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Tag, You’re It! ~

Chapter 1
(By: Shawne til Dawn)

He didn’t know what woke him, didn’t know if it was the sunlight streaming through the crack between the drawn curtains or the incessant ringing of the phone on the small table beside his bed. Whatever the case, Starsky groaned softly and irritably reached for the handle of the phone, his left hand fumbling blindly over the nightstand, heavy dark lashes pressed tightly against his cheeks as his brows drew together morphing his once relaxed features into a scowl, right before he buried his head under the pillow to block out the offensive light.

“H’lo?” the dark haired detective mumbled groggily; dragging the receiver under the pillow, nearly toppling the phone from the small nightstand, his mind barely registering the voice on the other end, as the residual heaviness of sleep attempted to drag him under once more. God, he was so tired and his head felt like it was going to explode.

“Starsk? Starsky where the hell have you been?” It was Hutch, and by the sound of his voice the brunet could tell that he was upset. The blond’s usually soothing voice was harsh with emotion and it grated on Starsky’s nerves.

The curly haired brunet grunted and lifted the edge of the pillow to peek at the digital clock. 8:10 a.m. Nothing wrong there . . . he still had plenty of time to jump into the shower and swing by to pick up his partner for work. They didn’t need to go in until 9:30 this morning. ‘What the hell was Hutch pissed at now?’ he wondered, ‘Shit, it’s still so friggin’ early.’ His bewildered mind mentally checked off anything he might have said or done to irritate his sensitive partner as the blond’s voice came harshly over the other end of the line making the dark haired detective hold the receiver away from his ear, his aching head throbbing and pulsing as he slowly attempted to sit up, shoving the pillow away from him as he carefully dragged his aching body into a sitting position and leaned wearily back against the headboard.

“Starsky? What the hell is going on? Where were you all this time?” Hutch demanded; pressing the handle of the phone tightly against his ear as he listened to the shuffling on the other end, his anxious voice raised a notch as he heard his partner’s soft grunts, “Starsk?”

“Sleepin’. . . where else would I be? And you don’t have to yell . . .I can hear ya jus’ fine!” Starsky grumbled, dragging a hand tiredly through his tousled sable curls. The weary brunet slowly lifted his lashes, dark blue peeping out between lids raised at half-mast to stare dazedly at the wall ahead of him when he heard the blond’s exasperated sigh through the telephone.

The curly haired cop sighed heavily too before he finally said, “What’s wrong Hutch huh? It’s still early . . . we ain’t late, so . . .”

“What’s wrong?” Hutch reiterated, the harshness in his voice indicating how annoyed he was with his partner, “You’ve been missing for over a week now and you ask me what’s wrong? Starsk . . . we’ve been searching the city for you . . . there’s been an APB out on you this whole time and you ask me what’s wrong?”

“Wha’?” Starsky interjected, leaning forward, a frown marring his handsome face as he puzzled over what his partner had just revealed, “Missin’? What are ya talkin’ about Hutch, I was just with ya last night . . . at Huggy’s . . . pizza and beer . . .‘member?”

The heavy crease between the blond’s brows deepened as he frowned even more, his mind racing, “Starsk . . . that was over a week ago . . . we had pizza and beer at Huggy’s the night before you went missing . . . the night before I found . . .” The tall blond stopped himself, realizing his partner had no clue whatsoever as to all the things that had happened since then.

The dark haired detective heard the pause in his partner’s voice and he shook his head to clear the residual grogginess he still felt there as he tried to concentrate on what Hutch was saying. He immediately regretted the motion as the jolting movement caused punishing pain to flare in the side of his skull. Starsky winced, gasping softly as he pressed his fingers against his temples to help alleviate the throbbing pressure that drilled into his head, squinting his eyes against the glare that came from the window.

“Starsk?” Ever attuned to his partner, Hutch could sense that his dark haired companion was in pain, “You okay buddy?”

“Yeah . . . what were you sayin’?” the brunet mumbled, angling his head away from the window’s light to look down at his fingers which seemed stiff and swollen, his dark blue eyes widening in horror as he saw the light blue tee shirt he was wearing, “Oh my god . . .” he whispered, his free hand reaching out to touch the dark stains that covered the front of his shirt, his breathing growing short and rapid as he tried to process and understand what it was that he was seeing. He knew it was blood, he knew it wasn’t fresh for it was dried and crusty and stiff, and a quick check to his abdomen confirmed that the blood wasn’t his.

“Starsk? Talk to me . . . what’s going on?”

Hutch’s voice coming through the receiver drew Starsky’s attention back to the phone he still held in his hand and he pressed it tightly to his ear, taking comfort in knowing that Hutch was on the other end.

“I don’ know . . .” the dark haired detective whispered softly, ignoring the burning ache in his limbs and the pounding tempo in his head as he slowly stood, holding onto the edge of the nightstand as he wavered unsteadily, his free hand unconsciously flicking against the dark patch that stained the front of his clothes, “Hutch, I . . . I got blood all over me . . . all over my shirt . . . and it’s not mine. Hutch . . .what the hell’s goin’ on?” the brunet queried, echoing the same question Hutch had asked him just minutes ago, his dark blue eyes drawn once again to the dark, grisly stains that covered the soft blue fabric.

Hutch could feel his skin crawl as the visual picture of his partner covered with blood flashed across his mind’s eye, he could hear the contained panic in his friend’s voice and the blond immediately lowered his own voice, speaking softly to soothe his dark haired counterpart, “It’s okay buddy . . .l-look, stay right there . . . I’ll be right over . . . you ah . . . you haven’t been out to the living room yet have you?

“No . . . not ye . . .” Starsky’s stormy blue eyes shifted to the closed door of his bedroom and he stopped himself in mid-sentence, dark brows bridging together again as he wracked his brains, not remembering how the door got closed in the first place.

The brunet usually made it a point to never shut his door . . . an old childhood habit he and Nicky both shared. After their dad had been gunned down, there was a time when both boys suffered nightmares and their ma had just left their bedroom door open so that she could hear their soft cries and comfort them in the darkness of their room.

“Stark?” Hutch’s soft, gentle voice brought the detective back from his unwanted childhood memories.

“Door’s closed . . .and ya know it wasn’t me who closed it!” Starsky quietly said, lifting the phone while supporting the receiver in the crook between his shoulder and neck as he grabbed his gun from the nightstand’s top drawer, squinting as he padded softly by the window towards the door, his detective senses kicking in, his adrenalin picking up as he reached for the doorknob . . .

“Starsk . . . hold on,” Hutch said suddenly, the urgency in the blond’s voice stopped the brunet in his tracks just as Starsky turned the knob and threw back the door which opened to the living room, cobalt blue eyes widening as he took in the yellow crime scene tape that ran across the front door and around a large area rug that had a huge brownish-red stain in the middle of it, the drawn outline of a body still clearly evident against the threads of the carpet.

The dark haired detective leaned against the doorframe, a small gasp escaping his lips as his back slid against the hard wooden surface of the frame, dragging the phone with him as he sunk slowly to the floor, feeling dizzy and weak all of a sudden, his eyes taking in the scene of a crime that had obviously taken place in his own apartment; he could feel his mind racing, trying to make sense of what it was he was seeing as a strange ringing started up in his ears.

“Starsk? Starsky!” Hutch called out, his heart racing as he heard the soft gasp that came from his partner, knowing he was seeing the horrific remnants of what he, himself, had stumbled upon almost a week ago when he drove over to the brunet’s house after his many phone calls remained unanswered. His mind drifted back to that day when he first found his partner missing . . .

Seeing the young woman sprawled out on the floor of his partner’s living room was something Hutch would never forget. He had raced over after his last call, his Starsky sense on high alert, worry making him drive recklessly until he reached his partner’s place, using his copy of the house key to let himself in. There was blood all over, on the white washed walls, on the curtains, on the sofa, blood covering the dead woman’s body, staining the carpet beneath her as it leaked out from the multiple stab wounds that littered her slight form, her sightless green eyes forever locked upon the ceiling, the look of fear and pain and horror forever frozen like a macabre mask upon her pretty face; her mouth opened in a silent scream that still made the blond detective sit up in bed at night, his own mouth opened, as he called out for his partner in the darkness of his bedroom. It shook him to realize that Starsky was missing, that his partner and lifetime friend might be somewhere waiting and hoping for Hutch to rescue him, that he might be hurting or wounded or worse, that he might be dead and his body never retrieved.

Not knowing was killing him. The fruitless searching for his partner’s whereabouts this past week nearly drove the blond detective insane with worry and fear. The desperation and despair, the running on false leads, the sleepless nights, the knife with Starsky’s fingerprints all over the handle; evidence that pointed to his partner’s involvement with the murder of the young woman found in his apartment, the frustration of not knowing what had happened to his friend; all of these made Hutch pointlessly call the brunet’s place once more, like he had done everyday since Starsky went MIA, hope rising in his heart as he dialed the number he had committed to memory a long time ago.

In the back of his mind, Hutch could feel the same niggling fear and doubt that always accompanied his dialing and he prepared himself for the pain of hearing the endless ringing on the other end. The tall blond purposely squashed down the dark anger and dread that had taken over his soul as the days passed into a week, as the leads grew colder with each day that went by. He was a cop. He knew that Starsky’s chances of being found grew slimmer as each day melted into another, and a part of him wanted to scream out in frustration, especially since the newspapers now had his partner’s face on the front page, allegedly accusing him of being a cop gone bad. It was all Hutch could do to keep himself from losing it when the other detectives looked at him in sympathy and compassion as he walked into the squad room yesterday. His mind was racing a mile a minute, so the unexpected shock of hearing someone pick up on the other end of Starsky’s phone this morning nearly did him in.

Hearing his partner’s muffled, but familiar “H’lo”, shook Hutch to the core, instantly releasing the frustrated rage and anxiety that he had kept in check this past week, that red hot emotion that kept him fired up to continue his search, that made him unable to sleep or eat, that gave him the strength to carry on even though his heart was broken came surging to the forefront, and Hutch couldn’t disguise the anxiety as he spoke to his newly found partner, but hearing the confusion in Starsky’s voice and the soft gasp he made as he saw the grisly scene that awaited him in his own living room made the sensitive blond want to reach out and shelter his bewildered friend.

“Starsky?” Hutch said softly once more, “You okay? Hold on . . . I’ll be right there. Starsk? You with me?”

“Yeah . . . yeah jus’ . . . jus’ gimme a minute,” Starsky said softly, his mind befuddled and unclear, trying desperately to fill in the blanks as his head pounded incessantly. The brunet swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat, the sight of all that blood smeared over his familiar belongings made him feel queasy and nauseous, “What happened here Hutch?” the dark haired detective whispered, “Wha’ . . . what the hell happened here . . . and why don’t I remember anythin’?”

Hutch bit his lip in trepidation, “I was hoping you could tell me buddy.” The silence on the other end of the line was deafening, broken only by the rapid breathing of the shocked brunet, and that soft sound spurred the blond into action, “Look, just hang on Starsk okay? It’ll be all right. Just hang on and once I get there, you and I can figure this whole thing out like we always do. Me and thee okay?” Hutch said softly, hoping those three familiar words would hold his partner together until he got there.

“Yeah . . . ‘kay . . . jus’ get over here Hutch ‘cuz I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Starsky whispered uneasily before he quietly hung up the phone.

Chapter 2
(By: Karen B.)

(A game within a game)

Hutch drove as fast as he could down the road toward his partner's apartment, the skin prickling at the back of his neck. After an entire week of worry and fear he had finally found Starsky. He told himself that this wasn't another dream, he really had talked to Starsky.

For over a week Hutch had been searching for clues. Searching for his missing friend, high and low, worried sick Starsky would show up dead. Over the course of the week, Hutch had nightmare after nightmare. Starsky, with a knife in his chest lying in a shallow mud filled ditch. Starsky, his body bent out of shape smashed beneath a pile of scrap metal. Starsky, waterlogged and tinged blue, tangled within the stringy strands of slimy seaweed. Worse, what if he never found his best friend's body, and Starsky was just gone forever? Hutch shook his head, annoyed and disgusted by his daydreams.

How was it that they had gone from lighthearted laughter, hot pizza, and cold beer, to a dead woman lying in a puddle of blood in his partner's home? How had Starsky's prints shown up all over the murder weapon? Where had his partner disappeared to? Seemingly skipped town without a trace?

Now Starsky had shown back up, very much alive, and answering his telephone with a simplistic, 'hello.' Completely blind to it all, awakened from sleep, as if it were any other day. Hutch shivered, feeling as though he were trapped in an icebox, as though somehow he was to blame for this mess. The whole thing was eerie, like a monstrous fairytale, like some sort of sick baited game, and all Hutch had done for over a week was nibble around a hook.

What was going on here? It was all so absurd.

"Damn it! I don't get it!!" Hutch punched the steering wheel, jamming his thumb. "Ouch!" He popped the injured appendage into his mouth and sucked on it.

Trying to stay focused on the road, he squinted his eyes, ahead of him he could see a lump in the middle of the pavement. Hutch was going way too fast, and he eased his foot off the accelerator as he weaved around a dead cat, the sight of the blood spattered animal made the acid in his stomach flare.

The sun shown bright, but the air felt unseasonably chilly, as it blew through his partially rolled down window. Hutch had a talent for sensing when things were wrong. And even though he'd heard his partner's voice, knew it was Starsky, knew this not to be another dream, it was just all too simple. Starsky showing back up. Sound asleep in his bed. Not knowing a thing of the woman who'd been brutally murdered in his very living room. Thinking it just another day. Not realizing he now was a murder suspect, with his prints on the murder weapon. How was Hutch going to prove the price of this woman's blood wouldn't and couldn't be paid by that of his partner's freedom?

This was so screwed up, and Hutch could only imagine how Starsky had to be feeling right about now. That thought made him press harder on the accelerator speeding past hedges, water fountains, donut shops, and delis.

Hutch's gaze swung toward the radio, his body tensed, torn between being a cop and being a best friend. All the evidence pointed a steady finger at Starsky. Hutch would never believe his partner was involved in the murder of that woman. A woman they had yet to identify. Starsky was a good man, with ten years on the force, the son of a cop, a man with an enlarged heart whose door was always open. No matter what proof was found, Hutch would never believe it.

Unshed tears swelled in Hutch's eyes as he reached for the mike, knowing he had to do his duty. "Zebra Three to control, come in."

"Control, go ahead Zebra Three."

"Patch me through to Captain Dobey."

"Ten-four, Zebra."

Hutch glanced into the rearview mirror, his own sky blue eyes guiltily skewing his soul.

"Hutchinson!" Hutch winced when he heard the loud booming voice. "What is going on out there?"

Hutch swallowed the hunk of marble lodged in his throat, he knew telling Dobey of Starsky's whereabouts would bring an arrest warrant with his partner's name on it.

"Captain, you can take the APB off of Starsky." Hutch let his thumb slip off the mike.

"You found him. Where the blazes has he been? Is he okay? Why hasn't he called in sooner?"

"Sir!" Hutch yelled, then took a calming breath, he knew Dobey too, didn't believe Starsky capable of murder. "I called his apartment for the thousandth time, didn't expect an answer. He's there. Was asleep. He seemed groggy, out of it, has no idea about any of this. Thinks it's the morning after I saw him last. Captain--" Hutch's voice was full of sorrow, "he saw the murder scene." Hutch stopped his transmission.

"How's he doing with it?" Dobey's concern evident in his tone.

"I think he's in shock. I'm almost there now. I--I just needed to call it in." A lone tear couldn't resist making its way down Hutch's cheek.

"Hutch, you're a good man. So is your partner. We'll clear this up, but we will do it by the book, you copy that?"

'The book.'

It was no ordinary coffee table read. It was the orderly steel innards of society’s rules and regulations, bound and neatly typed with its dos and its don'ts. Its rights and its wrongs. Its loopholes and iron clad laws. Most times 'the book' worked. Most times Hutch was proud to uphold its contents to the very letter, but this--where the hell did his partner fit into this?

"Hutchinson. Hutch? Detective, do you copy?"

Hutch shook his head, and spoke into the mike, "Captain, Starsky's been out there all alone, for too long. I don't know what shape he is in. Mentally or physically. I-I think he's in some kind of state of shock. I need to see him first. Talk to him." Hutch paused to drive his point home. "Alone!"

"Hutch, I can't--"

"Cap, this is Starsky we're talking about," Hutch pleaded his case.

The radio was silent a moment, and all Hutch heard was the smooth hum of the Torino, and the steady beat of his heart, as he sucked in a breath and held it. Hutch's palms were cold and sweaty, as they gripped tighter to the steering wheel waiting for the answer he hoped he would get.

"One hour, son. You've got one hour."

Hutch blew out his long held breath.

"Hutch, I can't hang my ass out there longer than that." Even through his anxiety Hutch had to smile, Dobey never swore. It only went to show how distressed the man was. He too knew Starsky couldn't be involved with such a brutal act.

"After that, Hutch, I have to send in the boys in blue," Dobey said, keeping his voice stoic.

"I understand. Zebra Three out."

Sweat now accumulated in Hutch's armpits and ran cold down his ribs. His stomach muscles bunched into coils, as he listened to the lonely sound of the rubber tires gripping the road.

Hutch pressed harder on the gas, bringing the steel cheetah beneath his butt up to 65 mph. This whole thing all felt so unreal. Like a bad joke. Racing down the quiet morning road at 45 miles an hour over the speed limit, still wasn't fast enough. Hutch could feel the spears of adrenaline gouging out every pore, his whole body completely taut. Out of nervous habit he patted his side finding comfort in his holstered gun.

Hutch usually took his time on this twenty minute drive to his friend's home. Enjoying the different smells, the shade of the trees, the newly mowed grass, the fresh roasted coffee he sipped. The images served to calm his cop's instincts that were scaring the shit out of him.

"Stay calm, Starsk." Hutch's words came tumbling out his mouth, filling the silence of the car. "I'm here, partner. I'm here," he said in a shaky voice, finally pulling up to the curb of Starsky's apartment.

Hutch dropped the Torino into park, and sprang from the car. His long legs tangled, and his knees almost skinned the sidewalk, as he hotfooted his way toward the entrance, but he caught himself at the last minute.

"Sorry," Hutch mumbled as he shuffled past a silver haired man with a cane, who was just exiting the building, and shot up the staircase.

"Hang on, buddy. Hang on."

Hutch took the steps two at a time, but not without some difficulty, as his legs trembled like thunder rolled through them. He couldn't move his feet fast enough, feeling as if he were ankle deep in quicksand.

Hutch stopped short as soon as he reached Starsky's apartment, and took in a couple large gulps of air when he saw the door was slightly ajar. Alarm bells immediately went off in his head, as he drew out his weapon, cocked and loaded. With silent grace, and years of training, Hutch slowly opened the door the rest of the way. In a glance, things looked to be as they had been left. Dried blood still covered the whitewashed walls, sofa and carpet. Everything inside seemed the same, everything except for the yellow crime scene tape that had ran across the front entranceway and around the drawn outline of the body. The yellow plastic now lay crumpled in a pile shoved in a corner on the floor.

Looking to Starsky's bedroom door, Hutch noted it was closed. Starsky had opened it while he was talking with him on the phone. His partner had seen the blood splattered room, shocked into horror, but now the door was shut once more. Had Starsky closed it again? Wanting to hide from the horrible scene that had greeted him?

"Starsky!" Hutch blurted out.

When he got no immediate answer, Hutch felt a deep sense of danger, and with the same silent grace he used to enter the apartment he began to clean sweep it.

Finding no one, and nothing else out of order, he looked to the only room he hadn't checked. Starsky's bedroom. Why hadn't Starsky come out? He had to have heard him. He would have been waiting for Hutch on pins and needles. He wouldn't have closed the bedroom door. He never did that.

Hutch cautiously made his way toward Starsky's bedroom, now feeling knee deep in the quicksand. Something ugly and bitter rose up into his throat, but he swallowed it back down, and reached for the doorknob. He wrapped his fingers around the cold brass knob, and let his hand linger there only a second before twisting it and wildly thrusting the door open. It banged on the opposite wall, and in a show of force Hutch stepped in taking an unshakable stance, feet spread apart, and his gun held steady out in front of him.

He shot a glance around the room, his eyebrows raised in bewilderment. The bed was neatly made. Starsky's stonewashed jeans were draped over a chair in the corner of the room. On the nightstand was a glass half full of water, the phone in its cradle, the alarm clock properly set. Nothing was out of place. Everything was the same as it had been the day Hutch had found the woman's body. Even Starsky's watch still sat where it had been left on the nightstand table. Not a drop of blood or evidence had been found in here.

"Starsky?" Hutch wheezed out, stepping further into the room and circling it.

He wasn't dreaming. Starsky had called. Had begged Hutch in confusion and pain to explain what was going on. To hurry and get to him. Hutch holstered his weapon and frantically paced the room. Methodically he, checked the closet, peered up under the bed, pulled back the curtains and checked the window, hoping to find something, anything that would explain what the hell was going on. Nothing added up.

Finding no trace of foul play, Hutch hopelessly stood still next to the bed, drawing his fingers through his unwashed hair, and clamping his eyes shut. "Starsk, where the fuck are you?"

Feeling uneasy, he peered up at the mirror above Starsky's bed, what he saw there nearly took him under the quicksand. Something was duct taped to the mirror, wrapped inside a piece of cloth, and soaked in red.

"Jesus--" Hutch held his own gaze, as his hunted blue eyes reflected back at him. "No." He staggered back a step, and his heart skipped a beat, as Starsky's words vibrated through his soul.

What happened here Hutch?” the dark haired detective whispered, “Wha’ . . . what the hell happened here . . . and why don’t I remember anythin’?”

Hutch couldn't move, a cold cloud had settled over him, as he began to shiver. The muscles at the corners of his mouth twitched, and for a moment he didn’t feel like the tough cop he should have been. He felt more like a lost little boy. Was this some sort of sick wild fantasy? But who? Why? Starsky had been here. He could feel it in his chest, could almost reach out and touch him, but now he was gone again. To where? Hutch had found Starsky. Only to lose him again?

The phone suddenly rang, and it startled Hutch out of his petrified state, the strong cop in him came back, as he swiftly nabbed the receiver.

"Gawdamn it, Starsky!" Hutch's tone was full of troubled aggression. "Where the hell are you?"

"Hutchinson?" The unfamiliar voice sounded as cool as the other side of the pillow.

Hutch frowned. this wasn't Starsky. "You're talking to him," Hutch said, pressing the phone closer against his ear, trying to recognize who this was, trying to hear any little key sound in the backdrop.

"Good." The stranger's voice continued, going straight to the point. "Meet me at the old boat factory. Pier eighty. South Coast Marina."

"Who--who is this?" Hutch urgently asked, his brain flooding with figments of what could be wrapped up in that blood-red cloth tapped against Starsky's bedroom mirror.

"You have one hour! Tag, you're it, pig," the man laughed wickedly. "I have what you're looking for."

"What?" Hutch wanted to lash out at this person. Drag him through the receiver, beat him with his own words. "What have you done to my partner?" Hutch demanded unconsciously clenching his fist.

"Come alone or--" there was a breathy pause.

"Or?" Hutch angrily growled, glancing up at the mirror again.

"Or-- you'll find your partner -- dead -- in an alley."

Then there was nothing more than a dial tone.

Hutch dropped the phone to the floor as though it had suddenly burst into flames, burning his hand, his poisonous blue eyes reflecting back at him in the mirror.

Chapter 3
(By: Brook)

Hutch stared at the mirror hoping that it was just something he was seeing that really wasn’t there – a mirage or a sick joke. He walked over slowly, now knowing he wasn’t dreaming, and, taking his right hand he gently picked up the blood soaked cloth taped to the mirror. He looked at it carefully; his heart in his mouth and started to open it with trembling fingers
.
”Oh my god,” was all he could say, as he stared transfixed at the contents. In the cloth were Starsky’s 2 silver rings, now unrecognizable as that white metal was now covered in a red patina of blood.

Hutch walked silently over to the bed and sat on the edge, his knees weak and his heart racing faster and faster in his chest, threatening to cut off his breathing. He felt dizzy and sick to his stomach and he leaned forward, lowering his head and taking deep breaths until he could get himself more tightly under control. Hutch put the cloth down not knowing what to do. Should he call Dobey? Tell him about the phone call or should he just leave the apartment now without making any contact?

Hutch struggled with the answers, wanting someone to tell him what to do, someone to shout out the answer so that he could follow blindly. But it wasn’t happening. He struggled with the reality of the situation and finally decided to leave and meet this other person whoever it was, hoping for the best. All he wanted to do is get Starsky back.

He figured that when he didn’t show up with Starsky that Dobey would have a car sent there and find the rings and get them tested to see if it was Starsky’s blood on them. He had been there before, waiting for the results of blood tests as Marcus and his clan had taken his partner and written his name STARSKY in huge, trickily red letters on the mirror of the washroom in the courthouse. Hutch made his final decision and acted on it, going into full gear, slamming the door to Starsky’s apartment and running to his car.

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

Starsky woke up in a dimly lit room lying on a bed of sorts. As he looked down he realized it wasn’t so much a bed, as a filthy mattress lying on the bare floorboards of a small room, which was empty of other furniture.

The first thing he noticed was that there were 2 other people in the room with him and not knowing who they were he decided to lay still and pretend he was still sleeping as he tried to figure out what happened. Hutch was coming for him. He thought he knew that. He was waiting for him, waiting for his partner to take him home.

His next thought as he surreptitiously lifted his head from the dirty mattress was that, ‘God his head hurt’. It hurt so bad it felt like it could just crack in half. Then the memories started to come back to him. He was waiting for Hutch when he heard the door creak and two masked men came into his bedroom. He tried to get out of the bed where he gone to after he’d spoken to Hutch. Seeing the blood and mess in his living room had shocked him to the core and he needed to lie down.

The men had entered quietly and surprised him wrestling him to the ground. He tried to struggle with them, but he felt so damned weak and as he tried to land a blow. They punched him in the mouth and stomach, making the breath whistle through his teeth as he tried to draw oxygen into his tortured lungs. He knew he was out numbered and he remembered the voices now. They sounded so familiar to him. Names he thought? Did he hear a name? No he didn’t hear anything.

He looked around the room again through half open eyes seeing the emptied coffee cups lying on the ground and the wrappers of what looked to be a week’s worth of candy strewn across the floor. He knew he was somewhere on the docks because he was able to hear the sounds of boats going up and down the shipping channel. There was a window high up on the wall that was shining light through the room, making him blink. For a brief second he panicked thinking Hutch was on his way to his place, wherever it was. What if they took him? What if they hurt him? He needed to know. He began to move, feeling the ropes tearing at the flesh of his wrists and his ankles as he discovered they were tied tightly together. A heavy chain was also fastened around his waist, the links digging into his muscles and making it uncomfortable to lie on the bed.

”Hey looks like he’s waking up. Think you better call the boss and let him know?” With that one of the guys walked over to the far end of the room and made a very quick phone call.

”He’s up boss, what do you want us to do now?”

”Okay we wait gotcha”.

Starsky heard the phone clicking down he saw the guy walking towards him. He felt big hands yanking his head back and stared at the cold eyes looking into his.

”You better just shut up and do as your told you got that?”

Starsky just nodded his head not wanting any more pain in that particular region. Just as the guy let Starsky’s head go a gray haired man walked purposefully into the room.

“Good evening, Mr. Coyle,” came a voice from behind. Starsky recognized him immediately. He backtracked to the last time he and Hutch saw him and Coyle telling him he would be back.

“Well let’s see here. How have you been feeling Mr. Starsky? Coyle walked up to him staring down at the bound brunet.

“What the fuck do you think your doing, Coyle” Starsky said, trying to sound as cocky as he could, considering the situation he was in.

“Well, now Mr. Starsky…or may I call you David? You know, David you have been a guest with us for the last week and if I do say so myself we have treated you with the utmost kindness and respect. Well of course my boys got a little carried away today. I must apologize. Have you figured any of this out yet David’? I mean do you realize why you’re here? Well let’s just say that incident that we had earlier? Well we won’t let that happen again. I mean how you escaped. Well with the new chain, lets see to it that it doesn’t happen then we won’t have to resort to the measure we did earlier, ok? Coyle walked passed Starsky towards the window.

”Where’s Hutch” Starsky asked. “So help me Coyle when I get out of here I will personally kill you if you laid one finger on him”. Starsky struggled against the bonds holding him down, determined to get at the evil man and make him understand that messing with his partner was one step too far

‘Well now David, you shouldn’t worry about that, we’re gonna let you do all the work this time, and with that Coyle walked out and into another room.

Chapter 4
(By: Kirsty Welsh)

Starsky tried to force himself up off the mattress, the chain jingling against the hot water pipe he’d been attached to and the padlock weighing down the links. With his wrists tied together in front of him and fastened to the chain at his waist and his ankles also bound together he didn’t get very far and the movements caused his head to hurt so that he felt a pile driver was being driven into his temples. Matt Coyle! So the rat was finally out of prison and back on the streets. After he and Hutch had ruined his little empire building scheme. Coyle had told them he’d do time and come out rested and ready to start again, while Starsky and the blond would be older more tired and probably non the wiser. They’d expected him to come out and relocate, perhaps up north towards New York to start over again. They’d never thought he’d come back to his old haunts. The pseudo Irish accents rang through Starsky’s tired head, seeming to mock him for his stupidity and complacency.

The two men still in the room with him laughed at his pitiful struggles and calmly one of them walked over and knocked him back against the dirty bedding as he yelled out a string of curse words, tailing off into a gasp and a sob. He had no idea where he was, no idea how he’d gotten there and no idea why Coyle should be on the scene, although the idea of him wanting retribution against the cops rang true enough. His memories of his bedroom seemed far away now and Coyle’s admission of his escape made the chains, bonds and headache make sense. Somehow he must have escaped and gotten back to his place. But if he had, how had he done it and why hadn’t he called Hutch right away? Shit! His head was so screwed!

The two men went back to their card game, satisfied their captive was going no further then the end of the chain. They’d laughed when they’d gotten his limp, unconscious body back to the warehouse, but the grins had left their faces when their boss had told them another mistake would cost them their lives. That was one thing about Mr. Coyle. He kept his word and his word was law. He kept his men on their toes and no-one ever knew who’d be the next to be sold down the river to the heat. So they’d bought the length of chain and lock from the chandler’s yard and had chained their captive to the pipes, making sure the links were good and tight and ensuring the rest of his bonds were secure. Now, Starsky’s body carried several link shaped bruises around his back and sides and his writs and ankles were swollen and raw. And now they waited for Coyle to carry out the next part of his heinous plan – the death of the blond one.

That was what was so clever. No-one would ever be able to pin the death on them. Coyle had had Starsky taken early enough to start his conditioning well in advance and he’d been trained on a couple of unsuspecting and helpless victims until Coyle was sure the brainwashing and the drug had worked. And now he’d summoned the curly haired detective’s partner to the boat shed and was expecting fireworks.

Starsky stared up at the ceiling trying desperately to remember anything. Facts; faces; names. Nothing came to him, the last week being a mere blur and it scared him almost more that the crisping and discolored blood on the front of his tee shirt. He closed his eyes and prayed that the blond would be clever enough to bring backup. If he had truly been gone a week, surely Dobey would have had a search started for him.

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

Hutch floored the gas pedal as he neared the boathouse, needing to get there to check his curly haired hellion of a partner was ok, although he still couldn’t understand the brunet’s connection to the dead body in his apartment. As the shed came into view, he lifted his foot off the pedal and braked sharply, finally swinging the powerful red car to a halt at the side of the open and inviting door. Slowly he checked out the building from the confines of the vehicle, taking his cannon of a gun out of its holster and checking each chamber carried its deadly load of lead and there was one in the pipe. He thumbed on the safety. Cocked and locked they called it and the split second it saved in bringing the weapon up to shoot had saved his life more than once. He pushed the gun down the waistband of his jeans and slowly and quietly got out of the car. As he walked towards the boathouse door he saw a movement to his left and a man dressed in black tee shirt and black pants approached him. Hutch started to reach for his gun, but the man was faster and showed him the Beretta in his hand. Slowly, Hutch brought both hands into the open and up to shoulder height, seeing another man approaching him from the other side. They flanked the flaxen haired cop as they directed him into the dark shed and over to a small room in the corner. As they got to the door an alarmingly familiar voice rang out.

‘To be sure it’s good to be seeing your face, Detective Hutchinson’.

Hutch whirled around at the Irish brogue and glared at Coyle as the white haired man smiled an irritating smile at him. ‘Coyle!’

The man gave a small bow. ‘I’m flattered that you remember a poor lowly two bit criminal like myself’ he muttered sarcastically. ‘Perhaps you remember our last meeting too?’

‘Only too well’ the blond ground out, berating himself for now following Dobey’s advice and getting back up. The two men in black pushed him towards the door of the small room and he walked cautiously through it, Coyle bringing up the rear, wanting to see the Nordic cop’s reaction at the occupant.

Hutch took in the room with one sweep of his ice blue eyes and they settled in shocked horror on the chained, bound and filthy man on the dirty mattress. Starsky was curled on his side, facing away from the door and as he heard noises, he turned his indigo eyes stormy as he saw his partner.

‘Oh God, Hutch….no!’ his voice full of despair. Why the hell had the blond not just followed procedure and gotten himself some reinforcements?

‘Good to see you too partner’ Hutch said, keeping his voice level. He was shocked at the condition Starsky was in and angry at seeing the brunette tied and chained like a wild animal.

‘Now that we’ve had the fond introductions, perhaps we can get down to business’ Coyle said strutting into the middle of the room. He looked from one detective to the other, but Hutch ignored him and crossed the room to kneel by the bed, ignoring the sounds of weapons cocking behind him. He reached down and put his hand on his partner’s arm.

‘You OK Gordo. What the hell’s happened?’

Starsky tried to smile back, but it was a shadow of the usual lop sided grin. He was scared and he knew he couldn’t hide it from the blond. ‘Dunno’ he said softly. ‘Hoping you could tell me?’

Rough hands pulled Hutch away from the bed and to the middle of the room.

‘That’s what I always liked about you two. The sickening brotherhood you shared. It makes me want to puke’.

‘Jealousy won’t get ya far’ the brunet said softly and braced himself as one of Coyle’s goons kicked out at him, catching him on the side above the chain. He gasped, but bit back the yelp.

His assailant looked down at him in disgust. ‘Mr. Coyle wasn’t speaking to you’.

Hutch tried to get to his partner, but the men held him back and he struggled in their grip. Coyle laughed.

‘What would be the worst thing to happen to two such close guys?’ he said conversationally. ‘What could possibly drive a wedge between the Metro’s finest huh? Maybe, the ultimate?’

Hutch glared at him. ‘Don’t waste our time, Coyle. Just spit it out and forget the dramatics’.

‘Why the rush? Don’t you want to enjoy your last few minutes with him?’ he pointed at Starsky who was struggling to sit up on the mattress.

‘You lay a finger on him again and so help me I’ll kill every last one of ya’,” the angry Viking spat out, seeing Coyle’s face crumple into a grin.

‘How can you be so wrong so many times?’ he said. ‘He’s not going to die, rest assured. But you on the other hand, well that’s a different kettle of fish, as my grandmother used to say. You, Detective, are not going to see another sunrise and there’s nothing you can do about it’.

Hutch put his hand up. ‘Fine. OK. Do what you want with me, but for Gods sake let him go’ he pleaded. He so wanted to knock that grin right off Coyle’s open, flushed face. But the man was laughing again.

‘Oh believe me, we will do what we want with you, and you will die. But I won’t lift a finger. Neither will my men. Your sweet, curly haired, kind, compassionate partner, on the other hand, will be your executioner’. He looked at the two men by the bedside. ‘Prepare him’.

As the two men descended on Starsky, the two others took a firm hold of the blond, holding him still as he was forced to watch.

Chained and bound as he was, Starsky had little chance to retaliate and Hutch watched as his usually hot-headed partner cowered back as the rough hands reached down to him. As one man opened the padlock and released the chain from around the brunette’s waist the other reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a well used and tattered leather bound case. He opened is slowly and Hutch saw with horror that it contained a syringe, a vial of colorless liquid and a set of needles. As Starsky continued to try to push himself back into the wall, his eyes wide and transfixed on the hypo, Hutch felt the bile rise in his throat.

‘For God’s sake Coyle. What is this? Some sort of sick game? Ya gonna string him out? Why?’

Coyle put his hand up, silencing the distracted blond. ‘We wouldn’t dream of getting him hooked. Heroin is illegal Detective. I’m sure you know that. No this is a special little concoction that your friend has been getting used to. One dose and his training will kick in. The man you know as your partner will be replaced by the man who killed that girl in his apartment and the man down by the docks on Monday. Good little practice targets, and now, I think, he’s ready for the big time’.

In horror Hutch watched as the two men knelt by the struggling, terrified brunette. The memories of that needle came flooding back to Starsky now and his mind rebelled at the horror of all he’d done. Angry at himself, but unable to stop, he started to plead with his captors, the sweat beading on his forehead.

‘No, please don’t…not again….no, please….nooooo’.

One man pushed the brunet back until he was lying on his back while the other knelt on the outstretched arm and flicked at the veins, finding one to stand proud and turgid. Hutch tried to close his ears to the strangled cry that forced itself pitifully from his partner’s throat as the needle plunged into its target and the man depressed the plunger, sending the drug to course through Starsky’s sweating and trembling body. As he removed the needle, the men got up, leaving the curly haired detective shaking and convulsing on the ground.

Very slowly, the shudders ceased and Starsky’s cramping muscled relaxed. He opened his eyes again and looked around as if for the first time. Sitting up, he shook his head as if to try and rid himself of a dream and with a grunt, got to his feet. The brunet looked uncertainly around the room, his eyes finally resting on Hutch.

‘Do you know this man?’ Coyle asked. Seeing the curly head nod, he continued. ‘You know what to do. He’s your enemy. He killed your family. He needs to die and you need to avenge them.

Hutch watched horrified as he saw the hate on the familiar indigo eyes and his partner walked towards him with predator like grace as the four men left the room, leaving behind a knife on the floor.

Chapter 5
(By: Starskysgal)

Starsky’s gaze never wavered from the blonde’s glare as he took a few steps forward, and knelt down, picking the knife up in his left hand, holding the handle and spinning it comfortably in his hand.
“Hey Starsk, whatcha doin’ buddy?” Hutch heard his voice quiver as much as he fought against it.
Starsky didn’t answer, he merely stared at his best friend, his eyes glazed over, not even recognizing the tall blond holding the knife out in front of him as he took another step towards his partner.
“Starsk, I don’t know what they gave you, or what they’ve done to you,” Hutch stammered as he backed up slightly, feeling the wall behind him as he looked towards the door, spotting Coyle peering in through a small window in the portal, his eyes darted back at his friend as one hand shakily came up in front of him, palm out, fingers splayed. “L…listen Starsk, this isn’t you…it’s them…they did this to you…c..come on buddy, you gotta listen to…”
His voice was cut off as Starsky lunged forward, grabbing Hutch’s wrist and swinging him around, twisting his arm behind him, as his left arm came around his chest, his hand with the knife, under his chin, the cold steel metal resting on Hutch’s moist skin, right at the side of his throat. Hutch was shocked, taken by surprise by his partner’s actions and strength as he was momentarily caught off guard.
The sweat glistened off his fair skin as he held as still as possible, swallowing hard, feeling the sharp edge against his skin and the sting as the razor sharpness of the steal, created a thin slice in his skin, much like a paper cut, and just as uncomfortable. Hutch fought to keep from moving too quickly, wincing in pain as a slight trickle of blood began to flow from the small incision.
“Listen Starsk, come on buddy, you gotta fight this. It’s me, Hutch…you don’t wanna do this.” Hutch spoke fast as if each word could be his last.
He could feel Starsky’s body trembling as the brunet briefly laid his forehead on the blond’s shoulder, in an apparent struggle with himself.
“That’s it buddy, listen to my voice, remember me and thee…you can fight this, I know you can. You’re the strongest man I know…don’t let ‘em win.” Hutch continued to allow the soft soothing tone of his voice flow as he felt his friend’s body start to relax somewhat.
Suddenly the brunet’s body tensed back up, his grip on the blond tightening as Starsky pursed his lips together, whispering in Hutch’s ear. “Shuddup. Just shuddup! You’re the enemy, they told me all about you and how you would try an’ trick me!”
Hutch’s eyes fixed on Coyle’s through the window, the hatred that he felt, he needed to push way far down, deep with in himself.
“Listen buddy, hear my voice.”
Starsky tightened his grip, causing Hutch to wince in pain, his body tensing in fear that he could not let Coyle or Starsky see.
“Remember that time, it was you and me, in the barn…against those jerks that thought I killed their brother…it was you and me against all of them…you got shot…but you still had my back, and I had yours…do you remember that?”
Starsky’s body began once again to relax and Hutch knew he had to keep pressing the issue.
“What about the time, Forrest pumped me so full of drugs, you locked me in the room above Huggy’s place for three days…you helped me fight off those demons pal, I want to help you fight these…”
The brunet relaxed even more. Hutch could see the look of concern on Coyle’s face as he heard the lock on the door being worked. He closed his eyes, said a small prayer that what he was about to do would not hurt his partner, but he had to try.
As the door flew open, Hutch grabbed Starsky’s left hand, letting out a yelp as he felt the blade dig into his neck, jerking it away and using his height and reflexes to his advantage, taking Starsky’s left arm, bending himself and lifting his partner’s body onto his back and flipping him onto the ground in front him, tripping the goon that was rushing at him. One more move and Hutch had the knife in his hand, leapt over his partner and grabbed Coyle around the neck with one arm, the knife at his back with the other. Hutch bent forward, looking at his friend on the ground who was struggling to get up, relieved that he was okay. The brunet turned and looked at the tall Nordic with pure hatred as he took a step towards him, Hutch dug the knife deeper into Coyle’s back, piercing his clothes, and slightly into his skin. The gray haired man arched forward trying to avoid the infliction of pain that Hutch was providing.
“Call him off,” Hutch spewed in Coyle’s ear, as his eyes kept darting from Starsky, to the other man, still picking himself up off the ground. Starsky had now become his nemesis, his enemy, even if temporarily.
Starsky took one step towards him, causing Hutch to tighten his grip, nearly chocking Coyle, “I mean it Coyle, call ‘im off!” He growled into the man’s ear.
Coyle struggled momentarily to speak before finally finding his voice, “Stop!” The gray haired man demanded as Starsky looked at him curiously. “Wait!” His voice was deep and authoritative and stopped Starsky in his tracks.
The sight of watching his partner taking commands from someone else, with the intention of harming the blond, tore at Hutch’s heartstrings. It pained him to know and to watch the internal struggle that was taking place with in the brunet’s soul. He saw it in his partner’s indigo eyes as Starsky’s glance traveled between the two men there, glimpsing at Hutch, then back at Coyle, wrought with confusion.
Starsky stood still as he was instructed to do, Hutch sighed a breath of relief as he felt the warm flow of a sticky thick fluid seeping down his neck. Shrugging his shoulder and then looking at the red stain on his shirt, he suddenly felt the sting of the slice in his neck. Looking at his partner, he saw Starsky furrow his brow at the sight, and then shuddered as he watched a smile spread across the curly haired man’s face. To think that his best friend, a man closer to him then a brother would be, found joy in seeing him injured. His stomach knotted in anger and sadness as he wondered what Coyle had done to the man he once knew so well.
“You!” Hutch directed his voice towards the third man in the room that had come in with Coyle, “Get the door.” He flipped his head.
The man looked at Coyle as the older man gave a subtle nod of his head, feeling the blade against his skin, poking through his shirt, a small trickle of blood starting to flow from the puncture wound, as a chill ran down his spine. Hutch leaned closer to Coyle, once again, concentrating his words, directing them into the man’s ear.
“Now you listen, and you listen good! I’m only gonna say this once. I don’t know what in the hell you did to my partner, but you are going to direct him to lead the way outta here, we’re gonna go outside, and you’re gonna arrange to get me a car, and me AND my partner are gonna get the hell out of here.” He tightened his hold, “You got me?”
“You have no idea what you are asking me to do Detective, he’s not you’re partner anymore, he’s a killer.” Coyle responded quietly. “He’s just like a shark that circles the waters at the scent of blood, you can’t control him, only I do that.”
“Just do as I say Coyle, or so help me God, I spill your blood right here, every last drop of it.” Hutch pressed the knife harder against his back, causing the man to wince in pain.
Hutch looked over at the door, “Gimme your piece.” Hutch demanded as he saw the butt of the weapon sticking up through his waistband. The man again looked at his boss for directions as Coyle reluctantly nodded in agreement.
“Detective, I assure you, this is a great mistake, this man you once knew will kill you the minute you turn your back on him, and you have no idea how deep the conditioning goes.” The evil man attempted to convince the blond.
Hutch kept his arm around Coyle’s body as he accepted the weapon being handed to him, in his left hand, taking it and awkwardly placing it under Coyle’s chin as he dropped the knife and switched the pistol to his right hand carefully, making sure not to lose hold of his hostage.
“I want my car, waiting outside, keys in the ignition!” Hutch ordered as Coyle flipped his head at his henchman who dug in his pocket and retrieved a set of keys. “Okay, we all go out together, you first,” he pointed at the man with the keys, using the barrel of the gun, “Then Starsky follows him, and we’ll bring up the rear, all nice and calm here. When we get outside Coyle, I want you to instruct my partner to get inside the car, passenger front seat. No quick moves, or I know at least two of the four in this room will wind up dead.” The blond threatened as Coyle tipped his head and the first man headed out the door, Starsky reluctantly following him, and Hutch attached to Coyle, following them.
They walked slowly and purposefully down the hallway, Hutch was surprised, and a little nervous to see the place empty. Where had the others gone so fast, where were the rest? They continued out side, and to the car, Coyle’s man walked around to the driver’s side of Hutch’s car, putting the keys in the ignition and starting it up, he then climbed out slowly. With the weapon, he flipped it to the side, “You, over there by the tree.” Hutch instructed him and then lent forward to whisper in Coyle’s ear. “Tell Starsky to get in the car, nice and easy, make sure he doesn’t start any trouble.”
Coyle cleared his throat. “David, I want you to stay calm, and just do as I say, you need to get in the car, and listen to what I tell you, do you understand?” Coyle asked.
Starsky nodded his head, but also seemed a bit confused about his directions, he walked over to the car, opened the door and sat in the front seat, his legs still hanging out of the car.
“Put your legs inside David, and wait there.” Coyle instructed him as Starsky silently obliged.
Hutch walked over to the car, looking at his partner, getting within arms reach, his gaze darting between Coyle’s man by the tree and the house, making sure the coast was still clear. With a mighty shove, he pushed Coyle, sending him spiraling to the ground with a heavy thud. He turned quickly, looking Starsky in the eyes, and very quietly spoke, “M’sorry buddy.” He whispered as he drew back his arm, letting it fly forward, connecting with his partner’s chin, knocking him out instantly. Quickly he ran back around the car, keeping the weapon trained on Coyle, occasionally moving towards the other man and then back. Jumping in the vehicle, he dropped it into gear, squealing the tires and speeding away. As they sped down the road, Hutch managed to pull out his cuffs, clicking one on Starsky’s left hand, and leaning over the other was clanked around the door handle of the passenger side.
Hutch drove for miles and miles, continuously checking his rearview mirror, taking turns and back tracking, then going another direction all together, making sure they were not being followed. Once he felt comfortable, he looked for, and found a hotel, a run down, sleazy dive, that had covered parking around the back. Checking his partner, making sure he was still out, even though he was showing signs of coming around, stirring from time to time, Hutch felt comfortable leaving him for a few moments to go inside and secure a room.
Once he received the keys, he drove around back, Starsky was stirring slightly as he parked the car, going and opening the door to the room first, he came around to the passenger car to get his partner out of the vehicle. He wasn’t sure if it was the punch he gave his friends or the drugs, what ever they were, that were keeping the brunet so sedated. Nearly carrying him, he took him into the small, moldy smelling room, dropping him onto the bed, and rushing back to close the door.
He stared at the resting man, sighing a heavy breath of relief and sadness as he moved back to his partner and reattached the cuffs to the headboard regretfully, not knowing what kind of mental state his friend would be in when he woke.

Chapter 6
(By: Starsky’s Strut)

‘Tag… you’re it, pig.’

The words rang in Hutch’s ears as he stared at his unconscious, drugged up and currently homicidal friend handcuffed to the crappy bed. Yeah, I’m it alright. Only right now I’m running from everyone instead of trying to tag someone else. This is some sick game you’ve started, Coyle. Only I plan on winning it and you’ll be the big loser. Count on it.

The tall detective looked out the dirty window of the flea trap of a motel room. He wasn’t looking at anything outside, his vision -like his troubled thoughts- were turned inward. What did the dead woman in Starsky’s apartment and Matt Coyle have to do with each other? It was a setup of some sort – that part was easy enough to guess. But to what end? The girl was a stranger to them both. Why was she chosen for the slaughter that had taken place in Starsky’s apartment?

Hutch rubbed at the bridge of his nose, right over the spot where his throbbing headache was located. The damn thing had started during his mad dash to escape Coyle and his merry band of murders. His fingers traveled down to the small cut on his neck. The bleeding had stopped.

Starsky had attacked him.

Had cut him.

At Coyle’s command.

It made him sick. And it made him very angry. He forced his anger down, he needed to think now. He focused at the matter at hand. What did they do to Starsky to get him to turn on me so quickly? Drugs, for sure, he’d seen that first hand. Torture? Probably. A real unpleasant cocktail of drugs, mental and physical torture.

Could all those factors have actually driven Starsky to kill?

Or could it be that that was what the girl was for -to start the torture/conditioning process. Had they murdered her while Starsky was forced to watch? Or was she, as Coyle had said, truly one of two people his friend was supposed to have killed?

A horrible notion.

Hutch shook his head, there was no way he’d would ever believe that Starsky had killed that woman, no matter how many drugs they pumped in him or duress they put him under. Sure, Starsky was capable of killing, in the line of duty, but out and out murder?

Never.

But Hutch knew -from personal experience- what powerful drugs could do. But Coyle had said it wasn’t heroin… and Coyle was a monumental liar. Nothing he said could be believed.

Hutch shuddered. What a tangled web he and Starsky were trapped in.

He fingered the cut again. The right drugs in the wrong hands… and over a week to work Starsky over? He swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a moment. No. He still wouldn’t believe it. Starsky had been able to fight the drug –to a point. He’d responded to Hutch’s voice even after being dosed with whatever the hell drug that had been used on him. It had been hours now. Depending on how quickly it metabolized, the drug should be nearly out of Starsky’s system by now.

Crap! He should have taken Coyle with him. He might’ve been able to get the information he needed. It had been a very bad mistake to leave him free. Hutch knew he could have made Coyle control Starsky until the drug wore off. Or he could have knocked Starsky out and simply handcuffed Coyle. He’d had the man responsible for the murders and Starsky’s kidnapping. Had him and let him go. If only he’d kept Coyle, he could have headed straight to headquarters and Starsky be getting the proper medical care he needed.

Shit.

Hutch sighed heavily. That was all water under the bridge.

Turning, the tall detective looked back from the window and to the figure he’d handcuffed to the bed. They were out of Coyle’s clutches and Hutch planned to keep it that way. He just had to figure out what the hell was going on. Starsky was still a prime suspect in the murder of Shawna Brooks -the young woman that had been stabbed in his friend’s apartment.

Hutch could only hope that they hadn’t been followed. He needed time and distance. He hoped they were far enough away. From everyone. He needed to figure out this tangled web of murder, kidnapping, revenge and homicide inducing drugs. Coyle always did have his fingers in a lot of different pies. The blond knew he needed a lot more answers and the only one that might know --couldn’t remember anything- and was hell bent on attacking him.

There was so much to do and so little time to do any of it.

He knew he couldn’t turn Starsky in just yet. Staying in this dump for very long was a serious risk and the Torino would have to be gotten rid of, traded in for something a lot less conspicuous. The knife attack had nothing on what Starsky was probably gonna do to him when he found out. He groaned helplessly.

Hutch sighed and swept back his falling, blond bangs with a shaky hand. If he could figure out how to undo whatever they’d done to his partner, things should start to fall into place. He was well aware that he was fighting a battle on three separate fronts.

Coyle, Bay City PD and Starsky.

Starsky was the key to the whole thing and he’d only become violent after being drugged. Let that wear off and he should have his partner back. Operative word being should.

As if hearing his thoughts, the curly haired detective shifted slightly on the lumpy mattress.

Hutch knew he’d fight that front first. The whole mess should unravel, if only he could just uncoil Coyle’s coil on Starsky. He chuckled humorlessly at his sad little joke and moved towards the bed, determined to help his best friend.

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

Starsky slowly awoke to pain. That was nothing new to him; it was his constant companion -along with a floaty, disconnected, head-filled-with-cotton feeling, like he’d taken too much cold medicine.

He waited for a command from the Voice. He could do nothing on his own without the Voice telling him to. And to fight it meant blood, pain, and overwhelming feelings of distress and impending doom.

He recalled the last words the Voice had ordered him to do. …Stay calm and just do as I say… Put your legs inside and wait there. He remembered getting into the car with his enemy –and that was all he remembered, until he woke up a few minutes ago.

His enemy was still in the room. Starsky waited and remained calm, because the Voice said to. People died when he didn’t listen to the Voice. They died horrible, bloody deaths. He remembered that the Voice told him he was responsible for their deaths, though he didn’t quite remember killing them. Only remembered seeing the mangled, lifeless bodies before him and the knife, the blood, oh god the blood on him –on his shirt, his skin… Stay calm… Stay calm… wait there… the Voice thundered in his ears.

He’s a killer. …a shark…

The Voice said it, so it must be true. Starsky worked at breathing slowly and listening, ignoring the ache in his wrists, shoulders and upper back. Such pain was nothing new, he bit back a groan of pain. It was just pain, it could be ignored.

“Easy Starsk. Sorry about the cuffs.”

A hand threaded through his hair. Starsky wanted to pull away from the touch, but didn’t. Stay calm… wait there… enemy… must kill him. Killed my family, must kill him… Stay calm… wait… must kill… wait… The words echoed and clanged through his skull, the volume increasing to nearly deafening levels. Only obeying could turn the volume down again.

“C’mon buddy, open your eyes. I know you’re awake.”

This voice was so much like his friend Hutch’s voice.

He had a flash of memory. The Voice told him that this man had killed his family. Hutch was his friend. Hutch would never do that. So this person couldn’t be Hutch. This was the enemy. The Voice had said so. Wait… Stay calm… This man had killed his family. The volume slid upwards again so he could hardly hear this shadow Hutch talking. He began to shake.

“Aw buddy-”

If shadow Hutch said anything more, the Voice drowned it out. Shark… Kill! … enemy… Calm… trick him into letting you go, then attack. Starsky opened his eyes and looked at the man standing next to the bed. He plastered a smile on his face. “Good to see ya, buddy.” He gently shook his bound wrists. “Could you let me go? I’m not really into this kinky stuff.” He widened his smile.

The tall man chuckled in a relieved way. “That’s the Starsky I know, here, just a sec.” He dug into his pockets and pulled out a key. In short order the cuffs were removed. His enemy sat on the edge of the bed and took one of Starsky’s hands and carefully patted it to get the circulation back. It came back in a flurry of painful tingles to his left hand and then the right where the process was repeated.

The blond man chatted amiably away, but Starsky couldn’t hear what he was saying over the Voice chanting loudly in his head. Kill enemy… kill… calm… wait…

The volume increased.

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

Hutch scooted further onto the bed as he worked on restoring the feeling in Starsky’s hands. He then gently nudged his way behind Starsky, encouraging him to sit up and went on to carefully massaging his friend’s neck and shoulders. Touching was a big part of who they were. It felt so wonderful to simply be with Starsky again. They could accomplish anything as long as they were together.

He allowed himself a content sigh. He’d worry about the mess they were in later. For now, he’d just enjoy the comfort he was giving and getting. So what if Starsky was quieter than normal? After the ordeal Starsky had put been through, he had good reason to be silent.

Still… Starsky was just lying there, accepting the touch without reciprocating it. A frown slowly knitted its way across Hutch’s brow. Still something wasn’t quite right. “Starsk… how’re ya doin’, huh? Bud-”

In a flash, Starsky spun around and wrapped his fingers around Hutch’s neck, cutting off the word and his air. He struggled to break the hold, but wedged up against the headboard, he had absolutely no leverage and no space to maneuver as Starsky used his superior position and weight to hold him down. He fought hard as the room began to go gray on him.

“Shuddup! Just shut up!” Starsky gritted out as he squeezed harder and started banging Hutch’s head on the headboard.

The gray faded to black and the blond’s last conscious thought was I know this ain’t your fault, Starsk. He didn’t feel the single tear trickle from his eye.

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

Once all movement stopped, Starsky released his enemy’s throat and sat back, chest heaving with exertion, heart pounding and finally, gloriously, the Voice stopped screaming at him. He could think now. He sat for a long moment, straddling his enemy. He didn’t feel joy in killing the man that killed his family, he just felt tired. He moved to the edge of the bed, put his feet on the floor, closed his eyes and struggled to catch his breath.

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

Starsky opened his eyes and found that he sitting on a bed in a crappy motel room. Wallpaper was peeling off in several places, missing in still others. What the hell?

“Ah” He put his hands to his head. He had a whopper of a headache. The damn thing felt like it was gonna explode. The last thing he remembered was being tied and chained by Coyle’s goons. Hutch was there and they were going about to give Starsky a shot of something. Next thing he knew, he was here. Wherever here was.

Hutch! Starsky whipped around looking for his partner.

Hutch was lying on his back, his upper body up against the headboard, his head at an uncomfortable looking angle. His face had a faintly blue cast.

“Hutch!” Starsky yelled and carefully moved his friend’s body and gently tilted the head back and listened for a breath. Nothing. He quickly forced a couple of quick breaths into Hutch and checked his choroid artery. There was a faint, fluttery pulse there. He sent up a quick prayer and breathed again for Hutch. “Come on Blondie, it ain’t your time, breathe dammit!” He repeated the lifesaving action until he heard a weak cough.

He gently pulled Hutch into his arms and hugged him. “Thank god” He whispered as he slowly rocked his friend’s body. Part of him knew he shouldn’t be moving his partner at all, but he couldn’t make himself stop just yet, he was nearly in a panicked state. The last time he’d woken up with just such a headache was back at his apartment. He’d been covered in dried blood. His living room splattered with it, all dried up and brown. Yellow crime scene tape everywhere and the chalk outline of a body on his once clean floor.

“Who did this to you? Oh god, what’s happening?” Starsky continued to rock, holding on to the only thing that meant something, Hutch. When his panic slowly released its hold on him, he carefully eased the tall blond back onto the bed, taking special care to support his head and neck.

Starsky reassessed Hutch’s condition. His friend still breathed, abet there was a slight wheeze to it. The brunet hardly knew what he was doing and could barely think straight, the room spun dizzily around him. Hutch came first. He focused his aching brain on taking care of his partner.

He began to tenderly check for other injuries, hard pressed to figure out why Hutch had stopped breathing in the first place. Starsky hadn’t made it very far when he found the bruises on his partner’s neck. His friend had been strangled. Nearly murdered. The brunet’s blood started to boil. He’d kill whoever did this.

There was a change in the wheezing and he glanced up to see Hutch looking at him. He dredged up a small smile. “Hey babe, was wonderin’ when you’d get back.” Starsky reached up to brush back a few tendrils of hair that had fallen down. Hutch flinched and his eyes went wide, fear clearly showing in the light blue depths.

Confused, Starsky pulled his hand back a little and nearly laughed at his own silliness. Hutch wasn’t flinching from him. Couldn’t be. He reached forward again only to have the blond wheeze and weakly bat at his hands. “S’me Hutch. S’okay now. I don’t know who did this to you, but he’s gone now.”

Hutch shook his head no, meaning that the culprit wasn’t gone.

Starsky jumped up, ready to defend his injured friend. Only there wasn’t anyone in the room with them. So he darted to the door and peeked outside. The front of the motel was a wide area with no place to hide. He closed and locked the door. He made his way back to the bed and sat down. “I didn’t see anyone-”

Hutch rolled his eyes, reached up and caught the edge of Starsky’s filthy light blue tee shirt and tugged on it.

Starsky quickly leaned in and watched with empathy as his friend struggled to talk. After several aborted attempts, a frustrated Hutch motioned for paper and a pen. “Oh, right.” Starsky found the items in the nightstand next to the bed and handed them over.

Hutch scratched out a quick note and handed it back to Starsky.
You did it. It wasn’t your fault. Coyle had you drugged. The words ‘It wasn’t your fault was underlined twice.

Chapter 7
(By: Wuemsel)

Starsky stared at the scribbled words as if they were a cryptic code. He blinked twice, but showed no other reaction to the information he held.

Hutch waited, watching his partner carefully, unsure what to expect. It was obvious Starsky didn’t remember attacking him. Or at least he hadn’t remembered before. Maybe it hadn’t been the wisest idea to remind him of it. As much as the blond hated the thought of it, he had no idea what Coyle’s conditioning had consisted of. He had merely assumed the drug to have run its course – and see how right he’d been about that. Maybe it wasn’t the drug alone after all.

Willing himself to not get scared of his best friend, he tapped Starsky’s knee.

Starsky didn’t react.

Hutch nudged him again, and this time Starsky looked up at him. Instantly, Hutch felt ashamed at the fear he’d felt rising.

Though his features were even, marked only by concern for his friend, Starsky’s eyes shone with regret. He couldn’t meet Hutch’s gaze, but looked at the angry red marks on the blond’s throat. He swallowed thickly once, almost as if he could feel Hutch’s pain himself.

“I did that?” he asked in a small voice, his gaze dropping again.

Hutch pointed at the underlined sentence on the slightly shaking note Starsky still clung to. When again no reaction came, he poked Starsky’s knee a bit harder than before and shook his head.

Starsky smiled a small grateful smile that wouldn’t have fooled a five-year-old. He reached out as if to touch the raw, injured skin on Hutch’s neck, but withdrew his hand before contact was made. “Hurts pretty bad, I bet. Can you breathe alright now?”

Meeting his partner’s worried frown with a matching one, Hutch nodded, unsure what to make out of Starsky’s behavior. It wasn’t what he’d expected, but then he wasn’t sure what he should have expected.

“I’ll live,” he tried to say, but all that came out was a croak and a painful cough.

“Shh,” Starsky hushed him, deepening his frown. “Don’t try to talk, yet. Your throat looks like everything’s squashed in there, so just take it easy, Blintz. No talking.” He looked around the room, taking in their surroundings. “Where are we?” he asked, turning back to Hutch. “What is this, a hotel?”

Hutch nodded. He swallowed and winced at the pain that brought. He thought he saw Starsky start to reach for him again but stop himself. Instead, the brunet stood to walk over to the bathroom and returned with a glass of water he handed the blond.

“Small sips,” he advised, as he sat back down on the bed.

Hutch noticed how their fingers didn’t touch, when he took the glass. Gratefully, he took a – small – sip and carefully cleared his throat. “Thanks,” he whispered and grimaced.

“I said no talking,” Starsky chided gently, but the easy tone was replaced by a darker one, when he asked, “Did I hurt you anywhere else?”

Ironically, the question itself felt like a blow, the forced braveness with which it was asked tugging at Hutch’s heart. He shook his head. “It wasn’t you,” he added in the thready, thin croak that was now his voice.

Starsky looked down at his hands resting in his lap. “Did I…” He took a deep breath, before continuing, “Did I hurt anyone else?”

When no immediate answer came, he glanced up at Hutch. The blond’s heart ached at the helpless plea in the dark blue eyes. “No,” he whispered. But he had to look away, when their eyes met.

“D’you know that?” Starsky asked softly.

Hutch shook his head.

Starsky nodded slowly and bit his lower lip. “The… the blood at my place…” He trailed off.

Hutch saw him tense up and for the first time noticed that Starsky seemed to have lost weight too, the dirty shirt hanging too loosely on his frame, his shoulder, as he shrugged them up, looking almost bony against the light blue material. Then again, providing sufficient nutrition probably wasn’t listed in your best-selling Book of Brain-Washing.

Unaware of having been inspected and diagnosed, Starsky continued, “M-my place is a murder scene. Isn’t it?” he asked, when Hutch said nothing.

Hutch braced himself, sensing the anxiety his partner radiated. He sat up straighter on the bed and tried to touch Starsky’s arm, but the brunette jumped from the bed. He marched over to the wall farthest away from Hutch and leaned against it, unable to suppress a wince, when his back connected with the solid material.

“Starsk-“ Hutch started, but was either not heard or interrupted.

“What have I done, Hutch?” It broke Hutch’s heart to hear the fear in Starsky’s voice, to see him wrap his arms around himself as if for protection. It only now occurred to him that his friend was probably hurting too, given the bruises he’d seen before.

But the physical pain wasn’t the main issue here, Hutch knew. “You didn’t do anything,” he said gently and swallowed a painful cough that threatened to break through.

Starsky huffed a humorless laugh. “Says you! Look at you, man. Listen to you! God, Hutch, when I woke up, you weren’t breathing. I almost killed you! Hell, I did kill you – only then I brought you back. How d’you know I didn’t kill anyone else?”

“You didn’t,” Hutch said. He stood up too but sat down again quickly, when he started to feel dizzy.

Starsky looked like he wanted to jump to his aid, but hugged his middle closer instead, as if he had to restrain himself from getting too close to Hutch. From hurting Hutch again.

“You don’t know that,” he said darkly. “You don’t know what they drugged me with or what they did to me. You don’t even know if it’s over now.”

Hutch froze at that, watching his partner carefully. “It’s over,” he stated. It sounded like an order.

Starsky was staring at the raw, ragged marks on his left wrist. “You don’t know that,” he replied, suddenly very calm. “You don’t know what else they did. Maybe it can be triggered. Or it’ll just come back.”

A chill traveled down the blond’s spine. He knew that tone of voice of his partner. Starsky had a plan. “If it does, we’ll deal with it,” he said. “I’ll be right there with you.”

“And let me finish what I started?” Starsky snapped. When he looked at Hutch, regret showed in his eyes, yet he didn’t apologize. “What about Coyle?” he asked out of nowhere.

Hutch frowned. “I don’t know,” he answered carefully. “I had to get us out of there. Starsky, what-“

“Did you check in with Dobey?” Starsky interrupted him. He had unwrapped himself and stepped away from the wall.

Somehow, Hutch was pretty sure he didn’t like where this was leading them. “What d’you mean?” he asked, eyeing his partner like some dangerous animal you didn’t want to let out of your sight.

“Does Dobey know where we are?” Starsky explained.

“No,” Hutch replied. “But I told him I found you. He gave me an hour to figure everything out, but that’s way passed by now. Your place is probably swarmed with unis. Buddy,” he quickly added, before Starsky could ask any more, “what is going on inside that head of yours?”

Starsky smiled soothingly. “Nothing. Headache. How’re you doing now? You sound better.”

Hutch wasn’t buying it for a second. Slowly tilting his head to one side, he watched his friend approach the door. “Starsky…” he growled warningly and rose up from the bed. “Don’t you dare.”

Starsky’s smile faded. His eyes met Hutch’s. “I gotta find out about this, Hutch. I gotta know.”

Understanding hit Hutch a split second too late, as Starsky dove for the door, slamming it shut behind him, before Hutch had even reached it. “Starsky, no!”

The key turned in the lock outside.

“Damn it, Starsk, open up!” Hutch yelled, but had to submit to the violent coughing that punished his attempt at rising his voice.

“Stop shouting, Blintz,” Starsky reprimanded from the other side of the door. “I’m not turning around, so don’t try and hurt yourself even more. I’ll call Dobey and let him know where you are.”

Disregarding his friend’s smart advice to stay quiet, Hutch banged against the door, furiously trying to call after Starsky, to yell some sense into him, but soon the quickly departing footsteps couldn’t be heard anymore and Hutch knew his efforts were futile. With one last angry punch at the door, he let himself slid down to rest against it.

Damn it, Gordo, I just got you away from that fruitcake!

Chapter 8
(By: rsb57)

Leaving Hutch behind, Starsky did what he promised he'd do. He called Dobey from the phone booth by the hotel office. Once Dobey was on the line, he gave only the location of the hotel and muttered a garbled sentence or two extra before hanging up. He shifted and paced as he talked and his eyes darted across the street as he planned his next move.

Running as fast as his Adidas would get him, Starsky bolted down alleys, blindly trying to put distance between himself and what he had just done. After a few minutes of tripping and skidding over garbage, old men cowering in corners, waiting for their next drink and dumpsters overflowing with smells and flies, Starsky darted into an abandoned building. He hunkered down in a dark corner to catch his breath and think.

He held his head as words and fragments of sentences, bounced off his memory.
stay calm- kill enemy-
it's over- Coyle, not your fault

He forced himself to think past the foggy heaviness in his head. He had to sort out what he knew to be true.

He let out an angry cry and smacked his head against the wall behind him. He didn't know what the truth was. The Voice was in his head but it wasn't the same somehow. The words 'it's over', came out as an echo bouncing around him. Two faces floated in front of him, both saying it's over.

Which one to trust? He remembered he killed. Killed that girl in his apartment. Blood everywhere. But Hutch? Where was Hutch? Why did his voice, his face, keep swirling around him? Is that who he killed?

"Oh shit-- Hutch is dead! But isn't that what I was supposed to do? Now, everything will be okay". Starsky stood up but staggered back as his head spun. He pushed himself forward instead of thinking. He couldn't let the enemy find him. Stay calm. Listen to the Voice.

But just as quick as that knowledge entered his head, it was followed by a strong feeling of uneasiness followed by doubt. If he was supposed to kill, why couldn't he remember? He felt a vague sense of loss but didn't understand it. He just couldn't be sure about anything anymore. Scenes flashed in his head, but didn't come together enough to complete the picture. The only thing he knew for sure was the voice in his head and Coyle.

Coyle would know what the truth was.

The only thing he could do was get back to where it all began, Pier 80 at the old boat factory. The voices in his head slowed down but he knew he had no choice now but to get back to Coyle. Those were his orders.

Starsky wobbled back against the wall as dizziness threatened again. His stomach rumbled and he tasted the bile rising in his mouth. He swallowed against those sensations and steadied himself. He thought of his orders.

Finding transportation back to the pier and Bay City was a problem though. He couldn't take a bus because for sure Dobey would have alerted the bus terminals and car rental places. He'd just have to rely on his ability to hot wire a nice, boring car. Starsky started prowling, keeping to the alleys and side streets until he came to the perfect car for him. It was dented, scratched, ugly and it reminded him of--- it reminded him of something but he just couldn't focus on what. He rubbed his eyes and thought about Coyle. He had to get there. Stay Calm, he heard in his head. He glanced around and when he felt no one was watching, he slid into the driver's seat. He laughed to himself, wondering if the owner left the car unlocked, hoping to get the damn thing stolen for the insurance money. As Starsky connected the wires, he felt lucky that nobody seemed too interested in the cough and sputter as the car started. Starsky took advantage and quickly pulled out onto the main road and sped out past the city limits on his way to Coyle.

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

Once he was sure Starsky wasn't coming back, Hutch slumped against the door. His throat hurt and his head was pounding.

Hutch remained on the floor, knees up to his chin and his arms wrapped around his legs. He banged his head against the door in frustration, wondering what the hell to do next. Finally, he unwrapped himself and used the door to support his way back up to a standing position. He checked the dresser; already sure that Starsky had taken both sets of keys. The only thing to do now was wait. Maybe he could figure out where Starsky might go.

He opened the drapes across the dingy window. The light coming through was fogged by the smeared window but it still made him squint against the throbbing headache.

He recalled the conversation between the curly haired man and himself. But it wasn't what Starsky said so much as what he didn't say that started the wheels turning in Hutch's mind. He knew Starsky had some kind of flashback of understanding. He could see it in the blue eyes as they grew darker and the set of his jaw got tighter.

Lost in thought, he jumped at the insistent banging on the door. He looked at the clock beside the bed and was surprised that so much time had passed since Starsky had fled. The banging continued, this time with the bellowing voice of Captain Dobey.

"Hutch, you okay? Stand back now!"

With that warning, the door splintered open, sending pieces of wood flying into the room followed by the bulk of Captain Dobey.

"Captain- Starsky called you? Did he say anything?" Hutch checked his gun and got his shoes on while he fired questions at the big man in front of him.

"Hutch, he called from right outside here. The pay phone by the office. All he gave me was your location but before he hung up he muttered something about 'being over'. The desk clerk remembered Starsky. He could see him on the phone from his vantage point. He said Starsky looked restless and agitated. Then after he hung up he crossed the street and went south out of town. He was on foot as far as he knew but Starsky wouldn't remain that way long." Dobey sat on the bed with a tired sigh, but heaved himself back up to follow the blond blur out the door.

The uniformed officer with Dobey had remained outside the room. He stepped out of the way from the oncoming, determined bodies.

Hutch threw the Torino keys at Miller as he opened the passenger side of Dobey's car.

"Miller, Starsky's car is behind the building. Take it back to headquarters and if you put one scratch on it, I'll let you answer to Starsky himself!"

Hutch disappeared into the car and slammed the door. The car rocked as Dobey settled himself behind the wheel.

"Hutch, just slow down a second. Do you have any idea where Starsky might be going? What's happened?" Dobey reached across the seat to put a comforting hand on Hutch's shoulder.

Hutch lowered his head and rubbed the furrow between his eyes. When he looked up again, Dobey was shocked at the red rimmed eyes and discoloration around Hutch's neck. The dingy room didn't provide enough light for inspection, but now in the brightness of day, Dobey saw the trauma of the past few days all over Hutch.

"Captain, I think Starsky would go to Coyle. He either remembers everything or he was just pl- playing this game that Coyle started. Pl- please, could you ju- just start driving? I'll te-tell you everything I know, but we gotta-- I have to find Starsky." Hutch rubbed at his neck, which still burned.

Captain Dobey stared at the dark bruises around Hutch's neck. It was on the tip of his tongue to demand an explanation right away. He was curious about the marks on Hutch's neck but he had no wish to push Hutch. He was anxious to know what the hell was going on but seeing Hutch in such a distracted state put the big man on high alert.

Dobey started the car, knowing in his heart that he could trust Hutch to tell him everything. The thought of loosing his best friend would keep Hutch from leaving anything out. The blond was desperate now to catch up with Starsky. Dobey knew that if Starsky was in danger or hurt, Hutch would do anything, legal or illegal, to make it right. Dobey wanted to be with Hutch now to keep him focused and protect Hutch from his own fears.

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

Dobey and Hutch made their way back to Bay City and were now sitting in the Captain's office. Files were spread out on the floor and on top of the desk, all related to Coyle's past and present activities. The two men tried to make some order to this. They needed to figure out Coyle's next move.

Dobey looked over at Hutch who had his head buried in a file, reading up on their friend Coyle. He couldn't believe the story that Hutch had told him. He looked again with concern at the marks surrounding Hutch's neck. He had already tried to convince Hutch to go to the emergency room about his injuries. But being on the receiving end of Hutch's glaring scowls and the few choice angry words, Dobey had no wish to repeat the tirade. Hutch's mind was made up and nothing Dobey could say would change that, not with Starsky's welfare in the balance. It was still hard for the Captain to comprehend that Starsky could ever be conditioned to hurt Hutch.

"So Hutch, you mean that all this was some sort of mind game? Starsky was brainwashed and trained to kill? This doesn't make sense man. Why the hell would Coyle go to all that trouble?"

Hutch glanced up from the folder in his lap. He stretched his neck and rubbed the ugly bruises that still marked him. He closed his eyes against the memory of it's origin but opened them again as he felt the dark, searching eyes of Captain Dobey on him. One steady glare later, the captain looked away, muttered something to himself and continued reading from his own folder.

"The question is Cap, what's he gonna do when he finds out I'm alive and that Starsky's missing?"

"The thing is Hutch, you said it yourself. We don't know the effects of the drug Starsky was given and we don't know about the conditioning process he was exposed to. What if he doesn't remember that you're alive? What if he thinks Coyle is really in charge?"

Dobey leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands on his belly.

"Captain, I think it's obvious that Starsky will go to Coyle. But it won't be easy for us to track him. Between the conditioning he endured, the drug, his street smarts and his detective skills, he'll disappear until he's sure it's safe. If we try and follow him or stop him, I think we'd be putting him in more danger."

Both men remained quiet for awhile. The muted voices behind the closed squad room door and the hall traffic all mingled with their thoughts. They both thought back to the past few days and the significance of the present.

Dobey's reverie was shattered with Hutch's enthusiastic whoop. The chair crashed back into the door when Hutch leaped up and flung himself over the desk to meet with the dark eyes of his captain.

Dobey was momentarily afraid for the detective's sanity until he saw the determined blue eyes staring back at him. He literally saw a plan evolving in Hutch's head before the words were formed.
"Cap, I got it! I just figured out how to play this game!"

Chapter 9
(Sparkle731)

Starsky cursed angrily as the car he had hotwired sputtered and died. Pulling over to the side of the road, he climbed out from behind the wheel and looked around. It was getting dark and he was stranded on a deserted stretch of the road in the middle of nowhere. He hadn’t seen any other cars for at least the last fifteen minutes and had no idea how far he was from Bay City. If the throbbing in his head would just ease up a little maybe he could get his confused thoughts in order.
He found a light windbreaker in the back seat of the car and pulled it on over his shirt to hide the bloodstains. He was confused and disoriented with one goal in mind. Obey his orders and get back to Coyle. Bits and pieces of the past week flashed through his mind, memories of terrible pain, blood and fear. None of it made any sense. Coyle would know what to do. He would have the answers Starsky needed. All he had to do was find him.
Starsky left the disabled vehicle and made his way to a strand of trees about a hundred yards from the road. He was too exhausted to think and needed to rest. Finding a spot where he was confident he wouldn’t be seen from the road, he sat down on the ground, leaning back against the gnarled trunk of an old Oak tree. Long forgotten training from the jungles of Viet Nam seeped into his brain. Survival skills that had kept him alive over there kicked in to protect him now. A guarded look crept into his indigo eyes as the predatory side of his nature emerged. He was the hunter now, not the hunted, on guard for the enemy that wanted to kill him. One thought kept running through his mind, demanding his attention: Enemy. Must kill. Obey. Find Coyle.
At the first light of day, he continued on his way. He had been walking for close to an hour when he heard the sound of a car approaching from behind. Stopping, he turned and raised his thumb for a ride, pasting a smile on his face. A battered blue Volkswagen pulled up beside him and came to a stop. Leaning down, Starsky peered in through the window at the driver, a pretty blonde in her early twenties casually dressed in blue jeans and a halter top.
“Hey, need a ride?” she asked, her voice a soft southern drawl that seemed to remind Starsky of someone he thought he should remember.
“Yeah, I’d really appreciate it.” Starsky said with a ghost of his usual smile. He opened the door and slid into the car beside her.
“Where you headed?” the woman asked pleasantly as she continued to drive.
“Bay City.”
“That’s where I’m headed so it looks like you’re in luck today.”
“Looks that way.” Starsky agreed
“My name’s Crystal.”
“I’m Mike.” Starsky told her, deliberately giving her a phony name. No sense leaving a trail for someone to follow. He wasn’t sure why it seemed so important to hide his real identity and conceal his trail, it just did. He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes to avoid any casual conversation with his benefactor. Maybe if his head didn’t feel like someone was trying to bust their way out from the inside with a sledgehammer, he might be able to make some sense of his scattered thoughts.
They rode in silence until they reached the outskirts of the city. Starsky raised his head and looked around at the familiar surroundings. They weren’t far from the docks and that was the destination he had in mind. “You can just let me out here,” he told the woman who’d been kind enough to give him a ride.
“You sure?” Crystal asked in a worried voice, glancing around at the run down neighborhood. “This isn’t a very good neighborhood to be wandering around in by yourself.”
Starsky snorted. “I’ll be fine.” He said, opening the door and stepping into the street. “Don’t worry about me. Thanks for the lift.” Before she could object further, he turned and disappeared into a littered alley.
Crystal watched him until he was out of sight, wondering what his story was. In spite of the pain etched in the lines around his eyes and mouth, he was a ruggedly handsome man and she knew she wouldn’t forget that face anytime soon. With a soft sigh, she went on her way, putting the man out of her mind as she continued to her destination.

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

“I don’t like it!” Dobey bellowed as Hutch outlined his idea to the burly black man. “There’s too much that could go wrong!”
“Cap, bear with me. Okay?” Hutch said in a weary voice. He knew that his plan wasn’t perfect but he was too exhausted to come up with a better one. “If we plant a story in the paper that Starsky succeeded in killing me, then Coyle is going to think that his plan succeeded and he might make a mistake.”
“And what if Starsky sees the story and thinks he really did kill you?” Dobey pointed out gruffly.
“He knows he didn’t kill me!” Hutch argued. “He saved my life!”
“After he tried to kill you!” Dobey reminded him. The two men glared at each for several long minutes, neither of them willing to back down
Finally, Hutch sighed heavily and sank down in the chair facing the Captain’s desk. Running his fingers through his hair, he looked at Dobey somberly and said,
“If Coyle thinks I’m dead, that Starsky carried out his orders, then he’ll feel safe coming out of whatever hole he’s crawled into, especially if he believes the police department is looking to Starsky to pin the murders on him.”
“I still don’t like it. You said yourself that Starsky was drugged and brainwashed by Coyle and his men. He attacked you and tried to kill you! And we still don’t have any proof that he isn’t responsible for the murder of the woman we found in his apartment!”
“STARSKY DIDN’T KILL ANYBODY!” Hutch declared raising his voice angrily. “I DON’T CARE WHAT COYLE OR ANYBODY ELSE SAYS!”
“Cool it, Hutchinson!” Dobey ordered sternly. “You still have a partner out there somewhere that we need to find before anything else happens.” He paused, deep in thought. Finally, he said, “All right…we’ll do it your way. I’ll have a story planted in this afternoon’s paper about your murder and name Starsky as a suspect. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will recognize his picture and we can at least get a lead on his whereabouts.” Hutch shoved himself to his feet and turned towards the door. Dobey looked at him questioningly. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To look for Starsky.” Hutch said in a determined voice. “Before the news of my untimely death hits the paper.”

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

Staying in the shadows and close to the wall of the boarded up building beside him, Starsky ignored the decay and trash beneath his feet. Halfway down the alley, he surprised a young girl digging through a trash bin, looking for empty bottles to turn in for some money to buy food. The girl yelped and stepped back beside the dumpster, holding her breath nervously until the stranger with the scary eyes walked on past, ignoring her.
At the end of the alley, Starsky turned left and continued on towards the docks. One thought kept running through his mind, demanding his attention: Obey. Find Coyle. When he reached the docks, Starsky wandered aimlessly among the old warehouses that populated the area, unsure where to go. He staggered, the pain in his head almost bringing him to his knees. He swallowed back the bile that burned his throat and shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He leaned heavily against the side of one of the buildings, fighting to stay on his feet. A severe bout of vertigo swept over him and he fell to the ground, the darkness closing in around him.

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

Matt Coyle read the story on the front page of the newspaper with satisfaction. Pressing the intercom on his desk, he told his secretary to send in his top man, Leo.
Discarding the newspaper, Coyle leaned back in his chair, smiling smugly as Leo came into the office.
“You wanted to see me, Boss?”
“Yes, my boy. I want you to take Billy and Carl with you and find Detective Starsky. Bring him to the apartment on Twenty-Second street.”
“What for?” Leo asked in a confused voice.
“So we can finish conditioning him of course.” Coyle said as if the answer were obvious.
“But, I thought he killed Hutchinson like you wanted.”
“According to the newspaper, he did.”
“Then why not let the cops deal with it? There’s enough evidence to get him the death penalty. There’s no way he can get out of it.”
“Because, me lad, that’s not the plan. Detective Starsky is going to kill himself once he realizes that he killed his precious partner.” Coyle smiled coldly. “There’s no sense in leaving any loose ends that might complicate things for us if Detective Starsky starts to remember what really happened this past week.”
“How the hell are we supposed to find him?”
“That’s your problem.” Coyle said coldly, dismissing the other man with a curt nod of his head.

Chapter 10
(By: Dawnwind)

The night sky was thick with fog when Starsky came to, clouds completely obscuring the moon. Sitting up, gingerly holding his head, Starsky looked around in confusion. Where the hell was he? Damp tendrils of fog made identifying landmarks difficult, and it wasn’t until he’d pulled himself to a stand to lean heavily against the rough wall of a building, that he could read the street signs marking the intersection.
He was only a block away from The Pits.
With no memory of how he’d gotten there, Starsky staggered down the block, the lines on the sidewalk wavering in front of his eyes. He bumped into a blue mailbox, bounced off and slammed hard into a row of newspaper boxes. The headline of the Bay City Chronicle froze him in his tracks.
“Police Detective Killed!” was written in inch high letters with a black framed photo of Hutch just underneath. Starsky stared in horrified shock.
“No!”
Hutch had been alive when he left him in the hotel. He’d made sure of it. He’d spoken to the man before he locked the door.
This couldn’t be happening. Couldn’t be true. Bits and pieces of the last week taunted him, peeking past the barriers in his memory, but nothing made any kind of sense.
The murdered girl, the blood-soaked room. He remembered electrical shocks; screaming as someone flipped a switch. And repeated injections that left him weak yet full of rage afterwards.
What the hell had they done to him?
And who had done it? The lyrical brogue of an Irishman mocked him, but he couldn’t decipher the words.
Pressing a fist to his forehead as if he could pound the brain right out of his skull, Starsky read over as much of the article that he could see through the Plexiglas front of the newspaper box. Hutch could not be dead. That was not possible.
Huggy would know the truth.
Forcing himself to move, Starsky purposely turned away and crossed the street. There was The Pits, so close he could almost touch the building, but he couldn’t go in the front. What if he was seen?
Spikes of agony rammed through his brain, practically lancing his eyeballs.
His hands around Hutch’s neck.
Holding knife to his throat! Blood slicking the fair skin.
The Irish voice directing him, compelling him to kill Hutch.
Again he felt the sharp, vicious burns of electricity frying his body. Fists pummeling his torso, bruising his flesh. He could remember hating Hutch, but couldn’t remember why.
What had they done? And why?
Stealing himself against the throbbing rock-crusher in his skull, Starsky slipped around the back of The Pits and let himself in the service entrance. Up ahead, he could hear the hiss and splatter of burgers on the grill, and the cook singing off-key. Business was booming out in the main bar from the sound of the patrons’ chatter and the clink of glasses. Starsky stayed very still in the shadows, his belly aching for food, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold down a burger and fries in his current condition.
“Starsky?” Huggy’s voice was like sweet music. “Where have you been?”
Starsky opened his eyes, barely able to stand up-right anymore. “Hug, I think I did something . . .Hutch is dead.” He couldn’t fight the sob that punctuated the sentence, even though he was still certain he couldn’t have killed his best friend.
“Hey, hey, The Bear is here to make things clear,” Huggy whispered. “Hutch told me to look out for you. You gotta know that he’s still in the land of the living. You ain’t that far gone, are you?”
“I—I don’t know anything anymore. My head ain’t screwed on straight,” Starsky confessed, and his knees buckled. “Hutch is okay? Where is he?”
“Over here as soon as I give him the call.” Huggy looped a friendly arm around Starsky’s shoulders and helped him up the stairs to the second floor. The accommodations were not quite the same as the room where Starsky had once helped Hutch kick horse, in fact the small suite was far nicer. Huggy used one of the rooms as an office, but the tiny kitchenette and bedroom were only occupied when some barfly needed to sleep off a drunk. Tonight, the bed was free.
“I’ve got a shirt and pants in the closet. Shower and change,” Huggy directed. “You look like an extra from Dawn of the Dead, and that ain’t any kind of a compliment.”
“I need to talk to Hutch,” Starsky pleaded, slumping on the bed. He couldn’t shower or sleep, not when there were so many things to puzzle out.
Huggy regarded him for a moment as if debating whether to just give him a knock out pill for about eight hours or drag the phone in from his office. After about two minutes, he fetched the telephone, uncoiling a long extension cord from the jack in the other room.
Uncoil. Coyle. Starsky gasped, his belly heaving. He didn’t throw-up, but it was a near thing. He could hear Matt Coyle’s voice in his head and it was getting louder.
“Hug!” Starsky yelled. “Tell me something good. Something about me a