Disclaimer: This story was written purely for entertainment and is not for profit. It is not meant to trespass in any way on the holders of the rights to Starsky and Hutch.

This is the first time that I will be posting by chapters—thanks Eli and S'gal! Hope it works! Mahalo to all of the wonderful people in my life, who continue to encourage, support, and inspire me in my endeavor to write.

Warning: "Silent Witness" might be considered a dark tale and contains some graphic scenes and foul language that may be offensive to some readers. This story also revolves around a paranormal/metaphysical genre; if this is not your cup of tea, then please refrain from sipping.

oo Silent Witness oo

CHAPTER NINE

(Thursday late afternoon, Parker Center)

"Well, what did the doctor say?" Dobey gruffly asked the blond detective, who sat in the chair across from his cluttered desk.

"Well, he wanted to keep an eye on Starsky this week, and if he stays on track and continues to improve he'll let him start driving and will allow him back to work . . . starting with light duty of course."

"Of course." Dobey smiled, "That partner of yours has tons of paperwork on his desk just waiting for him to return. Hey, maybe later you can take some to his place so he can get a jump start on it."

Hutch grinned, "Yeah, I'm sure he'll appreciate your thoughtfulness Cap."

The rotund man smirked, "Serves him right to go chasing after those punks down a dark alley like that . . . don't know what that boy was thinking . . ." the captain said, the smile slowly fading from his face as he thought of the repercussions that could have happened, not only to the stubborn, strong-willed brunet, but to his blond counterpart as well. A Hutch without a Starsky, was like a hand without a thumb.

"Did the doctor seem concerned about the headaches that he's still having?" Dobey inquired, his bloodshot, brown eyes connecting with the pale blue ones of the blond.

Hutch's mind drifted to the conversation he had with Dr. Bradford just before he came down to the station to check in with Dobey . . .

"And you said having these headaches are a common side effect from a person who just emerged from a coma . . . right?" Hutch asked again, sitting with the doctor in his office.

"Is Detective Starsky having headaches?" Dr Bradford asked, "How intense are they?"

"He's had several since he's come home, some are worse than others," Hutch said vaguely.

"But, do they go away or is he suffering continuous pain?" the doctor asked, "Does aspirin bring any relief from the pain?

"No, they go away for a while and come back." Hutch said. "And my pig-headed friend refuses to take any kind of pain relief medication for his headaches."

"Well, if his headaches are ebbing without any medication, then I'm not too concerned," Dr. Bradford said. "In answer to your previous question, yes . . . headaches are a common occurrence and may last anywhere from a day to hourly attacks for the duration of the patient's life. Its intensity may be as mild as a slight ache, or as blinding as a migraine. I guess what I'm trying to say detective, is that everyone is unique, and likewise, the lingering effects from a coma differ from patient to patient."

"I see." Hutch said softly. The blond detective silently wondered if he should tell the doctor about Starsky's strange dreams. To Hutch, it seemed like the headaches were the triggers to the visions his partner was getting. He knew he had to be cautious about how he divulged this information, making sure his partner's credibility remained intact, but if there was a medical reason as to why his partner was experiencing these strange impressions, then perhaps the doctor would be able to tell him.

"Tell me doc," Hutch began slowly, "In all the years that you've been a practicing neurological surgeon, have you ever had a patient who . . . "saw" things after waking from a comatose state?"

"Saw things? You mean like someone who's had a hallucination?" the doctor asked curiously, taking off his glasses to rub the lenses against his white coat, squinting across his desk at the tall blond.

"No . . . not hallucinations doctor," Hutch said slowly, "More like images or like . . ."

"Visions?" the doctor interjected, "Like psychic impressions?" Hutch stared at the doctor across from him, trying to read his expression for any sign of judgment or scorn.

The doctor smiled at the detective, his face warm and open. "Don't be alarmed detective," Dr. Bradford said calmly, "I may be a doctor, and I know that the medical and scientific field for the most part, do not hold the metaphysical or the paranormal field in high regards, but there are those of us who have witnessed things that are . . . shall we say . . . unexplainable at times, and it certainly gives one pause to wonder . . ."

"H-have any of your patients ever experienced things of this nature doc?" Hutch asked hesitantly.

The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose, before putting his glasses back on, to stare candidly at the blond. "My field of expertise is neurology, Detective Hutchinson, the study of the nervous system, which of course includes the brain. The human brain is a vast storehouse of information, which many of us still know so little about. It has been said that the average human being uses only 10 percent of their brain, which by the way, I truly believe is hogwash. It is difficult to say what percentage of the brain the average human uses, because our brains are functioning at so many different levels at any given time, and to accurately access exactly what parts and how much of the brain is being used is not feasible. And yet, it is precisely because of this, that one cannot disregard the claims of those who have experienced things outside of what we understand in the field of science."

"So you're saying that things like this have happened to patients that you've had . . ."

"What I'm saying detective, is that I am not above the believe that there are things outside of our sphere of knowledge that can affect people's lives. I've seen patients, who by right should be six feet under the ground, and they're walking about, well and healed because of prayers of loved ones or because someone laid their hands on them and apparently healed them. I've seen some recoveries as a doctor, that I can't rightly explain to you . . . miracles . . . people have called them . . .so I do not scoff at things just because I am not versed in them."

The doctor leaned his elbows on the desk to steeple his fingers together, as he stared intently at the tall blond, "Apparently you have some need to know about these issues and how they tie into an individual waking from a coma . . . I cannot help you in this area detective, as I have never experienced them firsthand myself, but I do know of several doctors who have. Before a coma, their patients were average everyday people with normal talents and abilities, but after waking from a coma due to a head injury, these people find themselves suddenly equipped with special psychic abilities. This phenomenon, although rare, has been known to happen detective . . . we, in the medical field, just don't like to openly discuss such things . . .

"Well?" Dobey said impatiently, "I asked you a question . . ."

Hutch stammered, startled into the here and now, "What's that Cap? I'm sorry I . . ."

"You okay Hutch?" Dobey asked, noting the tired lines etched under the pale blue eyes, concern for the blond was evident in the large man's voice, "You need to take care of yourself too, you know . . . these past couple of weeks have been hell for you."

"I'm fine Captain, just glad he's home." Hutch said smiling. A part of him wanted to tell Dobey about the bus incident and about Starsky's vision of a girl being murdered, but the blond wanted to get permission from his curly haired partner first, and besides; this strange step into the metaphysical world would be in direct conflict with the captain's strong Christian faith. Hutch knew that Starsky wouldn't want to offend his captain with any of this, when they themselves were unsure about what was happening. Hopefully Collandra would be a bigger help to them than the doctor was.

"I'm going to head on home Captain, to check on Starsky." Hutch said rising from the chair and stretching his back.

Dobey smiled, realizing his blond detective didn't even realize he had called Starsky's home, "his" home. Those two were like peas in a pod, always stuck together like Siamese twins, especially since Gunther's attempted hit almost two and a half years ago.

Thinking back on those dark times brought a frown to the round face of the captain. For a while, it had been touch and go as they wondered if Starsky would survive the four bullets from an automatic that had raked across his chest, causing severe damage to the brunet. It was almost miraculous the way his stubborn, curly haired detective clung tenaciously to life, fighting his way back to normalcy; never giving up even during those grueling, painful therapies. Although Starsky had regained 98 percent of his former health and stamina, the brunet had suffered a compromised lung, which even now, plagued him off and on, especially when he was under the weather with a cold.

"Okay, tell that partner of yours I said to rest and get better . . . oh, and don't forget to grab that stack of files on his desk for him to look over." Dobey grinned.

Hutch grinned back, "You know you aren't doing me a favor here, by making me take these to him . . . I can just imagine the whining all ready!" Both men chuckled as the blond turned to leave, softly closing the door behind him.

-.-.-.-oo0oo.-.-.-.-

"You need to train yourself to take in clues while you're in that altered state . . . you're a detective, so I know you can do it. You just need to learn to combine your trainings . . ." Collandra said, sipping the cold beer, after swallowing down the huge bite of pizza that he took.

"Yeah . . . easier said than done," Starsky grumbled, between a mouthful of pizza. All this talking made him ravenous, but it was almost comforting to be with someone who understood and simply accepted what he was going through.

Joe stopped the pizza he was raising to his mouth in mid-air, and eyed the curly haired man sitting across the small wooden table, "I never said it was easy . . . it sucks at times, but it'll get easier if you learn to develop it. Take the girl getting stabbed for instance, you said you didn't know if it was something that had happened already, or if it was still going to happen . . .sometime in the future. My advice to you would be to tell you that the next time you have a vision, focus on other things around the girl . . . you already know she's going to be stabbed, get clues as to her whereabouts, and then maybe you can help her if it hasn't happened yet. You get it?" Collandra said, finally taking a bite out of the pizza he had held for so long.

Starsky stared at the older man suddenly losing his appetite. He hated his whole thing. The brunet pushed his plate away and rose to his feet, dragging his fingers through his dark curls.

"Whassamatta?" the psychic mumbled, as he chewed contentedly on the pizza in his mouth.

"Nuthin'. Not hungry s'all." Starsky said sourly.

"Sit down and get a grip." Collandra said calmly. "I know you're not too happy right now with all that's been going on, but acceptance is the first step. From what you've told me it seems like you have several 'gifts' going on at the same time."

"Gifts? What're ya talkin' about?" Starsky grumbled, as he swiveled the seat around and sat with his arms crossed over the spine of the chair, unconsciously complying with what the older man suggested.

"Each psychic ability has a name. For instance, I tend to "see" things when I touch objects or pictures . . . remember?" Collandra asked.

Starsky did remember. They had shown Joe a picture of the Haymes girl and had given him a scarf that she'd worn. From those objects alone, Joe was able to tell them where they could find the abducted girl.

"Yeah . . . I 'member . . ." Starsky said softly.

"Well what I have is something called psychometry . . . where you can perceive things about the owner by touching objects that belong to them. The fancy name for this gift is called Clairtangency, which means clear sensation or feeling. Most of the psychic abilities have names that begin with the prefix, "Clair." It's French for the word "clear."

At Starsky's silence, the psychic continued, "From what you've shared you have several things happening at once . . . Clairempathy, Clairvoyance and Clairaudience . . ."

"Wait a minute . . . slow down," Starsky said gruffly, "All this mumbo jumbo . . . you're freakin' me out here Joe . . ."

Collandra chuckled softly, "Sorry . . . well, it seems to me that you are able to "see" into another dimension without using your physical eyes . . . like you can visually perceive something happening in that realm . . . like that girl you saw being murdered. That's what clairvoyance, or "clear vision". You also said you could "feel" what that girl was feeling . . . her pain, her fear, her loneliness and how cold she was . . . all of that is what we call clairempathy or "clear" feeling . . . where you're able to sense or "feel" within your own self, the attitude or emotions of another person."

"What about the last one . . ." Starsky asked, becoming more intrigued with everything Collandra divulged.

Joe smiled, "It seems you can also "hear" things like the screaming from the kids on the bus and the girl being stabbed. You said you heard the little girl on the bus say that you were too late . . . to be able to "hear" sounds or words from this other dimension is called clairaudience, or "clear" audio/hearing. Looks to me pal that you have a lot of stuff going on at the same time . . ."

"No shit Sherlock," Starsky grouched, "And I didn't even tell you about the voice that lurks behind all of these visions, the one that tells me to do things like 'help them' or 'save her' . . ."

Collandra looked perplexed, "Wait a minute . . . you "hear" another voice in your head . . . I mean, other than the people in your visions?"

"Yeah . . . it always whispers to me just after the vision goes away . . . and I never see the face to this voice . . . just hear it whispering softly to me."

There was a moment of intense silence as Collandra processed that information. "What does the voice sound like?"

Starsky snorted, "Did ya know that Hutch asked me that same question last night? Maybe you guys have some telepathy goin' on that I don' know about huh?" the brunet joked, but settled down after seeing Joe's serious expression. Starsky drew in a deep breath, "Okay . . .like I told Hutch, I think it might be a guy's voice, never gave it much thought as I was rolling on the bathroom floor last night, since my head was pounding and my gut felt like it was being ripped out!" Starsky said sarcastically.

"The next time you get a vision, pay close attention to that voice. If it is someone projecting his voice into your head, then this person must be very developed psychically

. . . someone very strong mentally . . . do you know anyone like that?"

"Nope . . . all I know is that it can't be Huggy Bear!" Starsky laughed at his own joke, visualizing his tall, lanky friend, a scowl on his dark face, eyes closed with his fingers pressed against his temple.

The soft chuckle from the brunet was cut short as a sudden lancing pain stabbed into the side of his skull and a blinding light flashed behind his tightly scrunched eyes. The pain was excruciating, pounding . . . he could vaguely hear Collandra talking to him from a distance, but his words were indiscernible.

She was going home, feeling tired as she rode the bus, wishing her friend was there with her to occupy the time. They usually chatted during the long ride home and tonight, her absence was greatly felt.

Starsky gripped the side of the table, while his other hand pushed against the throbbing pain in his head. "Focus," he heard Joe's voice, as if coming from a great distance, vaguely registering the warmth of Collandra's hand on his shoulder, his own body suddenly cold and rigid. He struggled to breathe through the pain, to ride it out, gasping under its punishing blows . . .

The bus came to the stop she got off at and she rose from her seat, disheartened to see the light drizzle of rain that began to fall. She walked down the steps of the bus to the sidewalk and looked at the darkened street. "Look around for clues . . . any street signs?" the vague voice of Collandra broke into the vision. She glanced down the street, her eyes warily sweeping for any movement as she continued walking, her steps growing quicker by the minute as she sensed that she was not alone.

Starsky gasped, fingers pressed deeply into his left temple to alleviate the building pressure in his head, hearing the ghostly clicks of the girl's heels in his head, tapping hollowly against sidewalk, as she began to run in fear of the presence lurking in the shadows.

"Sh-she's lookin' 'round . . . I saw the signs . . ." the brunet gasped, as rivulets of sweat ran down his sides of his face. "She's on . . Fourth and M-maple . . ."

"Good . . . take it easy, just breathe and stay focused . . . you know she'll be attacked from the bushes . . . try to see the face of her assailant . . ." Joe's voice whispered, floating softly through the scene being played in his mind.

She could sense someone out there in the dark, feeling the overwhelming, suffocating hand of fear clutching at her throat, as she ran blindly past the dark hedges that lined the sidewalk. A large arm reached through the shrubs, dragging her unwillingly through the hedge, the sharp branches scraping along the tender flesh of her arms and legs. She screamed as the other hand covered her mouth, grinding her soft lips against her teeth, the warm metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. "Look to his face . . . see his face . . ." It was dark, the dim lights from the streets flashing silver along the flat side of the large blade as it began its downward swoop, cutting through the cold night air.

"It's t-too dark," Starsky gasped, "C-can't see anything . . . the blade . . .Ungh" the brunet moaned, feeling the blade as it sank into the girl's abdomen. Starsky curled into the pain, vaguely feeling himself falling from the chair as Collandra struggled to ease his convulsing form to the carpet. "Take it easy . . . look to his face . . . what does he look like?"

Starsky groaned again in agony, curling into the pain, feeling the savage thrusts of the knife himself, as it was buried repeatedly into the young girl. He couldn't "see" anything . . . too dark . . . a tall silouette crouched over her, his face in shadows . . .long strands of hair hanging down, swaying violently with each vicious stab of the knife. The brunet grasped his mid-section, groaning softly in agony, his body contorting and folding into himself to ward off the ghostly stabs, the gut-wrenching pain seeming to never stop . . .

To be continued . . .