Thanks for all the reviews of Chapter 10 – here's the next one, hope you like it.

As usual any errors and "Britisms" are mine.

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For Georgie

Chapter 11

The natural light was fading in the animal enclosure that was now Starsky's prison, a sure sign that night was closing in. Langdon, who had prepared well for the detective's incarceration, simply turned on a portable generator. It grumbled to life, powering two, large electric lamps that stood nearby; they bathed the stone enclosure in an artificial light that cast long, eerie shadows up the walls.

Starsky, hanging limply from his restraints, shivered in the cool air not from the cold but from the fever that had taken hold of his body. Despite his growing illness he tried to remain focussed, to retain some awareness of Langdon's movements. He knew, therefore, that his jailor now stood behind him, so close that he could feel his warm breath on the back of his neck.

Despite the knowledge he couldn't help the shudder as he felt Langdon's fingers wrap around the material that was gagging him. Moments later he felt the cool steel of Langdon's blade on his neck as it sliced through the knot that held the fetid cloth in place.

"Now Georgie will be able to see the pain on your face more clearly when I take the next photograph," Langdon whispered in the detective's ear pulling away the once restraining cloth. "And for myself," he smiled, "I want to be able to hear your screams when I slice into your flesh."

Starsky, his mouth now free of its restraint, swallowed deeply. "Not ... gonna ... happen," he rasped his throat dry from hours without water. "Ain't gonna give ... you the ... pleasure."

"Well, well," Langdon laughed. "Still defiant I see ... Georgie was right about you after all ... he said you would put up a fight."

"Yeah," the detective murmured, blinking away sweat that was rolling into his eyes. "Looks like Prudholm ... got one thing right ... 'bout me." He slowly raised his head to look into the eyes of the man who now stood before him.

Langdon moved closer to his victim, the steel of his knife glinting in the lamp light. Starsky tried desperately not to flinch as the mad man pressed the tip of the blade against the soft flesh of his arm,

"Gary's first injury," Langdon stated matter of fact as he pushed the knife in deeper, carving a six inch gash into his captive's bicep. Starsky tried desperately not to cry out but in the end he did; the hours of suspended agony had taken their toll, he couldn't fight it any longer.

"Good, good," Langdon cooed. "We're making progress."

Starsky shivered uncontrollably as blood began to roll down his newly injured arm, the throbbing of this wound as intense as the infected bullet wound in his other arm.

He hung his head, breathing deeply. He knew what was happening to his body, years of first aid training left him in little doubt - he was going in to shock.

The flash of the camera made him blink but he had little energy left to respond further to Langdon's action or to acknowledge his next comment,

"Another souvenir for Georgie," the mad man muttered as moments later he stood before the detective, knife once more in hand.

Starsky felt its tip on his neck and felt a strange sense of euphoria. This was it, the final cut, the one that would end his misery. Hutch wasn't going to rush through the door guns blazing, wasn't going to be in time to save him this time, he was sure of that now. So he found himself longing for death, ashamed of his feelings, but unable to control them.

He stared deep into the mad man's eyes. "Do it," he groaned. "Finish it."

Langdon grinned as he began to run the knife down the front of the detective's shirt, cutting buttons away from the fabric. "Soon," he whispered, as if to a lover, into the suspended man's ear as he started cutting lightly into the flesh of Starsky's exposed, sweat drenched chest. "Gary's second injury," he murmured.

Blood dripped from the newly opened gash in his stomach and began to pool on the floor. Starsky, his focus blurring, stared at the red, spreading stain at his feet, vaguely aware that Langdon was speaking again, but unable to make out the words, as his body began to drift in and out of consciousness.

It was an odd sensation as his mind floated, providing a reprieve from the pain and despair. He welcomed the feeling, recognized it for what it was; the precursor to death. As Langdon continued his monologue Starsky closed his eyes and refocused, allowing memories of his life to flood his fever muddled brain and block out the ramblings of a mad man. He remembered all of the things that had made his short life matter; his father, lost to him at such an early age, his mother, who would be forced to grieve once more and his brother, the spoilt younger child he'd always protected. But most of all he remembered his partner.

Their first meeting had been a rocky one, both from completely different backgrounds it had been difficult at first to find a common ground. But once a commonality had been established (a passion for police work) they fast became close friends, inseparable, the scourge of the police academy. Hutch was more than his partner now, Hutch was his best friend, closer than his own brother. And so as Langdon's voice began to seep back into his mind he suddenly realized something - it wasn't just his life at stake here. He suddenly realized that if he died here, if he allowed himself to succumb to the torture of a mad man, then his partner's life would be ruined; Hutch would find his body hanging lifeless in this cold, stone prison and he would blame himself for the rest of his life.

And Starsky couldn't let that happen. So he forced himself to concentrate, to focus on the inane ramblings, to open his eyes and to carry on the fight. He ran his tongue over swollen, dry lips and swallowed deeply. "Ya know," he muttered. "You sure do ... like the sound ... of your own voice."

"Ah detective, you're back," Langdon grinned. "I was beginning to think you were not as strong as Georgie first thought."

"Wouldn't ... want to prove ... Georgie wrong," Starsky murmured.

"And so we continue." Langdon said dangerously as he stood admiring the blood stained knife he held in his hand. "Gary's final injury ... the fatal blow," he grinned as he began to push the blade deep into his suspended captive's exposed, sweat drenched chest.

For Starsky, with the entire length of steel now embedded in his chest, the pain was intense. But it was nothing compared to the agony he now felt as Langdon began the slow process of pulling it back out.

With the knife now completely removed from his body Starsky felt his blood gush from the gaping wound.

"Now I'm going to watch," Langdon grinned, "as you bleed to death."

And as Starsky looked through blurring eyes at the smiling mad man that stood before him he knew in that instant that he'd lost the fight; Langdon had won. He hung his head, waiting for death and didn't hear his partner's shouted words as they echoed off the stone walls around him.

HOLD IT RIGHT THERE, LANGDON." Hutch stood in the entrance of the enclosure, weapon raised, Huggy and Dobey close behind.

His reaction immediate Langdon slid behind the body of his suspended victim, holding his knife against Starsky's throat.

"Get back Hutchinson or I'll slice him open," he growled.

Hutch stared at his semi-conscious, blood soaked partner and knew that Starsky would be unable to help.

"Give it up," he responded, trying to hold in check the desperation in his voice. "You're not getting out of here ... I've got back up." Hutch nodded behind him, at the small group of uniformed officers who stood in the rear.

"Then I'm going to finish this ... I'm going to finish what Georgie asked me to do." There was a strange softness to his voice as he continued. "He's my father you know ... the only one who ever really loved me," they were the words of a ten year old boy, who once craved love.

Hutch saw the trickle of blood at Starsky's neck and knew that Langdon was about to cut his partner's throat. And so, with his partner's life in the balance, he opened fire. Langdon was dead before he hit the ground, the small hole the bullet had made in his forehead still smoking.

"Check him," Hutch shouted behind him as he raced to his partner's side aware that there was really no need, he had no doubt that Langdon was dead.

"Starsk," he murmured, gently placing a hand on his partner's sweat soaked head. "Starsk can you hear me?"

Responding to the familiar voice the still suspended detective slowly raised his head and looked blearily into Hutch's concerned face. "What took ... you so ... long?" he whispered.

Hutch's smile of relief was short lived as Starsky's began to groan, his fever-wracked body shaking uncontrollably in its restraints

"We gotta get him down," he said, looking desperately at Dobey. "Pass me that knife Cap."

Against all protocol the police captain picked up the blood soaked blade and handed it to the blond detective; they would worry about compromised finger print evidence later - Starsky's need was far greater.

Hutch, his fingers slipping on the wet handle, sawed through the entangled twine that held his partner in place. Moments later, task complete, he gently lowered his badly injured friend to the floor, assessing his wounds as he did so.

"Hug, give me ya jacket," he demanded, shrugging his own coat from his shoulders. "We gotta stop the bleeding." He placed the proffered jacket against his partner's bleeding chest and stomach wounds, attempting to stem the flow.

Close by Dobey tore strips from his own jacket before kneeling beside Starsky to wrap the torn cloth around his friend's wounded arms. Instantly blood from the knife and gun-shot injuries saturated the cloth and the fever-wracked detective shivered as Dobey tied the make-shift bandages in place.

"Where in the hell are the paramedics?" Hutch yelled at a nearby cop as he covered Starsky's body with his own coat in an attempt to ease the chills. "Get them in here ... now!"

"Hey Hutch," the voice was small. "Take it ... easy ... he's just doing ... his job."

Hutch looked down at his partner and smiled. "I know," he murmured as he eased Starsky's head onto his lap, stroking away sweat soaked curls from his eyes. "Just take it easy ... lie still okay."

"Okay," Starsky murmured as his body continued to shiver beneath the warm covering.

"Hug ... he's in shock," Hutch informed his friend, unable to stop the tremor in his voice. "Elevate his legs ... it'll help."

"Sure thing Hutch," Huggy said quietly as he knelt beside Starsky lifting his legs onto his lap, still shaken by his friend's injuries..

Starsky moaned softly at the movement, "Hutch," he murmured his hand reaching out, searching out his partner, in need of re-assurance.

"I'm here," the blond detective responded, taking his partner's hand in his. "I'm here."

Starsky blinked open unfocussed eyes, staring up as Hutch squeezed his hand gently, confirming his presence. "I've got something of yours," he continued, smiling down at his fading partner. He pulled the remembered item from his jeans pocket and placed it in Starsky's hand, wrapping his injured friend's fingers around the cherished object.

"Thanks," Starsky grinned weakly, feeling the cool metal coins and soft leather of his necklace against his skin. Moments later he began to cough violently, fighting for breath as blood tricked from his mouth.

Hutch looked helplessly at Huggy and Dobey as he pushed the jacket against the chest wound.

"Stay with me ... stay with me partner," he coaxed. "Just hold on ... help's on its way."

Starsky nodded his understanding, taking deep breaths as the coughing eased. "D'ya get 'im?" he said suddenly, eyes fixating on his partner. "D'ya get ... Langdon."

"Yeah," Hutch answered quickly. "I got 'im ... always said I was the better shot."

"Dream on," Starsky grinned up at his friend, blood continuing to trickle from the side of his mouth. "Must'ave just got ... lucky." Moments later his body arched and, once more, he was fighting for breath.

"Easy buddy ... easy ... just hold on," Hutch pleaded as a team of paramedics rushed to their side.

"Can't ... 'm s'rry ... H...hutch," Starsky slurred as his head lolled against his partner's chest and he finally gave in to welcome oblivion.