Chapter 11

There are three lights….three lights…..three lights. The words played over and over in his head as Starsky tried hard to sleep. He tossed and turned, his rest not helped by the still healing injuries his body carried. Whatever he did and whatever he tried to think of eventually it came back to the same damned thing. The monotonous dialogue with Quinn, his torturer.

'How many lights are there?'

'What the fuck does it matter?'

'I asked a question. How many lights are there?'

'Three'

'Wrong there are four. Look again. How many lights are there?'

Whatever he had done whilst tied to that table, the answer had always been the same, "no, there are four lights" and then the horrible burning pain from the Tazer.

Starsky whimpered in his sleep, his body twitching as though it feel the electric current again and he sat bolt upright, shaken awake and sweating as he pushed the sheet away. He shuffled to the edge of the bed and sat with his head in his hands until his breathing had eased down from the frantic panting. Even the nightmares he'd experienced after his tour of Vietnam were nothing compared to this haunting, monotonous and never ending cycle. He shook his head slowly from side to side, trying to close out the voices in his head.

Three lights…..no four……no three lights.

The brunette stood quickly, looking around for his shoes and realising belatedly that he didn't have any at Hutch's house – he'd even come back from Cabrillo barefoot. Cursing silently he padded out of the bedroom and into the living room. He was surprised to find it deserted and looked at the clock on the wall. No wonder Hutch and Traff had gone to bed, it was past 2:00am. He went to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water and opened the cupboard door. Six glasses and three cups….but three….SHUT UP! Just shut up. Don't count! He poured water into the glass and took a deep pull, throwing the rest over his face and leaning heavily against the sink, screwing his eyes up in concentration.

Three lights….three lights. Starsky slammed his fist down on the countertop, making the cups on the draining board jump and rattle. He couldn't stand the noises in his head anymore and couldn't silence them. He looked at the paper sack containing the pills from the hospital and reached hesitantly for one, but then withdrew his hand. If he had to so this he'd do it the Starsky way. No drugs, no mind altering crap, but he knew he needed to do something; to rid himself of the demons that were haunting him and slowly a plan formed in his mind. Swiftly he padded over to the cupboard by the door where Hutch habitually kept his gun. Opening the door he saw the huge Colt Python in the stiff saddle leather holster. He reached up and withdrew it, quietly checking there were sufficient bullets in the chamber for his needs. He saw the keys to his partner's rust bucket of a car on the table by the door and was about to take them when he saw Traff's car keys next to them. Although the voices in his head were as loud as ever, they didn't stop him from choosing the big, flashy red four wheel drive monster Traff drove over the pathetic excuse for a car that Hutch chose to use. He grabbed the keys and let himself quietly out of the apartment, running down the steps and out into the cool night air.

Swiftly he got into the big beast of a car and started the engine, turning the car in a wide U and heading out into the countryside behind Bay City.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Hutch woke early next morning and stretched lazily, idly watching the pebbles of early morning rain run down the glass of the window. He looked through the rain wet pain window pane and saw heavy dark clouds knowing a thunderstorm was on its way. He straightened stiffly, easing the kinks from his back. He'd held himself stiff and anxious for the past 48 hours and the muscles across his arms and chest were now protesting. He went into the living room to get himself a drink of coffee, noticing that the door to the bedroom Starsky had used was still closed. He smiled to himself, glad his partner was getting some rest, flopped down on the settee with his drink and put his feet up on the coffee table as he picked up the novel he'd been trying to read for days now. As he relaxed back Traff came out of the same room he'd used, the soldier having slept on the floor. The dark haired man looked well rested and he yawned and stretched his arms up above his head, the muscles of his flat abdomen rippling under his tanned skin.

'Coffee's in the pot' Hutch said, nodding at the kitchen. 'Did ya sleep ok? The floor isn't the best place'.

Traff chuckled. 'Its better then a lot of the places I've had to kip. At least it was warm and dry. How's Curly?'

'Dunno, I think he's still asleep. Doors still closed'

'The Thorazine can make you dopey' Traff explained, 'but he should get up soon. He needs to establish some sort of sleeping pattern again. It'll help'.

Hutch nodded. 'I'll finish my drink then go get him up'.

The two men sat in companiable silence for a while as they contemplated the coming day. Eventually Hutch drained his cup and got to the end of the chapter in his book. He got up and went to the bedroom door, cracking it open a little and peering into the dim interior of the room. He looked at the bed and saw only rumpled sheets and a dented pillow. He opened the door fully and went in, searching behind the bed and even in the wardrobe. Realising Starsky wasn't there, he raced back into the living room.

'He's gone and the beds cold. He's been gone a while' he shouted to Traff who was busy getting dressed. The soldier hopped into the room, one leg in his jeans and one still free of the garment.

'What the hell's he gonna do now? he said, managing to get the offending pants on. He tripped against the table, almost knocking it over and sending Hutch's car keys to the floor. He looked at them.

'My car keys have gone' he announced grimly.

He zipped his pants up and shouldered into his shirt as Hutch dashed into his bedroom, emerging scant minutes later fully dressed with his hair roughly combed into place.

'So, what d'ya think he's gotten into his head now?' Hutch asked.

Traff shrugged his shoulders. 'God knows! I noticed he didn't seem relaxed last night, but I just put it down to the stress of coming home. Did ya notice his hands kept twitching, like he was struggling with something?'

'What are you thinking?'

'It's the voices in his head. They're back'.

Hutch sighed. 'Poor guy. So, what now? We need to find him. Any ideas?'

'I think I know him well enough to know that he's gonna want to try and sort this counting thing out himself. Hopefully he's thinking clearly enough to have some logic to his actions if he ever was logical!' He went to the kitchen and counted the Thorazine pills out onto the counter top. 'He hasn't taken any more of these, so there's a chance he may have a clear head. He gonna want to retrace his steps So where did it all start?' Traff mused.

'At the church with those suckers beating him to a pulp' Hutch spat.

'So?'

Hutch snapped his fingers. 'So that's where we start?' he said, picking up the keys to his car and heading for the cupboard door. He opened it and put his hand onto the holster there, withdrawing it quickly as though it had bitten him.

'Traff, I think we got ourselves a bigger problem' he muttered as the soldier crossed the room. 'He's taken my gun'.

'Oh shit! C'mon Curly boy, play fair!' Traff murmured as he went back into the bedroom and picked out his own weapon. He stowed it down the back of his jeans pocket and pulled his tee shirt over the top. Coming back into the room he saw Hutch take his cuffs and shield and put them in his jacket pocket before opening the door and heading out into the miserable rain. They piled into the battered brown LTD and headed for the hills. None of the men had originally had any idea where the abandoned church had been. Traff and Starsky had been drugged before they got there, and Hutch was, well, dead! But Dobey had finally given them the location while they were all in the hospital room recovering, in the hope that they would have one thing less to worry about.

The blond handed the mars light to Traff who clamped it onto the top of the car as Hutch started the sirens. With the speedometer touching 90 on the straight patches of road, they covered the 15 miles up into the hills in no time, their silence in the car a testament to the concern they both had for their mutual friend. As the car approached the grim building, Hutch killed both the light and the siren, not wanting to advertise their presence to whoever may be incumbent in the church. Through the beating windscreen wipers they stared at the huge stone edifice, its statues looking down almost in disdain at them. A lightening bolt lanced through the air lighting the building up in an unnatural blaze of white and Traff saw that the door at the front of the building was swinging open. Under cover of the deafening clap of thunder, the two men got out of the car and ran to the shelter of the stonework, the rain now falling in big, fat, drenching drops.

Traff pulled his army issue Smith and Wesson and checked the clip was full, thumbing on the safety. He caught the astonished look from the ice blue eyes opposite.

'We don't know if he's on his own. And Hutch, apart from that, ya have to realise, that's not the Starsky we know in there. Don't worry. It's a last resort and it'd be a shot to wound, not…..ya know' he gave an almost embarrassed smile. Hutch smiled wanly back. The thought of having to pull a gun on his partner just left him feeling cold and sick to his stomach. He swallowed down the feeling and as he saw Traff count to three, he followed the dark haired man into the church as another clap of thunder peeled overhead and echoed deafeningly around the cold, dismal interior.

They crouched inside the doorway, hugging the shadows and letting their eyes become accustomed to the dim light. They were in a small vestibule, before entering the church proper and their way was blocked by a large wooden door, its top half glazed with stained glass. Cautiously Hutch knelt up and peered through one of the clearer portions, then ducked down again quickly.

'He's there' he told Traff, closing his eyes wearily. He'd seen his curly haired partner clearly outlined by another flash of lightening. Starsky was knelt at the foot of the disused altar table as if praying. His head was lowered as his hands covered his ears as if trying to block out the voices Hutch knew he was hearing. In his left hand he held Hutch's gun. The sight tore at the blonde's heart and he grabbed Traff by the shoulders, pulling the soldier round till he could stare into the bright green eyes.

'Be careful and don't use that unless you really have to ok?' he nodded at the weapon.

Traff looked steadily back at the flaxen haired cop. 'D'ya really think I'd want to shoot him? I love him as much as you do! Trust me huh?'

Hutch nodded and slowly he forced open the big door.