Minnie K

   The world came back to him slowly. Even before he knew who he was the pain told him there was something wrong. Eyes closed, head pounding fiercely, his face felt as if it had been caved in. He lifted his head up and off of whatever he was lying on, mindful of the pain that shot through him. He choked then, feeling the metallic taste of blood at the back of his throat, and he realized that his hands were also sticky. He opened heavy eyes to see blood smeared across his fingers, on hands that looked strange.

   What? Where? Dizzy and confused, he glanced at his surroundings. Hutch's car, he decided quickly, I'm in Hutch's car. But the pain in his face made him concentrate his thoughts. My car. I'm Hutch. He felt strangely surprised at the thought.

   Once again his hands came up to his face and he could feel the blood now trickling from his nose. After probing carefully he reached up to turn the rearview mirror toward him, leaning closer to look at the damage while digging out a handkerchief from his pocket. He wasn't surprised at what he saw.

   Broken, he decided quickly. He used the handkerchief to staunch the flow and looked again at his swollen nose and blackening eyes. This wasn't mine, this was Starsky's! How can I have...?

   He shut down the questions, knowing that there weren't going to be any answers. Whatever had happened to him, it had been as real as this injury, as real as Starsky's pain. If this is what I took from you, buddy, I only wish I had grabbed something worse! But damn, what do I do now?

   Head back against the headrest, waiting for the bleeding to subside, he closed his eyes, trying to remember the details of what he had seen. If he had to find out where Starsky was, he was going to have to recall every little detail, every little corner and nook of those hidden rooms.

   There was something nagging at him, but it was something he hadn't seen, or shouldn't have been able to know. There was an elderly lady, several blocks down and to the right. Her name was Lucille Amherst and Hutch could picture her clearly. He could see her move, knew her aches, pains and the unending loneliness that had brought her and an equally lonely Edna Bright together as friends.

   She's the next step to Starsky all right. I must have given them something they wanted. He wiped at his face one more time and dug through the glove compartment for his sunglasses. Now if I don't scare the poor lady to death, I can find out where Edna Bright has disappeared to.

   Settling the sunglasses carefully on the swollen flesh that was masquerading as his nose, he started the car and headed toward the next link in the chain.

~~~~~~~~

   Hutch drove through the evening traffic carefully, half afraid that the throbbing in his head would cause him to sideswipe a parked car or come too close to a pedestrian. The pain in his nose and cheek bones hadn't dimmed at all, but still ached despite the aspirin Hutch had found in the glove compartment. At the next stop light he took a moment to check the pale foundation he had spread carefully over the broken nose and the growing bruises under his eyes. The quick stop at a drug store to use their restroom for an impromptu clean-up before stopping off to talk to Miss Amherst had been worth the time, and a hostile glare at the wide-eyed young clerk had quashed any smart-alec comments on his choice of makeup.

   Even with that bit of cover, he felt lucky he had not scared her off. She had been a bit shocked to see him at her door, and hesitant to talk to him at first. After explaining that his injury was all in the line of duty, she had fallen all over herself trying to make him feel at home. Miss Amherst had been more than willing to talk about anything he desired. Unfortunately she had managed to drag the conversation out for almost an hour and only reluctantly revealed any information Hutch could use.

   Edna Bright had moved here from back east only a few years ago, unhappy with a move forced on her by a hated and un-named nephew. The ladies had regularly met at a park not far from here, but not too long ago Edna had stopped showing up for their visits. Lucille could only believe that the elderly lady's failing health had sent her back to the nursing home. Lucille, being too hard of hearing to use the phone comfortably, had not been able to call and check.

   It's the nephew, it has to be, Hutch decided, watching the street signs as he made his way to the address Lucille had given him. If I can find Edna there, she can lead me to her nephew. And the nephew can lead me to Starsky. He worried about his appearance, afraid that he might spook the receptionist.

   I wouldn't even let me in to see my own grandmother, he thought sourly.

   The Everton nursing home was in the wealthier part of town. The large building had been carefully set apart from any neighbors, surrounding itself with a spacious and well maintained grounds. As he pulled into the large parking lot, he felt even more out of place as he parked his car among the more expensive models. It was a beautiful place and he wondered if one of the many ladies who were out on the grounds with the help of staff was Edna.

   Forty-five minutes later he was back behind the wheel of his car, angry with himself, head aching even more. Real bright, Hutchinson! Piss off the clerk and get him to lock up everything you need to know in that damned cabinet of his. I don't have the time to get a godamn warrant!

   Edna Bright's file had been closed when the nursing home had been informed that she had passed away at home. And no matter how Hutch tried, they would not open her files, would not give him the name of the relative that had paid for the lady's care. The staff was too well-trained, knew the law too well, and when push came to shove they would not give him what he needed without a warrant.

   He sat tiredly in the car and tried to ignore the first hint of twilight. He wasn't ready for it to be that late, wasn't ready to think of what Starsky must have been through since he had last seen him. He didn't know where to go next, knew he should know if he could think clearly enough.

   How the hell did you get where you are, Starsk? Who took you there? Who made sure you didn't waste any time walking into their trap? He tried to open himself up, to reach past whatever it was kept him away from his partner. When nothing happened he knew what he needed to do. Okay, whoever you are, I know damn well you're watching me. I've hit another dead end, just like you knew I would. Isn't it time to twist the knife a little more?

   The amused chuckle that filled the background as the world once again started to melt seemed to thrum through him. He wanted to pull away from the filthy sound, but relaxed and let himself fall into the void while wrapped in the invisible arms of evil.

~~~~~~~~

   This world was dim and bloody, filled with shapes and forms that existed in areas of darkness and the shadows. Hutch knew this place immediately, wasted no time before trying to find Starsky. The blinding white light at the other end of the large room told him where his partner was. He moved toward it, unmindful of the shadowy objects in his way, passing through them as the nothing that he was.

   The bright light lit one wall like the sun, bringing into stark view every detail of the battered and bruised body still chained to it. Hutch rolled and flowed toward it, frustrated that his movement seemed too slow, and heartbroken at what he saw.

   Ahh, Starsk! He gasped at the mass of bruises, horrified at the extent of the new wounds. Ah, Babe...

   Starsky looked like death warmed over as he hung from the chains, his shirtless chest heaving heavily. His normally rowdy curls were plastered to his head now, caked with sweat and blood. But it was Starsky's eyes that Hutch concentrated on. The once broken nose and darkening bruises now looked to be completely healed, which might have been Hutch's doing, but the pride he felt flowing through him was at the strength he saw shining in Starsky's glaring blue eyes.

   That's my partner! Hutch crowed, seeing for himself that Starsky was still angry, controlled and infinitely dangerous. In his relief Hutch almost missed the fact that the glare his partner threw out like a hot flame was meant for some real, live person still in the room.

   It was the laugh that drew Hutch's attention around to the area behind him. A man was sitting on his haunches deep in the shadows, the glow from a cigarette moving like the crazed eye of a demon off as he flicked the ashes off into the darkness.

   "Well, Detective Starsky, looks like we have company once again."

   The man stood then and Hutch felt as if he should know him. Tall, medium build, mid-to-late forties, the stranger stepping out of the shadows would have looked completely normal if Hutch had run across him on the street. Dark, longish hair combed in long strands over receding hair line, largish nose, clean shaven and dark-eyed. But the eyes were wrong, empty and cold, as if nothing he ever saw or did could truly touch him.

   Hutch somehow moved to keep between the two, watching them both at the same time, an impossible feat for human eyes.

   "He's here now, you know." The stranger stepped farther into the edge of the light. He flicked the cigarette toward his prisoner, giggling a bit as it missed Starsky's torso by inches. "I've always liked having an audience. Guess it gets in the blood."

   "You have no blood, you stinkin' bag of shit!" Starsky's voice was low and menacing, his flashing eyes not leaving the stranger as he spoke. "Not like a real man. Real men don't murder and cut up little girls. Real men pick fair fights with men their own size. This ain't exactly fair, is it?" Starsky sneered.

   "Ahh! I so love a dirty talker." Chuckling softly, the stranger turned and walked back into the darkness toward a low, table-shaped object. Hutch could hear the sound of a drawer being pulled open. "Now, what would your partner say, hearing you talk like that? Or maybe we should just ask him?"

   "Yeah, why don't you do that," Starsky responded calmly, apparently willing to use any opening he could get. "Call him up at the station, tell him where I am. He'll be here, soon enough, anyway. I left plenty of clues behind." The stranger didn't stop his search, and Hutch felt Starsky's frustration that even this was not working. "You're gonna be damned lucky if you make it outta here alive, if my partner gets to ya. You stop this now, untie me, and I'll promise you I'll keep him offa you long enough for you to stand trial."

   "Trial? What trial would that be?" The stranger seemed to have found what he wanted now and Hutch could hear the sound of slamming drawers echo through out the room. "I'm certainly not afraid of cops. I have my own home guard, so to speak, and am as safe a babe in its mother's arms. As soon as I have finished this project, I can go back to doing what I really enjoy. This is much more fun with the little ones."

   "Project? This is all a stinkin' project to you?"

   The stranger walked back toward the light's edge, and Hutch could see that he carried something in his right hand. He could also see Starsky recognize the object the exact same second he did. The stranger unfurled it then, letting it unroll like a long, dangerous snake, with the thin, knotted tip falling within the circle of light.

   "Actually, it's more of a show. All to entertain your partner, of course. Do you really mean to say that you don't know that he's here, now?"

   Starsky didn't reply to this, but Hutch could see that he somehow knew it was true. He could feel what I did the last time. He knows it was me. He's been trying to block me all along! He fought to move closer to his partner, to keep himself between the tormentor and his friend. If I can take the damage from him, then maybe I can keep it away.

   When the first stroke hit Hutch wanted to scream with the agony of it. He molded himself closer around Starsky, checking him out, hoping nothing from the blow had gotten through. Starsky had gasped and lurched with the blow, but the bloody welt that should have been left behind had only been a thin, red line that immediately faded.

   Hang on, Starsk! Hutch fought to move closer. The second blow rocked him with pain. He heard Starsky groan. This isn't working! Hutch tried to touch his partner the way he had before, tried to reclaim the pain that had gotten through his defenses. He burrowed deep, looking for what was wrong--

   {{NO!}} Starsky's mental bellow echoed through Hutch's mind while strong defenses sought to shut him out.

   Hutch, surprised by the rejection, was pushed away from Starsky as if he had been shoved. Managing to block the third strike despite the distance between them, he could feel his strength failing at the loss of contact. He tried to grab on to his partner to keep himself in place, deathly afraid he was loosing his grip on this reality, fearful of leaving Starsky alone.

   {{HUTCH! GO AWAY! THIS IS MINE!}}

   He tried once more to grab on to Starsky, to shield him from further blows.

   I CAN'T LEAVE!

   {{GO!}}

   Somehow, some way, Starsky mentally shoved him away. Losing his grip, Hutch could feel himself fall back into the emptiness. He heard, rather than felt, the fourth blow, and the soft, painful whisper from his partner.

   "Find me! I'll hang on!"

~~~~~~~~

   Wherever he was, Kenneth Hutchinson hurt. The pain that had started in his face had now spread to his torso and he could feel himself tremble uncontrollably.

   STARSKY! His mind screamed, trying to find what had been lost. With the image of his abused partner burned into his mind, Hutch tried to rouse himself quickly. Starsky needed him.

   Eyes finally open, he recognized the inside of his car, could feel the seat under his bruised and swollen face. I'm back! Damn! He reached trembling hand up to the burning aches in his body, feeling as if he could pass out even while lying down. He could feel a growing stickiness underneath his shirt.

   Pushing himself up slowly, he tried to clear his vision and found himself still in the parking lot at the nursing home. Sighing with relief that there was no one near, he settled himself back behind the steering wheel. Pulling his jacket farther open, he would see the wet streaks of blood that marked where he, no, Starsky had been bitten by the whip.

   At least I did something right. Closing the jacket painfully, he decided he didn't want to take the time to inspect the damage. He could feel the sting and burn of each of the welts, the tightness of the swelling. He knew he would not bleed to death and hoped he could cover it up enough not to be visible. But the second lash had wrapped over the muscle of his upper right arm, and even now he found he could barely control the fingers of that hand. Now what? I've got to get to Starsky!! If only...If only he had let me in!

   Closing his eyes, he opened his mind again, trying to 'remember' the next clue. He knew they wanted him there. But time was growing short. Picturing what little he could see of the tormentor, Hutch concentrated on the man's face. I know him! I have seen him before. But where? Where?!!

   Faces flashed through his mind, people he had seen at work. The face was not connected to a cop, and he didn't think he was a suspect or victim. Neither could he remember the man from any of his neighborhoods. He tried to relax more.

   There was something, a flicker of recognition. The TV! He's someone famous. That would fit the house and the money. An actor? He grabbed at the faint picture in his mind. He was interviewed, was talking about...about... He gasped then as it came to him. His movie! He's a producer here at the studios, and his name is...is.... He smiled then, even though it hurt terribly. He could 'see' where Starsky was being kept, knew who the house belonged to. Marvin T. Reynolds, producer at 'Signal Films'. His address is up in the northern hills, the mansion at the very top.

   Hope filling his chest, Hutch reached towards the radio. He needed to get police backup and an ambulance rolling toward the mansion and was ready to lie his ass off to get them there. Starsky's life was too important to leave to his care alone. But as he reached for the radio, he faltered, suddenly unsure as to what it was he had wanted to call Metro about.

   Pulling his hand back from the radio, it was like a switch had been flipped and he realized what was happening. So, there was more cost to this clue than just torture. If I try to call for help, I'll forget where I'm going, and why it's so important. Looks like I'm the only player allowed in this game.

   Refusing to dwell on what he couldn't change, Hutch started the car and carefully pulled out of the lot.

   Hang on, buddy! Don't you give up, 'cause I'm on my way!

~~~~~~~~

   Hutch made quick time across town, but it still wasn't fast enough to beat the setting sun. He wanted to race to the mansion, to fly through the traffic, but had been fearful of being pulled over and losing his memory. If any cop saw him now, they'd stuff him in an ambulance and call Dobey to meet it. He couldn't take that chance.

   The house he was looking for sat on the side of the hill exactly as it had in his 'vision'. It was a stark, white blot in the night, visible here and there through the hillside forest. The grounds were large and placed well away from the closest neighbor, a luxury of the rich and prestigious.

   As he approached the large, wrought iron gate, he was not surprised to find it opening for him as he pulled up to it. They would, of course, know full well where he was. Hutch could only hope that they had left his partner alone until he could physically join the party.

   The long driveway curved into a large circle at the front of the house. The center of the driveway was filled with a decorative fountain, and it and the house were softly lit from numerous sources. All the windows of the house were lit, the view making Hutch think of balls, parties and a house full of people. Leaving the LTD by the front entrance, Hutch felt a chill run up his spine at the absolute silence of the place. Despite all the greenery, lighting and welcoming atmosphere, there were no animal or insect sounds. Hutch felt as if invisible eyes were on him, and his own footsteps were monstrously loud.

   The massive wooden doors were unlocked and unattended. Moving into a white and blue foyer, he ignored the art and furniture in favor of the two stairways that climbed up the walls to his right and left. That was not where he wanted to go. Walking toward what looked to be a ground floor hallway, Hutch suddenly found himself trembling uncontrollably, and watched in self-disgust as the tile floor seemed to come up to meet him. He fought not to pass out completely.

   Shit! I can't give out now! On his knees, he struggled against the dizzy spell and tried to get back up. I'm not that badly hurt! Move, damn it! MOVE!!

   He froze suddenly, hearing footsteps coming down the hall toward him. It's not me, is it? This must be part of the game.

   Too far off to the side to see who was approaching, Hutch pulled his gun out of its holster. He felt no surprise at the appearance of Randolph Thomas, the proprietor of the antique shop. Of course. I should have known.

   "Welcome, Detective. I've been looking forward to your arrival." Thomas smiled at him evilly, not blinking an eye as Hutch painfully raised his gun to target the man's forehead.

   "Where is Starsky?!"

   Thomas laughed and waved a hand. The gun in Hutch's hand was lowered despite his best effort to keep it in control. "Really, Detective. That is extremely rude, you know. And here you are an invited guest." The extended hand now twisted sharply, and Hutch watched in growing fear as the Magnum fell to the floor from his unresponsive fingers. "But I can understand the lack of civility, considering you're a bit under the weather."

   Don't let him know, Hutch reminded himself. Never show fear, or they'll know it's working. Grinning painfully at Thomas, as if he routinely found himself kneeling and helpless before an enemy, he decided he might as wall try talking. "Well, you would have been disappointed if I hadn't tried."

   Thomas chuckled. "Yes, I guess I would have."

   "So," Hutch began casually, "tell me why. Why are you doing this to us?"

   "Not 'who'? You don't ask who we are?"

   Hutch shook his head tiredly. "I don't care what you call yourself now. I know what you are."

   "But you didn't recognize us at first, did you?"

   "No," Hutch admitted reluctantly. He remembered the conversation with his partner, and how he had not wanted to believe what Starsky was telling him. "I didn't."

   "Since you think you know 'who'," Thomas continued, moving behind him, out of his sight, "then why ask 'why'?" Hutch tried not to flinch when felt the man lean close to his ear, could feel his breath on his neck.

   "We do so because we wish to," Thomas whispered in his ear like an intimate friend, sounding pleased by the subject. "It amuses us. Because you and your partner could be dangerous if you were to continue along your path. Because you need to be nipped in the bud, so to speak. Because, because, because...." Thomas stood and walked back to face Hutch, smiling kindly down at him. "I don't like the way you look."

   Hutch saw the blow coming but was unable to move out of its way. He clenched his jaw seconds before the impact upon his broken nose, not wanting to react to the blinding pain. The world swam, then went black. Blinking stars out of his eyes and trying to hear past the buzz in his ears, he found himself full length upon the floor, alone, with the Magnum missing.

   At least he could move. Pushing himself back up, he ignored the fact that the sleeve he used to wipe his face came back bloody. It wasn't important. At least he could still see. Once on his feet, he gave himself half a second for the twitches in chest, shoulder and arm muscles to subside. He flexed his right hand and stretched both arms out in front of him, needing to loosen them up from the swollen tightness of the wounds.

   Thomas was not in the hallway. Hutch tried to move swiftly, ignoring the many doors that lined the walls. He wanted to be underground, certain that the end of the hall was the correct way to go. The door at the end opened up to red carpeted stairs and an expensively decorated stairwell. Almost tripping down them in his haste, Hutch stepped into to the room.

   The party room. Stacy was here, Starsky is here.

   He moved as quickly as he could, remembering this mansion-sized room as it had been filled with various men and one frightened girl. He wondered how many of those party-goers had participated in the murders, wondered how far and deep the evil had gone. Coming upon the cabinet that contained the secret passage he paused.

   I can't go in empty handed.

   There wasn't anything he could see to use as a weapon, and he didn't have time to search. Going to the bar, he grabbed a bottle and smashed it, grateful for the sharp and glittering edges on the broken end. Back at the cabinet, he pushed at the hidden button he shouldn't have known was there and stepped back as the whole wall unit slid aside to expose the stairwell.

   Hutch kicked open the bottom door, trying not to notice the effort it cost him. The blood-red lights only forced his attention to the spotlight and his partner.

   Starsky was there, chained to the wall as he had seen him in the visions. Hutch took a step towards him, only to stop when he noticed the outline of a man between them. He turned to face the dark form, knowing who his target was.

   "I'm here, Reynolds! Stay out of my way because I'm taking him home!"

   "About damn time!" Reynolds called to him disgustedly. "This was getting old. Not my thing, you know?"

   "Then I'll show you my thing," Hutch grated angrily, moving forcefully toward the tormentor.

   Reynolds didn't move, only laughed as Hutch advanced, bumping in the darkness against unseen obstacles. With only a short distance left to his target, Hutch raised the broken bottle, preparing to use it against whatever advantage Reynolds might have.

   The enveloping bolt of pain was silent and sudden, lacing across his body as if he had stepped into an unseen web of razor sharp wire. NO! I can't stop now!

   Fighting against it, his last memory was of attempting a desperate leap toward his target, trying to reach him with the jagged edges of the bottle.

   Then there was nothing at all.

~~~~~~~~

   "Huuutch!!"

   Starsky listened for a response, cursing again the hot spotlight that made him blind to the rest of the room. The last thing he had heard from Hutch was the sound of glass breaking as a body fell. Now there was no sound but Reynolds' soft and evil laughter.

   "What did you do to him, you son of a bitch!!"

   "Didn't do a thing. Didn't have to," Reynolds replied with a grunt. "Told you I was untouchable, didn't I?"

   Starsky heard the man grunt again and the sound of a body being dragged across the floor. He blinked, trying to clear the glare from his eyes as he saw Reynolds walking backwards into the circle of light, dragging a limp and unconscious Hutch by the legs.

   Starsky watched as Reynolds maneuvered Hutch up close to him, then struggled to sit the unconscious man up against the wall. Starsky was stunned at Hutch's appearance.

   I knew he was taking the pain from me, knew it would affect him, but I didn't realize...!

   The broken nose that Starsky had felt 'healed' earlier in the day was mirrored back at him from his partner's face. Both of Hutch's eyes were black and puffy, the base of his nose swollen and distorted, and blood was caked and drying under his nostrils. He could see where Hutch had tried to hide the bruising with some sort of make up, which meant that the injury had happened some time ago. And through the gap of the partially open jacket he could see a blood-soaked shirt.

   Ah, shit! He knew how and when Hutch had gotten those.

   Reynolds laughed as he straightened, then gave Hutch's unconscious body one hard kick. "Maybe this'll be fun after all."

   Starsky clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay quiet.

   "Maybe we can see what that sharp glass Hutchinson brought in with him would do to that face," Reynolds said with amusement. "What do you think, Detective Starsky?"

   Starsky kept his eyes lowered. He couldn't afford to challenge Reynolds with Hutch in such a dangerous position. He was too afraid of what Reynolds would do.

   Reynolds only laughed louder and turned to go back to the darkness.

~~~~~~~~

   Hutch...Hutch...Hutch....

   He knew that word, knew it was important to wake up, but he didn't know if he could. Fighting to open one eye Hutch closed it again swiftly against the painfully bright light.

   "Hutch! Hutch?!"

   The concerned, distant voice stirred him into movement once again, and he raised a shaking hand to shield his eyes. His found himself propped up against a wall. Next to him was one well-worn tennis shoe that Hutch had seen a million times before, only this time there was a metal cuff at the ankle. He pushed himself dizzily up to his feet, and looked into Starsky's weary eyes.

   "Guess I blew it, huh?" Hutch whispered, feeling very much the fool.

   "You look like shit," Starsky replied softly, the hint of a smile playing about his features. "Guess I'll let you off this time, Lone Ranger, since Tonto ain't doin' so hot himself."

   Taking quick inventory of Starsky's condition, he was relieved to see that there was only one welt from the whip. Starsky was trembling with the effort to keep himself upright against bruised and tired muscles, but he was alive. They still had a chance.

   "Want the key?" Reynolds asked from the darkness. "Come and get it. Let's see how far you get this time."

   Hutch could hear the jingle of small keys behind the evil chuckle. He cursed silently at the bright light. There was no way to know what Reynolds had as a weapon this time. With a sinking feeling, Hutch remembered that the man wouldn't necessarily need one, not if Reynolds could drop him at will.

   "No," Starsky answered Reynolds firmly. Hutch looked at his partner, could see the determination. "We're not playin' any more games. Do what you're gonna do."

   "He's right." Randolph Thomas replied from the depths of the darkness. As Hutch had guessed, he hadn't gone very far. "We're just wasting time."

   "So I'll finish with them both." Reynolds stepped closer and Hutch could see the glint of sharp, shiny metal. Holding the large carving knife up so that his prisoners could get a better look, Reynolds laughed as he watched their faces. "Looks like Hutchinson gets to be first, since Starsky seems to have a ring-side seat."

   "Actually...," Thomas took several steps forward, "I have a different show planned for tonight." As he moved into the light, they all could see the Magnum was pointed at Reynolds.

   "What the hell are you doing?!" Reynolds bellowed as soon as he saw the gun. The man's face flushed red with anger, then drained pale from fear. "You crazy?!! I'm untouchable! You promised me that!!"

   "I lied."

   The shot rang out like a huge explosion as the sound waves bounced crazily, covering the sound of Reynolds' body as it was blown backward and out of sight. Hutch had only started to move toward Thomas when he found the gun pointed in his direction.

   "Well, Detective. Looks like you've saved the day by tracking down and shooting the Shredder. It's tragic, really, that you didn't arrive in time to save your partner."

   "I'm not leaving without him," Hutch grated through clenched jaw. He moved slightly, making sure he kept between Starsky and the gun. Hutch knew that his gun was more than powerful enough to put a single bullet through both him and Starsky, but made the gesture anyway. "You know that."

   "Down to brass tacks, then. I'm getting tired of this." Thomas moved closer. "Time we talked."

   "Talk? We don't make deals with criminals." Hutch took a step forward, eyes holding Thomas' gaze. "You should know that by now."

   "Well, this isn't so much of a deal, as it is a business proposition." Thomas smiled slightly. "You've enjoyed the little... 'enhancements' we have afforded you, have you not?"

   Hutch nodded reluctantly. There was no use denying where the visions had come from or that some tragedies had been averted because of them.

   "So, some good has come from those powers, regardless of the source." Thomas shrugged, but the movement did not affect the aim of the gun. "If we were to get what we're asking for, that would still be true. Even now, I'm sure we can find a way to end this to our mutual advantage. We could all come out ahead."

   "No!" Starsky snapped angrily from behind Hutch. "Don't listen to him, Hutch! We're both better off dead."

   "What is it you want?"

   "It's simple, really," Thomas said casually. "We always need people in interesting positions, to do what we need to have done. Even we must follow certain rules. You would be of great help to us as a detective, now, and maybe a Captain some day. Doing us a favor now and then, earning our --"

   "NO!" Starsky yelled, and Hutch could feel his partner's eyes boring into the back of his head. "Say no, damn it! Don't listen to him! I'm not worth what he's offerin'. You--"

   "I want to hear him out," Hutch replied softly. He could almost hear the words hit his partner like a blow, could imagine the impact without having to look at him. His eyes were on Thomas. "Tell me."

   "Damnit, Hutch--!" Starsky hissed.

   "TELL ME THE REST OF IT!" Hutch bellowed, needing to hear what would be the true price for Starsky's life.

   "The usual," Thomas replied casually. "Your allegiance. You would be our eyes and ears in the department, give us access to police files and help protect our interests. You help some of our people along the way, a thief here, an embezzler there. You would have to be very discreet, of course. But the arrangement wouldn't be without its perks."

   "And you would let Starsky go? Alive and well?"

   "He'd be just as free as you to leave this place. Both of you could then claim the Shredder as your prize."

   "It won't work," Starsky rasped. Hutch turned then to look at him, could see the anger, and for the first time see a touch of fear, in his eyes. Starsky swallowed tightly. "You go that route, babe, and I swear I'll bring you down myself."

   "Starsk-"

   "Damn it! I mean it, Hutch!" Dark blue eyes turned misty now, as they hadn't during this whole ordeal, but they refused to let him go. "The Hutchinson that walks outta here with that kind of agreement is no longer the man I know. Or trust. The first wrong step you make and I'll turn you into I.A. myself, go to court against you if I hafta." The eyes wavered only a moment, then closed against their growing wetness. "I'd rather see you in a hell-hole of a jail cell then see you try to live with what you'd be doing to others." Starsky's eyes opened once again and the look in them told Hutch that this was no bluff.

   "An appropriate warning, Detective Starsky." Thomas no longer sounded amused. "There is that problem, of course. But I think we have a way of fixing that type of situation."

   "What do you mean?" he demanded, turning again to Thomas.

   "We can wipe his memory of you. Of all this." Thomas waved one hand, while keeping the Magnum steady on Hutch. "Detective Starsky leaves here in a light coma, no real damage of course. And he awakens with no memory of himself or of you. Think of the perks, Detective," Thomas continued. "You still would be able to see things before they happened, stop all sorts of needless, horrific tragedies from ever occurring! You would still have that. We would all win!"

   "NO!!" Starsky's yell echoed through out the room. "I won't let you!"

   Hutch didn't respond, feeling torn and dizzy at the notion. We both could come out of this alive...

   Thomas seemed to take his silence as a good sign and continued enthusiastically. "You were able to save a fellow officer, remember? And what about that little boy who ran in front of the Torino? What would your partner's life be like now if he had hit that little boy? Is paying for the privilege of really, truly, helping people so...unreasonable?"

   His voice grew serious then. "Think about it, Detective. Nothing in this world comes for free, there is always a sacrifice involved. You saved Stacy, yet you didn't save that other girl, did you? She died because Kenneth Hutchinson thought of himself first!"

   "No! That wasn't your fault! Hutch!" Starsky interrupted. "It was that damned bracelet! They set you up, partner, offered you the world then pulled it out from under you when you counted on it. They wanted you to think you failed and to feel guilty about it. She didn't die because of you, she died because of that monster they let loose!"

   Starsky's word were fuzzy now, and Hutch felt as if he were swimming in molasses, only able to hear Thomas clearly. He was tired of this, tired of being so useless, so frustrated all the time.

   What if? What if? Hutch thought tiredly. A million 'what ifs' and no answers. He knew that truth lay with the trapped man behind him.

   Hutch turned once more to his partner, his friend, leaning the short distance to touch his forehead to Starsky's. He needed to do that one last time. "Just like Mateo and Alex," he whispered.

   Hutch just had time to see Starsky's eyes widen in understanding. He turned away from his partner and stepped in front of him. Setting his shoulders as firmly as his wounds allowed, facing Thomas squarely.

   "You're right," Hutch sighed, taking a defeated step toward the man. "I hadn't thought of that before, but you're right." Moving closer, he shrugged his defeat. "I guess I don't have much choice then, do I?"

   "So, you agree?" Thomas asked with a triumphant smile. "Just say the words, and they'll be irrevocable."

   "Tell me. Tell me what to say," Hutch demanded thickly.

   "Just say 'I give my self, freely, to see to the Master's bidding,'" Thomas sounded a little embarrassed. "Sounds a bit simplistic, but we don't have the time to get too elaborate."

   "I, Kenneth...Richard...Hutchinson...." he began, still moving slowly toward Thomas, "give myself freely... to see... you in hell!" Leaping then, eyes on the enormous gun aimed at his middle, Hutch reached for it.

   Thunder once again erupted into the room.

~~~~~~~~

   Starsky watched in horror as Hutch's body was blown back by the powerful blast, landing at his feet.

   "NOOOOOOO!!"

   Howling out his anger and grief, he tried to throw himself forward despite the handcuffs. He had to get to Hutch, had to get to him, even if it was too late. His eyes scanned Hutch's body fearfully and he froze, afraid to believe what he was seeing.

   Hutch gasped and Starsky held his breath while waiting for him to do it again. The blood on the shirt was as it had been before, and the shirt itself looked whole and undamaged. Starsky remembered that he himself should have been the second victim of a bullet that never arrived. He missed! The bastard missed!?!

   "Hutch?! C'mon, buddy! Tell me you're okay! Hutch?!"

   At the same moment, he heard a loud commotion coming from beyond the spotlight. Listening to the sounds of fighting he could not see, he watched in relief as Hutch blinked and stirred groggily.

   There was another shot, and Starsky winced, wondering when the next one would come their way. "Hutch?! You gotta get us outta this! Let's go!!"

   Hutch was moving now, trying to bring himself to his feet. Starsky wondered how many times a human could pull himself up like that, and he just prayed his partner had the strength left in him.

   "Watch the gun!" he warned as he saw where Hutch was looking. Hutch was upright but wobbly, barely able to stand. Yet all his concentration seemed to be focused outside the area of Starsky's vision.

   "I...I think they're both down," Hutch replied roughly. He swayed a little, unsteady on his feet. "I'll check. I'll get the damned keys." He moved, disappearing into the darkness.

   Starsky drew a deep breath and held it, trying to concentrate on what he could hear. Talk to me! Tell me what you see! But he bit his lip, refusing to be a distraction. A minute passed, and he could hear Hutch's voice murmur into the silence. There was the sound of movement that he couldn't place.

   Starsky couldn't wait any more. "Hutch?"

   "Hang on, buddy. I'm coming."

   Hutch limped into view, holstering the Magnum with one hand and holding a small set of keys in the other. Coming up to him, Hutch steadied himself with one hand against the wall, then squatted down to unlock an ankle cuff.

   "Thomas is dead. That damned knife is stuck in his gut," Hutch murmured while working the lock. "But he got off a shot at Lijah before he went down."

   "Lijah?" Starsky whispered in surprise. "What the hell?!"

   "Damned if I know." Hutch freed the second ankle. He stood to work on a handcuff. "He's clipped. It took a big chunk out of his side. He's not going to last long. I've got to find a phone."

   The first arm was free now, and Hutch carefully lowered it. Starsky found he had no control of it at all. He fought to remain upright as tired muscles demanded some relief. When the second wrist was free, he could do nothing but fall heavily into Hutch's arms. If felt good, even if he couldn't lift his arms to return the bear hug. After a second or two Hutch reached up to squeeze the nape of his neck.

   "Come on, buddy. We've got to get some help."

   "I'll stay here."

   "Starsk? I can't leave you here like this."

   "No. I can't walk well. You get to that phone. Get someone down here."

   Hutch looked at him uncertainly and Starsky knew that his partner didn't want to leave him, not even to go upstairs. But Hutch would know that he wouldn't lie about not being able to move.

   "Okay," Hutch sighed, helping him to sit with his back to the wall. He pulled out the Magnum and placed it in Starsky's lap.

   "My hands are numb, you dummy," Starsky said. "How am I supposed to use that thing."

   Hutch reached down and wrapped Starsky's swollen left had around the handle, pointing the muzzle carefully out into the room. "So? Bluff." Then Hutch was up and moving into the darkness.

   "And find a light switch while you're at it," Starsky yelled. "I'm tired of bein' blind."

   Closing his aching eyes, he leaned his head back against the wall. If he couldn't see past the light he could listen. Once or twice, he thought he could hear Lijah trying to catch a breath.

   "Hang on, Lijah!" he yelled. There was no reply and Starsky decided he had better do something. Pushing the gun carefully off of his lap, he winced at the movement. He leaned forward, carefully placing numb hands on the floor and tried to push himself up to his knees. Grimacing at the pain that flashed through his ribcage, he fell the rest of the way to the floor. Curling up on his side, he felt helpless as cramps seized his body. Damn! "Hutch is gettin' help. Don't you make him waste a trip, okay pal?"

   When there was still no answer, Starsky closed his eyes and tried to relax through the cramps. Maybe, in a minute, he could try to move again. Maybe the old man could hold on long enough for Hutch to make his call.

   At least one of us was able to go for help. And there I thought Hutch was dead for certain, with me right behind him. I didn't think there was any way Thomas could have missed him.

   Opening his eyes, once again wishing he could see what was going on, he noticed a small piece of metal close to where he was lying. He squinted to see it better, decided he was seeing what he thought he saw.

   Hutch had a bullet-proof vest on? It was the only explanation for the deformed bullet that lay before him. It made sense, considering his partner was up and walking around. But it didn't feel like he had a vest on, those things are as bulky as hell. I guess I'm missing more than one thing around here.

   He closed his eyes again and waited for the cavalry to arrive.

~~~~~~~~

   Lijah lay in the dark, wondering at the power of pain to make a man feel really alive. He knew that there had been little Hutch could do for him, but he had allowed the detective to try to make him comfortable. The pain was bad, but he didn't mind it now. He had heard Hutch leave, had seen the small, careful reunion as the man had unchained his partner, and had rejoiced for them both.

   {{Well, we've won one more round, Lijah}} Charles' voice was very weak, as if there was little energy left.

   "Yes...we did," Lijah whispered softly. His eyes sought Charles in the encompassing darkness, but there was nothing to see. "But we wouldn't...have won...if you hadn't...stopped that bullet. I didn't know...you could do that."

   {{Neither did I. I think we broke a hell of a lot of rules here, you know. But it seemed the least I could do, since you seemed set on going all out for them.}}

   "In for a penny...." Lijah breathed. "I just got tired...of the losses. They've done...so much good...." He let the sentence trail off, closing his eyes as he felt the weakness flow through his system. It was getting harder to think now, and all he wanted to do was sleep. "But I almost...screwed it up....came in too late...missed too much...."

   {{You did great.}} Charles hesitated a moment, voice softening. {{I'm proud of you, Lijah. I wouldn't change a minute of it, my friend. Not a minute in all these years.}}

   "I...would. I would have... saved you."

   {{You did the best you could, my friend. That meant everything to me. Still does.}}

   A minute passed, maybe two, while Lijah wondered about the changes he could feel happening.

   "Charles?" he asked weakly, unsure whether he spoke or only thought the words. "Are you still here?"

   {{You know I am,}} the voice chided with amusement. {{Where else would I be?}}

   Charles sounded so close to him now, almost as if he were a flesh and blood person. Lijah felt a grip on his shoulder, knowing Charles was using the last of his strength. "Can...Can I...." Lijah gasped for breath now, needing to finish this one, last question. "Can we...go home...now?"

   The last thing Lijah felt was the touch moving from his shoulder to engulf his own, useless hand.

   {{Hold on, my friend,}} Charles said lovingly. {{It's going to be a wild ride. Ready?}}

   Then, between one breath and the next, David Michael Starsky became the sole living person in the room.

~~~~EPILOGUE~~~~

   Starsky sighed to himself as he struggled to find a better position on his couch. Being newly released after a night of hospital observation, he was pretty certain it would be awhile before he could find a comfortable spot here or anywhere else. Superficial cuts, sprains, scrapes, welts and bruises might not be life-threatening, but they took their own good time in healing.

   Could be worse, he decided while snagging the cushions from the other side of the couch. Hutch was still in the bathroom and couldn't complain about him hogging all the pillows until it was too late. I could still be stretched out on that wall.

   He shivered at the thought, not wanting to relive those hours. Unfortunately he knew that not thinking about them wouldn't give him a handle on his nightmares and he was sure he was going to have at least a few of those in the future.

   Good thing Hutch was okay with staying here. I really wanted to be home tonight, but don't want to be alone. And I don't want him being alone either.

   Settling down into the couch with pillows and familiar bathrobe, he left just enough room for his partner. The TV channel was set for the evening and he was too tired to get up and dig around for snacks. If Hutch wanted any, he knew where to find them.

   Truthfully, Starsky didn't want to use his hands any more than he had to. Glancing down at them in the flickering light of the television, he would see the white gauze newly wrapped around his wrists. Hutch was good at bandaging and hadn't wrapped them too tightly, unlike the new nurse Starsky had yesterday, who had wrapped him up like she was taping up boxing gloves.

   Hutch came in quietly from the bedroom, draped in his orange robe. He also moved slowly and stiffly, even after a hot shower, and looked more than ready to settle in for a quiet evening.

   At least Starsky knew he looked better than Hutch did. The broken nose had lost some of its swelling, but the black and blue marks under Hutch's eyes had started to turn all sorts of interesting colors. Starsky also hadn't needed any stitches, unlike a couple of Hutch's welts.

   "So, what's on for tonight?" Hutch asked quietly, sounding as weary as he looked.

   "Just an old movie. I don't even know what it's about. It starts in a couple of minutes."

   "Sounds good."

   When they both were arranged to their satisfaction, they sat in companionable silence.

   But a half hour or so, Starsky decided that they had to get some business done. "So," he ventured. "Tell me how you came to find Dobey standing at the front door. I missed that part."

   He heard Hutch sigh and felt him settle farther down into the couch. "Dobey said that they had found evidence of the Shredder's identity in the files they confiscated from the modeling school. I didn't even have to find a phone, since I could see some black and whites parked out front. All I had to do was open the door."

   Starsky chuckled then, snippets of conversation he had heard in the hospital coming back to him. "I heard," he started, smiling as he reached over to nudge Hutch with stiff fingers, "that you scared the shit out of a couple of the rookies. They thought a corpse had just walked out the front door of the Shredder's mansion." He finished with a laugh, picturing the scene.

   Hutch groaned, chuckling to himself as he reached up to touch his black, blue and slightly yellow features. "Yeah, well, I sure felt like one. I'm just glad Dobey recognized my car in the driveway and didn't go nuts when I practically fell into his arms. Besides, you weren't looking so hot yourself."

   "But what did Metro find in the modeling school bust that told them who the Shredder was?" Starsky wondered, honestly stumped. "All that time they had no clue as to who the Shredder was, then Metro finds enough evidence to wrap the killer up like a Christmas gift? Just like that?"

   "Well, I talked to Abe Vernson while you were getting X-rays." Hutch leaned closer. "He said it was the strangest thing, but there was a whole slew of portfolios the modeling school photographers kept of all their under-age models. The books were stacked up on a table in one of the interrogation rooms, and one kept falling off. Vernson was just assigned to that case and was going through all the evidence. He said that every time he turned around, this one book had fallen off of the table. He was just about to toss it back in with the others when he got this urge to leaf through it. He saw the picture of one of the victims."

   "So if one girl was in there, the other victims might be too."

   "Yeah." Hutch sighed sadly. "The others were in there too. After the Shredder team from Quincy Square got a hold of that, they scared the hell out of the studio owner. He practically had a heart attack right there in the station. Reynolds had been using that book to chose the victims for his snuff parties and it didn't take the studio owner long to spill his guts."

   "So Reynolds offered his victims some 'private' work at his mansion, and then picked them up so that no one would know where they went." Starsky sighed. "He probably promised them a part in a movie or somethin'."

   They were both quiet for a moment.

   Hutch sighed. "What do we tell Dobey about all this? He's going to want to know why you were kidnapped in the first place. And he's not going to be very understanding about why I didn't call in for backup when I found you were missing."

   Starsky tried to shrug and winced. "Reynolds knew the modeling school had been raided. He freaked and wanted to grab one of the officers who'd been there. Thought he'd force deal a with me. Then when it didn't work he lured you in. When we both refused to cover his ass he flipped out and was going to kill us. Just tell Dobey you got a call to meet me up at the mansion and didn't have a chance to call for backup."

   "But what about Lijah? Where does he come in?"

   Starsky paused a moment, wondering about Lijah himself "The truth's all we've got to go with on that one, I guess."

   "You mean, we don't have a clue."

   As if by unspoken agreement, they were silent for a while, allowing the movie to flow on. Starsky found his mind wandering back to everything that had happened. He glanced at Hutch once in awhile and was convinced that his partner's mind wasn't on the movie either.

   "You know," Starsky began. "I was starting to get a little scared that you were takin' Thomas seriously. I only understood what you were gonna do once you reminded me of Mateo and Alex, how one jumped on that bank robber's gun to save the other's life, only the shot took them both out." He watched Hutch and found it troubling that his partner wouldn't look at him. "It was the best way out. Taking Thomas' offer wasn't very tempting."

   "No, it wasn't." Hutch bent his head. "I couldn't stand the thought of being forgotten by you, of our friendship disappearing like it had never been. I felt it was better if we both died, rather than let that happen."

   Starsky heard the embarrassment and self-chastisement behind the words. "And you think I wouldn't felt the same way?!" He gave Hutch's arm an affectionate squeeze.

   "But I should have been thinking of you first. That's what partners are supposed to do, not make life and death decisions for their own selfish reasons."

   "Well, we're both human," Starsky said casually. "Big surprise there. And no matter what you may think, partner, I never thought you were perfect." He smiled and waited until Hutch looked up at him. "The fact is, that memory thing spooked both of us. Neither of us would have chosen that option. So I say we count our blessings and leave it at that."

   "Well..." Hutch drawled, a small, relieved looking smile on his face, "there was never any way I could accept anything Thomas offered, no matter what it was," Hutch admitted. "No matter what they offered, it all comes down to the fact that-"

   "They lie," Starsky finished it for him. "They lie like a rug. They even lie about lying. Can't trust 'em to stick to the rules, tell you the truth, or abide by a contract."

   "True," Hutch agreed with a knowing nod. "Very true. I could have agreed to their terms and as soon as I said the magic words Thomas could have shot you, or mangled your brain with that coma, or had you hit by a car on your way to rehab. There wouldn't have been a damn thing I could do about it. I'd be stuck owing the bad guys my soul and you'd be dead anyway."

   "Yep. You know, I've always wondered about those guys in the horror stories that made all those pact with the devil. I mean, they were always lied to about what they were going to get by signing up. The whole point is that if the devil wants to renege on the rules, who's gonna stop him?"

   "I think Reynolds learned that a little too late."

   "Sure did. He sure looked surprised when he got shot." Starsky turned back to the television, giving Hutch one last pat at he did so. "Good thing you had that bullet proof vest on when Thomas shot at you."

   "Vest?" Hutch asked in confusion. "What vest?"

   Starsky looked at Hutch in surprise. "What do you mean, 'what vest'? The vest that stopped the bullet from your Magnum."

   "Starsky, I wasn't wearing a vest," Hutch said, eyebrows drawn up in confusion. "I never had the time, and they wouldn't have let me wear one anyway. Thomas must have missed and I just got thrown back by the force or something."

   "Couldn't have," Starsky insisted. "You were right up on him, and I wasn't that far behind. He not only couldn't have missed, but I saw the bullet, there on the floor where you'd been thrown. I thought it had fallen out of the vest when you got up."

   "Starsky, I'm telling you, I wasn't wearing one."

   They were both silent, and Starsky could tell that Hutch was just as confused as he was. "Well, I guess Forensics would have it packed up somewhere. We could always have them look at it, see if it actually hit the wall."

   "Let's not," Hutch sighed tiredly. "I don't think I want to know right now."

   "Yeah. Let's just let that special task force worry about that one."

   Starsky waited a moment before asking the next question. When he did, he kept his voice low. "Does it scare you? Thinkin' about all this evil stuff bein' real? And out there?"

   Hutch didn't reply for a few moments. "Yeah, it does," he finally admitted. "I keep wanting to forget about it, pretend it never happened. Because if I don't, I'll spend all my time worrying that it will happen again." He sighed deeply. "I don't think we're ready to deal with things like that. At least, I know I'm not."

   "Me neither," Starsky agreed whole-heartedly. "The streets are bad enough, but that?" He shook his head. "Do you think Lijah was really in on all that? Think he was a good guy?"

   "I don't know. But I'd like to think he was on our side. Poor guy deserves some brownie points on the plus side of the ledger, if nothing else. But I did find out from the morgue that the county hasn't buried him yet."

   "No known relatives to claim him, huh?"

   "Nope. I called and asked the morgue and they said he was released for burial today, but that the county will wait a couple of weeks or so to make sure nobody is going come for him. They don't want to pay for any more burials if they can help it."

   "That's really sad, you know," Starsky said. "To go through your life without anybody who cares." He was silent for a moment. "Do you think...maybe...that we could...?"

   "He saved our lives," Hutch said. "We owe him for that. Seems the least we could do. Each go in for half?"

   "Sounds good to me," Starsky agreed. "I'll call the cemetery tomorrow. They had plenty of spaces open. We can pick out a good one, maybe by one of those benches so he won't be lonely."

   "You know something funny? I'm starting to think that maybe Lijah really did have someone to care for him."

   "Charles?"

   "Yeah."

   "I hope so," Starsky said sincerely. "I certainly hope so."

~~~~~~~~

   Jeffery Trent sat back in his booth, drawing on his cigarette and watching the dancers as they writhed in the flashing colors and the loud vibrations of the newest disco club. Because of his slim, athletic build and blond good looks he could have his pick of dance partners, but tonight he really wasn't in the mood. He had heavy thoughts to occupy his time.

   Getting old, my man, he mused. Getting bored with these infants and their playing at rituals and substance, are we? Maybe it's time to start stirring the pot again, get the blood flowing. It has been awhile since the world could have been said to be... interesting.

   He ignored the girl across the room who was making eyes at him. He wasn't in the mood for company. Right now he just wanted to enjoy the evening by himself and to celebrate the end of another 'game'. It may not have been a triumphant ending, but it had relieved the boredom a bit.

   I should have gotten rid of Thomas long ago. But losing him in exchange for the chance to remove one of the best of theirs certainly worked out well.

   Trent had enjoyed seeing Lijah taken out. The man had been around for far too long, had done much too much damage to their side not to be respected as a worthy adversary. But even the most interesting opponents couldn't last forever, although Lijah had stuck it out longer than most.

   But that was half of the fun, playing the 'search and destroy' game. It had taken him ages and ages to ferret Lijah out, and even then it had been a fluke that had led to the discovery of the face behind the power. Thomas himself had never even had a clue that he was being watched by the other side, or who it was that was watching him. Thomas had gotten sloppy. But then, so had Lijah.

   What was Lijah thinking, breaking all those rules like that? For those two? Who did he think they were, anyway?

   Even well-meshed teams almost never made it far enough along to be noticed, often succumbing to the weapons of their adversaries or the stresses of their jobs. But when they did survive, they were the most valuable of all.

   Maybe they are worth a second look, he decided casually. Wouldn't do to get sloppy myself. Thomas never did reveal why he picked them out, other than the fact that the blond one looked like me. He never could pass up a chance to get back at his superiors, even if it was only by proxy.

   With the recent exposure of his current identity, Trent would have to move to a new name, change his hang-outs, find a new profession. Not that it would be much of a loss, as this playboy existence seemed to bore him much more quickly than any of the others. A change was almost always welcome.

   It might be interesting to advance the clock a bit, about ten years or so, he mused, playing with the thought. He rubbed his clean-shaven face and visualized the changes in his mind. It might be fun to play with the idea. See where it leads. I haven't done something like that for decades.

   He smiled to himself, reaching into his pocket for the silver bracelet. It was one of his favorite pieces and had been the only thing worth going back for. He admitted to himself that Thomas had done one thing right by retrieving it.

   Trent slipped it on his wrist and made eye contact with the young lady who was still watching him with interest.

   Why not? he decided, winking at her and rising to go and introduce himself. I'm always game for a new challenge.

THE END