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 TWENTY

Saturday afternoon (an old abandoned Church)

"Wake up . . ." He vaguely registered that it was the voice again, so calm, so removed . . . so distant, "Wake up pilgrim . . . the journey is at end . . ."

He was so weary, so cold, unable to fight off the voice that wandered freely inside of his head, speaking vile things, planting horrific images in his mind's eye, showing him things of the future that he wanted no part of. The spinning vortex of colors and sounds and images confused his cloudy mind and meshed reality with lucid dreams. Dreams of the innocent dying . . . dreams of Hutch's death . . .

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. His stomach muscles clenched in agony, as the psychedelic enhanced, then distorted his vision, making him see things, only to have them suddenly disappear. Reality and illusion became so enmeshed that it was difficult to know what was substantial and what was imaginary.

But Hutch was here . . . he was sure of it . . . somewhere in the darkness . . . he could "feel" it . . . he could feel the incredible, intrinsic 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 that 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. The cramping spasms in his gut were painful reminders of the violation he had endured. He could hear the soft chanting in his head and the voice of the master as it rose above the droning.

"Wake up," the voice hissed once more, urgently bidding him to do what was asked, "Wake up and behold the tarnished knight . . ."

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

Hutch crouched behind one of the wooden pews, rechecking the chamber of his fully loaded gun, while he quickly glanced around the darkened room. The room was illuminated with only a few sparsely lit candles, which made it difficult to see. He glanced up at the darkened balcony area; his pale blue eyes tracking the charred remains of a once ornately decorated church.

He had debated if he should wait for back up like Dobey had ordered, but knowing his partner was only a few yards away drove the blond crazy. He couldn't wait for back up, not when his partner was hurt and needed help. Hutch had parked the car about a half a mile from the church, for he did not want to alert the cult and take away his element of surprise.

Getting into the structure was simple, as there was no one around. As far as he could tell, the place seemed deserted, and for a minute, Hutch thought that he had made a dreadful mistake, wasting precious time as he searched an area that was obviously barren, while his partner remained a victim to their sadistic rituals elsewhere. Yet, his "Starsky sense" was strong here. He could almost "feel" his partner's need and pain . . . could almost "feel" their special bond growing stronger as the proximity between them increased.

Hutch dragged his eyes downward to the lower pews, noting several gilded portraits of saints that hung on the walls. He turned his head to the wall closest to him and shuddered to see that all the pictures were hung upside down. The peaceful visage of the painted saint, closest him, had a red inverted cross smeared upon her forehead, a mark that defiled the sanctity and holiness of this once revered house of the Lord.

Hutch scurried behind the back of the long pew until he was next to the middle aisle. He quickly peeked around the side of the bench, noting the raised platform and the wooden altar that stood at the front of the church.

He took a deep breath, holding his cannon out to the side of him, as he balanced on the balls of his feet. Although it was too dark to tell, it seemed like there was something or someone sitting slumped at the foot of the wooden altar. Hutch slid his long body under several rows of pews to bring him closer to the front of the church so that he could get a better look.

The tall blonde crept once again to the middle aisle of the second row to peek around the side of pew. From this distance, he could hear the labored breathing of the dark haired man who sat slumped against the altar. It was Starsky. He could see the dark bruises that littered his partner's upper chest and sides and he suppressed the urge to run over to his friend, whose curls lay plastered by sweat against the crown of his head.

Hutch quickly looked around the darkened room. The stillness of the chamber gave him a feeling of disquietude, his detective sense screaming out a warning, but he could see absolutely nothing. A soft moan from the front of the room quickly drew his attention back to his partner, "Starsk?" the blond whispered softly.

"Starsk?" That voice, so soft with concern, echoing in the hollow cathedrals . . . made the brunet struggle to open his eyes again, as he slowly lifted his heavy head. He labored to draw more air into his lungs, seeing the darkened room spinning in and out of focus. There! He could see it floating in the darkness . . . a golden halo of light, crouched down behind one of 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.

"No . . ." Starsky thought, as he tried to move, seeing his partner cautiously rising to his feet, his gun stretched out before him as he made his way cautiously to the front of the altar. 'No' the brunet 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 . . . Starsky's weary head dropped once again to his chest, unable to move, unable to call out a warning, unable to watch as Simon's horrific dream became a reality

. . . he was surprised by the gentle touch to the side of his face, a familiar touch that filled him with warmth and slowly began to melt the ice cold fear that had ensnared his heart for so long.

"Oh God, Starsk," Hutch whispered gently, as he crouched beside his wounded partner, reaching out a hand to gently lift his partner's bowed head. He watched as the long, dark lashes slowly lifted to reveal dark blue eyes, which looked almost black, as the large, dilated pupils overshadowed the familiar blue of his partner's eyes. 'Drugged, but with what?' Hutch thought silently, barely controlling the anger that wanted to burst out. The blond watched as the brunet's eyes rolled to the back of his head, "Hey buddy," Hutch whispered urgently, gently slapping the sides of his partner's face, "C'mon pal, stay with me huh?" The blond looked around to make sure they were still alone.

Starsky could feel the warmth of his partner's touch, as it drew him further from the frozen, dreamlike quality of his existence. The brunet raised his eyes once more to the face he loved so very much, his deep blue eyes silently conveying the depths of his feelings for the blond man who held him. Hutch. It was so hard to believe that he was here, that somehow, his partner had found him. He knew he had to warn Hutch about his dream and his throat worked convulsively to form his frantic thoughts into words.

Hutch could feel a lump forming in his throat as he read the profound love and relief in his partner's eyes, as the brunet grasped weakly onto the sleeve of his jacket. He could feel Starsky trembling, could see his friend wanting to say something, struggling, as he worked the muscles in his throat.

"Hey . . . hey, babe it's okay," Hutch said gently, soothingly, maneuvering himself in front of his curly haired friend to help lift him up, "We gotta get you out of here buddy . . . you can tell me all about it later okay?" The blond knew it would hurt the brunet to move him, but there really was no choice in the matter and he steeled himself against stopping, when he heard the soft groan that came from this partner's lips.

Starsky gritted his teeth, refusing to make any more unwanted sounds. He felt the slight hesitation from the blond, as he began to gently lift him, grasping the wounded man under his cut and bruised arms.

As if in a dream, Starsky looked over his partner's shoulder, his blue eyes widening in horror as he saw a dark figure rising from the balcony, aiming the bow and letting fly the arrow . . . the arrow that would pierce Hutch through his back . . . the same scenario he had witnessed in his nightmare. Fear and the sudden rush of adrenalin made him a silent witness no longer.

To Hutch, everything happened in a blur of action. He heard Starsky, as he cried out his name, "Huuuutch!" He felt the sudden shove from his partner, as Hutch grabbed his gun and turned his shoulder into a roll, firing towards the dark silhouette that stood on the balcony, barely discerning the displacement of air, as something whizzed by his ear.

Hutch watched as the man fell, as if in slow motion, to the pews below. "Stay here Starsk," the blond called over his shoulder as he cautiously made his way to the back of the room to check on the fallen man. It was Luke; a bullet hole lay between his opened eyes . . . dark, glaring eyes that seemed to hauntingly accuse the blond of taking his life. Hutch could feel the suppressed anger and anxiety for his partner rise to the top, "Fuck you!" Hutch said softly, as a last rite over the still and broken body of Simon's disciple.

He turned and hurried back to his partner's side only to stop in mid-stride, his pale, blue eyes opened wide in horror, "No," he whispered, breaking into a run, sliding to kneel next to his partner's side, "Oh God . . . easy buddy," the blond detective panted, "Just . . . just stay still, d-don't move okay?" Hutch lifted his hands in helpless despair, his eyes locked on the protruding shaft of an arrow that stuck obscenely out of his partner's right shoulder, the metal arrowhead gouged into the wood, pinning the brunet firmly to the altar behind him.

Starsky nod was barely perceptible, his breathing was erratic and shallow, his dark long lashes twitched against his pale coloring, as he fought to control the trembling in his body, trying to get a handle on the pain that ripped through his shoulder and radiated down his arm and through his chest. And yet, despite the pain that ravaged his body, he realized that his mind felt clearer, the dull pressure in his temple that had been with him since he emerged from his coma, was suddenly gone.

It sickened Hutch to see his partner sitting propped up so still, knowing that the arrow had been meant for him. He shouldn't have turned his back to that balcony; it should have been him sitting here with the arrow in his shoulder. Hutch looked quickly at his watch, the back up and the ambulance would be here in another ten minutes or so.

He listened to this partner's labored breathing and laid his large hand gently on Starsky's knee, "You didn't have to do that buddy," the blond said softly. He felt the heavy hand of guilt and despair, as it ravaged his soul. "You didn't have to take that arrow for me . . ."

For a minute, there was only the sound of Starsky's ragged breathing and then his voice softly rasped out, "Thought . . . it was a good idea . . . at the time," he gasped, trying to still the trembling in his body. Both men silently thought back to that night, so long ago, on a rooftop, where Starsky shot Bellamy full of lead, knowingly killing himself in the process, to save his partner.

They worked that way, each of them willing to give up their own life, for the life of the other. Hutch knew that Starsky didn't think twice about shoving him out of the way of the arrow's path, knowing in his weakened condition that he might take the hit, and Hutch would have done the same, if their places had been reversed. God, he loved this man . . . and the love they shared, their special bond had saved their lives countless of times in the past. To Hutch, nothing in life truly mattered except having his best friend by his side. Their relationship from day one had been about love. It was their greatest gift to each other.

"Yet . . . cupid's arrow may still fly and pierce the heart of those we cherish . . . proving once again that love exists and is the supreme power over all." The words of Simon Marcus suddenly popped into Hutch's mind and he stared in awe at his dark haired partner who suddenly tensed as a spasm of pain shook his weary body.

"Easy buddy," Hutch soothed, wincing along with his partner, knowing the excruciating pain his friend was in, "Hang in there Starsk, the Calvary's on its way."

The brunet scrunched his eyes and jolted against the searing pain, as it lanced through his shoulder. Starsky groaned softly with the sudden movement, his body rigid and tense, gasping as he reached for the protruding arrow shaft with his left hand.

"No Starsk, I can't let you do that buddy," Hutch said, grabbing onto the roving hand, "You can't pull it out, you'll bleed to death." The tenseness of the brunet's body made the blond feel ill, he felt so useless sitting there, unable to hold and comfort his partner like he wanted to. "We'll just sit tight until the paramedics come okay? Just take it easy buddy."

The brunet shook with a sudden spasm of pain, "Oh Hu-Hutch . . . oh jeez," he gasped, his left hand dug into his partner's palm, "Pull it out . . . please . . ." Starsky begged, wanting to twist his body, as it arched in pain, but the arrow remained firmly embedded in the wooden altar, barely allowing the dark haired detective to move at all. The brunet gasped, his breathing harsh and ragged.

It killed Hutch to see his partner in so much pain, but the sudden pinging of bullets drew his immediate attention away. Several cult members had wormed their way silently between the pews, firing randomly at the detectives who had no cover.

Starsky panted, moaning as he grabbed onto the shaft of the arrow, "R-run Hutch . . . get behind this thing!" He knew Hutch was in the line of open fire and the last thing he wanted to see was his partner being blown away on account of him being pinned where he was.

"Fuck!" Hutch swore, his eyes wild with desperation, knowing they were sitting ducks. He fired his magnum; the roar of his cannon was the voice of his anger. One of the followers peeping over the pew screamed in pain, surprise and agony written on his face as the bullet ripped into the hooded man's shoulder.

Starsky groaned out loud, as he struggled to break the shaft of the arrow with his left hand, while Hutch fired another shot. The pain tore through brunet, just the slightest vibration in the shaft wanted to make him pass out. He fought against the nausea that roiled in his gut, the unbearable agony wanting to make him puke. Try as he might, he was unable to break the shaft with only one hand. He heard Hutch fire two more shots, the sound was as comforting as it was familiar, and suddenly, Hutch was by his side.

"Okay Starsky, you hang onto my shoulder okay? I gotta dislodge you from this shaft . . . it's gonna hurt like hell, but we gotta find cover for ourselves," Hutch said, ducking as a bullet pinged near his head, "Okay I gotta break this shaft in two," he panted desperately.

"'Kay," Starsky gasped, fighting to stay conscious, "Gimme . . . your gun." Starsky grasped the gun with this left hand, feeling its comforting weight, keeping his eyes trained on the stealthy shadows that hid behind the wooden pews. "Jus' break . . . the fuckin' . . . thing!"

Starsky fired another round, taking down another follower, while Hutch took the shaft in both of his hands, feeling his partner's body tensing with pain, "Uungh," Starsky grunted in pain, feeling the blond hesitate, "Jus' . . . do it!"

Hutch quickly snapped the shaft in two, breaking the wooden rod as close to his partner's body as possible; his stomach clenched as he heard his partner suddenly cry out in pain. Hutch quickly glanced over at his curly haired friend, who sat with his eyes scrunched, taking in rapid, shallow breaths to get a handle on the fiery pain that tore right through him. "You okay?" Hutch asked anxiously.

Starsky eyes remained tightly shut, as he spoke through gritted teeth, "Yeah . . . jus'. . . gimme a minute." Hutch watched with anxiety filled eyes as his partner surfed through the pain, breathing rapidly as he tried to get a handle on it.

Starsky trembled as he opened his blue eyes, eyes that were filled with pain, "Now . . . what?" he gasped. They both ducked as another bullet came close and Starsky fired back immediately, hitting the dark hooded shape squarely in the chest. The brunet groaned softly, the magnum's powerful kick caused his body to jolt around the arrow shaft each time he fired. He knew he wouldn't be able to last much longer. Already his vision was growing dark around the edges. He looked to his partner, his pain filled, cobalt eyes speaking volumes.

"Okay, hang on buddy," Hutch said calmly, although he wanted to scream and shout with the anxiety he felt, he purposely made his voice as soothing as possible, "We're going to have to slide your shoulder off of this shaft okay? So on the count of three, you need to help me by leaning towards me, alright Starsk?"

"'Kay, jus' . . . jus' hurry," Starsky gasped, raising the heavy gun to fire randomly into the pews. As far as he knew, they had hit or wounded several of Simon's goons and the hooded men were reluctant to stick their heads over the benches that shielded them. The deadly precision of the brunet's shots, were taking them rapidly down.

"Alright, stay with me," Hutch whispered, looking his partner in the eye, dreading what he was about to do, "One . . . two . . . three," As gently as he could, Hutch pulled his partner's rigid body towards him, feeling the wooden shaft sliding through Starsky's shoulder, the rough wood scraping his partner's insides, as his body pulled free from the arrow. He could see Starsky's sweat drenched face, scrunched in pain, heard his painful cry as he slid free and collapsed unconscious into Hutch's arms. Suddenly a shot went off and Hutch turned in time to see a young blond girl shoot another one of Simon's men.

"Hurry," she snapped, "Get him behind this altar!" She fired once again, splintering the bench that one of the worshippers hid behind.

Hutch quickly dragged his unconscious partner behind the wooden altar and propped him up as gently as possible, making sure his body was in line with the object so that no stray bullet could hit him. He could hear the intermittent sound of gunshots and knew by its proximity, that the woman who was helping them was firing the shots.

The tall blond cop was shocked and concerned by the amount of blood that flowed freely from both the entrance, and exit wounds in his partner's shoulder. Hutch quickly removed his jacket, holster and shirt, stripping the latter into pieces so that he could stem the flow of blood. The way Starsky was bleeding out, he would be dead before the ambulance got here.

"How is he?" Sara gasped, handing Hutch his gun. "Will he make it?" She crouched near the wounded man, and Hutch could clearly see the concern she had for his dark haired partner. He watched as she gently stroked back the damp curls from his face, raising distress filled eyes up at the blond.

"We gotta stop the bleeding. Here, you need to help me," the blond detective said, handing her some of the makeshift bandages, "Direct pressure will stem the flow of blood and hopefully keep him from bleeding out." He watched as she put her weapon down and was surprised to see that it was Starsky's missing gun.

At his silent question, Sara smiled hesitantly, "I-I took it from his place," she said shrugging, looking at Starsky, "Thought I might need it when I made my escape from Luke." she said softly, "I'm really sorry for stealing it." That last statement surprised Hutch, who was busy wadding the material into thick layers; he stopped and stared at her. There was a gentle sweetness to this young girl and a familiarity about her that Hutch couldn't place.

"Uungh," Starsky groaned softly, drawing the attention of the two helping him. They watched as he slowly came to, the sharp pain from his wound dredging him up from the dark refuge he had momentarily escaped to.

"Hey buddy," Hutch said soothingly, his voice soft and mellow, "How you doing huh?" He watched as his partner opened his weary eyes, the drug that coursed through his friend's system still evident by the show of dilated pupils that swallowed the usual blue.

"Been . . .better," the curly haired detective rasped. He looked at his tall blond partner, seeing the stress lines of worry and fear etched upon his face. "Y-you okay? You l-look . . . terrible!" His dark blue eyes softened as he looked fondly at his blond friend, and he grinned slightly when he heard Hutch's soft snort.

"Hang on buddy, I'm gonna get you out of here," Hutch said softly, his partner's rapid and shallow breathing were beginning to worry him, as did his pale and clammy skin. He needed to prevent his partner from going into shock. The tall blond gently used his leather jacket to cover his partner and keep him warm, and then he leaned Starsky slightly forward and pressed the wadded cloth against the wound in the back of his shoulder. Hutch winced when he felt Starsky jolt and gasp, "Easy buddy, I know it hurts, but we gotta stop the bleeding." He looked up and nodded to the girl who came closer to apply pressure to Starsky's front.

The soothing warmth of Hutch's jacket made the dark haired detective want to slip into unconsciousness, but he smiled weakly when he caught sight of Sara, "Hey . . ." he said softly, reaching his left hand to finger her long golden tresses, as she pressed the wadded cloth firmly to the wound in his chest, "Was w-worried . . . about you . . . you okay?" he winced, feeling sick as they continued to push against his ravaged openings to impede the flow of his blood.

There was a moment's hesitation and a deep sadness to her voice that Starsky could only speculate about, but she bravely smiled, tears shimmering in her eyes as she softly said, "Yeah . . .I'm okay . . . been better." She laughed quietly when Starsky's eyes widened at the use of his own words, then smiled as the detective grinned and winked up at her, his blue eyes, though weary and pain filled, were beautiful, almost sparkling as it caught the dim reflection of light from the glowing candles.

Hutch was just about to say something when the wails of police sirens could be heard in the near distance, feeling suddenly weak with relief that help was finally on the way. He applied more pressure on the wound to the back of Starsky's shoulder, feeling his partner tensing in pain. "Easy buddy . . . we got help on the way, you stay with me you hear?"

"They're running," Sara whispered, as she peeked around the side of the altar. "The sirens are scaring them off . . ."

She had no sooner said this, when Hutch caught sight of a movement from the corner of his eye. One of Marcus' followers had crept unbeknownst to any of them, to the side of the raised platform, his gun pointed straight at Starsky. "Die Polaris," he snarled, firing his gun at the same time that Hutch fired his magnum. The hooded man fell, the bullet from Hutch's gun piercing his neck.

Hutch could hear the black and whites pulling up outside and he quickly looked back at his partner to make sure that he was fine, only to find Starsky's wide blue eyes riveted on his own pale blue ones. The dark haired detective slowly shook his head, his eyes filling with tears, as he stroked the pale head and slender body that lay sprawled over his lap.

"Sh-she's dead Hutch," Starsky whispered brokenly, "She threw . . . herself in front . . . of me!" Starsky looked down at the diminutive body, lying so still . . . so peaceful. "It should'a been me Hutch . . .it should'a been me . . ."

The tall blond detective made his way back to his wounded friend, feeling saddened and yet eternally grateful for the young girl's sacrifice. He checked for a pulse on her slim pale neck, finding none, noticing quickly that the bullet had penetrated her back and had probably pierced her heart, killing her on the spot.

He sat next to his partner and pulled him close, hugging him to his chest, while applying pressure to his wounds once more. Silent tears spilled down the brunet's face, as Hutch listened to his partner softly repeating over and over, "It should'a been me . . ."

To be continued . . .