He inched his way across the pile of drop clothes and rags. Each breath he took racked through the intense pain in his lungs. "Busted that damn rib again," he muttered to himself. His head throbbed and a wave of nausea hit him hard. Ride it out, he thought, it’ll pass. I just gotta keep moving. Moving in the direction to bring him out of the darkness was all he cared about. He knew if he stopped, he would lose Hutch. He would lose Hutch and all would be lost. Starsky felt for the walls around him.

"I’m coming Hutch, I won’t stop. I’ll find you buddy, just hang on." Starsky’s frustration at the situation mounted. He needed answers to what was going on. Why was Hutch taken, where was the threats, the ransom, the vendetta, nothing was making sense.

"Over here," came the yell from below.

"Damn," he cursed; they had discovered his attempt to escape. "Why can’t they stay knocked out longer?" He moved faster, each step he took he faltered some more.

"Detective Starsky!" bellowed the murderous voice of the madman below. "You won’t make it out of here alive. There’s no use in fighting. "

"Like hell I won’t…" he whispered, with intense disgust directed at the evil voice. The warehouse dust filtered through the painted and boarded windows. The light tried desperately to guide Starsky’s way out of his hellhole. He heard the enemy closing in on him and his survival instinct caused his adrenaline to surge. Don’t let me pass out, his mind willed him to take each step. He knew he was gonna get out of this place, he knew in his heart, he wouldn’t fail Hutch…

"Ya know what Starsky, if you’re going to make me drive with you in this car, at least you can do is hold the onions on your burgers."

"Mm-mut-Utch… " Starsky swallowed hard on the huge piece of meat he had in his mouth. "You can’t have a burger without the works. Here try it, its better than that Russian-live –til-you're-110-yogurt you’re eating." Starsky shook his head in disgust at his partner's unappealing meal.

"Starsk…"

"Zebra-three come in zebra -three."

Hutch placed the yogurt in Starsky’s lap and took the mike. "This is zebra -three, we read you."

"Zebra-3 Captain Dobey wants you in his office immediately."

Starsky shot Hutch a look of annoyance, and bit into his burger again.

"Responding, zebra –three out."

"Well Starsk, are you gonna sit their and eat that piece of lard or are we gonna get moving?"

Hutch held his hand out to gather the remnants of the burger, but Starsky scowled and shoved the last bit of onion burger into his mouth.

"You really are a human garbage disposal."

"Mm-know," munched Starsky as he floored the Torino into the lanes of traffic. Hutch held his yogurt tight as its contents dripped out the sides and down his fingers. He cursed quietly under his breath at Starsky’s attempt to cause a yogurt catastrophe. They rode the rest of the way in silence. Both voices silent, but both minds dissecting the last crime scene, from earlier that morning. It was a sadistic murder of a judge, his neck sliced in a perfect X. There were no witnesses as of yet, and no indication of robbery. The boys try as they could with light humor, felt unsettled at the scene they encountered earlier. Even spilt yogurt couldn’t alleviate a sense of doom that filtered through both of them.

"Starsky! Hutchinson!" bellowed Dobey at his detectives as they entered his office.

"Captain?" Starsky replied, relaxing into Dobey’s office chair.

"Don’t get to comfortable Starsky. I’ve got a dead hooker, a dead preacher, and a dead butcher. All the same MO," grumbled Dobey as he passed the file across his desk to his boys.

"This guys been pretty busy, he managed to take down these victims in a 3 day period," Dobey replied wiping his chin with a nervous hand.

"Starsky, look at this, the marks on the girl's throat look like the marks we saw on the judge today."

"Captain, you better bring in forensics. I think we may have victim number 4," answered Starsky as he looked over the files and shook his head in disgust. "This is one sick bastard, he doesn’t care how much they suffer…"

The morning scene of the murdered judge came flooding back and Starsky felt a chill ride up his spine. He couldn’t explain the sense of dread he felt, but his eyes fell upon Hutch and he felt an utmost need to protect. Dobey’s voice bellowed out to both of them startling Starsky and causing him to tense even more.

"Oh they suffered alright, and now I want you guys to catch whoever it is, and get him off the streets!"

Hutch looked at Starsky, curious at the concerned look he sensed in his partner's eyes. What’s wrong buddy? He saw his brow gleam with perspiration. Later Starsk, we’re talking…

"We’ll get ‘em off the streets Captain," came Hutch’s concerned reply all the while his eyes never leaving Starsky’s stare. Hutch patted Starsky on the back and the two grabbed the files and headed out of Dobey’s office.

"Let’s hit the morgue Starsk."

"Great, onions and formaldehyde."

Hutch gave Starsky a chuckle at his last comment and pulled on his arm to lead the way out of the squad room. He smiled to himself; relieved at the way Starsky could always make him laugh. He replayed the line "onions and formaldehyde " in his head. "Good cover Starsky, but we’re still talking later…"

************************************************************************************

Starsky sighed. "Hey. Since we’re going to the morgue, let’s take your car."

"My car?"

"Yeah. You drive."

"Why?"

Starsky sighed. "You know."

Hutch though for a minute, then sighed. "Oh. Right. Gives you the creeps parking your car near all those dead bodies. In case ghosts end up in the trunk."

"That’s not what I said!" Starsky said shrilly. "Not even close! Wait! Wait! I’ll TELL you what I said."

But Hutch was deliberately too far ahead to hear.

"We’re goin to the morrrrrgue, an we’re gonna see a dead boooo-ody, goiiiin to the mooooorgue, an we’re—"

"Starsky!" Hutch pleaded, wincing from the sudden pounding in his head. Starsky’s wretched version of Going to the Chapel wasn’t the source of the pain, but his singing certainly did nothing to slow the invisible hammer banging against his head.

Starsky animatedly closed his mouth and pooched out his lips, exaggerating his attempt at silence. He leaned down and pulled a pile of brown paper bags out of the floorboard of the passenger seat.

"What’s all this? You collecting…oh…" There was a hole in the floor. Wind shot up Starsky’s legs. "Hutch."

"I know, I know, Starsk, don’t start. But when have I had time to fix it?"

Starsky snickered and placed the pile of bags over the hole, propping his blue Adidas on top of them. He shook his head sadly. "You need a new c—"

"Don’t start!" Hutch said.

"One of these days, it’s just gonna quit, you know. An we’ll probably be right in the middle of chasing down the bust of a lifetime, and boom. It’ll die, and there we’ll be. Stranded. The bad guys will get away. Instead of standing on the cover of Time, we’ll be standing in the unemployment line. All coz—

"So, what was that all about back there?" Hutch asked, trying desperately to change the subject.

"What was what? C’mon, let’s swing by Merle’s after the morgue."

"Merle’s is a morgue. Where all good cars go to die. In Dobey’s office. What was that about?"

"What was what about?"

"That?"

"What that?"

"Starsky!"

Starsky sighed. "Far as I can tell, it was about Dobey telling us we’ve got dead bodies piling up. Actually, Merle had this sweet little Mustang."

"I will NOT drive a Mustang."

"Oh. Right. It’s too cool for you. How ‘bout a pick-up truck?"

"Why would I need a pick-up truck?"

"To pile all your trash in the back."

Hutch didn’t respond. Starsky had a point. That wasn’t a half bad idea.

"Oh, brother."

"What?"

"You’re actually thinking about a truck. You’d actually drive around with the back stuffed full of trash. All this crap in the back seat, flapping down the road in the back of a pick-up. We’d still be going about 35 on the freeway, so all the junk wouldn’t fly out."

"Actually, I’m thinking if I had a pick-up, I could stuff you in the back."

"Oh, yeah?" Starsky asked, pretending to be wounded.

"Yeah," Hutch said, fighting a grin.

"I always liked riding in the back of a truck. Used to beg to visit my Uncle Fred in Tennessee, so I could ride around in the back of his Ford on all those country roads all the time. But Nicky fell out one time, accidentally and with absolutely, positively no help from me, of course, so my mom wouldn’t let us do it again when we went back there. Hey…wonder if that’s what’s wrong with him? He did land on his head, had ten stitches and a concussion. Absolutely, positively with no help from me."

"Oh, absolutely, positively. How many uncles did you have, Starsky?" Hutch asked. "And would you stop babbling and answer the question?"

"Is there something moving around in the backseat?" Starsky asked, leaning across the seat. He sorted through the pile of newspapers and magazines. "Hutch, there is. You’ve grown a whole new species back here."

Hutch jabbed his partner’s arm. His head was really hurting.

"Ow," Starsky said, laughing as he settled back in his seat with the Sunday comics in tow. "Hey! I think Snoopy said that a long time ago. Since when do they run repeats in the…oh…these funnies are six months old."

"So?"

Starsky rolled his eyes and tossed the paper over the seat.

"What was going on back there?" Hutch asked again, sounding a little more exasperated.

Starsky sighed. "Dobey—"

"I know what Dobey said, I was there! I mean, what were you looking like that for?"

"Hey, your face is all red. You got a fever?" Starsky asked, planting the back of his hand against Hutch’s forehead. It was warm, but Hutch quickly brushed his hand away.

"STARSKY!"

Starsky gave up. "Fine. When Dobey was talking, I just felt…I don’t know…weird. This just doesn’t feel right, Hutch."

"Oh."

Hutch looked away, concentrated on the road. His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, and he had to remind himself to breathe. Starsky’s instincts were almost supernatural, and Hutch had learned long ago to trust them. That wasn’t exactly comforting when Starsky was watching him with such intense concern.

As they rode in silence, Starsky finally looked away, forcing the overwhelming sense of doom from his mind.

"This Popsicle stand really stinks!" Starsky said as they entered the dark, dank morgue.

"Popsicle stand?" Hutch asked, wishing he didn’t already know the answer.

"Yup. Specializes in frozen people, don’t it?"

"Ah," Hutch replied. They flashed the attendant their badges, then went to find Ginny Simpson, the M.E.

She was bent over the body, already hard at work. Starsky stopped and scanned her backside, wondering why he had never gone out with her. Hutch caught his eyes, then led Starsky’s gaze to the engagement ring on her finger.

Oh, yeah. Starsky nodded to his partner. Hutch shook his head and smiled.

"Whatcha got for us?" Hutch asked her, trying not to inhale.

She didn’t look up. "Reverend Bob McMillan. Pastor of The Church of the Good Shepherd. Some of his own parishioners found him yesterday morning. He’d been dead about seven hours."

Starsky pointed to the raw red streaks on his flesh. "What’s that?"

She sighed. "He was duct taped to the cross."

"DUCT TAPED?" Hutch asked, stunned.

She nodded, then muttered sarcastically, "Real cute, huh?"

Starsky started crossing himself.

"What are you doing? Since when are you Catholic?" Hutch asked him.

"I just figured anything would help me dodge the lightning," Starsky said matter-of-factly.

Hutch and Dr. Simpson looked at him, baffled.

He stepped further away and waved his arms, shrugging. "Well, come on! Who in their right mind kills a pastor? You don’t mess with stuff related to God!"

"Who in their right mind kills anyone?" Dr. Simpson asked gently.

"Lightning. I’m telling you. Step away from the body."

"Why would it strike us?" Hutch asked, waving his hand, exasperated. Dr. Simpson hid a smile. "We’re not the ones who killed him."

"But, but…but it’s blasphemous!" Starsky shrieked, still keeping his distance.

"You think so?" Hutch asked, fighting a grin.

Dr. Simpson chuckled under her breath, then decided to interrupt. "This is what killed him."

She pointed to the perfect x sliced on his throat.

Starsky took a deep breath. "We’re dealing with some really twisted serial killers, here! I mean…we’ve seen twisted, but this…this is a few chips shy of a whole cookie!"

Hutch squeezed his forehead. He was suddenly cold. Really cold. He attributed it to the morgue temperature and tried to ignore his partner. And his pounding head. "Ritualistic, Satanic killings maybe?"

Starsky’s face went whiter than the doctor’s lab coat. His stomach had plunged, and he had to get out of there. Now. He tore his eyes from Hutch and once more willed away the dread. "Um, Hutch, I um, I’ve gotta make a pit stop. I’ll meet you at the junk heap, kay?"

He was gone before Hutch could respond.

"Hutch?"

"What?" Hutch asked warily. The bright late afternoon sunshine beaming through the dirty windshield wasn’t helping his throbbing head.

"Where’d the term man of the cloth come from anyway?"

Hutch was only half-listening and didn’t feel like responding. So he didn’t.

Starsky hadn’t really wanted an answer anyway. "You think somebody didn’t like his sermon?"

"Hmm," Hutch muttered weakly.

"Hey…isn’t there an eclipse in a couple of days?"

"Yeah," Hutch said, wishing it were now. Darkness wouldn’t hurt his head as much.

"We should get some ladies to watch it with us. It’ll be pitch black. We’ll hafta feel our way in the dark, if ya know what I mean."

"Right, Starsk, coz there won’t be any lights on in Bay City during the eclipse," Hutch said, shaking his head.

"Really?" Starsky said, then realized Hutch was messing with him. "Ah, well, it’ll still be terrific to see."

"Right. Terrific. Can’t wait for the dark."

Starsky tapped his foot against the glove compartment. Tap tap tap. The miles passed. Tap tap tap.

"Do you have to do that?" Hutch snapped.

"Why? You afraid I’m actually gonna put a dent in this banged up pile of tin? Hey…we gonna head to Merle’s now?"

"Starsky. My head is killing me, we have dead bodies piling up, it’s looking like potential serial killers on the loose, you’ve suddenly converted to Catholicism. What makes you think we have time to listen to Merle make a fur-lined lemon sound like a chariot for hire?"

"Okay, okay, sheesh, you don’t hafta get testy!" Starsky said, worriedly scrutinizing Hutch.

"And why do you keep looking at me like I’m going to drop dead any second?"

Starsky bit his lip and looked away. "Oh…um…well, it’s just, you sound all stopped up and all. I’m just worried you’re catchin a cold."

Hutch knew that wasn’t all, but as he pulled into Huggy’s parking lot, Starsky’s struggles to open the door distracted them. Starsky pushed hard five or six times, cursing, until the passenger door finally gave way.

Hutch’s door didn’t close all the way. He had to bump it hard with his hip to shut it entirely. He limped into Huggy’s behind Starsky.

Huggy was at the bar. "I don’t know."

"Don’t know what?" Starsky asked.

"Who’s behind it."

Hutch plopped onto the stool next to Starsky. "C’mon, Hug, you had to have heard something."

"Nothing."

Hutch sighed and reached for his wallet. "Broke this month?"

Huggy clutched his heart. "Hutchinson, Hutchinson, Hutchinson, you wound the Bear. If I had something, I’d tell you something. Free."

"Coz he owes us $150 already," Starsky said.

"Oh, yeah," Hutch said, remembering. "That newfangled police radio you sold us."

Starsky nodded. "Yup, Hug, it was a real gem alright. Communication like never before."

"If we could understand Chinese, anyway," Hutch added.

"If in fact that was Chinese," Starsky said. "Coulda been Dobey. It was really early on a Monday morning."

"True," Hutch said, considering.

Huggy sighed. "Hey, it wasn’t my fault. The dude who sold it to me—"

"Is doing ten to twenty at San Quentin," Hutch said.

Huggy gave up. "Fine. What from my exquisite menu could put a dent in that bill? On the house."

"Beer," Starsky said. "Hot dog. Had a burger already. So hot dog. French fries. Oh. Chocolate shake. Wait…onion rings. No. Fries. Oh hell, both. And extra chili."

Hutch’s stomach lurched in protest. "Starsky! We just had lunch, what, two hours ago?"

"It was longer than that, wasn’t it?"

"I don’t think so!"

"Well, who cares? I’m hungry again. That’s all that matters."

Hutch gave up and turned to Huggy. "You got anything to blast my head off my shoulders? Or at least fend off a cold?"

"Brandy," Huggy said, going for a glass.

Starsky felt Hutch’s forehead again. Hutch shoved his hand away again.

Huggy returned with the brandy.

"Hey, Hug," Starsky said. "You got any chicken soup? Hutch needs a bowl."

"I do not!" Hutch protested.

"Shhh. Yes, you do. Brandy and chicken soup will cure you. Unless, of course, it’s my Aunt Rosie’s. In this case, it’s Huggy’s, so you’re safe."

"Right," Huggy said. "You do look a little peaked, Hutch."

"I don’t want any chicken soup."

Huggy brought him a bowl. Starsky opened the packages of Saltines for him and plopped the spoon in the bowl. "I know it’s not loaded with lightning bug wings, but it’s good for you. Now. Eat."

"Starsky, I already got a mother."

"And she’d make you eat it, wouldn’t she?"

Hutch gave up. As a matter of fact, she would. But attempting a spoonful took more effort than he could handle. "Huggy, you surely heard something?"

Huggy sighed. "Nada. Nobody can get a handle on it. People are afraid to leave the house. Could be anybody."

"I know. A hooker and a preacher. That’s one wacko combination." Starsky said, motioning to Hutch’s bowl. "Eat!"

Hutch glared at him, but stirred the soup. "We’ve got nothing. Craziest case I ever saw."

"I’ll keep my ears open," Huggy promised as he left to get Starsky’s food.

"Better?" Starsky asked.

"No."

"Coz you’ve not eaten enough."

"Starsky, if I wanted the damn soup, I’d eat it!" Hutch yelled.

Anger shadowed Starsky’s features, but abruptly switched to concern.

"There you go again. Will you stop?"

"Stop what?" Starsky asked innocently.

"Looking at me like that!"

Starsky sighed. "I’m just wondering why you’re such a grouch all of a sudden."

Hutch stared at him, incredulous. "You have to ask? We already hit a dead end before we even started down the street."

"Poetic. I like that," Starsky said.

"And you won’t be serious for ten seconds!"

"I’m being plenty serious," Starsky shot back.

"Right."

Huggy interrupted the tense silence with Starsky’s food. He spread it in front of them, and Hutch’s stomach churned again.

"How can you eat all that?"

Starsky sighed. "Because this stuff keeps me healthy. While your dandelion roots have your head stopped up like the muffler on that tank you call a car."

"One more crack about my car, and you’re walking home!" Hutch said, waving his finger.

"I’d probably get there faster," Starsky replied.

Hutch dropped the spoon in the soup, downed the rest of the glass of brandy and stormed out of the bar.

Starsky picked up the plate. "Guess I’m taking this with me."

"HEY! You better bring back my plate!" Huggy yelled as Starsky ran for the door. "WASHED!"

Hutch had seriously planned on leaving without Starsky, but the car wouldn’t start in time. He was still trying to get the engine to turn over when Starsky climbed in with his plate of food.

"You’re NOT eating that in here!" he yelled, just as the car choked to life.

Starsky closed the door and laughed. "What difference is my food gonna make?

"MORE onions?"

"Want a French fry?"

"NO!"

"You’re going straight to bed, right?"

Hutch sighed. "No, I thought I’d go out dancing."

"You got juice?"

"I always have juice. You know that."

"Good," Starsky said.

Fortunately, it wasn’t a long drive back to the station. Starsky’s food kept him quiet, and Hutch’s stuffed head muffled his worried thoughts. He was already half asleep when he pulled up beside the Torino. "Your tomato awaits."

"Good. I can finally switch to fine wheels."

"You taking the plate?"

Starsky shoved the door open, but tossed the plate in the back seat. He smiled. "Nah, I figured it goes with the décor. Adds to the collection."

"I’ll probably need it later," Hutch finished for him.

"Right."

Hutch sighed. "Night."

"Get some rest, kay? Take care of yourself. Be a good boy."

"Go…home."

"Promise?"

"I promise. I’ll be a good boy, Mommy."

Starsky smiled and shut the door. "Okay. We’ll worry about the case tomorrow."

"Liar."

Starsky shrugged, admitting Hutch was right, then climbed into the Torino. For some strange reason, he shivered as Hutch drove away.

************************************************************************************

Hutch pulled up in front of his apartment, grateful that he didn't have to search out a parking spot. He sat for a few minutes listening to Mozart before he cut the engine. It had been a helluva long day and he knew tomorrow would be even longer. He looked at his pocket watch to check the time although his exhausted body gave him a pretty good idea of the late hour. "Two," he sighed. All he could hope is that he'd get a few hours of dreamless sleep. He stretched as the final notes of Mozart's Requiem Mass floated out the car window.

The street was unusually dark, even for a moonless night Hutch thought, and then he noticed that the street lamp was out. He walked into the dark foyer of Venice Place and flicked the light switch but the light didn't come on. He trudged wearily up the dark staircase with the promise of tea with honey enticing his aching muscles to climb one more step. He entered his apartment and flipped the living room light switch and again no light came on. He tried all the lights in his apartment and none of them worked. "Was there a blackout?" He wondered to himself. Not that it mattered. He was wiped and he slept with the lights out anyway. Still his cop instincts kicked in and he decided that after his tea and couple of aspirins he'd put a call into the electric company.

He kicked off his shoes, threw his jacket on the couch and hung his and holster and gun over the bedroom door. He plopped on his bed and reached over to the nightstand to put his watch in the drawer and set his alarm clock for 6:15. The tired blond closed his eyes debating the necessity to make the tea or even get undressed. His throat was sore and his head as clogged as, "what did Starsky say? Oh right," he smiled and remembered; stopped up like the muffler on that tank you call a car. Hutch was on the verge of slumber but the tea beckoned him and he wanted to call the electric company. Then all at once he felt a cloth pressed firmly over his nose and mouth. He could hardly breathe. His eyes flew open wide and he saw faceless silhouettes surrounding him, holding him down. He tried to free himself from their grasp but with each useless movement he breathed in the odorless drug that saturated the cloth and within moments he passed out.

When he awoke, he found himself in tight quarters, total darkness and excruciating pain. He grabbed his throbbing wrist and found it to be in a most unnatural position. "Damn, it's broken." The hurting blond pulled his self to a sitting position but was unable to straighten his long legs. He knew he had to set his wrist the best he could or it would be useless forever. He removed his shirt and braced himself for agony as he moved the broken bone into its proper position. He grimaced in pain and let out a primal cry, like that of an animal caught in a trap. He wrapped the wrist as tightly as he could and then for extra measure tightened his belt around the makeshift cast. He slowly rose to his feet and cautiously reached out into the blackness feeling his way around and called out, "Hello! Anybody here? Can anyone hear me? Help!" But his pained voice echoed into the abyss.

Besides being small, his prison was circular, cold and the stone walls were damp as was the dirt floor. He couldn't find a doorway or an opening of any kind. "How did I get in here?" Hutch winced in pain. "They threw me in." Hutch realized he was in a well, but where? How long was he unconscious? Who abducted him and why? And what about Starsky? Did these creeps have Starsky too?

************************************************************************************

Starsky drove down his street thinking how annoyed Hutch was at him. He knew he was being a pest earlier, but he also knew how much Hutch hated to get sick, even a cold annoyed him. "Hope you get some rest buddy," he said to himself as he approached his house.

He parked the Torino in the driveway and slowly climbed out from behind the wheel. His head ached from too much thought and not enough sleep. All he wanted was his bed.

"This better not be the start of Hutch’s cold, " he yawned rubbing the sting in his eyes. Dragging himself into the house he went straight for the bedroom. He just wanted sleep to engulf him, make his thoughts slide into the abyss, and soon enough he did fall asleep. Into a sleep that brought him dreams of crimes past, and dark nights, for which he could hear a voice call out to him, laughing as it slapped his consciousness back into his private hell. "Don’t," he cried! The darkness surrounding him, the figures circling around, reaching out to push him down, and hold him trapped underneath the veil of dark.

"Air, I need air." He tried to catch his breath, his lungs burning, and his throat sore and sticky. He thrashed around in the bed, listening to the chanting, the laughing, when finally the burning sensation in his oxygen starved lungs caused him to take a deep inhale.

Starsky bolted upwards in his bed. His heart pounding, his lungs sucking in air faster than they could accept it. "A dream…oh God it was just a dream," he panted looking around at the familiar surroundings in his dimly lit room. "Not real, not here, none of them." He laid himself back down onto his sweat-drenched pillow and reached out for the phone. "Gotta call Hutch," he thought out loud. But he looked at the clock, which glowed 6:00AM and he knew Hutch was tired, and sick, and probably still sleeping. "Let it be, Starsk" he mumbled. "It’s not the first time you had this dream, you know the routine, breathe in breathe out, this shit will pass." He took another deep breath.

Why now? Why after all these months have the dreams come back? Marcus was long gone, locked in solitary confinement, and his merry band of goons disbanded. "They’re nothing," he said. "Can’t do shit to me," he tossed the pillow out from underneath him and bolted out of his bed. He wasn’t going to waste another moment thinking about them, it was in the past, and he had a case to solve. Hutch would be eager to get out on the streets and check out some leads. He peeled off his blue pajama pants and grabbed his towel hanging on the doorknob. A hot shower would shake it off, and he let the hot steam fill the bathroom, so he could clear his head.

Starsky felt better after the shower, he climbed into his car and headed off to work, reassuring himself that the sense of darkness he feared was nothing more than his imagination. He cranked the volume on the car radio and listened to the news.

"It’s gonna be another winner of a day folks, so enjoy the sunshine, and keep an eye out for those meteor showers tonight while the skies are clear and the moon bright. The total eclipse should bring us a spectacular evening in the next few days if this amazing weather holds up," announced the radio DJ. "We’ll keep you posted on the weather conditions on the hour every hour." The announcer sang a news ticker tape logo and then returned the station to the sounds of pop music.

"Meteor showers and solar eclipses, I can't wait to see it." He whistled to the tune of KC and the Sunshine Band playing alongside his thoughts.

He pulled the Torino into the police parking garage scanning around for Hutch’s hunk-of-junk, and sighed when he saw it wasn’t in yet. "Buddy, you definitely are coming down with something…"

"STARSKY!" Hollered Dobey. Starsky jumped in fright.

"Captain," he answered, letting the door to the squad room close slowly behind him. "You can really give a guy a heart attack this early in the morning."

"Cut the crap, Starsky, get in my office now!"

"Two-seconds just want to call Hutch, see where the hell he is."

Dobey grumbled and disappeared behind his office door.

Four rings, five rings… "Come-on Hutch, pick up, don’t make me deal with Dobey without you. It’s no fun making him mad unless you’re there," he grumbled. He placed the receiver back down and scratched his head. "It’s 8 O’clock Hutch, ya’ gotta be in here soon." He snapped his fingers and bee-lined it out the doors. Sprinting down the hall, he barely had enough time to stop at the dispatch counter.

"Whoa Detective Starsky," chomped Millie with a wad of gum in her mouth. "You in a rush sweetie?"

Starsky winked at Millie and replied, "I’m the one with the shweetheart remarks Mil." Millie blushed and asked him what was up.

"Do me a favor Millie, raise Hutch on the radio. I need to tell him Dobey’s looking for us, and he better get in here pronto. I’m not about to have my ass chewed out on his account."

"Will do Starsky."

"Thanks Millie you’re a doll." He slapped the counter and headed back down the hall when he heard Millie holler for him.

"Starsky! Wait up!"

Starsky stopped and cocked his head around.

"He’s not logged in. His radio is off."

Starsky nodded thanks as the hair on the back of his neck began to stand. "This ain’t right. Something’s not right. Hutch where the hell are you? You better be on death’s doorstep in that bed of yours."

"STARSKY! I SAID IN MY OFFICE NOW 5 MINUTES AGO!"

Starsky waved Dobey aside as he stood at his office door. "Captain, something’s not right. I can’t reach Hutch, and I know something’s going down. I gotta go find him." He bolted down the hall making his way around desk clerks and patrolmen.

Dobey bellowed after him. "Well when you find him, let me know!" Shaking off his own chill, he went back inside his office barking orders at the other detective’s in his path.

Starsky gunned the Torino out into the lanes of traffic speeding down the freeway to get across town to Venice Place. His fingers nervously strummed the steering wheel, anything to distract him from the bile that was slowly rising up into his throat. "You’re still sleeping pal, feverish and sick, and I’m gonna walk into your place and take care of you. Yup, that’s what’s happening. The man of bean sprouts has finally gotten sick. " He laughed nervously at the mental picture of Hutch he was drawing in his head.

There it was the "hunk-of-junk" parked in front of the building. Relief washed over him. He barely had the car in park when he dashed out and headed inside the building. Two steps at a time he climbed the flight that would lead him to his sick partner. In the back of his worried mind he felt darkness around him, curious as to why the hallway was dark during the day, yet not curious enough to question it.

He reached up for the key and banged his fist on the door. "Hey Hutch, open up will ya’ it’s me. You sick in there?" When he didn’t get a reply he unlocked the door and hollered again "Hey Hutch…" It was instinct that happened next. Starsky went for his gun; the feeling was there that something was array, but the gun never left its holster. The upper cut to his jaw landed him backward against the doorframe and the second blow to his upper body knocked him down. "Hu-u-tch" he said in a painful airless whisper, his arms trying to block the blows that came at him from the darkness.

"Knock him out would ya," said the unseen entity.

He barely felt the kick to his head, blackness took him away, and he was rolled up into Hutch’s carpet, and carried downstairs to the waiting van. They had gathered their victim, now they were off to claim their prize.

Starsky moaned in pain, his head ached and his vision blurred. He felt suffocated, not able to breathe. Trying hard to open an eye, he squinted in the dimly lit, dust filled room.

"Shit, what the hell is going on," he groaned, trying to suck in a breath. His body spasm with a coughing fit, the pain exploding from within. He tried to sit up, to get his face out of the dirt, but all he was able to do was to roll over onto his back and stare at the broken light fixture above him.

"How the hell do I get myself into this shit all the time."

Voices echoed from the hallway. Though distant Starsky could make out two or three men, grumbling about waiting around for someone to come pay them for their job.

"Terrific, I must be their job. Too bad I won’t be staying long enough for them to get a paycheck," he chuckled sarcastically.

It hurt like hell, but Starsky stood up holding his ribcage. He was getting out of here; he was going to find Hutch. Did these goons whoever they were have Hutch too? He had to find out, and he knew it would mean bringing them into the room. He just hoped he had the strength to overtake them and escape.

"I think he’s waking up in there Bubba."

"Well we better make sure he cooperates, because Mr. Whacko is coming for him soon, and I want our money, " replied Bubba.

Starsky leaned up against the musty wall. The ringing in his ears made what they said barely audible.

"Coming for me?" He questioned silently. "Who’s coming for me?"

"I don’t understand why he didn’t just have us kill him? Wouldn’t that have gotten us more money, killing a cop?"

"They know I’m a cop," thought Starsky, as he strained to hear their conversation.

"Wayne, we ain’t gonna kill the cop. He wants him, alive. He's got some Helter Skelter ritual to perform on him. I don’t mess with those types of guys." Bubba stared intently into his brother's eyes." So don't be getting any ideas about offing him yourself, or we'll be the one he does the Helter Skelter routine on."

"But Bubba, what if his partner comes after us? You know Hutchinson. What if somehow, he finds out about us? I’m not going back to the slammer." Beads of sweat started to form on Wayne’s forehead, and his hands shook nervously at his side.

"Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to us Wayne. They got Hutchinson, got some big plan for him or something. Detective Starsky was our game. It’s cool Wayne, relax." Bubba smacked his brother’s shoulder to fiend off the fear they both hid under years of thick skin.

Starsky stood frozen listening intently to their conversation. They got Hutch? Who? Why? What the hell is going on?

Every possible scenario ran through Starsky’s head. Every perp they arrested, every snitch they encountered. Nothing was giving him answers. The only answers were going to come from behind the closed door, and Starsky had to find the answers if he was going to save Hutch. He steadied himself and hollered a raspy threat, "you guys better have a good explanation for disturbing my beauty sleep, and messing with a cop."

The two convicts turned towards the door, both ready to keep the cop at bay. Bubba picked up the baseball bat, and motioned to his brother to remain calm. Wayne took his nervous brother’s cue and opened the door to Starsky’s hellhole.

Starsky stood in the middle of the room, holding his side, squinting to get a good look at the two bozos. "You ready to tell me why the hell you got me in this place?"

"Shut-up cop!"

"Well ain’t that polite." Starsky held it together, his body revolting to cough.

"You just sit tight cop-boy. You ain’t going anywhere, we’ve got good money coming to us for gettin’ you," replied a nervous Wayne.

"Really, good money, that’s nice to know I’m worth something on the streets. But who say’s you’re gonna get paid?"

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Bubba approached Starsky with the bat, ready to crack it over his back if necessary. He wasn’t going to let this cop turn the tables on them. This wasn’t an interrogation room, he knew how cops worked and he wasn’t saying anything. Suddenly the three heard a thunderous boom as it echoed through the building. Followed by a soft bell like sound.

"Bubba he's here."

Bubba turned towards the door and instructed, "watch him Wayne. I’m going to get our money." Bubba hastily glanced at Starsky, a twang of guilt flashed before his face as he thought of how Mr. Whacko would kill him.

"Have a nice trip to hell cop," he said, and disappeared down the hall.

Wayne stood watching Starsky. Realizing his brother had the bat; he put his shoulders back and clenched his fists, ready to fight if necessary.

Starsky’s brain went into overdrive, Ok Starsk, you gotta think fast. Or this place will be where you take your last breath, and that won’t be good. Sure as hell won’t help Hutch.

"So that guy Bubba, he’s your brother?" Starsky asked.

Wayne’s eyebrows went up. "How did ya’ know that?"

"Lucky guess," coughed Starsky. He had to keep asking questions. He heard voices echo through the building.

"So you really think whoever is coming to get me is going to pay you, and let you walk out of here alive?" Starsky stared down Wayne.

"W-what’s that supposed to mean cop? "

"It means whoever hired you to do his dirty work, doesn’t like to be seen. So that means they aren’t going to leave any evidence behind. No paper trail, no witness trail, nothing…"

Wayne’s heart raced. Could this cop be psyching him out? Or was he telling the truth. They met the guy who wanted Starsky and his reputation for killing was brutal.

"Listen, you’re an accomplish to a kidnapping charge at the moment, but if this goes down, you’ll go up against a murder one rap, that is if you’re still alive." Starsky centered himself. He could feel himself slipping away. Hold it together he begged his consciousness.

"It don’t matter cop, no one is gonna find out about us, we’re going to Mexico after this."

"I have a partner. He's probably looking for me right now. He could show up with the Calvary any minute."

"Ain't gonna happen." Wayne saw the cop waver, he felt he had the upper hand, and would show him he was the boss. "Yeah, your partner. You ain’t gonna see him again. Somebody got him, he's probably dead already." Wayne laughed at the power he had over the cop.

Starsky cocked his head, he let the information flow through him. He needed more information.

"How do you know somebody got him?"

"My brother…" Wayne was interrupted by a gunshot. "What was that…?"

"I’d say that was one less witness."

Wayne looked at Starsky, fear registering through his eyes at what the cop had just said. "What the hell is going on…? Bubba!"

Starsky saw his chance, he watched as the perp turned towards the opened door. Starsky lunged at him, throwing his aching body on top of him. He punched him hard square in the face.

"One perp down and more to go," he said, rolling the unconscious body off of him. His body told him to move, he had to get out of this place and get some help. Starsky tried to sit up. His mind shutting down in pain "Don’t let me go into shock, not now…"

************************************************************************************

Hutch moved in tiny circles trying to keep warm. But with his shirt wrapped around his wrist and not on his body, it was extremely difficult. He was tired, cold, hungry and most of all thirsty. His throat felt like sandpaper and he was starting to wonder if the chills he felt were from being cold or the onset of a fever. Whatever the reason, if he didn't get some water soon they could just throw dirt on him and leave him where he lay.

He had no idea of the time. Was it night, day? Why hadn't his captors made contact with him? What did they want? Did they kidnap him just to leave him in this hellhole to die? He leaned against the cold damp stone and shivered.

Suddenly a ray of light streamed into the well. Hutch looked up at the light but it blinded him and all he could see was faceless silhouettes. He called to them, "What do you want? Who are you? Show yourselves you lousy cowards!" They dropped a loaf of bread and a canteen of water down to him. Hutch yelled, "I'm freezing down here. I need a blanket. Something to keep warm."

They didn't respond and closed the well.

He searched the floor for the bread and canteen. Sitting on the floor and holding the canteen between his knees he was able to unscrew the cap. His parched lips ached for the water but he paused and thought how the water could be poisoned. The drink he needed so desperately could be his last.

"Well if it is poisoned, at least it will be over quick. Better than dying of dehydration," he concluded as he took two big gulps of water. He could have downed the entire canteen but decided he needed to conserve it. Who knew how long it would be before he got more. He opened the bread and took a slice. "White bread, yecch." Only starvation could get him to eat white bread. He ate the slice and had one more sip of water.

He sat the only way he could comfortably, Indian style, leaning against the wall. "So far so good," he thought.

His eyes felt heavy but his body felt light as if he were floating. He stared into the darkness, like he had for God knows how many hours, and it swam before him. The blackness that surrounded him took shape; hideous forms appeared before his eyes. Disfigured, maimed accident victims, neglected children, viciously, violently murdered people and decomposed corpses. All the horrors he had ever witnessed on the job now manifested before him. He closed his eyes but he could still see the visions swirling around him. He could smell death as if it was in the well with him. He felt the cold breath of evil upon his skin.

Desperate to expel the horrific apparitions and in a drug induced haze, Hutch thrashed about and struck his head on the unforgiving stone wall. Intense pain seared into his skull. As he felt consciousness slipping away, a ray of light once again shattered the darkness. He looked into the light without difficulty now and weakly called out, "Starsk?" A soft flannel blanket drifted down to him and he wrapped it securely around himself. Instinctively he curled into the fetal position and passed out.

************************************************************************************

Starsky inched his way across the pile of drop clothes and rags. Each breath he took racked through the intense pain in his lungs. "Busted that damn rib again" he muttered to himself. His head throbbed and a wave of nausea hit him hard. Ride it out he thought, it’ll pass. I just gotta keep moving. Moving in the direction to bring him out of the darkness was all he cared about. He knew if he stopped, he would lose Hutch. He would lose Hutch and all would be lost. Starsky felt for the walls around him. "I’m coming Hutch, I won’t stop. I’ll find you buddy, just hang on." Starsky’s frustration at the situation mounted. He needed answers to what was going on. Why was Hutch taken, where was the threats, the ransom, the vendetta, nothing was making sense.

"Over here," came a voice from below.

"Damn," he cursed; his attempt to escape had been discovered. "Why can’t they stay knocked out longer?"

He moved faster, each step he took he faltered some more.

"Detective Starsky!" Bellowed the murderous voice of the madman. "You won’t make it out of here alive. There’s no use in fighting."

"Like hell I won’t…" he whispered, with intense disgust directed at the evil voice. The warehouse dust filtered through the painted and boarded windows. The light tried desperately to guide Starsky’s way out of his hellhole. He heard the enemy closing in on him and his survival instinct caused his adrenaline to surge. Don’t let me pass out, his mind willed him to take each step. He knew he was gonna get out of this place, he knew in his heart, he wouldn’t fail Hutch.

"No, don’t!" Wayne pleaded. The gunshot echoed again, thundering a second time through his ringing ears.

"I’d say that was witness number two being taken out." Starsky’s body spasm into a coughing fit. He wiped his mouth with his hand, and saw droplets of blood. "Great," he muttered.

"Detective Starsky! Don’t make this difficult. We will win. We always do. You haven’t been able to stop us, nor will you ever." Shouted his unseen executioner.

"…Haven’t been able to stop you? Who the hell are you?" He whispered dragging himself from room to room looking for an escape. "What would John Wayne do now?" He thought scanning the room he stumbled upon. He tried to see out the caked on dirty window. He could make out a truck below. Picking up a chair and feeling another rib let go, he mustered all his strength to throw the chair at his only chance of freedom.

The window shattered letting in the bright light that would lead Starsky out of the darkness.

"Here goes nothing," he screamed as he flung himself out into light. "Geranimo!" Starsky screamed as he fell out of the broken window, falling ten feet onto The Linen Truck. "Oh that hurt." He rolled over, and tried to keep moving. He felt hands grabbing him.

"Hey buddy, you okay?" The curious driver asked, climbing on top of his truck.

Starsky felt the haze take him. "I’m Detective Starsky from the Bay City Police Department, call Captain Dobey and get him to bring in some back-up."

The driver and his crew circled around the gravely injured detective. Concern and confusion registered amongst them as they watched Starsky pass out before their eyes.

"Yo Miguel, go call that Dobey guy, and then call an ambulance amigo, this man’s in bad shape."

************************************************************************************

Hutch awoke with a pounding headache drilling into his head. There was a throbbing pain in his right eye and he felt what he believed was dried blood dangerously close to that eye that continued down his temple to his chin.

The visions were gone and he chalked them up to a nightmare. He remained securely wrapped in the blanket as it provided the necessary warmth. He lain down on the well's bottom, one hand behind his head, his legs bent at the knees and stared up at where he had seen the light and Starsky's face so clearly. He knew that was just a dream.

The well opened again but no light poured in this time. The blackness of his prison extended beyond the well's boundaries and into the dark night. A rope ladder was thrown down along the well's wall and he was ordered to climb.

Because of his broken wrist, his ascent up the ladder was difficult. Thinking only of escape, he slowly and carefully made his way up each rung. As he inched closer to the opening, his determination to flee propelled him and he emerged from his prison with the ferociousness of a lion. He lunged at his captors, sending one of them sprawling to the ground. He landed a hard right hook on the chin of a second, knocking him off his feet and into another man and they both tumbled to the ground. He pushed a fourth down with the strength of a freight train. And then Hutch ran. He ran and ran and ran. He ran into the night like a blind man stumbles around in his dark world.

He never looked back each stride sapping what little strength his debilitated body could muster. He was moving on pure adrenaline. In the distance he heard the shrill sound of a whistle. And then a wall of hooded henchmen surrounded him.

They grabbed him and forcedly pushed him face first into a tree. They pulled his arms around the trunk as far as they could reach and then roped his wrists. He bravely concealed his pain when they tied the rope to his broken wrist.

The Satanists encircled him and chanted, "Satan Lives, Satan Lives, Satan Lives."

Fear crawled through Hutch's body. He knew what Marcus's followers were capable of. He knew too vividly the torture his partner endured at their hands. Hutch was certain these guys could dish out much of the same, he was comforted that it was he this time and not Starsky. Then a horrible thought came to him; "did they have Starsky too?"

A man wearing a crimson robe spoke. "Foolish, foolish you are Hutchinson. Did you really think you could escape?

"Where's Starsky?"

"Starsky is not here." The leader's voice was cold and emotionless.

"Not here now or not here ever?"

"No one escapes the darkness. It befalls us all."

The "Satan Lives" chant grew louder.

The leader held the cat of nine tails firmly in his hand and whipped the steel tipped leather straps across Hutch's back. The razor sharp straps sliced through his skin. Hutch's body stiffened against the pain. The leader whipped him repeatedly, the straps slashing his skin until it looked like raw meat hanging in a butcher shop. Hutch never whimpered. He never cried out. But silent tears ran down his cheeks. When the leader realized he wouldn't get the agonized reaction he hoped for, he stopped the lashing and cut Hutch loose from the tree. Hutch crumpled to the ground. The leader leaned over and whispered in his ear, "You took your punishment well. It will all be over tomorrow."

"Bathe him before you return him into the earth," The leader instructed a few of the followers.

Rope was tied around Hutch's neck and he was led like a dog on lease to a large house. If he even leaned in the wrong direction, a hooded madman yanked on the rope momentarily strangling his captive. Hutch was brought into a dimly lit room where there were three female Satanists. They didn't speak, only chanted in a language Hutch didn't recognize. With placid faces and vacant eyes they methodically undressed him and bathed him in a wooden tub. When his shredded back touched the water he winced in pain and let out an agonized moan. The women removed what was left of the makeshift cast he'd made and reset the broken bone. "Oh dear God," Hutch said painfully. The women stopped chanting briefly at his remark and then continued bandaging his wrist tightly in cloth. He was dressed in a black robe. He was given fresh cool water to drink and a couple of pieces of a heavily salted dried meat, much like beef jerky to eat. As he was led out of the house, he heard a woman crying and praying the rosary. "Another human sacrifice?" He wondered.

Upon arriving at the well, Hutch's captors unceremoniously pushed him in. Because he was awake this time, he managed the drop unscathed. The well was closed and Hutch was plunged into total darkness once again. He wrapped himself in the blanket and held onto the hope that Starsky would find him.

************************************************************************************

The roaring beast lunged through the air; it had come to devour its prey. It’s eyes glowing, and it’s face hidden beneath the shadowy branches of amber, it spoke to Starsky, who lay frozen in its clutches.

"I can see only the light, but the light does not burn here," spoke the beast.

Starsky tried to shield himself from the dark vision encompassing him. Its heat burning through his chest, he was unable to breathe.

"I have found the light Starsky. I have found the chosen one. You shall fall upon me and become mine. Your darkness engulfs who I am, but you cannot stop the chaos that will ensue."

Starsky tried in vain to push the beast off him. The pain seared through him, he needed help. "H-hutch…" he called without a voice. His mind willing his partner to appear. His vision was thick and foggy, but Starsky could feel Hutch. He reached down into the earth, trying desperately to bring Hutch out.

The beast stood over him, laughing and snarling, "From the earth life is reborn," the beast growled. Starsky’s hands desperately digging in the dirt, he had to find Hutch. Puddles began to form, thick and oozing, the dirt began to melt away and Starsky’s hands were covered in blood. The more he dug down into the earth the more the pulsating fluid oozed onto him. "H-hutch!" he screamed again, his voice silent. There behind the beast a faint light glowed through the blood soaked earth, he could see the hole, he could see a light. Hutch was there, in the light. Faint as it was he watched in horror as the beast turned towards the distant light, and disappeared beneath it!

"Nooooooooo!" Starsky screamed. His eyes flying open, his body revolting to sit up, his arms reaching outward. Alarms and bells echoed around him, as the IV attached to him loosened and his oxygen mask disconnected.

Captain Dobey sitting on the chair next to his injured Detective flew out of his chair and ran to Starsky’s side.

"Starsky, clam down son, you’re ok, you’re in the hospital," Dobey said, trying to see into Starsky’s fear etched face.

"Hutch, it has Hutch." He looked down at his bed, looking for dirt and blood. "Oh god Captain, I gotta find Hutch." Starsky choked back tears of pain and anguish, his body raw and depleted.

"I gotta get out of here Captain, I gotta find Hutch."

"Son, you need to lie down." Dobey tried to keep the worry from his voice.

Starsky’s vision blurred as he saw two Captain Dobey’s dance across the room. His world was spinning and he tried to concentrate on reality. He laid his broken body back onto the soothing pillow. A dream, it’s not real. There is no beast… his thoughts concentrating on the tyrant of sounds going on around him.

A nurse came into the room; she turned off the alarm signals, and readjusted his IV.

"You need to keep this oxygen mask on detective," she told him sternly.

Starsky closed his eyes for a moment to let the nurse take his vitals. She finished quickly patting him gently on the hand to let him know the doctor would be in shortly to review his chart. Echoes of his dream came flooding back.

"Marcus…"

"What did you say Starsky?" Asked Dobey, unsure of the name Starsky had just mentioned. "Did you just say Marcus?"

"Mmmm…" Starsky tried to hold onto his consciousness. He was wasting time in the hospital. What good could he be to Hutch, lying around this place? "Captain, I gotta get out of here. I can’t do Hutch any good if I’m attached to tubes and shit." He yanked at the IV, painfully pulling it out. The alarm sounded quickly, but Starsky turned the unit off before it could register down the hall. He clenched his arm tight against him and held pressure on the small incision.

"Starsky, by no means are you leaving this hospital. For god’s sake son, you have 3 cracked ribs, a massive concussion, and from the x-rays I was told you’ve bruised up your lungs and kidney’s pretty bad."

"As long as I can move, and breathe, I’m outta here. If Hutch was in the same predicament he would do the same." Starsky sat at the edge of the bed, fending nausea and dizziness and put his street clothes back on.

"You can take me back to the precinct Captain, or I'll hail a cab, either way I’m checkin’ out of here." Starsky stood stoically in front of the Captain, sweat glistening on his forehead.

Dobey grunted and followed one of his best detectives out onto the streets of Bay City.

"Stay here, while I get the car," he commanded.

"Captain, I…"

"Starsky it’s not a request. It’s an order," Dobey barked at him.

Starsky smiled and nodded. He really couldn’t walk very far anyway. Every inch of him ached, and he was too weak to argue. He knew he needed to save his strength for whatever was to come. He felt the presence of evil all around him, and he was determined to follow his instinct. Dobey pulled the sedan up to the curb and Starsky climbed in. He rested his head against the back of the seat, and replayed the events of the last day in front of him.

"Captain, what time is it?"

"3AM Starsky."

Starsky closed his eyes; Hutch had been missing for close to 24 hours. God don’t let me be too late. I’m coming for you buddy. I’ll find you; just hang in their babe. The two drove the rest of the way in silence. Dobey glanced over a few times at Starsky. Watching his chest rise and fall, he hoped he was asleep, and not staggering in his personal hell. He wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on. Finding Hutch missing and Starsky jumping from an abandoned warehouse window made the bile rise in the back of his throat. What was happening? Where was Hutch? He knew when they got back to the precinct Starsky would tell all he knew.

************************************************************************************

Starsky had on his best game face but his captain knew that his physical condition was precarious. Dobey watched the injured detective cautiously.

Starsky sat at his desk, pressing his palms into his temples in an attempt to relieve the pain that pulsed throughout his head. He needed to rest, just for a minute, he was winded and his chest ached. Breathing, normally an involuntary action, now took great effort.

"Captain I'm wasting my time back here. I should be at the prison. I need to talk to Marcus."

"Starsky I don't know why you are so convinced Marcus is behind this. He has been incarcerated for six months. I mean it could be anybody. You want the short list or the long list? What am I saying short list. When it comes to guys that have it in for you and Hutch there is only a long list."

"Captain, the goons that had me at the warehouse, said they weren't into Helter Skelter ritual stuff but the guy they were going to hand me over to was. Who else do we know that murders like that?"

"Ever hear of copycats? What we should be concentrating on is getting an id on those goons. I want you to look at the mug books and give a description to Frank for a composite sketch."

"Ever hear of fingerprints Cap? I'd bet the farm those guys have a record."

"Can’t get fingerprints without hands Starsky."

"What???"

"Yep hands cut off."

"Sick bastard. Damn, the books could take forever Cap. And all I know is their first names, Wayne and Bubba. Lemme call Huggy…"

"Call Huggy about what?" Huggy asked as he strutted into the squad room.

"Hug what are you doing here?"

"Your esteemed Captain called me, said he might need my help on some case you're working on."

Starsky looked quizzically at Dobey.

"Well I just thought that IF you were right about the Marcus angle, Huggy could help. He was a big help when Marcus's followers had you."

A look passed between Dobey and Huggy, that was a nightmare they hoped to never have again.

"IF I'm right Cap?"

Dobey didn't want to discuss it further. He prayed for another suspect. "Huggy do you know two brothers, Wayne and Bubba?" The captain asked.

"You mean Wayne and Bubba Prendergast?" Huggy replied.

"Starsky?" Dobey looked over at him.

"The Wayne and Bubba I had the displeasure of meeting were white, mid-forties. Bubba was like the name sounds, bald, big, fat around 290, 6'4"…"

"Say no more," Huggy said nodding his head, "and Wayne was tall and skinny, his clothes kinda hanging on him like a flag on a pole?"

"Yep that's him."

"Well the Prendergast brothers are just hired muscle. Usually busting arms and legs for the mob. Kidnapping a cop, whoa, I'd say that was a step up for them."

"Sgt. Starsky." Officer Dowd said.

"Yeah."

"Sorry but we got two more."

"Two more what?" Starsky asked wearily.

"Victims, you know of the serial killer. I I I know you and Sgt. Hutchinson were working on this, and well I know he's uh… well if you don't want to look at them now."

"Give them to me."

Starsky flipped open the file on Sister Prudence. "Dowd, the serial killer's victims are all dead. This lady is still alive, she's just missing. What else do you have," Starsky breathed out slowly.

"Oh sorry, I don't know how…"

"Just give me the damn file Dowd!" Starsky grabbed the file from Dowd's shaking hand and the picture of the victim slipped out and slid under his desk.

"I'm sorry Dowd, I'm a little stressed."

"And he's not feeling well. Dowd give the file to Simmons and Babcock." Dobey instructed.

"Yeah good idea." Starsky said as he handed the file back to Dowd.

"Alright, Lopez, Dodson, I want you two to find out everything about the Predergast boys. I wanna know who they eat, drink, sleep with and most of all work for. I want to know everything about them. Got that! From who their kindergarten teacher was to who what kind of underwear they buy!" Dobey ordered.

"You might want to start with Benny the Blade," Huggy suggested. "He usually hangs out at a bar on Madison called The Tic Toc."

"Okay we're on it," Lopez said as he and his partner left the squad room.

"Captain, I'm telling you following up on those two is like hitting a dead end before we even started down the street. " Starsky said quoting his partner and sunk into his chair.

"Starsky we have to look at all possibilities. Every angle. You should know from experience not everything is what it seems at first glance. You have to pull back and try to look at the case from a different perspective."

Starsky stretched his legs forward pushing his chair away from his desk. He leaned back clasping his hands behind his head and glanced down at the floor and noticed the picture from the file Dowd had, lying under his desk. He bent over to pick it up and he felt a stabbing pain in his chest. "Ow," he moaned. He had difficulty returning to a seated position.

"Starsky what are you doing down there?" Dobey asked.

Starsky slowly sat up. "It's the picture of the latest victim," he said as he placed the picture on his desk.

"Yeah that's another one alright. The X on his throat, just like the others."

Starsky put his elbow on the desk and placed his weary head on his hand. He turned the picture to the left and to the right. "Every angle right Cap. Look at the case from a different perspective?"

"Yeah?"

"Well what would you say if I told you that this perfect X was a not so perfect cross ?"

"What are you talking about?" Dobey asked nervously.

"I'm talking about these murders looking more and more like 'ritualistic, Satanic killings.' "

"So now you're thinking Marcus is behind the serial killings too?"

"No that's what Hutch thought. And you know Captain, I've been listening to and trusting my partner for nearly six years and I'm not about to stop now." Starsky rose from his chair and looked over at Minnie. "Minnie call San Quentin. Tell them that I'm on my way and I need copies of every piece of correspondence that Marcus has written since he's been there. I also want to see the visitor's logs."

"Will do Starsky."

"Oh and I want all the files on the serial killer vics to take with me."

"Gotcha."

"I'm coming with you. It's a long ride to Quentin and you are in no shape to drive," Dobey said.

Dobey looked over at Huggy who was rifling through a bag of donuts. "You coming!" Dobey barked.

"You only gotta ask once," Huggy replied as he met Dobey at the door. They looked at each and knew that the nightmare had returned.

It was a long uncomfortable ride to the prison for Starsky. Despite his protests, Dobey insisted they make frequent stops so Starsky could get out and stretch. Long periods in the car could be hazardous to his health.

They were met by the warden and he led them to a conference room where he had everything Starsky had asked for waiting for him on the table.

"Thank you warden," Starsky said.

"No problem. Um you know Marcus doesn't interact with the other inmates. I don't think he's had any visitors either. He stays in his cell; all his meals are brought to him. You know the freak only bathes once a month. And he keeps his cell dark. Just as well everyone is afraid to look at him. He gives you this evil eye. Creepy. The guy is psycho."

"Yeah, psycho, but smart as hell," Starsky said.

"Good luck, if you need anything just ask."

Starsky nodded and the warden left the room.

"Okay Huggy you go through the visitor's logs. Captain let me see the letters."

Starsky read the first letter aloud:

7 January 1977

Dear Damien,

Simon Marcus +

"Just more of Marcus's cryptic writing. You can't take anything he says at face value. Talk about having to read between the lines," Dobey sighed feeling defeated before they had even begun.

"Remember the guy loves synonyms. Maybe we should have a thesaurus," Huggy said shaking his head.

"Well we know they're all written to Damien. Do we know where this guy lives?" Starsky asked.

"Address you mean?" Huggy asked

"Yeah, he's gotta have an address; you can't send a letter to no address."

"Got it. The letters were mailed to a P.O. Box 696 Riverside," Dobey said as he grabbed up phone and called the station. "Minnie call the Riverside Post Office and find out who's been renting box number 696 and get back to me ASAP."

Starsky read the second letter.

7 February 1977

Dear Damien,

Simon Marcus +

"Man," Starsky sighed. He opened the files of all the victims and spread them across the table.

"Starsky other than the x or cross on their necks, I don't see anything that links these victims," Dobey said.

"Captain we gotta put these files under a microscope. Remember we gotta think how Marcus thinks. He ain't seeing the vics like we've been." Starsky picked up the file on the murdered butcher. "This isn't about being a butcher, baker, candlestick maker. It's not about WHAT these people were but WHO they were."

"Uh Starsky, I don’t think a hooker and a preacher have who, what, where or why in common," Huggy said.

"Well if that's how you're gonna think you might as well leave."

"Hey Starsky, I didn't mean, all I'm saying is it ain't gonna be easy. But I'm not going anywhere."

"You read one." Starsky handed a letter to Dobey.

7 March 1977

Dear Damien,

Simon Marcus +

"More mumbo jumbo. Starsky I don't see how all this ties into you and Hutch being abducted," Dobey said.

"I don't either, not yet anyway. But I feel it, it's all connected. Find anything in those logs Hug?"

"No Starsky. That Marcus is one friendless dude. Not one visitor and all these letters to Damien and not one back."

"I don’t think Marcus was looking for a pen pal Hug. They're instructions."

"So you think the instructions of killing these people are in the letters," Huggy said.

"Yeah, so lets get analyzing."

The phone rang and Dobey grabbed the receiver. "Dobey. Yeah, Minnie whatcha got?" Starsky and Huggy waited anxiously for the news.

"Well Minnie said the box was rented by a Mrs. Lillian Foster, paid for in advance by cash through the end of the month…." Dobey paused and sat down shaking his head.

"And Cap?"

"Mrs. Foster was found dead of an apparent heart attack today in her home. I told Minnie to inform the police in Riverside not to exclude unnatural causes."

Huggy picked up the letters for January, February and March.

"Marcus loves to do everything backwards. He even writes the dates in reverse."

"No Huggy, writing the date/month/year is the European way," Dobey said.

"Well this one looks right no matter how you write it and maybe it will be our lucky day."

"What do you mean?" Starsky asked.

"Tomorrow is July 7^th, 7/7/77. Doesn’t matter how you write it either. When you write the other dates out numerically, it looks like all the letters were written in July."

Starsky grabbed the legal pad that Huggy was writing on.

"Oh my God."

"Starsky what's the matter?"

"The dates, if you write them out the European way but read them our way, well there is one for each day a murder occurred. 7/1, 7/2, 7/3 and so on."

"But 7/7 isn't until tomorrow," Dobey said.

"Yeah but all the letters were mailed before they date they were written." Starsky started to tremble. "And tomorrow is 7/7 so that murder didn't happen yet, maybe that murder is Hutch!"

"Easy now Starsky, maybe, maybe not."

"Well let's see, who was murdered on July 1^st?"

"The hooker, her name was Mary Sutherland," Huggy said.

"Okay now lets compare the January 7^th letter to the information we have on her."

Huggy read from her file, "Okay 25 year old, left abusive husband who was pimping her! Oh man. She was last seen leaving the Lighthouse Women's Shelter on Beach Street."

"Lighthouse, A lighthouse stands on the shoreline. That's it! He's telling this Damien guy to find his victim at the Lighthouse on Beach Street." Starsky said.

"And you got Beach Street how?"

"Shoreline, beach."

"But why her?" Dobey asked.

"Well the next line says bring me hope. Doesn't their ad say, we'll be your light in the dark? And a light is hope, right?" Starsky said excitedly.

"Okay, okay that works I think," Dobey said.

"It works alright," Huggy said. "It says that she volunteered at the Lighthouse. Friends said she had a good heart but a terrible husband. She wanted to help women avoid what she went through."

Dobey felt a chill run down his spine. "Who's next?"

"The butcher on the second," Huggy said.

"Okay Hug read," Starsky said.

"Fred Melman, 56 married 4 kids. Owned butcher shop. Volunteered at the Salvation Army soup kitchen on Aurora…"

"Bingo! But what is found on the aurora. Their charity be gone. He's telling him to go to the Salvation Army on Aurora Ave."

"How do you get Salvation Army out of that? And why the butcher?"

"The Salvation Army's in the business of charity. They probably saw that he worked there."

Huggy scoffed up March's letter." This time you read the file Starsky."

"Rev. Bob McMillan, pastor Church of the Good Shepherd…"

"Got it. The lambs are lost. Wandering in the woods. Faith gone. Lambs need a shepherd and let me guess Starsky, the church is located on Wood Ave.?

"Synonym for Woods Hug."

"Ah Forest Avenue."

"Easy huh, when you work backwards." Starsky sighed and sat down. His lungs ached and his head throbbed.

"His m.o. hasn't changed," Dobey said somberly.

"Yeah, start at the end," Huggy concurred.

"Right the end. Give me the July 7^th letter." Starsky's hand was trembling he was sure this letter would confirm that Marcus had Hutch. He read it aloud.

7 July 1977

Dear Damien,

Simon Marcus +

The trio was quiet. Nothing in that letter said Hutch to them.

"I don’t get it. Virgin? Well that ain't Hutch," Huggy said.

"Damn it, none of it's Hutch. Huggy read it again, slow."

Huggy reread the letter.

"Prudence, Prudence, where, did I see that name?" Starsky snapped his fingers trying to jumpstart his memory. "Dowd! Dowd brought me two files today that he thought was part of the serial killing. One was a missing person named Sister Prudence!"

"I'll call Minnie and tell her to pull the file," Dobey said.

"Sister equals nun. Nuns are virgins, aren't they?" Huggy asked.

"Yeah I think so, they’re supposed to be," Starsky said not caring about the sexual habits or rather the non-sexual habits of nuns.

"Well could she be the virgin dancing with the Master?"

"Looks that way."

"And the Master is Marcus?"

"Or Satan himself."

"Okay I got this from Minnie. Sister Prudence was born Mary Theresa Sullivan on May 19, 1956. Just received her vows June 17 of this year. She studied to be a teaching nun and was assigned to the convent at Our Lady of Mercy Parish. She was last seen leaving the church with two monks."

"Our Lady of Mercy has a school. You've seen her playing in the garden. Where the woman gives them pardon. Prudence is the word of the day. Garden can also be a yard, like a school yard," Starsky thought out loud.

"Woman - lady. And if you give pardon you show mercy. Our Lady of Mercy." Huggy said.

"Right," Starsky said.

"But he refers to her by name. He didn't refer to any of the others by name," Huggy said.

"Maybe he wanted a particular nun?" Dobey said.

"He wasn't picky about the other victims," Huggy said.

"Not that we know, there are three more letters," Dobey said.

Dobey read April's letter:

7 April 1977

Dear Damien,

Simon Marcus +

"Well there you go. He says justice. The fourth victim was Judge Mark Farris," Huggy said.

"Cops represent justice also, and lawyers," Dobey said.

Huggy shot him a sideways glance.

"Well most lawyers."

"The Nile is a river and the courthouse is on River Street and judges are called justices." Starsky stated.

"Okay, but his name is not in the letter like Prudence's was," Dobey said.

"Maybe the name was a coincidence." Starsky looked at the letters.

"There are seven letters, but only five victims," Dobey said.

"Well the Sister is missing, for now, we know she's the one for the seventh letter."

"Time to read the fifth letter," Huggy said.

7 May 1977

Dear Damien,

Simon Marcus +

"Well the last victim is Louis Primavera. He was 31 years old, single, owner of The Body is a Temple health food store. While attending UCLA he was arrested for protesting the Vietnam War and for marijuana possession," Huggy said.

"Indigo men. Blue men. Doesn't seem to fit. Primavera, that means Spring in Spanish," Starsky said.

"Primavera means spring? Like a bed spring?" Dobey asked.

"No the season," Starsky explained.

"Hutch's Spanish lessons paid off," Huggy said.

"Yeah."

"Maybe the star and sky reference has something to do with spring…" Starsky thought out loud. "But indigo men? Azure, aqua, blue, cyan, sapphire."

Huggy wrote star sky on his legal pad and showed it Dobey.

"Same m.o.," Dobey said softly. "Starsky he's talking about you."

"Now you believe me?"

"You're right, he was behind your abduction and attempted murder. Blue men. Cops wear blue and toil/work at the station. He wrote look for star, look for sky, Starsky. And Starsky you got plenty of fortitude."

Starsky looked at the letters again. "Huggy write these words down. Hope, Charity, Faith, Justice, Fortitude, Temperance and Prudence. Look familiar?"

"Yeah the seven heavenly virtues."

"Yep and each one written on the seventh line of the letter."

"What do you want to bet Mr. Primavera's letter has temperance in it." Starsky read the letter.

7 June 1977

Dear Damien,

Simon Marcus +

"There you go, where temperance dwells. He was killed in his store which is located on the corner of 4^th and Church. Also a church equals a temple, the store is called The Body is a Temple," Starsky concluded.

"Well that's all of them." Dobey said. "And not one fits Hutch."

"But who else could have Hutch?"

"Who else? The mob, any one of a hundred angry ex-cons, Starsky. Maybe we have to face the fact that Marcus isn't behind Hutch's abduction."

"No way Captain. He went after me, it only goes to show he'd go after Hutch too."

"Not necessarily. He wanted you, the one that got away."

"Hutch is the one that made sure I got away." Starsky looked at the letters. "Maybe we missed something."

"Every letter matches a victim or near victim. You lived and Sister Prudence may very well be alive. Maybe we can save her. " Dobey called the station and told Simmons and Babcock to drop all other cases and just work on the Sister Prudence missing person. "Yeah she was last scene with two monks, more likely followers of Marcus," he told Simmons.

Starsky read the letters out loud again. "Not every line pertains to a victim."

"That's the way he is, he wants you to figure out what is important."

"He talks about a dark day quite a bit," Starsky said.

"And a white night," Dobey said exasperated.

"Dark day. When is the day dark?" Starsky asked.

"When the weather is bad, cloudy, stormy," Huggy said.

"Or during a solar eclipse," Starsky said.

"There's gonna be one of those tomorrow afternoon," Huggy said.

"Captain, I'd say we have until tomorrow afternoon to save Sister Prudence," Starsky said.

Dobey sighed heavily, "Starsky I guess we can go. There's nothing more we can do here."

"No, I haven't spoken to Marcus yet."

"Starsky, no, don't do that to yourself."

"Captain, I have to talk to him. Like you said nothing in these letters indicates Hutch. "

"Even if he knows where Hutch is, he isn't going to tell you."

"Even if Captain? I have to know for sure. And I know he'll give me that much."

Starsky waited in the interrogation room for Marcus. Every nightmare he'd had over the past six months since his abduction by Marcus's followers came flooding back to him. His nerves were raw, but his resolve was made of steel. He would face the evil that haunted him and turn his fear into a weapon. He had to if he had any hope of finding Hutch alive.

Simon Marcus entered the room. His eyes squinted against the light. His hair and beard were long and scraggly. A putrid odor surrounded him and his skin looked like ash.

"Starsky."

"Surprised to see me Marcus. Your henchmen failed again."

Marcus sat at the table. "You see failure where I see success."

"Game over Marcus. I know all about the murders."

"You see success where I see failure."

"The death penalty was reinstated Marcus. You won't be sitting in your cave much longer. They're gonna strap you into a chair in the gas chamber. I plan on being there to watch you die. Maybe they'll let me pull the lever," Starsky said putting his face nose to nose with his enemy. His fear was quickly turning into rage and would be his weapon.

Marcus felt uneasy. There was a side that the dark one had that the light one did not possess. A jagged edge on his soul that could rip through any who angered him. Marcus knew an uncontrollable rage lived deep inside Starsky and pity the man it was unleashed upon.

"I'll make you a deal Marcus. You tell me where Hutch is and I'll see what I can do about the DA forgoing the death penalty and just keep you locked up for the rest of your lousy life."

"You see success where I see failure."

"Damn you Marcus! I know you have Hutch!" Starsky lifted Marcus out of his chair by his throat and slammed him against the wall.

"I ca…n't bre..at…he."

"I'll kill you, you bastard, I swear it."

Marcus choked out, "Begin when I end."

"Stop with the Goddamned riddles! I want to know where Hutch is!" Starsky gripped Marcus's throat tighter. "You're sweating Marcus, you're turning blue or should I say indigo. You slimy worm, I'll see you in hell!" Starsky screamed and squeezed his hand tighter around Marcus's throat. He was engulfed in rage and was blinded by it.

Dobey entered the interrogation room. "Starsky stop! Stop it now. Let him go! Starsky please."

Starsky released his grip and Marcus fell to the floor. Marcus motioned to him to come close. Starsky leaned over him.

"You are not the white knight." Marcus said in a strangled whisper.

"White night?"

Marcus just shook his head.

"Let's go Starsky."

"Yeah."

"Would you extinguish the light?" Marcus asked.

"Do it yourself."

"I shall."

"So Starsky how did it go with the Lord of the Loonies?" Huggy asked as they got into the car.

"He wouldn't break. I don't know if he has Hutch or not."

"What did he say exactly?"

"Not much, just that success is failure and failure is success. Oh and he said I wasn't the white night."

"White night. He mentions that quite a few times in the letters."

"Yeah."

"Maybe it means something. Let's see synonyms for white, there's alabaster, ivory…"

"Snowy, albino," Dobey added. "And for night, dusk, evening, twilight."

"And knight," Starsky said. "That's it."

"Uh Starsky, night is not a synonym for night," Huggy said.

"No not synonym, the other one, homonum?"

"You mean homonym."

"Right the words that sound the same but have different meanings. He said I'm not the white knight! Hutch is."

"Don't you think you might me stretching it a little?" Dobey asked.

"No, come on Cap, cops have been called blue knights and who is the whitest knight we know?"

"Hutch is blond and he's got damsel saver tattooed on his chest," Huggy said.

"Yeah," Starsky smiled. "Gimme the letters. Look in almost every letter he says either the white night is gone or ending. Extinguish the light, he said that to me when I was leaving. In the letter about killing me he said it and then again in the seventh letter. Hutch and Prudence are going to be sacrificed during the solar eclipse tomorrow. But where?"

"Aw Starsky you look so tired," Minnie said as she rubbed his shoulders.

"Oh Minnie that feels great," he said as he lay his weary head on the desk.

"This is a tough one."

"Yeah. I know Marcus has Hutch and Sister Prudence and they are going to die when the eclipse occurs and as it stands now there ain't a damn thing I can do about it," Starsky said choking back his tears.

"Hey you're trying your best. You haven't slept."

He looked over the notes Simmons and Babcock had on Sister Prudence for the one thousandth time almost as many times as he had read the letters.

"Left of her own free will," Starsky repeated. "Yeah right."

"Maybe she did know them." Minnie asked.

"We thought that at first, because her name was in the letter referring to her abduction. But then we realized prudence was a virtue."

"Yeah but they needed a virgin. How would they know for sure if she was, unless they knew her?"

"Minnie she's a nun. Nuns are virgins."

"No, not necessarily."

"What? You mean nuns can have sex?"

"Not after they take their vows. But it doesn't matter what they did before they took their vows. I know a lady who was married and had kids and after her husband died she became a nun. So it's only no sex after the vows, doesn't matter about before."

"That's interesting. But how would Satanists know a nun?"

"She wasn't always a nun, and they weren't always Satanists."

"Good point."

Huggy came running into the squad room like he was running for his life.

"What's the matter?" Starsky asked.

"It is mayhem in the streets. People running around saying the world is coming to an end."

"What?"

"Folks are going wild. Lots of looting downtown. I barely got out of the bar with my life."

Dobey entered the squad room. "Lowe, Barnes, Goldstein, riot gear on now. I just got a call from the Commissioner all available officers must be on the streets."

"What the hell started all this?" Starsky was confused.

"The eclipse, Starsky. It happens in less than an hour."

"Oh my God." Starsky started to shake, he could no longer hold back his tears.

"Easy Starsky," Huggy said softly.

Starsky's phone rang. Dobey picked it up. "Sgt. Starsky is uh busy right now can I help you. Oh yes Mother Superior."

Starsky heard who it was and took the phone from Dobey.

"Starsky here."

"Hello Sgt. Starsky. Detective Simmons told me to call if I had any new information at all."

"Yes, yes."

"Well I just remembered that Sister Prudence had a great-grandmother that lived in Riverside. I had forgotten about her until this morning well when I got a call from the Riverside Police Department saying that she had passed away. They said that Sister Prudence was listed as her next of kin."

"A great grandmother in Riverside? What was her name?"

"Lillian Foster."

"Thank you Sister and God bless you!"

"Captain they knew Sister Prudence, her grandmother was the woman whose name was on the post office box in Riverside. Riverside. Riverside is ten miles from here."

Dobey knew immediately, "A journey of ten miles. The Nile is red."

"Yeah the Red River runs through Riverside. That's it Captain, that is where they have Hutch and the Sister."

"But where in Riverside?" Dobey got a map of the area out of his office.

"The letters will tell us."

Starsky recited each one from memory but only the one written 7/7/77 revealed the location.

"Well the line about the moon in the seventh house could be a location," Dobey said.

"The moon in the seventh house, that's from a song, 'When the moon is in the seventh house and and,' " Huggy sang.

"And Jupiter aligns with Mars blah blah blah," Minnie added.

"It is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius!" Dobey shouted.

Starsky grabbed the map and immediately looked at the list of the streets in Riverside.

"Aquarius Drive," he said with a newly found hope. " Seven Aquarius Drive. Hang on Hutch, help is on the way."

Hutch held the canteen in his hand. He had put off drinking the water as long as he could. Despite how desperately he needed a drink, he dreaded even taking a sip. For every time he drank ghastly hallucinations appeared before him. But his intense thirst begged him to drink the tainted water. Hutch brought the canteen to his parched lips and instantly he felt the water quell the fire in his throat.

The blackness, again, morphed into grizzly images. The slaughtered victims of the serial killer surrounded him. He repeated to himself over and over that these things were not real. Then he saw Starsky battered and bloody fighting with a huge beast. This was more than he could bear and he struck out at the beast, bloodying his knuckles against the stone walls. Luckily within a few minutes the vision vanished into the darkness. Hutch drew his knees up close to his chest and pulled the blanket tightly around him but the cold damp air cut through to his bones. His tired body ached and he was flushed with fever. He shook uncontrollably. "Dear God, I'm scared. If I'm gonna die, let it be quick." Hopelessness had crept into his heart.

The well opened and the sunlight poured in. A rope ladder was thrown down to him and he was commanded to climb.

Hutch knew from his last experience escape was impossible, but he certainly wasn't going to make it easy for them. He'd try his damnedest to inflict some pain of his own. "No way you sons of bitches. You want me, you come get me."

He gripped the blanket in his hand and threw it over the head of the first Satanist that arrived at the bottom of the well and slammed him against the wall. A second assailant jumped down behind the blond and clutched at his robe ripping off the hood and tearing the back of it exposing his raw flesh. He quickly turned and faced his attacker and landed a few good punches and said defiantly, "This well ain't big enough for the three of us." His victory was short-lived when a third assailant standing on an upper rung of the ladder, dropped a noose around his neck and pulled it taunt.

Hutch gasped for air. A voice bellowed from above, "Foolish, foolish Hutchinson." Hutch looked up and saw a figure in a crimson robe walk away.

A rope was tied around his chest, under his armpits. He was ordered to climb. Hutch still resisted.

"Climb or we'll pull you up."

"Go to hell," he said weakly.

"Pull him up," one of the assailants called up.

Hutch hung limp on the rope and his back scrapped against the wall further lacerating his tattered skin. It felt like his back had gone up in flames. He wept quietly.

When he emerged at the top of the well, the angry henchmen violently beat him. Blows to his chest and abdomen came fast and hard. He fell to the ground and was kicked repeatedly in the back and legs. He curled up into a ball to protect his head. When he was brought to his feet he swayed and they had to hold him up. His breathing was short and rapid. He thought his lungs were going to explode. His body was a giant bruise, his legs so battered they could hardly bear his weight.

He was brought back to the house and taken into the room where he had bathed. He was tied to a chair. He was left with three females that washed his face, hands and feet and anointed his body with fragrant oils. As they moved around him, he noticed a woman, dressed completely in white sitting quietly in the corner of the room. Her hands were folded and rested on her lap. Her face was beautiful but very sad. Hutch thought she looked like and angel.

"Who is that?" He asked the women. They didn't answer and spread the last bit of oil across his forehead. "You are ready now," a woman said as she and the others left the room.

"Ready for what?" Hutch called after them. "You know I prefer a bath." He shivered.

Hutch looked over at the young woman in white. "Who are you?"

"My name is Sister Prudence," she wept. "I was brought here by two men that I thought were my friends."

"So you aren't here because you want to be." Hutch coughed, speaking left him breathless.

"No!"

"My name is Ken Hutchinson, I'm a cop," he paused to catch his breath, "Sister can you get up from that chair by any chance?"

She lifted her gown to show him that her ankles were chained to the wall.

"Guess not."

"They've hurt you badly."

"I'm still breathing." He coughed harder. "Not great, but breathing."

"Do you think they are going to kill us?"

"I don't think so," Hutch lied.

"Pray with me."

"I'm not Catholic Sister."

"God hears all prayers."

"Well I know He doesn't hear from me that often."

"I think now would be a good time to start. Dear Lord, please give Ken and I the strength to bear whatever lies ahead for us…"

"Um Sister don't you think praying for a rescue would be a good idea? Dear God, please let Starsky be okay and that he gets here soon."

"Starsky?"

"Yeah, he's my partner."

"I think I heard Damien speak of him."

"Really? And who's Damien, is he the guy in the dark red robe?" Hutch bit his lip; he was in a great deal of pain.

"Yes."

"What did he say about Starsky?" Hutch asked anxiously.

"Oh something about, that they lost him. And that the master wouldn't be happy." She noticed Hutch was sweating profusely and his head lolled. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Hutch said fighting off the urge to pass out. They lost him. They don't have him, Hutch thought to himself as relief washed over him. Hutch continued to Sister Prudence, "Um the master. I guess he meant Satan."

"Yes his followers do refer to him as the master. Sacrilege. There is only one Master. These poor misguided souls."

"Misguided souls? I have another name for them. Do you remember anything else?" Hutch wished he had some aspirins; the pain in his head was excruciating.

"Something about when the day is dark the white night will end and then I will dance with the master. What do you think it means?"

Hutch thought a moment. "The day is dark." He paused to catch his breath. "Well the day is dark during an eclipse… and my God that's today."

"And what about the white night ending and me dancing with the master?" She sobbed.

"Sister you know I don't think they're gonna kill you."

"Why not? Why else would I be here?"

Hutch didn't want to tell this innocent young woman that he thought that the dance with the master meant being raped. "Sister," he gasped for air, "I think they just want you to join them. They said you'll dance. Dancing is fun." Hutch knew it was lame but he couldn't bear to tell her the truth.

"You really think so?"

"Yeah I'm a detective, it's my job to figure things out."

"What of the white night ending?"

"White night. White night," Hutch closed his eyes and remembered the last time that he had heard those words, during his interrogation of Marcus, when Starsky was abducted by his goons. "You won't hurt me. You're the white knight." Simon Marcus. Marcus is behind this. White knight ending. I die. A panicked look crossed his face.

"What's wrong? What do you think it means?"

Hutch fought to hide the dread that overwhelmed him and told Prudence another lie, "White night, um there are the white nights in the Northern Hemisphere, you know like in Scandinavia and Siberia." He coughed uncontrollably.

"Dear God."

Hutch felt moisture on his lips and chin. "Sorry Sister, guess I'm drooling."

"No, no, it’s blood. I think we should pray some more. Dear Lord, may Ken's partner Starsky rescue us."

The door burst open. For a second Hutch was certain Starsky would walk through the door.

"It is time," Damien said.

For the first time, complete terror consumed him. Hutch felt fear rise up from his gut and into his throat. He wasn't sure if the noose or the fear would strangle him.

"NO! Where are you taking him?" Prudence cried. "Ken, oh Ken what can I do?"

"Pray Sister. Pray."

They placed him in a new white robe and led him out of the house. His breathing becoming more ragged with every step he took. He fought to stay conscious, his head was light, his body heavy and his legs gave out from under him.

"Get up."

Hutch struggled to get to his knees and collapsed again. "I can't."

"Drag him," Damien instructed the followers.

They dragged his lifeless body through the forest where stones and rocks scraped his feet and legs. At the river, they tied him onto a wooden altar with his hands secured above his head. The midday sun was disappearing behind the moon but part of the fiery orb that was yet uncovered still scattered its warmth and light to the earth below. Hutch felt the rays caress his face and his eyes fluttered opened and he whispered, "Starsk."

************************************************************************************

************************************************************************************

Captain Dobey nervously paced the hospital corridor waiting for some news about his detectives' conditions. Finally a doctor approached him. "Captain Dobey, I'm Dr. Gray."

"Doctor, please how are my men?"

"Well I'd say the prognosis is good. Sgt. Starsky is in stable condition. His most serious injury, a punctured lung we took care of, but he is receiving CPAP."

"CPAP? What's that?"

"Oh I'm sorry that is continuous positive air pressure, to help keep his lung inflated, but he is breathing on his own. He has broken ribs, a concussion and bruises. But all in all he is doing well."

"And Sgt. Hutchinson?"

Dobey sighed heavily. "Is Hutch going to make it?"

"The next twenty-four hours are critical, but I think he'll be fine."

"Thank you Doctor." Dobey turned and spoke to three uniformed officers. "You don't leave this door unguarded. Got that? You rotate walking the hall and no one takes a leak without permission. I also have officers at the main desk."

The officers nodded and assumed their positions.

************************************************************************************

There was intense warmth, a radiant heat that embraced the two detectives. Starsky reached out to feel the sunlight bounce off his fingertips. He saw only white. "Starsky?" Came the voice from the distance. It walked towards him.

"Hutch," replied Starsky. The two walked into each other’s arms. Strength and warmth engulfed them both. They held on tight to each other, resting their heads comfortably on the others shoulder.

"Ya’ look great Hutch," said Starsky. He pulled back first to look at his partner standing in front of him cloaked in white. Hutch’s body was lean and strong, not a scratch appeared on his skin.

"So do you Starsk," said Hutch smiling down at his partner. His blue eyes revealed how happy he was to see his partner standing with him.

"We’re dreaming right Hutch?" Questioned Starsky.

"Yeah, we’re dreaming" Hutch laughed.

"The light, it feels great."

"It does, doesn’t it?"

"I don’t feel like I have to choose Hutch. I feel safe with you here in this light. "

Hutch put his arm on Starsky’s shoulder. "We’ll be safe wherever we are Starsk, as long as we’re together."

"Always Hutch." Starsky grabbed his partner again and hugged him tight. "Thanks buddy for having faith in me, I almost gave up on us till…" Starsky choked back a sob.

Hutch held him close. "Yeah, I know. That’s why we’re here now, we’re here to say thank you to the light."

Starsky felt a peace around him. He let go of Hutch and turned towards the sunlight. "Thank you, Sister Prudence," he whispered. "You were my needle in the haystack." The sunlight filled his soul, and he bowed his head and closed his eyes.

"I think the dreams over. I think the light is telling us we’re safe and we can go."

"The dream's over?" asked Starsky turning his head to where Hutch just stood. "Hey where did ya’ go?" he questioned.

"Starsky I’m right here, open your eyes. See the light."

Starsky felt the haze again. The light was becoming foggy, and Hutch disappeared into the haze. He tried to move his body and run after Hutch, but his legs wouldn’t budge.

"Open your eyes Starsky," came the distant voice.

Starsky felt pressure on his chest. But he listened to Hutch’s voice and opened his eyes. A spectrum of color flooded his vision. It was unclear at first, but Starsky knew he was in a hospital room. His chest felt like a ton of elephants sitting on him. But he tried in vain to sit up and get a good look at his surroundings. He knew he wasn’t dreaming anymore. "Oh shit," he groaned. His head ready to split in two. He returned his body to the comforts of the hospital pillow and turned his aching head to the left. There in the bed next to him was his partner. "Hutch," he whispered. He focused as best he could on his injured partner. His face and neck were bandaged; his arm set in a cast. Oxygen was being administered to assist with his breathing. But he was breathing. Starsky smiled. As pained, as he was to see his partner in such bad shape, he was so thankful he was still alive. "I owe you big time," he said to the heavens above.

"Hey Hutch," he called a bit louder in a voice that would scare schoolchildren around the world. "Wake up buddy, it’s me Starsky. Open your eyes buddy."

Hutch felt the voice calling him. "You have to open your eyes now Hutch. Answer Starsky. He needs you Hutch. You don’t need to remain in this light anymore. You’re safe now. Go on, open your eyes."

Hutch’s good hand twitched, and his head moved towards Starsky’s voice.

"That-a-boy-Hutch. Open those baby blues for me."

Hutch felt a searing pain radiate down his body as his eyes fluttered open. His body bruised and battered, he couldn’t find his voice. His lungs accepted the oxygen at great speed, to filter through his fluid filled cavity.

"Come on Hutch, stay with me buddy. Tell me you’re ok."

Hutch followed the sound of his partner's voice and gently turned his sore head to the right. He winced in pain as skin sewn tightly together in his neck pulled against the muscles trying to turn it.

"Starsk…" his voice barely a whisper. He opened his fingers of his good hand to show gesture of love and thanks.

"Hiya buddy," said Starsky, his voice raw.

"You sound like a dying’ Walrus," replied Hutch in a low half-breathing whisper.

"A dying Walrus. I do not."

Hutch smiled and closed his eyes.

"Wait Hutch, before you go back to sleep. I gotta ask you something…"

"Mmm," Hutch moaned softly.

"Was that you looking down at me, telling me to ‘watch out’ back at the river?"

Hutch lay still for a moment, letting Starsky’s words sink in to the back of his brain. Did I say that?

He could see a struggle in his mind between the one called Damien and Starsky. He could see Damien standing over Starsky, ready to kill. Did he really see it? Or was he dreaming? "Just watchin’ your back Starsk, like I always do."

"Oh," replied Starsky, relieved and happy. "I thought I was dreaming."

"Yeah, me too Starsk," whispered Hutch, as he fell back into an exhausted sleep.

"Dreaming…" yawned Starsky and he grumbled, "dying walrus," as he too fell back asleep.

***********************************************************************************

Simon Marcus, in an almost catatonic state, sat in the corner of his prison cell. He rocked back and forth repeating a monotone chant, "Extinguish the light. The darkness has risen." The warden had been advised that he had not eaten or drank anything this day and decided to check on his notorious prisoner.

"Marcus, why haven't you eaten? You gotta at least drink something or you'll find yourself in the infirmary with an IV stuck in your arm."

Marcus did not respond and continued his chant.

"Marcus, you skip dinner and you're going to the infirmary," the warden said sternly. "Oh and by the way, I thought you might like to know that Sgt. Starsky found his partner, Sgt. Hutchinson, alive." He turned to leave and he heard Marcus release a demonic howl. He quickly turned around and saw Marcus violently convulsing, his eyes blood red and yellow foam oozing from his rancid mouth.

"Oh my God! Guards!" The warden called out.

Two guards approached the cell and looked with horror at the wild man. "Holy shit! It looks like his head is gonna spin around and he's gonna spew pea soup," a guard said.

Marcus thrust his arm through the cell bars and grabbed the warden by the neck, his long deformed fingernails digging into the terrorized man's throat.

The guards tried mightily but they could not break the death grip that Marcus had on the warden. "Release him Marcus," a guard commanded as he drew his gun.

When Marcus ignored the order, the guard fired into the chest of the madman. Marcus faltered but did not fall. His hand still firmly around the throat of the warden, the guard fired again. Marcus's hand released and he staggered a few steps backward. He hissed at the frightened men and said, "It begins when I end." He slid down the cell wall onto the floor, his eyes staring vacantly forward. The guards cautiously entered the cell, guns drawn. A guard nervously leaned over to check his pulse and the demon struck out at them, they emptied their weapons into his body. A gurgling sound rose up from his bowels, blood flowed from his mouth and Simon Marcus was dead.

************************************************************************************

"It begins when I end."

Hutch jerked awake. Icy perspiration dotted his exhausted features. He slowly blinked away the image of Simon Marcus, grimaced as that demented, expressionless voice died in his ears.

"Hutch?"

Dazed, Hutch turned his head, and the haze surrounding Starsky’s battered body eventually cleared.

"You OK, buddy?" Starsky asked.

Hutch squeezed his eyes shut tight, then opened them. "Drugs."

Starsky smiled. "You got a good high goin' on there?"

"I wish!"

Starsky chuckled. Unfortunately. "Ow."

"Sorry."

"For what?"

Hutch tried to raise his head off the pillow. "For gracing you with my typical wit."

"Yeah. Can it, woodja?"

Hutch took a deep breath, then realized that wasn’t such a wise idea. His back was hurting like hell.

"You’re not high enough, are you?" Starsky asked, not missing a moment of Hutch’s discomfort.

"No," Hutch admitted, "but I think I can handle the pain easier than the dreams."

Starsky nodded. "I know what you mean."

"What are you watching?" Hutch asked, finally realizing the TV was on. The volume was turned down.

"I was watching baseball, but I kept wondering why Simon’s gooneys were at bat, why the Sox were suddenly wearing red robes. Makes you wonder just what they’re giving us, huh?"

Hutch nodded groggily.

"So I switched to the soaps."

"Right, Starsk. Any excuse to tune in to Leading Candle. I know you watch that show every chance you get."

"I do not!" Starsky weakly protested. "And it’s Guiding Light. And hey. Least I don’t get misty over The Waltons."

"What’s The Waltons? Never heard of it," Hutch said innocently.

Starsky grinned. "Right."

Captain Dobey interrupted. "Hey, you’re both awake!"

"Careful, Cap’n, you sound almost happy to see us."

Captain Dobey stopped between their beds. "Dream on, Starsky. You two will do anything to get out of work, won’t you?"

Hutch cast a sly grin in Starsky’s direction. Dobey had almost choked on the words, and the gleam in his eye was unmistakable. His attempt at his typical surliness couldn’t hide how happy he was. But his features clouded suddenly.

"What’s wrong?" Hutch asked, fresh pain searing through his wounds.

"Simon Marcus," Dobey said, his booming voice for once soft. "He’s dead."

The news permeated the air and settled gloomily around them. Starsky, suddenly chilled, clutched the flimsy blanket tighter to his chest. Hutch’s eyes clamped shut.

Dobey hesitated, but as usual, knew it was best to cut to the chase. "He attacked a guard. They shot him. Several times."

"When?" Hutch asked, his eyes still closed.

"I got the word when I arrived just now."

Dobey had completely expected the silence. Starsky and Hutch both knew this wasn’t necessarily good news. Marcus’ brand of evil never really died. His followers, and there were still plenty of them out there, would be more zealous than ever. "I just thought you should know."

"Yeah. Thanks," Hutch managed, finally opening his eyes. Relief mingled with anger, nausea and fear, and he choked down the pain.

"Well, guess Satan’s rolling out the red carpet for one of his finest," Starsky said.

Dobey smiled fondly at his detectives. "Yeah."

Silence.

"Also," Dobey finally said, "the DA’s here."

"Terrific," Starsky muttered.

Hutch’s eyes were heavy again. He was torn, battling the demons of the need to sleep and the fear of dreaming.

"You know what? Why don’t I take him down to the cafeteria for a bite? I’m hungry, anyway."

"That’s unusual," Starsky mumbled sarcastically.

"I heard that, Starsky," Dobey said, amused.

"Thanks, Cap," Hutch said, knowing Dobey was buying them time.

"You’ll talk to him? When we get back."

"Shore," Starsky agreed.

Hutch didn’t respond. Dobey followed his gaze out the window, then turned to Starsky, whose eyes were fixed on the back of Hutch’s head. Starsky looked up at Dobey. Dobey patted his hand and motioned his eyes towards Hutch. Take care of him.

Starsky nodded slightly. Always do.

Dobey smiled, then left for the cafeteria.

More silence.

"Hutch?"

"Not now, Starsky."

Starsky stared anxiously at his partner, whose eyes were closed again. Hutch wasn’t ready to talk. Actually, neither was he. He inhaled, grateful for the respite. "Kay."

When Captain Dobey and the District Attorney returned, Starsky and Hutch were engrossed in Wheel of Fortune, their lunch trays shoved aside.

"You two need to eat!" Dobey exclaimed, staring, horrified, at Starsky’s untouched food.

"Huggy promised to smuggle us in some real food later," Starsky told him.

"Ah, good," Dobey said, pulling up chairs for he and the DA. "You two ready to talk now?"

"No," Hutch said flatly. "But we will."

"Start at the beginning," the DA said.

"I think it’s just now beginning," Hutch said.

Starsky completely agreed, but he told his story. He explained how he was captured. How he fought to free himself. Surprisingly, he had spoken without a trace of emotion, but when he reached the point when he learned they had Hutch, his voice wavered. He fought to bury the horror of that moment and regained composure. He explained, to Hutch as well as the DA, how he had pieced together the clues and linked their capture to Marcus and his followers. He detailed all the clues, how they had reached the conclusion that the deaths were related to the seven virtues. His voice never faltered once until he reached the part where he finally saw Hutch, the knife at his throat. He raced through the rescue to the end, trying not to sound overly satisfied over watching Damien die.

"And then I woke up here."

The DA had been quietly taking notes, notes that were probably so jumbled by his shaking hand that he wouldn’t be able to read his own writing later. He realized Starsky wasn’t going to offer any more and shifted his gaze to Hutch.

Hutch stared blankly at him. "They blindsided me in my own home. Tossed me in a well. Locked me in darkness and gave me poisoned water that made me hallucinate. Tortured me with the belief they still had Starsky, too. Turned me into a whipping post. I especially enjoyed getting my back sliced open. Over and over and over."

Hutch paused, biting hard into his lip. Starsky winced with every word.

Hutch continued, his voice even more devoid of emotion than Starsky’s had been. He knew, if he let himself feel anything, sanity would elude him. "Bathed me. Hurt like hell. Tossed me back in the well. I fought them when they came back. They wrapped a noose around my neck."

His voice was slowing, the story becoming more and more painful to recant. Starsky felt an anguished stab of pain and horror with every word his partner uttered. He couldn’t reach Hutch, so he willed him all the strength he could muster, willed him through the rest of his tale.

"Drug me out of that well by my shoulders, drug my back up the rocks, beat the hell out of me, then carted me off to die."

Silence. He was done. Nothing anyone said would drag another word out of him. Nothing.

The DA had forgotten to write, he had been so stunned by Hutch’s story. It didn’t matter. He knew he would remember every word of it for the rest of his life. "Is…is that all?"

"Is that all?" Starsky snapped. "S’that all? They kidnapped us. They put Hutch through hell. Do you know how horrible it was, knowing what I know about those creatures? Knowing they had Hutch this time? Knowing what they were doing to him? You have any idea what that was like? How terrified I was we wouldn’t find him in time? How I felt the life drain out of me when I thought he was dead? I’ve seen a lot…a helluva lot…but I’ve never known fear like that before. Have you?"

The DA couldn’t respond.

"Any jury in the world hears this and sees his back and lets those bunch of loonies Dobey and the others arrested go should rot in hell with Marcus and Damien and the rest of those freaks. IA’s already been acting like I had no right to kill that sorry ba—"

"Starsk—" Hutch whispered softly, weakly trying to calm Starsky.

Starsky, instantly soothed, continued. "Look. All I’m saying is, that’s enough. More than enough. You fry the rest of ‘em. Fry them."

The DA nodded. "I will."

"Promise?" Hutch asked.

The DA had known them for a while, but the steely determination of their gaze surprised him. And unnerved him. Crippled, traumatized and suffering, they were still a force to be reckoned with. He couldn’t fathom encountering that blinding glare when they were in perfect health. He nodded meekly. "I promise."

They continued their icy glare. The DA looked at Dobey. Dobey smiled, offering him a knowing shrug. His detectives were something, all right. The DA stood warily, thanked them, assured them he had all he needed to shut down everyone involved in the elaborate production of their misery. Dobey said good-bye, told them he’d be back to check on them later, and escorted the DA to the elevators.

Still more silence. Hutch relaxed into the pillow, unable to look at Starsky.

"So…we miss the end of Wheel of Fortune?" he finally asked.

Starsky didn’t respond for a few minutes, unsure whether to press Hutch or give in to his attempt to let it pass for now. Hutch’s eyes found his. They locked for several moments, the emotion surging between them. Starsky had his answer and finally looked back to the TV.

"Hell yeah. We didn’t get to see ‘em shop! Man, I wanted to see if that guy bought that Pacer."

"Why on earth would he have bought that thing?"

Starsky paused dramatically, building up to his punch line. "Because it runs. Unlike some people’s cars."

"I’m not listening, Starsky."

"That car’s a Cadillac compared to that—"

"I’m going back to sleep now, Starsky."

Starsky finally stopped, smiling as Hutch’s eyes closed. He swallowed hard, not sure he’d ever been more grateful to hear his partner’s breath, labored as it was. "Dream about a Mustang this time. Shiny, new, red."

"I heard that," Hutch mumbled. "And I will not."

Starsky giggled a little, ignoring the pain, and turned the channel to Hollywood Squares.

The days drug on, uneventful, as both of them endured the boring business of healing. Hutch vehemently insisted Starsky couldn’t see his back, ordering the nurses changing his bandages to go to great lengths to block Starsky’s view. Hutch knew if Starsky got one look at it, he’d explode, hampering his own recovery. It was bad enough he could see the cuts and bruises that covered the rest of Hutch’s body. Hutch sensed, in their long days of silent avoidance, the anger simmering underneath Starsky’s false bravado. And Starsky sensed the emotional turmoil broiling underneath Hutch’s overly calm façade.

It was different this time, this healing process. Neither of them seemed in any hurry to return to work. Neither of them had the fire, fight, and spunk they’d always possessed before. It was a good thing, actually, because they needed the rest, the peace, the time to wait out the nightmares and bury the demons for good.

And they did it well, passing the time with long talks about anything except their ordeal, with poker and Go Fish, boring daytime TV and visits from their friends. Every nurse in the entire hospital, young, old, single or married, was completely smitten with them by the time the doctor declared they were ready to go home. Starsky healed faster, but the doctors knew them so well, knew there was no point in releasing Starsky before his partner. They knew Starsky would still be at the hospital every moment until Hutch could leave, and it was healthier for Starsky to stay with him this way.

Time did its job, easing the pain. They were released, free to go. Dobey was picking them up. They dressed gradually, gathered their belongings. Starsky sat on the bed, skimming a news article about the record number of convictions the DA had maneuvered, not at all comforted by the news. He looked up, finally noticed that Hutch was standing, frozen, in front of the closet.

"What’s wrong? You need something?"

Hutch slowly turned to Starsky. "I…I just realized. They took my green t-shirt."

"Nooooo," Starsky said, fighting a smile. "The ladies will all be devastated."

"Yeah," Hutch said absently. "I look so good in green."

Starsky snickered and started tying his Adidas. "Ah, well, you have hundreds of green shirts."

"Yeah. But Abby bought that one for me."

Starsky looked up again, realized this was about so much more than Abby and the shirt. Hutch wasn’t moving. He was staring at the floor, looking very much like a little boy who was completely, utterly lost. His despair poured out of him.

Starsky walked over to Hutch, propped his hands on Hutch’s shoulders. "Hey."

Hutch didn’t look up at him the entire time. Starsky gingerly pulled Hutch into a bear hug, his hands avoiding Hutch’s wounds but still providing all the support he needed. Hutch leaned against him, hugging back fiercely, holding onto his lifeline with all the strength he could muster. They stayed that way, without speaking, for more minutes than either could count. They parted, but Starsky’s hands remained on Hutch’s shoulders, squeezing gently.

"They didn’t take us," Starsky said defiantly.

Hutch finally met Starsky’s eyes, and in them, found the resolve to survive he had been so desperately seeking. He lightly patted Starsky’s chest a few times, smiling faintly.

Huggy and Captain Dobey appeared in the doorway.

"Well, look at them, Captain Dobey! They get any more color in their cheeks, they’re gonna be as dark as me!" He propped his hands on the top of their shoulders. "You two scared the hell outta me. Don’t be doing that to me ever again! Doesn’t look good for bears to be afraid, ya dig?"

Starsky and Hutch both smiled at him, then at each other.

Dobey rolled his eyes and picked up Starsky’s duffel bag. "You two ready?"

Starsky looked expectantly at Hutch.

Hutch nodded slightly, and Starsky finally let go of his arms. Hutch placed his hand on Starsky’s back, steering him towards the door.

"We’re ready," Hutch said.

"Hey, can we go by Huggy’s? I’m hungry," Starsky said.

Huggy grinned as he followed them out the door. "Sure can. I’ve got some new menu items you need to try. Taco salads."

"Why on earth would I want a salad?" Starsky asked, disgusted.

"With tacos?" Hutch asked, intrigued.

Dobey stopped in the doorway, looking back over the room that had housed his detectives, his friends, for so long. He offered up a quick prayer that he’d never have to visit either of them in a hospital again.

"You game for stopping by Huggy’s, Cap?" Hutch asked. "Starsky’s hungry. Imagine that."

"I know," Dobey said, smiling. "Music to my ears. Music to my ears."

He didn’t notice the housekeeper entering the room as he followed Starsky, Hutch and Dobey down the hall.

The thin, pale man was lost in the housekeeping jumpsuit. He tugged again at the rolled sleeves and walked over to Hutch’s bed. He stood beside it, staring down at it as if it were still occupied, then jerked the sheet off the bed. He turned and ripped it swiftly in two, smiling sadistically as it shredded.

He tossed the sheet into the bag he was carrying, the bag he would fill with all the contents of the room and carry back to camp. He quickly cleaned and sanitized the room, then paused by the doorway.

He reached out to the light switch. "Extinguish the light," he chanted as he flipped off the switch. "Extinguish the light."

THE END