Revenge

Chapter 25

Was it the gun that made the difference Starsky wondered? The gun or the shift in the flow of the energy between them?

Either way, the scales were tipped and the balance of power swayed his way. Now he held the upper hand, both in the cool hard set of his mind and physically in that his dominant hand was closed around the compact piece of cool metal. His hand shook with the effort of restraining himself from using it.

God how much he wanted to use it.

Ryan scuttled back on his ass, trying to right himself and his composure but it was still obvious that he had been knocked sideways by the sudden turn of events. The usual self-assured contempt had been ripped away from him. His attempt to come off as collected missed the mark as he fastened his disheveled clothes and scooped back the heavy fall of hair from his shocked face. For the briefest moment there was mortification in his flushed cheeks as he awkwardly manipulated his still partially erect penis back into his pants. It didn't last long and very quickly the mask of arrogance was back in place. Starsky wondered briefly whether this immoral creation could truly be shocked by the act of duplicity that he had pulled on him. Ironically it was this small sign of humiliation so quickly dashed away again that had Starsky's repulsion for Ryan hitting an all time high.

How dare this evil incarnation be shocked by another man's strategy to win out against him.

No longer able to control his pent up rage and so unbelievably sickened by the act he had had to perform to bring himself to this position of power Starsky worked up enough saliva in his dry mouth and spat hard at his feet. He would have spat in his face but to go that close to him so soon after what had just transpired was too much to bear.

Ryan looked at the glob of spit and back up to the thunderous faced man, and his eyes were filled with condemnation.

Starsky cut back at him savagely.

"What? You stupid dumb fuck? You thought that was for real? You really think that I would want you to ever, ever touch me again?"

Ryan recovered enough to speak, the near sneer already back in place.

"You asking me or yourself Starsky? Or perhaps you're saying it to cover your ass with your blond boy over there? Wonder what he thought of your little act? Hope he was awake to see it. You did a pretty fucking good job of looking like you wanted it? That you wanted me?"

"Yeah well Ryan it sure ain't hard to play your game. Not with someone like you that's led around by the dick between his legs. You talked about my weakness before being Hutch and him mine. Well yours you sick bastard, is surely that lump of sorry flesh that you can't seem to control. "

Ryan was regaining his equilibrium.

"Don't sell your own need for sexual gratification short lover. All this trouble to get my gun? All this showmanship? That was one big fucking performance just to relieve me of my weapon. I think you enjoyed it – a part of it at least if not all of it. I know damn well you did. You think I can't read another man after all these years? You think I don't know what's real and what's not? "

"So I got a hard on? Big shit. You think that makes you some sort of sex God go for it. I got my dick to stand to attention long enough to make you lose control of yourself and that's all that matters. You think you know me? Like you said you did before? You think you've got my measure? Then you must realize I would do whatever it took to take control of this barbaric situation you've staged up here on this rooftop. I don't take chances with my partner's life. I needed to be fuckin' sure I got the control straight up. No more damage is gonna' be done to him, and I sure don't fancy taking another bullet anytime soon either. If I had to watch you rub your dick for a while and whisper some sweet nothings in your ear – hell it was worth it. Christ, I'd do more than that if I thought I could get you away from Hutch. Now shut the fuck up and do as I say. I've wasted enough fuckin' time on gettin' to this point. I need an ambulance for Hutch."

He threw a frantic look at his partner and was freshly appalled at his rapidly deteriorating level of consciousness. He no longer seemed to be aware of what was happening, his head hanging rag doll style to the side and he breaths rattling and rapid.

Ryan looked over at Hutch.

"Well he might just fuckin' die waiting because I'm going nowhere with you. So unless you put a bullet in my head now, there won't be any chance of you getting help for him. You could have saved him. You had the chance - I was handing it to you. All you had to do was leave with me like we planned and there'd be an ambulance here by now."

"There was never any plan you fuckhead! I was never going to leave with you. You wouldn't have let me call for help once we were out of here. You think I would walk away and leave him on this roof like that knowing you would more than likely turn the tables as soon as you got what you wanted."

Ryan looked bemused.

"Well now you'll never know will you? Maybe I am more a man of my word than you are you fucking liar. Like I said - you've brought the situation to this now. Figure it out yourself."

Starsky caught sight of the overnight bag on the ground off to the side near Ryan's leg.

"That bag of yours. Kick it over here to me. Now!"

With the gun trained on him Ryan shoved the bag with his foot toward Starsky.

"Take it. Nothing in there that's going to help you or your boyfriend. Unless of course you want to put him out of his fucking sad misery by shoving another load of juice into him. At least he'll go out happy hey?"

"Your mouth Ryan. Shut it. Shut it or I might be tempted to disconnect your jaw from your face with a bullet from your fancy little handgun here."

Ryan smiled and shrugged.

Starsky toed the bag open. Ryan was right – what he had been hoping for wasn't there.

No cuffs. Shit no cuffs.

He saw the syringes - one empty, one still full.

He couldn't go there - not now, not yet. Not when he couldn't do a thing about it.

He leaned down carefully and pulled out the half empty water bottle that he had seen Ryan drinking out of earlier. It was warm but it was wet and it was fluid.

"Don't move from there Ryan. Not one inch either way from where you are right now."

Not taking his eyes from him he moved over to Hutch and made his first tentative move to touch him. Up close he looked even worse and with only one free hand there was so little to offer him and so much he needed. Starsky poured a little of the water on his hot head and did his best with one hand to moisten his dry cracked lips and coax him to open his mouth. He got no intelligible response.

The binds were tight on his swollen and torn up wrists but without two hands it was too unwieldy to loosen the cut of the rope. More than anything he wanted to untie him, to gather him up to him but he knew already he was risking losing control of the power he had only so recently gained. Ryan was not to be underestimated. He would need every ounce of focus to keep him in his place, to keep himself on top. He was painfully aware that the dark eyes were following his every small move with Hutch and enjoying his obvious sense of powerlessness and frustration. The sick pleasure in Ryan's eyes ratcheted up the hatred he felt for the man.

He dragged Hutch's chair and his sagging doll-like body as far into the shadowed area near the walled in vent and did his best to position his lolling neck and head into a more comfortable angle tipped back against the support of the wall.

At the moment it was as much as he could do for him.

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Slipping in and out of semi consciousness Hutch no longer trusted his assessment of the situation around him. Right now he could swear that Starsky had been touching him, his reassuring voice soothing as he moved in close to him, and his familiar scent all around him. But then he couldn't be sure. Not now when he was so detached from the hot dry heat beating down and the blinding light that he could no longer bear to open his tired eyes to see.

Maybe it wasn't him but even the illusion gave him a respite from the relentless discomfort and the despair that filled him at feeling as though he had somehow let Starsky down.

In the hot quiet center where he drifted in and out of oblivion he remembered why he felt so wretched.

Ryan had been mauling him, brutishly invading his most intimate body parts, biting, pinching and squeezing. Inflicting pain was his only goal and Hutch's tender groin told him that he had been doing a damn good job of it. Then it had all stopped as quickly as it had began. The punishing, cruel hands had left him. Hutch remembered why. The image of Starsky moving to face the wall, surrendering, offering himself to Ryan settled once more into the smudged edges of his mind.

A thousand haunting images of another time and another place swamped Hutch and his ravaged body. He could not allow Starsky to do this to himself. Not again.

Weak and beaten down his pitiful body could throw up only a few words of resistance.

"No ….Starsk, No."

The words were such an effort to produce and he felt each syllable clawing on the lining of his ravaged dry throat. As soon as they were out he wanted to take them back. As soon as he watched Starsky bow his head just a little and look away he wished he'd never uttered them. They were the wrong words altogether, so hopelessly short of what he wanted to say, needed to convey. The few useless words said nothing of the sick to the gut, anguished and traumatized way he felt. His utter fear and deep deep sadness.

He was once more back in his chair at the beach house, bound and useless, unable to do anything but watch and listen to his best friend suffer. And now was not so different to that other horrific time. At least then however he had been able to call out to him, to be there for him in voice and spirit. Not a lot he knew. Not when a wild beast in the form of Ryan was ravaging Starsky. But it was something.

Now he hated his pitiful attempt to do the same. Hutch hated that his weakened state had shortchanged him on his ability to communicate with his partner, now of all times. When Starsky needed so much more than what sounded like recrimination and judgment. Too late it would seem. Too late if Starsky actions and expression were any indication. Starsky looked at him with apology in his dark blue eyes, as though he should be ashamed and guilty for his actions.

Shame and guilt and apology had no right to be etched on Starsky's face. Hutch tried to call out again to tell him that in the best way he could but nothing would come. He was still so damn tired and increasingly confused. His parched mouth and throat had no power to even swallow let alone produce coherent speech.

Starsky had faced the wall again, looked away as and Hutch knew for sure then that his ill-placed cry was taken as rebuke.

Never. Never had he wanted it to sound like that.

If only he wasn't so weary and utterly defeated he would stand up and go to him. He would tell him how proud he was of his actions, how much he loved him for his courage and his verve to win out against Ryan at all costs. To win out against Ryan in order to save him. His brave partner was risking so much for him at a great cost. A cost that must be surely cutting him to the quick so reminiscent, so agonizingly close it was to that one terrible night at the beach house.

Although he waited and hoped, Starsky didn't turn back to him again. With his face pressed to the wall, ready to take what Ryan was going to dish out to him, Hutch wouldn't get to say it. He might never get to say it…

Sometime later – he couldn't be sure how long, but when the sun and heat were still a potent force all around him, Hutch rose again to the surface to hear Starsky's voice. It dragged him up from the cooler dark hole to where he had retreated – its solid familiarity calling him back to a level of awareness. Head pounding and pulsing with bone jarring pain it took a lot of effort to prize open his swollen eyes but he wanted to see the face that went with the familiar comforting voice. As his consciousness cleared Hutch was initially confused again. He wondered why Starsky was not with him and why he was still full of pain and so confined in this tortuous cramped position.

Barely able to move his head and neck he was glad when his eyes quickly tracked to Starsky. And then the gut punch when he saw Ryan so close to him, all over him, pressing and pushing at him like an animal on heat. And then he remembered afresh what must have only been minutes before when he had slipped into partial oblivion, what it was Starsky was doing with Ryan. And then like a replaying dream that can go on terrifying and hurting, he felt anew the sadness for what Starsky was subjecting himself to in order to help him.

The fact that Starsky tried to soften it all with a wink, an attempt to convince Hutch that he was going to be fine and it was all in a day's work didn't help him one bit.

Still he knew what his partner needed from him and although it hurt him to give him permission to hurt himself – he managed to nod back.

It's ok Starsk. I understand.

It wasn't ok of course. His brave, strong partner was doing the unthinkable. Letting Ryan take him back to that windblown bedroom on the beach the night he had changed his life irrevocably.

This time though Hutch knew he would not be around to witness the agony of the proceedings. He could barely hang on any longer to his thoughts, to his perceptions around him. It was all slipping away and there was not a vestige of strength left in him to stop it.

His head dropped down heavily again. He had the last clear thought that, as hard as it was to know that Starsky was putting himself in this position of pain he at least understood why he was doing it.

He was doing it all for him.

Hutch fought to wake up enough to test out the validity of Starsky's presence. Was the supporting hand on his head real, the caress of his fingers across his lips, the stroke down his fevered neck? Any of it real?

He slipped away again before he could know.

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Starsky tried to tell himself that taking care of Hutch at this point in the proceedings was ill conceived and a poorly judged move on his behalf. Granted it might fulfill his own need to comfort his partner in even the smallest way. Right at that moment that was something he so desperately needed and wanted to do. However making himself feel better in the short term would solve none of their bigger problems and given the severity of Hutch's condition it would not really provide him with the real assistance he so badly required. It could even hasten his death. Hasten both of their deaths in fact. Hutch needed medical attention. He needed off this rooftop. And the only way to do that was to keep Ryan at bay and to stay on top of the power game between them.

With great effort he pulled away from Hutch and schooled himself to get his priorities in order. First thing first was to get them both out of this hellish situation alive. Releasing the damp blond head he had so carefully supported, he pressed his hand down firmly on the bared skin of his neck, infusing Hutch with a strength he wished he felt himself.

"Soon Hutch. I'll get you outta here soon and everything will be ok. I don't know if you can understand me but I think you can sense me. This'll all be over soon. I - I – it'll all be ok."

The habitual words of promise so often uttered between them in times of acute distress died in his throat. In the end he couldn't say them. In the end he knew he couldn't promise anything.

He steeled himself to turn back to Ryan.

"We're getting off this rooftop. You and me. But unlike how you "planned" it, this way it will me who has control of the situation, not you. We're going through that door and down those steps. When we get to the street you're going to get into my car while I call for backup and medical help for Hutch. Now get up. Get up off your sorry fuckin' ass and do as I say."

Ryan looked up at the sky and down at hands, which he held out in front of him, He extended his fingers and flexed them and then turned them as though he was appraising their potential. They were his only weapons now that Starsky held his gun.

Seeing Ryan look down on his two bare hands tripped something in Starsky's memory. Hutch's words came to him then – straight out of left of center as disjointed and fragmented recollections often did.

"You know Starsk, have you ever looked at Ryan's hands? Really looked at them? I always thought they didn't look like hands that were meant to fight, to throw a punch."

Starsky looked at the body parts in question. Long and fine fingered, they belied the damage they could produce with their touch if not their power. Cold, cruel and sadistic hands. Just like the brain that governed their actions.

"Hands above your head and on your feet."

"Already told you I'm not going anywhere with you willingly so unless you down me with a bullet and drag me out of here you've got a fucking long wait ahead of you and plenty of time to watch your partner over there fade away."

"You don't think I'd do it Ryan? I don't much care about anything right now except calling an ambulance. Now last time, get the fuck on your feet, hands in the air and MOVE!"

Ryan smiled his demonic half smile and made a show of rising indolently.

He tipped his head toward Hutch where he was propped with his head up against the cooling wall.

"So you going to say your goodbyes to Lover Boy over there? Might be that you won't ever see him again Starsky. Might be that he dies before you get the help he needs."

"Hutch is gonna' be fine. He'll be alive and well when you are either dead and rottin' in the ground or in some cell."

"Looks like shit to me. Pure shit. Heat's finishing off what the drugs and the beating started. Bringing him up here close to the sun had a double bonus. Got you all weak at the knees and him baked dry."

"You're not goin' to push me to do anything now Ryan so save your stinkin' asshole breath. You can stand there and provoke me all you like but if you don't move your feet in five seconds I'll put a bullet in your shin."

"You like what I did to Hutch in front of you Starsky? Did it turn you on watching me fondle him I wonder? Did it? Watching me hold that big soft cock in my hands and squeeze it hard like I did? He's got such golden soft skin – bruises up so nicely. You see the colors my boys left on his flank? Does it turn you on to see him messed up so badly? I think it does. I saw the way you tried to touch him up just before. Even when he's fucking three quarters dead you can't keep your hands off his pretty face and neck. He's –"

The crack of the bullet as it hit the cement next to Ryan's foot had him jolting backwards as the broken concrete particles bounced up and white dust filled the air. Ryan brought his hand to his cheek and caught the trickle of fresh blood as it snaked down his face. There was a fresh deep cut where a piece of flying debris had nicked the flesh under his eye.

Ryan rubbed the glistening blood between his fingers and chewed the inside of his cheek.

"Guess I hit a nerve. Don't like me talking that way about him do you?"

"Don't fuckin' like you talkin' anyway about him – don't even want to hear you say his name. Now the next shot isn't going to tear up the concrete – just your flesh and bone."

Ryan fingered his bleeding cheek again and moved, finally holding his hands above his head.

At the entrance to the doorway Starsky stole one more glance back at Hutch before he shoved the gun hard in Ryan's kidneys and motioned him forward.

"Open the door, slowly. Then put your hands back over your head."

Ryan gave another half assed shrug as he extended his arm forward to open the door.

He never got the chance.

The handle rattled briefly and then the heavy metal door swung outward.

"What the Fuck?" Ryan stepped back a fraction as the door swung close to him. Framed in the darkened backdrop of the cool interior of the stairwell stood Riley, gun up and face alive with tense apprehension.

All three men stared in shock at the surprised encounter and in the one second that Starsky's focus was lost Ryan rounded on him and a fresh hell broke lose.

Ryan had Starsky in a man hold, forcing his gun arm up as he brought his own hand up to snare Starsky's left wrist, the gun now pointing skyward. Ryan's height gave him an advantage in keeping Starsky's arm from bringing the gun down again and now with his big body hard up against Starsky's Ryan twisted them both so violently that the two entwined bodies went down hard. Starsky's shoulder smashed against the cement and the shaft of pain that shot up his entire upper limb loosened the tight grip his hand had on the gun.

Lifting Starsky's arm up off the cement a few inches Ryan brought it smashing down again, and the fresh round of agony had Starsky crying out and the gun clattering away from his grasp. Lying virtually on top of Starsky, Ryan crawled his body up over the top of Starsky's chest and head, his own arm extended and his fingers reaching, crawling on the cement toward the metallic prize now up for grabs.

Anticipating Ryan's intention Starsky gave a massive grunt before wrapping his arms around him and rolling him over with him, leaving the gun effectively out of Ryan's reach. Tangled together they rolled further across the expansive rooftop, grunting and cursing as they vied for supremacy, each trying to best the other beneath him.

In the same second that Starsky had lost his focus, Riley had lost his. Staggering out onto the glaringly bright rooftop, he threw his arm up across his eyes shielding them against the sudden burst of brightness that blinded him momentarily. With his own gun out in front of him and in a semi crouched posture he stood firm waiting for his eyes to adjust enough to read the situation. When he had first eased open the door Ryan's all too familiar face was almost directly in front of him and Starsky was standing closely behind. Then in an instant it seemed the two men swung away from him before crashing down on each other to the ground and rolling away, their bodies meshed almost as one huge human rolling mass.

Riley blinked hard and squinted against the light, his vision better as he stepped out further onto the rooftop. Sweeping his eyes across the expanse of the roof his eyes caught what he had first missed when his attention had been drawn to Ryan.

Hutch. Bound and still, pushed near the wall at to the far side of the doorway he sat huddled and unresponsive. Riley thought he resembled a one-man audience propped up like a lifeless mannequin to be a spectator in a show he couldn't see or hear.

Obviously this was now Starsky's battle.

Riley stepped closer to the warring men. He took aim though his hand was unsteady as he tried to keep his target in range. His voice was more commanding than he felt.

"Get up Ryan! Move away from him now or I'll shoot!"

Paying no attention to Riley's warning Ryan's grip on Starsky only seem to intensify as the two men rolled again. The hot air was filled with coarse sounds of flesh rubbing on flesh and deep throated grunts punctuated with guttural cries as muscled forearms pushed and pulled and fingers gouged and pressed.

Riley called out again, circling the men but keeping his distance so that Ryan didn't trip him into the mix.

"Move the fuck away from him Ryan or you'll have a hole in your back!"

Despite his threat Riley knew he couldn't get a clear shot of Ryan. Not while he was all over, under and around Starsky, rolling and squirming, the two bodies levering up together before being dragged down again and twisted into another tangled pile.

"Shit! Shit!" Riley paced and watched, the gun ready for any clear shot; sweat sliding into his eyes with the fevered concentration and suspended intent. He couldn't risk it but if he didn't….

Neither had the gun anymore and now it was down to a test of will and strength. Until one pulled away from the other he had no option but to let them go and wait for a clear opportunity to intervene without risking Starsky's welfare.

Ryan eyed Riley and his gun and in what was no doubt a strategic move he rolled heavily from top position so that he was underneath, Starsky now covering his body. Taken by surprise at Ryan's unexpected play, Starsky readjusted his grip on the big body. It gave Ryan the opportunity to free his arms and hands up long enough to bring them up to wrap around Starsky's throat with a vice-like hold. Starsky pulled back at the assault but only intensifying Ryan's clawing, squeezing hands.

Starsky's face darkened with the lack of oxygen, his face contorted as he fought for breath and struggled and kicked against the body beneath him.

Cursing and circling Riley knew his options were all bad but the need to do something soon was imperative. Either he took a shot, threw himself into the fray or allowed Starsky to be choked into unconsciousness if not death.

Deciding on taking aim at Ryan's bulk all but blanketed by Starsky's now contorting body, he looked once at Hutch before cocking the gun.

Was he seeking approval for what he was about to do? Some guidance from his mentor? Either way Hutch could offer him nothing now. This was his decision and he was truly on his own in making it. He felt the same nerve wracking uncertainty he had on the night he had stood in the doorway at the beach house, Ryan in his sights and the carnage of his actions strewn about the room.

His deep thoughts were torn apart by a sudden howling scream from Ryan. For one insane second Riley faltered, thinking for sure that he had lost it completely and had fired the gun without being aware of doing so.

He jumped forward, the gun still at the ready as Ryan spat out another deep cry his head arching up and his shoulders falling back against the flat cement ground. His strangling hands fell away from Starsky's throat. Gasping for air, coughing wildly Starsky pulled himself up off the top of Ryan onto his knees.

"What the hell? …." Riley stuttered.

Starsky pulled back further and brought his hands up to clutch at his throat. His hands smeared blood, bright fresh blood all over his neck and Riley started at the sight of it.

"Starsky! You're bleeding – how - ?"

Gagging and coughing and sucking in desperate mouthfuls of air Starsky shook his head and held up his hand waving away Riley's concern.

Then Riley saw it and knew what Starsky wanted to tell him.

Not him. Not his blood.

Ryan. Ryan's blood and lots of it was pooling around him as he writhed on the ground moaning, splinting his side with both hands.

It was then that the sunlight caught it. The unmistakable metallic glint of a knife. Starsky's knife that Riley knew he was sometimes in the habit of wearing in his ankle strap. The recollection of Starsky disappearing into his bedroom back in his apartment came to Riley and he understood now what Starsky had been doing. Strapping on the concealed knife.

No longer in Starsky's ankle strap the knife was now imbedded deep in Ryan's gut.

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