Chapter 8
The atmosphere within the barn crackled with electricity as Papa Noir crouched over his bag of tricks and started to get his equipment together. His hands were sure as he brought out from the depths of the Gladstone bag a silver knife with an eight inch blade, a silver salver perhaps six inches across, a jar containing some sort of herb or plant which had been cut up into pieces and a bottle of water which had the sign of the cross on it, although the cross was upside down. He laid a black cloth on an upturned bale of hay and set out the stuff on the cloth where both Starsky and Hutch could see it.
Meanwhile, Kaleb had gone outside and returned with a black cockerel which he held by the feet upside down. The poor bird squawked and flapped its stunted wings ineffectually, but the big man held on tight and ignored the struggles.
Starsky watched the preparations with growing unease. Up until now he had felt that, given an iron will, he would be able to resist Papa Noir's eyes, or even if he did catch the glance, he would somehow be able to fight the power the witch doctor seemed to hold. Although he still felt the proximity of the shaman like a weight around his shoulders, Starsky had convinced himself that he would be able to fight Papa's influences and maybe even play along a little to make the shaman believe that he had Starsky in his thrall. Now, with the strange, almost religious artefacts set out on the black cloth in front of him, that hope faded and Starsky started to struggle against his bonds, tearing the skin around his wrists in an attempt to set himself free.
'What the fuck are ya doin'? he snapped. 'You're crazy. The whole town is crazy. I'm gonna hunt you down and kill the lot of ya. You have no idea... I'm...'
Papa Noir looked up, an unconcerned look on his face. He rose so that he stood directly in front of Starsky and once again the brunet averted his gaze. It didn't help however and Papa Noir clicked his fingers once in front of Starsky's face.
'Silence' he almost whispered and immediately the curly haired cop felt as though his throat had tightened and his lips had gone numb. However hard Starsky tried to speak no sound came out and the harder he tried, the more he felt that there was an invisible hand around his neck, cutting off his airway. Starsky wheezed and coughed, trying to draw oxygen into his lungs and as he stopped trying to protest, the pressure eased, allowing him to take a breath.
Papa Noir smiled. 'C'est mieux. That's better Mon Cher. We would not want you to spoil the moment, would we?'
Starsky's eyes narrowed angrily and he looked past the shaman to his buddy, bound on the floor. Hutch's mouth was stretched full of the dirty sacking, but the crystal blue eyes above were full of anger. Hutch shook his head and locked eyes with Starsky, their gaze giving each man a measure of comfort and courage. The expression in Hutch's eyes was easy to read – stick with his partner. We'll get out somehow but you're gonna have to fight damned hard.
Starsky's eyes answered – don't worry about me, I can do this. No problem.
But while the brunet's eyes said one thing, his heart told him a different story. If Papa Noir could silence him so effectively with nothing but a click of his fingers, how on earth was Starsky going to fight what looked like a full on voodoo ceremony?
The answer looked as though it would be given quickly. The light in the barn was fading fast. The short twilight gave a cold, grey look to the big wooden building, enhancing the darkness in the corners and elongating the last shadows of the day. As darkness fell, Kaleb, Clyde and Jed produced candles from the shelves near the door and at a signal from Papa Noir started to lay them in a wide circle around the bound brunet and blond. With the wicks lit, the two cops, Papa Noir and the three other men were encircled in a pool of amber flame, the light flickering gently in the small breeze from the partly open door of the barn. The candle light did nothing to calm Starsky or Hutch. Instead of the soft, romantic glow usually associated with the candles, the flickering flames seemed to highlight the shadows, making the darker places even more gloomy and lighting Papa Noir's face from below so that his features took on an ominous, almost monstrous appearance.
With the final touches made to the barn, Papa looked around and seemed satisfied. Clyde and Jed melted into the background as Kaleb, still holding the cockerel, came to stand close to the witch doctor.
Papa Noir closed his eyes, seemingly pushing himself into a trance. He held up the knife and muttered words over it that Starsky could not make out.
The brunet's heart hammered in his chest. The air around him seemed to have almost solidified, making it hard to breathe. His arms, pulled tightly behind his back increased the pressure on his chest. The core of his body throbbed and his throat was raw and as sore from Papa's spell as if he had had a flake physically try to strangle him. But above all the pains in his body, the one thing that Starsky felt more than anything else was fear. However hard the brunet tried to reason out his situation, there was something very real about the evil emanating from Papa Noir. He was a practitioner of Voodoo and did not concentrate on the good, benign side of the religion. Waves of dark power seemed to flow from the tall black man and as Papa Noir's chanting continued, the power seemed to grown until Starsky felt suffocated and confined.
On the floor, Hutch struggled against his bonds. He felt powerless as he saw his buddy overshadowed by the witch doctor. Papa Noir seemed to have grown taller somehow and even though Starsky was a whisker short of six foot tall, he seemed to have shrunk besides the black man. Hutch wanted to yell at his buddy to look away, to concentrate on something else – to take his mind away from what was going on in front of him and yet with the sacking bound across his mouth, Hutch could do nothing but struggle all the harder and make muffled sounds from behind his gag.
It did nothing to help Starsky who yearned to hear his partner's voice once more. That voice had got him through some tough times, when he'd been sick, or sad or downright blazing angry. Hutch had always been there for him and the blond's velvety voice had helped him to forget his troubles or his pain for a short time. It was as though Papa Noir knew instinctively how to cut off Starsky's source of strength, leaving the brunet vulnerable and alone. As Hutch watched, unable to help, Papa Noir loomed over Starsky's bound body and lifted the knife high.
Starsky's eyes never left the knife. It's bright silver blade shone and glinted in the light of the candles as Papa Noir started to chant in some unknown or forgotten language. The witch doctor's eyes were closed, his body taut as a bowstring and the knife was rock steady in his hands.
The chanting continued as the knife started to descend lower and lower in a gentle arc until it hovered a foot above Starsky's chest. Papa Noir started to chant louder, his black eyes now open and staring as his red teeth flashed within his mouth. The knife started to describe intricate and complicated designs in the air in front of Starsky's body and at an unseen signal, Kaleb stepped forwards and ripped the rest of the buttons from the brunet's shirt, leaving his chest bare and exposed.
The cockerel in Kaleb's hands seemed to understand that it's time had come and the sheriff lifted it squawking and flapping so that Papa Noir could take a hold of it's head. In one clean slice, the witch doctor decapitated the poor bird and the hot blood gushed over his hands, splashing against Starsky's bare belly. The brunet recoiled at the ruby coloured fluid but Kaleb held steady as Papa Noir took the top from the jar with the herbs inside it and held the open container beneath the fall of blood. The bird's body went limp, the death having been swift and clean and Kaleb plucked one of the glossy black feathers from the area over the cockerel's heart. He handed it to Papa Noir who kissed the feather lightly, muttered words over it and dropped that too into the jar.
Starsky watched, fascinated and horrified. He'd heard of voodoo rituals. He'd seen them in black and white horror films on the TV, but nothing Hollywood could deliver could prepare him for the real thing. The air seemed to be crackling with an unseen power around Papa Noir. The witch doctor seemed to have grown in stature and he loomed over the bound brunet who fought hard to keep his heart from hammering clean out of his chest.
Finally, with the knife poised again, Papa Noir seemed to notice Starsky as though for the first time. He took a step closer to the cop and gently reached out and put a hand under Starsky's chin, raising it so that he could see Starsky's eyes. Starsky immediately closed them, fighting against the insane compulsion to drown in their black depths.
'Regardez-moi mon cher. Look at me' Papa whispered, his hand hard against Starsky's neck. 'Look at me, I command you.'
Starsky clamped his eyes closed. He wouldn't look...he couldn't look...he... the air seemed to get thicker around him, the heat from the candles burning at his skin, the hand on his neck becoming more solid like an iron vice and although Starsky's inner voice told him to keep his eyes closed, the insistent French accented voice in front of him was stronger and slowly, Starsky's indigo blue eyes opened.
'Please god no...' the brunet whispered 'No, no.'
Hutch writhed against his bonds, the desperation in his partner's voice almost palpable.
Despite his iron will, Starsky's eyes opened fully...and looked directly into Papa Noir's.
It was as though the world dropped away from the brunet. Like a special effect in a film, the rest of the barn became misty and soft focus and only Papa Noir seemed to be crystal clear in Starsky's eyes. Fight as he might, the brunet couldn't ear his gaze away from the witch doctor as once again Papa took the knife and sliced across the palm of his own hand, allowing the droplets of blood to mingle with the cockerel's in the glass jar.
Starsky's mind recoiled in horror as the knife came close once again to his bare chest. The witch doctor seemed to pause, studying the long line of the cut he'd made earlier and then he made his decision and aimed the knife at the red line closest to Starsky's heart. He pressed the tip of the blade against the olive toned, lightly furred flesh and pushed. Starsky felt the pain immediately although it never occurred to him to cry out. The tip of the knife seemed to be boring into the very centre of his body although in reality Papa Noir merely nicked the flesh and caught some of Starsky's blood too in the jar. Satisfied that he had what he wanted, the shaman turned away and started to mix the dark red fluid with a gnarled and crooked shaft of wood.
More words were muttered over the potion as Papa mixed slowly with the stick. His eyes once again seemed heavy, as though he'd gone to another place and at the same time, Starsky felt an overwhelming weariness sweep over him too. The brunet shook his head, trying to clear it of all memory of Papa Noir's touch and yet, the more he fought, the weaker he seemed to get until the witch doctor's presence filled up his entire consciousness.
Hutch sat and watched the show. He could do nothing to help his buddy. He was bound tightly to the cartwheel – so tightly that his hands had long since lost all feeling. The blond's shoulders ached and the gag in his mouth threatened to choke him and yet all Hutch could think of was what Papa Noir was doing to his partner. Hutch too had felt the air crackle with some unknown, unseen power. It prickled across his skin and raised goose flesh across his belly. This was voodoo at its worse. This was no cheap sham of a love potion, or mild hex. This was the real, dark, evil thing and Hutch was powerless to stop it. Once before Starsky had been taken over by the mind tricks of some deranged hypnotist. When he had finally recovered, the doctor had said he had succumbed because of the brunet's terrible experiences at the hands of the Vietnamese army and not some flawed weakness on Starsky's part. Now Papa Noir was again playing on that experience and those memories and once again, Starsky's damaged psyche was bowing to external forces beyond his control.
Slowly Papa Noir rose from his chanting over the potion. He lifted the ruby red, viscous fluid into the air so that it caught the light from the candle around and turned to Starsky as the brunet's breath seemed to leave him.