Minnie K

   Randolph Thomas sat in his darkened apartment, wincing from wounds that would never show. His eyes followed the small glow of the cigarette as he brought it to his lips, enjoying the dark and the quiet. He had been very lucky this time. Punishment had been swift and dreadful, but not meant to cripple or destroy.

   While he could hide in here to recover, he could not afford to waste time. Closing his eyes, he focused attention on the project in question and gently tested the atmosphere. The talisman was still in place, still able to help him direct and center his concentration. Soon, he hoped, it would no longer be needed; he would be able to find Hutchinson at his leisure. Carefully, he branched out and touched the man.

   Then groaned aloud when sensing the partner nearby.

   Time to get Starsky out of the picture, Ralph decided. They're a stronger unit than I thought.

   Those who could someday be recruited against them were to be destroyed before they could become a problem. Usually it was child's play to break up a team. A bit of resentment here, an exaggerated annoyance there. Even a fight over a lover would do. Once divided, they rarely recovered enough to be of much interest to either side.

   If Hutchinson can't get rid of his partner long enough to get this done, then I'll have to find some way to do it for him. Or, even better yet...

   He brought the cigarette up for another long drag and watched the explosion of sparks as he flicked the ashes into the night. It was going to be a long time until dawn, he might as well put his mind to the problem.

~~~~~~~~

   Hutch would have been sitting on the edge of his seat, if it had been humanly possible. Unfortunately, the passenger side of the Torino didn't allow him the room. He was nervous and jittery, feeling as if everything rode on the outcome of the next few minutes. He and Starsky had been waiting at the iron gate of the cemetery since early in the morning. They had made one circuit of the cemetery already, and Hutch had been unable to pinpoint a location. Now, with Starsky driving even slower so that he could get a better look, they were coming to the end of the second circuit. He was afraid he had brought them both here for nothing.

   Just then something seemed familiar. "Stop! Stop!" He grabbed at Starsky's arm excitedly and pointed down one row. "It's got to be down there."

   Barely waiting for the Torino to stop, he was out the door and walking quickly down the long row. He held his breath until he came to the place he had seen, then exhaled with great relief.

   It was unmistakable. Two headstones, with intertwining roses carved down both sides, told of a thirtyish couple who had died together some five years ago. A plain, green span just large enough for one plot lay between that pair and a third, almost identical, headstone. All three bore the family name of Collins.

   This is the place! And it's still untouched! Hutch found himself kneeling in the empty space, touching the pristine grass, making sure that it was solid and well rooted. He found his hands shaking slightly, relief flowing like a cure through his veins. She's not here. Not yet. And I know who she is!

   It took a warm hand on his shoulder to remind him that there was more to do. Nothing was certain, even now.

   The caretaker's records showed that the plot had been bought by a Edward and Hazel Collins, Edward having been buried with his son and daughter-in-law. Hazel was still listed as among the living. After a few, endless moments to dig through his card file, the elderly man was able to find an address.

   They made good time despite the morning traffic. Located on the poorer side of the city, the houses that lined these streets were box-shaped and tiny. The only things that seemed to proliferate here were rusty, useless cars, garbage and graffiti.

   "There! Let's go." Hutch didn't need to see the non-existent numbers to know which house it would be. "Let me out here, I'll get there while you're parking."

   "Not a good idea, partner. We'll do better if we go in slow."

   "I'm not going to screw this up," Hutch replied hotly. "I think I know what I'm doing." He glared at Starsky, but was only further annoyed when the Torino kept moving.

   "Didn't say you didn't," came the calm reply. Starsky pulled past the building and carefully aligned the car to back into an open spot. "But you're pretty anxious, Hutch. I can understand it, but they won't." He nodded toward the house in question. "And we need to talk."

   "There's no time," Hutch snapped, hand reaching for the door handle.

   Starsky gave his arm a squeeze, and Hutch stopped. Dark blue eyes looked at him calmly, clearly not willing to just go in and wing it.

   "What're we goin' to do when we find her? What're we going to say? 'Hey, kid, glad we found you before you got ripped up'?" Starsky snorted. "Think about it, Hutch! If she is the one, she could be the only way to discover the link to all those other dead girls. But if we go barging in and scarin' her like she's in trouble, she could clam up on us."

   He's right, Hutch decided reluctantly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to slow himself down. "Okay. You do it, then. Let's just go." He got out of the car and with hands in pockets, biting his lip, he followed Starsky to the front of the house. He couldn't help but rock on his heels as they waited eternal seconds following Starsky's knock. When the door creaked open a fraction of an inch it was all he could do not to push his way inside.

   "Yes?" The woman who appeared was in her late eighties and frail looking. She seemed a bit leery of the two men at her door.

   "Hello, Mrs. Hazel Collins?" Starsky asked kindly, reaching for his badge. He opened it to show the woman.

   "Yes, I'm Hazel Collins."

   "Pleased to meet you, ma'am. We're detectives Starsky and Hutchinson and we'd like to ask you a few questions." He handed the badge to her.

   "What's happened? Is it Stacy? Is she all right?" The elderly woman's eyes were wide with fear.

   Stacy! Hutch grabbed on to the name.

   "As far as we know, she's probably fine, ma'am," Starsky soothed. "We'd just like to talk to her for a moment. Does she live here?"

   "Yes, she's lived here ever since she was little, right after her parents died. But... but she's not here now. She went to her friend's house for the day." Mrs. Collins opened the door wider to let them in. "Please come in. But why would you want to talk with her? She hasn't done anything wrong, has she?"

   "No! Not that we know of," Starsky assured her. "We're just looking into a few things and Stacy may have seen something that could help us on a case. We're not even sure she's the girl we're lookin' for."

   "We should be able to tell by a picture, if you happen to have one handy," Hutch broke in, unable to restrain himself. Let it be her! Please let us find her soon!

   Hutch held himself still as the lady went to one bookshelf and pulled out a thick album. As she carefully turned page after page, saying something about finding a recent photo, he didn't realize how tense he was until Starsky's friendly pat on the back reminded him to breathe.

   Mrs. Collins finally found a picture and handed the album to Hutch. "There she is."

   Hutch felt faint with relief. "Yes. That's her."

   Strawberry-blond hair, blue-gray eyes and freckles he knew to their exact placement. Knees wobbly, he sat heavily on the worn couch, knowing Starsky would cover for his reaction. Even as he studied the child-woman's face he could hear his partner's soothing voice doing the job he himself should have been doing, gathering more information.

   She's still alive. I'm in time. The first flood of relief faded as fear filtered back in. Am I? She's not here. Maybe I am too late.

   "Would you be able to tell us where she is, ma'am?" Starsky asked.

   "Yes, but I can call her if you want."

   "That would be fine, if you don't mind."

   "The phone is in the kitchen, I'll just be a moment."

   As she disappeared into the other room, Starsky came over to look at the album in Hutch's lap. "Guess I don't have to ask you if you're sure."

   "It's her." Hutch turned the picture so his partner could see her better. "She's not much older than this now. Can't be more than fourteen at the most."

   They were quiet as Mrs. Collins returned to the room, hand to her face, looking upset. "Oh, my, I'm sorry. I called Stacy's friend, and the mother said she hasn't been there all day. I was sure she said she was going there. I must have misunderstood."

   Hutch felt the chills crawling up his spine and was startled as the book was pulled out of his hand. He watched numbly as Starsky held the album out to Mrs. Collins.

   "If you don't mind, ma'am, could we borrow this picture for a while? And if you can give us the name and address of her friend we can go out there and straighten this out for you."

   "Oh, yes. Please." The woman looked fearful as she removed the photo and handed to Starsky. "I don't understand why she isn't where she said she would be. Please call me if anything is wrong."

   Hutch watched as his partner used the most charming smile in his repertoire. "We sure will, ma'am, but I'm sure she's fine. We'll have her call you as soon as she can."

   As she wrote down the address, Hutch found himself shaking. We're too late. He's gotten to her. I've failed.

   He was startled when Starsky slapped his shoulder. "Come on, partner, no rest for the wicked."

   Getting up numbly from the couch, Hutch tried to put on a courteous smile for Mrs. Collins as they departed.

   "Where?!" he demanded as they were once more settled in the Torino.

   "It's a place about a mile or so closer to the high school," Starsky replied calmly. He glanced over at Hutch and frowned. "We're gettin closer, partner. Don't let it get to you now."

   "But damnit, Starsky! What if we're already too late?"

   "This ain't the time for 'what if's, Hutch. You just let me know when we get to McCaw street and then we'll find that friend's house. We'll take this one step at a time."

~~~~~~~~

   Stacy was not at her friend's. She had been expected for the evening, that had been true, but the girls had never had plans for the day.

   Hutch watched Stacy's friend, Amy, answer their questions and found his frustration growing by the minute. Like other fifteen-year olds, she tried to cloak herself with an air of maturity beyond her years. With her parents nearby, the girl answered their questions with overflowing surprise and unconvincing innocence. Stacy? Lie? Whatever for?

   Hutch had an overwhelming urge to grab the teenager by the shoulders and shake the truth out of her. When Starsky placed a calming hand on his arm he realized he was wearing his emotions on his sleeve so he took to the sidewalk outside and strode away from the house, needing to move.

   Just like a damned rookie! he thought in disgust, feeling his strides becoming longer and longer as he fought to burn up his frustration. He forced himself to stop after half a block and pace back to the Torino.

   No self discipline. Too impatient. Too emotionally involved, he savagely ticked off the list of his faults. Everything that we're taught not to do the first week at the academy. He was angry and embarrassed at his own reactions, knowing that he was slowly losing whatever control he had. What the hell is wrong with me?

   Is this what it's like to have a nervous breakdown? When did I start losing it? And what are these visions I've been having? Hutch felt queasy even thinking about them. No time for this. No time, to worry about it, a strangely detached part of him insisted. What if this was all for nothing? What if Stacy is already gone? What if she needs you now? Why didn't you-

   "Hutch!"

   Starsky was jogging out of the house toward the Torino and Hutch wasted no time in taking up the passenger seat. "Where is she? Is she okay?" he demanded.

   Starsky looked grim as he started the car and put it in gear. "You know a place downtown called 'Manhattan Modeling'?"

   "No. Is she there?"

   "Supposed to be." Starsky gave Hutch a quick glance. "I got the directions, and we'll be there in about ten minutes." He pulled out sharply enough to make Hutch grab for the dash. "Stacy's gone in for some modeling. No one is supposed to know about it, but she's been using Amy as a cover."

   "Modeling? What kind of modeling?"

   "Well, Amy sure as hell wouldn't admit to it," Starsky answered a bit distractedly, weaving his way through traffic. "But I'll bet you a hundred bucks that the reason grandma doesn't know about this job is because it ain't about modeling frilly dresses."

   "It never ends, does it," Hutch said with disgust. "We've seen it too many damn times already."

   "Hopefully she hasn't gotten any deeper than some revealing undies with dirty old men for photographers. But whatever she's doin' I think it's about time someone got her out of it."

   They were quiet for the few remaining minutes of the trip. It didn't take them long to find the building they were looking for. It was a large, two-story brick building that had seen better days. It looked like a remodeled warehouse, with few windows at the sides and large picture windows at the front. There were several young ladies waiting in front for a bus and the parking lot looked fairly full. Starsky pulled past the building and parked down the street, giving Hutch a chance to scan the faces of those waiting out front. No Stacy.

   They obviously have enough customers for their modeling classes to keep in business, Hutch thought as they made their way down the sidewalk. I guess it could be legit. Maybe she was just afraid that Grandma wouldn't want her in front of a camera even for some real work. Another quick scan of the crowd, a negative shake of the head to his partner and both men turned toward the front door.

   The front entrance of 'Manhattan Models' told Hutch just how 'reputable' a business it really was. It was filled with cheap, second-hand furniture, and brochures were plastered over the walls with no effort to clean up the rag-tag bits of paper left over from older postings. It was crowded with women and girls of various ages, some probably there for job interviews, some for classes.

   She's got to be here! He felt almost frantic now, not seeing Stacy anywhere. We're so close! So close!

   One busy receptionist gave them a strange look as they followed two women through a door into what a was labeled as the classroom area, but no one made any move to stop them.

   Finding themselves in a door-lined hallway, they moved to the nearest one and peeked in through the door windows. The large, gym-size room was full of what looked to be students practicing different runway walks.

   "So far," Starsky whispered, "everything looks legit. See her yet?"

   "You'll know when I do."

   Hutch pushed away from the door and turned to the doors behind them. Taking the first one, he opened it and checked inside, oblivious to the stares and questions from those he interrupted. Backing out quickly, he moved to the next door in line and found another class in session. He moved swiftly, checking each room on his side of the hallway, taking only enough time to make sure Stacy wasn't inside before moving on to the next.

   At the end of the hall they found a back door to the parking lot and a set of stairs behind another door marked 'private'. They took no time at all to get to the top, finding a second hallway and another set of doors.

   Taking the right side, Hutch opened one door after another, ignoring the startled shouts, shrieks and angry words his progress caused. He soon found that the 'modeling' on this floor was of a more adult nature. All of the ladies he had seen posing in the rooms were scantily dressed, but looked old enough to consent to what they were doing.

   And from what commotion he could hear from the other side of the hallway, Starsky was finding the same thing he was.

   Feeling his heart beating furiously as he sped up his pace, he knew it wouldn't be long until building security tried to stop them. If they had to bluff or fight their way past security or bodyguards, he was afraid they'd lose precious time.

   Damn! Only three more!

   Hutch threw open the next door and was ready to move on, seeing that the room was empty of all but lighting stands, background canvasses and props.

   He gasped in sudden pain. My hand! It felt as if the door knob in his hand had frozen to his skin. It lasted only an instant, gone as soon as he pulled suddenly stiff fingers from their grip. What the-?

   Softly the sound moved past him, freezing him in place as it captured his attention.

   Straining, he heard it again, the choked, muffled cry that came from a hidden place. Shutting the door carefully behind him, he moved toward the faint noise. As he drew closer he realized she was somewhere under the disorderly pile of background canvases.

   Squatting at the corner of the pile, he carefully lifted an edge. Underneath, curled miserably upon herself, he saw a scared, make-up smeared little girl with grey-blue eyes, strawberry-blond hair and a face he would remember forever.

   "Stacy?" he asked softly. He stayed still, not wanting to frighten her.

   "I...I'm sorry," the watery voice answered fearfully. "I just...just wanted some privacy."

   "I know." He gave her a small smile. She appeared nearly nude, with knees drawn up, arms hugging them tightly to her chest. Hutch could only see a filmy, translucent fabric at her shoulders. His newfound relief turned to anger at what must have gone on. You're safe now, Stacy. I'm gonna make damn sure you stay that way!

   Removing his jacket slowly, giving her time to take in the gun and holster, he held it out to her. "I'm Hutch. It's okay, I'm a cop. I'm here to take you home."

   Taking the jacket tentatively, she draped it about her shoulders, looking even younger as it dwarfed her frame.

   "Jimmy isn't mad anymore?" She asked, voice quavering. "I told him he could keep the money, if I could just go home. But he said he wouldn't give my clothes back unless...unless...."

   "He won't bother you any more, honey," Hutch answered softly. He held out his hand to her, palm up and offering. "I promise. Let's go home now, okay?"

   She drew in a deep, fearful breath. "But she'll know! Grandma'll know!" New tears of panic and shame appeared as the girl rubbed once more at the smear of makeup on her face.

   "And she'll still love you," he answered with confidence. "No matter what happened, Stacy, your Grandma will love you. And she needs you, just like you need her."

   He moved a little then, just enough to hold his open hand a bit closer.

   Sobbing, she finally reached for his hand. Hutch pulled them both to their feet in one swift motion. He held the small, trembling bundle tightly.

   We did it! We did it! his mind sang as he soothed her ruffled hair. He marveled that it had come out right, when so many others had come out horribly wrong. This was what he was meant to do; this was why he stayed a cop even after all it had cost him. Whatever it cost, it was worth it! To save even one!

   He didn't know when Starsky had entered the room, but it was obvious from the wide, crooked smile that he had been there long enough. Hutch then noticed the growing commotion drifting in from the hall and realized his partner had been guarding the door.

   "Well, aren't ya gonna introduce me?" Starsky asked, eyes dancing with happiness.

   "Detective David Starsky," Hutch announced, feeling as proud as a new father, "I'd like to introduce Miss Stacy Collins."

~~~~~~~~

   Starsky arrived home in the mid-evening darkness and felt welcomed in the familiar surroundings. Sighing tiredly, he stretched out on his couch, settling in to watch a little TV in the dark. As strung out as he felt, he knew he wasn't going to get to sleep any time soon. There was just too much on his mind.

   He and Hutch had been busy all afternoon and on into the evening. The calvary had been called to 'rescue' the three of them from the modeling school. Then Stacy had been reunited with her grandmother while Vice and Child Protection Services had gone to town on the school and its owner. He shook his head at the memory of how the man had gone from bellowing and ranting at the 'attack' on his good name to almost fainting with shock when he learned that a warrant to search the premises for child porn had been issued. And somewhere in there he had even managed to offer Starsky a bribe.

   That guy can't fully appreciate how lucky he is. If he had tried making that offer to Hutch, he would'a been turned into compost, he thought wryly. If that jackass thought that Vice and CPA were gonna be tough on him, he oughta be thrilled that my partner was too busy to deal with his hide.

   The rest of the day, and evening, had been spent on triplicate reports and a bit of 'catch up' on overdue paper work. Through it all, Hutch had sounded, and acted, as if it had all been a normal day's work.

   'Normal' my ass. Starsky frowned at the thought. Nothing about this case has been normal, no matter how hard Blondie tries to pretend it is.

   Whenever he had tried to broach the subject Hutch had just looked at him as if he had been talking nonsense.

   'Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine. What's to talk about?' Just as if none of these flashes had ever happened. He may be able to convince himself it was all a fluke of nature, a Collandra thing, where he's managed to tap into some sort of natural ESP whatcha-ma-call-it brain power stuff. But I know what I felt. It might have been easy for others to dismiss those horrible touches of evil as some sort of bad dream, but Starsky could not. He couldn't afford to.

   Turning wary eyes to the silver bracelet on the table beside him, he watched as it seemed to writhe in the flickering light from the TV. He reached out a careful fingertip to touch its cold, motionless surface, just to prove to himself it was all illusion. He found nothing there besides the expected texture of cold, etched silver.

   Evil doesn't give up this easily, he thought worriedly. Whatever it wanted from Hutch, it hasn't gotten yet. I'd have known if it had. So why all the visions, the voices? What will be the price of Stacy's life? What will it want from Hutch for the next victim?

   Rubbing at tired eyes, he realized he couldn't afford to worry the night away. He maneuvered his tired body off of the couch, picked up the bracelet and detoured to the kitchen to toss it unceremoniously into the back of the icebox. For some reason, it just seemed fitting, and was as good a place as any to keep it out of sight. Shutting off the TV on his way to the bedroom, he decided to use Merle and the Torino as an excuse for some personal time off. Dobey would probably be pretty upset with him for taking two mornings off in a row, but he wanted to be hard to find before Hutch realized his bracelet was missing. He wasn't sure what his reaction was going to be.

   Time for some pointed questions, he decided. The best place to start is with that guy at the antique store. He's the first step in finding out just what that bracelet is. If I can find out who owned it before, where it came from, then maybe I can find out what is behind all this.

   Then, whatever he needed to do, he'd do it.

~~~~~~~~

   Lijah, once again behind Venice Place, lay curled on scraps of paper, covered by empty boxes from the restaurant dumpster. Even at this late hour he was still wide awake. Too much so.

   He and Charles had both admitted that the current turn of events had taken them by surprise. It was not so much the fact that the talisman was now harmless, or that it had happened so soon, but the rescue of the girl without the price being paid had been unsettling. They did not usually give up so easily and neither he nor Charles had any hope that they would.

   I'm getting too tired for this, he decided. I'm missing something important, something I wouldn't have missed when I was younger. The body is still willing, but the mind is weak. And the soul...?

   For that he had no answer. Sighing to himself, he opened one eye, just to check for the comforting shadow among the darkness of the night. He was rewarded with a flicker of movement made by neither man nor beast.

   "We're going to lose them, Charles," he whispered sadly, closing his eyes once again to conserve his strength. After all the worry, all the time and effort, all the rules I've come close to breaking and we're going to lose them anyway. I know something is going to happen, but I can't figure out what or where. And even if it does, what if I can't help without breaking more rules? Can I just walk away and let it happen?

   He had done so too many times before, had walked away and let things unwind as they would. Sometimes it happened to their favor, sometimes it did not. But the losses never got any easier.

   {{What is meant to be, will be, Lijah,}} Charles whispered from the darkness, knowing what he was thinking without being told. {{Rest. This isn't your fight or your responsibility. Never was. You need to let them go.}}

   "I don't know if I can, Charles, I just don't know if I can."

~~~~~~~~

   Hutch was having a bad morning, and the fact that he was having it alone didn't help matters any.

   He had been awakened by the phone with a loud and angry Dobey on the other end. Already an hour late for work, it had been all he could to mumble vague apologies and try to shower and dress in record time. Forget any breakfast or even the small luxury of coffee. The LTD had been as thick-headed as he was and after several false starts he had arrived to find Dobey waiting with an armload of case files for him.

   Having the files literally dumped into his arms, and receiving a stinging lecture on promptness, Hutch had barely caught on to the fact that he was going to be without a partner for awhile. Dobey had added a few choice words about Starsky and that 'pain in the ass' Torino to his lecture as he left, so Hutch assumed Starsky was making a trip to Merle's again.

   Gee, thanks for the warning, partner. Hutch abandoned the untidy pile on his desk and headed for the coffee machine. Nothing like getting a public dressing-down for something that was only half my fault. Why didn't you tell me you were going to take the morning off? I'm only your partner after all!

   Getting his first cup of coffee for the day, ignoring the normal hustle and bustle of the squad room, Hutch eyed the stack of files wearily. Even after they had stayed late last night, they still had a mound of paperwork to do.

   Well, at least I can take my pick of the litter, he decided firmly. If I had to suffer through that whole lecture, publicly and by my lonesome, then Starsky can just weed through the hard ones later.

   Sitting down in his chair, he solved his first problem by shoving the mass, very carefully so as not to spill it, onto his partner's desk.

   He winced as he took a sip from his cup, both at the bitter taste and what was in the files. Routine arrests, routine reports, all needing to be typed out and signed. And only one of these is ours. Looks like we're going to have one of those days. He yawned and set the cup down to check his watch.

   Two hours, and a few dozen files later, Hutch found himself checking the wall clock once again. Sometime during those two hours, mild curiosity had turned to vague worry. Would it really have taken this long for Starsky to set up car repairs with Merle? Why was he feeling so uncomfortable about his absence?

   I'm getting to be an old mother hen, he chided himself mildly. It's not like the guy has to check in with me every time he makes a move. He's probably just shooting the breeze with Merle about that over-priced, costly, high-maintenance cash-hog of his. And he probably knew darn well Dobey wouldn't take another morning 'off' after calling in sick yesterday, even if we did come down with a good bust.

   Even as he tried to convince himself that he really wasn't all that worried, the feeling that something was wrong grew just a bit. He looked down at the current file in front of him, not really seeing the contents, not really caring what it contained. All he could think about was Starsky and the fact that he hadn't heard from him. It didn't feel right.

   Picking up the phone, he dialed Merle, hanging on for long minutes while one of his employees pulled the irritated and sputtering man out from under his current project. Hutch was not surprised to find that his partner had not been around Merle's that morning, nor had he called and set up an appointment.

   So, he's fed Dobey a line and I've fallen right in with it. If he had something going on, why didn't he give me a 'heads up' that he was going to be late. Why didn't he just tell me last night? He glanced again at the wall clock.

   Replaying the previous evening in his mind, he couldn't think of anything Starsky said or done that would have let him know something was up. They had worked a lot, eaten a little and had hardly talked at all. Starsky had taken him home, had come in to use the john, and left.

   So, what- He started suddenly, a jolt of fear running through him like quick lightening, leaving just the memory of a split second's panic. What?!!

   Eyes and senses on sudden alert, he scanned the room for danger. Everyone was acting normal, nothing had changed from the moment before. It took him a second to realize that he, himself, had a death grip on his own wrist. Apparently he had gone to rub the silver circlet, not realizing he had not put it on.

   Where the hell is it? I didn't put it on?

   Thinking frantically, he remembered taking it off last night as he was talking with Starsky. Then this morning, in a hurry to get to work, he had grabbed all the items in his dresser and stuffed them into various pockets while on his way out of the door.

   He knew now, with a sickening certainty, that the bracelet had not been with the other items. He knew who had taken it. On his way out of the squad room and heading for his car, he never gave a thought to the abandoned files scattered on both of their desks, nor what Dobey would say about his disappearance. He didn't even ask where he was going or why. The fear that clenched his gut told him much more than his rational mind wanted to know.

   Damn it! Why would he do that? Doesn't he know that it's my problem?! It's too dangerous!!

   Making record time to the LTD, he threw himself into the driver's seat. He was ready to put the keys in the ignition when the world itself started to warp. Drawing in a deep breath, he gripped the steering wheel tightly.

~~~~~~~~

   The world flickered, lines became crooked and soft, as if everything in existence was melting and flowing into itself. He was once again floating in emptiness.

   But there was a warmth nearby, the contrast of it making everything else seem cold and empty. He found that he recognized the heat, felt a flicker of fear when he realized it was not as close as it should be. He sought the source.

   Reaching out toward the intimate, he grew frantic for the connection. Where was he? Where was Starsky? He pushed further, harder, desperate now, could almost--.

   {{Noooooo!!!!}} came the angry cry.

   The force of the sound and emotion pushed him away from where he needed to be.

~~~~~~~~

   Hutch gasped, could feel himself trembling. He tried to remember where he was, why he wasn't where he was supposed to be. He was in his car and it took a moment to remember the reason he was there. Starsky's angry and frustrated bellow rang in his head. He...he's in trouble! I'm too late! Too late...

   The slight shake of his hands on the steering wheel was matched by the churning of his insides. Starsky was in the middle of something wrong, he was in pain, and he needed him.

   I've got to find him before...before... He pounded the steering wheel, hissing at the pain it caused, using that to stop the panic growing within him. I can't think about this now, damnit! I can't waste time. I've got to think!

   Fumbling for the keys he had dropped on the floorboard, he found himself turning the worn car into the thick afternoon traffic without even knowing where he was going. Calling in an 'Out of Service - Personal' code that would keep him out of official sight for awhile, Hutch completed the act by turning the radio off.

   Damn it! He went to investigate the bracelet without me! Hutch was growing angry and he embraced the emotion. Anger was better than fear, and he needed it to keep his head clear. That jerk! When I find him I'm going to shake some sense in to him. It's just like him to jump into something dangerous, and alone at that. But where is he?

   He already knew where Starsky would go. Where else would he start but at the place where the bracelet was purchased? Hutch was not surprised to find himself heading in the right direction.

   Unless, he thought reluctantly, he's been digging around longer than I think he has. Maybe he didn't trust me enough to tell me what he's been doing. And maybe he was right. He cringed at the thought.

~~~~~~~~

   Lijah felt the first stirrings of panic, a feeling he hadn't had in many, many years. Things were moving too fast now. Outside of Metro he leaned against the wall, and thought furiously.

   "I don't know what they're up to. Don't know what they're doing. But whatever it is, is has already started."

   {{I know, I saw.}}

   "I need to do something. But what can I do without it all coming down around me?"

   {{Call in the troops?}}

   "With the Shredder. You're right. I can do that from here."

   {{The material is all right there in front of them.}}

   "Right beneath their noses." Lijah agreed. "They'd discover it all in a few days time, so why not nudge them a bit. Start that ball rolling."

   Lijah felt a bit calmer then. This wouldn't be as dangerous as any of the other things he could do. Things that he wasn't supposed to do. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and started.

~~~~~~~~

   "Sorry, Detective Hutchinson." Randolph Thomas shook his gray head, pushing his heavy black glasses further up on his nose. "I wasn't at the store for the morning shift and haven't seen your partner at all. My assistant was here, but he's gone for the day."

   Hutch tried to keep his disappointment from showing. "Mr. Thomas, if my partner was here this morning, he would have been after the same information I am. I need to know about the bracelet I bought from you a few weeks ago. Do you remember it?"

   "I'm fairly sure I do, Officer," Thomas replied, looking at him with growing concern. "Was there a problem with it? Are you unhappy with the sale? If you are, I'm sure I can--"

   "Oh, no," Hutch interjected quickly. "I was happy with the bracelet, but there is some question about its history. We just need to know some more information for a possible connection to a case we're working on."

   "Oh, dear! I can assure you that I run a respectable business!"

   "I can see that." Hutch smiled tightly, hoping it was enough to calm the man. "We want to trace the piece back a bit and see where it came from. You just happen to be the last to have handled it." Hutch kept the smile and shrugged casually.

   "I see." Thomas seemed to mull the information over and nodded to himself. "Let me go and check my books. I'll see what I can find for you."

   Hutch soon found himself pacing in front of the long glass counter. Even the fine artwork and unusual items that filled the shelves in front and behind him failed to hold his attention for more than a few seconds, the sound of Starsky's angry outcry echoing repeatedly in his head.

   I've got to get better control, he decided, feeling more and more jittery as time wore on. Thomas has only had a few minutes to dig through his books, and here I am wanting to rush in there and make him look faster. I'm not going to get anything done by looking the fool or scaring him off.

   He bit his lip and returned to the counter, determined to keep his anxiety firmly under control. Just as he was ready to go after him, Thomas appeared from behind the office door with a large ledger book in hand.

   "Actually, Detective, I think your partner probably was here this morning. This book was on top of the cabinet, which isn't where it was supposed to be. That's why I had such a hard time finding it." Thomas shrugged apologetically and held the book up higher. "I assume my assistant took it out to look for the same information, and neglected to put it back."

   "Can I see it?"

   "I'm afraid it wouldn't do you any good," Thomas replied with a small smile. "It's the incoming inventory book for that month, and I'm afraid I use my own form of shorthand when it comes to bookkeeping." Despite his words he handed the book over to Hutch, who set it on the counter and realized the man was right. The writing was all gibberish to him.

   "The bracelet entry is right here." Thomas continued, pointing to a long, illegible entry. "I bought the bracelet from a local auction house just a few weeks before you purchased it. I remember bidding on that box, as it contained various items of jewelry items that really had no intrinsic value and didn't draw any other bidders. In fact," he continued proudly, "I was quite pleased with the purchase price."

   Hutch noted the numbers to the right of the notation. If that, in fact, was the amount the man had paid for a whole box of jewelry, then Hutch's purchase alone had netted the man a handsome profit.

   "Where did they get it from?"

   Thomas shrugged. "Could have been from anywhere. Would you like the address of the auction house?"

   "Yes, please." Hutch pushed the book back to the owner. "I would also like the phone number and address of your assistant. I might want to ask him a few questions." He smiled, trying to make the request sound casual. "Our Captain likes to see that we've spoken to everyone."

   "Certainly, let me get that information for you."

   As soon as the store owner had left, Hutch could almost see time slow before his eyes and knew he was in trouble. He leaned heavily on the glass counter, barely registering the smooth surface against his palms before he felt the world twist and lost all sense of himself.

~~~~~~~~

   The world contorted, flowed and disappeared beyond his view. Nothing really mattered here, nor did it have meaning. He had been here enough to understand that now, so he quit trying to make sense out of nothing and reached for the what he needed to find.

   The warmth, familiar and important, was what he sought. He spread himself out, into the eddies, hanging on tightly to each part of himself as he spread through this existence. His whole being trembled when he came across a wisp that he knew.

   Pain exploded in his chest, anger and determination flowing beyond it. It all disappeared as quickly as it was found.

   Starsky!!

~~~~~~~~

   Hutch came to himself, gasping for breath. His weight was held up by the cool, smooth counter he was lying across. Gathering himself quickly, he shook his head and glanced up at the office, pulling himself off of the case glass. His chest burned sharply and he wondering for a second if he had broken the glass and cut himself. He stood shakily and rubbed at the sharp pains, eyes confirming that the countertop was still whole and unbroken and there was no blood on his shirt.

   It's not me, Hutch realized as the residual pain faded with the passing seconds. Starsky's pain. His anger. His determination not to reach out. His partner had pushed him away, hadn't wanted him to know what was happening.

   He's hurt, like knife cuts! Hutch found his hands in fists, the anger and fear at the thought screaming at him. I've got to get to him, damn it!

   Thomas came out of the office, smiling and holding a small slip of paper. "Here you go. The address of the auction house and the name of the auctioneer you wanted."

   He tried to keep from yanking the paper from the man's hand. "Thank you," he said, taking the time to dig out one of his cards. "Please leave a message for me at this number, if my partner should happen to come by or you find something else out about that bracelet."

   "Of course."

   Before he realized it, Hutch was back in the LTD, scrubbing hard at his chest. He debated on whether to call the auction house and decided against it. He didn't want to forewarn anyone of his arrival and needed to talk to the employees face to face.

   Damnit, Starsky! he thought savagely as he threaded through the traffic. You hang on! Quit trying to keep me out of this! I'm already too far gone in this to be protected. He thought ruefully of how Starsky must have thought that taking the bracelet would keep him away from whatever it was that had literally haunted him.

   Guess I would have done the same, Hutch decided, trying to keep his speed down and his concentration on the road. Good thing it didn't work, partner. I'll find you yet. Just hold on!

~~~~~~~~

   Starsky stood bare-chested, bruised, bloody, and shackled spread-eagle against a plain cement wall. A bright, harsh spotlight shone down upon him, making him sweat into the cuts that burned across his chest. He tried clenching his fists over and over again to keep the circulation going. If he was going to have a chance on getting out of this, he didn't want numb hands to slow him down.

   He had no memories of the time between collapsing in a drugged stupor at the antique store and awakening half undressed and chained to a wall. He had taken the offered cup of morning coffee from Randolph Thomas as a goodwill gesture, waiting for Thomas to look through his records for the origins of the bracelet. The coffee had tasted normal, and it wasn't until his vision blurred and he felt himself falling that he had realized just how foolish he had been.

   An unknown amount of time later, the agony of strained wrists and shoulders had pushed him into consciousness. He had been blinded by the searing light, and it had taken several minutes before his streaming eyes cleared enough for him to see well. There hadn't been much around to tell him where he was, just him, the light and a vast darkness beyond. Since waking up, he had had little to mark the passing minutes but the arrival and departure of his lone tormentor.

   The stranger had arrived with a chuckle from out of the darkness after Starsky had tried yelling for attention. He had never seen the man before. Middle aged, normal looking, there wasn't anything about the stranger that would rate a second look from a cop.

   Except for his eyes. Starsky had rarely seen eyes as empty as those that had scanned him with little curiosity and even less compassion. Even before he introduced himself, Starsky had known what the man was going to say.

   "Hello, Detective. I am the Shredder. Welcome to my private world."

   The Shredder had punched Starsky then, like a man playing at a punching bag in a gym. He had laughed at Starsky efforts to control his pain, and had turned a deaf ear on Starsky's threats and bravado.

   The beating had continued until Starsky had lost count of the blows. Time had passed unmeasured as he tried to control his pain, seeking to command spasming muscles into keeping him upright. As soon as he had been able to breathe again, his tormentor had produced a long, sharp knife. Having clamped down on his instinctive fear, he had refused to show what the sight of the blade did to his insides. As the weapon moved closer to him, he felt himself tremble, but would not lower his eyes. He had gasped, then held his breath, as a very long, shallow cut had been drawn across his chest, clenched his teeth as the action was repeated once, then twice. He had kept his attention on the man's face, even as he felt his own blood run in warm curtains down his torso. The cold sweat of fear had trickled in contrast down his back as his tormentor had paused to look him in the eyes. Those eyes had held boredom, even disinterest, at what he had done to his victim.

   Starsky understood then; he was only the bait.

   Bait to bring in Hutch.

   He could never be that. Not if he could help it.

   Closing his eyes for one, brief moment, Starsky had tried to gather the strength, anger and determination to endure what was to come. He had felt it then, as if something alive had appeared beside him. He knew who it was before it touched him, and he tried to block the connection. He could not accept the comfort Hutch offered through this strange power.

   Bellowing a protest, he had mentally pushed at the part of Hutch that had found him, feeling Hutch's fear and startlement as he was forced away.

   The decision had been easy but the rejection had been hard, and Starsky had found himself troubled at the unnaturalness of it. He would stay here, do what he had to do to survive, even die when it came down to that, but he wasn't going to help them bring Hutch into this.

   No way in hell.

   Then, as if reading his thoughts, the Shredder had shrugged casually, and turned to leave Starsky alone in the light.

   He could not tell how long he had been left alone to sweat and bleed against the wall. As he struggled futilely with the cuffs and his anger toward himself, he wondered if Hutch had really been there in his mind, if he knew now how wrong things had gone.

   "Well, Detective, time for something new." The voice from the darkness seemed amused.

   "I don't know what the hell you want from me, but you ain't gettin' it, you slime!"

   "Really? I've been told you do know what we want. And as for getting it....?" the Shredder stepped into the light with an crowbar. "We'll just see what happens, won't we?"

~~~~~~~~

   Later that afternoon, too many hours later, Hutch knew he was running out of time. Parked in front of an older, dilapidated house, he was bone tired. Feeling the hard surface of the steering wheel under his palms, his forehead resting on the back of his hands, he closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind.

   He had gone to the auction house and had paced the floors like a tiger. It had taken every bit of self control to act casual, play nice and sweet-talk the auction clerks into digging into their files for the information he needed. Hutch had felt as if he had given an Oscar performance, managing to be charming enough not to cause hard feelings, and persistent enough to make them decide that humoring the flaky cop would be the easiest way to get him to leave.

   The seller's name was Edna Bright. Hutch had tried her phone number from the auction house and found it had been reassigned to a new customer only a week or so before. The address left on the information card had led him to a house that looked as though it had been empty for weeks. With no 'for sale' sign in the front to give him a realtor to go to, he had carefully jimmied a back lock and had searched the house for any scrap that would give him a clue to his next move.

   There had been nothing left inside, and the neighbors seemed to know little about the elderly woman who had lived there. It was as if every detail about her had disappeared when she did.

   Well, she had to get her groceries from somewhere, had to have had a car or someone to drive her, he sighed. But where do I start? I guess I'm left with the Motor Vehicle Department and court house records to dig through. That would take me days. And even then, there may not be anything more in the records than the fact that she lived at this address.

   There were other ways he could track her down, but even then it would take too much time. And there was no guarantee that the lady wasn't just the first step in a long line back to the bracelet's origins. If only he knew where Starsky had started his search, then he could find out where he was now.

   Where are you, Starsk? Why didn't you take me with you? He mentally winced, knowing the answer. Guess I wasn't as smart as I thought I was, huh, partner? Couldn't have all the answers if I couldn't even face the questions, could I?

   He could feel it then, like a creeping, cold fog that seemed to settle around him, almost too faint to be real. Hutch tensed, then tried to relax and let it happen as it had happened before, knowing that it was his only contact with Starsky.

   Trembling as the world, once again, seemed to become chaotic and fluid he fought to keep a hold of himself as he fell into the deep, empty cold...

~~~~~~~~

   And this time he knew who he was, who he was searching for, and was startled to see what he had failed to notice before.

   Cold. Empty. Power. Hatred. Evil...

   Some part of him wanted to scream in frustration, seeing it now as his partner had seen it, shame filling him at how blind he had been to miss such a simple truth.

   He wasted no time in reaching out from the coldness that surrounded him into the vast nothingness. He thought he understood a little more now, realized that this strange existence was inherently neutral, neither good nor bad, here nor there. He knew what to look for, knew to search for the warmth, the living part of the world that he needed.

   In the waves and eddies of this universe, he looked for the one spot that contained his partner. He reached out, bracing himself for what he might find, hopeful that the warmth still lived.

   What he touched was anger, frustration, pain and the small kernel of fear that was his partner.

   The world righted itself and sorted into a new pattern and Hutch recognized the room. He had seen it before when he had first seen Stacy. He knew instinctively that this was not a future that could be changed, but was a time that existed in the here and now. Like before, he seemed to see in all directions, but not clearly, and his partner was not in sight.

   {{He is here, Detective. Can't you find him?}} It was a whisper from nowhere. Hutch knew that voice.

   Who are you?! He demanded angrily. Why do you have him? What do you want with me?

   {{So sure of your self-worth, are you?}} The Voice chuckled. {{Do you dare to assume that you have any worth to us, that you weren't just a tool to get to him?}}

   You can't have him! There is nothing he will give you willingly. And there is no way you can keep me away.

   {{No? You don't know what you're dealing with, my dear detective. I am in control here. I decide what I want and what I will take. But you do amuse me. Shall we see what you are made of?}}

   Hutch moved then, floating through the room, still without control. The dimly-lit room seemed even larger than it had been before, less like a common area than a private domain. It was obviously built for parties with expensive furnishings for friends and family, not the general public. There was a large set of cabinets before him as he moved toward one corner of the room. He braced himself mentally as he seemed to be thrown into and through the wall.

   Behind the wall he was not surprised to find a bunker-like hallway, leading down into the earth with concrete steps and bare bulbs for light.

   This is where they die, isn't it? Hutch felt fear flowing from the walls toward him. All of them. Horror surrounded him, wrapped him up in the coldness he had been trying to escape. The stairs ended in pitch-black darkness, where only the outline of a door could be felt more than seen. In half a second he was through the hidden entrance and found himself in a nightmare.

   It was a modern day torture chamber. Even in the dim light Hutch could make out the leather straps on odd pieces of furniture, walls of handcuffs, chains, whips, and other things he didn't want to identify. With normal eyes it would have been hard to see any details; the only lights were recessed at large intervals, giving out a weak and garish mixture of white and blood red.

   As his vision cleared, he found himself moving rapidly toward a spread-eagled shape against the far wall.

   Starsky! He tried to move faster, anger and panic flowing through him like quicksilver. Damn you all! What have you done to him?! What the hell do you want?!!

   {{Ahh! That is the question, isn't it?}} The Voice floated close to him now, almost intimate in its tone.

   Straining to get closer to Starsky, Hutch could see him clearly in the spot light. He was held up against the wall, almost on tip-toe, trying to keep the cuffs from biting further into his wrists. With his head down to one side, Hutch could barely make out bruised eyes over the swollen, obviously broken nose. Blood and sweat had fallen in rivulets down his face and torso, criss-crossing the bloody wounds on his chest.

   Hold on, babe! Don't let them get the best of you! He willed his partner to hear him, to know that he was nearby. I'm on my way, don't you doubt that for a minute. Just hold on!

   {{How sweet!}} The Voice sounded amused. {{Your poor partner has only begun to suffer. He's barely gotten started and here you are, trying to be a knight in shinning armor. Do you really think you can come to his rescue in time, Hutchinson? Do you have the arrogance to believe you are good enough to save him?}}

   The Voice laughed heartily at the question and Hutch felt the growing fury at the torture his partner had endured. But even as hurt as he was, Hutch knew Starsky was still a dangerous man, and if there was even a shadow of hope that he could fight, talk or force his way out of this situation, he had the internal strength to do so.

   {{Eternal hope dies hard, does it not, Detective? Isn't it even more horrible when the strong find themselves weak?}}

   Enough! Hutch shouted back, knowing that there was no time for word games, no time for stalling. Whether I'm your target or not, I'm here and I'm a part of this. Tell me what you want!!

   {{Oh, not quite yet, Detective. I will set the pace, if you please.}} The Voice sounded smug, and Hutch knew that whatever he could say or do would only prolong its enjoyment.

   Ignoring the voice, Hutch turned his attention to Starsky. I'm here, Starsk! You know that, you can feel that. I know you can! That's why you won't call to me, not even mentally, because you knew I could find you that way. You know I'm here! Hutch pushed the thought toward his friend, willing him to know he was near.

   {{You'll never find him in time, Detective,}} the Voice snapped, apparently unhappy with losing his attention. {{Do you love him enough to even try?}}

   Try? I'd damn well do whatever he needs me to do! Here and now. Try me!

   {{Really? We'll soon see, now won't we?}} The Voice laughed, and Hutch knew that whatever was going to happen would happen soon. {{You get what you take, Detective. You get what you take.}} The Voice faded away and Hutch could tell he was now alone. He felt freer now, could almost move on his own when he felt the whirling start again.

   NO!! I CAN'T GO YET!!

   Frantically he reached out even as he felt reality twist and fold him away from Starsky. For one fraction of a second he felt as if he were inside his partner's thoughts, could feel the anger and determination which fueled Starsky's mind even as they covered his pain. Searching for the familiar, with no time to even recognize what or how he touched, Hutch reached for the pain that flowed where it shouldn't and grabbed hold.

   The maelstrom drowned him then, as he clutched a part of his partner tightly.

PART FIVE