Minnie K

   ...and then it was gone, leaving Hutch once again staring at a small boy in a corner of the arcade.

   What the hell was that? He gulped for air - dizzy, weak and confused. Glancing around quickly, noting that no-one seemed to have noticed anything, he leaned against a pinball machine, needing the support as he felt his heart thundering in his chest and his limbs shaking.

   Was that some kind of attack? I think I've felt that before. He found himself rubbing the new bracelet fiercely, as if trying to rub its smooth inner surface into his skin. He quit the gesture, even though it was somehow comforting.

   Something is going to go terribly wrong. We've got to get out of here. He felt scared. He wanted to stay, he wanted to leave, suddenly confused as to which direction was the safest. Just get to Starsky, he decided, unable to sort out all the jumble inside. Something's going to break loose and I'll need to be with him when it does.

   He turned and headed back toward the front of the room, carefully avoiding the children that swarmed around him. He was relieved to see his partner still quietly talking with Junior.

   Starsky's okay. He took a deep breath in relief as he approached the pair. I'm okay. He's okay. It must have been something I ate. Too much frustration and too little actual action on this Shredder case. The fear he had felt seemed to wash from him, growing more and more diluted the closer he came to his friend. It seemed as if it were only a bad memory now, best forgotten. Hutch sighed at the disappointed look Starsky flashed him. Some day we've really got to get a life. No news is supposed to be good news.

   Starsky nodded a parting to Junior and met Hutch near the doorway. "Nothin'," he grumbled, pausing to walk carefully around a young one in his way. "Let's go."

   They made their way to the Torino, dodging groups of older teens and laughing games of tag. Hutch felt a strange itching between his shoulders, feeling a flash of deja vu as he came upon the familiar red car. He ignored the suggestion of fear hiding behind the feeling.

   Deja vu? Hutchinson, you're getting strange and crazy in your old age. You've got to actually be new to a place before you can feel like you've been there before. Most of your life has been spent in this car. He almost chuckled as he slid into the familiar seat, trying to shake the unease.

   "What now?" Starsky asked in a tired voice. "Do we finish up the paperwork this evening, or call it quits and go in early tomorrow?"

   Hutch shrugged, not really listening, eyes scanning the local foot traffic. "I don't care. Might as well get the paperwork done."

   Starsky pulled into traffic, apparently satisfied with the suggestion. Hutch really didn't care what they did, but the itch in his spine kept getting stronger.

   "All units, corner of Forento and Stevenson," the police radio crackled, startling Hutch for a second. "10-33 reported at Federal Union Savings and Loan. All responding units report."

   "Zebra Three responding," Hutch answered before he'd even realized he'd picked up the mike. He braced himself as the Torino surged forward in a burst of speed. He grabbed for the Mars light and switched it on. Well, now we have something to do.

   The Torino flew, the siren clearing their way through one intersection after another. They were still several blocks away from the robbery scene, but Hutch could feel the itch in his spine turn to anxiety.

   Something's wrong! He knew it with deadly certainty. His gut crawled, screaming at him to do something, to stop whatever it was that was happening. What?! What is it? What can I be so afraid of?

   Between one heartbeat and the next, time slowed to almost a snail's pace. He had been here before, the place where your next move, your next decision, could mean life or death. In this world of molasses Hutch saw what he had unknowingly feared to see.

   The reflected flash of the Mars light from the hood.

   I've been here before. I know this moment.

   The yellow flash of color from a badly parked car.

   There, at the right time, in the right place.

   Starsky, passing the blue station wagon.

   It's closer. It's coming!

   The business signs that flashed by too quickly, the stares of the group at the bus stop, the homeless man weaving down the sidewalk, the-

   Shit!

   In a moment of sheer panic Hutch threw himself almost on top of his partner, stomping down with all his might on the brake pedal. He threw all his weight into the movement, grabbing on to steering wheel and dashboard so that he wouldn't be thrown. Starsky cursed in surprise and wrestled the wheel, trying to bring the massive machine under control at its high rate of speed.

   Finally Hutch saw it in the corner of his eye, moving as slowly as the rest of the world. The top of a small, dark-haired head bobbed just behind the hood of a parked car. Tiny shoes flashed for a second in between tire and pavement, giving only a hint of the little body moving with a two-year-old's speed straight into traffic.

   As the world slowly turned in a spiral, Hutch lost sight of the youngster. He felt his heart beating a frantic race in his chest as time twisted into normal speed. He was thrown back into the passenger seat, losing his grip as Starsky frantically fought the Torino's momentum. The car skidded with a tire-burning screech as it came to a stop sideways in the middle of the street, both of them thrown rudely to a halt. The scream of the siren died at the death of the engine, leaving only the slight reflection of the Mars light in a shop window to remind them of their aborted mission.

   Hutch felt as if he was frozen in place, unable to follow his frantic partner out of the car and into the street. He couldn't look out of the windows, couldn't watch the gathering crowd. He longed to go and reassure Starsky that he really had missed the little boy and everything was indeed all right, but he couldn't. He listened to the murmur of the crowd and the relieved sobs of a scared young mother. He could hear the calming resonance of his partner's voice reassuring both the mother and child as he checked the child out for himself. Even from there Hutch could hear the shock in Starsky's voice, knew how shaken up he must be. But all he could do was sit and stare at his trembling hands.

   It wasn't supposed to happen this way, he realized, feeling sick with his certainty. Starsky didn't see the kid in time. We hit him and he was dragged under the car. It was too fast and he was too little. The kid didn't have a chance. The mother screamed and was inconsolable, the crowd unforgiving, and Starsky... Hutch cringed at the false memory. He drew a haggard breath, willing that part of non-history out of his mind. But it didn't happen that way. I stopped it. Because I knew.

   "Zebra Three," the radio crackled, drawing his attention.

   "Zebra Three," Hutch responded dully.

   "Cancel 10-33 at Federal Union. Unit at location confirms false alarm. Sorry Hutch," the dispatcher added kindly. "Got you guys all worked up for nothing."

   "10-4, Mildred. Log us 10-7-O-D while you're at it. Zebra Three out." Hutch replaced the mike just as Starsky slid into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut and starting the Torino to move it out of the honking, frustrated traffic. Hutch reached for the Mars light and turned it off, almost shuddering at the bloody color. Glancing at Starsky, he could see his shock in the short, crisp movements and the tenseness of his body. Starsky's continued silence and his reluctance to look at him told Hutch that Starsky had been thoroughly terrified by what had almost happened.

   Who wouldn't be? Hutch wondered. He's thinking of Lonnie Craig, that kid he had to kill in self-defense. Only this would be a million times worse. It would have been a senseless accident and he would never have forgiven himself for it.

   "Dispatch said it was a false alarm," Hutch said quietly, knowing that the information wouldn't help any. "We're off duty now. I logged us out."

   They were both silent while Starsky straightened the Torino and proceeded down the street among the blare of horns. He pulled carefully into an empty spot and turned off the motor, continuing to stare straight ahead.

   "Damn, Hutch." His knuckles white around the steering wheel. "I'm...sorry. I never saw the kid. I swear I didn't. I can't believe I was so damned careless! If you hadn't--"

   "Neither did I," Hutch interrupted, trying to counteract the embarrassment and disappointment he could hear in the tight, harsh voice. He saw the flicker of disbelief Starsky threw at him and reached to place a calming hand his partner's arm. "I swear, Starsk. I didn't see him until after I hit the brake."

   The midnight blue eyes studied him carefully, looking for any sign of patronization. Hutch held his gaze, letting him see that he had spoken the truth. A minute passed, then his partner relaxed slightly as he accepted Hutch's admission.

   "I don't understand. Why did you...?" Starsky asked softly, turning toward him.

   "I just...knew." Hutch looked away. "I don't know how. Or why." How do I explain it? Why is this so embarrassing? He knew that there weren't any words to explain what had happened to him. And he knew for a fact that he didn't ever want to talk about the future he had just seen erased. It was better left alone.

   A quiet moment passed, and Hutch could feel his partner study him.

   "So, you goin' Collandra on me?" Starsky's eyes didn't quite echo the forced amusement in his voice. But it was a good sign.

   "Well, actually," Hutch threw back, relieved at his friend's teasing. "I'm just practicing for Huggy's sake. If he's going to blow all his money on scams, I might as well be the one to sell it to him. Think he'll fall for it?"

   "Huggy?" Starsky chuckled as he started the car and put it into gear. "He'll buy anything that smells like a buck. You could be a couple hundred richer by the end of the evening, if you play him right. But if you wanna do it correctly, you'll need a partner. I want half."

   "Well, then," Hutch drawled lazily, acting relaxed to cover his uneasiness. "Let's go and pick his wallet for once. But you'll get ten percent and like it."

   "And just for the record," Starsky replied as he turned the Torino towards their favorite hang-out. "If you get a sudden urge to stomp on the brake when we're in front of a bookie joint, be my guest."

   "Dream on, Gordo." With a tired smile Hutch leaned back into his seat, idly rubbing his newly purchased band of silver. Just don't ask me how it happened, Starsk. Just don't ask me how.

~~~~~~~~

   Lijah drew back into the shadows, chilled and angry at what he had just seen. "I knew it, Charles. I knew it!" He headed back to the nearest alley, ignoring those strange stares he drew.

   {{It's not your concern.}} The dim form replied warningly. {{We have other things to worry about.}}

   "I know that!" the elderly man snapped. "But damn it, it's too early for them. They have the potential, but it's not fully developed yet. They're not ready for any of it."

   {{Adversity can make people stronger. You know that better than anyone else.}}

   "Adversity my ass! This is wrong and you know it!" Lijah sighed tiredly, feeling as if his anger was eating up all his energy. He leaned against the safety of a dirty wall. "It may not be my job, or my concern, but I'm not going to back off if I can help them."

   {{You're playing with fire!}} Charles hissed. {{You'll tip the scales. You'll draw their notice.}}

   "And if I had been less worried about them finding me in the beginning, I wouldn't be here now," Lijah responded sadly. He drew his torn sweater up closer around his neck as a biting breeze whipped cruelly around his frail form. "If I had been concerned with more than my own responsibilities, then maybe you would still be here!"

   {{I am here!}} The dim form drew itself into an almost human form. {{Can you possibly doubt that? After all this time?!}}

   "No, I can't," Lijah admitted with a chuckle, then grew serious as he looked into eyes that hadn't existed for ages. He had been lucky. Damn lucky, and it was more than he deserved. But the thought of the others not having even this, it scared him. "But the rules cut both ways. If there is cheating, this could rip them apart. And at such an early stage, they'd never be able to find each other again." He sighed and looked out of his safe area, watching the crowd as it passed by, heart and voice heavy with dread. "Damn it, Charles, forever is a long, long time to be lost."

~~~~~~~~

   "Well, if it isn't my favorite not-so-secret agent team, Double-O Eight, come to share an evening meal with the Bear." Huggy smiled dully at the two detectives as they came in the back door. The thin black man was seated at his own dim bar, nursing a drink in the mostly empty establishment. He looked weary and bored.

   "I don't get it, Hug," Starsky said, sitting tiredly on the stool beside the bar owner. "You got me on that one."

   Huggy looked smug, waving his glass Starsky's way. "Double-O Seven and a half." He waved the drink towards Hutch. "And the other half."

   Hutch groaned as he took the seat next to his partner. "You're losing it, Hug. Really grasping for straws there."

   "And how do you know we're here to eat?" Starsky wondered. "We could be here for pearls of wisdom."

   "Nah," Huggy took a sip of his drink, signaling his bartender to come and serve them. "You two have hung up your crime-fighting capes for the day. You think Huggy can't tell when you're workin' or relaxin'?"

   "So we're here to relax," Starsky replied with a slight smile. He nodded toward the bartender. "Jim, get me a beer will ya?" He turned back to Huggy. "But if you do happen to have any answers handy...."

   "Always willing to help. What's on your mind today?"

   "Life and death, love and hate, good and evil," Hutch answered quietly. "And Jim? A beer for me, too."

   The beers were produced and the three of them walked over to their favorite corner booth. Watching his partner, Starsky could see that Hutch wasn't anywhere near relaxed.

   He's not the only one who got a shock, Starsky mused as they settled into a comfortable silence. We've both just had the shit scared out of us. His own nerves were still a jumble and even just thinking about what might have happened made his stomach tighten. What he really wanted was a good, stiff drink, but knew better when his nerves were still raw.

   It wasn't just the close call that had jolted him. It had happened again. That wave of unseen filth had washed over him just seconds before Hutch had made his move. Just like in the locker room, he realized. It came just like the last time, only the feeling was stronger. Starsky had felt that it emanated from his partner's direction, as if something evil, cold and slimy were sitting between them. His first instinct at Hutch's surprising move had been to pull away from him.

   Pull away from Hutch? He marveled at the thought. It was as if when he moved toward me he was pushing that horror in my direction. I know I flinched. If he hadn't hit the brakes-

   "Starsk?"

   He started at the two sets of worried eyes he found trained on him. "Sorry, guys," he tried to reply casually, sipping at the beer. "Guess I'm still shook up."

   Blue eyes regarded him cautiously, while black ones made the query.

   "Almost killed a kid," he answered. "Barely more than a baby."

   "But you didn't," Hutch responded quickly, eyes on his own beer.

   "But I would have."

   "How?" Huggy asked the question quietly, concern on his face.

   "Didn't see him run into the street." Starsky tried to shrug, but his shoulders were suddenly too tight, as was his stomach. "He wouldn't've had a chance at the speed I was goin'."

   "Damnit, Starsky!" Hutch's voice sounded on the edge of annoyance and anger. "The kid is fine, the mother is fine, I'm fine and you're fine. Can't we just drop it now?"

   Starsky found himself staring into angry blue eyes. Why is he upset? I'm the one who made the mistake.

   "Sorry I asked," Huggy grumbled, sitting back to eye the two of them. "If everything is so damn fine, why do you two look like you've got the spooks? If you missed the kid, then it was an 'almost' accident, not a real one. You two know they happen all the time. What gives?"

   "I didn't miss him. Hutch did." Starsky didn't realize it until the words were out of his mouth that they sounded like an accusation. How did you know about Vernson? How did you know about the kid? What's going on?

   Hutch looked away. "Just drop it. Okay?"

   "But how?" He leaned toward Hutch, lowering his voice. "How did you know what was going to happen?" Starsky could see that his partner was getting angrier.

   "If you two don't mind, I've got to go," Hutch announced suddenly, face flushed and jaw tight. He finished his beer in one swallow, moving his long form out of the booth. "I've got a date tonight and I'm going to be late."

   Starsky watched in surprise as Hutch dug a couple of bills out of a pocket, throwing them carelessly on the table. "Where are you goin'?" he demanded. "You didn't say nothin' about havin' a date."

   "Yeah? Well maybe that's because you weren't invited." Hutch voice was almost casual, but the bite was there. He turned and shrugged. "I'm catching a cab home, see you guys later."

   Starsky watched, dumbfounded, as Hutch made his way out of The Pits. He's hidin' from the questions. I don't like this.

   "Well, looks like the man has someplace better to be," Huggy remarked, sounding as surprised as Starsky felt.

   "Or he didn't want to answer," Starsky added seriously. He felt his stomach tighten even further and put down the beer, not interested in it anymore. "Something really weird is going on and I'm not sure what it is, Huggy. But it's starting to scare me."

   "Oh, yeah? Well, weird is my middle name," Huggy answered confidently. He glanced surreptitiously around the mostly empty bar, his voice lowering to a whisper. "Commence to layin' it on and this bear will see how your problem rates on my personal scale of the strange and abnormal."

   It took Starsky more than a few minutes to tell Huggy what had gone on. He felt tongue-tied when it came to describing the feelings of disgust and loathing he had felt in those two separate, brief seconds, but he could tell by the worried look on Huggy's face that he was getting the message.

   "You're right, that does sound like some serious bizarreness." Huggy leaned back in the booth, his face grave. "If I was up on my Voodoo and Witchcraft trivia, I could probably send you straight to the right person. But I think you need someone who can diagnose the problem before I'll know who can craft the cure."

   "Voodoo? Witchcraft? Aw, Huggy, come on!" Starsk found himself even more uncomfortable than before. "You really don't believe that stuff do you?" He studied the dark face and saw Huggy's conspiratorial nod as he leaned closer.

   "Starsky, I have seen things that would turn those curls white with fear." Huggy's voice had gone low and deep, reinforcing the chills already running up and down Starsky's spine. "And I have heard tales that I could never, ever repeat, 'cause to tell you the truth they scared the life out of me the first time, and I ain't gonna go through that again."

   Starsky felt himself torn in two different directions at the words. Hutch would call it superstition, call him a moron and an idiot for believing in such nonsense, but Huggy was deadly serious.

   Huggy heard it from his family, I've heard it from mine. If there wasn't some truth to all the legends and folk tales that say that evil exists, then why are they everywhere, over hundreds of years? "You think this has somethin' to do with...that?"

   Huggy shrugged. "Who knows for sure? But if there's one thing about evil, it surely stinks, and I think you've gotten a pretty good whiff of it. >From what you're tellin' me, it's practically sittin' in the Golden Boy's lap."

   Starsky shook his head, not wanting to believe any of it. "C'mon, man. You and I both know that Hutch doesn't go in for that kinda thing. Sure, he loves Yoga and meditation, but that's all the 'powers of the human potential' stuff that he eats up. Hutch doesn't believe in the sort of evil that can't be cured by a long prison sentence, a really good shrink, or more fiber in your diet."

   Huggy opened his arms in entreaty. "So, you think he's gonna recognize real evil when he sees it? There ain't no better liar in existence than the Evil One himself, my friend. And if Hutch has some demon houndin' his heels, or is being offered a bill of goods for his soul, you think for a minute he's gonna break down and admit to it? To anyone?"

   Hell, no, Starsky mused. He's nothing if not proud. And stubborn. "What if this is just a fluke, though? What if I'm over-reacting? I mean, I wouldn't even believe myself," he sighed, "except I feel like I need a shower to wash off the filth."

   Huggy took out a pen and grabbed a paper napkin. "Well, there's no reason not to be prepared. And if you really think some real dark cloud is hanging over that fair skull you're partnered with, then you've got see this lady." He slid the napkin over. "No need to call. Just go. Oh, yeah, you've got to bring something of Hutch's with you. Don't forget that."

   Starsky looked over the address. It was in the older part of town, where the original middle-class of the city had settled. "Martha Reinwald? Just what does she do?"

   Huggy shook his head speaking quietly. "It's not what she does, my friend, it's what she knows. Now, you got your scam artists, like Ezra Bean and Slade who sell the creepin' chills to people who want to play the game. Then you have those like Collandra, who are for real, but don't have any control. But Martha," Huggy reached out to tap the paper Starsky held in his hand, "she knows."

   Knows? Knows what? "Thanks, Hug. Maybe I'll talk to her." Folding the thin paper carefully, Starsky put it in his wallet, feeling foolish as he did so. I may come to regret this and Hutch may never let me live it down. But as long as that's the worst that happens, I can live with it.

~~~~~~~~

   By the time a cab dropped Hutch off in front of his apartment, he was only a little less annoyed than when he had left The Pits. He was tired, sore and had been in no mood to sit at The Pits and have people pick on him. All he wanted was a good meal, a quiet evening and then early to bed. It was about time he put work and stress behind him.

   Why the hell didn't you just stay and eat? he chided himself sourly, digging through his cupboard. Nothing looked good and everything he found would take more work than he felt like putting into it. You should just told them both to go to hell and had some dinner. Hell, you could have stopped and had an even better dinner on the way home. Finally spotting a can of that horrid chili Starsky was so fond of. I might as well, or I'll just wake up hungry later.

   While waiting for the chili to warm in the sauce pan, he turned the radio on. There was an interview on, but he couldn't seem to get interested, his mind was drawn back to his partner.

   Sometimes he just can't leave well enough alone, he mused, feeling his irritation grow.

   Always sticking his nose into things he couldn't possibly understand. I mean, just because he didn't catch on to the fact that that guy was going to pull a gun on Vernson doesn't mean that some of us don't have a cop's intuition.

   Hutch stirred the bubbling chili and dished it out, settling down to a bowl full with crackers at the small table.

   He thinks that just because he grew up on the street he's got this superior gut instinct when it comes to things going down. He felt a growing pride under the annoyance. Huh, some advantage that turned out to be when this farm-boy could feel it coming. Mr. Streetwise didn't have a clue.

   He almost wished now that he had said something at the time, let Starsky know who the real brains of the team was. And then to ask me how? he thought angrily. Well, being a cop is how. It's training and hard work and a sharp eye. If he'd been paying attention to his driving-

   Hutch dropped his spoon into the untasted chili, shocked at the direction his thoughts were taking. He knew damn well there was no way Starsky could have seen the kid, knew that there wasn't any way he could have know what was going to happen in the squad room. He couldn't have known. I shouldn't have known. The chili suddenly smelled vile and he felt slightly sick to his stomach.

   Forget this, he decided suddenly, pushing away from the table and dumping his dinner into the trash. Time for a long shower, a good book and some sleep. On the way to the shower he stopped at the sight of the phone. The urge to call The Pits seemed to pull him toward it. But as soon as he began to reach for the receiver, his anger flared. Forget him. Take care of yourself for a change. Nobody else will.

~~~~~~~~

   Starsky had spent the next few hours picking at a meal and talking shop with Huggy. He waited until Huggy became occupied with the evening's business before leaving. He was a good man and sometimes Starsky felt sorry for the guy, being tied to one place every evening.

   Look at who I'm feeling sorry for, he chuckled to himself as he pulled the Torino into evening traffic. The Bear has probably spent all his life flowing from one place to another. He may not have told us his life history, but I bet it was plenty rough. Him settling into something steady and legal may get a bit boring from time to time, but it's good for him. And you can do worse than tending bar. Maybe Hutch and I could open a cop's bar after we retire.

   Starsky's dinner threatened to turn into a rock at the thought of his partner. There had been plenty of times in the past when he knew that something was off with Hutch. Some problems were physical, like when his back hurt and he didn't want anyone to know. Some were mental, like when he was worrying a case. Some were emotional, like when Abby left with her brother, or Gillian got killed. Some were a little mixture of everything, like when he had gotten hooked. In all of those times, Starsky had only to test the waters to know what it was his friend needed. He had always been able to tell whether to back off for awhile and let the situation heal, or to step right in and take charge. But for some reason he felt uncomfortable and uncertain with this situation.

   My head is telling me it's no big deal. So he had a few lucky guesses, saw some clue he couldn't remember later. Hutch is a great cop, with sharp eyes and ears.

   But he couldn't help but feel that whatever was going on with his partner had nothing to do with how good a cop Hutch was. My gut is telling me to grab him and run for the hills. He sighed, driving aimlessly in the evening traffic and stopping for a red light. So what do I do? Pretend like everything is as fine as it looks, or go with my gut and make a fool of myself?

   Then, as if he had been tapped on the shoulder, he found himself turning to look into the back seat of the Torino. There was Hutch's Letterman's jacket, left there during the week and forgotten. Before the light could change, Starsky reached back and grabbed it, throwing it on the passenger seat as the light turned green. It was strange, he felt better with it there, as if his partner were still in it.

   Well, Huggy said to take something of Hutch's with me when I went, he thought. Although he really hasn't worn it much recently, he's had it forever, so that ought to count. He smiled, stomach relaxing at a decision finally made. I guess this won't be the last time I'll make a fool out of myself for him. What else are friends for?

~~~~~~~~

   Lijah sat on the busy curb, watching the cars as they passed on by. He knew he should be up and around soon, needing to make it to his home territory before it got too dark to be safe. He was quite a ways from his own comforts, but it had been worth a trip. If he had felt as good outside as he did inside, he could have run the entire way home. He grinned happily to himself.

   {{You did that well,}} Charles admitted grudgingly, his form hiding behind the darkened wheel of a parked car. {{But then again, you didn't have to nudge him much. I think he would have gone, eventually.}}

   "But then 'eventually' might have been too late."

   {{Don't get your hopes up, Lijah,}} Charles sighed sadly. {{When push comes to shove, it's all up to them.}}

   "I know." Lijah shifted and moved, pulling his stooped form upright to begin the long trek home. He ignored the stares and the wide berth that the other pedestrians provided him. "But it's my hope, spend it as I will."

~~~~~~~~

   It was a cool twilight and the bright lights from the small, elderly houses shone warmly out onto the street. This time of evening always used to make Starsky want to head on home to his own little part of the world and settle down for the night. After years of night shifts and stake-outs the urge go home for the evening grew thin. But tonight, as he looked for one specific address, the light made him feel lonely.

   He found the house near the end of the street. All the lights were on and Starsky felt as if he might be intruding on a party or a family gathering. Well, Hug said I didn't have to call, so this is as good a time as any.

   He parked and gathered up his friend's black and white jacket, taking it with him to the door. He had made a decision and it wouldn't help anyone to back off of it now.

   He could hear voices from the front room as he approached. His knock was answered by a large man, who seemed to be in the middle of a conversation with someone behind him.

   "Oh, there you are, come on in." The man was taller than Starsky, with thin, sandy hair and thick glasses. He was startled to see the man step back to let him in, as unconcerned as if he was visited by leather-jacketed strangers at every hour of the night. "Come in. Come in and Martha will be down in a moment. We'll just sit you in the library if you don't mind, it's where she works."

   Starsky felt his eyebrows climb to his hairline in surprise as the man turned his back completely on him and started down a long hall. Feeling totally out of place, he stepped into the hallway. He noticed a woman in the front room seated on a large couch and watching TV as she knit. She only nodded politely at him and returned her attention back to the TV, missing Starsky's return of the slight pleasantry.

   This is really weird, he thought as he made his way down the narrow hall. These people almost act as if they know me. Didn't even ask me my name! He found the open door with the large man waiting for him inside.

   "You can wait for her here, since this is pretty much her office. By the way, my name's Donald." Donald held out a large hand.

   "Mine's Starsky," he responded, shifting the jacket to his other arm to take the friendly grip. "Pleased to meet you. How did you know I-?"

   "Oh, Martha warned us she'd have company tonight," Donald replied with a smile and a shrug. "She's had company at the odd hour, day or night, for as long as my wife can remember. Martha is my mother-in-law. I've learned long ago that when Martha says someone is coming, or something is going to happen there's no use worrying about it. Just get prepared for it." He waved toward a large chair sitting at the side of an antique, roll-top desk. "Just have a seat."

   "Oh," Starsky felt a bit embarrassed as he sat in the overly-plush chair. "I didn't mean to bother anyone."

   "No bother," Donald replied with a careless shrug as he headed out the door, "Martha said you'd be here. But, you know, I never would have pegged you for a detective." He left, shaking his head in amusement.

   No foolin'? Starsky felt a bit overwhelmed. He surveyed the small room, packed with bookshelves and filled with books. There were even piles of them on the floor and in the corners. I try my best not to look like a cop, so I guess I'm successful. Except for now. When Huggy said she 'knew', he really meant business. I wonder how far this 'knowing' goes?

   "Hello, there," a voice called cheerfully to him from the doorway. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but I had to take an important call and I knew you could wait." The speaker was a thin, dark-haired woman in her early seventies, wrinkled of feature but straight and healthy of body. She smiled warmly at Starsky as he stood and she went straight for her chair at the antique desk. "So, Detective...?"

   "Starsky, ma'am. Dave Starsky," he answered quickly, making note that apparently she hadn't known his name. "Huggy sent me, he said you could help."

   Martha nodded as she settled comfortably in her chair, allowing him to do the same. "I'll try as best I can, Detective. I can help, but I don't always have the answers people need."

   "Just...ma'am...uh, what is it that you do?"

   Martha smiled and reached out to pat his arm kindly. "I'm blessed, I guess you could say. Ever since I was young I just seemed to 'know' things. It's not like premonition, where I can see the future, or some sort of flashback where I can see the past, I just 'know' things that are in the here and now. But I have no control over it and it's nothing spectacular, so I hope you won't be disappointed."

   "Did you...?"

   "Know you would be here?" She chuckled a bit. "Yes, I knew you would be here, at what time and that you were a detective."

   Starsky noted the fact that she stated it as a fact and yet had not bothered to ask him if it were true. "But you didn't know my name?"

   She nodded. "Nor what you looked like. But here you are. It's a roll of the dice, Detective Starsky. But let's give it a go and see what we can do for you."

   She held out her hand expectantly and Starsky handed the large jacket over to the lady, noting that the woman would have practically disappeared in it if she had tried to wear it. She took it and studied it seriously, weighing it in her hands.

   "It belongs to your closest friend," she said, eyes closed in thought. Holding it in her arms, she seemed to hug it, deep in concentration. "You two are very, very close. You work with him. You're worried that he is in danger and you are right." She frowned, her voice serious. "You have both drawn notice and are to be tested."

   "Tested?" Starsky watched the woman closely.

   "No, not just tested, but...seduced."

   Starsky suddenly found brown eyes studying him, while the woman's whole countenance spoke of dismay.

   "What do you mean?" he asked quietly, knowing it couldn't be good news.

   Martha suddenly sighed, shaking her head and handing my back the jacket. "I'm not sure, Detective. There are layers within layers here that I can't see through." She was quiet for a moment, watching his reaction. "Do you believe in Evil?"

   "Me?" Starsky suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if asked to reveal something deeply private. He sat silently for a moment. What do I say? What do I believe? He knew what he really wanted to say, what he really wanted to believe. But what the lady wanted was the truth. "Yes. I guess I do."

   The older woman nodded in agreement. "Good, because most don't anymore. And people can't fight what they don't believe in. Your friend doesn't believe in Evil in this form. I think that is why he is being seduced."

   "Seduced...." Starsky felt a chill at the thought. Hutch didn't believe in the old fashioned way evil was described. Could he be more susceptible? "How?"

   "Power, knowledge, visions," she answered softly. "Why do men chose Evil over Good, Detective? Every man has a price, some have one that can be never met, by either side. But have no doubt that they can find a man's weaknesses."

   "Who?" Starsky found himself almost growling, watching Martha closely. "Who is doing this and how do I stop them?"

   "I don't know who and I don't know how." She shook her head sadly. "There is more to life than what we can see, Detective. More than I can see. All I can tell you is that while he seems to be the target, you too are involved. Don't let yourself be forced out. You have a say in this." She stood carefully, tiredly, looking years older than when she had arrived. "There is no more I can tell you now, but maybe later? That I don't know," she smiled weakly. "Yet."

   Taking his leave and thanking her quickly, Starsky found his mind full and empty at the same time. He didn't know how long he had been sitting in the driver's seat of the Torino with the jacket in his hands before he took a deep breath and came back to himself.

   So I was right, he thought grimly. It was Evil that I felt. Whatever good there was in the world would not have had to seduce his partner, it already had his and Starsky's allegiance. So what do I do now? If I have a say, how do I say it? And will he listen?

~~~~~~~~

   Hutch jolted awake, startled and fuzzy. He looked around quickly for the source of the sound that had awakened him and saw his book lying in an untidy pile on the floor. He sighed, picked it up and put it aside on the end table. Well, if I can't make it two pages without dozing off, then I might as well go to bed.

   He had taken a long, hot shower and finally made some toast and tea. Even that had been more than he felt he needed. Now, sitting on the couch in his robe, with music on the radio, he had hoped to actually finish the book he had started weeks ago. He never seemed to have time to read anymore and he missed it. But it looked as if tonight would not be the night for that.

   He put his dishes in the sink and made sure the apartment was locked up. As he walked into the bedroom his eye was caught by the broad silver band that he had bought. Realizing that he had never really taken the time to examine it he picked it up and walked over to sit on the bed, holding the bracelet under the lamp.

   Once again he was impressed with the workmanship. It was warm and solid in his hands. Every bit of space on the surface had been etched with designs. The complexity of the work was amazing. There seemed to be multiple scenes, one blending into another so well that Hutch was unable to tell where one ended and the other began. They all seemed to be places and locations, no sign of animals or people, but with an unreadable script flowing here and there through the work.

   Deciding he needed his magnifying glass, he made the trip to his desk, then returned to sit back against the headboard, bringing his knees up to brace his hold on the object. He wanted to pick out the different scenes, discover the hidden story behind the designs.

   Starting from the left end of the bracelet, wondering if that was the correct direction, Hutch almost gasped at the detail that seemed to jump out at him. Under the glass there seemed to be some sort of grounds area, minutely displayed. It was a park, thick with vegetation, yet somehow with the wilted look of fall. It looked cold and empty, but bright with sunlight.

   Almost as if you could step into it, he thought, feeling wonderfully happy with his new possession. A yawn interrupted him and he closed his eyes to rest them for a moment. There's not many artists who can do that kind of work. This may be some important piece from someone's collection. I may have stumbled onto a real find here. He yawned again, rubbing at tired eyes.

~~~~~~~~

   The sun is up, he thought dully. He knew that was wrong, but found he didn't care. Kind of nice, not to care. It's too tiring when you do.

   Without conscious action, he shifted and seemed to float through a beautiful, open park that showed only a few signs of fall. He watched his passage casually, noting points of interest; an old ceramic fountain here, the remains of a flower garden there. It was obviously a well-cared for area, tended with love.

   This is a good place, I like it here.

   He continued to float toward a clump of trees. They seemed peaceful, like some strange kind of oasis in the middle of the grassy parkland. In the center of the trees he could see a bright white gazebo, just large enough for a few couples to sit in semi-privacy. The closer he got, the more he realized that there was something on one of the benches that shouldn't have been there.

   Why do people spoil good things?

   As his point of view moved closer to the gazebo, he could see the object turn into a haphazard pile from which spread a pool of rusty liquid, occasionally flecked with crimson. It had run its course, having dripped down from the wooden bench and onto the speckled, leaf littered floor. He recognized the pile for what it was and suddenly he desperately, frantically, needed to leave.

   I don't want it! I don't want to look! It's too much!

   His struggle not to see, not to know, was in vain. He floated closer and closer. It had been a human once, but had been dissected, divided and piled haphazardly into a bleeding jumble of flesh. He had seen the waxy flesh of death too many time to not recognize it, had seen the human form broken and mangled in too many ways not to see it as it used to be. As his sight moved over the remains, the slim, delicate hands of a female, looking as young and as delicate as a china doll's, seemed to beckon to his heart.

   Stop it! Stop it! Make them stop this!!

   {{This should be stopped,}} a voice purred sensuously. Where it came from he could not tell, but he felt a vast relief to know he wasn't alone.

   Yes!!

   {{If anyone can stop it, you can.}} The voice circled like a cat around his mind.

   Yes, he replied quickly. I can do that. I try to-

   {{But you haven't done anything, have you?}} The purr now an accusing growl.

   We've... his mind shied away from the plural. I've tried, but I can't find-

   {{The other children are already chosen. Their fates rest with you.}}

   But... but I don't know what to do, where to go! I'm trying!

   {{No!}} The voice was scathing in its accusation. {{You don't try hard enough! You don't care enough!}}

   Not true!! I do care! I'm trying, I-

   {{ How many more of them will be tortured and murdered because of your incompetence, Detective?!}}

~~~~~~~~

   "None of them! None!!" Hutch gasped, shaking as he heard his cries echo in the dim apartment. His eyes darted around the space frantically, drinking in the familiar surroundings of bed and home. He continued to shake slightly, his stomach cramped and he could feel his heart beating a pounding marathon within his chest.

   Damn! he thought shakily. That's the worst one in a long time. He took a steadying breath, trying to catch fragments of the dream as it slipped away, leaving little behind but the horror. He remembered bits and pieces of it, the park, the gazebo, the delicate hand placed alongside the mutilated body. He sighed, about to rub at his tired face when he realized he still held the silver bracelet in his hand, knuckles white from the grip.

   He padded to the kitchen for a drink of water, setting the bracelet aside. Bone tired now as the adrenaline began to wear off, he could feel his heartbeat return to normal. He sipped at the liquid, willing himself to relax.

   I've got to get a grip, he decided. Many more like that and they'll have me committed. He found his eyes drawn to the phone, wondering if Starsky were up. Maybe I should call him, just to talk it out. Picking up the bracelet on the way back, he settled once again on the bed. He reached for the phone on the nightstand but stopped before he touched it. This is stupid. He'll just think you're a jerk. Aren't you mature enough to handle a bad dream? What do you want him to do, come and hold your hand?

   The annoyance he had carried with him from The Pits seemed to creep back, as if it had only festered during its absence. He rubbed unconsciously at the metal in his hand.

   Maybe if I didn't have to worry about my 'partner' all the time I could actually get something done. This case is going to take brains, not brawn. Apparently the detectives who were assigned to it are a bit lacking. He didn't know why he and Starsky hadn't been assigned the case by now. They had the better arrest record, the better conviction rate. Hadn't they handled such cases before and won? Children were still being murdered, who cared about protocol at a time like this?

   Damn them all anyway! I can do it by myself if I have to. In fact, it would probably be easier that way.

   Anger replacing the horror of a nightmare now forgotten, Hutch set the jewelry on the end table, switching off the light as he settled back under the covers.

   Better get some real sleep. He started to feel very relaxed, now that he felt a decision had been made. Too many people depend on you, Hutchinson. Too much time has been wasted already.

   His mind slipped deeper into slumber, as if it were led into it, leaving him in quiet, soul-numbing darkness.

~~~~~~~~

   For Starsky, the next day turned out to be the first real day of fall. While the sky was clear, there was now a definite chill to the air. The comfortable weather had been replaced by nippy winds and breezes. He would miss the golden summer days, but not the excessive heat.

   Start of the holiday season. He smiled to himself. Something to look forward to in every change of the weather.

   Unfortunately, the cooler temperature didn't seem to do anything for his partner. Hutch had been quiet and withdrawn all morning, barely saying anything more than he had to, making Starsky wonder if he was still upset about yesterday's questioning.

   They had made their accustomed rounds, had hit their usual places, keeping to the regular visits. Staying visible was important, it kept the small time hoods under control. What was strange about this trip wasn't the questions Hutch asked concerning the Shredder case, as they'd been doing that for weeks now, but that Hutch no longer wanted to talk about it among themselves. The day was almost over and Starsky felt as if he had been riding with a stranger.

   He had spent most of the night thinking about what Martha had told him. All she had been able to do was to confirm his own suspicions. What was he supposed to do now? Did he push his partner to talk? About what?

   Say, Hutch, been having any dalliances with the Devil lately? Taken to dancing naked in the moonlight covered in blood? Yeah, sure. Starsky shook his head at the thought, watching Hutch out of the corner of his eye. It would sound hilarious if it weren't so serious. Martha said that I'm part of this too, not to let myself be forced out. But I don't know where to push, or where to hang on.

   When they entered the squad room, Starsky knew something had happened while they were gone. There was more activity, more well-dressed strangers in the squad room than usual. His best guess was that another body had been found, and this time it was in their precinct.

   "Hey guys," Vernson waved them over to a corner. He looked angry.

   "What's up?" Hutch asked tensely.

   "Dobey wants everyone unofficially brought up to speed on this, but also wants it kept out of the grapevine."

   "Another body," Starsky guessed grimly.

   "Yeah, another one." Vernson sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It was just found by an elderly man out walking his dog. It's in our district."

   "So, I guess Metro is in on it now?" Starsky asked, not sure what he wanted the answer to be.

   "Our lab's out there now. The Chiefs have decided the best course of action is to let the main team from Quincy cover this one, as they've done with the other cases. They'll use our facilities because ours are closer to the scene. They'll pull us local guys in to handle basic interviews and footwork if we're needed. Otherwise we just stay out of their way and let them use our desks and phones."

   "Guess that makes sense," Starsky replied with a shrug. "They're the ones who know what to look for, are keeping track of what's been going on."

   "Damn waste of time," Hutch muttered, turning an angry glare toward the new men talking near Dobey's office. "Those idiots don't know what they're doing."

   "Isn't that a little harsh?" Vernson asked, surprise on his face.

   "Oh, please! Fat lot of good they've done so far." Hutch hissed, face angry and eyes flashing. "If those idiots at Quincy haven't gotten off their asses to get this case solved by this time, then who can expect them to get anything done?"

   Starsky was afraid that this was going to get out of hand. "C'mon, Hutch," he said quietly. "Let's just-"

   "No!" Hutch held up a finger in warning, his voice growing harsher, louder. "The answer is out there, Starsky. We both know it is. Kids out there are depending on us, all of us, to stop this freak! And I, for one, and not going to sit on my ass and let it happen." Hutch turned then and stormed out, oblivious to the stares his loud words had drawn.

   Starsky tried not to wince at some of the astonished looks that followed Hutch's retreating form. He could only hope that few had heard the entire tirade.

   "What the hell is his problem?" Vernson asked in annoyance. "Does he think he's the only one who's bustin' his butt on this?"

   "Don't pay him no mind, Abe." Starsky kept his voice quiet, giving the detective an apologetic shrug. "He's just frustrated, that's all. He's been snappin' at everyone lately. What's the low down on the case?"

   Vernson shook his head and went with the change of subject. "The body was found in the Addison Estate area. It was discovered in a small, local park just over forty-five minutes ago. They think it was a young female, but I'm not sure Forensics has had enough time to make that official. The ball is just getting rolling."

   "Any girls reported missing? Runaways?"

   "Are you kidding?" Vernson snorted, waving to a large file on his desk. "You know the size of the runaway list in this area alone. We're just beginning to pull the local reports from Missing Persons. Until we can get a description of what the victim looked like, it won't do much good. There's no guarantee that her parents would even know she's missing yet."

   "Are Hutch 'n I supposed to be doin' anything in particular? We haven't caught up with Dobey yet."

   "Haven't heard." Vernson shrugged. "The Captain is in a phone meeting upstairs in the Chief's office with another Captain from Quincy Square. They're working out the administrative details. I'm sure if Dobey wants you, he'll find you."

   "Yeah, I bet. Thanks for the low down. I'd better go track Hutch down and save whatever poor soul he's latched on to. See ya'."

   He knew Hutch would find some quiet place to fume. The only real privacy they could find would have been in Dobey's office or the Torino. Starsky was betting on the Torino.

   As he approached his car, Starsky could see him. He was sitting on the passenger side, and since Starsky's side was unlocked he was willing to take that as a favorable sign.

   Hutch didn't look at him when he opened the door, or when he settled himself behind the steering wheel.

   "So," Starsky said calmly. "Has His Highness decided to come down from the throne and grace the rest of us with his imperial wisdom?"

   Hutch snorted in disgust. "Starsky, you know there hasn't been any progress made on this case."

   "That we're aware of. Sure, we work on it when we can, do what we can do. But that doesn't mean that those guys at Quincy are sitting on their asses, shootin' spit-balls and makin' paper air planes to fill their time."

   "Couldn't prove it by the body count."

   Starsky bit his tongue. It wasn't like Hutch to badmouth other cops. Not that they both hadn't seen their share of bad ones, but Hutch had never been afraid of saying what he needed to say straight to their faces. Starsky didn't know what it was about the case that Hutch felt was being mishandled, but accusations of incompetence could start some ugly feelings between the Metro detectives and the special team from Quincy Square.

   "You're out of line here, Hutch. Can you do better? Have you done any better?" he asked calmly, evenly.

   The glare he got in return was full of anger, frustration and embarrassment. Starsky held the gaze until Hutch backed off by turning to look out the passenger window.

   "Well? What's the background on this one?" Hutch asked tightly, clearly in no mood to admit he was wrong.

   "It's too early to know if it's the same M.O., but it sounded the same to me. Can't confirm that the victim was female yet as they just found the body. It was found up in Addison Estates, in a little park."

   "Park?!" Hutch gasped the word. Turning toward Starsky, his face suddenly lost all color. "They found her in a park?"

   Starsky felt stunned at Hutch's reaction. He looked as if he had seen a ghost. "Yeah. Why?"

   Hutch looked around wildly for a second, left hand rubbing against right wrist, as if he had injured it. He took a large breathe then and seemed to calm down. "Take me there."

   Starsky heard it as a plea, not an order. "I don't know if I should," he replied cautiously. "You need to let this go. We can work on it behind the scenes, sure, but we can't afford to butt in."

   "Well, damn it, make up your mind. I can catch a cab just as easily I can sit in your car."

   Starsky studied the angry face, knowing what the clenched jaw meant. He reached for the mike and flicked the toggle. "Zebra Three to control," he called, starting the Torino's engine.

   "Zebra Three, control here."

   "Log us back on the streets, Mildred. And patch me through to Detective Vernson. He's at his desk. I need a specific address."

~~~~~~~~

   Lijah walked tiredly down the street. There were things he needed to check up on, things that perhaps had gone too long unchallenged. He didn't have to turn his head, he didn't even have to hear the familiar engine to know the red and white car was driving by him. He watched it as it passed him and continued down the street. He almost stumbled with his inattention to his own progress.

   {{Careful,}} a kind voice admonished him. {{You always let them distract you too much.}}

   "The young are our responsibility," Lijah replied. He eyed a large dumpster, wondering if it would be worth a stop. He needed more layers. "We need to keep an eye on them."

   {{All of the young, yes, but you place too much hope in those two.}}

   "You know what I admire about you, Charles?" Lijah asked, half amused and half tired of this nagging.

   {{What?}} came the suspicious question.

   "Even without a mouth, you manage to talk too much."

~~~~~~~~

   Hutch felt frozen in his seat.

   Found in a park. I knew she was going to be there, I can remember it now. Hutch could still see the images in his mind from the night before. He knew what he would see when they arrived at the murder scene, could feel the certainty of it settle in his gut.

   Was she alive as I dreamt of her body? Did she call for help that never arrived? He took a breath, feeling the chill that matched the one crawling up his spine. Could I have done something to saved her?

   Starsky had been quiet the whole trip. Hutch knew he was unhappy about going to the scene, possibly interrupting an ongoing investigation. But he had to know. This was too important.

   The park was crowded. Quite a number of police units were parked along the open, grassy area. There were also several TV-station vans and gathering crowds of people just outside the yellow police tape. Starsky drove past a uniformed officer with his badge displayed and was allowed to pull up next to the Forensic van. They both got out, and after showing their ID once began walking toward the crowd at the center of the park.

   Hutch felt sick and slow as he made his way toward the tree cluster and the flicker of white nestled inside. It was all there: the sun shining down on the fall shrubbery, the large grassy area surrounding the small group of trees, the ceramic fountain, the remains of a well-tended flower garden, all exactly where they should be.

   He hadn't realized he was frozen in place, staring at the gazebo in the distance, until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He knew Starsky was saying something, had given him a little shake, but he couldn't take his eyes off of the crowded gazebo. The victim was there.

   He had failed her.

   The world spun crazily as firm hands turned him around and forced him in another direction. He realized he was being steered away from the scene, but didn't have the will to fight it. He had found what he needed to know, about her and about himself. Incompetent. Inept. Inadequate.

   As soon as they reached the Torino Hutch leaned against it, feeling as if it were the only stable place left on earth. When the passenger door was opened he fled into the familiar space. He knew Starsky was talking to him as the car moved, but he could hear nothing through the scene replaying itself in his head.

   She has such tiny hands, he thought, shivering. He rubbed at the warm band on his wrist; the only warmth in his body. It's so strange, seeing such womanly, painted nails on such a child-like fingers. Were they the only part of her the killer hadn't destroyed?

~~~~~~~~

   Starsky talked while he drove, knowing that Hutch wasn't listening to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Hutch wasn't taking anything in: he was trapped within his own thoughts.

   He went so pale, as if it were someone he knew, Starsky mused. Whatever hit him at the park, it hit him hard. He knew the best place for Hutch right now was the beach. Starsky had never been sure what his partner found in the open sand and shore that helped him to center himself, but he was not going to argue with what worked. This time he's going to talk about it, tell me what's going on. Even if he doesn't understand it himself.

   It took a while to get through the traffic, but Starsky finally pulled the Torino into a public parking lot at the edge of the shore. With the cooler weather, the beach was fairly empty this time of day. He was not surprised when his passenger bolted from the car as if his life depended on being here. Starsky only sat and watched as Hutch strode purposefully to the top of the nearest dune and disappeared down the other side.

   I'll give him minute or two. But the rest of the time is mine.

~~~~~~~~

   Although the beach was by no means deserted, its visitors were few and far between. Most of the seaside businesses were still open, the restaurants and the cafes would not close until well into the winter season, if they closed at all.

   Randolph Thomas, owner of the Prior Mystique, sat at a small table in front of one of the nicer cafes, sipping carefully at his drink. He now wished he had ordered something stronger.

   His assistant, Jeffery Trent, sat across from him, dressed expensively in black turtle neck, leather jacket and pressed, gray slacks. He looked to be about twenty-four years old, was long-legged, blue-eyed and blond almost to white.

   Trent's resemblance to the troubled detective on the beach was a continued source of amusement to Thomas. As it was, Trent could be a younger brother; age him ten years or so, and they could be twins.

   If you can't take your frustrations out on their source, then a substitute can almost be as satisfying. Thomas turned his eyes from the beach to the man across from him. As long as he doesn't realize why I'm doing this.

   The Torino had arrived and Hutchinson had already taken his leave of it. The two men at the small table had observed the unfolding scene. Thomas now watched the detective in the car. He was pleased to see that the partners had separated on arrival. The rift was going well.

   "You know, Thomas," Trent began, an uncertain frown taking over the fair features. "I'm sure Hutchinson is an interesting challenge for you, but are we really going to get more from him than we're giving up?"

   "Yes, Mr. Trent, I'm sure we will." Thomas watched the other man closely, looking for the warning signs he had grown to fear. The store proprietor had walked the tight-rope of his master's whims for far too many years to discount what lay beneath the angel-like exterior. "They are a very effective team, Sir," he continued. "They have potential and I suspect have already drawn the attention of the other side."

   The handsome, blond features stayed uncertain. "You may be right. This team is strong and growing. It would be to our advantage to nip this in the bud. But Hutchinson...." Jeff Trent shrugged. "Yes, he has weaknesses, as does the other. Those can be exploited. But that one in particular would be a quick burn-out if we were to win him over. Probably suicide within a year, or he'd keep himself so drugged or dunk that he'd cease to be of any use. Why bother?" Cold, ocean-blue eyes focused sharply on Thomas.

   "Killing two birds with one stone." Thomas didn't like it when the Master was making him explain every little detail. It meant he had better be sure he was right. "We've lost control of the Shredder. He was a bit crazed to begin with, but his hunger for blood is now running rampant. He'll be caught soon unless we intervene. Why not use the case as bait, while winning Detective Hutchinson over to our side? We can exploit his weak points, gain his allegiance, cut our ties to the Shredder and break up the team at the same time."

   The young man smiled the smile of an angel as he contemplated the scenario for one long moment. Then the smile turned smugly evil. "Yes, I see. Well then, cut the Shredder loose," he ordered. "But make sure the split between the two is complete, as I don't care for loose ends. Push until he gives."

   Thomas smiled at the command. He did enjoy pushing.

   "By the way," Trent began casually. "Doesn't it strike you as strange as to how much he and I would look alike if I allowed myself to age a few years? It does bring up such strange possibilities, don't you think?" The icy eyes bored into Thomas. "Don't enjoy this too much. It could make you careless. I have a short temper these days." The younger man stood and strode quickly down the sidewalk, away from the small table.

   Randolph Thomas shivered, watching the departing form. He was relieved that he had passed inspection once again. He had been very, very, lucky. The Master was notoriously fickle these days.

~~~~~~~~

   Hutch sat on the cool sand, arms wrapped around knees, trying to find some warmth within himself. The leather jacket, still a bit heavy for the cool air, was closed and pulled tightly around him, yet he felt naked to the elements.

   The clues are there, have been all along, he told himself over and over, almost chanting the accusations to himself. I've been blind. I could have saved her, if only I wasn't so incompetent.

   He heard his partner's arrival, saw him in his peripheral vision as Starsky settled beside him. Instead of helping, the action made Hutch angry.

   Intruding, he thought in annoyance. Butting in on my space. Can't he ever leave me be? How can I think with him around?

   "What's going on?"

   "Nothing," Hutch heard himself snap in reply, keeping his eye on the surf. Nothing that's your concern.

   "Bullshit! Don't pull that crap on me, Hutch, 'cause you know it ain't gonna work. Not with me. Whatever's goin' on with you is too weird to play games with."

   "Games!" Hutch stood suddenly, turning to face Starsky, who had also come to his feet. "This is all just a game to you, isn't it? Well, this isn't a game to me, buddy and I'm tired of being on the losing end. That girl back there is dead and everyone is just walking around like normal, pretending we're playing a game of hide and seek with a killer." He felt the heat of anger spread into his cheeks and his gut. It felt good. "Excuse me for taking this a little more seriously than the rest of you."

   Finding himself toe to toe with his partner, Hutch watched as Starsky's emotions changed from astonishment to anger. The dark-blue eyes now bored into his own and Hutch felt a sort of evil glee at the reaction.

   "Who the hell do you think you are?" Starsky breathed tightly, eyes flashing. "You think you're the only one who cares? You think you're the only one out of thousands of police and hundreds of thousand of people that wants this stopped? Who the hell do you think has been running around with you, on-duty, off-duty, late for duty, trying to solve this case?! Mighty Mouse?!"

   Hutch snickered evilly at the comparison. "Well, he, at least, had more education, from what I can tell!" Hutch threw the words like a barb, watching the familiar face to make sure they hit home. Starsky's angry flush grew even deeper and his eyes burned in a way that Hutch had rarely seen aimed his way.

   "Oh, really?" Starsky hissed. "Well, my education may all be from the streets and the military, but you'll notice that I passed those with flying colors, Mr. College Classes. And speaking of education, just how many times did you change your major, pal? And just how many degrees, doctorates or PH.D's did you come outta there with? At least I knew what the hell I was doing!"

   Hutch felt the words hit him like a punch on an old bruise. Turning quickly, he strode angrily toward the water line, knowing that if he had heard one more word out of that man's mouth he'd close it with a fist. He stood at the water's edge, looking at the endless horizon without really seeing it.

   Damn him! He knows I what kind of shit I've taken from my family about that. My parents, Vanessa, everyone pushing and shoving me into a life I couldn't fit in to. And to think I became the family disappointment just to be a cop!

   It was then that he felt the hand on his shoulder and the familiar presence at his back.

   "Leave me alone," he demanded, shrugging off the touch.

   "How can I do that?" Starsky's hand returned to his shoulder, as if he knew that it could stay there this time. Hutch turned to look at him, seeing an offer of 'forgive and forget' on Starsky's face.

   Hutch took in a lungfull of the salty air: he could feel his anger diminishing. What the hell am I doing here? Can't do a damn thing right anymore, can I? "Sorry," he offered tiredly, knowing it was accepted even before it was spoken. He looked back at Starsky, tried to give him an apologetic smile. "Guess we both know where all the sore spots are, don't we?"

   "Why are we arguing?" Starsky shook his head. "You're just snappin' at me to avoid the questions, you know. What was it you saw, or thought you were going to see, at the park? Why did we have to go there? And why pick a fight to keep from telling me?"

   Hutch was silent for a minute, trying to figure out what the answer was. He's going to think I'm crazy, he thought sadly. I had a chance to save her, and didn't. He took a big breath before starting. "I saw her there, Starsk," he said quietly, feeling the shame replacing the angry heat in his face, one for the other. "I was given a warning and I dropped the ball."

   He saw the shock and sympathy in Starsky's eyes. Hutch turned back to the ocean view, not wanting to see the accusation that would be there too.

   "Like...like the time in the squad room? Like the time with the kid?" Starsky asked quietly, squeezing Hutch's shoulder firmly.

   "Yeah. Like then." Hutch closed his eyes, wishing he didn't have to think about all this. "I saw her there, in the park, as I was falling asleep. But it was daytime and she was already dead and butchered. I didn't do anything about it, Starsk. Didn't try to find her. Didn't even try to find the park and catch a glimpse of the killer leaving her there. And I'll bet you anything you want that she was alive when I knew what was going to happen. I just let her die."

   "No!" Starsky shook him gently and moved to stand in front of him, catching his eyes. "You had nothing to do with her death. What you saw was unpleasant, but I don't see how you could have stopped a murder from a dream. How many horrible dreams have we had in our lives, huh? How're you to know the difference?"

   "Damnit, Starsky, I saw her. Like I saw the park, the flowers and the fountain! They were real to me. It was more real than any other nightmare I can ever remember having."

   "Okay, okay," Starsky soothed, "I believe you. I do. But that doesn't mean you could have done a thing about it. I didn't hear you say anything about you knowin' who she was, or who the killer is. What were you supposed to do?"

   Hutch turned back toward the ocean. They stood there quietly for a few minutes, watching the surf. He assumed Starsky was watching him, that hand still on his shoulder as if he were afraid Hutch would just float away without it.

   He doesn't understand. He wasn't there, didn't have the chance to take control and see what was important. He didn't screw it up.

   "Let's go to the station," Starsky suggested, glancing around the mostly deserted beach. "It's gonna get colder and we just walked out on a ton of paperwork. Let's go do our jobs and save Dobey the trouble of chewin' our asses off. He doesn't need the calories." Starsky smiled slightly and his hand squeezed Hutch's shoulder tightly before letting go. "Come on."

   "Yeah. Sure," he conceded. But nothing has changed, has it? If it happens again, I'm going to do it right the next time. I'm not going to drop the ball and let another one die.

   They turned and walked back to the Torino together, but with every step Hutch could feel the frustration returning. By the time they turned out of the parking lot, he felt as distant from the man beside him as if he were getting a ride from a complete stranger.

   Maybe it's time to cut him lose, he thought to himself. Work on your own, Hutchinson. You can probably do better without him. Probably always could.

PART THREE