To all my special friends who take the time to read and review, especially the ones in Perth! Love ya ladies!

Chapter 12

Starsky made his way back to the old church, his head full of numbers. Driving at 70... five lots of street lights... three lights….two billboards…..The numbers went on and on, figures now floating before his eyes as he screwed them up trying to concentrate on the rain slick road in front of him. He became hypnotised by the rhythm of the windscreen wipers as they swung across the glass in front of him and almost hit a signpost at the corner of the street. He shook his head to clear it and cursed before pushing the gas pedal again and forcing the big car forward towards the church and his nemesis.

As the big stone building loomed up in front of him he felt a sick, cold feeling in the pit of his stomach and as he got unsteadily out of the car, he fell to his knees and deposited the meagre supper he'd managed to get down the night before onto the ground. Panting he forced himself to his feet and staggered towards the church, pushing the big heavy front door open and creeping into the dim and echoing interior. As he saw again the altar table which had been the battlefield on which he'd played with Quinn, the voices in his head redoubled their effort and became louder and louder until they beat at his mind and he fell to his knees on the hard stone ground, arms held protectively around his head in a futile attempt to close out the cacophony.

'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?'

Starsky looked up through pain hazed eyes and stared ahead. He thought he saw a bound body on the altar, a huge mountain of a man standing over it with a Tazer gun in his hand. He whimpered at the vision and what it represented, visibly shaking. His sanity had ended on that table; his coherent mind ripped from him by a man who was hell bent on breaking his prisoner both physically and mentally. Oh sure, the wounds hurt on his body. The burns on his side still chaffed against the material of his tee shirt and were a constant reminder of his treatment. But it was his mind that had suffered more. And what made Starsky's predicament even crueler was the fact that not only was he loosing his grip on reality, he knew that it was happening and it scared the curly haired man to death. He whimpered again and looked at the big gun in his hands. What should he shoot first? The man he thought he saw by the altar, or maybe even himself? He caressed the barrel of the weapon and laid it down on the ground in front of him, looking up at the ceiling.

Three lights…..there are three, there are……not four. I can count 'em. One. Two.Three. Three lights……three lights…..three….three

He shook his head again trying to stop the voices and their counting. The words had been said so many times in his head that they'd lost all meaning and he desperately wanted silence – in any way he could get it and he looked at the weapon again. Gently he picked it up, running his fingers over the dull metal. Was this his salvation? It was certainly one way out, but was it the right one? If only the damned voices would shut up for one minute, he'd be able to think clearly. What did he have to do? What had he come here to do?

As he started to reach for the gun on the ground, he thought he heard a small noise behind him. Maybe Quinn had come back for him. Or maybe it was Ryan! He needed to hide and he tried to stand, his legs numb and almost useless from the time he'd spent kneeling. He pushed himself to his feet and threw himself down behind one of the huge stone pillars, panting hard and trying to catch any more sounds, but many were muffled by the sounds of the storm outside, the rain now beating down on the roof of the building and adding to the noises in his head.

At the back of the church, Hutch and Traff saw their friend freeze, stand and then bolt for cover, knowing that those were not the actions of David Starsky, but of the madman that had taken over his body. Cautiously they crept forward, running crouched from pillar to pillar as they made their way up the aisle, waiting for each flash of lightening to see if Starsky had yet made another move.

Half way up the church they stopped and Hutch yelled out.

'Starsky? It's us. Hutch and Traff. We've come to take you home buddy'.

The brunette froze, listening to the words, but the voices in his head were deafening him. Don't listen, it's a trick. It's Quinn. He's gonna kill you. Kill him. Kill him now before he has a chance to shoot you. He fingered the gun in his hand, thumbing off the safety as the shout came again.

'Starsky, c'mon buddy. Just come over here an' we can take you home huh?' Hutch looked desperately at Traff who shook his head.

'Starsky's not at home right now', he said grimly as he poked his head around the pillar. He jerked it back as a shot rang out, sending chips of stone flying in all directions. A piece caught Hutch on the bridge of his nose and he felt the blood start to flow.

Frantically the blond tried again in a softer voice. 'It's who do we trust time Starsk. Who d'ya trust huh? It's me, Hutch. Just let us help ya buddy. That's all we want to do. We can make the voices go away but ya have to trust us'.

Don't listen, it's a trick……they'll ask about the lights….three…six bullets…..more 'n' enough…..three lights….three.

Starsky snook a look around the pillar. He thought he saw a familiar blond head, but knew that Quinn was out to trick him. He needed to get the bastard out into the open. Two could play at that game.

'Ok…..Hutch…..comin' out now' he shouted as he readied his gun.

Behind their respective pillars, both Traff and Hutch looked at each other. Couldn't be that easy, could it? Traff motioned to Hutch that he'd go around the back of the brunette cop and Hutch should stay put. The blond agreed with a silent thumbs up sign and watched as carefully Traff headed off up the church. Another peel of thunder shook the building and once the reverberations had died away he shouted again to his partner.

'Ya comin' now Gordo? I'm waiting. Just want to help ya buddy, that's all. C'mon Starsk…..please?'

He saw a movement and braced himself as for a moment he saw the gleam of the lightening on the barrel of a gun. His gun. Hutch froze as Starsky catapulted from his hiding place straight at him, weapon levelled at his head.

'You're not gonna get me again Quinn' the tormented cop shouted as he sprinted up the church.

As he got level with the pillar Traff was hiding behind, the soldier ducked out, taking Starsky by surprise. Still unsteady from the effects of the drugs, the brunette stumbled, then righted himself in time to see the gun in Traff's hand. The madman's finger twitched against the trigger and the Colt cannon flared into life, the report echoing around the church. Hutch heard a grunt and saw Traff fall to the floor. Making his move, Hutch hurled himself at this partner and dragged him kicking and grunting to the floor. He wrestled with the curly haired cop, his right hand struggling with the gun in Starsky's left.

Three times he hammered the gun hand on the stone floor before Starsky let go of the weapon, his knuckles bruised and bloody although the brunette did not give up the fight. Hutch wanted desperately not to hurt his friend, but the madness had leant strength to the brunette's movements and he fought as if his life depended on it. Together they rolled over and over on the ground, each trying to get the upper hand. Hutch was hampered by the fact he didn't want to hurt his partner, but Starsky had no such barrier. All he saw was Quinn, the man who'd held and tortured him for almost two weeks. He so desperately yearned to beat the man to a pulp.

But the Thorazine, the surgeries and the maltreatment had all taken their toll on the usually fit cop and he was tiring quickly. He threw one last desperate punch at Hutch, who managed to duck out of the way before seizing the opportunity and rolling his partner over onto his belly, the brunette's head crashing against the hard stone floor. In desperation and angry at himself for having to do it, he pulled Starsky's hands forcefully behind his back and knelt on them, while he pulled his cuffs out from his pocket. With a heavy heart, he clipped them over his friend's wrists, immobilising him and feeling all the fight leave the bound body as Starsky went limp. Gently he sat down by the side of his partner and ran his fingers through the sweat soaked hair.

'I'm sorry Starsk' he said softly, his voice breaking with emotion. 'God I'm so sorry'.

There being no reply, Hutch leaned over his partner's body, checking him, but the brunette had collapsed into unconsciousness, whether from one of Hutch's blows, or from exhaustion, he couldn't tell. He checked that Starsky was breathing ok, then patting the still form. 'Just sleep a while Gordo. It'll be fine' he murmured.

Wearily he forced himself shakily to his feet and trudged over to Traff, who was now sitting with his back against the stone pillar, clutching his arm.

'You ok?' Hutch asked, gently removing Traff's hand from his shoulder and taking a look at the wound. Fortunately, the drugs and exhaustion had also taken their toll on the brunette's marksmanship too and although there was a lot of blood, the wound itself was a glancing blow and wouldn't require hospital treatment.

Traff grinned tightly. 'The bugger shot me! Would ya believe that? After all we've been through! Doesn't matter, I'll get even' he said, lightly. He looked at the sweating and dirty cop in front of him. 'How're you? And more to the point how's he?' the soldier asked looking past Hutch at the cuffed and still form on the ground.

'Dunno. After the fight he kinda collapsed. He seems to be unconscious, but I didn't hit him that hard. he kinda convulsed. He put up a hell of a fight!' Hutch massaged his bruised knuckles and sat beack on his heels. 'So, what d'we do now?'

Both men crawled back to their unconscious friend. Hutch hated to see him bound with his own handcuffs, but none of them were in any fit state to start another fight, so reluctantly he left them in place. But he gently turned the limp body over and rested the curly head on his lap as the waited and wondered what would happen next as Traff carefully wrapped a piece of torn off tee shirt around his own bloody arm.