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.
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 TWELVEFriday, early morning hours (Starsky's apartment)
"Wake up . . ." He vaguely registered that it was the voice again, so calm, so removed . . . so cold, "Wake up pilgrim . . . the journey is just beginning . . ."
He struggled to open his heavy lids, knowing that he had to warn him; knowing that he needed to be aware, but his mind and body were so heavy; feeling somehow like it did not belong to him anymore. Every muscle, every joint screamed in pain at the slightest intake of breath and he was so exhausted . . . so incredibly weary.
But he was here . . . he was sure of it . . . somewhere in the darkness . . . he could "feel" it . . . he could feel the incredible bond they had always shared, the healing energy of love and friendship that never failed to comfort and reassure, as it pressed protectively against his aching soul. It wrapped its nurturing warmth around his cold, frozen heart, melting the frigid iciness that had ensnared it, and held it captive for so long. He was here . . . somewhere . . . hiding in this parody of all that was hallowed and revered. He 'knew' it; as sure as he knew the sun would rise tomorrow, and it caused him to raise his weary head, feeling the frozen talons that pierced into his soul beginning to dissolve under the golden light of love.
His dark, heavy lashes lifted, as sweat stung his eyes, burning and blurring his vision for a moment, before he blinked away the salty moisture as he tried to focus. It was so dark, the candles casting eerie shadows all around. He closed his eyes again; his breathing shallow and rapid, as he tried to ride out the wave of pain that suddenly engulfed his battered body.
"Wake up," the voice hissed once more, urgently bidding him to do what was asked, "Wake up and behold the tarnished knight . . ."
"Starsk?" That voice, so soft with concern, echoing in the hollow cathedrals . . . made him struggle to open his eyes again. He could see it floating in the darkness . . . a golden halo of light that crouched down near the wooden pews of the desecrated church. He blinked again, trying to clear his vision . . . squinting until the pale formless blob became a familiar and welcomed face . . . it was him . . . it was Hutch!
"The northern star begins to fade . . . it is too late to shine your light Polaris . . . too late for you and for your brave, but foolish knight . . ." the voice echoed eerily in his head.
He tried to move, seeing his partner cautiously rising to his feet, his gun stretched out before him as he made his way to the front of the altar. 'No' he screamed silently in his head unable to vocalize his thoughts, watching as his partner drew nearer as if in a dream, knowing it was a mistake . . . a fatal mistake . . . seeing a dark figure rising from the balconies, aiming the bow and letting fly the arrow . . . the arrow that pierced Hutch through his back . . .
"NO!" he cried out loudly, bolting upright in his bed, gasping, his heart beating with the painful tempo in his head, his bare chest and arms gleaming with perspiration as he struggled to control the sudden trembling that overtook his body, while hearing the quiet remnants of the voice still whispering in his head, "Welcome to my dream . . ."
Starsky shivered uncontrollably, feeling bile rise to his throat when he remembered the look of surprise and pain that was etched on his partner's face in his dream, as the arrow tip broke through his chest, the blood quickly spreading across his shirt.
He suddenly 'felt' it, a difference in his room, something not right . . . a presence. The dark blue eyes darted around his bedroom, noting each familiar shape in the dim light, until it rested upon the dark mass by the window . . .
"Simone dreamed you would one day know . . ." Luke whispered softly in the darkness, his eyes glowing with an unnatural light, his mouth lifting into a wide smile, revealing yellow stained, feral teeth that gleamed in the darkness. "I am the keeper of the flame," the bearded man hissed eerily, "And now the flame resides in us both."
Starsky dove for the side drawer of his nightstand, attempting to get to his gun, as he heard the soft, muted 'swoosh' of air being displaced; feeling a sharp sudden sting in the place right above his heart, that took his breath away. The dark haired detective grunted softly and fell onto the bed, knocking over the phone on the nightstand in his attempt to reach the drawer. The brunet gasped as he quickly yanked the needle from his glistening bare chest, already feeling disoriented and woozy from the tranquilizer, as he tried desperately to untangle himself from the sheets that wrapped cloyingly around his sweat drenched body.
Starsky felt suddenly nauseous, as the drug coursed rapidly throughout his body, numbing his limbs, while at the same time, slowing down his heart rate. He was unable to defend himself, unable to even focus on anything, his body lethargically betraying him in its sudden heaviness, his movements slow and sluggish. He gasped, struggling to take air in as Luke grabbed a handful of his dark curls and yanked his head back . . . his assailant's voice, a sibilant whisper in his ear that echoed throughout his mind . . . even as the darkness swiftly overtook him.
"Your journey begins Polaris . . . Simone welcomes you to his dream . . ."
-.-.-.-oo0oo.-.-.-.-
Friday morning, (Parker Center)
Hutch smiled as he stepped into the squad room, feeling refreshed after his morning run. He had gotten up extra early to water his thirsty plants, made himself one of his delicious, healthy shakes and had gone out for his usual 10 minute jog. It had been quite some time since he'd been able to do that for himself and he had relished every moment of it.
Since Starsky went down in the alley, Hutch had been with the brunet constantly, never wanting to leave his friend's side, reveling in the fact that his partner had once again, made it out of harm's way, emerging virtually unscathed from a coma. And then all of these strange dreams and visions started happening, throwing the blond for a loop. Hell, if he was thrown for a loop, he couldn't even begin to imagine what this was doing to his partner.
Leaving Starsky last night was one of the hardest things that Hutch had ever had to do, especially when he knew his partner was hurting and blaming himself for the death of the young girl. Yet, Starsky had requested that he go, stubbornly trying to deal with everything alone, and though Hutch didn't agree with it, he knew the brunet was indirectly asking him to trust in his judgment.
As far as Hutch was concerned, he had no choice but to agree in the matter, after all, trust was the basis for their whole relationship and it had carried them through all the difficult moments in the past . . . it had even gotten them through that whole horrible mess with Kira.
Hutch had betrayed his partner's trust once before, and he had vowed to never do it again. If Starsky wanted him to trust that he could deal with this, then so be it. And yet, Hutch caught himself time and time again, looking at the clock on the wall, wanting so badly to call his partner and see for himself that the brunet was fine.
The blond dragged his hand through his hair, eyes drifting to the clock again. Only 8:30 in the morning. He quickly stood up and walked over to the coffee maker, pouring himself some of that nasty, bitter brew. Hutch wished he had never promised to wait for the brunet to call, wanting to pick up the phone and dial Starsky's number right then and there . . . to hell if he woke his friend up!
He snorted softly, mentally kicking himself for being such a mother hen. 'God Hutchinson, you need to get a grip!' the blond silently berated himself, smirking as he silently gave himself the proverbial kick in the ass!
Hutch looked up, as the door to Dobey's office was yanked open, "Get in here," Dobey snapped, obviously irritated by something. His tone surprised the blond, who quickly put his mug down and followed his captain into his office without a word. Hutch sat in the chair facing Dobey's desk and waited for whatever his captain needed to say.
The big black man ruffled through some files and pulled some sheets out. He eyed the blond who sat across from him with his bloodshot eyes. "I don't think you're going to like what I have to tell you." The captain began.
"What's going on?" Hutch asked, his pale brows drew together causing a deep furrow to appear, "What have you got?"
Dobey handed a sheet over to his blond detective. "They've made a positive ID on that truck driver who hit the bus. His name is Ralph Watkins."
Hutch looked at the picture clipped to the corner of the report. A blond man with hooded eyes stared back at him, but it wasn't the eyes that got to Hutch, it was what lay just above the middle of his eyes that drew the cop's immediate attention. Hutch's pale blue eyes snapped to his captain's.
"Yup, you're seeing what you think you're seeing," Dobey said gravely, "It's an upside crucifix that's been burned into his forehead . . . a sign of Marcus' cult. He was burned beyond recognition from the wreck and we had to use his dental records to ID him."
Hutch put the paper down, willing the sudden panic away that rose within him at seeing the mark of that madman. Hutch took in a deep, cleansing breath and exhaled it slowly, "Well I suppose some of those low-lifes are still running around after all these years."
"Well this 'lowlife' was one of those we arrested at the old zoo when they took Starsky, almost five years ago. He used to go by the name of Peter when he ran with the cult. He, as well as some of the other cult members were released from Cabrillo Penitentiary a few months ago for good behavior." Dobey growled.
Hutch eyed the other sheets of paper the captain held in his hands, "What're those?"
Dobey took the top sheet off and handed it to the blond. "We just got this back. It's the autopsy report of the murdered stab victim you found last night. Needless to say, she died from her injuries. The multiple wounds to her abdomen caused a lot of internal damage . . . ruptured too many organs . . . and she bled to death."
Hutch closed his eyes, his pale lashes blending in with his complexion, mentally 'seeing' all the bruises on Starsky's abdomen after the brunet "witnessed" the murder of this girl.
"We still don't know who she is . . . but I'm sure someone will soon be calling in with a missing person's report" Dobey said gruffly, "And then we have this . . ." He handed Hutch the last sheet of paper.
Hutch looked at the snapshot of an angry young teen, his long red hair was stringy and his bangs almost hid his face. He looked liked any other teenaged punk that Hutch saw on the streets, except for the eyes on this kid . . . almost light green in color; his eyes had a strange glow about them, although his gaze remained blank and vacant. It sent shivers down the seasoned cop's spine, and the detective raised his pale, blue eyes to his captain's, "Who is this?"
Dobey heaved a sigh, "That's the kid that shot your partner in that alley. His name is Ricky Jones. We have him locked up right now, but you need to listen to this . . . we just found out that his mother used to be a part of Marcus' cult. He was just about nine when she was actively following Simone. I thought you might want to know that."
Hutch could see the concerned look on his captain's face, and he frowned, his mind racing as fast as his heart, "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" he asked the large, black man.
"I'm thinking that it's a bit coincidental to suddenly have Marcus' cult members popping up all over the place." Dobey said sarcastically, "So I made a call to Cabrillo early this morning. Simon Marcus is still an inmate there, but most of the his followers that were brought in have been paroled over the years. They recently let Lucas Taylor, Simon's first disciple, free a few weeks ago. He was known as Luke in the cult, and they called him, "The Keeper of the Flame," whatever the hell that means." Dobey let out another sigh, "Do you think any of this has to do with that young woman being murdered last night?"
"I don't know Cap," Hutch said slowly, thinking about his partner's strange visions and the dark, evil presence that Collandra said he felt. He shivered as he remembered the ominous words Joe said, " . . . and it wants you Starsky . . . it's after you." Hutch stood up suddenly, causing his captain to startle,"Look Cap, I'm gonna go call Starsky and see how he's doing."
"Yeah, you do that. Your partner looked like crap last night. What were you thinking . . . dragging him around in the rain when he just got out of the hospital?" Dobey question, frowning as he glared at his blond detective. "Here, use this phone," the large man offered, pushing his phone across his desk to the tall blond.
"Thanks Captain," Hutch said hastily, rapidly dialing the number he knew by heart, only to hear a busy signal on the other end. Hutch listened to the beeping for a few seconds, and then slowly hung up his end. He raised his eyes to his captain's, "It's busy . . ."
"Yeah?" Dobey chuckled, "He's probably trying to hook up with some broad . . . been out of action for too long . . ."
Hutch nodded distractedly, suddenly feeling a sense of urgency in the pit of his stomach. He looked quickly to the large black man and said, "Captain, would you mind if I take a quick spin up to Starsky's . . . just to check on him, then I'll come back and do that report."
Dobey eyed his detective, noting the worried look on his pale face, "What's the matter?"
"I-I don't know," Hutch said truthfully, "Just got a weird feeling in my gut. Maybe knowing Simon's scums are out there is getting to me. I went home last night, and left Starsky at his place alone . . . I'd just feel better if I knew that Starsky was okay."
"Alright," Dobey said, "Just be back before noon, and tell that partner of yours to stop running around in the rain."
"Yeah, I will Cap," Hutch said, walking swiftly to the door, "I will . . ."
-.-.-.-oo0oo.-.-.-.-
Hutch grinned to himself, as he pulled up in front of Starsky's place. Seeing the shiny, red Torino parked it its usual place, somehow made the blond unconsciously relax. Hutch shifted his LTD into park and chuckled as he got out of the car. Maybe Dobey was right, maybe his partner was on the phone making some calls to the many ladies who frequented his life, or maybe he could have been putting in an early call to his mother in New York, after all, it was Friday, and Starsky always reserved that day to call his mom.
Hutch took a deep breath in before opening the front door of the apartment, trying to still his rapidly beating heart. He didn't know why he felt so uneasy, and he was surprised to see the slight trembling of his hand as it grasped the doorknob. The fact that his partner had left the door unlocked was nothing unusual. 'Probably expected me to drop by,' Hutch thought smiling. Knowing that some of Simon's disciples were free again, made the blond jittery, but maybe he was overreacting, letting his fear and imagination get the best of him. The nightmare that was Simon Marcus, was still safely tucked away behind bars, and there he would stay for a long, long time.
"Starsk," Hutch called, making sure his voice was light, stepping into the kitchen to look casually into the 'fridge, not wanting to appear nervous or worried in case his partner walked into the room. "You up yet?"
The blond stopped his perusal of the disgusting leftovers in his friend's refrigerator when no response came. "Starsk?" He closed the 'fridge door and walked into the brunet's bedroom, grabbing his gun from his holster the minute he saw the toppled phone on the ground.
He immediately crouched low, his senses taking in information at once, the rumpled bedding, the phone that fell from the nightstand where he knew Starsky kept his gun in the top drawer, the deafening silence of the room. Hutch knew without looking around that his partner was gone, the place just felt empty . . . and violated.
The sick feeling of uneasiness that lay in the pit of his gut, blossomed and grew into a burning, nauseous knot of anguish as his eyes saw the tranquilizer dart, half hidden by the dark blue sheets on his partner's bed. "No!" Hutch whispered to no one, the silence of the empty room seeming to simultaneously accuse and mock him, filling his heart with panic and despair, while wide, pale, blue eyes remained riveted on the telltale dart, "Oh god, Starsk, where are you?"
To be continued . . .
