The dialogue of this chapter is co-written with Starsky's Strut. Thank you Eli for letting us explore that church in Barcelona. Thank you all for your enthusiasm on this story.

Chapter 14

Hutch didn't know where the anger had come from. All of a sudden it was just there. And it was a good thing to. Matching Starsky's anger hadn't been easy, but it was necessary. For having to watch him slowly succumb to the workings of fear was even worse. His partner's loss of blood didn't help matters. He knew he had to get him out of here or die trying. And that meant fighting Marcel.

He glowered down at the blood-smeared assassin now standing at the foot of the steps that lead to the high rise on which the altar was located. Hutch still stood in front of the stone slab, noticing from the corner of his eye that Starsky wasn't doing so well. Ever since the man had relinquished his anger and let Hutch take the reins, he was quickly loosing his battle against unconsciousness.

Some sections of the inner church were dark. There were parts where large scaffoldings, once used for restoration, obstructed the light coming in from the beautifully glass stained windows. It didn't look like there was much restoration being done lately, however. The scaffoldings looked ready to collapse at any second. The church probably ran out of funds. That's probably also the reason why this place is such a ruin in the first place, Hutch figured.

Marcel grinned evilly; his face lit by the torches placed in the niches lining the walls. He was motioning to Hutch, taunting him to come down and fight him.

Hutch took the few steps down. His feet kicked up dust that lay thickly on the rocky steps as if no one had set foot on it for ages. However, off to the side much of the dust had been scattered. No doubt by the church's current evil occupants. Taking a deep breath, Hutch moved towards the pews as Marcel started to circle around him. The statues of several holy figures seemed to watch them from the larger niches; the unmoving, lifeless witnesses adding a shroud of importance to the already built up tension.

One by one the assassin dropped his weaponry, mainly knifes, onto the floor. "I don't want to end it too soon, Detective. This way it'll still be worth my effort."

Hutch grimaced and backed away to step on the front row seat. He climbed over the backrest, thereby keeping the pew between him and his attacker.

Marcel laughed, "That's not going to do you any good." The man moved towards the pew, his eyes betraying the fact that he was really enjoying himself.

Hutch leaned in, putting his hands on the smooth backrest of the pew while Marcel stood dauntingly on the other side. "So," Hutch's voice sounded as dark as the woodwork he held beneath his grip. The flames of the torches changed into icy pinnacles as they reflected in his eyes, "What's in it for you?"

"More than you could ever imagine," Marcel bit back.

"I s'pose the kill means that much to you, huh?"

Marcel didn't answer. Instead he started to move to the corner of the wide bench to make his way around it. Sneaking his way between the two pews he moved up towards the blond.

Hutch was at least a few inches taller than Marcel, but he had the feeling that in this case size didn't matter. He stood his ground. "Is this the way The Guild handles all its problems? Just get rid of those standing in their way?"

His opponent's eyes glinted, "So, Stef told you about The Guild; a pitiful organisation with a pitiful leader. Before the hour is up my people will have killed Fifth Avenue and taken over the reins. The Guild's nothing without him. Under my rule no one'll have to abide by any code."

Fifth Avenue? Hutch suddenly had the sinking feeling that this thing was far bigger than he'd expected; far more epic. He sucked in his breath, suddenly realising that he was just a fly in the ointment. He and his partner were just small pinions in a battle that was way beyond his control. It wasn't just the priest and his –I–like-killing- assistant. There was a war going on between Marcel's men and The Guild. A war that was about to reach its climax, and he and Starsky were caught in the middle!

Caught off guard by Marcel's divulging piece of information, Hutch needed a moment to re-estimate his chances. The conclusion didn't look too good. A sliver of fear crawled up his spine, making him step back from the approaching assassin. Frantically, he looked around and spotted a piece of long wood on the floor between the pews, probably left behind by the construction workers.

Marcel stopped, letting him pick up the object. The man hissed at him, "By the time it's all over, Hutchinson, The Guild is mine and you'll both be dead. No one'll ever know what happened to you. No one'll ever find your bodies." Hutch barely stood up straight again when without further warning Marcel jumped forwards quick as a cat and attacked.

He swung the wood, but the assassin moved like a shadow; too quick for Hutch to home into. He missed. Before he knew what was happening, Marcel was behind him, reached out for his neck and pinched hard. The blond had no idea what the man had done, but all of a sudden an intense pain started to spread from his neck down. He dropped to the floor, giving an agonising cry, the wood rolling uselessly from his hand.

Silently, Marcel picked it up.

Deep inside the bowels of the earth at The Guild's headquarters, the figure in the wheelchair frowned as the electric light suddenly flickered. He was about to check the generator when a loud explosion made the cave shake to its foundations. In reflex he threw himself out of the chair and crawled under the table, using his arms to drag his body forwards. Sand, small stones and rubble came down on top of the wooden surface above him, clattering on the table top.

When it was over he cursed. Someone had just blown up the armory. That could only mean one thing; Marcel's men were finally making their move. The Guild was under attack.

The ground shook, throwing the two against the rock hard wall of the tunnel heading upwards to the church. Behind the stone barrier Stef could hear something breaking; the loud noise was followed by the deafening sound of rushing water. "What the hell was that?" he asked, fearfully.

Fifth cursed, which sounded very funny coming from a man dresses as sophisticated as he was. "Damn, the old sewer beneath the church. It's collapsing because of the explosions."

"Explosions?" Stef asked bewildered, his voice high pitched with fright.

But Avenue didn't seem to hear him, "Curse Marcel, I didn't expect him to attack us this soon. We're not ready."

"Fifth! What explosions?"

The Guild's leader finally seemed to notice him, "Looks like your friend Marcel knows what he's doing. He just blew up the armory located beneath the church; thereby severely weakening our defences. I have to go back."

"Back? But what about Starsky and Hutch?" His voice sounded frantic now.

"You go on and help them." When all Stef could do was look at him wide eyed, Fifth added, "I know you can do it. I have to go back and help my men. They can't fight Marcel's people on their own. There are certain steps to be taken; emergency plans to take effect. I need to be there."

"But-"

"GO! There isn't much time. Soon this area will be flooded."

After a brief hesitation, Stef nodded his assent. What other choice did he have? "Take care of yourself."

Fifth smiled, "Don't worry, these caves are my home. Marcel won't drive us out that easily." He turned around and disappeared into an adjoining passageway, leaving Stef on his own.

The small thief tried to ignore the small rumblings caused by distant explosions beneath his feet. Hoping that the ceiling wouldn't cave in on him, he bravely proceeded to make his way up. He knew he was nearly there and prayed he would be in time to make some sort of a difference.

The despair written on the brunet's face held Hermes fixed to the spot. He looked from Starsky to Hutch who'd rolled underneath the pew to surface on the other side, holding a new found piece of wood. You have to give the man points for trying, Hermes mused.

Marcel had jumped over the wide bench. Hutch was still lying on the floor, holding up the wooden bar to block Marcel's blows. Viciously, the man brought his own bar down on the blond. With each impact Hermes saw the cop's muscles weaken. He studied his co-conspirator; Marcel wore the glee of a killer; his aggression increasing with every bounced back blow. Hutch deflected the oncoming bar time and time again; ducking to the left as one blow nearly hit his head. The bar hit the ground with an impact that would have easily split his skull in half.

The priest smiled and looked back at Starsky. The brunet obviously couldn't see what was going on, but seemed to sense his partner's predicament nevertheless.

That wasn't good; the man was still struggling.

Hermes leaned in, subtly influencing his charge with his voice and purposefully raising the hypnotic effect. The whispers were meant to carry the brunet over the threshold of unconsciousness and from there into death. "Can't you hear him? He's losing the battle, like you're going to lose yours."

If anything, it only served to wake up Starsky entirely. His eyes glinted with unshed tears as he desperately tried to fight the soothing sounds. The words made him squirm and fight back. Hermes cursed under his breath but kept his focus; ready to start his deadly song again. All of a sudden a loud cracking noise tore his attention away from the brunet.

Marcel had broken the bar that Hutch held up with a heart wrenching snap. The blond looked at it in surprise. The assassin smiled, standing up straight to lift the deadly object in his hands. Hutch violently back peddled into one of the niches, a seclusion off to the side that held the man-sized statue of The Shepard. At one time the niche had been closed off by a large black iron gate that now stood halfway open. Hutch moved behind it, followed closely by Marcel.

Hermes knew Marcel's capabilities. Although the blond was strong, the assassin's experience would make short work of him now. He turned back to the altar. The blood he drank sang within him, translating soothing sounds into words, "He's lost." making sure Starsky drank every word, he continued to whisper, "Just like you're lost. But you don't have to be if you follow me. Follow my voice… Let him go."

Starsky pulled hard on the chains but they wouldn't budge, "HUTCH!"

"He's going to die. There's nothing you can do… Accept it; you'll be at peace."

Although still fighting it -Starsky's trembles had intensified- hypothermia and shock began to do their job. Hermes smiled softly. He was winning. The brunet was ready to give in. He nodded when Starsky started to settle down, "That's good. Don't be afraid…"

Starsky stared at him with clouded eyes. They shifted to the ceiling, watering in a final effort to stay awake. "Stef…" he whispered. "Help him… Oh, God."

Hermes reached out to put a hand on the clammy brow. The brunet was becoming delirious; an effect caused by the body's fruitless attempts to cling on to life. He'd witnessed it in other victims; it never lasted long. "Give up, detective. It's over… Be at peace."

With no more energy left to fight, Starsky finally caved in. His eyes closed, his trembles stopped, and quietly he slipped away into the darkness of unconsciousness; a darkness that Hermes knew all too well. It would welcome the detective with open arms. He sighed with relief as he watched the brunet's silent descent into death, "It's done."

Tbc