Chapter 2
That night, as Starsky drove home from his partner's house, he couldn't shake the feeling of being followed. He looked in his rear view mirror time and again, but couldn't see anything untoward. Sure there were lights from other cars, but it was difficult to establish whether any of them were following him or not and mentally he chastised himself. Why should one teenager dressed in a silly, scary costume bother him so much?
But deep down he knew the reason. Why would anyone choose to wear a black robe with an inverted red cross on it? Unless they were either one of Marcus' followers comeback to exact revenge, or someone who knew him and knew the history he had with those freaks.
Still feeling shaky inside, he pulled up outside his apartment and got out of the car. Somewhere close, someone let off a firework and the explosive noise made him jump out of his skin. He looked around, self-consciously, but there was no-one around at that late hour and he shuddered, pulling himself together as he took a deep breath. With an unaccustomed hurry, the brunet got out his door keys and opened the door to his flat, hurrying inside and closing the door behind him. He leaned his back against it, looking skywards for courage, squeezed his eyes tight closed, then opened them with a sigh.
C'mon Davey, get your act together. It was only one weird dude! Sort yourself out.
He reached for the light switch and flicked it down but nothing happened. He flicked the inanimate object up and down several times to no avail. The interior was not suddenly illuminated with welcome light and he grunted. Great, a blown fuse! As he made his way, sure-footedly towards his kitchen, he thought he saw a shadow move at the side of the room and almost ran the last few yards, scrabbling through a kitchen drawer for his torch. He pushed the button on the flashlight and aimed it in the direction of the shadow. The piercing beam illuminated one of the Parlour Palms that Hutch had given him to make his apartment feel more welcoming. It's leaves wafted gently in the breeze caused by his panicked rush and Starsky sagged back against the countertop, wiping the fine sheen of sweat from his top lip. Letting out a derisory snort, he used the flashlight to search for the fuse wire before dipping down to the basement to mend the blown fuse. Moments later, his living room was bathed in a cosy amber glow and he climbed the steps back up to his front door. A cat ran across his path and he jumped again.
Jeez Davey! Either Librium or Bourbon, but for Gods sake take care of those nerves!.
Closing the door behind him, he reached under the sink and took out the bourbon from its resting place at the back. He poured three fingers of the golden liquid into a glass and swallowed half of it down in one gulp, letting the welcoming fire blaze a trail of courage down his throat. He took the glass to the bathroom and swallowed the rest down while he took a shower before getting into bed and pulling the sheets up around his ears. He was about to switch off the light and reached out his hand, but the boyish part of him, the part that still wanted his Dad to search for monsters under the bed, made him take his hand back. He snuggled down in his bed and closed his eyes, the soothing glow of the nightlight easing away any latent fears and allowing him to relax into a deep sleep. But the sleep was anything but relaxing.
'Lemme go. You don't know what you're doin'. Kidnapping a cop's a federal offence. You'll get 8 to 10 for this. Just let me go now huh?'
'Si-mon didn't dream your escape' Brad started the by now familiar litany.
'I don't care what the fuck Marcus dreams about. He's already inside and there ain't a whole lot you can do about that now. They aren't gonna let him go. He's a mass murderer. He killed those 9 kids in cold blood. Why d'ya defend him?'.
'They were legitimate sacrifices. They went to their deaths knowing they served a higher purpose. You live until Si-mon is sentenced. They won't sentence the Teacher until you are free, and we won't set you free until the Teacher is released'…………….
Starsky fell forward, unable to stop himself from falling because his hands were secured behind his back. He felt the dirt beneath his body, spitting out a mouthful of the grit and getting some leverage with his shoulder to push himself upright. As he struggled on the ground, he heard the start of the familiar chant and fear gripped his guts, churning them into knots.
Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon.
He managed to get himself into a kneeling position, his head a blaze of pain. He felt dizzy and nauseous, fear vying with panic to grab a hold of his precarious clutch on reality and he knew the only way to preserve his dignity and to give himself some courage was to let go of his steely hold on the famous Starsky temper. He gathered it to him, feeling it well up inside his chest as he knelt unsteadily on the ground. He could feel people around him, their voices coming from all directions and he yelled out at them
'SHUDDUP! I know you're out there, I can smell ya' the sound of his own angry voice gave him a measure of comfort and he tried again, louder above the chanting.
Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon
'You're wasting your time, d'ya hear me?'
Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon
'Quit the chantin'. That ain't gonna save Marcus either. I know you're out there, I can smell ya. I can smell every one of ya' he yelled into the blackness of the blindfold.
But still the chanting continued, closer now. He could feel the waft of material near his head and body. He ducked his head down, losing his balance so that once more he fell onto his side, curling himself into a ball. He could feel the pressure of countless bodies now, coming ever closer to him, their chanting becoming louder and more insistent so that it began to blot out all his other thoughts. He was alone. He was bound and alone. He was bound, blindfold and alone!...
'What's going on?' he asked as he watched the girl on the ground take the same knife he'd seen her with before. She seemed to be drawing symbols with it on the hard earth at his feet, leaning first to one side, then the other before taking the knife's blade and holding it to her lips, kissing it and running her cheek tenderly against it.
Like a cat rubbing itself against a favourite chair.
Starsky watched her. The light of recognition was virtually extinguished from her eyes and as he watched she stood in front of him, her enormous eyes focussed on his chest. He eyed the wicked looking knife.
'We've been this way before' he muttered, trying to get her to look at his face so that he could establish some sort of contact. She glanced up at him, sadness in her eyes.
'They're all watching' she whispered. 'Si-mon dreamed they would watch'
Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon
'You're gonna kill me' Starsky tried to shock her out of her reverie. 'Yes you are…..you're gonna kill me'. he said low and as levelly as he could. But he knew this was it. This was the moment the cultists had been preparing for. They'd told him 24 hours was all he had, and this time yesterday he was showering and getting ready to go to court.
Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon
'And your friends are gonna watch'
'No, I'm not goin' to kill you' Gail said timorously
Yesterday. Just an ordinary day. Washing, shaving, dressing, taking the Blintz to Merle's to have his car tuned. Just another day. The start of his last 24 hours on earth. Would he have done things differently if he'd known what was going to happen to him? Too late to think of that now. Too late to think of anything except the remote possibility that he could talk Gail out of her programming. He looked back at her again and she returned his gaze.
'Thou shalt not k kill…. shalt not….. they're all watching'. She looked at the men surrounding them. They'd set up their chant again, an insistent sound pounding at Starsky's consciousness and taking away Gail's free will.
'Gail….'
Next day.
The glint of the sun on the knife and the feeling of impending doom shook Starsky from the nightmare. He struggled, his sweat slick legs entwined in the sheets from his bed and his breath coming in ragged gasps. It had been years since he'd dreamed of Simon Marcus and his freaks, years since he'd had the feeling that they were still watching him, but he knew deep down that this was, once again, only a dream. Marcus was still in prison, the Judge having sentenced him to 30 years for the murder of the 9 children and a further 5 for Starsky's kidnap. Marcus wasn't going anywhere, and his followers had disappeared into the night. It was 6 years since anyone had heard from them. It couldn't be them.
The brunet pulled himself out of bed and padded into his kitchen, putting on the lights along the way. He was thoroughly rattled and any thought of walking anywhere in the dark made him feel chilled and, he admitted to himself, scared.
Pulling open the fridge door he stared at the content. Milk? Fruit juice? He slammed the door shut and reached for the bourbon. One more shot of courage and he'd go back to bed. Looking at his watch he saw it was 3:30am. Not even the early rising Hutch would be awake at that time. He poured the fire water down his throat and picked up his model boat building magazine. Heading back to his bedroom, he rearranged the pillows and sat up reading until the first hint of dawn coloured the night sky. His eyes were heavy and he was just about to award himself an hours sleep before work when the telephone rang, making his nerves jangle in time with the bell.
Starsky looked at his watch. 5:45. Who the hell wanted him at 5:45? He flung back the sheets and sat on the edge of the bed as he picked up the phone.
'Lo?'
There was the sound of nervous fidgeting on the other end before a familiar voice said 'Starsky?'
'Yeah'.
'Its erm….its Mickey'.
The brunet recognised the small snitch's wheezing, shaky tones. 'Mickey its not even 6 o'clock. Ya want bailin' out again, you're gonna have to sit it out till at least 9' Starsky said impatiently. In all the time he'd used the little man, he'd never really known whether to trust him or not, but he'd given him useful leads in the past, and in return Starsky bailed him out, dried him out and sometimes gave him money for his next fix when he could see he was hurting too much. It was a kind of love hate relationship.
'No, no Starsky. I don't want no bail money. I got a lead for ya. A real good one'.
'And ya wait till the middle of the night to tell me? Can't it wait?'
'Well that's the thing, see. I gotta see ya. I gotta see ya now. Private like'.
'Hutch an' me are on duty in two hours. Can't it wait till then?' the brunet yawned and rubbed his hand down his face. What he wouldn't give for a lie down in a darkened room!
'NO' the little man emphasised. 'No, not Hutch. Just you. I need to see just you Starsky. It's important. An' it'll be worth your while'.
The urgency in the snitch's voice penetrated the cop's weariness. He yawned again.
'If it aint, I'm gonna make sure you're hounded for every vagrancy and loitering misdemeanour goin' Ya got that? Where an' when?'
'Now. soon as ya can. And somewhere real quiet. I don't want to be seen by anyone……the cemetery over on the north side'.
'Aww c'mon Mickey!. The cemetery? Goin' a bit far aren't ya? Look, I could see ya maybe round the back of the Pits. That'll be quiet at this time of the day. Shit, anywhere'd be quiet at this time of the day!'
'I wanna be sure! The cemetery. Follow the main road through and take the third branch left. I'll be waitin' And remember to come alone and unarmed. I don't like guns Starsky, ya know that. They make me nervous. No Hutch. This is for your ears only, capiche?'
'Yeah, I got it. Gimme 30 minutes' Starsky said tiredly and put the phone down. Great. After the night he'd had the cemetery was probably the last place he wanted to go, but Mickey sounded as though it wouldn't wait.
Quickly he struggled into his pale blue jeans and added his sky blue zip fronted hooded cardigan. It was loose enough for his purpose. He took his gun from its holster and pushed it down the back of his jeans, feeling it's comforting weight against his spine. He may be being suckered by Mickey, but he wasn't going to go in unarmed. The sky blue top felt warm and cosy in the cool of the early morning and covered the gun perfectly. Being, as Hutch called him, a neat freak, he pulled the covers straight on his bed, smoothed down the cover and turned off the light before gathering his keys and heading for the car.
