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 EIGHTEEN

Saturday morning (Old Canyon Road, an abandoned church)

He could feel the gentle strokes along the side of his face, brushing back the damp curls from his forehead, enticing him to follow the soft, soothing caresses, as he slowly swam up towards consciousness and pain.

Starsky struggled to lift his heavy lashes, revealing dark dilated blue depths that opened at half-mast. His labored breathing sounded harsh and foreign to his ears, as he tried to make out the dark forms that gathered around him. There was a buzzing drone that soon cleared, becoming the monotonous chants of the assembled followers. "Simone, Simone, Simone . . .

'Awww shit!' Starsky groaned silently, awareness coming to the forefront of his mind, as he realized his precarious state. He had thought he'd dreamt all of this, but the nightmare he thought he had, was in actuality, really happening! He struggled to stay focused, still feeling tangled in the dark webs of his drug-induced sleep. He knew they had given him some kind of drug, a drug that gave him hallucinations and opened his mind to be receptive to the callings of Marcus. It was probably some type of acid, probably some type of psychedelic drug related to LSD.

The weary brunet shuddered as he remembered how they forced him to drink from that bloody bowl. The thought of that was too much too bear and Starsky quickly focused his thoughts elsewhere. He could still feel the residual wooziness from the drug's lingering effects, yet the intense cramping in his gut had now been reduced to just sharp twinges that were at the least, bearable.

"He's awake now," he heard a soft whisper, a gentle voice that was obviously female. "His eyes are beginning to open." He was lying on her lap, as she continued her gentle stroking, easing the tenseness from his aching body.

Starsky focused on the yellow blur above him, wishing it were Hutch, but knowing it was not! He blinked his eyes several times, trying to clear the grogginess from his head and vision, as the blur slowly became the face of a young woman with hair, the color of white gold. She too, was garbed in black and red, but her hood had fallen back, revealing a sweet, angelic face. She looked familiar and Starsky squinted as he tried to place her. She was young, couldn't have been a day over twenty-one. He struggled to recognize her familiar face, but the throbbing in his head and the dryness in his throat made him give up the battle for now. He swallowed convulsively, the adam's apple in his throat bobbing spasmodically. God he was so thirsty.

"He thirsts," she whispered, looking away at something that stood out of his line of sight, "Give him something to drink."

Starsky's blue eyes widened as the face of Luke came into view. "Welcome back from your pilgrimage Polaris, my master grows weary of your illusiveness, you must learn to die to self, and accept my master as your Lord and savior, as we all have. Simone dreamed that you would, and Simone's dreams always come true."

Starsky gasped as he tried to sit up, avoiding the delicate hands of the young girl, who tried to assist him. He could feel the nausea roiling in his gut and he breathed deeply, struggling to maintain his control over his cramping stomach that wanted to spew forth the drug that remained and burned in his system. The brunet closed his eyes; his lashes lay like dark smudges against his clammy, pale cheeks and he concentrated on not losing his cookies in front of these freaks.

"Yeah?" the dark haired detective panted, his voice sounding hoarse and dry, "Simon Marcus is a murderer of kids . . . a slayer of innocents . . . I will never . . .belong to him. I would die before I accept him!" From the corner of his eye, he caught the young girl staring at him.

"Enough!" Luke snarled, "Bring the bowl." The disciple watched as several followers stepped forward, one of them brought forth the wooden bowl.

The weakened detective struggled feebly as two of the cloaked figures grabbed his arms.

The sight of the wooden bowl brought back memories of the bloody gore he had been forced to drink and Starsky renewed his efforts at freeing himself, refusing to go through that again, only to earn him a steel toe boot that kicked violently into his ribs and stomach. The dark haired detective involuntarily cried out, as pain exploded in his side and gut, the air was knocked out of him, and he gasped, futilely attempting to suck more air into his burning lungs.

"It is foolish to struggle Polaris, when will you learn of my master's might? Simone's will be done . . . pig!" Luke raised his fist and struck the side of the sweat-drenched face of the detective, whose head snapped backwards from the force of the blow.

"No . . ." the wounded cop gasped, pain lancing throughout his mid-section, wanting to fold into the hurt that speared into his ribs and stomach, but he was restrained by the freaks who held on tightly to his arms, twisting it roughly behind him as they pulled him to his knees.

Starsky gasped weakly, struggling feebly to free himself, spurned on by the sickening thought of drinking more of that blood. His ears rang from the blow to the side of his head and he would have collapsed had they not been holding him up. His vision began to blur in and out, as he groggily looked up at Luke, his breathing harsh and ragged, as the bearded man angrily raised his fist once more.

"Please . . ." Starsky heard the young girl beg softly, as she knelt submissively in front of Luke, "Please let me try . . ."

At the disciple's nod, the young platinum blonde quickly reached out her slender hand and laid it on the dark sweat-drenched curls of the weary detective who had bowed his head in the brief respite. "Please," she entreated once again to the men who held the cop. She turned to look at Luke again who nodded to the followers. They abruptly let the dark haired detective go, pushing him hard as they did, so that the brunet sprawled face first on the unforgiving hardness of the cold, concrete floor.

"We must hurry Sara . . ." Luke said softly, "The knight comes."

Sara nodded solemnly out of respect for the 'Keeper of the Flame', although she found it strange that he would that he would be worried about the night, since it was obviously still morning, and nightfall was many hours away. She slowly turned the brunet over onto his side, his bare, glistening chest and back were cut and bruised, and she watched as his ribcage labored to lift as he struggled to breathe. His eyes were closed, hiding those brilliant blue orbs that she had found so amazing. When they had first brought him here, those eyes sparkled with defiance, and in those ocean blue depths, Sara could see the "light" that the others so feared. It was no wonder Simone wanted that power for himself.

Their mother had been a part of this cult for as long as she could remember, a harlot for Marcus and his disciples, and she and her sister had worked for the group, cooking and cleaning, as all the older children did for the cult. Eventually she and her sister Sienna would have been trained by their mother to "serve" in other ways, but that day had never come.

Sara remembered seeing this same man when they camped at the old zoo. They had captured this detective in retribution for taking the master away. She remembered that early morning, right after sunrise, when the caves and dens in which they lived, were swarmed with police officers, and Polaris had been rescued. Most of the cult members had been captured or had dispersed; and their mother had been taken to prison, where she had later died of lymphoma. Her twin sister had been adopted by an aunt soon after, an aunt who only wanted the responsibility of raising one child, separating the twins forever.

For Sara, life had been hard, and for a while she lived as a ward of the state until she became old enough to fend for herself, eventually linking up with former cult members whom she remembered as "family". The family she had thought she had acquired soon turned into a dark living nightmare. The drugs and the immoral sex that she had been forced to have with different followers soon played havoc with her mind, and she got lost in the dream of Simone, a dream in which his former glory would once again rise and triumph over those who wanted to harm them.

Yet, there had always been goodness in Sara that the darkness of her life had been unable to spoil, and she soon longed to escape from the clutches of the cult, knowing that if she ever did, her life would be forfeited if she were caught. As punishment to one of her failed attempts of escaping, she had to watch from the shadows, as Luke murdered her sister.

They had gagged her and made her watch the whole horrific ordeal, and she watched, crying silent tears of despair, as this same man, this detective, who now lay before her, had comforted and shielded her dying sister as best as he could. For that, she would do anything to help him. To her, he was the light in the dark insanity of her life. The compassion and grief that he had shown for her sister's death had touched Sara deeply. No one, for as long as she could remember, had ever cried for her or her sister. She would do whatever it took to save this officer's life.

"Make him drink from the bowl," Luke ordered softly, his angry gaze gleaming maniacally, and yet his voice remained calmed and controlled.

Sara nodded once again as she lifted her hand to receive the bowl, all the while stroking the soft, damp curls. She knew what they were trying to do . . .the drug allowed their master into their minds, allowed him to take over their souls. This brave man had endured so much already and it saddened her to see him weakening. He was after all, her only hope. Yet he was in so much pain, his body bruised and battered. Sara knew the beatings would just continue if he did not agree to partake of the 'drink of life', knew that he wouldn't be able to live through another tortuous session with the chain. She needed to buy him time, needed to keep him alive until they could escape together.

She gently lifted his head onto her lap and stroked it gently. "You thirst Polaris, drink of this and quench the dryness of your throat."

Her soft voice was like a whisper of music, as it floated above him, soothing the tenseness and pain from his body. He licked his dry lips, God, he was so thirsty and he hurt so much. He could feel her lifting his head as she tilted the bowl to his lips, "Drink and be saved," Sara said, peeking at Luke through her long lashes, knowing that was what the disciple wanted to hear.

"No . . . I . . ." Starsky struggled weakly against her gentle coaxing, "Don't . . ." he gasped again.

"Shh, struggle not, it is just water . . . see?" She poured a few drops out so that he could see the clear liquid. It killed her to do that, knowing the drug had no color and was odorless and tasteless even in water, but if it would buy him some time, she would do it. "Just water . . . Polaris." She lifted his head again and watched as he gave in, closing his eyes as he swallowed down the tasteless drug. She stopped him before he could guzzle too much and whispered softly, "Easy, just a little at a time . . ."

She watched, chewing her lip in trepidation, knowing the abdominal cramping would begin again in a few minutes, and yet, when the brunet jolted in her arms and gasped out loud, she still jumped, spilling the tainted water.

Starsky curled into the pain as once again his stomach muscles clenched tightly, punishing the weary man with each breath that he managed to take. "Ungh," he groaned softly, suddenly turning in her lap, his arms winding around his mid-section."

It hurt the young woman to see the detective in so much pain. She gently stroked his head, whispering softly, "Shh . . . our master's name brings us peace in our dreams, say it with me please . . . Simone, Simone, Simone . . ." Sara began chanting softly. Her musical voice was gentle and pleasing to listen to, sending the detective into a semi-lucid state.

He could hear the repetitive chanting floating above him, and he closed his eyes as pain pummeled his stomach. He could feel his gut clenching as another cramp took hold, and yet, the sound her voice was almost hypnotic, making him float above the pain, enticing him to follow her lead. The detective scrunched his eyes tight, as the painful cramp made him shudder, stabbing unseen wounds into his gut, but the sweet sounds were soothing to his frayed nerves and he slowly, almost hypnotically began repeating the words of the beautiful voice, "S-simone, S-simone, Simone . . ." slowly at first, but keeping up with Sara's until their voices became one.

Sara looked up and watched as a smile spread over Luke's face. "Keep him still, while we prepare for what is to come." She knew Luke was satisfied, knowing his master would have free access once again to the mind of the detective, and she prayed for a means to escape. She watched as the hooded figures silently followed Luke into the next chamber, and looked down at the hurting man in her arms, wondering what to do, as he quietly continued the soft intonations of her master's name.

To be continued . . .