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. Special thanks goes out to Brook for preventing this chapter from being trashed. I firmly believe that I am my worst critic!
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. I would hate to spoil someone's fun.
oo Silent Witness oo
CHAPTER FOURTEENFriday, early evening (Old Canyon Road, an abandoned church)
It hurt to move, as every muscle, every inch of his skin on his upper back and chest screamed out in agony; pain tearing relentlessly throughout his torn and lacerated body. He could hear his breathing, the shallow intakes sounded ragged, and he willfully tried to slow down his rapid breaths. God, it hurt to breathe!
His arms ached, tied the way it was behind his back. He once again, twisted his torn and bleeding wrists, to test the strength of his bonds. Although the ropes gave a little, it was still too tight for him to free himself. He could feel the warm, rivulets of blood as they ran down his back and his sides, the lacerations from the chain links stinging from his own perspiration. The concrete floor felt cool against his hot face and he slowly opened his eyes, wondering how long he had been out. He was lying on his side and gasped sharply as he tried to sit up, his body protesting any movement, and yet, he knew he couldn't just lie there. He had to get up, and get up now!
Starsky groaned softly, scrunching his eyes closed as he forced his stomach muscles to tighten, pulling his body into an upright position. He leaned his weary head back against the wall of the altar, feeling the burn from his many cuts as they pressed into the cool and smoothed wood. It appeared that Simon's goons had left him after he had passed out from the beating he took. 'Hell, it would take more than a chain to beat me into submission,' the brunet thought stubbornly to himself, forcing himself to get a handle on the burning pain that ripped through his upper body, breathing heavily with the effort it took. He gasped softly as a spike of pain lanced through his side and he closed his eyes and tried to remember everything that happened before he blacked out.
The whole time they had worked him over, they had chanted insanely, the volume of their monotonous intonations increasing as more blood was let from the straining, gasping detective. The sight of the blood and the bruising on the detective's upper body caused excitement in the black robed figures, as they swayed to the maniacal repetition and rhythm of their leader's name.
As the heavy chain fell again and again on the dark haired detective, Luke stood in the forefront, above the bound man, eyes closed, hands raised high in apparent supplication, mumbling words to himself, as if in communication with some invisible being. "Enough" Luke finally hissed, opening his dark eyes to glare with self-righteous indignation at the groveling man.
Starsky grunted as the blows rained down mercilessly, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out, refusing to give those sickos the satisfaction of hearing his pain filled screams, when suddenly the searing lashes from the metal chain stopped. The brunet vaguely registered that the chanting had abruptly come to an end as he breathed heavily through the pain, his bruised sides, back and chest heaving, He tried to take advantage of the respite given him, desperately trying to get a handle on the pain, his rigid body shuddering, as he struggled to control the agony ripping throughout his gasping, battered form.
Luke knelt next to the bound detective who lay on his side, his eyes closed, dark lashes spiked from the perspiration that ran freely down his face. The bearded man, pushed back his greasy long hair from his shoulders, and gently ran a finger along Starsky's heaving ribs, tracing the black and blue circular marks from the chain links, smiling as he watched the sweat drenched man flinch, his heated skin quaking at the cold and evil touch.
"Simone dreamed of your stubborn willfulness, but you will accept our master as we all have, Starsky. Simone wants you . . . has wanted you all this time. His power grows ever stronger, each day as he sits, locked in his cell, cloistered away like a monk in forced seclusion; he has honed his abilities and can reach out with his mind . . . and he has ever dreamed of you." Luke hissed, leaning over the wounded man to whisper in his ear, his long, dirty strands of hair sweeping across the side of the detective's damp face.
Starsky could feel himself floating on a wave of darkness, on the verge of blacking out, and he struggled to stay conscious, vaguely hearing the sibilant voice of Luke, fighting to make sense of what he was saying. He trembled as he felt something pass repeatedly across his face and fought to open his weary eyes, straining to make meaning, as the voice continued to whisper into his ear.
Luke reached out and gently stroked the dark, curls that were almost plastered down with sweat, his voice soft with puzzlement, "I've often wondered why Simone dreamed of you . . . wondered why you were the 'heavenly star' and I was just the 'keeper of the flame' . . . Now I see why my master seeks to 'know' you, why he pursued you through the darkness of your sleep and stayed with you there the whole time you were in your coma . . . Simone now knows the way you think, the way you 'feel' and yet, you still resist his power. Your feeble attempts at 'blocking' my master from entering your mind amuses him. You should be honored that Simone has chosen you!"
Starsky flinched as the stroking hand became harder, rougher, as it matched the tempo and volume of Luke's voice. He could hear the disciple breathing harder, his cloaked body trembling to control the jealous rage that overtook his almost distant and removed stance that he had just minutes ago. Luke continued to hiss, as his cold hand passed down the nape of Starky's neck . . .
"There is a power . . . and a light the shines brightly in you. 'Heavenly Polaris', is what my master calls you . . . he has always sensed the intensity of your energy . . . even as you hunted us down years before, and persecuted us all. Simone always dreamed that you would come into his hands, where he could learn the workings of your mind and control the light of the heavens that burns within your warrior's heart. My master's flame burns as bright as the sun and in the end, the sun outshines all heavenly bodies . . . even those that burn as bright as you . . . the North Star, Polaris. And I . . . I am the right hand of our Lord and what my master wills, I am bound to carry through, for I am the Keeper of the Flame and now the Flame burns within me too!"
As Luke uttered those last words, his voice reached a fevered pitch. The brunet groaned, his body tense and trembling in pain, arching suddenly as Luke angrily dug his fingers into the many cuts and bruises that marked the detective's back, his voice raising in fury . . . "Behold, the star grows dim and we will once again rise in triumph and victory . . ." Starksy moaned softly, his breathing ragged and weak as he faded slowly into nothingness, the dark wave of unconsciousness mercifully washing over his battered and bruised body . . .
Starsky looked up, startled from his thoughts as he heard footsteps approaching. He gasped softly, feeling his body tensing as the robed figures drew nearer. His head began to suddenly throb and he longed to press his fingers into his temple where the ache always originated. He closed his eyes against the pain, and concentrated on listening to the footsteps, until he knew that they were standing, but a few feet away from him. He could hear the soft swish of the robes rustling against the concrete flooring, imagining the blood-red inverted cross against a backdrop of ebony, as the cult members began swaying to their soft chants of "Simone."
"Hiding the windows to your soul will not make us go away, Simone dreamed you would be difficult." Luke's whispered voice rose above the others. "You have had the privilege of merging with my master, sharing in his dreams, as he sacrificed the lives of those children and that women for your pleasure and his . . ."
Starsky wearily lifted his long dark lashes, exposing the ocean blue depths that grew stormy as he glared at the greasy, bearded man. It sickened Starsky to know that Marcus was the man behind all of those deaths, that he had taken the lives of all of those innocent people just to get to him, but he hid his horror behind a mask of indifference, "Yeah?" Starsky breathed, "Well did Marcus dream of metal bars . . . huh? 'Cause you'll be behind them as soon as my partner figures out what happened to me . . ."
The brunet groaned at the sharp pain that lanced into his side, as one of the chanting cult members gave a brutal kick to his ribs. The dark haired detective closed his eyes against the pain and breathed heavily to ride out the radiating waves of agony that tore through his ribcage.
'Hutch.' Speaking about his partner brought his familiar, golden visage to the mind's eye of the brunet, and his heart ached to see his friend. Even now, he 'knew' his partner had probably figured out that he had been abducted and the pain of their separation weighed heavily on his mind. Hutch was probably going crazy trying to locate his whereabouts, not even knowing that Marcus was once again behind all of these horrific happenings.
Starsky could 'hear' the little girl on the bus crying out for her mother, could 'see' the dying young woman as the tear ran down from the corner of her eye and these images haunted him; it tore away at his soul, as guilt and remorse filled his being. These innocents had been sacrificed on account of him, thrown out like yesterday's garbage so that Simone could play games with his mind.
The brunet swallowed the lump that stuck in his throat, forcing it down. Now was not the time to grieve for these innocents . . . to grieve for their unfulfilled futures . . . there would be time enough for that if he got out of here in one piece.
Starsky's head pounded in agony, as the voice of Marcus filled his mind, "You failed them Polaris . . . too late to help them . . . as it will be too late to help the knight who comes for you . . ."
Starsky couldn't prevent the groan that escaped his lips as he mentally 'pushed' the voice from his head, feeling the resistance in the form of pain, as Marcus mentally pushed back. The brunet slammed his mind shut, stubbornly refusing access to that manipulative murderer. Just thinking of that madman hurting his partner filled the brunet's heart with anger that fueled his strength and kept his adrenalin pumping.
Although it caused his head to pound with agony, Starsky once again gave a tremendous 'push' with his mind and was surprised to see Luke suddenly grab his own greasy head and moan, as he sank to his knees before the bruised and bound detective.
The bone weary detective watched in amazement as the disciple raised accusing, glaring eyes at him, his nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily. "You dare to defy Simone? You insignificant bastard!"
Two of the black-garbed figures quickly went to help Luke up from his knees. The bearded man glared at the hooded figures, "Bring the bowl . . . now!" he demanded with a snarl, "Simone's will must be done!"
Starsky wearily watched as one of the robed men went to do Luke's bidding. The dark haired detective felt suddenly drained, weakened by the amount of energy it took to force Marcus from his mind, breathing heavily as he blinked the perspiration from his eyes, his head pounding ceaselessly. His chest heaved with each burning breath, as he watched the hooded freak return with a wooden bowl, which he carefully handed over to Luke.
The longhaired man looked from the bowl to the battered brunet. "No one strikes or defies Simone, and what should have been freely given, will now be taken . . ." Luke nodded quickly to two cult members who quickly reached over and brutally dragged the wounded detective to his feet.
Starsky groaned in agony as he was dragged up, his body screaming in pain as they forced him to his wobbly feet. His arms were numb and heavy, from being tied up for so long. He raised his sweat-drenched head, and wearily focused his gaze on the bowl that was filled with some type of dark liquid that glimmered dimly from the glow of the candles. He panted heavily, feeling the burn in his left lung as it strained to draw more air in, watching Luke take a step nearer, as some of the liquid sloshed over the brim of the bowl, leaving a splash of dark red on the hard concrete floor. Blood.
The dark haired detective raised horror filled eyes to the dark disciple as an eerie smile snaked across his face, "The fluid of life, must be partaken by you Polaris, and through this sharing will my master's will be done . . . hold him!" Luke commanded.
Starsky struggled against the hooded men as they dug their fingers painfully into his shoulders and pressed the detective down to keep him steady. Another follower stood ready as the chanting began again, growing louder by the minute, "Simone, Simone, Simone . . ."
Luke grinned, his eyes glimmered as he watched the struggles of the 'favored' one, his heart burned with a jealous rage, "Open his mouth" he demanded to a follower who quickly grabbed onto the jaw of the detective, forcing it open.
Starsky gagged as the warm, thick liquid was pored into his mouth, feeling his jaw being slammed shut, while his nostrils were squeezed tight. He struggled futilely, feeling the liquid spilling down his bare chest, holding the horrid, thick gore in his mouth, refusing to swallow, even as his oxygen was cut off.
The brunet felt his legs give in as he sank to his knees, the chanting of Marcus' name filling his mind, his eyesight grew dim and he saw the blurry face of Luke as if from a dark tunnel. His body cried out for air, his lungs burning as they screamed for oxygen. He felt his nose quickly being released when he had no choice, but to swallow down the warm, revolting liquid, feeling the freaks releasing their hold on him as he fell to the ground, gagging and spitting up as much of the thick liquid as he could. He closed his eyes in agony, seeing the room spinning wildly, as he finally gave into the darkness, his curly dark head laying in the spatter of some of the dark liquid he had just spit up.
To be continued . . .
