Minnie K

   Thomas watched the pair closely as they walked back to the Torino. He drained the last of his drink, feeling tired and confused. He was not sure what had happened. Somehow he had lost control for awhile. After he managed to nudge Hutchinson into anger, the blond had seemed to slip away and Thomas had found himself losing ground.

   The other one interfered, he thought with disgust. He cut in somehow and blocked me. Just when I had a good snit going.

   It should have been easy, to push at a stray thought here, encourage a growing anger there, nourish a budding frustration as a base from which to work. But it had been harder than before. He watched Hutchinson's body language and knew that he still had something to build on. At least he didn't have to start all over again.

   I'm getting too old, Thomas thought with a chill of his own. Better watch it. I can't afford to screw this up.

   He focused in on Hutchinson and pushed harder.

~~~~~~~~

   Starsky sighed and stretched in his chair, eyeing the top of his desk tiredly. He and Hutch had made it back to Metro and had been pretty much left to finish their paperwork uninterrupted. Getting this back-log done and behind them had been satisfying. Now, if he could just get past this thing with Hutch, he would feel as if something had really been accomplished.

   This afternoon, ever since they had come back from the beach, it almost felt as if Hutch was a different person. They hadn't talked much on the way back, and when Starsky tried to get his partner to comment on some of their paper work, he barely said two words. It wasn't as if Hutch was angry or upset with him, but almost as if Starsky was a stranger who just happened to be using the desk across from him.

   Maybe I'm just imagining things. Hutch isn't the only one who isn't in the mood to be sociable. This latest death broke the pattern set for the Shredder and everyone in the squad room seemed tense and frustrated. A guy could get his head bitten off just for answering his own phone around here. But it felt strange to see Hutch sitting across from him and looking at him like he didn't even know his name. I think I'd rather he was biting my head off.

   Starsky's thoughts were interrupted as Abe Vernson emerged from Dobey's office, along with several others that Starsky didn't recognize. He knew there had been a meeting going on, but was surprised to see that Vernson had been included. An unhappy-looking Dobey left with the others, while Vernson walked glumly toward his desk.

   "Hey," Starsky called, getting the man's attention.

   Vernson veered over to their desks. "Hey, guys. What's up?".

   "Just gonna ask you that," Starsky replied. He signaled the man to lean in closer so they wouldn't be overheard. "You gettin' in on the case or what?"

   Vernson sighed and leaned forward, both hands on the edge of the desk. "Nothing so glamorous. I'm just the gopher for the Quincy detectives who are working here, since I'm fairly free at the moment. If they want a record or a file pulled for this specific area, then they get me to unravel the red tape. Other than office help, Metro's not going to get too involved."

   "Just tell me they've got leads," Hutch pleaded quietly.

   Starsky's own heart fell when he saw Vernson's face.

   "Guys, they're running on empty." Vernson shook his head sadly. "This guy has left fewer clues than Jack the Ripper. No prints, hairs, fibers or shoe prints that can't be explained or matched to the victim's home environment. Hell, half of their theories about the M.O. were shot out of the water this morning. The body being found today just doesn't fit."

   "What if the killer thought the body wouldn't be found until Sunday?" Hutch asked.

   Vernson shrugged. "They're working on it, but that park is pretty heavily used in the evenings by the older folks and would have been swarming with kids once school let out. The killer could have chosen it out of desperation, but that doesn't fit either. So far all the bodies have been found within twenty-four hours after death. Including this one."

   Hutch reached out a hand for the folder Vernson had tucked under an arm. "I want to see her."

   Vernson looked startled, glancing strangely at Hutch, then at Starsky. "How...how did you know I had her picture?"

   "A guess," Hutch answered quickly. "Can I see?"

   Starsky didn't like it, didn't want Hutch to get farther into this. "We weren't invited, Hutch," he warned quietly, willing Vernson to say no. "If she is from our district-"

   "Do you mind?" Hutch repeated forcefully, but politely, to Vernson. "Please, Abe?"

   Vernson hesitated a moment, then passed over the folder silently. Hutch opened it and froze, his face losing all its color. Starsky found himself out of his chair in an instant, standing over his partner's shoulder. Inside, along with the basic paperwork was a family photo of a young girl. She was small and dark with almost porcelain skin and delicate features. Allowing himself only a glance, Starsky pulled the folder out of his partner's fingers and handed it back to the Vernson.

   "Thanks," he said quickly, before Hutch could react. He needn't have worried, as Hutch seemed in too much of a stupor to protest. "We're packin' up shop for tonight. Good luck with the case." He tugged at Hutch's arm as he spoke, feeling the need to get the man up and out.

   He's gonna lose it again if he doesn't get out of here, Starsky decided. He had known that seeing the victim's face wasn't going to help Hutch at all.

   Vernson waved them away and headed tiredly for his desk as they left the squad room.

   Time for Huggy's, Starsky decided as he dragged his pale partner with him. Time to get him loosened up.

~~~~~~~~

   Friday night at The Pits was always busy. There was a good crowd, loud music, friendly groups, food and a lot of laughter this early in the evening. Later, it would get quieter, darker and more intimate, but now was as close to 'family hour' as the place ever got.

   Hutch was feeling numb, sitting in the corner with Starsky and with a glassful of some really good bourbon. They hadn't said two words to each other on the way, for which Hutch was thankful. He had no interest in taking part in any sort of conversation. He figured Starsky must feel the same way, as the bottle had been Starsky's decision.

   To bad he's wasting all that money on me, he thought, feeling dead inside and out. I don't think it's possible to drink enough to forget.

   He threw back the liquid without flinching at the burn. Starsky was watching him covertly, but had yet to touch his own glass. Hutch knew it was all for him, if he felt he needed it. Without any dinner on his stomach, it wouldn't take much more to make sure he was numb for the rest of the night. As if I hadn't been numb before I came in here.

   He waited for Starsky to say something, to ask, accuse or berate. He wanted to get it over with, needed any excuse he could find to storm out like he had the last time. Starsky had made it easy for him: neutral territory, a loud crowd who wouldn't think a thing about a boisterous argument, and alcohol to take the blame of a bad temper.

   He's made it so easy that I can't do it. Hutch sighed as he poured himself another drink. This one wasn't going to disappear as fast as the last one. He knew that it would feel too much like running away. So I sit here and take my medicine.

   Starsky said nothing, watching the crowd and seemingly comfortable with the way the evening was playing out. Hutch knew he wasn't being ignored, quite the contrary. He had Starsky's complete attention. And his patience.

   "Did you see her hands, Starsk?" Hutch ventured quietly, leaning back to watch the action in the bar. "It was her, the girl I saw in my dream."

   "How can you be sure?" Starsky asked carefully, voice pitched to carry only to him. "Did you see enough in your dream to ID her?"

   "Not clearly, except for her hands," Hutch replied, staring into his glass. It seemed to reflect the bloody scene back at him. "The hands looked so young and mature at the same time. I knew them as soon as I saw the family photo."

   They were both quiet for a few moments, letting the crowd's noise fill up the silence.

   "Where is this all coming from?"

   "I don't know," Hutch admitted softly.

   "How often has it happened to you?"

   "I'm not sure." The blond shifted uncomfortably. "Twice, maybe three times. The first one I'm sure of is the one in the Torino. Then the dream. I think the time Vernson was attacked was one, but I'm not sure."

   "It's evil, Hutch," Starsky said softly, finally taking a sip of his own drink.

   "Don't be ridiculous." He sighed, feeling an overwhelming urge to mock and jeer at the man for his comment. He bit his tongue, hard.

   "When we were in the locker room, before the incident in Homicide, I felt it happen," Starsky said, leaning closer to him.

   Hutch looked at his partner in shock. He felt it? He knew? "What?" he hissed. "What did you feel?"

   "I felt evil, disgust, a foulness worse than a sewer. It all came and went in a second." Starsky's eyes found his in the dim light and were deadly serious. "It was between us, then it was gone. And you were sitting and staring until I shook you."

   Hutch didn't know what he'd felt at the moment. Surprise? Confusion? "I don't remember it," he admitted. "But it's true, isn't it?" Starsky was silent, watching him closely. "And later?"

   Starsky sighed. "In the car. It was there again, just seconds before you moved." He winced. "It was between us."

   Hutch felt himself shiver. He suddenly wanted to lash out at Starsky and storm out of The Pits, cutting himself off from this conversation. Instead, he clenched his hand around the shot glass. "No! That's not the way things work!"

   "The way things are and the way you want things to be are two different worlds, Hutch." Starsky's voice was calm. "If it is evil, then you know what it wants. It's gonna offer you something you can't refuse. You know what it'll want in return."

   "This is idiotic!" Hutch protested. "How can you believe in that crap? I'm not going to argue about this anymore. I may not know what the hell is going on, but you know even less than I do. So go find someone else to scare with your stupid superstitions!" He rose abruptly, stalled by the grip of iron on his wrist. He wanted to fight, to shake the man off, but was restrained by the stares they were now drawing.

   "I'm taking you home," Starsky announced firmly, tightening his grip. "We can talk about this later. Or not. Up to you."

   Hutch watched his friend's face, saw the offer was meant sincerely and suddenly realized he didn't want to be alone. Maybe I just need some time. "Or not," he answered quietly, no longer fighting the grip on his arm.

   "'Kay." Starsky gave him a smile that didn't make it to his eyes. "But let's find something to eat on the way home. I think we're gonna need our strength."

   They left the bottle behind them.

~~~~~~~~

   The evening had seemed to go well after they left The Pits, but it was only surface deep. Starsky felt tremendous frustration at the agreement he had made earlier in the evening.

   They had stopped just long enough to pick up take-out for dinner, and ate it quietly in front of Hutch's TV. But Hutch had had little appetite and Starsky himself took no enjoyment in what he ate. Every second of the evening he longed to ask more questions, push his friend to talk about the case more, dig at the source of the problem. But he couldn't, he had agreed to the terms. He had not counted on the fact that Hutch would almost ignore him completely.

   When the late news had signed off, with little spoken between them, Hutch had taken a shower and started his normal bedtime routine. He had not bothered to ask Starsky if he was staying or not, and Starsky had made his bed on the couch, feeling invisible.

   Time seemed to pass slowly, with only the sound of the heat cycling on and off to mark the passing hours.

   I wish I could just drift off. Starsky sighed, rubbing at tired eyes that strained to see in the dark. He felt uncomfortable for some reason, not just with the couch, but with the whole apartment. He tried to relax as much as he could but found himself looking and listening for something unknown.

   Maybe it was just the argument. He remembered their words at the beach. I knew he was throwing that crap up to avoid the subject, like when he left The Pits that last time. Next time, I'm not going to lose sight of the questions.

   He shifted uncomfortably, trying to roll on his side without falling off of the narrow cushions.

   Something touched him.

   The thin finger of a cold breeze found the nape of his neck, barely brushing at curls and skin. He froze, his skin crawling with the touch. The oily coolness flowing down his neck felt obscene in a room warm and cozy only a seconds ago. It floated past his head, touching a bit of ear, brushing at a cheek, and he could smell the stink of death as it floated by.

   Heart racing, adrenaline surging, he was almost overwhelmed by the urge to flee. He barely resisted the need to brush the dirty breath off of him, gasping at the fetid stink. He stayed as still as he could, wondering if he was shaking as badly as he thought.

   If I stay still, it will go away, he thought shakily. Don't move! Let it leave on its own, then it will leave you alone.

   He could feel his sweat freezing on him as he fought his terror. Somehow he knew it didn't see him, didn't know him, it...

   Hutch! Damn!

~~~~~~~~

   It was dark and seductive. He was drifting with no control, allowed only a few clear glimpses of a room he struggled to focus on. It took him a few moments to remember that he really didn't exist in this place.

   It was a large room: bar, couches, a dancing area spread out at a respectable distance which could hold dozens of people. The expensive decoration and furniture spoke of money. It looked comfortable, intimate and dark. There were people here, but no one seemed to notice him.

   Not a large crowd. Strange though. They have no faces.

   He could not focus on their features, as if a large, wet brush had erased individual details. The faceless crowd talked, laughed and seemed to enjoy themselves, but Hutch felt the words flow by him, not catching their meaning.

   A mannequin party. But something is wrong with this place...

   {{What is it you seek here, Detective?}} The first words he could understand wrapped around him and he welcomed them, even though he could not find their source.

   Answers!

   {{Questions are cheap. Answers are expensive.}}

   He saw her then, the person he had unknowingly been looking for. He was jolted at how out of place she was here. She was young, too young, and with a feeling of dread he realized she was a solitary female in a room full of adult males. And somehow, she seemed to be the center of all their attention.

   {{Pretty little one. So lovely, isn't she?}}

   Hutch found himself wanting to flinch at the sight of her. She was young, only fourteen by her looks. Her strawberry blond hair hung down to her waist, the color glowing against the blue of a too-revealing halter and low-slung slacks. A seductive child in adult dress. He seemed to drift toward her and could clearly see the blue-gray eyes and the sprinkling of freckles the makeup could not hide. Neither could she hide the fearfully darting eyes, the uncomfortable withdrawal from a male arm, nor her forced laughter at something said.

   She shouldn't be here, it isn't safe. She's scared.

   {{She should be.}} The voice sounded sad, hopeless.

   Hutch longed to reach out, to protect her from a room full of fear and adult dangers.

   {{She has been chosen.}}

   NO!

   He struggled then, in the grip of the nothingness in which he was held. He wanted, needed, to grab the girl and take her someplace safe, take her back home, stop what he knew would happen to her. But there was no fighting. He had no control.

   Please! There has to be a way! Some way!

   He watched in horrified fascination as one of the faceless men came up and grabbed her elbow, ignoring her half-hearted protest. He wanted to yell at the man, demand that he let her go. He felt his whole being shiver as she searched the uncaring group for help, meeting his non-existent eyes for a bare second. She was being dragged to a corner of the room, and as if a word had been passed, a crowd started to form slowly around her slight body.

   {{What can you do?}} the voice asked sincerely. {{What are you willing to do?}}

   Anything! Anything!

   {{What is the price a man would pay for another's life?}} The voice was cold, yet seductive, surrounding him and holding him close.

   Help me stop it!

   {{Answers are expensive. Will you pay the price?}}

   Yes, I'll pay! I'll pay it! Just stop this!!

   Blistering heat hit him like an erupting volcano, enfolding and scalding him in its grip. Torn between two enormous powers, one hot lava and the other painfully cold, he lost vision and direction. He tried to fight the strong pull, feeling himself ripped from where he needed to be.

   NO!! I'm not done!

   The coldness hissed angrily as it retreated from the warmth that now enveloped him. {{She'll die without the price being paid!}}

   NO!! Please!! Please....

   He could feel the answers just beyond his reach, could feel them as they disappeared with the cold and he was sucked into the burning fire.

   PLEA-!!

~~~~~~~~

   "-SE!!"

   The plea echoed as he fought the heat and power that surrounded him. Control and movement returned in a rush and he struck out at the intruding force.

   "...me! Hutch!" The roar in the air turned into words and meaning.

   He froze as he realized he was being held by two strong hands on his shoulders. It's Starsky! Damn, damn, damn!! He gasped as the rest of the darkened room formed around him, feeling himself shake. "What the hell are you doing!" He shrugged violently, trying to loosen the restraining hands.

   The dim outline that was Starsky moved back slightly, releasing his grip. "It was... you were dreaming." His voice sounded shaky and uncertain. "You okay?"

   "Yes, I'm okay," Hutch answered angrily. "I was just fine until you crept up on me. What do you think you're doing, wandering around in the dark like that?!"

   "You were having a nightmare." Starsky shifted back a little, sounding vague. "I...uh...heard you-"

   "I was fine, Starsky. You must have been the one with a nightmare," Hutch replied coldly.

   "In your bed?" The amusement in Starsky's voice sounded forced. "I was awake enough to come over here, Hutch. Wasn't the other way round."

   "I'm fine," Hutch made his voice sound casual. He was still angry, but it was a cold passion; he was in no mood to argue with the man. "Go back to bed, Starsky." He wished he could see Starsky's face.

   "You sure?"

   "Yes." Damn you. Leave. "Let's get some sleep."

   The dark form moved off of his bed then, and Hutch could feel the shift in weight. "Sleep tight, Hutch," came the muffled reply as Starsky made his way back to the couch.

   "Sure, you too," Hutch replied, keeping his tone light.

   They both shifted and settled in the silence, Hutch wrapping his suddenly cold body up in an extra fold of blanket. He listened as the silence fell, knowing his partner was awake. They both would be for awhile.

   I almost had it! he fumed, jaw tight with strangled anger. I am going to find her. By myself. No more interference. No more messing up. No more of his clinging, where he is neither wanted nor needed. As of tomorrow, I work this case alone.

~~~~~~~~

   Starsky took a sip of the sweetened coffee, rubbing once again at his tired features. Only now that they were in the squad room, each at his own desk, was Starsky beginning to feel as if he were able to relax a little.

   He knew he looked bad, like he was strung out from a night of partying. Hutch looked better, but then his partner had been able to get some sleep. Although Hutch looked and acted close to normal, all of Starsky's warning lights were going off. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to pinpoint just why things felt so wrong.

   He has the nightmare, then I'm the one who's up all night listening and watching for the bogey man. He couldn't shake the memory of the night before.

   He had bolted off of the couch despite his fear. Approaching his sleeping partner, it had seemed to take him an eternity to move closer toward the head of the bed. Starsky had strained to catch the sound of breathing in the still form. He had wanted to withdraw, afraid to find that he was too late to save Hutch. Instead he had drawn closer and placed his hand on a cold, cold forehead.

   We must have scared the life out of each other, Starsky mused, knowing that if he ever could have had a heart attack, it would have been at that moment. He jumped and yelled bloody murder as soon as I touched him, almost knocked me over. No wonder he was upset. Starsky had felt strange then, lying to Hutch like that. But he had been afraid to tell him what he had felt in the room or about his fear that whatever it was had been after his partner. And in the morning I discover that I really am invisible. Hutch had not said an extra word, looked at him, or acted like he was anything but alone. When Starsky had tried to talk, to brush off the night with false morning cheerfulness, Hutch's reply had been short, sweet and cool. They had even driven to work in separate cars.

   He's beyond mad, Starsky decided, having been given the same treatment all morning. It's like he doesn't even care enough to be mad. I've been completely shut out. Yesterday was bad, but this is even worse.

   Even now, when he knew Hutch was aware of his scrutiny, there was no response. No frustration, no pouting, no 'I'm ignoring you but watching to make sure you know it' signs Starsky knew from years of experience. This cold, casual and complete indifference could only mean one thing: Hutch was preparing to deal him out.

   Sorry, buddy. Up the ante as high as you like, but you're going to find me seeing your raises. The stakes are too high to fold on this one.

~~~~~~~~

   Hutch sailed through his paperwork quickly, Starsky's scrutiny not troubling him in the slightest. It was rude, but easily brushed aside. He felt like he was finally getting somewhere for a change. If he had only known before what he knew now, he would have gone solo long ago. It felt exhilarating to be able to make his own decisions, follow his own instincts without having to seek anyone's approval or agreement.

   But I can't act yet, he reminded himself sternly. He still officially needed a partner. But once Dobey saw what he could accomplish on his own, saw the Shredder brought in without unnecessary teamwork, then that would be the right time to sever the ties. Until then, he'd find reasons to work on his own. And if I can remember enough from the dream, he decided, then maybe it wasn't a wasted opportunity. I saw the girl. I saw where she was. There has to be some way to find her, to stop the Shredder before he can kill again.

   There weren't many clubs that private. It had seemed organized, like a group meeting or a membership gathering. There was a business list he could pull up from records, or even the Yellow Pages if he had to. Now, the ultra-private clubs might be harder to find, but there were ways. And since the victim had been the only female he had seen in the dream, looking for a 'men only' club might be a good place to start.

   Checking his watch, he decided now was as good a time as any. "Personal business," he declared for Starsky's benefit. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and turned toward the exit, itching to do some real work for a change. "Be back in an hour, or so."

   "Oh," Starsky said casually, eyes barely flicking in his direction. "Anything important?"

   "Only to me." Hutch didn't look back as he left the squad room. Now it's time to put this killer to rest.

~~~~~~~~

Starsky casually stretched and glanced at the wall clock, giving his partner a couple more minutes' lead. Hutch wasn't the only one who had taken a moment during the morning's workload to attend to personal business. The keys to a nondescript undercover car, almost as beat up as Hutch's own, were even now sitting in his back pocket. This would be relatively easy. Later it would get harder.

~~~~~~~~

   The afternoon had not gone well for Hutch, and he was tempted to honk at the slow car in front of him. He had already taken more time than he should and wanted to get back to the station before Starsky got too curious. They had rounds this afternoon and a meeting with the D.A.

   His trip to the Alcoholic Beverage Control offices had been fruitless. It wasn't often that he and Starsky had had to work with the ABC, and he had just assumed that a list of clubs who had applied for liquor licenses would be readily available. According to the clerk, it was going to take a few days to get to his request. He would have to think of something else. Time was too short.

~~~~~~~~

   Both detectives left the D.A.'s office in a dark mood. The case against Andrew Simmons was still too flimsy to get a conviction, so the D.A. had decided not to charge the man with assault and battery. Hardly surprising when the victim refused to I.D. his attacker.

   Starsky had arrived at the D.A.'s office just minutes after his partner, having to hide the undercover car around the back. He had spent the afternoon tailing Hutch, but had yet to see him doing anything that would seem out of the ordinary for a detective working on a case. He didn't want to leave Hutch alone for the night, worrying that whatever had happened last night would happen again.

   "If we could just get somethin' on the guy," Starsky sighed heavily, trying to make conversation. Even now, on the way to the elevator in City Hall Hutch seemed distant. "All we have to do is catch Simmons in the act, then we've got somethin' to charge him with."

   "And you think that's going to do any good?" Hutch grunted, glancing through the man's file.

   "Sure," Starsky replied, stabbing at the elevator button. He reached over to tap at the file in Hutch's hand. "Look at that rap sheet. Tell me the man won't do some serious time. We get some leverage on him and he'll turn on Martin."

   "No one turns on Martin."

   "Simmons will." Starsky gave Hutch a slight smile. Remember what we can do?

   Hutch gave him a cold look as they entered the nearly-full elevator.

   So much for this case, Starsky thought, at a loss as to how to keep a conversation going. We're off duty in a few minutes. How do I arrange to tag along for the rest of the evening? "So, you wanna come over to my place and order some Chinese?"

   "No." Hutch never even looked at him, just stared politely ahead.

   Starsky put his hands in his pockets, trying to act casual as he worked to think of something. He rocked a bit on his heels and watched as the elevator's floor indicator reached '1'. They stepped forward briskly when the doors opened and then Starsky found himself trying hard to keep up with Hutch.

   "What about Huggy's?" he asked hopefully.

   "Nope."

   "So, then, what are you doin' tonight?" And will you be all right? Starsky added silently.

   "Nothing," came the blunt reply. "I'm gone. See you tomorrow." With barely a glance Hutch headed down the step toward the parking lot and the LTD.

   Starsky stood at the top of the court house's outer steps and watched as his partner slipped into the crowd.

   Now what do I do? Tailing Hutch during the day was one thing, but he couldn't hope to keep up with him all the time. Guess I don't have any choice at this point. I can't let him do this alone.

   With a tired sigh and a grumbling stomach, Starsky headed back to the loaner car, hoping they didn't have a very exciting evening before them.

~~~~~~~~

   The crowd at The Pits that evening was fairly heavy, and Hutch had found Huggy at his customary stance behind the counter, watching his crew and customers interact. He had seated himself at the bar, deciding that the noise and dim lighting would keep any low conversation private enough for his needs.

   Huggy had listened carefully when Hutch told him what he wanted.

   "Sorry, my friend." Huggy shook his head after a long pause, then leaned across the bar toward him, shrugging slightly. "I don't know what you expect me to do here, my man. Vague descriptions of some red-headed girl aren't much help in such a large city, you know?"

   It wasn't what Hutch wanted to hear. "You've got connections. Use them," he snapped. He worried unconsciously at his bracelet, feeling his irritation grow.

   Huggy looked at him sharply, eyes suddenly hooded and hard. "You get me more info, and I'll see what I can do," he replied carefully. "But you've given me nothin', man. Nothin'."

   "I need some help, Huggy," he heard himself hiss as he grabbed Huggy's wrist. "There's got to be something you know that I can use. You owe me!" Hutch slowly tightened his grip, feeling his anger and frustration beating in his heart and his skull.

   He watched as Huggy's face tightened into obvious anger, black eyes turning hard and flinty. "I don't owe you a damn thing, De-tec-tive Hutchinson," he replied tightly. "What I give, I give out of respect, friendship and the need for a little help now and then, in case you've mis-under-stood how it works."

   What the...?! Sudden shock at his actions hit Hutch like a blow to the chin. Releasing his grip, he backed off quickly, cheeks heating with embarrassment. "I'm...I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do that." He rubbed his face, eyes suddenly tired and burning in the thick atmosphere. Shrugging, he gave the bartender a apologetic smile. "But I need to find her. Now! Before-"

   "Before what, Hutch?" a low, familiar voice asked from close behind him.

   He didn't have to turn to know who had sidled up behind him. His anger flared again. "None of your business," he replied curtly, declining to turn around. He smiled at Huggy. "Could I get a beer while I'm here, Hug? Please?"

   "I'm buyin', Hug. Set us both up."

   "No. Thanks." Hutch objected sharply. Butting in again! He could feel the resentment building. "I can pay my own way."

   Hutch heard the low crinkle of leather and assumed Starsky must have shrugged.

   Huggy's gaze softened a little as he glanced from Hutch to the man behind him. "Sure. Two beers comin' up."

   Watching Huggy move away to fill the orders, Hutch tried to ignore the fact that Starsky was making himself comfortable on the bar stool to his right. Public place, can't let him drive me off. He was not going to let Starsky intimidate him.

   "What's up?"

   Hutch knew the question was far less casual than it sounded. "Told you," he replied carefully. "It's none of your business. Or don't you know what 'off duty' means?"

   "I know," Starsky drawled, turning halfway on his stool to face him, "that there isn't such a thing when you get that blond head set on somethin'. You forget, I know where your attention has been for the last few months. I've been there too."

   Hutch cut off his retort as Huggy came up with their order.

   "He give you enough to scrounge around with, Hug?" Starsky asked as his beer was placed in front of him.

   "I said-" Hutch began angrily.

   "Not near enough," Huggy grumbled, rolling his eyes.

   "This was a private matter," Hutch hissed at Huggy, who only shrugged in reply and turned to walk the few paces he needed to leave them some semblance of privacy.

   "If it's about the Shredder case, you know damn well it isn't a 'private' matter, partner." Taking a sip of his beer, Starsky shrugged casually. "I know you must've seen somethin' again. Got one of those visions like before, didn't you?"

   Cold fury filled Hutch at the question, and he felt himself stiffen with the effort not to respond physically. He wanted to explode, to strike out at the invasion of his privacy, every muscle prepared for action, hands in ready fists. Not trusting his voice, not willing to make a scene in front of Huggy, he rose swiftly to leave.

   Before he had moved far, Starsky's hand reached out and grabbed him solidly by the wrist.

   And he was rocked by the blow.

~~~~~~~~

The room twisted, slowly and sickeningly in all directions at once. Hutch felt disconnected somehow, as if the strangeness of the room and the world at large was not important. He did not know, nor care, how long it took him to notice that he was not alone.

   There was anger here. Thick, cold, rage surrounded and wove through him in ribbons of glaring light. Where it touched him he could feel the burning emptiness, feeling no fear as it tried to anchor itself within him. This he recognized.

   There was also great warmth. Volcanic, flowing, growing warmth was with him, next to him, familiar in its presence. This he also recognized.

   But where the cold tried to enter, the heat had already been welcomed, and even as he saw all this dispassionately, he knew that both could not exist in the same space.

   And so did they.

   They moved. He fell with them; dragged under.

~~~~~~~~

   Starsky's move had been instinctive, meant only to keep Hutch from leaving. He had expected skin, wrist and cloth but had ended up with a handful of cold and disgusting foulness.

   The first second's shock should have forced him away, driven him back with the flowing, unseen filth that tightened his insides. But this was Hutch he held; there was no way he could back off. Without thinking he gripped harder, finding the cold biting back at the affront, trying to wrench him away from the man beside him.

   Time and sound slowed as Starsky fought the unseen, chilly waves of decay that threatened to crawl into him. He could not fight this very long, knew without a doubt that he didn't have the strength. He moved eyes that seemed to take forever to find Hutch's face. Not alone! Hutch?

   But Hutch was not there, not present in the empty blue eyes that seemed unfocused in the blank face.

   NO! YOU CAN'T-

   Between one thought and another, he felt power flow through him as if he had tapped an unknown reserve from within.

   -HAVE HIM!!

   He shoved without moving, pushed what he couldn't bear to touch, reached in and grabbed what was familiar...

~~~~~~~~

   ...and found the world running at normal speed once again.

   Feeling as if he had been body-slammed into an invisible wall, Starsky wobbled and gasped. His lungs burned with his first intake of air, as if he had been holding his breath for ages, and his left palm felt singed and blistered.

   Moving quickly, tightening the painful grip on Hutch's wrist, he dragged him though the milling crowd, then into and through the small kitchen. Reaching The Pits' storage room, he wrenched it open even as he heard Huggy's voice attempting to soothe the startled kitchen help. Door slamming behind them, Starsky checked the small space. Two weak bulbs illuminated a room full of shelves and restaurant supplies, all surprisingly neat and tidy. Starsky knew they would have as much privacy here as they needed. Huggy would see to it.

   "It happened again!" Starsky's eyes sought those of his unresponsive partner and he jerked the man savagely despite the pain in his hand. "Look at me, damn it!"

   Hutch looked drained, his pale blue eyes the only color in his face. He seemed mesmerized by the grip Starsky had on his arm.

   "Hutch!"

   Slowly, Hutch looked up and seemed to try to focus on him. Starsky watched closely, wondering if Hutch could be in shock.

   "What was it?" Starsky asked harshly. "Tell me."

   A moment passed, then Hutch looked away, head shaking slowly.

   "Tell me?" This time it was a whispered plea.

   "I don't know," came the trembling reply. Hutch's face seemed to regain color as he repeated the words, turning the answer into an angry mantra. "I don't know. "I don't know! I don't know!"

   Starsky nodded once, reaching out with his free hand to grip a shoulder and squeeze it firmly. "So, we'll find out."

   Until that moment Starsky had ignored the pain in his other hand. Glancing down, he saw knuckles and joints white with the force of his grip. Feeling as if all of his fingers were locked in place, he gave his partner's shoulder one last squeeze and started to pry the throbbing hand off of Hutch's wrist.

   Then they both took a step back. Starsky shook his hand to try to restore some circulation and winced at the increased pain. He examined the palm, and was surprised that there were no visible wounds. What did I expect? he wondered. The Brand of Evil?

   "Let me see it," Hutch asked quietly. Starsky held it out to him and Hutch inspected it. He bent fingers at joints, glancing up as Starsky hissed at the movement. "It's stiff, but I don't see anything else." Concerned eyes looked up at him. "Why the pain?"

   Reclaiming his hand and wiggling the fingers, Starsky found the pain fading quickly. "You tell me, Hutch. What happened here?"

   Hutch turned to pace toward a shelf and back, a useless exercise in such a small area. Looking confused, almost fearful, he rubbed at his wrist and turned back to pace again.

   "I can't quite remember," he finally admitted. "It's all fuzzy and blurred. I was looking for information from Huggy, then you arrived. Then it was like things exploded and I couldn't take it all in. I can't remember the details this time." There was a moment's uncertain pause. He stopped his pacing, half turned toward Starsky. "Do you think I'm...mentally ill?" Ocean blue eyes looked up to him, asking for the truth, waiting quietly for the answer.

   "No," Starsky answered in surprise. In fact, he couldn't remember it even crossing his mind. He smiled a bit then. "But then I wouldn't swear to it, either. I know what I felt, Hutch. I felt the same....evilness that I've come across before. So if you're nuts, you're takin' me with you."

   Hutch resumed his pacing, taking a minute before finally sighing, "Maybe we are crazy."

   "Tell me what you do remember. From that night. What were you looking for?"

   Hutch sighed, stopping to lean with both hands against a wall, head down, looking worn. "Everything was crazy," he admitted. "Nothing stood still. I remember someone else there. They...they...." He stopped and sighed then. His voice dropped almost to a wistful whisper. "I saw her, Starsk. I saw the next victim."

   Starsky found himself swallowing hard. "You mean, like the last one?"

   "No." Hutch's eyes met his hopefully. "This one is still alive."

   Eyes widening at the news, Starsky found himself hoping. "You mean you... you think we can find her?"

   "I've already tried. But it's not enough. I didn't see enough to go on! I don't know how to find her on my own and they didn't tell me anything I could use!"

   "They? Who's they?"

   "Just a voice, Starsky," Hutch replied tiredly. "Just a voice."

   "And what," Starsky began, feeling the tingle of fear flow up his spine, "did the voice want in return?"

   "I didn't get that far." Hutch went back to pacing. "I was interrupted." His glance toward Starsky let him know who had done the interrupting. "But I saw her, Starsk. I know what she looks like, I saw where she was. The names, the place, the information, they were almost there."

   Starsky didn't know what to say to that. He really didn't need to ask what the price for those names would have been. What else could they have asked of Hutch? What parts of himself wouldn't he sell to save a life? They would want what evil always wanted, of course.

   "We'll find her," Starsky reassured him, reaching out to grip Hutch's arm in support. "I want you to tell me everything that you remember from that night. Everything. Then we'll go over what happened out there in the bar. And we'll go over it again and again until we find something we can go on." He gave his partner an affectionate shake. "And we'll save her from that son of a bitch."

~~~~~~~~

   Randolph Thomas rubbed at his face tiredly. Seated at his desk in a back room of the antique store, he felt as if he had run a marathon. It shouldn't have been this hard. Not when he was this far along on what was meant to have been such an easy assignment. He was due to report his progress, or lack of it to his Master, and he wondered what was going to happen to him this time.

   Jeff Trent was in the front of the store even now, waiting upon some well-off customers. Why his master chose to insinuate himself in his business, out of all the others Trent was in control of, Thomas had never dared to contemplate. It was never a good sign to find oneself watched so closely. Add to that the fact that bad news, delivered at the wrong time, had cost Thomas more than one contemporary over the many, long years.

   Thomas hoped Trent was in a really good mood now, or this was not going to go over well.

~~~~~~~~

   The alleyway behind Huggy's was fairly clean, as alleyways went. It was swept often, hosed down occasionally, and loitering was strongly discouraged, which made the back of the establishment almost as welcoming as the front. The bar owner was obviously not blind to the number of customers who seemed to prefer the more 'private' entrance. But tonight, there didn't seem to be much traffic in and out.

   Lijah had drawn himself up into a ball, knees to chest, against a back wall, out of the way. He pulled the newest layer of clothing closer up under his neck, enjoying for a second its clean newness. But it was, at best, a transitory pleasure, for he had many troubling things on his mind.

   "It was worth the risk," Lijah mumbled to the nearby shadow, eyes on The Pits' back door. "He was strong enough in his own right, just unfocused. There was a good chance he would have broken the hold by himself."

   {{You think he could have done it without your help?}} Charles sounded uncertain, even a bit worried. {{I don't know if he could have or not, Lijah. But don't you think that your interference will be noticed? Don't you realize how dangerous this is?}}

   "Course I do," Lijah snorted, pulling the sweater up closer. "I only had to push a little. It was just enough to help. He has the potential. They'll think it was him."

   {{And next time? When a little 'help' won't be enough?}} The form that was Charles shimmered and moved within its confined, shadowy space. {{Wait. They're coming. Behave yourself, my friend.}}

   Only a few seconds later the two detectives appeared through the door, both looking grim and weary. They said nothing to each other as the Torino was unlocked and driven away.

   Carefully, Lijah focused his mind and reached out toward the moving car. With a light and cautious touch, he entered the space occupied by one Kenneth Hutchinson. Loath to disturb the raw wounds, he looked for the wisps and traces that the other force might have left behind. There were too many depending on him, too much going on in other quarters to get caught with his fingers in this pie.

   A few minutes after the departure of the familiar Torino, the elderly man smiled. He had found what he needed, and soon so would Hutch.

~~~~~~~~

   Starsky gripped the steering wheel tightly, then consciously relaxed the muscles in his arms and shoulders. He was tired, they both were, but it was better to be doing something than to sit and let the frustration grow. After what had happened, they both needed time to think about their next steps. The only thing he knew for certain right now was that Hutch was coming home with him.

   He still felt the horror of Hutch's nightmare. To see the girl, see where she was and to know that something horrible was going to happen to her would have driven him crazy too. No wonder Hutch had been uptight. Unfortunately, knowing something must be done and figuring out what to do was two different things. And like Huggy had said, there wasn't much to go on. The city was just too big.

   There has to be some way to find that girl. Starsky glanced over at his partner who was stretched out into the corner of the passenger seat, head back and eyes closed. He didn't look well. Maybe some food and rest will help him remember something he's forgotten. If we can't find the girl, maybe we can track down that bar.

   He knew that Hutch had started the wheels rolling on that subject, but when they got the list they would still need the time to go through all the places to find the one they were looking for. That would take more time than they might have. It would be better if they could find the girl first, but since there was apparently no connection between the victims, he didn't have a clue where to start looking.

   Hutch sighed and as he went to rub at his forehead, the flash of silver drew Starsky's eye. He had forgotten about the bracelet. It wasn't a bad piece of jewelry, if you liked that sort of thing. Now, for some reason, Starsky's mind seemed to find its presence important and unsettling.

   Why does seeing that thing bother me? Starsky remembered the antique store and how fascinated Hutch seemed with it. Wasn't that just before the first time I felt sick in the locker room? He felt the hairs on his nape stand on end. Could that be what started all this? Is that where he's getting all these 'visions'?

   He had opened his mouth to ask when Hutch suddenly sat bolt upright, a surprised look on his face.

   "I saw it!" Hutch exclaimed excitedly. "Starsk, I saw it!"

   Keeping his eye on the traffic, Starsky was careful to keep his voice casual. "What did you see?"

   Hutch was looked excited now, hope lighting up his face. "It was during that last 'vision' in the bar, just now. I... there were some images. But they were in the background, and I didn't really get to 'see' them."

   Hutch paused for a moment, eyes closed as he tried to remember. "It was about the girl, something they were going to use to twist the knife in my gut. I..." His voice faltering slightly then, and he gulped nervously. "I saw her grave."

   Starsky didn't reply, waiting for Hutch to put all the pieces together.

   "I recognized the cemetery." Hutch looked at him strangely, as if surprised about the fact.

   "A cemetery?" Starsky shook his head in confusion. "How can you? There's a lot of them around here."

   "Remember Alex and Mateo ?"

   "Sure." Starsky remembered them well. He and Hutch had known the Robbery Detectives for several years, and the four of them had gotten along well. Starsky had felt he and Hutch had a lot in common with the other pair, and there had been a lot teasing and ragging between the two teams. But all it had taken was one bank robbery bust blowing up in their faces to end it all. One cop's funeral was hard to forget, a double ceremony even worse. "You mean she was...I mean is going to be buried there?"

   "I recognized it. The trees, the skyline, and remember how its layout was unusual, with those cliffs on one side and the ocean down below? Remember the water tower in the distance?"

   Starsky remembered the scene vividly. It had been a gorgeous day, even for the funerals. He and Hutch had paid their condolences after the lowering of the caskets and the last prayers. There had been that cool marble bench under a tree they had shared. Neither of them had spoken until they had gotten their fill of the beautiful view. Starsky had thought that the only thing that had spoiled the panorama of wooded hills, time etched cliff and blue-green ocean had been that old water tower off to the side. He remembered turning to Hutch and saying, 'I could do worse than this' and Hutch's agreeing nod. They had both gone down to the office to inquire within.

   "But if it was her funeral, she wouldn't have had a tombstone yet. How would that help us to find out who she is?"

   "She was buried with family." Hutch looked confident now. "You get me there and I can show you where she's going to be."

   Checking his watch, Starsky winced at the time. "There'll be nobody there. Let's get to my place and see if we can get someone on the phone to let us in."

   Starsky drove to his apartment and they set out making phone calls. Cliff Haven Undenominational Cemetery was closed for the night. With no 'emergency' phone number to call, no other contact information and no light left to work with, there was little choice other than to wait until the morning.

   They made do with pot luck from the refrigerator, then they settled on the late news on the television. Both sat silently at the table, listening to the news and picking at their food.

   Moving the food on his plate around aimlessly, Starsky was surprised that he hadn't noticed before how many times Hutch rubbed at his right wrist or flexed that hand. Even now he was watching TV from his place at the table, rubbing at the jewelry.

   Thinking back to that scene in the bar, Starsky remembered how his own hand had hurt when he had grabbed Hutch's wrist. He had had no intent of touching the silver piece, and it seemed to him that whatever had gone on at that moment could have been because of the metal between them. It was time to get a better look at it. "You're stayin' the night, right?"

   Hutch shrugged without concern. With his hair mussed, shadows under his eyes and the deep lines of fatigue in his forehead, he seemed to have aged years during the day. "I guess."

   "Good." Starsky nodded. "I can call in early and say we're sick, then we can get to the cemetery office long before eight." Casually, he pointed to Hutch's wrist with a bread stick. "I haven't gotten a good look at that yet."

   "What?"

   "The bracelet. I didn't get a good look at it in the store."

   Hutch's face suddenly became guarded. He seemed to concentrate on his plate and his picked-over dinner. "Nothing to see."

   Starsky could feel the tension growing between them. I'm right. That has to be it. He doesn't like my interest in it. "Oh, come on. I saw the way you fell in love with it in the store." He flashed his partner a friendly smile and held out his hand. "What? Afraid I'm gonna steal it?"

   With exaggerated care Hutch pulled back his sleeve and removed the silver band. His eyes were hard and watchful as he silently placed it on Starsky's open palm.

   Starsky froze, fighting the urge to drop the object at first touch. During the first fraction of a second he could have sworn he had been handed a living, moving piece of filth. Steeling his face, he drew in a slow breath, finding the crawling sensation was dissipating as the seconds passed.

   So this is where it's coming from. There isn't any mistaking that. He felt a sense of relief that there was something tangible to focus on. So what to do with it now? How much of a hold does it have on Hutch, and how do I get rid of it?

   As he turned the bracelet end over end, he watched his partner out of the corner of his eye. He was disappointed to see how possessive Hutch looked. He was tense, as if ready to pounce on the object at any second.

   He's obviously not going to let me walk away with it. Starsky was afraid to broach the subject, fearful that his partner wouldn't be willing to listen to 'fanciful tales' and 'baseless superstitions' at the moment.

   "You know, you might actually want to take this in to get it appraised." Starsky kept his voice casual. As soon as he had started to speak, Hutch reached out and took the silver from his grasp. Starsky made no move to stop him. "You could have something really valuable here."

   "No, thanks," Hutch replied firmly. "I'm not interested in reselling it. It's fine where it is." After the bracelet was returned to his wrist, he sighed like a deflating balloon and leaned heavily on the table. Both hands rubbed at his face. "Look, it's late. I'm going to sack out. Do me a favor and keep the TV to yourself tonight, okay?"

   "Wasn't thinkin' of watchin'." Starsky got up and started picking up dishes off of the table. "You go ahead and crash. I'll do this."

   Hutch didn't argue the point, but headed to the bathroom. By the time Starsky got the kitchen settled and the apartment locked up, he was making up the couch. After they had exchanged brief 'good-nights', Starsky took over the bathroom for himself. He noticed that although Hutch had placed his watch, pocket contents, necklace and rings on the coffee table as usual, he was still wearing the silver on his wrist.

   Staring into the mirror as he was brushing his teeth, Starsky noted the beginning of dark circles under his eyes and accepted the fact that they would only get worse. Hutch was tired and as long as he felt safe he would probably slip off fairly quickly. When Hutch was deeply asleep he would move the wicker chair closer to the couch to stand guard for the night.

   Until he figured out how to get that bracelet away from his partner, preferably without a brawl, he was not going to leave Hutch alone and vulnerable. But if would take a brawl to separate the man from the evil on his arm, then a brawl there would be.

   When the time was right.

PART FOUR