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. I would hate to spoil someone's fun.
oo Silent Witness oo
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Friday, early evening (Starsky's apartment)
"Tell me again." Hutch said, sitting on the edge of his partner's too soft couch, his head held in his hands, as he listened to the weary voice of the psychic from Atlantic City.
It had been a long and frustrating day for the blond as he waited for the lab team to do their thing, recognizing that he was racing against the clock, intuitively knowing that the brunet was suffering as every second ticked slowly by. The blond shuddered as he thought of what was being done to Starsky.
"Okay . . . for the last time . . ." Joe said, irritation making his voice rise, "I was sleepin' . . . and I . . . I get this dream, only it wasn't a dream . . . and ah . . . it was d-dark and the shadows came alive . . . and I saw your partner . . . he was ah . . . he was all sweating and scared." Collandra looked at the blond, who lifted his head from his hands, the muscle in his jaw tightening at that last word.
"And then?" Hutch asked abruptly, fear and anxiety for his partner rolling off of him in waves.
"And then . . . he gets shot with a tranquilizer gun and they take him." Collandra said softly.
"Who takes him?" Hutch said desperately, "Who were "they" Joe?"
"I told you . . . I don't know . . . the shadows . . . they just came alive . . ."the psychic panted, eyes wild as they looked all around.
"Damn!" Hutch said angrily, rising up from the couch, "Time is running out Joe . . . and I need some answers now!" the blond said, pacing back and forth in agitation.
"Okay . . . okay . . ."Collandra whispered softly, "Just . . . just gimme something of his . . . something he always wears . . . or touches all the time . . ."
"Okay . . . wait here." Hutch quickly got up and went to get Starsky's old, brown leather jacket, which he had seen crumpled on the floor. Apparently the brunet had thrown it next to his hamper in the corner of his bedroom, when he had come home to bathe the other night.
Hutch lifted the leather article, which was still damp from the downpour they had been caught in. His mind flashed back to the image of his partner cradling the dying girl in his arms, 'How could I have left him here alone?' Hutch grilled himself again, mentally pummeling himself for the poor decision he had made. Perhaps if he were here last night, Collandra's "they," would have thought twice before breaking and entering into a cop's residence.
Hutch lifted the jacket by the shoulders and shook it out. The blond frowned when he saw the dried blood of the girl against the white fleece that lined the inside of the worn leather. His partner had covered the young dying girl with his own jacket, attempting to shield her from the cold.
Hutch sighed. This jacket had been such a part of his friend's life. He turned the leather jacket around and saw the four bullet holes in the back that had never been patched . . . a gift from Gunther that had nearly stolen Starsky's life. Hutch clutched the jacket, scrunching the leather in his hands, lifting it near his mustache as he smelled the moldy dampness and metallic odor of dried blood from their harrowing experience the night before, and yet, above those strong scents, the blond could still smell the faint essence of sandalwood that made him miss his partner even more. "Hang on buddy . . ." Hutch said softly, "I'm coming . . . just hang on . . ."
Hutch quickly walked out of the bedroom and tossed Collandra the jacket. "It's Starsky's . . . he always wears it," the blond said softly.
"Yeah, I know. He had it on last night remember?" Joe said, rubbing his hands against the worn leather, scrunching it as Hutch had just done. The psychic closed his eyes, his breathing growing rapid and shallow as he opened his mind, while his fingers played with the old, brown leather.
The psychic's breathing increased as the visions came. Collandra could see images of Starsky's life as they flashed across the screen in his mind. Pictures of the brunet laughing, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously as he played some practical joke on the blond. An image suddenly flashed of the brunet on the ground, gasping, as his hands clenched his mid-section, hanging onto Hutch for dear life, as the blond crouched over him in an alley. Still another picture of the brunet crying over a woman lying in a hospital bed entered his mind. Joe instinctively knew these were not the images he needed, but there was such a feeling of profound sadness and loss to that last vision of the woman, that he let the jacket go, breaking the "connection". He opened his eyes and looked to Hutch, seeing the blond detective's intense stare; his pale blue eyes were almost the color of ice.
"Well?" Hutch said, a permanent frown creased the space between his brows, "D-Did you see anything?"
Joe took a deep breath to steady himself, his head already pounding, "Yeah . . . I saw a lot of things. . . but nothing about last night."
"Please Joe," Hutch whispered, "Please try again. It'll take some time before the lab can tell us anything and I don't think my partner has much time left. If anyone can help Starsky, it's you! I believe in you Joe, I always have," the blond detective said earnestly.
Joe sighed wearily, massaging his aching forehead. He closed his eyes, pressing his fingers into his temples. "Sometimes I see stuff about the person's life." Collandra said softly, "Stuff that left some kind of an impact on the person you know?"
Hutch nodded silently waiting for the psychic to continue, "I ah . . . I just "saw" your partner crying over a lady in the hospital . . . I think she had just died or somethin' . . . felt his sadness, his loss."
Hutch closed his eyes, pale lashes pressed against his cheeks. "Yeah, that was his girl. Her name was Terry . . . she was a teacher of special children and she was killed by one of the scums we had put away before."
Joe nodded, still feeling the residual effects from that last image, as he sighed and reached again for the worn leather jacket, "You know what?" Collandra said seriously, "It sucks being a cop!"
Hutch snorted softly as he watched the older man close his eyes again, feeling grateful that Joe was there to help him.
Collandra took a few deep breaths, opening himself again, feeling the soft, broken leather between his fingers as the images started coming in. A picture came to the forefront of his mind's eye; Starsky stood turning, reaching for his gun, as an automatic raked bullets across his torso, pinning him against the red and white Torino that he so loved.
Hutch watched intently as Collandra started moaning, one hand grabbing onto his head, as the other choked the leather. "Oh God . . . oh God!" the psychic gasped. Hutch stopped himself from reaching out to touch the psychic, not wanting to disturb him, watching as the older man calmed down a bit, though his breathing still remained shallow and fast.
The horrible vision of the shooting passed and Joe could now "see" Starsky holding the dying girl in the rain, feeling the shroud of guilt that hung over the despairing detective. Then, another image rose before his closed lids, an image of a man with long, greasy hair, dressed in a black hooded robe with an upside down red crucifix upon it, holding a wooden bowl filled with dark liquid. And still another picture of the brunet flashed before the psychic . . .
Hutch watched as Collandra dropped the jacket from of his hands, as he raised both of them to his head, his fingers digging into his scalp, groaning as if in pain, the leather jacket falling limply into his lap, "Joe?" the blond whispered softly, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder lightly, feeling the fine hairs rising on the back of his neck, "Joe . . . Joe, what do you 'see'?"
"Ungh," Collandra
groaned, feeling each blow of the chain as it fell upon the brunet's
sweat covered back, seeing the agony of the dark haired detective
behind his closed lids,
"Ungh . . . oh god . . . they're
t-toturing him . . ." the psychic moaned, gasping in pain, "It
hurts so bad . . . so bad . . . tearing him up . . ."
"Starsky?" Hutch said, his voice rising to match the anxiety and dread that filled his heart, "What are they doing to him?" the blond snarled in helpless frustration, listening to the painful pants from the older man who continued to clutch his head in agony, almost wailing as he said, "They're whipping him with something . . . it's ah . . . oh god, it's a metal chain . . . a thick metal chain!" The psychic gasped loudly, grabbing his throat with one hand, making soft gurgling sounds before he abruptly opened his eyes, staring dazedly at the blond, his rapid, labored breathing already beginning to slow down.
Hutch stood up, red-hot anger boiling up in him as he thought of his partner suffering. "Shit!" the blond swore in helpless rage, as he paced to keep himself from tearing up the room. He breathed through the blood red anger that he felt, willing his heart to slow down it's rapid beat. Turning on his heel, he knelt before Collandra, who sat slumped on the couch, exhaustion evident on the older man's sweat drenched face.
"Joe," Hutch said softly, taking one of Collandra's hands in his, "Joe please . . . you gotta tell me what you saw . . . t-tell me everything you remember . . ." the tall blond begged. Hutch watched as the psychic wearily opened his eyes to stare vacantly at him. "Joe." Hutch said more urgently, gently shaking the wasted man, "Please Joe . . . my partner needs help . . .y-you gotta help me!"
Joe shook his head groggily, and then focused his gaze on the anxious blond. "He's being hurt . . . I saw it . . . whipped by a chain, his hands are bound behind him . . .oh God . . . the lashes . . . the chain keeps cutting into him . . .he has bruises and welts all over his body . . ."
It killed Hutch to hear those graphic descriptions of what his partner was enduring; his heart ached for the brunet, as once again, he seethed in helpless frustration and rage. Hutch stood abruptly, clenching his fists to his sides, "Okay . . . okay . . ." the blond snarled, taking in deep breaths to get a handle on the anger that filled his being, willing himself to calm down for his partner's sake, "Okay . . . Joe . . . please . . . what else did you see . . . huh? Did you . . . did you see any faces? Tell me something Joe, something I can work with, so that I can find Starsky!"
"Yeah," Collandra whispered softly, "I saw a man . . . ah . . . he had long, brown stringy hair and a beard and ah . . . he was holdin' a bowl . . . a wooden bowl filled with some dark liquid . . ." the psychic said, his hand going to this throat, "Oh God, I remember . . . they were forcing him to drink it . . . he was tryin' to fight 'em . . . too weak . . . hurt . . . it was warm and thick . . . and he couldn't breathe . . . oh God, he couldn't breathe . . . gagging him . . ."
Hutch gently shook the older man, snapping him out of that trancelike state, "What else Joe huh?" the blond pleaded desperately, "What else did you see?" It sickened the blond detective to think that they were forcing Starsky to drink something foreign and unknown. What if it was poison? His mind drifted back to his partner doubled over in pain from the Jennings unknown compound. Hutch forced that thought from his mind, "What else Joe?"
"The man . . . he was wearing somethin' funny . . . weird." Joe said, closing his eyes wearily, "Something long like a . . . like a robe . . . a black robe with a red cross on it . . . only . . . only the cross was upside down . . ."
Hutch's eyes widened in horror as the dawning realization entered into his mind, "Oh God . . . it's Marcus!"
To be continued . . .
