The pain and sadness closed in on him and he slid into blackness.

~*~*~*~

Captain Dobey was sitting next to Starsky's bed when he started to come around after the surgery. The doctors had nearly lost him a few times during the lengthy operation. His right wrist was more badly damaged than the left, a small mercy for which Dobey was thankful. Orthopedic and vascular surgeons had spent hours making delicate repairs to the damaged tendons and nerves. For some reason, the cut on Starsky's left wrist had been made much higher on his arm, saving the median nerve and requiring only twenty-five stitches to close. The median nerve and tendons of his right wrist were severed or torn requiring meticulous reconstruction and over fifty stitches. They wouldn't know if he would regain full feeling in the right hand for some time.

Starsky's eyes fluttered open and struggled to focus. He was confused and he started to reach out with his left hand as he looked around the room and called out for his partner. The movement caused him severe pain and his face went instantly white.

"Dave, be still. Don't try to move." Dobey attempted to calm him. Starsky breathed heavily from the pain and Captain Dobey pushed the call button to ask for some medication for his detective. "Dave, open your eyes. I need to talk to you. Just don't move."

Starsky nodded and slowly opened his eyes. "Hutch?" He said it as a question, wondering where his partner was.

Dobey tried to change the subject, "Do you know where you are, Dave?"

"Hutch?"

"You're in the hospital. You gave us quite a scare."

The fog was lifting from Starsky's mind and he started to worry about why Dobey wasn't responding to his request for Hutch. "Cap, where's Hutch?"

"I'll answer your question in a minute, but first I need you to tell me what you can remember."

"Dammit, Cap, why isn't he here?"

"Starsky! I'll tell you all about it in a minute. They're gonna bring you something for the pain and I want you to tell me what you remember first. Do you remember what happened?"

Starsky struggled to remember. "Hutch's gun was gone. I came back to help him. A man was there. He had Hutch."

Dobey did his best to make sense of the disjointed statement. "Who was there?"

"I don't know. Didn't see his face. That's all I remember."

"Well, what did you see?"

"Dark clothes, tall, black hair, straight I think. Sorry, Cap, that's it." Starsky was out of breath from the exertion. He looked at his bandaged left wrist, and saw that the right one was in a thick cast. He jerked his head toward his arm and said, "What?"

Dobey put his hand on Starsky's shoulder and said, "Dave, they knocked you out and then slit your wrists. You're just lucky a neighbor found you before you bled to death."

"Neighbor?"

"Marjorie Taylor. You owe that girl your life."

Starsky wanted desperately to understand all that had happened and he wanted to know what was going on with Hutch. "How did she find me and where's Hutch?"

The captain didn't want to upset the dark-haired man into disturbing his stitches and he knew he wouldn't take the news well.