Hi All,

Thanks for the encouragement and reviews, you make me blush.

As always, my thanks to the Usual Suspects (Hugs!)

Chapter 6

Hutch fell again. There was nothing he could do to prevent it. It didn't matter how careful he was, or how high he picked up his feet, he kept tripping over things and falling. The path was winding and as deep in the wilderness as they were; there were no groomed trails for them to walk on. Colby must have them on a deer trail or something similar.

The weight of the backpack seemed to be increasing. Hutch lifted himself up on his arms and made it slowly to his knees. Moving slowly through the motions of getting back on to his feet without assistance, he felt rather like a turtle must, when flipped on its back. No one helped him to his feet (not that he had expected them to) and after the first five times or so of tripping and falling, his captors stopped laughing at him.

His exhaustion, the weight of the backpack and his blindness conspired against him, dragged at him, wanting him to stay on the ground. He staggered back to his feet and tried again to keep lifting his feet high to avoid any trip hazards, to no avail. He was so tired. He head pounded and his mouth was dry. He reached for the canteen that was in his pack, only to have Agent Ruth pull it from his grasp before he could get the lid off.

"Uh-uh, that's not for you" The agent then noisily drank from the canteen, making gulping sounds followed by "Ahhh that hits the spot"

Hutch felt a muscle in his cheek flex in tightly restrained anger and reminded himself that Hank was just trying to anger him so as to give the agent an excuse to kill him. The agent wanted him dead and was apparently not above a little torture before killing him and apparently a slow death via dehydration would be quiet acceptable to the agent. Not only was his mouth dry, it seemed everything around this area was dry, the grass, the trees. Even the air around him was dry. He licked his lips, they were dry as well.

"Can we stop now? I'm beat" Hank leaned against a tree, as he shouldered the canteen by its strap.

"I thought you wanted out of these woods, Ruth" Colby replied as he stared at the agent.

"I do. But it's getting dark and I don't want to wander off a cliff or into a bear or something. Though, if we did come across a bear we could just throw it Hutchinson" Ruth grinned evilly.

"Yeah, that would be a really smart move. I've got all of the supplies" Hutch returned with barely restrained sarcasm, he might not have seen the grin, but he could hear it in the agent's voice.

"Not all of them. I don't leave anything to chance, if I can help it. You should know that by now Hutch" Colby's tone was even, unruffled.

"I don't think I ever knew you John" The blond turned towards the sound of Colby's voice, wishing he could see his former friend's face. Colby was hard enough to read when Hutch could see his face, but now… it was impossible. The only thing he could be sure of was that John or Hank would kill him before they left the woods.

Colby watched the subtle changes in Hutch's expression, the blond was concerned, just as he should be "See, that's the thing isn't it? That is what makes me so good at my job. No one really knows me, no one ever did. And I like it that way"

XXXX

Colby eyed Hutch as the blond leaned against a tree for support. Pain and exhaustion were clear on his former friend's face. Hutch just didn't seem to get past the fact that he, Colby, simply didn't feel anything for any one. He never had. But, being a good actor, he was very good at pretending that he did. His crowning triumph had been fooling Starsky and Hutch into helping him find his last mark.

They had so easily bought his lies, the gullible fools. If they had just looked at his legs, really looked, they would have noticed that there were no scars on either of them. Not even one little one. If he had really have needed two years to get his leg back in shape, there would have been some visible damage on at least one of them. Some detectives they were.

Unfortunately, he had let Hutchinson live instead of killing him when he had the chance back in that parking lot. Hutch had been down for the count. A simple stab to the spine would have brought a swift end to the blond. But he knew that if he done that, then Starsky would have trailed him to the ends of the earth. The brunet would have been relentless in his search to find Hutch's killer. It would have made continuing in his line of work much more difficult.

Now he wanted revenge and it was unlikely that Starsky would ever figure out who killed his partner. No one knew he had escaped from prison, thanks to Manahan. No one knew it was him flying the FBI's decoy plane. It was also unlikely that the blond's body would ever be found way out here. This area was hell and gone from their original flight path. Any searching would most likely be done hundreds of miles from here. Unless someone found the plane… however, with minimal tree damage, the dense foliage, and some luck, it could be years before anyone found the plane. He and Agent Ruth had taken the time to cover it with branches to further hide it.

He watched as Hutch slid down to sit at the base of the tree that he had been leaning against. He would kill the blond in a day or so. He didn't want to get too close to civilization to murder his former friend. The body might be found in the more frequented part of the woods.

Colby wondered briefly if he should experiment with a different method of killing the blond. He was good at the spine stab. It was his trademark method of committing murder, for it was quick and quiet. His victims never saw it coming. They rarely made a sound as they died. Their silence was music to his ears. A smile slid onto his lips, he licked them, revenge would never again taste as sweet.

Double bonus, Starsky would suffer over the loss of his partner. So Colby knew he wouldn't need to track the brunet down or worry about looking over his shoulder for the man. Starsky would never know exactly what happened to Hutch nor would he know that his partner was dead, for certain. That would be the best revenge on the curly-haired detective that he could hope for.

Colby watched as the blond's eyes closed. Hutch looked exhausted. Colby wondered how long the detective could hold on before he collapsed completely. Hutch had a stubborn, determined streak in him. He would not go down easily. Good.

Hutch had nearly beaten him again today. Colby clenched his fingers into fists. He had once more had to resort to an underhanded trick to win. But he had won. It felt good. However, it was rather sad that Hutch would not see the stab coming, but then, most of his victims never did... But aaahhh, when Hutch realized it, felt the stab, the knife twist and then he would feel nothing at all…

Colby ran a hand down the front of his pants, just once, for he was endlessly entertained by the expressions people made when they died, the way their faces looked as they died... It didn't matter to him if his victims were male or female, young or old. The way they looked when they died was all he needed to feel something… anything at all. In that all-to-brief moment, Colby felt, whole, complete, at peace, the void within him was filled, but only for a moment, but what an exquisite moment is was. A sigh escaped his lips. He darted his eyes around, looking to see if his two companions had heard the sound.

Ruth was some distance off to the right, behind a tree, heeding nature's call. Hutch appeared to be sleeping. The blond's days were numbered. Colby knew that killing Hutch would be easy, especially since he was blind. He wondered what expression Hutch would make when he died. The smile worked its way back onto John's face.

He would savor the moments until just the time came to put the blond out of his misery. It was nearly as fulfilling as watching his victims faces as they died. The build up of tension to near erotic proportions and then the glorious release of Hutch's death… Life just didn't get any better than that.

XXXX

Hutch kept his eyes closed and listened carefully to the sounds around him, trying to get a mental picture of his surroundings. He could almost feel someone's eyes on him. He hated being blind and wondered if he would ever see again, but he couldn't dwell on that. Not now. His eyes still had a low burning ache. He fought the urge to rub them again.

He licked his dry lips again. Some water would be really nice about now. He would have to ask if they would give him some. Either that or hope that they came across a stream sometime soon and have all he could drink there. If they didn't give him water, it was a cinch to guess that they wouldn't give him any food either. His stomach rumbled quietly. Good thing he was used to fasting for a couple days at a time. He could ignore his hunger. Thirst was something else, especially given the dry, hot conditions. One minor plus was that there were very few mosquitoes to contend with.

He heard someone approaching and remained on the ground, pretending to sleep. Was it Colby or was it Ruth? At this point, he didn't know who was worse. If he could talk to Ruth separately from Colby, perhaps he could find out more about the man and maybe get the man to help him. After all, he had become an FBI agent for some reason, he had to have something going on in his life to cause him to be working for Manahan… maybe, just maybe, he could find out the reason and offer to help solve the problem and thereby get Ruth to help him with Colby.

"You're not sleeping, so just quit the act already" It was Hank Ruth.

"Could I have some water, please?" Hutch sat up, the heavy backpack making his movements somewhat clumsy.

"Sure"

Hutch listened as the agent unscrewed the cap of the canteen and he held out his hand for it.

"Uh-uh, I'll hold the canteen for you. I don't want you to drink it all" The agent pushed Hutch's waiting hand down.

Hutch waited for the lip of the canteen to be brought to his lips, his tongue peeked out from behind his teeth, eager for the refreshing wetness of the water. He could hear the slosh of the water and the metal smell of the warm canteen bottle. A drop of water hit his lower lip.

"There, that ought to hold you until tomorrow" Both Colby and Ruth chuckled at the agent's little joke.

"Good one" Colby said, laughter in his voice.

"Thanks, I try" Ruth snickered back. "Hey Colby, what's for supper?"

"I got some canned food, some beef jerky and a few granola bars"

"Sounds great, I'm starved"

"I wouldn't light any fires if I were you two, it's too dry out here. You could burn the whole place down" Hutch offered.

"Hey, did you say something Colby?"

"Nope, not me, don't light a fire though, I don't want any rangers getting curious about smoke in this area and coming for a look"

"Good thinking Colby"

Any response from Colby must have been nonverbal, for Hutch heard nothing. He the next thing he heard was the sound of feet approaching and in short order found himself face down in the dirt. The backpack was pulled from him and around his wrist; he felt the cold metal of a handcuff snake around, securing with a click. His right arm was pulled and he was dragged forward several feet to a tree. His left arm was pulled around the tree and the other part of the handcuff was secured around his left wrist. He moved closer to the tree to relieve the strain on his arms.

"You could have asked, I would have moved closer without you having to drag me" There was only one reply and that was the ripping sound of cloth. The next thing Hutch knew was that he was being gagged. The center of the gag had a knot in it and that was shoved past his teeth and into his dry mouth. What little remaining moisture was sucked into the gag… a used sock by the smell and taste if it. It made him want to vomit. He breathed carefully though is nose.

"There, that's better, the mule is hobbled for the night and I don't know about you, but I never could stand the sound of a jackass braying" That was Colby's voice.

"Me neither. Hey, toss me that granola bar" That was Ruth and he sounded closer than Colby.

'Somebody ought to gag the two of you then' Hutch then heard the sound of Hank catching the bar. His stomach rumbled and the bark of the tree scratched his arms through his plaid shirt. One small blessing was that his arms were in front of him. It would make for a slightly less painful night. A cool breeze blew in. Hutch was well aware that he was in for a long, cold, uncomfortable night. He settled in as best as he could. He knew he should try to get some sleep, for he was well aware that his very survival depended on him being able to keep up with Colby and Ruth tomorrow.

He put his head down on his outstretched arm and listened as the two moved around the camp and he waited for the sound of approaching feet, waited for further tormenting and he waited for the morning.

XXXX

"You should lie down and try to get some sleep Mr. Starsky. You'll need to be sharp in the morning if you expect to spot Mr. Hutchinson's plane." The Baron leaned back in one of the twin beds of the cheap motel room they occupied. He had been in worse places in his lifetime. He eyed the pacing detective.

Starsky nodded once at the Baron as he paced past the beds, too entangled in his own thoughts for resting, even though he knew the man was right. Starsky had contacted Dobey and let him know where he was and what he was up to. Dobey had informed him that the plane was most probably out of the country by now, most likely Mexico, according to the Feds. Starsky snorted when he heard that. The damn Feds didn't know their collective heads from a hole in the ground.

But, what if he were wrong? What if the Feds were right… it could happen, right? They were searching for their man too,Hank Ruth, a good agent and a good man. And then there was the decoy, a US Marshal named Clive Benedict. Clive had been chosen because of his similar height and coloring to Drake Mallard and the fact that neither Hutch nor Agent Ruth would have known him. The Marshals were looking too. Dammit, why didn't anyone know, really know, anything?

Something as big as a plane should be a lot easier to spot… he blew a hissing breath out through his clenched teeth and paced back across the small room. Starsky stopped in front of the dirty window and pushed back the curtain with one hand, staring into the dark. The sun had gone down moments after the Baron had landed the beat up old plane. The sky had been red. 'Red sky at night, sailors delight' so, it was unlikely to rain tomorrow. It wouldn't matter if it were going to rain or not. Rain, shine, snow or hail, nothing Mother Nature threw at him would stop him from looking… but where?

'What if I'm wrong? What if I am wasting my time looking at that forest? Why did I have to play that stupid, juvenile trick on Hutch? It should be me out there, not him' Starsky dropped his head and leaned forward so his forehead touched the glass, he closed his eyes for a long moment 'God I'm sorry I got ya into this Hutch… I swear I'll make it up to you; just you wait and see…' He traced one hand down the dirty glass, leaving a trail of his fingers on the window. He wiped his now dirty fingers on his jeans.

Starsky then moved back away from the window and flopped down on his bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. All this uncertainty was giving him a headache. Should he search the forest again tomorrow? Or should he throw his lot in with the Feds and US Marshals? After all, they had the most resources, and by all accounts, they had the bestinformation. All he had was the Black Baron, (whose flying skills left much to be desired)a really old, rickety flying death trap and a hunch…

Maybe something would turn up by morning… he rolled onto his stomach and tried to get comfortable. The Baron was right about one thing; he would need his sleep, regardless of his indecision. He wouldn't do Hutch any good (wherever his friend was) if he were dead on his feet. All he could do now was try to get some sleep as he waited for morning to arrive.

TBC