Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction written solely for the enjoyment of fellow fans. No infringement on anyone’s copyright is intended. No profit is being made from this story. To our beta reader: THANK YOU!
Comments about this story can be sent to: suedavid1@yahoo.com and valerieww@aol.com

Trance - Part One

By

Sue David and Valerie Wells
06/2001

Friday, October 31, 1980

Hutch's POV:

Thursday, October 23, 1980

   Driving through the streets of their beat could be illuminating, exhilarating, or maddeningly boring. Today, the latter was annoying Detectives Dave Starsky and Ken Hutchinson. They knew it couldn't hold. With Halloween only a week away, things were bound to warm up on the streets. They always did. The only thing that could make it a bigger certainty would be the presence of a full moon in the week before trick-or-treat night. This year, that's just what they had.

   One of the recreation centers on their beat was holding a Halloween carnival over the next few nights and Starsky wanted to check it out to break up the monotony. Hutch was not keen on the idea.

   "Ah, come on, Hutch. It'll be fun," Starsky cajoled.

   "Starsk, how come you never grew up? Halloween is for little kids." Hutch was stiff, bored, and in no mood for his partner's antics. Sitting in the car for hours on end was doing nothing to lighten his attitude.

   "We've gotta stop for dinner anyway. Please?"

   "What's the big deal? Isn't it just a kid's carnival?" Hutch was weakening and Starsky could hear it in his voice.

   "Nope. This one has fortunetellers, rides, and a couple of psychics as guests. Huggy told me all about it. You like all that psychic mumbo-jumbo as much as I enjoy the rides." Starsky was hoping that would convince Hutch.

   The blond sighed. "You know, Starsk. Don't you ever think it's odd that you believe in vampires, werewolves, and the Creature from the freakin' Black Lagoon, but you don't believe in most psychic phenomena?" Hutch found this facet of his partner's complex personality fascinating and it had often been the subject of discussion. With the sun setting and the full moon rising, Hutch thought now was the perfect time to bring it up again.

   "You're changing the subject." Starsky was pouting.

   "Okay, okay. I'll go to the carnival. Just answer my question."

   Starsky rewarded him with a bright smile. "Thanks, buddy! You won't regret it. Now, to answer your question, yeah. That's weird. You know that though, we've talked about this before, remember?"

   "Don't you ever think about how we do what we do?"

   Starsky shot him a confused glance. "Huh? What'dya mean?"

   "You know, mush brain. The way we communicate without saying anything. The way we work on the street. That's a kind of psychic connection, don't you think?"

   Starsky pondered that for a minute. "I guess I just chalk it up to knowing each other so well."

   Hutch chuckled. "You know it's more than that. Why do you have such a hard time accepting things like ESP? Remember trying to convince me that you had psychic powers that day before I got shot?"

   Remembering days when Hutch was hurt really wasn't on Starsky's list of fun things to do, but he did remember. "Yeah, I remember. I was just messin' with you though. You really think we have ESP?"

   Before Hutch could answer that question the radio interrupted them.

   "Zebra 3, come in please."

   Hutch picked up the mike. "This is Zebra 3, go ahead."

   "We have a report of a man who's placed a vampire under citizen's arrest on your beat."

   Hutch snickered as he replied, "You're joking, right?"

   "Negative, Zebra 3. 1217 Laurel."

   "We are responding."

   Starsky turned the car around to head for the call and said, "A vampire? You think that's for real?"

   Hutch slapped his partner on the knee and said, "There you go, buddy. The sun's down. Who knows, let's just check it out."

   When they arrived on the scene, they found a fifty-year-old man sitting on the front steps of his home. Tied to the wrought iron front porch railing was a dark figure in a cape. That must be their vampire.

   Hutch flashed his badge. "I'm Detective Hutchinson, and this is Detective Starsky. We were told you've made a citizen's arrest."

   The man stood up and shook each of their hands. "That's right, officers. Name's Bill Pearson. That jackass tied up on my porch was trying to rip off my son's Moped. I caught him red-handed."

   The jackass in question protested, "I wasn't doing nothin'. Just lookin' at it."

   "Yeah, that's why you were rolling it up my driveway, punk," Pearson barked back at him.

   "He pulled a gun on me, man. He can't do that!" The vampire continued his protests.

   Starsky gave Pearson a steely glare. "That true? Where's the piece?"

   "I put it down in the living room. Didn't want to have a loaded gun out here when you boys arrived. I held my gun on him while my son tied him up like that." He didn't seem flustered by Starsky's glare.

   Hutch asked, "You have a permit for that gun?"

   "Yes. Come inside. My son's in there if you want to talk to him."

   Starsky walked over to the young thief. The boy looked like he was only about sixteen. He was dressed as a vampire. "You always do your crimes in costume?"

   The punk spat on the ground. "Shove it."

   "How old are you, Dracula?" Starsky was already tired of this collar – perhaps the most ridiculous one he and Hutch had made in the past month.

   "I'm fifteen. Hey, untie me, man. That nutcase cut off my circulation."

   Starsky laughed at him. "You're out stealing Mopeds in the early evening in a vampire costume and you're callin' him a nutcase?"

   Starsky reached around for his cuffs. He slapped one half around the boy's right wrist and latched the other tightly to the porch railing. Then he began untying the youngster. "Don't move. I'm going to call a unit to pick you up."

   Back at the Torino, Starsky called for a black-and-white to pick the boy up and take him to Juvenile Hall. Not exactly the kind of case to make their night. After Hutch got a statement from Pearson and his son, they waited for the black-and-white. When the boy had been taken away, they logged themselves out for a meal break and headed for the carnival. Neither one of them cared enough to find out why he was in costume.

   When they arrived at the rec center, Starsky dragged Hutch over to the hot dog stands to grab a quick dinner. A hot dog looked like the only thing available that was neither pizza nor fried so Hutch had one.

   Walking around after they ate, Starsky spotted Huggy. He was playing the part of a carnival barker trying to get people to come into the psychic fair.

   "Hey, Huggy," Starsky called. "Didn't you get enough of this with Collandra?"

   "Starsky, you know Joe don't go in for this kind of thing. He just likes to stay in the shadows, dig? The Bear is lookin' for something more in the open."

   Hutch laughed at him. "You're always on some kind of money making scheme, man. What is it this time? Tea leaves? Crystal Balls? Water Witches?"

   "Water witches!? You read too much, Blondie. Actually, my cousin Cynthia is in there tonight. She's a for real psychic, too."

   Starsky was increasingly amused. "Oh yeah? Since when do you have a psychic cousin?"

   "You gotta ask? I've got just about every kinda cousin, Curly. Go on in and see her. You'll see." Huggy put out his hand. "Cross my palm with some silver, travelers."

   The partners looked at each other and shrugged. Hutch pulled out his wallet and paid Huggy the five bucks it took to get them both into the psychic fair.

   "My treat, skeptic," he said with a wink to his doubting friend.

   "At least the money raised is going toward fixing up the playground here. Not a total waste of your green, Blintz." Starsky playfully socked Huggy on the arm as they passed him and entered the colorful, circus style tent.

   The inside of the tent had booths around its perimeter. Almost any type of psychic service and ESP trickster was in evidence. First, they passed a tarot card reader with a turban on her head and the fakest Jamaican accent either of them had ever heard. Her sign said, "Come in now for your free reading." Next, a tea leaf reading booth, then a palmist and a phrenologist. Hutch explained that a phrenologist was someone who read the bumps on a person's head.

   "She'd sure have a field day with your cranium, Blondie. You get clunked on your head more than anyone I've ever known," Starsky said with a snicker.

   "Ha, ha."

   They didn't have much time for their break, so they wanted to be sure to spend it with Huggy's cousin. They bypassed spirit writers and Ouija board booths. Finally, near the back, they saw "Cynthia Angel, Aura Reader" painted in purple and gold on a large white sandwich sign. They waited outside her mostly enclosed booth until her current customer exited, then Hutch poked his head in and said, "Cynthia? Are you Huggy's cousin?"

   "That's right, Blondie. Huggy said you two would come by and see me. I assume you have your other half with you out there." She had a warm smile and sparkly brown eyes, just like Huggy's.

   "Yep, right behind me." Hutch motioned for Starsky to follow him into her partially darkened, incense charged booth. Hutch noticed she was burning the type of incense used in Tibetan monasteries for meditating. He laughed at himself thinking maybe Huggy was right about him reading too much and maybe Starsky's frequent complaint about his National Geographic Magazine subscription had merit.

   They stepped into the booth and sat across from Cynthia. Starsky noticed there was a white sheet hanging behind them and he wondered if that was supposed to help her see their auras. She turned a wary eye first to Hutch, then to Starsky when they introduced themselves. She put a hand up to indicate she did not want to shake hands. Hutch guessed touching them might interfere with her reading.

   Starsky asked, "So, how much has Huggy told you about us?"

   "Not much really. He tells me you are both police officers, that you are best friends, and that you are dear friends of his. I don't know much else about you though."

   That satisfied Starsky. He cracked his knuckles. "Do your worst, psychic. We're ready for ya!"

   Hutch blushed. "I'm sorry, Cynthia. My partner's name should be Thomas instead of Dave where psychics are concerned. Now, give him a good mummy's curse and he's right there with you."

   Starsky shot Hutch a malevolent glance.

   "Settle down, you two. I have to concentrate."

   Cynthia closed her eyes for a few moments. When she opened them she looked first at Hutch, then Starsky, then back again. Formulating her assessment carefully, she took a deep breath.

   "The aura is composed of seven layers. I won't bore you with all the details, but the layers represent your mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual selves in various ways. The colors tell me things about you. I'll start with you, Ken."

   Hutch smiled and nodded at her. He was open and interested, while his partner was already looking bored.

   "Your aura contains several different colors. I see indigo, indicating a strong psychic ability, the silvery gray some people get when they practice Yoga, bright pink, this indicates loyalty and commitment, and a strong presence of various greens tells me that you are a natural healer. I also see terracotta. That is the color of a person who challenges conventional thinking and values. Lastly, your aura has apricot in it, telling me you are a caring communicator."

   Hutch was amazed and Starsky was starting to get interested. Cynthia turned her gaze toward the darker man.

   "Dave, your aura also contains many different colors. I see the same indigo as in your partner’s aura. In fact, sitting this close together, I would guess the two of you are highly attuned to one another. Your auras interlink in places, telling me you have a strong connection between you. In your aura, I also see amber, indicating courage and personal strength. You have royal blue also which tells me you have found your chosen path in life. A rustic red color tells me you have a quick temper, but jade offsets that telling me you have a kind, charitable nature. The most interesting thing I see in your aura is lavender. I only see that in a person who has had a near death experience."

   Starsky looked at Hutch with a "whoa, partner" glance. Hutch raised his eyebrows, silently answering, "Really."

   Cynthia smiled at them. "See. You just did it. Message sent by one, received and answered by the other. Very indigo. How am I doing so far?"

   "Terrific," Starsky answered for the both of them.

   Hutch swallowed hard and said, "You sure Huggy hasn't told you a lot about us? Especially Starsky." He was intrigued and concerned by her comment about Starsky's near death experience.

   "Not much, as I said. I just moved here from Chicago a week ago. We really haven't had much time together yet."

   Hutch continued, "Huggy said you were a psychic. Is this what he meant?"

   "Not exactly. I can sometimes tell what is going to happen to a person. Not always, but sometimes. I have to touch you for that. That's why I don't shake hands before an aura reading. Clouds my results with too many images. Ken, if you'll just step outside for a moment, I'll talk to Dave alone first. Then you. I find it helps if I only have one person present for a psychic reading."

   Hutch rose and left the booth, patting his partner on the shoulder as he passed. Cynthia smiled and asked Starsky to scoot closer to her and she put out her hands to him. When he took her hands, she felt an electric current run through them. Closing her eyes, she tried to zero in on what she was reading.

   Cynthia's thoughts were a jumble of images. She saw lots of danger in the future for the dark man before her. Closing her eyes tighter, and turning slightly away from him, she listened to the sounds of gunfire and squealing car tires in her head. The images she saw included one of a child on a bicycle heading out of control into the oncoming path of a streaking red car with a white stripe. She saw several other images she decided she was not going to share with Starsky. Finally, she sighed deeply and opened her eyes.

   Dropping his hands, she said, "You lead a dangerous life, Dave. Your future is a jumble to me of gunfire and car chases."

   Starsky laughed softly and said, "Story of my life."

   She looked seriously at him. "I have one image that is important for me to share with you. I see a child on a bicycle, riding in front of a red car with a white stripe. The red car is chasing a green van through an intersection when it happens. First the green van hits a small car in the intersection, but it keeps going. I see a hill. That's where the child comes from when he rides in front of the car. I hope this will help you."

   "That's awfully detailed. You sure?" Starsky was still skeptical of the whole process.

   "I can never be positive, Dave. Do you drive a red car?"

   "Yeah – a red car with a white stripe. Thanks." He gulped and stood to let his partner have his turn getting a reading on the future.

   When Hutch passed him, Starsky had a funny look on his face. She spoke so quietly, Hutch had not been able to hear what Cynthia told his partner.

   Cynthia shook her head a couple of times when Hutch sat in front of her. Then she offered her hands to him. When he held them, she felt a similar electric current pass into her psyche. These two men were intense with psychic energy. She saw disturbing images of the blond holding his partner, sitting on the ground sobbing. Then she saw the blond being led away from his friend by a large black man. Someone was covering Starsky's face with a sheet. Cynthia gasped and opened her eyes, taking quick, shallow breaths.

   Hutch was concerned. "Cynthia? Are you all right?"

   She nodded and dropped his hands, wiping a tear from one eye as she gathered her composure. Then she said, "Ken, do you believe the future is solid or fluid?"

   Hutch did not like the direction this was taking. "Fluid. I think things change constantly. Life is just too random at times to believe anything else. You were right about the Yoga. I've been studying for several years now. I believe in fluidity."

   "I'm sorry, but there is no easy way to tell you this." She paused a moment to read his expression.

   Hutch's heart sank. He wasn't prepared to hear anything heavy. Suddenly, he was concerned about his partner and curious about why that would be. This was his reading. What did she say to Starsk?

   "I saw some images in both your future and Dave's. I believe in the fluidity of time also, and I know how much Huggy cares about you both. That's why I'm telling you these things. Please understand I may be wrong about any or all of it. The future is just not totally predictable. I see three men who are going to try to take Dave with them. Don't let them. If you do, he'll die."

   Hutch's eyes grew wide. "What?" he hissed.

   "I'm sorry, Ken. I saw it. Do you know a large black man? Someone who could deal with you in an emotional crisis?"

   Hutch nodded slowly. "Are you sure? When?"

   "Just be careful, please. I have no way of knowing when, or even if it will happen for certain. Fluidity, remember? I told Dave about something else, but I didn't share this with him. Something told me not to do that, but to tell you instead. I hope I did the right thing."

   "You sure get some detailed images." Hutch's mind was racing with the information she had given him.

   "Sometimes, especially from people with a high level of psychic intensity." She hated getting images like these, but felt strongly about trying to help these two men.

   "Thanks, Cynthia." Hutch stood numbly and walked out of the booth. He practically collided with Starsky who was waiting just outside, straining unsuccessfully to hear what she told him without really feeling like he was eavesdropping. He took one look at his pale, trembling partner and instantly went into assess and protect mode.

   "Hey? What'd she say to you?" He stopped Hutch's progress, holding onto his arms and trying to force his partner to meet his gaze.

   "Uh, I'm sure it's nothing, Starsk." Hutch tried to evade the question.

   "Nothing? You sure don't look like it's nothing. Come on, give." Starsky was insistent.

   Hutch scrambled for something to tell Starsky. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up and he knew he shouldn't tell Starsky what she said to him, but he didn't like the idea of lying to him either.

   "Oh, I think maybe that hot dog hit me funny, Starsk. I'm not feeling so hot." That wasn't quite a lie. He was feeling queasy after what Cynthia told him.

   Starsky looked skeptical, but he seemed to accept that. "Come on, let's get out of here. This tent is pretty stuffy. Maybe some fresh air will help." He led Hutch by the elbow out of the tent and into the warm California evening. Hutch couldn't blow off what she said to him. Starsky's life might depend on it. He knew he had to watch out for these mysterious three men.

   Huggy approached them as they left the tent. "Hey, amigos. You see Cynthia?" He noticed the pale look on the blond's face. "You okay, Hutch? You're looking kinda pasty faced, even for you."

   Hutch shook his head and said, "Starsk, will you go get me a soda, please? Not a cola."

   Starsky nodded and hustled toward the nearest concession stand.

   Hutch grabbed Huggy by the elbows. "Huggy, is your cousin the real thing?"

   "Yeah, man, I told ya. She tell you somethin' bad?"

   "She said some men were going to kill Starsky!" Hutch tried not too successfully to calm himself before his partner returned.

   "Does he know?"

   "No!" Hutch replied, a little more sharply than he intended. "I'm sorry, Hug. If I tell him he’ll probably just blow it off. If he believes it, that kind of information could be dangerous. Might cause him to hesitate when he shouldn't and get himself killed for sure. God, Huggy. Maybe she's wrong." Starsky was walking back toward the other two men already. Quickly, he added, "Don't tell him, Huggy. I know what to look for. Promise me."

   Huggy looked unsure, but he said, "Yeah, okay. You'd better know what you're doing though."

   "No kidding."

   Starsky handed him the soda. "You feeling any better?" He put a hand up to Hutch's damp forehead feeling for fever.

   Hutch took a long sip of the soda. "Yeah, thanks. We'd better get back out there and finish our shift."

   "You wanna clock out sick?" Starsky still didn't like the look on his friend's face .

   "Nah, let's just go. We've only got another four hours."

   They said their goodbyes to Huggy and left the carnival. Huggy instantly spun on his heel and headed into the tent to talk to his cousin.

   Riding around in the Torino over the next few hours, the detectives discussed their visit with Cynthia. Starsky told Hutch about her prediction regarding a kid on a bike and they agreed Hutch would keep an extra sharp eye out in the shotgun seat just in case, even though Starsky was having a tough time accepting it as anything but the product of a vivid imagination. He was ignoring the fact that Cynthia knew he drove a red and white car, choosing to think Huggy must have told her. Hutch remained elusive about what she said to him, implying she had seen the same sorts of images with him as she had with Starsky. He rationalized that it was not really a lie; she had told him that she saw the same images when she did Starsky's reading.

   As the hours wore on, they got into a deep philosophical discussion about a wide range of topics with a focus on the metaphysical, supernatural, and extra sensory. Starsky had a keen mind with a skeptical nature on all such subjects.

   "Starsky, you heard what Cynthia said about our being 'attuned' to each other. You know how we work. Why can't you accept that she could have some kind of line into the future?"

   "I know you don't understand it. I'm not sure I do either. Have you ever read 'Interview with The Vampire'?"

   Hutch gave him a withering glance that answered the question.

   "You should read it. This vampire gives an interview about his experiences as an immortal. I don't know why, but I just have an easier time believing something could happen physically to change a person into a monster than I do believing some people have this 'mental' ability that others don't." Starsky's attempt to explain this contradiction in his thinking was beginning to make sense to Hutch.

   Hutch countered, "But why is that any different from the physical abilities people have? For example, you're the best shot I've ever seen, but some people couldn't hit the broad side of a barn, as my grandpa would say. You're an artist with a model ship or a camera lens, but you have no gift for drawing at all. Me, I can draw and paint, but I can't take a decent picture on my best day. What's the difference?"

   Starsky thought about that for a minute. "Thanks for the compliments, buddy, but I just think it's different. You know, I guess it's really Houdini's fault."

   This was going to be a fine example of convoluted Starsky logic. "How'dya figure that?"

   Starsky answered, "He believed psychics were fake. He didn't believe all that mumbo jumbo stuff and I guess maybe I never have either. I think that's something I picked up on way back when I was a kid watching that Tony Curtis movie. I don't know, Hutch. Seemed to make sense at the time. I'm trying to keep my mind open this time though. Cynthia did seem to have something."

   Hutch realized that was an improvement. As the conversation drifted toward other areas, he asked Starsky another deep question. "Would you accept that some people have more control over their physical condition and state than others?"

   "What do you mean? You talking about that biorhythm stuff again? If you're planning to tell me I'm in another triple zero phase, keep it to yourself."

   Hutch laughed at him. "No, no, nothing like that. Did you know some people can slow their heart rate and breathing down so much, they go into a sort of suspended animation or stasis? If you didn't know better, you'd think they were dead."

   "Get outta here. You mean like those swami guys you see on TV sometimes? That ain't real." Starsky smirked at him and shook his head.

   "Yes, it is," Hutch disagreed.

   "No, it ain't. Nobody could really fake it that good." Starsky was adamant.

   Hutch looked down at his lap and quietly said, "I can do it."

   Starsky wordlessly pulled over to the curb and stopped the car. He turned the engine off and then spun in his seat to have a better look at his partner. "What did you say?"

   Hutch sighed and looked at him. "I said I can do it."

   "No, you can't. Come on now." Starsky wasn't sure he liked this conversation anymore.

   "Starsk, I'm not kidding. I can do it. You know I've been studying Yoga for a while now. My Yoga instructor taught me how to do it. I'm telling you, I can do it."

   Starsky scrutinized Hutch's expression for any sign of a joke. He didn't want to take the bait and feel like a complete idiot. Nothing about his best friend's demeanor or body language revealed anything but honesty.

   "Yeah? Can you do it now?" he asked, almost eager to watch Hutch try it.

   "Not here, not now. I mean, I could, but nah. How about I prove it to you, though?" Hutch had gone this far and he figured he might as well finish it.

   "When and where?"

   Hutch reached over and grabbed Starsky's left wrist to look at his watch. "We're off shift in ten more minutes and we have the day off tomorrow. Tell you what. I'll get up in the morning and do my usual routine – run, shower, breakfast. You go ahead and sleep in for a bit. Come over to my place around nine in the morning and I'll prove it. Okay?"

   "You're not just messing with me?" Starsky wanted to be sure.

   "I swear on my mother. You come over in the morning at nine and you'll see. What do I get if I can do it?" Hutch's eyes twinkled at the thought. He knew Starsky was going to lose.

   "All right, hot shot. You do it and I'll take you out to dinner and a movie tomorrow night. They're still showing 'The Empire Strikes Back' over at that older movie theater on Wall. This all sounds kinda like Jedi stuff or the force, you know? We both liked that film and I think it seems appropriate, under the circumstances. If you lose, the movie and dinner are on you."

   Hutch shook his hand. "That's a bet, partner. Hope you're looking forward to that new vegetarian restaurant near the theater. That's where we're going after you lose this bet."

   "Only if we can go to Black Angus for a nice big steak after YOU lose this bet, smart guy."

   The friendly banter about who was going to lose continued as they went through the remaining minutes of their shift. They decided not to go back to the precinct for paperwork. They were already so far behind Dobey probably wouldn't notice one more day in the big picture. Starsky dropped Hutch off at his place with a wave and pulled away from the curb content to know he was going to be treated to a great flick and dinner the next night. Cynthia's vision still had Hutch spooked, but he couldn't think of a reason to keep Starsky at his place and he had the inexplicable feeling it was going to come down when they were together anyway. He waved goodbye as Starsky pulled away and he headed up the stairs.

   The next morning, after his regular routine, Hutch put on some sweats so he could be comfortable. He sat down and wrote a note to Starsky, letting him know how to pull him out of his self-induced trance. Hutch was planning to go deep into his subconscious level just like the Yoga instructor had taught him.

   At about 8:30 he turned the radio on to a classical station to help him relax. Pushing the coffee table out of the way, he unrolled the mat he used for his Yoga exercises on the floor. After he put the note on the coffee table where Starsky would see it, he lay down on the mat and started to relax into the exercise. He chuckled as he thought about his poor partner finding him this way, convinced he was pulling his leg all along. Hutch felt a little guilty about how Starsky was going to feel, but he did warn him. Man, he's gonna freak when he sees I can really do it. In that moment, he decided not to make Starsky go to the vegetarian restaurant. If he was going to eat crow, the man ought to at least be allowed some meat while he did it.

   Hutch slowed his breathing and pulse gradually, meditating and concentrating his way deeper and deeper into his trance. Within the next half-hour, Hutch was completely still. Anyone coming upon him like this would not find a heartbeat or respiration without patience and medical equipment to detect them.

   For once in his life, Starsky was punctual. He was anxious to get into Hutch's place and see what he would find. The competitive part of him hoped Hutch was unable to do it, but his usual pride in his partner led him to also hope he could do it.

   Starsky opened the street door to Venice Place at nine o'clock sharp. As he walked up the stairs to Hutch's apartment, Starsky could hear classical music wafting down the stairwell. He opened the door quietly with his spare key, not wanting to risk breaking Hutch's concentration.

   Starsky stood frozen in the open doorway for several heartbeats. "Hutch?"

   Even though he knew what Hutch was planning to do, the sight of his partner lying on the floor so still was unnerving. His best friend looked dead, not at all like he was meditating or sleeping. He noticed the note on the coffee table above where Hutch was lying. Rushing to his side, he knelt down to feel for a pulse. Nothing. He watched for long, agonizing seconds for Hutch to breathe, but he didn't. He put his ear down on Hutch's chest to see if he could hear a heartbeat or the sounds of breathing and he couldn't. This was definitely not a joke. Starsky's heart clenched in his chest as he called his partner's name again, "Hutch?" With shaking hands, he opened and read the note.

   Starsky glanced over at Hutch again, waiting for a grin, a wink, any movement that would indicate Hutch was actually watching him and enjoying his reaction to this situation. Nothing. Even the normally fair skin was far more pale than usual.

   Starsky read the note three or four times, then looked over at Hutch doubtfully. His heart was still thudding with fear in his chest and if he hadn't been warned about this "trance," he'd have called an ambulance long ago. He laid the note on Hutch's abdomen, where he could see it to read the poem, and followed the instructions. Feeling silly, he pressed gently and read the words. Nothing happened. Biting his bottom lip, he did it again, just for good measure, and then leaned over and whispered, "Kenneth Richard Hutchinson" into Hutch's left and right ears in turn. Then he sat back on his heels and watched for signs of life.

   For several minutes – which felt more like hours to Starsky – there was no movement, no reaction. Hutch lay just as he had been before, absolutely still. Starsky bit his lip again and was just getting ready to repeat the whole process or call an ambulance when he thought he saw Hutch's chest move. He waited a little longer. At last he saw movement again as Hutch drew breath, so he took Hutch's wrist in his hand and felt for a pulse. It was faint, but steady. He put the hand down and waited again. Finally, the breathing became regular and Hutch's eyes opened.

   "Morning," Hutch said, quite as if nothing at all had happened.

   "You scared the shit outta me," Starsky scolded. "What the hell was THAT?"

   Hutch grinned and sat up. The color had come back into his face and he seemed rested and relaxed. "I hate to say 'I told you so...'" he began.

   "You do not," Starsky complained. "You get off on saying it."

   Hutch's grin widened. "Maybe. Anyway, I did it, didn't I? Convincing or not?"

   Starsky rolled his eyes, but he had to admit, "If I hadn't known what you were gonna do, you'd be in the emergency room now."

   "And the doc might be declaring me dead," Hutch said. He glanced over at the clock on the wall. "No, maybe not. I was going to come out of it in a few more minutes anyway."

   "So, you wanna tell me what's the purpose of playing possum like that? What's it good for, other than scaring your best friend half to death?"

   "The purpose," Hutch said patiently, "is to become one with God. Yoga teaches you, in stages, to separate your self from your consciousness and to realize you're one with Creation."

   "Are you kiddin'?"

   Hutch shook his head. "Nope. It's called 'cosmic consciousness,' when you can reach that oneness."

   "Did you?"

   Hutch shook his head again. "No, I haven't been at it long enough. But you have to be able to cease all awareness of the world, shut down your senses, in order to even try. That's what that trance is all about."

   "So what was all that mumbo-jumbo you had me recitin' over you?"

   "That's from the Rubaiyat."

   "The what?" Starsky stared at him.

   "The Rubaiyat, by Omar Khayyam. It's a long poem about Yoga and its teachings."

   "Why would ya write a poem about Yoga? Why not just write a book about it?"

   Hutch smothered another grin. "A poem's easier to remember, I guess."

   Starsky rubbed his eyes and forehead as if he had a headache. "Okay, whatever. I guess I owe ya a movie and dinner at that seaweed place."

   "I guess you do," Hutch said with a smirk, not letting on that he wasn't going to hold Starsky to the "seaweed" part of the bet.

   Starsky had errands to run and Hutch had laundry to do, so they parted until dinner, with Starsky's puppy-dog-face promise to be on time for dinner at the "seaweed place." Hutch had just finished putting his clean clothes away when he heard the growl of the Torino as it pulled up in the street. In a few moments, Starsky was at the door. He was in his version of dressed up, which meant he'd traded the leather jacket for a sports coat, but underneath were the same faded jeans and Adidas he always wore.

   "Ready?" he asked.

   "Yeah." Hutch tossed a jacket on and held the door for his partner.

   Both the Black Angus and the vegetarian restaurant were on the other side of town, and the late afternoon traffic was still thick. Starsky was humming tunelessly along with the radio and Hutch was planning how to tell him they could go to the Black Angus after all when they heard gunshots and a beat-up green van shot out of a side street, nearly hitting them, and squealed away down the street. The police radio was on, but on low volume, and Hutch turned it up and snatched the mike off the bracket as Starsky instinctively took off in pursuit.

   "This is Zebra Three," Hutch said. "Shots fired vicinity of Marshall and Wall. We are in pursuit of a green cargo van, California license – " He paused and glanced at Starsky.

   "EDF 292," Starsky said, never taking his eyes off the van.

   Hutch repeated the license number.

   "Roger, Zebra Three," the dispatcher said. "We have a report of a robbery at the 7-11 store there. Same description of subject vehicle. Calling for back-up."

   "Roger, Control." Hutch hung on with one hand and kept the mike in the other to make progress reports. He heard other units reporting in who were coming to assist, and the unit which had gone to the 7-11 reported the clerk was badly hurt with a gunshot wound to the chest.

   This area of town was half-residential and the other half was family-style and fine dining restaurants, motels, and shopping centers. Starsky wove in and out of traffic, barely missing some of the other vehicles in his haste. A black-and-white joined them but didn't have any better luck catching up with the van.

   "He's heading for the highway," Hutch said.

   "I know," Starsky answered. "Gotta catch him before then."

   The light at the next intersection turned red just as the van reached it and shot through without slowing, clipping a small car. Starsky, slightly more prudent, slowed marginally as he approached, but with the black-and-white escort's siren and lights also going, the other cars waited and let them through.

   To their left was a residential development, newer houses on quiet streets. Just as they cleared the intersection and almost had the van close enough to try ramming it, a child on a bicycle came down the hill of the cross street and rolled right out in front of them. At that moment, both partners made the connection with Cynthia's prediction. Hutch yelled, "Starsky, the green van!"

   Starsky stood on the brakes, almost throwing Hutch through the windshield. The black-and-white squealed around them and continued. The sudden braking caused the Torino to fishtail and turn half around. If it hadn't been for the rear end swinging around, Starsky might have missed the child. As it was, the rear of the car struck the child and knocked him off the bicycle. He landed face down about 10 feet away.

   "Oh, my God. Oh, my God," Starsky said, terrified. He slammed the car into Park and was gone, running toward the little body in the street.

   Hutch called in that they were no longer in pursuit and then barreled out of the Torino right behind his partner. By the time they got to the child, he was sitting up and crying loudly. Starsky reached for him.

   "Hey, kid, you okay?" The partners knelt down on either side of the child. They looked him in the eyes and felt his arms and legs to make sure he was all right. The only damage he appeared to have was a scraped chin, road rash in his palms, and a bloody nose. He was squalling in earnest when he looked over and saw the mangled mess that was once a bicycle.

   "Look what you did to my bike, mister! You wrecked it!" He continued to sob and rub his eyes with his dirty fists.

   Starsky closed his eyes and sighed his relief. He was shaking and he sat back heavily in the middle of the street. Hutch patted him on the arm and said, "I'm going to call an ambulance anyway."

   The child started to scream. "No, no!!! I don't wanna go in an ambulance. I wanna go home."

   Hutch smiled at Starsky. "Nothing wrong with his lungs. Okay, kid, what's your name?" Starsky shook his head numbly. He was not ready to see the humor in this situation yet.

   The child stifled another sob and answered, "Timmy."

   Hutch patiently asked, "Timmy what?"

   "Timmy Parker. I live up there." He pointed up into the hills.

   Starsky shakily said, "I'm sorry kid, but you just ran right in front of me. I coulda killed you."

   The child was beginning to calm down a little. Hanging his head in embarrassment because he did something so stupid and because he yelled at two grownups, he said, "I'm sorry."

   Hutch ruffled Timmy's hair a little and said, "We're cops. That's why the red light and siren, buddy. How old are you?"

   "Ten. That's my sister's bike. She's gonna kill me. I couldn't make it stop."

   Another black-and-white had arrived on the scene and the uniforms were directing traffic around the accident. Hutch stood up and offered one hand to Timmy and one to Starsky to pull them up on their feet. "Let's get your bike and we'll take you home. Your mom can decide if you have to go to the hospital, but I think you look okay."

   "You said you were a cop. You a doctor too?" The boy looked at Hutch with wide eyes.

   "Nah. My partner here gets hurt a lot. I'm getting good at figuring out when to go to the hospital," Hutch said with a wink to Starsky. As Timmy walked away toward the Torino, Starsky stuck his tongue out at his best friend.

   Hutch helped Timmy into the center seat of the Torino while Starsky loaded the mangled thing that used to be a red bicycle into his trunk. Timmy's sister was going to be mad.

   Hutch picked up the mike again. "Control, this is Zebra three. We are assisting with a minor traffic accident. Log us back out."

   "Roger, Zebra 3."

   Timmy directed Starsky up the steep streets to where he lived. His sister ran down the front steps when she saw her brother getting out of the car with two strangers.

   "Timmy! You know you're not supposed to take rides from strangers!" she shouted at him. Hutch flashed his badge and she calmed down immediately. When Starsky started pulling her ex-bicycle out of the trunk, she screamed for her mother. "MOMMMMM!"

   A woman appeared at the screen door, drying her hands on a dishtowel. "Kelly, what on Earth. . ." She stopped midsentence as her mind registered what she was seeing.

   Running down the steps to her son, she said, "Are you okay, baby?"

   Timmy's ears reddened and he said, "Don't call me that." He dug his toe into the soft grass in their front yard.

   "I'm Jenny Parker. What happened?"

   The two detectives introduced themselves and explained the situation. Mrs. Parker looked her son over and pronounced him undamaged but grounded. He was sent inside with a swat on the behind and the promise of a lecture about taking his sister's things without permission and riding out onto the busy streets. As he dejectedly passed his sister on the stairs, she pinched his arm and hissed, "You're dead. You're gonna wish those cops had killed you."

   Starsky said, "I'm so sorry, ma'am. This could have been so much worse."

   "I know, Detective Starsky. Everything is okay though. This would have been Timmy's fault, not yours. I'll make sure he never does anything like this again. He may be grounded until his senior prom." She smiled and patted Starsky on the hand reassuringly. She offered them some coffee and asked if they'd like to stay around and talk to her husband, but they declined.

   As they headed down the hill in the car, Hutch said, "You all right?"

   Starsky was still gripping the steering wheel like he was planning to pull it off and hand it to Hutch. "Yeah. I'm okay. God, Hutch. That was too close."

   "Really." Hutch shook his head. Suddenly, he realized what the implications of the incident were. If Cynthia was right about the child on the bike, she might also be right about the other prediction. Without meaning to, he stole a concerned look at Starsky.

   "I'm okay," Starsky said, noticing the look. Hutch couldn't help but hope Starsky stayed that way.

   "You still up for dinner, buddy?" he asked Starsky.

   "Not sure how hungry I am now, but I'll try. So, Future Foods it is then. I owe ya." He mustered a smile for Hutch.

   "No way. I wasn't really going to make you go there. Let's just swing into Black Angus, huh? I can have a big salad and they have a bar. Future Foods only has fruit smoothies."

   "I knew there was a good reason you're my best friend." Starsky smiled gratefully and headed for the Black Angus.

   When they were seated at the restaurant enjoying their dinners, the conversation returned to Cynthia and her prediction. Starsky had to admit it was beyond any sort of coincidence. Hutch noted with satisfaction that a tiny chink in the armor of Starsky's resistance had been formed that day. In the back of his mind, he was worried about the other prediction. The one about the accident had only taken a day. They had narrowly averted disaster in that case. He promised himself he would be more alert about the other prediction.

   "I need to talk to you about this trance thing you do," Starsky said, finishing the last of his beer.

   "What about it?" Hutch wasn't sure where this was going.

   "You sure it's okay? I mean, you won't get hurt doing it or anything, will ya?" Starsky still didn't like it. Despite Hutch's assurances, the whole process scared the dickens out of him.

   "No way, buddy. I told you, don't worry, huh?" Hutch was starting to feel a little guilty about one thing though. "Um, Starsk, I do have one confession though."

   "Uh-oh, I knew it. Spill it."

   "Well, you know that poem thing. You didn't really have to do anything that elaborate to call me out of it. I just did that part for fun."

   Starsky was not amused. His eyes narrowed and he said, "You mean you made me say that whole stupid poem and everything when I didn't need to?"

   "Yeah. I would respond to your voice anyway, without the complicated procedure. Mad at me?" Hutch looked a little sheepish.

   "Mad? You scared the crap out of me with that stunt," Starsky answered.

   "But, Starsk, I . . ."

   "I know, I know. You told me so. Yeah, you told me what was gonna happen, but you have no idea how scared I was and I KNEW what you were doing. Just make sure you never pull that on me without warning me, okay?"

   Hutch looked a little shocked. "I would never do that to you, Gordo. I'd never joke around about something like that."

   Starsky nodded his acceptance and they moved on to other topics. Hutch successfully lightened the conversation with a discussion about Luke Skywalker and Jedi training. By the time they left for the theater, Starsky was in a good mood, anxious to see the film. Hutch laughed a little to himself. How could the same man who got such enjoyment from science fiction films he could talk about them for hours, as if the people in them were real, also be such a dangerous person to reckon with in their work? He secretly hoped his partner would never outgrow his fun side. That was probably what kept him sane.

   After another day off, Starsky and Hutch returned to duty. The following few days were full of routine calls. The homicide division had no new cases to work and the detectives found themselves responding to domestic disturbances, robberies, a jewelry store heist, several calls for narcotics, and even a purse snatching.

   October 30th was supposed to be the last day of their week, but they had volunteered to take another day so some of the officers with young children could be off with them for Halloween. They would work Halloween night, but today they worked the day shift. The previous week had seen one of their collars convicted of first-degree murder. Today the sentence was to be set and they wanted to hear it. They were expecting the convicted man, Donald Hanover, to receive a life sentence and they hadn't been disappointed. He would be transferred to San Quentin the next day.

   Enough days had passed from when they saw Cynthia to allow Hutch the luxury of relaxing a little. Maybe they were right about the fluid nature of time. Telling him about the three men who would kill his partner might have sent that future into oblivion.

   Starsky was steering the Torino out toward the docks where they were expecting to interview some potential witnesses to a late night robbery from one of the cargo ships berthed at the pier. They had received a tip just as they were leaving for the courthouse and had waited until after the sentencing to follow up on the lead. He parked the car near the warehouse. The pier looked deserted and the door to this warehouse was in the back of the building. As they rounded the building, they noticed a delivery truck parked behind the loading dock. They walked toward the warehouse door and then they heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked back and they both froze.

   "Turn around," a menacing voice ordered. They slowly obeyed and wound up facing three tough looking thugs. Two of them were armed with guns and the third had a deadly looking hunting knife in his hands. The man with the knife was massive.

   "Get their guns," the same voice ordered.

   Starsky and Hutch stood quietly with their arms slightly extended while one of the men took their weapons.

   "What do you want?" Starsky asked, anger evident in his basically calm tone.

   "Not much, Detective Starsky. Oh yes, I know who you are. You and your partner here arrested my brother, Donald Hanover. They are planning to transfer him to San Quentin. I can't allow that."

   Hutch looked furtively at the three men. His head was pounding and his ears were beginning to ring. This could be the moment. He started to plan how he could keep the men from taking Starsky with them. "There isn't anything left to do about it. Your brother's conviction is a done deal. He goes up the river tomorrow and that's it."

   The man flashed Hutch an evil smile. "But there is something we can do, Hutchinson. One of you is coming with me. I'll trade you for my brother. It's that simple."

   Starsky laughed. "That'll never fly. We're cops, man. You know, expendable." He hated to put it that way, but when it came to hostage situations, cops knew they couldn't expect to be rescued. If necessary, their lives would be forfeited before public safety would ever be compromised.

   "We'll just see about that. I don't want both of you. You're too dangerous together. Decide which one of you is coming. The other one will be left here to deliver our demands." That said, the man dangled a pair of cuffs at them, his intent to abandon one of the detectives on the pier clearly communicated by the gesture.

   Surrounded and unarmed, the two officers knew there was no hope of escaping at this moment. The best they could do would be for one of them to go along while the other did everything in his power to rescue him. The look they gave each other conveyed that information without a word spoken.

   Starsky told Hutch, "I'm going."

   "No, you're not," Hutch replied. "Why you and not me?"

   "Because I called it first, sucker. I'm going. Besides, you're better at negotiating than I am. I'll need you on the outside to get me out of this mess." He attempted to give Hutch a reassuring nod.

   As Starsky walked toward the three men, Hutch's mind desperately groped for a way to get him to stay behind so he could go in his place. He was terrified that the psychic was correct and this might be the last time he would see his best friend alive. Before Starsky got any farther from him, he reached a snap decision. Transmitting a silent message begging his partner for forgiveness, Hutch took a few steps toward Starsky's retreating frame, put his hands together and delivered a blow that he knew would put his friend out, but would not seriously injure him. Starsky fell to the ground unconscious. The other men had no time to react, but they advanced on Hutch. He shot a concerned look toward Starsky as he was immediately grabbed by the large goon with the knife.

   One of the other men cuffed Starsky's limp arm to the railing at the bottom of a short flight of stairs while Hutch grappled with his attacker. As the other two criminals watched, the struggle ended when they heard a sickening squish followed by a quiet groan. The blond cop slowly crumpled to the ground, his hands still entangled in the big man's shirt. When his hands were pried away, he slumped onto his back, the hunting knife sticking out of his chest.

   Hanover screamed at his accomplice, "That's just great, Charlie. Now we got one of 'em unconscious and you've probably killed this one."

   Charlie grunted his disinterest as he bent down and pulled his knife out of Hutch's chest.

   "Leave the blond," Hanover said.

   The smaller of the other two assailants answered, "But I don't have a key to those cuffs. You said no chances. You said not to bring it!"

   "Dammit! Fine, bring the blond."

PART TWO