BENEATH THE HARVEST

by 

Candy Apple

*********************************************************
SUMMARY: When Simon Marcos commits suicide in prison, Starsky
and Hutch are both left with an uneasy feeling that something isn't
right.  From beyond the grave, a demented madman exerts his evil
influence.  Meanwhile, the two men face a new development in their
relationship.
**********************************************************
WARNINGS: Supernatural scary stuff, gore, dead people, etc.  Also
includes references to past sexual assault, violence.
**********************************************************

     Hutch stole another sideways glance at his passenger, and had
to smile a little as he heard the light snoring.  Starsky had hung in there
through giving a very abbreviated initial statement, getting a fast once-over 
and a couple of blood tests at the hospital, and now it was all
catching up with him here in the sanctuary of the Torino.  Even with
Hutch driving, an opportunity resplendent with nagging potential,
Starsky was out like a light.

     Starsky's sleeping expression betrayed little of his ordeal--there
was an inflamed area on his right cheek the doctor had said was a burn,
and his usual color had been replaced by a sort of ashen pallor.  There
was little visible in the way of bruises, though there were some nasty
ones on his torso and legs that were consistent with his account of
being manhandled and beaten up shortly after his abduction.  He had a
couple of fair-sized lumps on the back of his head--one from the first
blow that knocked him out for his capture, and another from some
other incident Hutch had yet to have explained to him.

     Rubbing his forehead, Hutch tried to focus on the road ahead of
them.  He was exhausted himself, and grateful that Dobey had given
his blessing for *both* of them to go home and sleep it off.  The next
day would be hectic, with all the arrests and the paperwork and a
formal statement from Starsky, and the unparalleled joy of standing in
the court room and watching Simon Marcos sentenced to life in prison
without parole for his atrocities.  

     Finally parking in front of Starsky's place, Hutch cut the engine. 
Regretting having to disturb his partner at all, he got out of the car and
walked around to the passenger side, opening the door and squatting by
the sleeping man inside.

     "Starsk," he said softly.  No response.  He reached out and
touched a shoulder, and Starsky lurched back, eyes wide, chest heaving
up and down.  "It's just me, buddy.  Didn't mean to scare you.  We're
home."

     "Oh," Starsky managed, blinking, staring at Hutch a little
blankly.  "Home?"

     "Yeah, you were sleeping pretty deeply there, babe," Hutch said
affectionately, straightening to a stooped position as he took a hold of
Starsky's arm.  "Come on, let's get you into a real bed."

     "Did my statement make sense?"  Starsky asked sleepily,
getting out of the car and leaning heavily into Hutch for support.  

     "Most of it."  Hutch smiled as he steered Starsky up the front
steps and unlocked the door.  When it was shut and locked behind him,
the relief was almost enough to make his own knees buckle.  Marcos
was going to be sentenced the next day, most of his key nutcase cult
leaders were in lock up, and Starsky was alive.  Dented, but
salvageable.  "You want a bath?"  Hutch asked, not wanting to steer
Starsky toward any horizontal surface until he could let him sleep
peacefully.

     "Sounds great."  He seemed to find the strength now to stand on
his own.  "Thanks for the loan."  Starsky pulled on the sleeve of the
black sweatsuit he was wearing.  It had been procured from Hutch's
locker, since Starsky's own locker was bereft of everything but a towel
at the moment.  "I guess black is my color, huh?"  he joked a little
wearily.  

     "Looks that way, buddy," Hutch responded, laughing.  "I'll get
the bath started.  After that you can get some undisturbed sleep."

     "Those drugs must be making me so fuzzy."  Starsky blinked
and widened his eyes a few times.  "Just can't seem to focus on much."

     "The doctor said it'd be a few more hours yet before they were
out of your system.  Good time to take a nap," Hutch called from the
bathroom, where he started the tub filling and then walked into the
bedroom to turn back the bed.  Starsky was already heading into the
bathroom.  "Hang on a minute, Starsk.  I'll give you a hand."

     "I'm okay, thanks."  With that, Starsky shut the door to the
bathroom, leaving Hutch staring at it, a little surprised.  Not as much
that Starsky could handle bathing on his own--even in his current
stupor--but that he shut the door tightly, decisively, and apparently
wanted to be sure Hutch stayed on the other side of it.  Given the
number of showers they'd taken in the PD gym, or the number of times
they'd taken care of each other through illness or injuries, neither one
was particularly modest around the other.  

     Shrugging it off, Hutch went to the kitchen to make something
for Starsky to eat.  Despite his exhausted condition, he hadn't had
anything decent in his stomach in way too many hours.  Scrambled
eggs and toast would be easy on the digestion and filling, so that's what
Hutch made, putting it, along with some orange juice and milk, on a
tray to take into the bedroom.  

     When he returned to the bedroom, Starsky was just sliding into
clean underwear.  

     "Hope you're not too nauseous to eat something.  You really
need to get your strength up a little," Hutch said, setting the tray on the
dresser and moving to pile up pillows as Starsky eased himself into
bed, obviously favoring the bruises, as well as feeling the discomfort in
his arms from having them stretched over his head for so long.  

     "I hadn't thought much about it, I guess.  I'm not nauseous,
exactly.  Just not real hungry."

     "Try to eat something, okay?  As much as you can."  Hutch
brought the blanket over the lower half of Starsky's body and set the
tray in place.  

     "Thanks."  Starsky began poking at the eggs with the fork,
finally managing a few bites, chasing them with the milk.  

     "Gail's parents were notified--Dobey said they were on their
way to the psych unit at the hospital to see her."

     "Good.  She did her best to help me out...right down the line,
right up to the end.  She was so brainwashed and spaced out she barely
knew her name."

     "I guess they're a pretty wealthy family, so hopefully they'll be
able to get her some quality help."

     "I think I'm gettin' too tired t'eat, Hutch.  Sorry."  Starsky laid
the fork aside and rubbed at his eyes.  "I can't keep my eyes open."

     "We'll get you something later when you wake up."  Hutch
moved the tray and set it on the dresser.  "You had quite a bit of water
at the hospital and the station, so I think you'll be okay for a while."

     "Probably jumpin' up and goin' to the john every ten minutes." 
Starsky slid down into the softness of his own bed, settling onto his
pillows as Hutch removed the extras that had been propping him
upright.

     "I think you'll be out for a while," Hutch said, smiling and
sitting on the edge of the bed.  "Relax, buddy.  It's all over."  Hutch
stroked the soft curls gently.  "Go to sleep."

     "Hutch?"  
     
     "What, buddy?"

     "Stay?"  Starsky asked quietly, without looking up to meet
Hutch's eyes.  

     "Wouldn't be anyplace else," Hutch responded.  He'd already
left his jacket in the living room, so he removed his holster and kicked
off his shoes.  

     Eyeing the inviting, free side of the bed and thinking how nice a
few hours of real bed rest would be, he stood and peeled off jeans and
shirt, then climbed in behind Starsky.  He was surprised when Starsky
rolled over and scooted close, blatantly positioning himself to be held. 
Feeling something twist around his heart at the thought of what
Starsky's last 24 hours had been like, he pulled the warm body into his
arms and held him close.  He could feel fine tremors passing through
his friend's body, and he rubbed the bare back soothingly.  

     "When I close my eyes, I can still see their faces," Starsky
whispered, his voice strained.  

     "They're all in lock-up, Starsk.  Every last one of them who
were there, are behind bars.  They're going to stay there.  There's
nothing to be afraid of, babe.  I've got you now."

     "I thought this was it," he murmured against Hutch's t-shirt. 
"Didn't see how you'd ever find me."

     "Oh, come on, Starsk.  You're doubting my detective skills
now?"  Hutch smiled as that drew a weak chuckle.

     "Never, partner."  Starsky was quiet a long time, long enough
that Hutch almost thought he had dozed off to sleep.  "They were real
sickos, Hutch," he whispered, shivering a little with the words.  

     "You want to talk about it?"  Hutch prodded gently.

     "No.  Just want to forget about it.  Too tired anyway."  Another
moment of silence.  "Hutch?"

     "Hm?"

     "Could you sing somethin'?  Doesn't matter what."

     "Sing...?"  Hutch was a little thrown by the request at first, but
then had to smile at the thought of just how much Starsky always loved
his singing.  No matter what the song, no matter how flawed or perfect
the performance.  "Any request?"  Hutch teased, and Starsky snorted a
little laugh.  

     "Somethin' peaceful."

     "Okay."  Hutch was quiet a moment and thought, and then came
up with one he knew Starsky liked.  He'd heard his partner sing along
with it more than once, and it was a peaceful, soothing melody.  So he
began singing, one hand still lightly caressing the dark curls, lulling
Starsky into a pre-slumber lethargy.  

"If I could make a wish
I think I'd pass,
Can't think of anything I need,
No cigarettes, no sleep,
No light, no sound,
Nothing to eat, no books to read."

     He could feel Starsky smile against him, settling in more
peacefully for sleep. //Can't think of anything I need as long as I've got
you, babe,// Hutch thought, smiling as he continued singing, refusing to
acknowledge to himself the little voice in his heart that wished the next
words were true, and not just part of a song Starsky liked to hear.

"Making love with you 
Has left me peaceful, warm and tired,
What more could I ask?
There's nothing left to be desired."

     //Maybe it took another close call...as if we haven't had enough
of those...  God, I love you, Starsk.  Maybe we could make that move
together, across the bridge from friendship into something more. 
Damn, but you feel too right in my arms...  If this is the most we ever
have, it'll be enough.  Sex couldn't make me love any other human
being more than I love you right now...//

"Sometimes all I need is the air that I breathe
And to love you,
All I need is the air that I breathe
And to love you."

     //All I ever needed, and the one thing I know I can't live
without.// Hutch felt tears sting the back of his closed eyelids.
//Without loving you, Starsk, the air that I breathe wouldn't hold much
lure.//

"Peace came upon me, 
And it leaves me weak,
Sleep, silent angel, go to sleep."

     Hutch smiled when he realized Starsky's breathing had evened
out, and he was beginning to snore softly.

"Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe and to love you
And to love you
All I need is the air that I breathe
And to love you
All I need is the air that I breathe..."

     //And you, babe.  Always need you,// Hutch added, letting
himself doze off into much-needed sleep, his reason for living cuddled
close in his arms.  

********

OCTOBER, 1981

     "You know, the four basic food groups are not pizza, beer, hot
dogs and milkshakes," Hutch grumbled, looking with disdain upon the
greasy coney dog Starsky had fished out of the take-out bag for him.

     "In that coney dog, you got meat, bread, vegetables, and dairy in
the milkshake.  Now shut up and eat your dinner," Starsky shot back,
slurping a few mouthfuls of his shake.  "I got you the Blueberry Hill
shake," he added, as if it were a culinary delight, and not a few shots of
artificial flavoring added to ice milk by the fast food joint.

     "Be still my heart," Hutch retorted, giving in and taking a bite
out of the messy hot dog.  They were on a long stakeout, and probably
would be trapped there until morning.  "This would've been better hot."

     "You were the one who said we oughtta wait so it would last us
all night."

     "I guess that *was* my bright idea, wasn't it?"  Hutch admitted,
laughing, and Starsky nodded, chuckling as he dug into his own tepid
food.  

     "I'm hungry enough now that I don't even care.  You know
nothin's gonna happen here all night?  Williams knows we're watchin'
him."

     "True, but somebody's got to do the watching."

     "I guess.  Shoulda been some wet-behind-the-ears rookie."

     "If something *does* go down, you want a 'wet-behind-the-ears
rookie' handling it?  These aren't nickel and dime hustlers, Starsk. 
We're talking major drug dealers.  With plenty of high class muscle."

     "On second thought, maybe *we* aren't qualified to watch
them," Starsky amended, taking another bite of his hot dog.  "Anything
interesting in the paper?"  Starsky asked, turning his attention to the
warehouse they were watching.  "I'll keep an eye on things if you can
find somethin' to read us."

     Just then, the radio crackled to life with the voice of the
dispatcher.

     "Zebra Three, go ahead," Starsky took the call while Hutch
folded the paper the right way to read the comics.  

     "Patch through from Captain Dobey," the dispatcher
announced, followed by Dobey's voice.

     "Starsky, just got a call from the state pen I thought you two
ought to know about."

     "What's up, Cap'n?"  Starsky asked, taking another drink of his
shake, which he held in the hand that didn't have the microphone.

     "Simon Marcos committed suicide in his cell a couple hours
ago.  Somehow he got a hold of a razor...slit his own throat."

     Starsky shuddered visibly, his eyes closing briefly.  Hutch felt
all the blood drain from his own face, and was grateful to be sitting
down.  For some reason, this hit him harder than he would have
expected.  

     "You still there, Starsky?"  Dobey prodded.

     "Yeah, I'm here.  Thanks for lettin' us know."

     "Medical examiner's office is expecting the body any time now,
but there's not much more we're going to learn from an autopsy."

     "Maybe they can finally look inside that twisted brain of his and
figure out what the hell made him tick," Hutch commented grimly.

     After Dobey inquired about the status of their current stakeout,
and then exchanged a few pieces of information about their ongoing
investigation into a dope dealer's operations, Starsky broke the
connection.  For a long time, the silence in the Torino was deafening.

     "This is going to sound really nuts," Starsky said quietly, staring
straight ahead out the windshield.

     "Compared to what?"  Hutch responded, snorting a little laugh,
relieved that Starsky had to smile in response.  

     "I feel like..."  Starsky swallowed, then looked at Hutch.  "I feel
like somebody oughtta drive a stake through his heart or somethin'. 
Make sure it's for real, y'know?"

     "I know, babe."  Hutch's voice was as gentle as the hand he
rested on Starsky's shoulder.  "Knowing he was locked up was a good
feeling.  But he's not about to cause anybody any more trouble now." 

     "Yeah, I know."  Starsky smiled and patted the hand on his
shoulder.  "You want this?"  He held the partially-eaten coney dog
toward Hutch.

     "What do you think?"  Hutch shook his head, moving his hand
off Starsky in order to toss his own partially-eaten food into the take-out bag.  

     "I always knew Marcos was one crazy mother, but how do you
slit your own throat?"  Starsky looked nauseous now, a little green
around the edges.  Hutch couldn't blame him.  Dwelling on the details
of how--or why--Marcos ended his miserable life was the last thing he
wanted to do on now.

     "Very quickly, I reckon."

     "Yeah, I s'pose."  

     "I never would have pegged him for the suicidal type," Hutch
added, leaning back in the seat.  He opened the comics section.  "Hey,
why don't I read us something a little less dire?"

     "Yeah, sounds good," Starsky agreed amiably, but his
expression was still distracted and far away.

********

     Starsky locked the door behind him and flipped on the lights,
scanning the apartment nervously.  His own swallow was loud in his
ears, and for a moment, he cursed himself for not taking Hutch up on
his offer to stay the night at his place.  It had been made so casually--
the way Hutch always did when he thought Starsky needed him but was
too proud to admit it.  Nights after being tortured by those lunatics
when the nightmares would come, so vivid and real he'd wake up
screaming and flailing his arms in defense against phantoms in black
robes...only to be enfolded in strong arms and held close, soothed and
lulled back into sleep.

     "Now you finally *don't* have to worry about that bastard
anymore.  Get over it, Starsky," he said aloud to himself, shaking off
the beginnings of a full-blown case of night jitters. //Get over it...get
over what they did to you.  As long as you give it importance, Marcos
won.  It was just so much pushing, poking, prodding and punching.  It
was just Marcos trying to break you...//  

     He dropped onto the corner seat of the couch and rested his
head on the back of it. //If Hutch'd found out about that, he'd probably
have gone out to the state pen and slit Marcos' miserable throat
himself.  God knows I'd kill any son of a bitch who made that happen
to Hutch.//

     Reaching up to rub tired eyes, he was surprised to find moisture
there.  

     "Oh, damn," he muttered, curling up on the couch and giving in
to it.  He didn't know if the tears were for what he'd gone through, for
the pain and the humiliation and the trauma he'd kept to himself all this
time, or if it was for the missed opportunity it caused.  For what it took
away from him before he ever had it.  

     Sometimes the way Hutch looked at him, or held him, or
touched him...he could just feel something more in those moments than
friendship.  He'd never loved another soul as much as he loved Hutch. 
Before everything had gone down with Marcos, after a respectable time
had passed following Gillian's death, Starsky had entertained fantasies
of what it might be like, if they...tried something else.  Maybe one of
those times he was sick or injured and Hutch would lie down with him,
sleep wrapped around him, whispering little words of comfort...maybe
they could try that sometime when there was no sickness, no
injury...maybe they could try it without clothes...nothing big, nothing
fancy, just being together...see how it felt.

     Then they had the first ritually-mutilated body of a young
woman show up on the coroner's slab, and there just wasn't time for
fantasies.  It was all business.  They pursued the killer as relentlessly as
he pursued and claimed his victims.  Nine bodies in all, but what had
broken the case was the ten-year-old girl who survived her abduction
by the cult and led police to their headquarters in the old building
downtown that Marcos was using for a "church".  The child had been
subjected to a number of Marcos' vile perversities all in the name of
ritual.  Starsky found himself wondering what had become of her, if
she was still waking up screaming the way he did himself on occasion.  

     "You're not a ten-year-old girl," Starsky chided himself, getting
up off the couch and walking into the kitchen for a beer.  

     No, he was no ten-year-old terrified child.  Nor was he any
blushing, unsullied virgin...but he'd been a virgin to that.  The most he'd
done that way was a little harmless dreaming--wondering what it might
be like with Hutch...  After what they'd done to him, the thought of any
kind of sex was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat, and
more often than not, he ended up losing his lunch in the john.  Needless
to say, his dating activities had slowed to a near halt.  

     Then he'd met Terry, and when they tried making love the first
time and he'd ended up making love to the porcelain instead, she'd sat
there on the floor of the bathroom, holding him and soothing him and
telling him it was all right...  And all of a sudden he'd blurted it out, or
at least enough of it, that she knew what he'd been through.  He didn't
tell her all the details, but she understood what he meant, what they'd
done to him.  Together, they'd struggled through his initial fear at being
touched in an intimate way, and step by step, she'd led him on the
journey back.  While their sex life was never wild and adventurous, it
certainly progressed into a very vanilla but very loving state where both
of them seemed satisfied.  

     And then in a heartbeat, she was taken away.

     He still had Hutch.  He had Hutch and a shattered dream of
what might have been.  Because no matter how gently Terry guided
him through the labyrinth of his sexual fears, no matter how much he
loved her, he couldn't endure that one final touch.  He couldn't endure
anything coming near his center.  Not a fingertip, not a toy, not even
the accidental brushing of fingers of a hand that touched his ass.  Truth
be told, he didn't like that either anymore.  He'd endured at least the
touch of a hand for Terry.  It was part of the intimacy.  He was
touching her that way...to refuse her the same privilege seemed...cold.  

     What good would he be in a sexual partnership with another
man?  What possible good as a sex partner is a man who doesn't like
having his ass touched and can't stand anything even brushing over his
asshole?  Marcos' henchmen had robbed him of the one thing he
needed most in order to make love with the one person he loved most
in the world.  Somehow, it felt as if Marcos has climbed inside his
most secret fantasies and found what would be most precious to him
and taken it away.  

     "Son of a bitch!!"  Starsky hurled the half-full beer bottle across
the room, watching it crash against the wall, sending a splatter of
moisture outward on the paint.  He leaned back against the refrigerator
and slid down the door until his butt hit the floor.  He was shaking
now, sweating, feeling the bile rising up and dinner coming with it.  He
leaned over and vomited on the linoleum, bracing himself on his hands. 
When he'd finished, he sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of a
shaky hand.  Feeling his grip on his sanity waning fast, he pulled
himself up and staggered to the phone, punching in Hutch's number.

     "Hello?"  came a slightly harried voice.  He could imagine that
he'd probably dragged Hutch out of the shower.  

     "It's me," he managed, keeping his tone fairly even.

     "Something wrong?"  Hutch asked, the concern plain in his
voice.

     "No, I...just wanted to talk a little."  He swallowed hard.  

     "I can be there in ten minutes," Hutch offered.  Starsky tried to
answer with an objection, but his voice wouldn't cooperate.  "Starsk?" 
Hutch prodded gently.

     "Yeah, okay," Starsky managed, hanging up the phone.  

********

     Hutch pulled on jeans and an old blue t-shirt, then his holster
and tossed on a jacket.  He drove like a man possessed through the
deserted pre-dawn streets, careening around corners and running stop
streets.  Something was wrong...very wrong.  

     He parked on the street in front of Starsky's place and jogged up
the steps to the front door, using his key to unlock it.  Starsky was
curled up on the couch, still fully dressed--including his jacket--a fine
sheen of cold sweat on his face.  There was a strange-looking wet stain
on the wall, a shattered beer bottle on the floor beneath it.

     "Starsk," Hutch said softly, kneeling by the couch.  "I'm here,
babe.  What's wrong, huh?"  he asked, stroking his hand back through
the dark curls.

     "Guess maybe the coney dogs were bad or somethin'.  You're
lucky you didn't eat much'a yours."

     "You're sick to your stomach?"  Hutch asked, frowning. 
Starsky's face registered something like revulsion, then sheepishness.

     "Uh, yeah...Um, there's a mess in the kitchen, so don't go out
there, okay?  I'll get it in the morning."

     "It *is* morning, dummy.  You see that big orange glob rising
outside the window over there?"

     "Oh yeah," Starsky responded, smiling a little.

     "Let's get you undressed and into bed."  Hutch started to rise,
but Starsky grabbed hold of his wrist.  

     "I'm okay right here."

     "You're still wearing your coat, buddy.  Come on.  Up."  Hutch
pulled gently on Starsky's arm, and the other man followed the pull
until he stood up, swaying a little until Hutch steadied him.  

     Leading Starsky into the bedroom, Hutch eased the jacket off
his shoulders and tossed it aside, then unsnapped the holster and laid it
on the chair where the jacket had landed.  

     "Keep it by the bed," Starsky objected weakly.

     "Your piece?"  Hutch frowned, retrieving the gun and laying it
on the night stand.

     "Yeah, that's better."  Starsky started fumbling with his own
shirt and batted off Hutch's attempts to help.  "I'm okay.  I can do it."

     "You get undressed and I'll...tidy up in the other room."  Hutch
left his partner to work on his clothes, figuring there were a couple
messes that needed his attention.  

     As he finished scrubbing the soiled area of the kitchen floor,
Hutch tried to figure what part of Marcos' suicide had traumatized his
partner this way.  Was it just the revival of old memories?  Did he
really have some old superstition driving a real fear of the corpse being
outside prison walls?  Hutch shook his head, drying off the floor and
disposing of the used paper towel.  That concept was too freakish even
for one of Starsky's flights of fancy.

     He cleaned the wall in the living room and disposed of the
broken bottle.  With the apartment restored to its usual state of tidiness,
Hutch returned to the bedroom and found Starsky sitting on the side of
the bed in his underwear, rubbing his face with both hands.  

     "You want to try telling me what's really eating you, Starsk?" 
Hutch sat on the side of the bed next to his partner, resting a hand on
the bare back that was still mildly marred by the exit wounds from
Gunther's assassin's bullets.  

     "I guess this whole thing with Marcos got to me more than I
thought it would, y'know?  Lots of old memories...I'm sorry about
callin' you.  I shoulda stayed at your place like you asked."

     "Hey, what's a partner for, huh?  Anything you want to talk
about?"

     "I can't, Hutch," he said, his voice somewhat defeated.  "I can't
talk about it.  Not ever."

     "I don't know all there is to know about what happened with
Marcos' goons, do I?"  he asked gently, rubbing Starsky's back lightly.  

     "Please..."

     "Okay, we won't talk about it," Hutch responded mildly,
standing up.  "Into bed.  You need some rest, babe.  You look wiped
out."

     "Hutch?"  Starsky slid under the covers Hutch held up for him,
curling on his side.

     "Yeah?"

     "Think you could stay a little while?  Even if I'm not talkin'?"

     "I'm pretty bushed myself, and I'd rather crash here anyway than
drive all the way back out to my place."  Hutch took off his own holster
now, and put it on the other night stand, figuring it might give Starsky
more peace of mind if they both had weapons at the ready. //Yeah, guns
to shoot at ghosts...// 

     He undressed quickly and got into bed, then moved up behind
Starsky, spooning around him protectively.  He'd done this more than
once during Starsky's convalescence from the shooting.  Sometimes the
pain was better with the support of another body behind him, and
sometimes it was just easier to put aside the dark thoughts of his brush
with mortality when he was held and soothed into sleep instead of left
on his own.  

     "It's okay, babe.  I've got you now," he whispered against
Starsky's ear.  "They can't get at you, Starsk.  It's all over."

     "That'd be nice, wouldn't it?"  Starsky asked, his question
slurred with sleep as he started to drift.  

     "Go to sleep, buddy.  I'm here.  I'm right here," Hutch
murmured, keeping up the soothing litany until Starsky was asleep.  

     //I think I know what's wrong, babe, but you've got to tell me. 
You have to be ready to tell me...//

********

     "We're not nothing...we're your executioners..."

     The hand that was sunken in his hair, holding his head, didn't
relinquish its painful grip as Luke and Peter half pushed, half dragged
him down the steps back into the cave.  A hard shove sent him
sprawling on the dirt floor.  Before he could scramble to his feet again,
a man's full weight pinned him down.  One of them was sitting on his
back now, and while he couldn't twist his head back far enough to see
which it was, he could see Matthew, looking as vacant-eyed as ever,
standing watch over the scene, holding a flaming torch.  

     There were more of them moving behind him now, and he
could feel his legs being pulled apart, and held down.  The sick
realization of where this was all going swept over him in a wave of
panic and terror.  No way to escape, and no hope of rescue...hopelessly
outnumbered...  He remembered the body of the last murder victim,
and with all his strength, screamed for his partner.

********

     Hutch came awake with a start to find Starsky bathed in sweat,
moaning and writhing in his sleep.  Before he could focus on
comforting his friend, he shot bolt upright in bed when he realized they
were not alone.  Standing several feet away was Simon Marcos,
dressed in blood soaked prison blues, the horrible wound at his throat
standing out in vibrant relief against china-white skin.  

     "My dream is your fantasy.  I always dream my dreams awake,
so they always come true.  Always true."  Then he glanced down at
Starsky.  "The White Knight was too late to save the prisoner's virtue." 
Simon then looked Hutch in the eyes.  "He was taken in my name first.
He'll always be mine first.  Always mine."  

     Hutch stared in horror at the apparition, feeling his heart
thundering in his ears, his breath catching in his throat.  He closed his
eyes briefly, telling himself this was insanity, there was no way,
Marcos was dead...  He opened his eyes to find himself alone in the
room with Starsky, who came awake then with an anguished scream of
terror.

     "Starsk, it was a nightmare," Hutch said quickly, his own voice
a little unsteady.  

     "Hutch?"  He looked at Hutch with wild eyes, as if he were truly
shocked to see him there.  

     "I'm right here, buddy."  Hutch pulled Starsky into his arms and
held the shaking body close.  "I'm right here."

     "I called to you, Hutch," Starsky said in a tear-strained whisper. 
"I kept callin' and callin' for you...I knew you couldn't hear me but I still
kept yellin' for you," Starsky's voice broke badly on the last words.  

     "You yelled for me when they were hurting you?"  Hutch asked
gently, stroking Starsky's hair.  There was a slight nod.  "I'd've given
anything to have heard you, to have come for you before...  Oh, God,
Starsk, I was so afraid of what they'd do to you."  He began a slight
rocking motion.  "I hope Marcos burns in hell."

     "I'm sorry...I didn't...tell you."

     "I just wish I'd known so I could have helped you, babe.  Been
there more for you.  I don't blame you because you couldn't talk about
it."  Hutch swallowed hard and thought of the horrific nightmare he'd
had about Marcos.  That's what it had to have been--a sort of waking
nightmare brought on by Starsky's moans of fear and the horrible news
of the murderer's grisly suicide.  

     //"He was taken in my name first.  He will always be mine. 
Always mine."//

     //You didn't know that before.  How could you dream him
saying something he never said before?  That you didn't know?//

     "I just wanna forget it," Starsky whispered brokenly.

     "I know, Starsk.  But sometimes you have to take something
back out and look at it and deal with it before you can really move on. 
You know that, right?"  he prodded gently.

     "I was okay.  I thought I was okay.  Till tonight."

     "Everything's going to be all right," Hutch soothed, resting his
head against Starsky's.  

     "No it's not.  Somethin's wrong, Hutch...really, really wrong."

     "I know.  I know it's not that easy, but--"

     "No, I mean," Starsky pulled away and wiped at his eyes, trying
to regain his composure.  "I mean I was really scared when I got home
tonight."

     "Marcos' suicide brought up a lot of old memories--"

     "You're not listening to me, Hutch."  Starsky threw back the
covers and got up, walking over to the dresser and leaning on it with
both hands.  "I'm not talking about memories.  I'm talkin' about that
feeling you get when the hair stands up on the back'a your neck and you
know somebody's just around the corner--you know you're in trouble."

     "Would you feel better if we went to the morgue and saw for
ourselves that he's dead?"

     "I'd feel better if you'd believe me, Hutch," Starsky said quietly,
his voice holding a definite note of defeat.  "I didn't want you to know
about what happened partly because...I didn't want you to start treatin'
me differently--and already, you're thinkin' what I'm telling you is some
sort'a trauma-based delusion."

     "I don't think you're delusional, buddy.  I just think you're
scared, and shaken up, and that's a pretty natural response."  Hutch
chuckled a little.  "Truth be told, I had a nightmare about Marcos
myself about the time you woke up."

     "What kind of nightmare?"  Starsky turned around to face his
partner.  

     "It's not important, Starsk.  It was just a result of thinking way
too much about some psycho whose crimes were the stuff of horror
movies.  Look, we're not due into work until late this afternoon.  Why
don't we try to get a few hours of decent sleep?"

     "Yeah, okay."  Starsky moved back to the bed and got in,
turning over on his side to face Hutch, who also slid back down and
made himself comfortable.  "Does it make you uncomfortable?  What
happened to me?"

     "I hate what happened to you, babe," Hutch responded softly,
resting a hand on Starsky's shoulder and rubbing lightly.  "I could never
be uncomfortable with you no matter what happened."

     "Okay."  Starsky let his eyes drift shut and settled in to go back
to sleep.  "Thanks for stayin' over," he muttered.

     "Anytime, buddy.  Get some rest.  We'll talk more about this
later, I promise."

     "'night, Hutch."

     "'night, Starsk," Hutch responded, smiling at the fact it was
actually morning.   

     Starsky's words echoed in his head.  Starsky, whose instincts
were first rate. //And you know how you really felt about that...
apparition you saw.// He looked at Starsky's peaceful, sleeping face,
and felt momentarily guilty for not having shared his own fears with
his partner.  At the same time, he questioned how good it would have
been for Starsky if Hutch also had started quivering with fear about
Marcos doing some sort of dastardly deed from the great beyond.  

     //How could they have done that to you and I didn't figure it
out?// Hutch asked himself, still watching Starsky sleep. //I'm sorry,
babe...I should've *just known*.  Maybe I did, and when you denied
that anything else happened, it was what I wanted to think, so I let you
convince me that these maniacs who were capable of raping little girls
and mutilating people alive had merely danced around you and given
you a little tainted water.//

     //Maybe I didn't want to believe it because some sick, perverted
bastard had taken by force from you something I wanted so badly for
you to give freely...to me.  Something we maybe could have shared
someday.  Now, knowing what I know, it would be the ultimate
violation in your eyes for me to touch you like a lover, to feel that I
wanted to claim that part of you that had been taken in violence...//  

     //He who hesitates is lost, Kenneth,// Hutch recalled his father
saying on more than one occasion.  //I hate to admit it, but the old man
was right.  I hesitated, and now I've lost.  But thank God I still have
you.//

********

     Simon Marcos' corpse was nothing more than that.  Simply the
remains of a man who had slit his own throat--not a pretty sight, but
hardly something that would be up and about anytime soon.  Hutch
leaned against the wall of drawers as Ginny regarded him with an odd
expression.

     "Just closing an old chapter?"  she asked, locking the drawer
and going back to the table where her current project was resting, just a
bit of wavy red hair showing beneath the sheet that covered it.

     "More or less.  Certainly is a grisly way to kill yourself."

     "Prison suicides have limited options," Ginny responded,
putting on her glasses and pulling back the sheet to just above the swell
of the dead woman's breasts, maintaining her client's modesty.

     "Oh my God," Hutch muttered.

     "You know her?"

     "How did she end up here?"  he asked, still staring at the dead
woman's fine features.

     "Another suicide, actually."  Ginny pulled one of the arms out
from beneath the sheet, displaying the blood-crusted gash.  "She was
found in the old zoo--in what used to be the bear cave.  No ID."

     "Gail Harcourt."  Hutch looked up at Ginny.  "She was one of
Marcos' followers before Starsky's kidnaping.  She was the one who
helped save his life.  He was held captive in the bear cave of the old
zoo."

     "This *is* starting to have a few fairly bizarre elements, isn't
it?"  Ginny made a note on Gail's chart.  "Do you know how to reach
her family?"

     "You're sure it's a suicide?"

     "All outward indications would point to it, but I'm about to do
the autopsy now.  I'll get the results to you as soon as possible."

     "Thanks, Ginny.  And yes, I do have contact information for her
parents."

     "Why don't you give them a call?  I'll hold off on doing anything
with her tonight if they can come right down."

     "When was she brought in?"

     "Just a couple hours ago.  She must have died sometime last
night.  A security guard found her this morning."

     "I'll get a hold of her parents and let you know if they're
coming."

     Hutch returned upstairs to find Starsky muttering curses under
his breath, again trying to come to grips with the electric typewriter.  

     "I swear, Hutch, if I break wind, this thing types somethin'."

     "Maybe you can get an old one from the supply room," Hutch
responded, not really thinking about Starsky and his aversion to the
new electrics and their seemingly feather-light touch.  

     "And deal with Bigelow?  No thanks."

     "Starsk, I've got some news."

     "Hm?"  Starsky looked up from his project.

     "Gail Harcourt is dead."

     "What happened?"  Starsky looked understandably shocked, and
turned off the electric enemy on the desk.

     "Ginny said apparent suicide.  She's on the table downstairs. 
I'm going to call her parents."  Hutch headed for the file cabinets,
digging through the files there until he pulled Gail's file.  Most of their
older files were in Records, but occasionally, for someone they kept an
eye on from time to time, the records were kept in the squad room
files.  "There's something else you should know," Hutch said, sitting at
his desk, across from Starsky.  "They found her in the bear cave at the
old zoo."

     "Oh my God," Starsky muttered, staring straight ahead, a little
past Hutch.  "What were you doing in the morgue?"  he asked Hutch,
now meeting his partner's eyes.

     "I went down to see Marcos," Hutch admitted.  He wasn't in the
habit of lying to Starsky, and there wouldn't be much point in it
anyway.  Starsky knew him too well.

     "You didn't say anything."

     "Didn't figure it was something you particularly would want to
see."  Hutch picked up the phone to dial, but Starsky pushed his hand
and the receiver back down until it was back in the cradle.  

     "And you did?"

     "I...had to."  Hutch was acutely aware that Starsky hadn't moved
his hand.  

     "Why?"  Those piercing eyes were looking right into his soul.

     "Because the nightmare I had last night was so damn...*real*
that I had to see for myself.  And I did.  And he's dead as a doornail. 
Now I really need to call Gail's parents."

     "There's somethin' goin' on, Hutch.  First Marcos, then Gail,
then this awful...*feeling* I had last night...and your nightmare.  How
much more d'you need to take this seriously?"  Starsky moved his hand,
and Hutch picked up the phone and dialed the number.

     "Nothing, buddy.  But first things first."  

     The Harcourts were understandably devastated at the news of
Gail's death.  They'd been unable to reach her since the previous
afternoon, but now that she was living on her own, in a small apartment
not far from the college campus where she was finishing her degree,
they had merely assumed she was out late for the evening with friends. 
The last few years of Gail's life, once she had been "deprogrammed"
and gone through extensive counseling, had been happy and
productive.  Her parents were as baffled by her suicide as they were
grief-stricken.  

     "I think we should meet 'em downstairs," Starsky said, getting
out of his chair and heading for the door a few minutes after Hutch
finished his conversation.  "Gail saved my life, Hutch.  I owe her that
much."

     "I agree."  Hutch rose also and together they headed downstairs
to the waiting area outside the morgue.  When the Harcourts arrived,
they were there to greet them.

     Mr. Harcourt was a tall, slender man with gray hair and a
mustache.  Gail had his features, and his stature.  Her mother was a
slightly heavy woman with red hair, now probably dyed, a color very
similar to her daughter's.  

     "Mr. and Mrs. Harcourt, I don't know if you remember--"

     "David Starsky," Mr. Harcourt said, unable to quite muster a
smile, but holding out his hand to shake.  Starsky did so and then Hutch
greeted them as well.

     "Ken Hutchinson--"

     "We remember you both," Mrs. Harcourt managed.  

     "I can't tell you how sorry we are.  I'll never forget what Gail did
for me--I wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for her," Starsky said.  

     "I'll check with Ginny."  Hutch stepped into the morgue and
returned a few moments later, motioning to them to come inside.  

     At first sight of Gail, Mrs. Harcourt nearly collapsed, only her
husband and Starsky keeping her on her feet.  

     "That's our daughter," Mr. Harcourt said evenly, his chin
twitching a bit, but his resolve to contain himself appeared to weather
the initial shock.  

     "My deepest sympathies to both of you," Ginny said, covering
Gail.  

     "We need to make arrangements for her," Mr. Harcourt said.

     "If you know which funeral home you'd like her released to,
we'll notify them for you," Ginny said.

     "You're sure it was suicide?"  Mr. Harcourt pressed as they
moved out of the morgue itself into the waiting area.  

     "My preliminary findings indicate that," Ginny said as the five
of them all took seats on the couches and chair there.  "I'll be able to
make a positive determination as soon as I'm finished."

     "You're not doing an autopsy," Mr. Harcourt stated firmly,
which only caused Mrs. Harcourt to sob harder.

     "I'm afraid there's no way around that, sir.  I have no choice."

     "It's the rule, Mr. Harcourt," Starsky spoke up.  "It's a hard rule
to handle, but that's what has to be done.  In the outside chance that
there was any foul play involved here, I think you'd want justice for
Gail.  And we couldn't get that without following the right procedures."

     "There isn't much more we can say about it, then.  Please have
her sent to the Willow Ridge Funeral Home."  He stood up and guided
his wife to do the same.  "Thank you both for being here," he said to
Starsky and Hutch.

     "We can't tell you how sorry we are.  Gail was very special to
both of us, and we'll always be grateful to her for what she did," Hutch
said, shaking hands with Mr. Harcourt.

     After the couple left, and Ginny returned to the morgue, Starsky
lingered by the double doors.  

     "You want to see Marcos?"  Hutch asked. 

     "You saw him.  He was dead.  There's not much point, is
there?"  Starsky started toward the elevator, with Hutch close behind
him.  

     "I guess we better start looking for the handful of followers of
Marcos who weren't tossed in the joint when he was."  Hutch stepped
inside the elevator, and Starsky followed.

     "There's probably more than a handful.  Besides, lots of 'em are
out now that were in the joint to begin with."

     "The guys who were his main henchmen...they're all locked up."

     "Yeah, I know."  Starsky took in a deep breath.  "Hutch, about
what we talked about last night..."  Starsky shrugged.  "I'm okay, so
you'd haveta keep lookin' at me like I'm gonna fall apart here."  Starsky
walked out of the elevator and headed for the squad room.  Hutch
caught him with a hand on his arm.

     "It's okay if you're not okay, buddy," Hutch said quietly. 
"There's no statute of limitations on something like that.  It can bother
you for a long time...maybe always."

     "Look, partner, you know I love ya, but don't start
psychoanalyzing me.  If I wanted to go that route, I'd'a talked it over
with the department shrink."

     "You'd die before you'd do that, and you know it."

     "If you really wanna help me, let it go.  It was a long time ago,
and it doesn't matter anymore."  With that, Starsky pulled away from
the hand that had stayed on his arm, and headed into the squad room,
effectively ending so personal a conversation.

********

     Gail Harcourt's family opted for a single night of visitation at
the funeral home, with a closed casket.  The funeral, held at St.
Anthony's Catholic Church--the Bay City parish which counted on its
roster some of the city's wealthiest residents--was very well attended. 
Gail's father was a well-known businessman in the community, CEO of
a local manufacturing company;  Mrs. Harcourt had a lengthy listing of
community involvements, and Gail herself had made many new friends
since escaping from Marcos' influence.  

     Running his finger under his collar for the third time in so many
minutes, Starsky looked over at Hutch.  Dressed in a dark navy suit,
Hutch looked...elegant.  The mustache had fallen prey to the razor
several months earlier, and now all that remained were those perfect
features and an unobstructed view of that full, lush mouth.  The silky
blond hair still brushed Hutch's collar, but it was more carefully styled
now than it had been during that bleak time when Hutch had seemed to
stop much caring about maintaining those stunning blond good looks of
his.  

     Whether it had been the strain of the job, or some more
personal demon that even Starsky couldn't discern, something had
made Hutch more withdrawn, more irritable, and definitely more
disheveled for quite a time before Starsky's brush with Gunther's
hitmen.  Once they'd weathered that passage through the valley of the
shadow of death, things had taken an upswing.  Starsky's recovery had
required a lot of Hutch's time and TLC, which, as always, he'd given
with love and all the gentleness and concern in the world.  Just making
it from one day to the next, and getting Starsky through his
convalescence, was a team effort, and their bond had been duly
strengthened by it.  

     All the while, Starsky had not only soaked up the comfort of
chasing away the residual night demons the shooting had left in its
wake, but the times Hutch would sleep with him, offering the presence
of his body as extra warmth or support to soothe physical hurts, or just
to reassure him, were wonderful treasures.  Yet, at the same time, they
reminded Starsky of just how much Marcos had cost him.  How the
bastard was still having the last laugh without lifting a finger. 

     Then again, Starsky was alive.  What he'd lost was certainly not
comparable to what Gail had lost, as her family and friends filed into
the church to say their final farewells.  As her life had ended just
months before finally finishing her teaching degree.  

      A gentle tug on Starsky's sleeve signaled him to stand.  Glad
that Hutch was at least paying attention, Starsky shook off his own
thoughts and tried to concentrate on what was going on in the church. 
He owed Gail his respectful attention...without her, Hutch would have
had to bury him four years ago.

     Though he stood there looking at the hymnal Hutch was holding
open where they both could see it, he didn't sing.  Not when he could
hear Hutch's sweet voice wrapping itself around the notes on the page,
bringing them to life.  He found himself wishing the choir and
congregation would be just a bit quieter so he could lose himself in that
voice...and forget the fact that Marcos had reached out from beyond the
grave and somehow exacted payment from Gail for her betrayal.  

     Chilled by a thought he hadn't really entertained before, Starsky
shivered a little where he stood and moved imperceptibly closer to
Hutch.  The music sounded odd now, warped somehow...and Starsky
wondered why the organist was hitting so many sour notes--so many
*ominous* sour notes...  He glanced up toward the organ and the choir,
and froze in terror at what he saw.  Where the blue-robed choir had
stood was a chorus of black-robed figures, inverted red crosses on their
garments.  The organ music was horrible and distorted, and the voices
only chanted, "Simon, Simon, Simon, Simon, Simon..." 

     Choked with terror and unable to speak, Starsky turned to look
at Hutch, who merely looked back at him, puzzled, as if nothing were
wrong.  

     The priest mounted the steps to the altar, clad in a black hooded
robe, flanked by two black-clad altar boys.  He moved behind the altar
and turned, moving the black hood back from his head.  Simon Marcos'
white, dead face laughed at him then, looking down from the altar,
raising his arms in a mockery of prayer as the volume of the chant rose
to an unbearable volume...

********

     Nothing was real but the feeling of the hand holding his. 
Starsky flexed his fingers, and felt an answering squeeze.  It was
blessedly silent now, except for some distant voices and one very
important voice, talking to him softly, urging him to open his eyes. 
Finally, he succumbed to that voice and forced his heavy lids to open.

     "Hey, buddy," Hutch said softly, smiling at him from his perch
on the side of the bed...the hospital bed.  

     "How'd I end up in here?"  Starsky grumbled, blinking rapidly
to clear his vision.

     "You passed out at Gail's funeral," Hutch responded calmly.

     "Oh, man, how did they get in there?  Her mom and dad must've
been scared to death..."  Starsky rubbed a hand over his face, then
looked back at Hutch.  His expression was concerned, but
blank...baffled.

     "Just rest now, Starsk.  If you're tired, go ahead and nap."

     "You didn't see any of it, did you?"  Starsky asked, his eyes
widening a bit.

     "Any of what, buddy?"  Hutch was still holding his hand, and
Starsky squeezed that hand greedily.  

     "Oh, dammit, Hutch, I'm goin' crazy."  Starsky felt the panic
welling up.  Hutch would never deny seeing something like that and let
Starsky weather the terror by himself.  

     "You're not going crazy, babe," Hutch reassured, covering their
joined hands with his free hand.  "You've been reliving some really
traumatic memories in the last few days.  It just caught up with you." 
Hutch paused.  "You want to talk about what you saw?"

     "First, the organ started sounding funny, and then the whole
choir was...they weren't the choir anymore.  They were all in black... in
those black robes with the red crosses and they were chanting, not
singing...and the priest, when he came in?  He was in a black robe too,
and when he turned around, it was Marcos," Starsky blurted, barely
having taken a breath during his description.  "What's the matter with
me?  You didn't see any of that!"

     "It was an hallucination, buddy.  Nothing to be afraid of.  
Maybe you just need a few days off, and to talk to somebody--"

     "Oh, terrific--nothin' to be afraid of 'cept goin' nuts and needing
a shrink."

     "I didn't say that."

     "You didn't have to."  Starsky looked away, staring at the
window with its Venetian blinds letting in little slices of sunlight.

     "Starsk."  Hutch's voice was infinitely gentle, and a hand was
stroking Starsky's hair now.  "Buddy, I know you're not crazy.  I...I
didn't see what you saw...but you didn't see what I saw, either."

     "Today?"

     "No, the other night, the night Marcos--and Gail--died.  Right
before you woke up, I woke up because you were upset, agitated,
moving around--I was going to wake you...and I...saw him.  Marcos. 
Right there.  He used his usually weird, flowery words, but he told me
that he'd...that his followers had--"

     "He told you what they did to me?"  Starsky finished, seeing
that Hutch couldn't seem to get the word out.

     "Yeah--well, as explicitly as he ever said *anything*.  I was
scared shitless, and I figured it had to be a sort of waking dream.  I
blinked a couple times and he was gone, and then you woke up.  I
figured I just had a vivid nightmare.  But now, knowing what you went
through in the church...maybe we're either both nuts or both sane--and...
and something really *is* happening here."

     "Didn't you think it was kinda funny that a dream was tellin' you
somethin' you didn't already know?"

     "I did, but...Starsk, after what they did to their other victims, it
was something I was always afraid of.  God, sometimes I really hate
myself for not pushing you a little more to talk to me...you've lived
with this all this time alone and--"

     "Terry knew."  Starsky took a deep breath and stared at the
ceiling.  "She was only the second woman...I got together with sexually
after Marcos, and...I wasn't doin' so hot.  It's really ironic," Starsky
added, shaking his head sadly.  "By the time I was doin' better...she was
gone."

     "I could have helped you, babe.  Been there for you...taken care
of you--those guys couldn't have been exactly careful or gentle."

     "No, not really."  Starsky swallowed and closed his eyes briefly. 
"I survived it, Hutch.  I'm still alive.  It's in the past."  Then he smiled
and looked at his partner.  "Besides, you did take care'a me and you
were there for me the whole time.  Sometimes you didn't know why I
was waking up screamin' at night, but you were always there when I
did, or if I called you at three in the morning because I had a case'a the
jitters, you talked me down off the ceiling.  You couldn't'a done
anything more if you'd known all the details."

     "Maybe not," Hutch admitted, shrugging slightly.  The silence
hung for a few moments.

     "You believe me then--about Marcos--about what's happening
now?"  Starsky squeezed Hutch's hand again, hope lighting up his
whole expression.

     "Yeah, babe, I believe you," Hutch said, moving his hand from
Starsky's hair to pat the back of the hand he still held.  "I just didn't
believe myself, my own eyes."

     "I was so scared, Hutch.  I knew somethin' was happening and I
couldn't make you believe me."  

     "I believe you, buddy.  I'm sorry I didn't before.  I guess I did,
but I didn't want to."

     "I'm not crazy about it myself," Starsky admitted.

     "Hey, you want to get out of here?  I'll see if I can get you
sprung, and we'll go home."

     "We better stick together...in case anything happens."

     "You mind having a houseguest for a few days?"

     "Mind not havin' one," Starsky mumbled, and Hutch just
grinned, getting up and heading for the door of the room.

********

     "I probably oughtta call Gail's parents and apologize for
disrupting everything today," Starsky said as he rode in the passenger
seat of Hutch's latest acquisition--a battered 1976 gray LTD.

     "You really didn't, buddy.  There were a couple businessmen in
the pew behind us, and I caught you when you went down and your butt
landed on the seat, so one of them just got on the other side of you and
helped me haul you out to the car. We were sitting near the back
anyway, so I'm not sure Gail's folks even knew what was going on."

     "I wish I could've stayed, you know, paid my respects...for
Gail's sake."

     "We'll put some flowers on her grave when the big batch of
funeral flowers get wilted."

     "Good idea."  Starsky was silent a moment.  "How do you think
he got her out to the old zoo?"

     "I'm not sure I buy that Marcos is doing this, Starsk.  It could be
his followers--maybe they slipped something in our food, some sort of
hallucinogenic--"

     "My blood test today came back clean, Hutch.  You know this
isn't some kinda drug thing.  I don't know how he's doin' it, and I know
it's s'posed to be impossible, but Marcos is doing this from the other
side.  He offs himself and all hell breaks loose."

     "It's just a hard concept to accept, I guess.  Dead men don't--"

     "This one does," Starsky said, with a conviction almost as
frightening as the concept.  

     "Should we talk to Dobey?"

     "And say what?  That Marcos is making mischief from beyond
the grave?"

     "That Marcos committed suicide, and then Gail commits
suicide in the very spot where the final cult activities took place--on the
same night--and that we think it's worth investigating to find out if his
cult is reviving again.  They were rapists, murderers and child
molesters.  If they're gearing up again, maybe with some new space
cadet at the helm, as cops we ought to be investigating it."

     "Sounds reasonable," Starsky agreed.  "Let's go talk to him
now."

     "Don't you want to rest?"

     "I've been restin' on my ass all day, Hutch.  I need to do
something about this."

     "Okay, buddy, I hear you."  

********

     "I got the M.E.'s report on the Harcourt suicide.  Quite a
coincidence," Dobey said, arching an eyebrow.  "An unlikely one, I
would say."

     "That's how we feel, Cap'n," Starsky agreed.

     "I'm still not convinced you don't belong on sick leave for a
while, Starsky.  Collapsing isn't usually the sign of *not* being ill."

     "They ran all sorts'a tests on me.  If something's wrong, they'll
let me know.  The preliminary stuff checked out okay."

     "Yeah, the brain scan revealed nothing, whatsoever," Hutch
added, smirking a little and earning a venomous look from his partner.  

     "Look into it.  You've got a couple other cases pending, and I
can't take you off those.  But follow up on this--check out some of his
old haunts, see if you can track down any paroled or never arrested
weirdos who were hooked up with his group."

     "Thanks, Cap'n.  I think something major's goin' on here." 
Starsky stood up and Hutch followed suit.  "Gail was fine--she was
happy, according to her parents, doin' well in college, almost done with
her degree--why would she go out to the one place she was most afraid
of and kill herself?"

     "It doesn't add up.  It's up to you two to find the missing pieces." 
Dobey pinned them with an intent gaze.  

     "We'll do our best," Hutch responded, taking the file on the
Harcourt suicide and following his partner out of the office.  "Well,
we've got the case."  He tossed the folder on his desk and sat down. 
"Now what?"

     "Guess we run checks on all of Marcos' known associates,"
Starsky responded, pouring himself a cup of coffee and then one for
Hutch, which he passed across to his partner.

     "Maybe we ought to find out who claimed the body," Hutch
said, picking up the phone.  He dialed the morgue, and got the
attendant there.  "This is Hutchinson.  Has anyone claimed Simon
Marcos' body yet?"  He waited.  "I see.  When was that?"  Another
pause.  "And that was which funeral home again?  Dunham-Masterson?
Okay."  Hutch jotted down the rest of the information.  "Thanks,
Todd."  He hung up the phone.  "A woman claiming to be Marcos'
cousin signed for the body and made the arrangements.  Lydia Russell. 
I think we need to pay Ms. Russell a visit."

     "Did they bury the old boy yet?"  Starsky asked, taking another
drink of his coffee.

     "Apparently there was a private service followed by 'burial in a
family plot', according to Todd downstairs."

     "We never had anything on a Lydia Russell the first time
around."

     "Nope.  Guess it's time we met her."  Hutch got up out of his
chair and Starsky followed suit, the two of them walking out of the
squad room.

     Lydia Russell lived on a quiet, tree-lined suburban street.  With
Halloween just a couple weeks away, houses were decorated with
pumpkins, corn shocks and other seasonal items.  As the first minutes
of dusk began casting shadows over the street, porch lamps lit here and
there.  Overall, it was an unremarkable, peaceful place...Hutch couldn't
help but wonder how many of these people knew that their neighbor
was the cousin of a famous Satanic cult leader.

     "That's it," Starsky said, pointing to a two-storey blue house
with white shutters.  Hutch pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. 

     "I guess I was expecting Hell House," he joked, and Starsky had
to laugh at that.  

     "Doesn't look too threatening, does it?"  he agreed, getting out
of the car.  The two of them approached the front door and Hutch rang
the bell.  

     "Who is it?"  came a female voice from the other side of the
door.  

     "Police, ma'am," Hutch said, waiting until she opened the inner
door, still leaving a storm door between them.  He held up his ID, and
Starsky did the same.  "I'm Detective Hutchinson, this is Detective
Starsky.  We would like to speak to you regarding your cousin's death."

     "Come in."  She pushed open the screen door and stood back
for them to enter.  A tall, slender woman in her mid-forties, she wore
her hair long and straight, its color not unlike Simon's.  She wore a
simple black dress, and neither man felt sure if she was in mourning or
if all Marcos' friends and relatives walked around in black dresses.

     "I understand you took custody of the remains?"  Hutch said as
she led them to a grouping of living room furniture in what was a tidy,
but somewhat cramped room with a television, bookshelves and
numerous nick-knacks.  

     "Please, sit down."  As they all did, she continued.  "Yes, I had
Simon buried in the family plot," she said, using the common English
pronunciation of his name.

     "How did you happen to become responsible for collecting the
body?"  Starsky asked.

     "Simon's parents--my aunt and uncle--died about twenty years
ago.  Simon was already a junior in high school, but my mother and
father took him in until he was 18--he actually left home at 17 anyway,
so he wasn't with us long.  My parents divorced, and my father--who
was Simon's blood relative--passed away two years ago.  So I'm really
all there is left."  She frowned.  "Is there some problem with the
paperwork or the authorizations?"

     "No, not at all.  How much did you know about your cousin's
activities?"  Starsky asked.

     "As much as anyone who reads the papers, I suppose.  I didn't
realize he was into anything that serious prior to that.  I knew he had
some...unusual ideas, and that he ran with a strange crowd, but I didn't
know more than that.  May I ask what this is about?  Simon's dead. 
Whatever he did or didn't do in the past--isn't it possible to let him rest
in peace?"

     "Our intent isn't to harass you or your family, or to make any
waves regarding your disposition of the body.  We are investigating
what appears to be an uncanny coincidence--on the night your cousin
committed suicide, one of his former followers also took her own life--at 
the old city zoo.   No one appears to understand why she would have
been out there, and there was nothing to indicate she harbored any
suicidal thoughts or tendencies."

     "It would be a little hard for Simon to have anything to do with
that woman's death from prison," she said, shaking her head.  "He was
in prison for the rest of his life without parole.  He killed himself rather
than rot there for the rest of time.  Wasn't that enough atonement?"

     "Lady, you seem to be forgetting some of the atrocities he
committed.  No one persecuted your cousin then, and no one is
smearing his memory now.  We have a case to investigate," Starsky
said, his voice even, but angry.  

     "You'll never convince me that he had any part in molesting
little girls and murdering people.  I know he had some...problems,
mainly stemming from his parents' deaths--but I think the police were
far too ready to make him the scapegoat and very unwilling to look
among his followers for the real killers."

     "It's pretty hard to buy that your cousin had nothing to do with
coaching these people to do the things they did when every time they
did something, they chanted his name," Starsky said.  He was getting a
bit more confrontational now, and Hutch couldn't blame him.  While
Lydia Russell couldn't possibly know what Starsky had suffered in
Simon's name, it was still pretty difficult to listen to anyone defending
the guy.

     "There's not much point in debating the past.  Simon's dead
now, and even when he was alive, he was incarcerated for life.  How
exactly do you think he caused this girl's suicide?  His mail, his phone
calls--they were all screened.  His visits were rare, and supervised.  He
had no privacy, no way to communicate with the outside world.  Unless
you believe he had some unnatural powers of mind control, I fail to see
how he could cause this woman to kill herself when he couldn't even
send me a birthday card unopened."

     "We're not accusing anyone of anything, Ms. Russell.  It is an
uncanny coincidence, and we believe it merits investigation," Hutch
reiterated.

     "I'm not sure exactly what you people want from me--unless of
course it's permission to exhume the body so you can drive a stake
through his heart," she snapped, getting up and walking toward the
door.  "I'm very sorry that the people my cousin hung around with did a
whole lot of depraved things.  I'm not saying he mightn't have been
involved in any of them.  But I'll never believe he was the monster you
people painted him to be.  Now I think it's time for you to go."  She
opened the door and waited.

     "Actually, ma'am, if you could tell us where the grave is
located, we would appreciate it," Hutch said as they headed toward the
door.

     "Section F, Hillside Cemetery.  Why?"

     "Just for the file.  This is an ongoing investigation."

     "Well, if you need to interrogate him, you know where to find
him now.  Goodnight, gentlemen," she said pointedly, pushing open the
screen door.

     "Thank you, Ms. Russell," Hutch concluded as he led the way
out the door.  Starsky merely nodded tightly at her and followed his
partner. 

********

     "That went well," Hutch grumbled as they started away from
the curb.  "Where to now?"
     
     "Let's skip visiting the cemetery till morning.  You mind?"

     "Visiting Simon's grave after dark isn't exactly right up there on
my list of favorite things, Starsk.  You want to grab something to eat?"

     "Nah, I'm not hungry.  If you are, we can stop though.  I'll just
get somethin' and eat it at the desk later."

     "At least Dobey pulled us off that stakeout.  Another night of
watching that damn warehouse and I was going to apply for a couple
weeks at Cabrillo State."  Hutch pulled into the parking lot of one of
their joint favorite take-out places.  "What do you want?"

     "Anything but a tuna burger," Starsky quipped, and Hutch
laughed at the old joke.  It had become Starsky's pat response after the
final time he had entrusted Hutch with the response "surprise me", fully
expecting one of his usual burger choices.  The tuna concoction Hutch
had brought out had certainly achieved that goal. 

     "Be right back," Hutch responded, laughing and getting out of
the car.  

     Starsky leaned back in the seat and rubbed his eyes.  He was
bone tired, and truth be told, the day had taken a lot out of him.  But
then it *had* been an extraordinary day.  They'd worked the 3-11 shift
the night before, ended up helping out on a crime in progress call, and
finally crashed at Hutch's place near two in the morning.  Starsky had
been up at seven, back at his own place to change into a suit for Gail's
funeral, and then they'd attended the ill-fated service where Starsky had
collapsed.  A few hours in the hospital had somehow just segued into
their workday, and Starsky found himself looking longingly at his
watch, wishing it was eleven now instead of seven-thirty.

     "He wants you."  

     The familiar voice from the backseat froze Starsky in his seat,
his arm not all the way down from glancing at his watch.  

     "Your white knight has some black secrets.  My dream was his
fantasy."

     "This isn't happening."  Starsky closed his eyes, swallowed hard
and then turned to look in the back seat.  And he was right.  It wasn't
happening.  He was alone in the car, and Hutch was making his way
back, a large bag in one hand, two drinks held by the bottoms of the
cups in the other long-fingered hand.  Starsky leaned over and opened
the driver's door.

     "Double-decker house special with extra dressing," Hutch said,
handing the bag to Starsky.  "You need to eat, buddy.  Hopefully that'll
get you interested."  Hutch got into the car and stuck the drinks in the
console on the floor of the car.  "Starsk?  What's wrong?"  He took in
the other man's stunned expression and obvious silence.

     "He was here."

     "Who was here?"

     "Well, he wasn't *here* exactly... or maybe he was.  I didn't
have the guts to look until...after."

     "Are we talking about Marcos?"

     "Yeah, it was his voice all right."

     "What did he say?"  Hutch frowned, looking in the back seat as
if he expected Simon to pop up and make a face at him.  To Starsky's
relief, Hutch found the back seat similarly vacant.

     "Just some mumbo jumbo about his dream bein' your fantasy. 
His usual weird shit," Starsky concluded, feeling like he needed time to
process what Marcos said before he leveled with Hutch about it.  

     "You're sure you heard his voice?"

     "I'm sure, Hutch.  Sure as I'm hearin' yours now."

     "Try to remember what he said.  Marcos used to give us clues
with his soliloquies, even if they were a pain in the ass to figure out." 
Hutch took a draw on his soft drink.  "Damn, I can't believe we're
actually sitting here talking about trying to interpret messages from
some dead guy who keeps showing up like a bad penny."

     "Maybe this is all in my head and I'm really losin' it."

     "So that would explain my dream?"

     "It was a dream."

     "Sure it was."  Hutch looked straight ahead through the
windshield.  "There are things in this world that we just don't know,
that we can't totally understand.  Forces beyond our...*grasp*. 
Monsters like Marcos, especially monsters who spend so much time
trying to tune into those forces...who knows what they can do when
they set their minds to it?"

     "Maybe we oughtta go for that exhumation order after all."

     "Well, I'm fresh outta stakes tonight, buddy.  I think we better
head back in."

     "Luke, Matthew and Peter are still in the joint," Starsky
recapped, referring to Simon's three primary goons who orchestrated
his kidnaping--and his torture.  "Gail's dead.  Who've we got to talk to?"

     "I'm thinking we go through the file and just pick a few names
at random.  See where those folks are now," Hutch headed out into the
evening traffic.  

     "You're awful calm about this."

     "No, I'm not.  I just can't think about it too much," Hutch
admitted.  They rode the rest of the way back to Parker Center in
silence.

********

     Luke, Matthew and Peter were, indeed, still incarcerated in 
state penitentiaries, though they'd been split up to two different
facilities, and not one had been placed in the same place as Marcos. 
Their records varied, Luke and Peter having racked up a few
disciplinary incidents, while Matthew's most outstanding contribution
to prison life had been to sit in the corner of his cell mumbling "Simon,
Simon, Simon" until his cell block mates had taken to banging cups on
the bars just to drown him out.  He was now in solitary, where his
meditations were essentially undisturbed.  His lawyer was working to
have him released to a psychiatric facility, but had so far met with
failure on that plea.

     Of the three, only Matthew had family still traceable.  His
parents still lived in an affluent suburb, in a stately mansion surrounded
by a perfectly manicured lawn.  Even in the dark, the orderly perfection
of the yard was obvious, small mushroom lights lined the curving
driveway, and a couple of well-placed spotlights featured ornamental
trees and surrounding flowers.  

     "Makes you wonder what kids outta these houses are lookin' for
that some nut like Marcos can offer.  I mean, there was Gail--her folks
are pretty loaded, and these people."

     "Belonging, purpose...maybe a sense of *mattering* to
someone..." Hutch mumbled, more to himself than Starsky.  Glancing
at his partner, he smiled, and the moment of vulnerability that had
caught Starsky's attention was gone.  "Money isn't everything, Starsk. 
Sometimes rich kids have *too much* and they want more thrills. 
Hard to say.  You ready to go visit these folks?"

     "Yeah, as I'll ever be."

     Starsky's ring of the doorbell was answered by a somewhat
stout man with receding white hair, dressed in a blue golf sweater over
his casual clothes.  

     "I'm Detective Starsky, this is Detective Hutchinson, Bay City
Police.  We would like to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Pennell."

     "I'm Elliot Pennell," he responded.  "What is this regarding?"

     "Your son, Matthew," Hutch replied.  The man's entire
demeanor changed, a look of cold detachment sweeping over his
features.  

     "What's he done now?  I thought they had him in solitary."
     "Possibly nothing, sir.  We have reason to believe there could
be some revival of...activity among some of the followers of the cult
your son was involved with--we were hoping perhaps you could fill us
in on any recent contact you've had with your son."  Hutch waited, then
glanced at Starsky, as the other man smiled derisively and shook his
head.

     "Then this will be a short meeting.  I haven't spoken to Matthew
since his arrest.  And then there was precious little point in it."

     "May we come in a moment, sir?"  Starsky asked, feeling a bit
resentful at being kept on the doorstep for the entire encounter.

     "If you must," he said, backing away from the door as they
walked inside the house.  

     "You've heard nothing from Matthew since he went to prison
then?"  Starsky clarified.

     "That's right."

     "Have you seen or heard anything...unusual in the last few
days?"  Hutch asked.  The other man's frown deepened.

     "Unusual how?"

     "Any contact from any of Matthew's former friends, any types
of threats, harassment--"

     "If any of those lunatics made a move toward us, I'd set the dogs
on them.  Furthermore, if we'd been harassed, I would have reported it
to the police."

     "Is Mrs. Pennell at home?"  Starsky asked.

     "Yes, but she's...resting.  She doesn't receive guests."  Just then,
a blood-curdling scream came from the second floor of the house. 
"Ellen!"  Mr. Pennell started rushing toward the stairs, but Hutch pulled
him back as he and Starsky drew their weapons and headed up the
stairs.  The man followed behind them.  

     "Which way?"  Starsky asked Pennell.

     "To your left.  The double doors at the end of the hall," he shot
out in a hushed voice.

     The two detectives slid stealthily along the walls of the hallway,
then gestured to Mr. Pennell to duck into one of the other bedrooms,
out of the line of fire.  In a coordinated move, they kicked open the
double doors and burst into the room, guns drawn.  

     A middle-aged blonde woman in a white silk hostess gown lay
across her satin-covered king-sized bed, unconscious.  The French
doors leading to the balcony were open, but Starsky found nothing out
of place and no sign of forced entry.  

     "She's alive.  I think she fainted," Hutch said, checking the
woman's pulse as her husband rushed into the room.  Starsky moved
closer to the bed, and couldn't help noticing the startling family
resemblance between Matthew and his mother.  

     "We'll call an ambulance to be on the safe side," Starsky picked
up the phone on the bedside table and called.

     "Ellen, Ellen," Mr. Pennell hovered over his wife now, patting
her face lightly, trying to bring her around, but she showed no signs of
rallying.  Just then, Hutch's beeper sounded.

     "Headquarters," he said to Starsky, picking up the phone as
soon as his partner relinquished it.  

     "Has your wife been ill, sir?"  Starsky asked the overwrought
man as Hutch called in to respond to the beeper.
     
     "My wife is...emotionally fragile.  Matthew's incarceration was
the last straw.  She rarely leaves her room, and she doesn't receive
guests.  They were very close...even when no one else could reach him,
she could."

     "Starsky, can I see you a minute?"  Hutch asked, heading for the
door.

     "Sure.  Excuse me," he said to Mr. Pennell, joining his partner
out in the hall.  "What's up?"

     "They just found Matthew's body.  He slashed his wrists and
bled to death in his cell."

     "When?"

     "Must've just breathed his last according to Dobey.  They were
doing a routine check, and when he didn't respond to the guard at the
door of the cell, he went inside and Matthew was in bed already.  He
was pale, obviously, and unresponsive, and the blanket was spattered
with blood.  He pulled it back and the entire bed was soaked, from two
wounds in his wrists."

     "You think that's what happened to his mother?  She knows
somehow?"  Starsky asked.  "I've heard'a that happening."

     "Or he came and let her see for herself," Hutch added. 
"Something came in those doors--it's a little too breezy for a woman in
a silk robe to have them open all the way just for the fresh air, and she's
out cold.  Something scared the hell out of her."

     "I guess we better tell him," Starsky said, nodding toward
Pennell, where he still hunched over his wife.  The ambulance could be
heard approaching in the distance.

     "Go downstairs and talk to the ambulance guys.  I'll handle it." 
Hutch smiled a little reassuringly, and Starsky seemed grateful for the
dismissal.  He headed downstairs while Hutch returned to deliver the
bad news to Matthew's father.

********

     "I really feel sorry for that Pennell lady," Starsky said as he
came out of the bathroom toweling off his hair, towel around his hips. 
Hutch was on the couch in the living room, staring somewhat blankly
at some old movie on cable TV.  "You want the shower?"

     "Yeah, thanks."  He pushed up and off the couch and headed
into Starsky's bathroom, closing the door behind him.  Meanwhile,
Starsky located some underwear and his favorite blue robe and
wandered into the kitchen to find a snack.  His appetite hadn't made
much of an appearance earlier, and while he wasn't exactly ravenous
now, he felt a little light-headed from no food.

     He made himself a salami sandwich and then strolled to the
bathroom door to ask Hutch if he wanted anything.  He froze with his
knuckles inches from the door.  From inside, he could hear a rhythmic
chanting, in Hutch's voice.

     "Simon, Simon, Simon..."

     Knowing even Hutch's sometimes strange sense of humor
wouldn't include something like that, Starsky tried the knob.  Finding it
locked, he slammed into the door twice, sending it flying open.  Hutch
stood naked before the mirror, staring into it, a bloody razor blade in
one hand, while blood gushed from a slash wound on the opposite
wrist.

     "Oh my God."  He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around
Hutch's spurting wrist, then grabbed the hand with the razor in it and
simply pressed the pressure point on Hutch's thumb to make him
release the blade.  "Hutch, come on, babe, look at me!"  Starsky yanked
him around by the shoulders and shook once, firmly.  Hutch seemed to
regain some sort of consciousness of himself and what was happening,
and he winced and looked down at his towel-wrapped wrist.  

     "What...?"  He glanced around at the blood on the sink and the
counter.

     "You've got one hell of a wound in your wrist, buddy.  Come
on, let's get you into some clothes and get over to emergency."

     "I don't remember--Starsky...I didn't...how...?"

     "We'll talk about it later.  Right now you need to get that wrist
fixed up."  

     The emergency room doctor easily accepted the story that
Hutch had accidentally sliced himself with a recently sharpened knife. 
Either their cop status made them credible, or Hutch didn't look
particularly suicidal, but in any event, he was given several stitches to
close the wound, a few layers of gauze and a joking admonition from
the friendly, aging doctor not to play with sharp objects.

     "Starsky, I don't remember cutting myself.  I don't even
remember getting undressed in there.  What happened?"  Hutch asked
as Starsky drove the Torino back toward his place.

     "You went in to take your shower.  I was makin' a sandwich,
and I wondered if you wanted anything.  So I went to the door and you
were...chanting."

     "Chanting," Hutch repeated, deadpan, disbelief in his voice.

     "You know, the whole Simon thing."  Starsky gulped a little,
then continued.  "I knew right then somethin' awful had to be goin' on,
so I busted in the door and you were standing there with this big gash
in your wrist, and you didn't act like you even knew where you were or
what you were doin'." 

     "How do we fight this thing, Starsk?  I just don't know."  Hutch
looked out the passenger window.

     "We gotta stick together, that's all there is to it."

     "We *are* together, and still--"

     "You're not dead, are ya?"

     "No, I guess that's one way to look at it," Hutch responded,
smiling in spite of himself.

     "Okay then.  We just gotta be more careful."

     "You want to start showering together now?  Short of that, we
can't keep much better watch over each other than we're doing."

     "We'll do what we gotta do, buddy.  Maybe we just can't be on
the other side'a locked doors anymore."

     "I didn't lock the door, either."

     "I didn't figure you did."  

     With the bathroom door open, Hutch finally did get his shower
while Starsky turned out the lights in the rest of the apartment and
turned back the bed.  He was already sliding between the invitingly
cool sheets when Hutch came out of the bathroom in his robe.  

     "You leave me some pillows to take?"  he asked good-naturedly.

     "Where're you gonna take 'em?  C'mon, Hutch, the couch kills
your back and you know it.  Just get in.  You'll sleep better."  

     "You don't mind?"

     "I never minded before, why would I now?"  Starsky frowned,
then realization dawned.  "Ah, I see.  Now you know, so you think all
of a sudden I'm gonna freak out if you get friendly through the night,
huh?"

     "That wasn't what I was thinking, Starsk."  Hutch tossed his
robe aside, and clad in his boxers, climbed into the empty side of the
bed.  "I wasn't sure you wanted to share on such a regular basis--if I end
up staying with you a while.  We could rotate and go back to my place
from time to time.  Switch off so nobody's getting the couch all the
time."

     "After everything we went through together with the shooting
and everything, what do we need to stand on formalities for?"  Starsky
paused.  "Unless it makes *you* nervous," he added, thinking back
over Simon's words.

     //He wants you.//

     "Why would it make me nervous?"  Hutch turned out the light
on his side of the bed.  Starsky did so with his own, and the room was
bathed in the moonlight that streamed in the window.  

     "I dunno.  Just thought it might."  Starsky slid down and onto
his side, facing away from Hutch.  

     "Well, it doesn't," Hutch responded, shifting into position for
sleep himself, though he chose the side that left him facing Starsky's
back.  

     "Hutch?"

     "Yeah?"

     "Did you ever think about it at all--I mean, even for a second
sometime?"

     "About what?"  Hutch frowned, then added, "Being nervous
about sleeping with you, you mean?"

     "Not exactly."  There was a long breath.  "About...doin' more
than sleeping."

     "You don't have to be nervous around me, buddy.  I'd never--"

     "Damn it, Hutch, please don't make everything about the...about
what they did to me.  Please.  I can't...I don't want you to make
everything about that, okay?"  Starsky's voice had risen a bit and was
strained.

     "I didn't mean to do that, buddy."

     "I wanted to know if you ever thought about us...you
know...doin' more than sleeping.  Before you knew what was wrong
with me that way."

     "I suppose it's only nat-- Wait. *Wrong with you*?"

     "You know, after what happened.  Before you knew there was
anything wrong with me, did you--"

     "Starsk," Hutch's voice was so soft and gentle that it made
Starsky shift and roll over on his other side to face his partner.  "Aw,
Starsk, there's nothing wrong with you.  Someone hurting you that
way...doesn't mean there's something wrong with you."

     "Sure it does.  I'm all messed up, Hutch," Starsky said in a
strained whisper.  "None'a this means anything--they're just questions. 
So you don't have t'be nervous."

     "I wasn't nervous, buddy."  Hutch regarded Starsky's somewhat
haunted, moonlit face a moment.  "I think it's pretty natural when
you're as close as we've always been to think about what it would be
like...if there'd be something that could make us cross the line."

     "Then you thought about it before?"

     "Yeah, once in a while."

     "So did I.  You know, mainly before..."  Starsky swallowed. 
"Even now, sometimes...you know, I wonder what it would'a been like,
if I was okay that way, and..."  Starsky shifted onto his back and stared
at the ceiling, letting out a long sigh.  "But I'm not, so it doesn't matter
anymore."

     "People who go through a trauma like that have some lingering
fears and...and...*difficulties* sometimes.  That doesn't mean they can't
be overcome, or that you can't have a healthy sex life."

     "My sex life is all right," Starsky said blandly.  

     "What made you think about this tonight?"  Hutch's brows knit
together in a bit of a frown.  

     "Simon said--" Starsky snorted a little laugh, and Hutch had to
join him.  He'd made that odd fumble of words more than once
discussing this case.  "Remember earlier, in the car, when I said I'd
heard his voice again?"

     "Yeah."

     "He said...'he wants you'."  Starsky paused.  "And then he said,
'your white knight has some black dreams.  My dream was his fantasy.'"

     "So Marcos' voice told you I wanted you?"

     "Right.  And...and then that next part, about...black dreams."

     "Damn him," Hutch sat up in bed and ran a hand back through
his hair.  "Damn him to fucking hell where he belongs."

     "Well?"

     "Well what?"  Hutch snapped, lost momentarily in his own
thoughts.  Apparently realizing he'd just bitten Starsky's head off at a
most inopportune moment, he let out a long sigh.  "I'm sorry, babe."  

     "What does it mean?"

     "It means that Marcos is working like hell to do the one thing
he knows is the best way to defeat his enemy--that would be us.  He's
trying to drive a wedge between us.  Using what happened to you."

     "So you don't want me?"  Starsky asked, not really meaning for
the question to sound quite as pathetic as it did.  Regardless, he still
needed to know.  

     "I...I didn't say that, Starsk.  But I'm not dancing to Marcos' tune
here.  He's not calling the shots.  He's trying to turn me against you by
saying crazy shit like you were his first and always will be and then
telling you that I want you in a way that makes you uneasy after what
happened to you, and if he has his way, it'll rip us in half."

     "Whoa, back up a minute."  Starsky sat up now, joining his
partner in an upright position.  "I was his first?  What the hell is that
supposed to mean?"

     "Because of the...the rape," Hutch managed, closing his eyes as
the word actually came out, hanging there, loud in the silence of the
room.

     "So because his goons did that to me, that's supposed to make
me his somehow?"  

     "Probably his way of making me *not* want you."  

     "And then he tells me you *do* want me."  Starsky shook his
head.  "Doesn't make any sense.  I guess he's just playin' with our heads
the way he always did."

     "Think about it, Starsk.  He convinces you that I want you, that
I'm having fantasies about...about doing to you what they did to you. 
Pretty repulsive stuff, huh?  And then he goes after me, and tries to turn
me away from the idea of wanting you, making you seem as if you're
somehow 'tainted' or 'claimed' by him."

     "So then I'd think you were wantin' me that way, and maybe
make a move, and you'd...push me away, 'cause of what he said?"

     "Be a good way to split us up, wouldn't it?  Find some way to
make me reject you because you went through a trauma?"

     "That's all real interesting about Marcos, Hutch.  But you're still
tap dancin' around my question.  Was he right?  Do you want me that
way?"  Starsky asked, feeling more and more frantic as the moments of
silence stretched into tangible seconds.  A clock in the living room was
ticking, the coolness of the night had just made the furnace go on, and
the wind was picking up outside.  All of that was happening while
Hutch just sat there, eerily illustrative of his white knight title, skin and
fair hair lit by the moon.  He finally ran a hand over his face, and then,
looking straight ahead, gave his reply.

     "Yes."  He paused a moment.  "God help me, I do."

     "Why didn't you say anything?"  Starsky asked, feeling the chills
moving over his flesh, raising it to goose bumps.  He'd loved Hutch,
wanted him so long, and finally surrendered those fantasies when he
knew loving a man was something he'd never be any good for.  When
Marcos had robbed him of that.  When Luke and Peter had dragged
him back into the cave and proven so brutally that they weren't
*nothing*.  With Matthew standing his usual blank-faced guard. //Dear
God, did we both feel this way before...before it was too late?//

     "When would I have said something, Starsk?  When we were
out picking up stewardesses together?  When you were putting the
moves on some leggy blonde in a nightclub?  How was I supposed to
know that you were interested?"

     "How was *I* supposed to know *you* were?"  Starsky
countered, his voice rising.  

     "I guess I thought that you'd somehow just...know.  How
much...I...loved you."

     "I know that.  I've always known that.  When those...*bastards*
were havin' their way with me and I wanted to die...it was the only..." 
Starsky swallowed hard, ignoring the tears that were threatening to
spill, "It was the only thing I held onto.  I know they were probably
havin' all kinds of laughs 'cause I screamed for you," he said quietly,
wiping at his eyes.  "I couldn't help it."  Starsky swallowed hard again,
and looked up to meet Hutch's own tormented eyes.  "I always knew
how much you loved me.  I just...I didn't know *how*...or that...that it
could be like that."

     "But you loved me like that?"

     "I never saw anybody as beautiful as you, Hutch," Starsky said
with brutal honesty, open adoration in his wet eyes.  

     "I'm not beautiful, babe, but thanks for the thought," he said,
smiling a little.

     "You are to me," he said simply.  "It's the way you smile at me,
the way you get all gentle with me when I need you, like you'd do just
anything in the world I needed."

     "I would," Hutch affirmed, nodding, closing his eyes briefly.

     "I know that."  Starsky smiled.  "It's in that beautiful voice'a
yours, and those big baby blues, and that...*silk* on your head.  You've
got hair just like an angel's, Hutch.  I never touched a woman's hair that
felt like yours.  I'd get together with these other tall blondes, and stick
my hands in their hair, and...and it never felt like this."  Starsky
reached up and carded his fingers through the bottom ends of Hutch's
hair.  "Don't you think it's kinda funny that most'a the women I really
liked were tall blondes?"

     "What about Terry?"  Hutch asked quietly.  "She wasn't a tall
blonde."

     "I loved Terry for real.  For herself.  Not 'cause she reminded
me of some kinda female version of you."

     Hutch let that thought sink in.  Helen was a pretty blonde,
Rosey Malone--the girl Starsky had literally run after in the park--was
certainly a tall blonde.  Kira...

     "You were with those women because..."

     "It wasn't exactly that, but whenever I got really turned on by a
woman, I ended up noticin' that she was a tall blonde."  Starsky paused,
then smiled a little.  "I didn't plan on fallin' in love with Terry.  When
we met, I just...*liked* her right off, y'know?  We got to be friends. 
She kept saying we were best friends.  It's funny but I always felt like I
was cheatin' on you when she said that," Starsky concluded, laughing,
then became serious again.  "I don't know if I ever said we were best
friends back to her."

     "But you were in love with her."

     "Yeah, I was.  She made me feel safe enough to risk getting
intimate with somebody again.  Maybe it was because she worked with
special kids that I felt like she wouldn't laugh at me when I failed.  I
don't know.  She loved *me*.  The whole package.  So if one part didn't
work so great, she didn't throw me back like a rejected fish.  Some
girls, you know...they talk about guys lovin' and leavin'...some girls got
that down to an art if you can't stand and deliver, so to speak."

     "You had some bad experiences?"

     "One.  Just one.  After that, I...I didn't try to make it with
anybody.  Not until Terry.  I think I really let myself go, fall in love
with her--because I gave up on...on *us* ever bein' together.  After
what they did to me, I...I knew it wouldn't be fair to try to get
together...I couldn't be normal that way anymore.  Guys together...you
know...if you can't stand some kinds'a makin' love, there's not much
point."

     "Is that what you were afraid of?  That because you had some
problems, I wouldn't want you sexually?"  Hutch turned a bit so he sat
facing Starsky.  "I love you, Starsk.  That wouldn't have mattered."

     "That's what I was afraid of.  That you'd go ahead with it,
and...and that you'd be miserable and gettin' the short end of the stick. 
Hutch, I...even with Terry, there were things I couldn't stand...couldn't
let her do, and...when I think about you and me together, it's like this
vague picture of feelin' good, and gettin' close, but I can't..."  Starsky
looked down now, and his shoulders started to shake as the tears came. 
"I can't," he repeated in a choked voice, feeling defeated, finally having
acknowledged a years-old secret fantasy and realizing now that it
would only ever be that.

     "Starsk," Hutch's voice was gentle, no more than a whisper, as
he pulled his partner into his arms, one of those large hands stroking
over his hair.  "Shhh.  I'm right here, babe.  I'm right here," he soothed
gently, holding Starsky close as strong arms locked around his body.  

     "It's just hard...maybe harder...knowing it...*could've been*,"
Starsky admitted miserably.  Having an old fantasy was one sort of
pain.  Knowing now it was a lost reality--a dream killed in its infancy--
was more than he could bear.  

     "There are a lot of ways to make love, Starsk," Hutch
whispered, still holding him close.  "Lots of ways two people who love
each other can touch each other and feel good.  What you're afraid of,
this thing you *can't* do that you think makes you no good...it's just
one thing, babe.  That's all.  I've gone my entire life without putting my
cock up another guy's ass.  I'm still alive, healthy and marginally sane. 
What makes you think I can't go the rest of my life without doing that?"

     "You've been used to sticking your cock into something."

     "Well, yeah, okay, I have.  Sometimes it's been a woman,
sometimes it's been my hand.  Either way, it worked.  When you take
all the feelings away from it and just look at the physical, either way
got the same result--I got off.  Sure it's better when you're with
someone you love, and part of the turn on is being *with* them, the
things about them that make you crazy until you think you're gonna
come in your pants just watching them walk out of a room," Hutch
blurted, and then stopped himself as if he'd said too much.  

     "You can't tell me..."  Starsky struggled to regain his voice,
"that you're gonna wanna make do with hand jobs the rest'a your life."

     "Look at me."  Hutch moved back a little, and Starsky
reluctantly cooperated, then found his face framed in two warm hands. 
"Making love with you, however we ended up doing it, could never be
'making do' with anything.  It would be the...the most intensely special
thing I can think of."

     "But I can't--"

     "You said yourself you thought about us being together and
making each other feel good--even after what you went through.  We
can still have that."

     "What if I never can...do it that way?"

     "I should throw out the love of my life over a complication with
a single body part?"

     "Love of your life?"

     "Yeah, love of my life," Hutch responded, smiling.  His hands
moved down to Starsky's shoulders then, squeezing gently.  "I love you,
Starsk.  If you feel the same way...then we've got some problems--the
bigger one right now being Marcos, actually, more than our sex life--but 
we'll take it one step at a time."

     "What if--"

     "Starsky, do you still want me that way?"

     "More than anything," Starsky responded bluntly, looking into
Hutch's eyes.  

     "Then the rest'll work itself out."  Hutch leaned a little closer
then, but his slow pace was overpowered by Starsky's pounce.  

     Wrapping his arms around his partner, Starsky tipped them
back on the bed, and covered Hutch's mouth with his own, relishing the
feel of soft lips parting beneath his, their tongues sliding against each
other as the kiss deepened.  Hutch's arms came up around him then,
and he moaned in the back of his throat, still unable to believe this
wasn't a dream, that he wouldn't wake up and find Hutch sleeping over
on his own side of the bed instead of moving under him and holding
him and kissing him.

     When they parted for air, Starsky couldn't help but smile.  

     "What?"  Hutch asked, grinning back at him, his hands
caressing Starsky's back.

     "I thought I was probably dreamin'," Starsky responded.

     "If you are, it's a shared hallucination, so shut up before you
wake us up."  Hutch pulled him down for another long kiss.  

     "I love you more than anything in the whole world, Hutch,"
Starsky whispered against Hutch's mouth.  "If...if things are...tough
sometimes, with me...you know...things I can't do...just remember that
it's not 'cause I don't want to or don't love ya enough.  I couldn't love ya
anymore than I do."

     "Oh, babe, I know that," Hutch whispered back, kissing
Starsky's forehead and pulling him down into a warm embrace.  "It's
okay to be scared.  I want you, Starsk.  Just the way you are.  Whatever
you can give me, whatever love you can accept in return...it's enough. 
It's you."  Hutch smiled now, and it came through in his voice.  "And
that's all I want."

     Starsky was moving now, dislodging Hutch's arms and moving
downward, leaving a trail of hot, wet little kisses along the curve of
Hutch's throat.  He kissed his way to the spot right over Hutch's heart,
and lingered there a moment, pressing his ear close to the spot.  

     "It's movin' a little faster," he said, then looked up at Hutch,
grinning.  

     "It oughtta be," Hutch responded, chortling.  

     Starsky's grin widened at that, then he became a bit more
serious, looking down as one hand hesitantly found its way to the
tenting front of Hutch's boxers.  Starsky rested his hand on the flat
stomach, feeling the slight quivering there, a little afraid to go further,
to raise the stakes.  

     "It's okay, babe.  Nothing you're not ready for, huh?"  Hutch said
softly, running his fingers through the dark curls.  "Take your time."

     "How..."  Starsky cleared his throat.  "How do you like it?"

     "Just try doing what would make you feel good, and remember
to put it in reverse because you're holding it in the opposite direction."

     "You'll tell me if I do it wrong?"

     "You'll hear about it, buddy, don't worry," Hutch said, smiling.

     Starsky carefully slid his hand down, felt it go beneath the waist
of the boxer shorts, his fingertips brushing the hard flesh that waited
there.  Hutch moaned a little, shifting in the bed.  Taking another look
up at the man he loved, Starsky carefully eased the shorts downward,
tugging as Hutch obligingly shimmied out of them. 

     Faced with the impressive erection in all its naked splendor,
Starsky carefully wrapped his hand around it, pumping ever-so-gently.

     "It won't fall off, Starsk.  Put as much pressure as you do on
your own," Hutch encouraged gently, letting his hand linger in Starsky's
hair, stroking lightly.  

     "You're really beautiful, babe," Starsky murmured, pumping a
little more firmly now, watching the large cock come to full hardness
in his moving hand.  Enraptured by this new part of his partner, he
leaned down and flicked his tongue over the slit, loving the shout of
raw pleasure it dragged out of Hutch.  

     //I can give him everything now.  There's nobody else he needs
but me...// Starsky thought, realizing it was a greedy thought, but
relishing it all the same.  Hutch, all his...his alone.  Even the women
who had taken this man he loved so much and treated him so
badly...they couldn't have their shots at him anymore.  Hutch was his. 
And this last part that hadn't been his, was in his hand now, and Hutch
was loving it.  He was doing something to Hutch and Hutch was loving
it.  

     On that thought, he carefully engulfed the head of Hutch's cock
in his mouth, still working the base with his hand, the other hand
straying down to cup and gently roll Hutch's balls.  He concentrated
hard on his task, trying not to smile at the little moans of pleasure
coming from his partner.  Hands that had been on him, or in his hair,
were gripping the bed sheets now, the knuckles nearly white.  

     Starsky knew what he liked to feel, knew how he liked his own
cock pleasured, and he put as much of that knowledge as he could to
work in driving Hutch wild.  The skin here was smooth, taut, and the
somewhat salty taste of precome wasn't really surprising--he'd tasted it
second hand before--but it was stronger now, potent and direct.  

     "Starsk...I'm..."  Hutch groaned out a warning, obviously
intended move Starsky away from the rigid cock before he came. 
Starsky only sucked more tenaciously, and when the spurting started,
and Hutch let out a scream of pleasure, Starsky was there, drinking it
down, milking the pulsing cock until it was spent, gently releasing it
with kisses to the softening flesh.  

     "Starsk..."  Hutch muttered, pulling on the other man's
shoulders, bringing him up for a long kiss.  

     "You're really somethin'," Starsky said honestly, smiling and
bumping noses with Hutch.  

     "That should be my line."  Hutch leaned in for another kiss. 
"Let me take care of you now, babe," he whispered hotly against
Starsky's ear.  

     Maneuvering them so that he lay atop his partner, Hutch started
a leisurely exploration of Starsky's body with lips and tongue.  Sighing
and leaning back into the pillows, Starsky let himself be carried away
by the soft, warm wetness that trailed down his neck, then made little
swirls in the hair on his chest, then, finally flicked over an already taut
nipple.  

     Unable to stop the moan that elicited, he smiled and slid his
fingers into the soft blond hair, reveling in the license to have his fill of
touching it, loving the feeling of Hutch's mouth on him, almost
surprised at himself when he wriggled willingly out of the confining
briefs, fear or unease the farthest thing from his mind.  This was Hutch,
and there was no way that Hutch would ever hurt him.  

     "You taste great, babe," Hutch said against the wet, hard nipple
he'd sucked into a pebble-like peak.  

     "And I'm less filling," Starsky quipped.  Hutch laughed then,
making an ungodly noise against Starsky's skin.  

     "We'll see about that," Hutch finally responded, recovering
nicely and moving on to the second nipple.

     "Oh, God, Hutch..."  Starsky groaned, pushing up into the hot
suction, closing his eyes and giving in to the sensations.  

     Then the hot mouth was on the move again, following the trail
of hair to the indentation of navel, where it swirled and teased briefly
before moving down to nibble at the soft skin of Starsky's belly, just
above the rigid cock that begged for attention.  

     Hutch let it keep on begging, as he maddeningly bypassed it and
instead nuzzled the sensitive balls, finally sucking one of the ovals into
his mouth.

     "Hutch!"  Starsky let out a shout and grabbed onto the sheets,
his legs spreading wider to be sure Hutch could reach anything he
sought.  The devil mouth released the first and then sucked its mate
into the same hot, wet prison and subjected it to prolonged, sweet
torment until Starsky was writhing on the pillow, sure he'd come
without Hutch ever even touching his cock.  

     Just when he thought he could take no more, Hutch moved up
and engulfed the head of his cock in that talented mouth, working the
base with his hand much as Starsky had for him, swirling his tongue
around the tip, teasing the sensitive slit.  

     "Oh, babe...yeah..."  Starsky moaned, trying hard not to thrust
up into the wet heat of Hutch's mouth.  Then, with one long shout of
Hutch's name, he was coming, feeling himself pumping into Hutch's
willing mouth, feeling that mouth milking him of every last drop,
licking him clean, and kissing a path back up belly to chest and finally
to Starsky's lips.  They shared a long kiss before Hutch came up for air.  

     "I beg to differ on that 'less filling' part," Hutch teased, and
Starsky snorted a little laugh.  

     "It was so good, babe," Starsky whispered, his face becoming
serious.  "Love you so much."

     "I love you too, Starsk.  It was pretty amazing, wasn't it?"

     "I thought maybe it'd be...weird.  But it wasn't.  It was the most
natural thing in the world, makin' love with you."

     "Guess it was meant to be, huh?"  Hutch assessed as Starsky
shifted onto his side and Hutch spooned up behind him.  Realizing his
sated cock was nesting between Starsky's cheeks, Hutch ran his hand
up and down a hair-dusted thigh.  "You gonna be okay feeling me up
against you like this?" he asked gently, kissing Starsky's shoulder.

     "More than okay."  Starsky snuggled back against Hutch and let
out a long sigh.  "Feel like I could sleep for a week."

     "I could sure go for a few hours," Hutch responded, smiling,
nuzzling Starsky's neck.  

     "I guess Marcos' big plot backfired, huh?"  Starsky said, his
voice oddly serious.

     "It sure did."

     "Wonder what he'll try next."

     "Don't think about it right now, Starsk.  Let's get some rest. 
Tomorrow's another day."

     "Don't let go, huh?"

     "Try and make me," Hutch teased, squeezing Starsky close.

     "I mean...if you're close, maybe...  I don't wanna dream about
them.  Not tonight.  Especially not tonight."

     "I know, love.  It's okay.  I'm right here."

     "Love.  I like that," Starsky said, smiling.  "You old blond
blintz."  The last thing Starsky was consciously aware of was a little
rumble of laughter behind him.

********

     When Hutch opened his eyes the next time, it was dawn. 
Starsky still slept peacefully in his arms, despite the fact Hutch's cock
was acutely aware of its location.  A brief and fleeting thought of what
Starsky had suffered during his captivity with the cultists was enough
to deflate even a morning erection.  Suddenly, all Hutch felt was
protective, and though the lust still simmered on a back burner, he
made it a point to stay pressed against the slightly too-warm-to-be-
comfortable body.  He wanted Starsky to feel totally comfortable with
him, totally safe.  

     For a moment, Hutch pondered the sheer impossibility of what
they were now discussing as if it were commonplace--a dead man
reaching out from the grave to torment the living, suicides walking
around, the influence of evil producing elaborate hallucinations that
would put the best psychedelic drugs to shame...

     And Hutch was lying in bed, naked and a little sticky, wrapped
around his male partner.  

     A week ago, one would have seemed as unlikely as the other. 
Now they had both come to pass.  Could he seriously refute the
existence of one while basking in the other?

     "Must be real deep thoughts, blondie," a deep, morning-gravelly
voice opined.

     "Pretty major, yeah," Hutch responded, smiling.  "'morning,
love," he whispered against Starsky's ear.  "I was just thinking about
last night."

     "What did ya think?"  Starsky asked, looking over his shoulder
with a little grin and a raised eyebrow.

     "I lost the capacity for rational thought about the time you
sucked my brains out through my dick."  Hutch smiled as Starsky let
out a belly laugh for that one.  

     "Can't wait to put *that* injury in the hospital report."  Starsky
turned over so they were facing each other, heads on the same pillow. 
"I was...really nervous about getting started...about you doin' something
to me last night.  Didn't know how I'd react."  Starsky looked down, but
then looked back up again with a big grin.  "I reacted just fine."

     "You sure did.  If last night was a sample of what we can do
together, we aren't going to be missing out on anything, babe.  I mean
that."  Hutch found Starsky's hand and held it, bringing it up to his
mouth, kissing the back of it.  "We've got it all."

     "You're not just sayin' that because you love me?"

     "I do love you, but no, I'm not just saying it.  I'm saying it
because it's true."

     "You're gonna spoil me gettin' all mushy like this," Starsky
teased, moving in for a stolen kiss.  

     "That's the plan, babe."  Hutch pulled his lover close, kissing his
forehead, his eyes, the end of his nose, and finally his mouth again. 
"You're really something in the morning, you know that?"  Hutch said
affectionately.

     "When you figure out what, let me know."  Starsky waggled his
eyebrows and Hutch chortled.  "I know what you mean, babe.  I've seen
you first thing probably a thousand times since we got to know each
other, and you never looked like you do now.  All soft and warm...and
mine."

     "Guess that's the difference right there, isn't it?"

     "Wish we didn't have to go in to work today.  Hell, I wish we
didn't have to go anywhere and deal with this...*thing*."

     "I know.  Me too."  Hutch sighed.  "At least Marcos can't play
his little head games on us anymore.  Nothing's going to get between
us, Starsk."

     "Nothin' but a little sweat and a little friction," Starsky
amended, undulating his body against his partner's, reminding Hutch's
flagging erection of which way it had been headed when it was so
dismally interrupted by its owner's dark thoughts.  

     "Haven't humped since I was a teenager," Hutch managed,
rubbing against Starsky, his hands sliding down to grip the firm
mounds of his lover's ass, bringing them tighter together.  There was a
little moan in the back of Starsky's throat, and he started moving faster,
fastening his mouth on Hutch's neck, licking and sucking as they
rocked together.  "It's gonna show, babe," Hutch protested weakly.

     "Yeah, I know," Starsky responded devilishly as he pulled back
a little, and captured Hutch's mouth instead.   Hands straying down to
Hutch's hips first, they slid around to cup firm buttocks, kneading them
as the awkward kissing continued despite the motion of their bodies.  

     Hutch came first with a shout of Starsky's name, and Starsky
was close behind him with a strangled cry of his own.  They lay there
panting, regaining their breath, licking and nibbling at each other's
mouths as they came down off the wild climax of moments earlier.  

     "Shower?"  Starsky suggested.

     "Shower.  And clean sheets."

     "I was thinkin' maybe we oughtta frame these, or hang 'em on a
dowel or something, like a wall hanging."

     "Sure would be a conversation starter when company came
over," Hutch responded, laughing.  "We'd have to move 'em back and
forth between apartments--sort of a shared custody thing."

     "Maybe...maybe we wouldn't have to move 'em around so
much...if there was only one...uh...you know, apartment."

     "If we set up housekeeping, Starsk...things could get...dicey at
work."

     "I know."  Starsky let out a long sigh, obvious disappointment
in his whole demeanor now.  "It was a nice idea, though.  Havin' a
place together."

     "Hey."  Hutch leaned in for another kiss.  "That wasn't a 'no'.  I
just think we need to think things through carefully--you know, handle
this carefully at work."

     "Yeah, I know."  Starsky smiled then.  "But you're not turnin'
me down about living together?"

     "I think I'd be pretty hard pressed to turn you down for much of
anything right about now," Hutch admitted, chuckling.

     "Dinner at Pancho Villa's tonight, then?"

     "Moving in together, maybe.  Dinner at Botulism Buffet? 
That's another story."

     "They were only closed down for two days, Hutch.  Two days
outta the last *ten years*."

     "Yeah, well, that's two days too many.  Besides, that's just
because they got caught this time."  Hutch kissed the end of Starsky's
nose and got out of bed, heading for the shower.  He turned and caught
his partner openly leering at him.  "You gonna lie there and stare at my
ass or are you gonna join me in the shower?"

     "Both," Starsky responded, grinning unrepetently as he
scrambled out of the bed and followed his lover into the bathroom.

********
     
     Halloween was just a week away, and almost every house was
sporting a fat pumpkin or two on the porch, or shocks of corn husks or
Indian corn or some sort of disjointed paper skeleton in the window. 
Starsky almost imperceptibly slowed the Torino every time he passed
someplace that was selling pumpkins.  Hutch knew that by the end of
the day, they would be stopping somewhere, probably on their dinner
break, while Starsky moved happily around among the pumpkins,
choosing a choice gourd for himself and for Hutch--whether Hutch
wanted one or not.  Carving the pumpkins would be a project
undertaken on a crisp Sunday afternoon, followed by an orgy of truly
bad horror movies.  It was a Halloween tradition Hutch had come to
both dread and treasure at the same time.  

     "We should go back there later," Starsky announced, having
cased the pumpkin vendor who would receive his business.  "Nice big
ones."

     "I don't suppose I could talk you into putting a nice plastic one
in the window and calling it good?"

     "Nope," Starsky responded.  "Aw, come on, Hutch, where's your
Halloween spirit?  Nah, scratch that.  I already know.  Same place as
your Christmas spirit."

     "I just don't like to have my emotions cued by the Chamber of
Commerce."

     "So where's the philosophical problem with Halloween? 
There's gotta be one."

     "When I was a kid, I'd go trick-or-treating.  I got to keep one
candy bar and my mother tossed the rest.  Said it would give me
cavities and ruin my skin.  It was either too cold or too rainy to go out
without a coat, so you'd get this really neat costume and then end up
walking around in a coat looking like an idiot--you know how
impressive Frankenstein is when he's wearing a kid's coat and hat? 
And for the big thrill, we'd buy a pumpkin, and the butler carved it."

     "The *butler* carved your pumpkin?"  Starsky spared a glance
from the road to gape at his partner.  

     "My mother didn't want to do it, I couldn't cut straight and she
wouldn't let me use the knife anyway, and my father didn't have time. 
By the time I was old enough to do it myself, I really didn't much care."

     "That really stinks.  You didn't have any fun at all."

     "I suppose your mother let you eat until you threw up."

     "Nah, just till I turned a nice shade of green and gave up,"
Starsky responded, laughing.  "My dad carved the pumpkins every year,
but Nicky and I were the design consultants," Starsky said, laughing. 
Then he became more serious.  "The year he died...Ma bought a
pumpkin and we all just kind of looked at it.  Ma made a pie and some
muffins out of it the day after and we didn't bother buyin' 'em
anymore."

     "But you always want a pumpkin--or three."

     "Guess 'cause I've got somebody to carve 'em with again."

     "Then I guess we better stop back and pick a few up on our
dinner break."

     "Guess so," Starsky confirmed, grinning.  "Ma always put a coat
on me, too.  I used to ditch it in the shrubs about two houses down and
then pick it up on the way home.  Then the one year it was Dad's turn
to watch the trick-or-treaters, I figured I'd be stuck, you know, all
bundled up.  He carried it around for me and gave it back to me before
we got home."

     "I wish I'd met your dad."

     "So do I."  Starsky sighed.  "It's really weird, but I still miss him
sometimes.  Wish I could talk to him, you know?"

     "I don't think that's weird."

     "Doesn't seem fair sometimes.  We've got creeps like Marcos
crossing the barrier, and then the good folks who are over there...can't
get across."

     "Anything Marcos is doing is powered by something you don't
want to deal with, babe.  There's nothing good or positive about it."

     "I know that.  Sometimes, I just wish..."  Starsky shrugged.  "If
wishes were horses..."

     "You think we ought to check out Marcos' grave?"  Hutch
pulled out a notepad and looked over their notes from the previous day.

     "Short of drivin' a stake through his heart like his cousin said, I
don't know what we can do there.  But I guess we can go look." 
Starsky took the right turns to head toward the cemetery.  "How's your
wrist?"  He noticed that Hutch was checking the gauze bandage under
the knit wristband of his jacket.

     "Hurts a little.  Not too bad."

     "It was a deep wound."

     "Probably leave a pretty healthy scar.  I still can't believe I did
that.  I don't remember any of it."

     "Makes you wonder, doesn't it?  If he can make you do
somethin' like that to yourself?  What else can he make us do?"

     "Nothing," Hutch stated firmly.  "We're going to be ready for
him now.  We know that nothing's safe."

     "I guess."  Starsky turned into the drive of Hillside Cemetery. 
"What section did she say?"

     "F."  

     "There it is," Starsky said, heading for the back corner of the
cemetery.  "He couldn't be buried up front, no, of course not.  Has to be
back here with all the damn trees and that creepy old mausoleum."

     "Doesn't look like it's used too often, does it?"  Hutch
commented, taking in the appearance of the gray stone building, where
a few gnarled vines clung to the exterior walls.  

     "Probably not except for the werewolves and vampires," Starsky
opined, cutting the engine.

     "It's just a burial place, Starsk.  The dead people are the least of
our problems."

     "Think about what you just said, Hutch.  One particular dead
person *is* our biggest problem.  And his grave is right next door to a
whole house full of 'em."

     "Starsky, the whole *cemetery* is full of dead people.  That's
sort of the point.  If they were all up walking around, I doubt they'd
suffer the inconvenience of living six feet under ground and having to
claw their way to freedom every night at midnight--or when there's a
good electrical storm."  Hutch got out of the car, and duly noted that
Starsky was glaring at him as he rounded the hood of the Torino and
they walked side by side up the grassy hill, wandering among the trees,
looking for the Marcos plot.  

     "Must be Ma and Pa," Starsky said, finding the large Marcos
family marker, and reading the inscriptions off two headstones,
Yvonne Marcos and Damon Marcos.  The death date was the same. 
"Date of the accident, I guess."

     "Here's Junior," Hutch said, poking the mound of freshly dug
earth with the toe of his shoe.  "Interesting choice of headstones,"
Hutch commented, taking in the black granite with the red carving. 
"Wonder how they did that?"  He squatted down to get a closer look. 
"Must be some sort of paint or coloring.  Strikes me a little odd his
cousin would pick this out.  Take a look at this, Starsk."  Starsky joined
him in his crouch, running a finger over the carved letters, pulling it
away as if he'd been burned.  "What's wrong?"  Hutch looked down at
Starsky's finger to see a large gob of bright red blood on the end of it.

     "It's not mine, Hutch.  I'm not bleeding."  He wiped the blood in
the grass and held up the uninjured finger.  Then they both stared back
down at the black headstone.  The red letters oozed now, their shape
becoming list distinguishable as the bright red liquid slowly pooled in
the carvings and spilled over onto the stone.  

     Both men straightened up to stand then, putting a little physical
distance between themselves and the bleeding stone.  The sound of
stone grinding against stone made them turn around to look back at the
large statue behind them.  When they had arrived, the gray stone statue
was a serene, beautiful female angel with spread wings and praying
hands.  

     The stone figure on the base now was still that of an angel, but
it had turned its head to stare directly down at them.  The stone was as
black as Marcos' headstone.  The carved hair now had the appearance
of being blown wild by the wind, the lips were drawn back from long,
pointed teeth in a menacing growl, and the eyes were wide and round,
like the bugged eyes of the dead.  The hands had separated from their
prayerful pose and were gnarled like claws, reaching out toward the
two men.  A tear of bright red blood began to roll down each cheek,
and two rivulets of blood oozed from the corners of the horrible mouth. 

     Thunder clapped overhead and the sound of the wind in the
trees swelled suddenly as the branches struggled to hold their form
against the surprise tempest.  

     Stunned into a sort of terrified silence, Starsky and Hutch
looked at each other a moment before looking frantically around at
their horrifying surroundings.  Almost unconsciously, they
simultaneously reached for each other, Hutch getting a grip on
Starsky's wrist and pulling as he made a run for it.  What Starsky
lacked in leg length he made up for in determination, keeping up with
Hutch's full out flight as they raced over the grassy hills toward where
they had left the car.  

     "Look out!!"  Starsky yanked on Hutch's arm, pulling him in the
opposite direction just as lightning struck a large tree and sent half of it
crashing to the ground in precisely the place they would have run--effectively 
re-routing them from their escape to the car.  

     "Go for the mausoleum!"  Hutch shouted over the howling wind
as the rain started pouring down.  

     "Are you nuts?!"  Starsky demanded as Hutch started them
running toward the old building.  

     "We need shelter!"  Hutch's explanation was underscored by
another flash of lightning and the fall of another tree branch, albeit a
bit smaller than the last disaster.  

     Rushing up to the doors of the old building, Hutch yanked one
open, relieved it wasn't locked.  He shoved Starsky in ahead of him and
closed the door on the storm, leaning against it, breathing heavily,
while Starsky did the same, leaning against the other door.  

     "What's happening here, Starsk?"  Hutch asked breathlessly, the
terror clear in his voice.  
     
     "Guess Marcos got in touch with some'a the evil he was always
tryin' to reach."  Starsky paused.  "Did you really see the statue?  And
the blood on the headstone?  Tell me I'm not crazy."

     "I saw it all, babe.  You may well still be crazy, but you're not
hallucinating."  Hutch had to smile a little as Starsky managed a chortle
at that.  

     "Thanks a lot, pal."

     "Anytime."

     "Any sign of the storm lettin' up?  I'm not crazy about hangin'
around in here."

     "Sounds like it's still going on.  Listen to that wind.  There's
gonna be some serious damage all over town if this keeps up."

     "All over town?  Hutch, it was a perfect day outside!  This
storm came outta nowhere along with the black headstone and the
blood--this isn't normal!"

     "No argument there."  Hutch turned around and pushed on the
door to open it.  It didn't budge.  "Oh-oh."  He banged on it again.  Then
once more, a bit harder.  "I think we have a problem here."

     "Great.  Terrific."  Starsky slammed into his door with his
shoulder, doing little more than giving himself a sore shoulder.  The
door was unimpressed.  "We're locked in here.  I don't believe this! 
We're locked in a fucking *crypt*!"

     "Mausoleum, Starsk."

     "Same thing!"  he shot back angrily.  "There's gotta be a
window in this place somewhere.  You got a flashlight?"

     "Sure.  I always carry one in my pocket when I visit graves in
broad daylight," Hutch retorted sarcastically.

     "Great.  Just *great*!"  Starsky was pacing in the shadows now. 
"I can't see ten feet in front'a me!"

     "Might be a good indicator that there isn't a window," Hutch
commented, leaning against the door and crossing his arms over his
chest.  "The caretaker will probably make a last minute check of things
tonight.  We just have to wait."

     "Yeah?  And what if he doesn't, huh?  And whoever heard of a
mausoleum that locks from the *outside*?  Huh?  What's that for?" 
Starsky demanded, his voice still a couple notches above normal.  

     "An inept locksmith, perhaps," Hutch said, letting out a long
breath. 

     "I'll tell ya what it's for--to keep somethin' *IN*!"  Starsky
gestured wildly around them.  "And don't look now, but we're *IN*
with it!"

     "Whatever *it* is.  Starsky, we got locked in an old mausoleum
with a bunch of moldy old bones.  It's a pain in the ass but it's no big
deal.  It beats having a tree fall on us or getting struck by lightning."

     "You saw what was happening out there.  Now whatever did
that is probably gonna show up here, and I don't wanna be around when
weird shit starts happening *in here*."

     As if to punctuate Starsky's sentence, there was a sound of stone
grinding against stone, and then a loud crash, from somewhere deep in
the shadows.  

     "See, that's probably the caretaker," Hutch said, swallowing
almost audibly.

     "Doin' what?  Knockin' a hole in the wall?"

     "There's probably another exit, and we just can't see it because
it's dark."

     Then the sound repeated--only it sounded a bit closer this time. 
Stone against stone, and a loud crash.  Before either man could
comment, it happened again.  And again.  And again.  Sometimes it
sounded closer, other times it sounded as if it came from different ends
of the hall that crossed the main hall.  They could just barely see where
the halls intersected from where they stood, backs pressed to the doors
now.  

     There was a vibration in the floor as they heard the sound
again--louder now.  Suddenly, the front panel of one of the
compartments flew off the wall, crashing in a few pieces of stone on
the ground.  

     "That wasn't the caretaker, Hutch," Starsky mumbled, reaching
for his gun and drawing it.  Hutch did the same.  

     "Not unless he's buried in the wall."

     "You know these are probably useless against whatever's gonna
come outta there, right?"  Starsky persisted, looking at Hutch a little
frantically.

     "Can't argue with that logic," Hutch responded.  

     From somewhere far down the cross hall, there was another
sound.  A sliding sound, and then the impact of something heavy
falling to the floor, followed by a prolonged creaking of old hinges.  

     "Maybe *that* was the caretaker--maybe there's a back door."

     "I'm *not* gonna go look."

     "Staying here's not looking like a great option either," Hutch
countered, tugging on Starsky's jacket sleeve to call his attention to the
action from the wall nearby.  

     From the open crypt now protruded the end of a casket, the
dusty bronze-toned metal oozing slowly out of the wall like a snake out
of a charmer's basket.  

     "I don't wanna see what's in there, Hutch," Starsky said, quite
unnecessarily.

     "There's a logical explanation for this," Hutch said.

     "Don't forget to click your heels together three times after you
say that and maybe it'll be true," Starsky retorted, raising his gun to
take aim at the coffin protruding from the wall.

     "Whatever it is, it's already dead, Starsk."

     "You said it was somethin' logical.  This'll stop anything
logical.  Meanwhile, get that cannon'a yours ready.  Maybe you can
blow its head off or something."

     Beyond the point of scoffing at Starsky's suggestions anymore,
Hutch did take aim at the coffin along with his partner.  As it took the
sharp right-angle drop to the floor, it tipped over on its side and the lid
flipped open.  A partially rotted corpse in a blue business suit rolled
onto the floor.  And didn't move.  

     "Maybe we should poke it or something," Hutch suggested. 
Moving forward a little.  Just as he did, the dead man pushed up on all
fours, then struggled to his feet and turned around, facing them.  His
face was a mass off grayish-green matter, a drizzle of black slime
oozing from the corner of his mouth as he groaned--and then snarled,
moving toward them, rotting hands outstretched.  

     Hutch fired once, with perfect precision, hitting the creature's
rotting neck and sending his head rolling to the floor.  The dead man
stopped a moment, swayed a bit...and then kept on advancing.  Starsky
fired this time, hitting the upper torso.  Then Hutch fired again.  For
several shots, they alternated firing on the thing advancing toward them
until first its arm wobbled and fell from the rotting joint, then it
collapsed as a leg gave way.  After emptying both guns into the corpse,
it stopped moving beyond a couple of horrible twitches, a black
putrescence drizzling out of the bullet holes.  

     Starsky let out an audible sigh, but the relief was short lived. 
His eyes widened in horror as he saw another creature emerging from
the shadows at the cross hall.  Fumbling to reload his gun, he prepared
to open fire on it.  This time, it was a woman, or what had been a
woman, with long dark hair.  She wore what looked like a party dress
of some sort, as if she might have been buried in a prom dress.  Her
state of decay was slightly less advanced that the first, but her gray-white, 
peeling flesh and contrasting blue-black lips were somewhat
more horrific in their own way.  

     As Hutch worked diligently to re-load his Magnum, Starsky
fired three times directly at the advancing corpse's head, turning her
into a still more ghastly monster.  Still, except for a momentary pause
for each bullet's impact, she moved slowly, inexorably forward.  

     Hutch raised the Magnum and took aim, finishing her head in
one well-placed shot.  Though it remained attached to her body, there
was nothing distinguishable left of it.  Her disjointed jaw fell open and
a horrible moan emerged, black fluid bubbling up from inside,
drizzling down the deformed chin.  Hutch fired repeatedly, rapidly into
the thing as it moved forward, finding that this corpse, with much more
solid matter intact, was not going down as easily as their first potential
attacker.  

     "Oh my God," Starsky muttered, firing at some point behind the
advancing female zombie.  Hutch could see their shapes now--several
more like her, moving slowly but determinedly toward where they
stood.  They'd almost used another full round on her and she wasn't
dropping.  Neither of them would have enough ammo to hold off that
many.  

     "Sirens," Hutch said, almost laughing with relief.  "God, Starsk,
I hear *sirens*."  

     The sound came closer and closer, accompanied by the sound
of screeching tires and spraying gravel.  Starsky abandoned shooting to
pound on the door desperately, yelling for help at the top of his lungs.  

     "Starsky!"  Hutch shouted.  Out of bullets, he turned to his
partner to intercept the last few steps of the determined female corpse
who shuffled ever closer, her pale pink party dress streaked with black
fluid and chunks of rotten flesh.  She was essentially mutilated on her
feet, but still moving.  Starsky emptied all the bullets he had left into
the creature's wobbling left leg, and as it fell, turned back to the door
and pounded on it again.  

     The others seemed to be moving faster now, and the only hope
was to get the doors open before they reached the end of the hall where
the two trapped men waited.  

     "This is the police!"  A voice shouted over a bull horn.

     "We had that figured," Hutch grumbled.

     "Come out with your hands--"

     "WE'RE LOCKED IN!!!"  The two of them shouted in unison.  

     "STARSKY AND HUTCHINSON!!"  Starsky shouted. 
"WE'RE COPS!!  GET US THE HELL OUTTA HERE!!!  WE'RE
BEING ATTACKED!!!"  

     "Damn it, Starsky, if they don't do something, we're not gonna
get out of here alive," Hutch said, resting a hand on his partner's
shoulder.  The dead men advancing toward them were less that ten feet
away.  

     "STAND AWAY FROM THE DOOR!!"  A voice bellowed at
them, and they pressed themselves against the walls, both trying to look
at each other instead of the creatures coming near them.  

     Gunfire sprayed into the wood, some of it hitting the advancing
corpses, giving them pause, holding them back just enough to protect
the two terrified men who stayed flattened on either side of the door.  

     Eventually, the old doors were battered enough that a couple of
cops were able to kick them open.  

     "H-Hutchinson," Hutch identified himself, panting and holding
up his badge.  "That's Detective Starsky over there," he gasped, as
Starsky held up his own badge for the uniformed cops' inspection.  

     "Boy are we glad to see you guys.  One more minute--"

     "One more minute and what?"  The stocky older man who had
led the charge challenged.  "You guys afraid'a the dark or somethin'?"

     "You would be too if you saw that coming after y--" Hutch
started to point at what he expected to be a floor full of corpses. 
Instead, as the dusky tendrils of final daylight struggled their way into
the shadows, the old mausoleum sported nothing but a lot of cobwebs
in the hall.  No crypts yawned open, no coffins were overturned on the
floor, and no corpses were anywhere to be found--at least, not out of
their rightful places.

     "What?"  The officer's partner, a younger man with dark hair,
moved into the old building and flashed the beam of a flashlight
around.  "There's nothing here, sir," he said to Hutch.

     "There was--"

     "Starsk, let it go," Hutch said.  "Must've been shadows."

     "The caretaker said it sounded like World War III in here.  He
tried to get the doors open but they were jammed, and then when there
was so much gunfire inside, he got scared and ran back to the sexton's
office and called the cops."  The older man regarded the two detectives
with some suspicion.  "What were you guys shootin' at, anyway? 
Shadows?" he prodded, chuckling.

     "The place is all shot up!"  The caretaker arrived now, rushing
into the building with a large flashlight in hand.  "My god, the vases are
shot off the panels, there's gouges in the walls...!"  He was going
around now, inspecting the damage from the excessive spray of
gunfire.

     "Now that we've got some flashlights and back-up, let's have a
look around.  There was someone else in this place, so they must have
gone out the back way."  Starsky holstered his weapon and held his
hand out to another approaching officer, who handed him a flashlight.  

     Starsky, Hutch, three uniformed officers and the caretaker made
their way through the building, finding nothing disturbed but what the
bullets had damaged.  

     "Sorry for the disturbance, Mr..."  Hutch paused, addressing the
caretaker.

     "Sanders."

     "Mr. Sanders.  Have the sexton contact us and we'll make sure
any repairs are paid for."  Hutch handed the man his card.  "We took
cover in there during the storm, and--"

     "Storm?"  The man frowned, looking around at the uniformed
officers, who also looked a bit blank and confused.  

     "At any rate, the repairs will be covered.  We're sorry again
about the trouble," Hutch concluded, and he led the way as he and
Starsky walked away from the mausoleum, striding back to where the
Torino was parked.  There were no downed branches, and Marcos'
tombstone and the nearby angel statue were as innocent as ever, merely
forms of gray granite.

     "He's getting into our heads, Starsk," Hutch said, as they
approached the car.  "None of it was real.  Not the statue or the
tombstone or even the storm."

     "Or those dead people?  C'mon, Hutch, we both saw 'em."

     "The crypts weren't opened.  Nothing was disturbed.  They
couldn't have been more than illusions."

     "Even if all'a that's true," Starsky said, sliding behind the wheel. 
"How do we stop him?"

     "I don't know, babe," Hutch's response, the softness of his voice,
and the use of their endearment made Starsky pause.  He reached over
and took a hold of Hutch's hand.  

     "I love you, Hutch," he said quietly, looking down at their
joined hands.  

     "I love you too, Starsk."  Hutch smiled then.  "Guess we better
go back to headquarters and face the music with Dobey."

     "Yeah, I guess.  Maybe we can get outta work a little early and
go home and fool around."

     "What about Marcos?"

     "Maybe we need bein' together more than we need to do
anything more on this case when we don't really know what we're doin'
anyway."

     "Maybe."  Hutch nodded, squeezing Starsky's hand.  

********

     "In all the years I've known you two, you've gotten into some
pretty kinky situations.  This one has to win the prize.  What did you
think you were shooting at?"  Dobey demanded, his expression
incredulous.

     "Zombies," Starsky said simply.  "Rotting corpses who crawled
out of the walls and came after us.  We emptied our guns into 'em as
fast as we could."

     "Starsky, look, I know you haven't been feeling too well.  I'll put
you in for sick--"

     "I don't need sick leave an' I'm not crazy!"  Starsky shouted
back.  "I know what I saw."

     "I saw the same thing, Captain.  How could we have a joint
hallucination?"

     "With you two, anything's possible," Dobey barked in response,
shaking his head.  "So where did all these rotting corpses go?  Back in
their coffins?"

     "I have a theory, sir, but it's probably more off the wall than the
walking dead," Hutch said.  

     "I'm going to hate myself for this, but what is it?"  Dobey asked. 

     "I think Marcos is behind all this, that he's exerting influence
over his past followers, and that he's taking revenge on his enemies."

     "Marcos?"  Dobey asked, both eyebrows raised.  "There's just
one flaw in your theory, Hutchinson."  Dobey shuffled the papers
around on his desk until he pulled out a manilla folder and held it up. 
"I have the autopsy report right here.  Marcos isn't influencing anything
anymore where he is."

     "That's just the point, sir.  I think he *is*."  Hutch let out a long
breath.  "This all sounds insane, I know, but we've seen some things
that can't be explained.  Starsky went through a full battery of drug
testing when he collapsed, and you know he came back clean.  Yet he
experienced a major hallucination in the church during Gail's funeral." 
Hutch paused.  "Today, we...saw some things in the cemetery that
apparently weren't there...experienced things that never happened. 
How likely is it that we'd both go insane at the same time?  Or that we'd
both become addicted to hallucinogenics and share the same visions? 
Something's happening here, Captain.  Something we can't explain by
any earthly means."

     Dobey stared at Hutch, a number of conflicting emotions
playing themselves out in his dark brown eyes.  Dobey had been a good
friend as well as their boss, and there was a mutual trust between the
three of them that didn't include anything beyond the most harmless
and sophomoric type of bending the truth.  On anything that mattered,
all three were able to trust the honesty of the others.  

     "You've been awfully quiet over there, Starsky," Dobey said,
taking a drink of the coffee on his desk.  "What do you have to say
about this...theory?"

     "I agree with it, sir," Starsky said quietly.  Then he added, "I
never saw anything like what we saw today in that place.  Even before
we got into the mausoleum.  I did think I was goin' crazy at first,
because I had this feeling that something was coming, that something
was just around the corner.  Like all my instincts were on overdrive--the 
way you feel when you're walkin' through a warehouse at night and
you can't see the perp but you get this sick feeling in your gut that he's
comin' right up behind you with a gun at your head.  Your only hope, of
course, bein' that your partner is comin' up behind *him*."  Starsky
smiled a little, and while he didn't look at him, Hutch smiled as well,
and nodded, once.  

     "What did you see at the cemetery today that you're convinced
was a hallucination?"  Dobey asked.  

     After exchanging troubled looks, both Starsky and Hutch
participated in giving him a full description of everything that had
happened, from the blood on the head stone and statue, to the granite
turning black, to the horrible "storm" and their flight into the
mausoleum.  Both men felt chilled to the bone as they recounted their
experience of trying to shoot down the ever-advancing walking corpses
in the old building.  

     "You realize that's the craziest line of bull you've ever laid out
for me in all the years I've known you."

     "It's gotta be right up there," Starsky said.  "Well, along with
Nadasy bein' a vampire," he added, smiling a little.

     "I should put you both on sick leave and not let you back on the
force until you see the shrink.  You know that too, right?"

     "Absolutely, Captain," Hutch agreed.

     "I also realize that in the fundamental sense, neither one of you
is crazy.  So that leaves us with something you both saw that we can't
explain."  Dobey swallowed, staring down at the papers on his desk.  "I
believe in God, that's no big secret.  I think there are such things as
miracles and...and I think some holy people somewhere have probably
had visions of a religious nature.  I don't go in for a lot of hocus pocus,
but I do believe there's more to this world than what meets the eye.  If
there can be miracles, things that happen because of something positive
and spiritual, I suppose..."  Dobey paused, then shrugged.  "I suppose
there can be an evil equivalent."

     "You believe us?"  Hutch looked stunned, and glanced at
Starsky, who looked equally shocked.  

     "I believe you saw something out there today that scared the
hell out of both of you.  I also know that after everything the two of you
have seen and been through on the force, that had to be something
pretty major.  Since I don't think you're crazy, that means something
actually happened.  We can't explain it.  Explaining what and how
things happened is what being a detective is all about.  I don't have any
wise advice for you two on how to proceed with this, beyond telling
you to do so carefully, keep me informed, and I'll back you up to the
best of my ability."

     "Thank you, Cap'n.  That means...it means a lot to us," Starsky
said, both relief and gratitude coming through plainly in his voice.

     "I know you've backed us on some wild rides, but I didn't think
you'd be able to swallow this one," Hutch said, smiling.

     "I still don't know what I really believe about what you're
dealing with, but I'm going to trust the two of you to figure out how to
handle it.  Now get outta here and get to work."

********

     "Want a beer?"  Starsky asked as they walked into the
apartment, jackets landing in the chair nearest the door.  For some
reason, with the lousy day they'd had, hanging them up didn't seem a
worthwhile activity.  

     "About six and I'll probably feel better."  Hutch unfastened his
holster and set his gun on the coffee table.  Sitting on the couch, he
leaned back, closing his eyes.  

     "Maybe we can think'a somethin' better than the beer to get you
feelin' better," Starsky suggested, parking himself right next to Hutch,
handing over the beer.  "Aw, man, your wrist's bleeding again." 
Starsky pulled Hutch's hand over toward him to check the patch of
blood on the bandage.  

     "It's no big deal, Starsk."  

     "Hey."  Starsky waited until Hutch opened his eyes and turned
his head where it rested on the back of the couch.  "Everything about
you's a big deal to me."

     "Yeah, I know," Hutch responded, smiling tiredly.  

     "I'll wrap some plastic around this so it doesn't get wet in the
shower.  Let's go get cleaned up and get in bed, huh?"

     "A shower would feel great," Hutch agreed.

     Once the water was adjusted to their mutual liking, Starsky
stepped into the shower and Hutch followed.  Holding each other under
the warm spray, they soaked up the hot, wet embrace of the water, and
the illusory barrier between them and the unseen force that was
plaguing them.  

     Starsky moved first, picking up the soap and motioning to
Hutch to turn around.  He soaped up his lover's back and shoulders,
then worked his way down to the firm and yet plentiful buttocks, and
finally down the backs of Hutch's legs.  His touch was gentle,
affectionate, and yet in their somewhat bedraggled state, wonderfully
efficient.  With Hutch's back under the spray, Starsky repeated his
downward journey on the front of the other man's body, pausing to rub
his thumbs tantalizingly over both nipples, smiling at Hutch's little
moan.

     "Guess you're tired but not dead, huh?"  Starsky teased, keeping
up the rubbing of his thumbs over the tight buds.  The response was a
sudden embrace and Hutch's mouth closing over his in a long kiss. 
Large, gentle hands slid down and cupped his ass, pulling them closer
together.  

     "Love you, babe," Hutch whispered against Starsky's ear.  

     "Never liked anybody touchin' me back there...after...  But I like
it when you do it," Starsky admitted quietly, a little shyly, moving in
for another kiss.  

     "Sorry, babe.  Oh, God, I never thought--"

     "Don't stop.  Having your hands there feels...right."  Starsky slid
his own hands back to grip Hutch's ass, and they started moving
together, the soap and water making their bodies slick and slippery.  

     "Oh, yeah...Oh, God, Starsk..."  Hutch groaned, leaning back
against he tiles, giving in to the thrusting that was providing the
deliciously smooth rub of their bodies and their hardened cocks.  

     "Faster...oh, yeah, like that," Starsky responded, stretching up
for a kiss that was jarred but not broken by their motion.   In a moment,
they were coming together, their completion mingling with the soap
and the warm spray of water.  

     Hutch pulled Starsky into a tight hug, nosing the shower-damp
curls.  

     "You're the best thing that ever happened to me," he whispered,
the sincerity of the statement making his voice crack just a little.  

     "What a coincidence," Starsky responded, squeezing back
tightly.  "I never thought making love was gonna feel...safe again.  That
I was gonna really want to do it.  That I was ever gonna wanna hurry
and get home to get at it.  It was...it was always scary, after what
happened."

     "But it's not now?"  Hutch asked gently, realizing the water was
getting tepid and not caring.

     "No way.  It's just...beautiful.  Just me and you.  No...ghosts in
between us."

     "If there was a ghost in between us tonight, he's probably got
friction burns," Hutch said, and Starsky laughed, ready for the levity of
the humor.  "I love you, babe," he said softly, smiling before they
kissed again.  

     "Let's go to bed, huh?"

     "Thought you'd never ask."

     Starsky turned out the light as they settled into bed, eschewing
the idea of television or reading or any other leisure activity.  

     "Why don't you let me hold you for a change, blondie?"  Starsky
stayed on his back, waiting for Hutch to accept the invitation.  He didn't
have long to wait before the blond head was settled on his shoulder,
Hutch's arm going across his middle.  A long, strong leg insinuated
itself between his.  

     "I don't know what to do next, Starsk," Hutch admitted quietly,
letting out a little sigh.  "I don't know how to fight a ghost."

     "I know.  Me neither, babe."

     "I'm scared."

     "Me too."  Starsky smiled then, carding his fingers through the
soft blond hair.  "But y'know what?"

     "What?"

     "There's nothin' in this world stronger than us, babe."

     "There are a few things, Starsk," Hutch responded, chuckling. 
Starsky rolled his eyes, though the expression was lost on his lover,
who was resting comfortably against Starsky's chest, his eyes closed.

     "You're not listening to me.  I said *us*.  Not you or me, or
even you and me workin' together.  I said *us*.   Together.  Like this. 
The way...the way it feels when we're...together.  Nothin's stronger than
that."  Starsky swallowed, finding the strength to say the next words. 
Words he thought he'd never be able to say to anyone truthfully. 
"Stronger than Marcos...and...and stronger'n anything those guys...did
to me."

     Hutch's head raised from it's resting place, and he looked
intently into Starsky's eyes.  

     "What are you saying, babe?"  he asked gently.  

     "That the way I feel about you...the way it feels when we're
together...makin' love...it's more powerful than all the...all the awful
things I remember.  All the stuff I used t'think about when I was
making love with anybody after...after what happened.  I don't think
about it so much...hardly at all...when I'm with you.  Doesn't even
matter if you touch me someplace I don't usually like bein' touched.  If
you're doin' it, it's okay."

     "Aw, Starsk."  Hutch kissed his lover's mouth then, lingering
there, finally pulling back and resting his forehead against Starsky's. 
"You know I love you more than anything.  I'd never do anything to
hurt you."

     "I know that.  I was thinkin'...maybe tomorrow night, you know,
if we don't have such a lousy day...um...do you want to...try doing
something else together?" 

     "There's no rush, babe.  No rush at all," Hutch responded softly.

     "I know.  I was kinda thinking maybe if we were together that
way that...maybe nothing could beat us then."

     "Nothing could beat us now, Starsk.  Nothing can get between
us.  Beat us that way.  Something might beat us or defeat us or kill us
even, but nothing's going to break this."

     "Nothing ever."  Starsky moved in for a kiss this time, then
pulled back, smiling.  "You know what?"

     "What?"  Hutch asked, smiling back.

     "I think we just got married."

     "Think so, huh?"  Hutch teased back.

     "Yeah, I think so."  Starsky pulled him into a bone-crushing
hug.  "But don't expect me to agree t'that 'death do us part' crap.  I'm not
givin' you up that easy."

     "You better not," Hutch responded, returning the pressure,
rubbing his cheek over one of the fine lines of scar tissue left over from
the shooting.

     "Those bother you...now that we're...together this way?" 
Starsky asked a little hesitantly.

     "It bothers me that I was that close to dying," Hutch said in a
strained, distant voice.

     "That you--"

     "If I'd lost you..."  Hutch swallowed hard.  "I would have only
made it long enough to bring down Gunther.  There's nothing in this
world I want if you're not there to share it.  Everything was just...gray
and ugly without you, babe.  It was like someone turned off the color
on the TV and everything was just...gray."

     "I felt that way when you got infected with that virus, and we all
thought you were dyin'.  God, Hutch, I was hopin' somehow I'd catch it. 
I wanted to pull that mask off and kiss you right then--so at least we'd
have that one kiss, and then, maybe, if I was lucky, I could go with
you."

     "You think it would be...too soon...if we...tried something
tonight?  It doesn't have to be you.  It could be me first," Hutch offered,
his thumb stroking over a small bullet scar.  

     "It can't be you first, babe," Starsky said in a whisper.  "It has
t'be me first.  I gotta know...I have to feel it good and right and gentle, I
need to know how it's gonna be when it's with the right person.  When
that happened to me...God, Hutch, I never felt pain like that.  That's all
I know about it--pain.  And I won't hurt you, not for anything."

     "But you want me to do it to you?"

     "You said yourself you wouldn't hurt me, and you didn't need to
tell me that, Hutch.  I knew it.  I always knew it.  I know it'll be good
and right and beautiful with us.  But I gotta feel it that way first
before...before I'd have the nerve to do it to you.  I guess that sounds
pretty crazy."

     "No.  It just sounds like you love me more than you love
yourself, and I already knew that, too," Hutch said, smiling up at his
partner.  "The only problem is that I don't know how to make it good
for you.  I don't want to just barge in and hurt you."

     "Can't be much different than doin' it with a woman.  I know
you need slippery stuff, and you need to go slow and easy."  Starsky felt
the hot flush of color in his cheeks.  "I know goin' fast and not using
something...that's what hurts."

     The honest, blunt assessment tore at Hutch's heart.  He enfolded
Starsky in his arms, and before he knew it, the tears were just there. 
Not Starsky's, but his own.  

     "Hey, Hutch, what's wrong, babe?  What'd I say?"  Starsky
asked, concerned.  

     "Sorry, buddy," Hutch managed, barely able to find his voice. 
"I just...I really hate what happened to you."

     "Yeah, I know.  Kinda like I felt when I got you back from
Forrest's goons.  I wanted t'hunt the bastard down and do the same
thing to him."

     "But you were there for me.  I wasn't even there for you.  I didn't
know."

     "You were there for me, babe.  You were there for me the
whole time.  You just didn't know why I was havin' all the nightmares
or why I didn't feel so good for a few days after--but you were right
there taking care of me."  Starsky was quiet a moment.  "You saved my
sanity, Hutch.  There were some times, after it happened, I thought I
was gonna lose my mind.  You held me together."

     "Luke and Peter are still in jail."

     "Hey, I know what you're thinkin'.  Just...*don't*.  Don't think
about it."

     "What would you do in the reverse situation?"  Hutch
challenged.  

     "I'd try to do somethin' stupid, and you'd stop me.  It's not gonna
undo what happened, doing something to them.  And you'll never get
past it if you do it.  And that's assuming nobody figures it out and busts
you for it."

     "Sounds like you've given this a little thought."
     
     "What?  You don't think I thought about goin' after them
myself?"  Starsky shook his head.  "You have no idea how many nights
I'd lie awake and think of ways to get at them, to pay 'em back for what
they did."  Starsky swallowed.  "Every time, I ended up thinking that
even if I went and killed 'em both in their sleep, or chopped 'em up
with axes, for that matter, it wouldn't change what happened.  I still
couldn't turn back the clock and undo it."

     "Part of me was hoping Marcos would get to them."

     "Well, he's not done yet."  Starsky ran a hand over his face. 
"I'm sorry, babe.  I'm wiped tonight.  Guess I'm gettin' old."

     "Tomorrow night, we'll do something special for each other. 
Doesn't have to be anything big," Hutch added.

     "I've got a few ideas," Starsky said, grinning.  

     Nestled together, basking in the illusory safety of their bed, they
slept.  

********

     Starsky moaned and rolled over in a stupor, not quite awake.  It
was a lethargic, leaden state that better resembled being drugged than
sleeping.  He remembered feeling foggy like this when Bellamy had
drugged him, but at least he had more strength, more control over his
limbs now, even if they did feel like lead weights.  

     "Hutch?"  he mumbled, groping to his partner's side of the bed. 
His hand didn't encounter the familiar form of his partner, but there
was something there, something...smaller.   Finally shaking off the grip
of the lethargy, he opened his eyes and pushed up on one elbow. 
Carefully, he lifted the blue sheet, then tossed it back.  He scrambled
out of bed in horror, falling to the floor, banging the back of his head
on the night stand in the process.  

     In the bed was a man's arm and hand, severed at the shoulder,
gray-white in skin tone, with no sign of blood on or around it.  On the
ring finger was Hutch's silver ring, the one he'd been wearing the night
before.  Between its forefinger and middle finger, a note had been
tucked.

     Forcing himself to his knees to look at the thing again, Starsky
absently rubbed at the burgeoning lump on the back of his head, afraid
to analyze the characteristics of the severed limb too closely.  

     //Think, Starsky.  Look at the lividity and the color and the lack
of blood.  It's been dead longer than Hutch could've been--dead longer
than just since last night,// he thought, moving up until he sat on the
edge of the bed.  Now that he forced himself to really take a close look
at it, it was obvious that it was not Hutch's arm.  He'd know one of
those hands anywhere, and even though the ring had been placed on its
finger, it was not any real part of Hutch. 

     Vainly, he hoped maybe Hutch was in the bathroom or, since it
was daylight now, maybe in the kitchen.  Maybe they were just clever
enough to slip this in somehow to terrorize *him*.  Maybe Hutch was
okay.  

     There were no sounds of life in the apartment.  Icy fingers of
dread tickled his spine, and he got up off the bed, holding onto the
night stand for a moment to fight a slight dizziness.  

     "Hutch!"  he hollered, hoping to hear his partner's usually
unruffled voice come from the other side of the bathroom door, which
was closed to the frame.  Hearing nothing, he shook his head a time or
two and forced himself to stay focused.  He went to the bathroom door
and pushed it open, staggering back against the wall in shock at what
he saw.

     HUTCH was written in bright red, dripping letters across the
bathroom mirror.  

     //Damn you, Marcos...  You touch him and I'll find a way to kill
you again,// Starsky vowed silently, closing his eyes and swallowing,
the horrible realization sweeping over him that Marcos was going to
make them live the nightmare in reverse now, that he was going to
complete his circle of revenge by exacting it on Hutch.  

     He rushed to the phone, planning to get the crime lab team over
there immediately, to get the wheels in motion to find his missing
partner.   When he spotted again the note between the dead hand's
fingers, he abandoned that thought and sat on the edge of the bed again,
carefully plucking it away from its owner and opening the folded white
paper.

THE WHITE KNIGHT WAITS IN THE TEMPLE OF THE FIRST
KINGDOM.

     "The old zoo," Starsky said aloud, his voice coming out rough
and loud in the silent apartment.  He looked at the phone again, and
considered calling Dobey.  But Dobey would want back-up, he'd want
to be involved..."no private parties" was his motto.  Damn, but this had
to be a private party.  The only guests Marcos was inviting were Hutch
and himself.  Unlike most arrogant perps who make that claim, this one
would most likely truly *know* if he brought in other cops.  


     "Think, Starsky," he said aloud again, as he sat on the edge of
the bed, regarding the uninvited messenger that rested on Hutch's side.  

     Hutch's favorite white robe was still on the foot of the bed, and
the urge to touch it was too strong.  He pulled it over to him, and held it
in his arms as if it somehow still possessed some element of Hutch
within its fibers.  He buried his face in the soft terry cloth, breathing in
the scent that reminded him of last night, of falling asleep in each
other's arms, of the way Hutch always smelled fresh out of the
shower...soap, shampoo, and the familiar underlying scent that was
Hutch.  

     Tears burned behind his eyes, but he swallowed and raised his
head.  If Hutch had sat in the corner, crying and hugging Starsky's
bathrobe when Marcos' goons grabbed him four years earlier, he would
be dead and buried now.  

     Marcos always spoke in riddles--and annoying as they were, he
said very little that didn't have a specific meaning.  The temple of the
first kingdom was the old zoo--that much Starsky knew from what
Hutch had told him about Simon's games the first time around.  The
white knight was Hutch, that was simple.  Hutch was at the old zoo.  It
should be as simple as going there and rescuing his lover.  

     Starsky had to smile at that thought.  Hutch would always be his
partner, but now, sitting here holding the soft white robe that he'd last
touched when it was around Hutch's shower-warmed body, he didn't
ache for his partner.  He ached for his lover.  The other half of him in
every possible way.  No matter if they both died by the end of this
night, Marcos hadn't really won.  Swallowing hard again, feeling a few
new tears coming, Starsky acknowledged that even if this was the end
of it, and they were both doomed, Marcos hadn't robbed them of this,
and no matter what he did, he couldn't reach inside them and take it
away.

     Grateful that the fog seemed to be lifting from his
consciousness, he felt a pain in his upper right arm, and rubbed over it. 
Definitely felt like an injection site.  Whatever it was had been so
quick-acting that he hadn't rallied at all from his deep sleep before
plunging into unconsciousness.  

     So why didn't Marcos just finish them both, then and there?  

     Because that would have lacked atmosphere.  It would have
been bad theatre.  Starsky would have snorted a laugh at that if he
hadn't felt a lead weight resting directly over his heart.  

     Deciding he had to find a way to turn Marcos' plan around so it
would backfire on him, the thought of calling in the department or
*not* following Marcos' riddles--and he had little doubt there would be
more to it that this elementary beginning--never crossed Starsky's mind. 
He yanked open drawers and started pulling out clothes, and nearly
jumped off the floor when the phone rang.  Hesitantly, he picked it up.

     "Starsky," he said cautiously.

     "Dobey here.  I just got a call from the state pen--Luke and
Peter escaped custody last night."

     "Terrific."  Starsky sat on the edge of the bed.

     "Killed four guards on their way out.  Nobody's just sure how
they managed it all, but there are four guards with slit throats and the
only witness insists that there were two men and a woman with them,
dressed in black robes, but no one can account for how they could have
gotten into the facility.  They're drug testing that inmate right now. 
He's a trustee, so they consider him pretty reliable.  This one is
stretching it, though."

     "No indications where they were headed?"  Starsky asked,
wrestling with the inclination to tell Dobey what was happening.  Still,
he couldn't risk the captain pulling rank and taking control of this
situation.  Too much was at stake.  

     "They broke out on the North perimeter, but beyond that,
nothing.  Apparently there was a power outage with the lights along
that part of the property last night, so I imagine it was more opportunity
than an indication of their destination.

     "Probably."  Starsky paused.  "Thanks for the warning, Cap'n. 
We'll be on the lookout for 'em."

     "Look, I want you and Hutchinson to take a couple uniforms
and go over that mausoleum today--something went down there, and
we've got a reimbursement claim from the cemetery commission you
wouldn't believe for the damage."

     "Okay, we'll have a look at it."

     "Is everything all right, Starsky?  Is Hutch with you?  I tried
calling his number but there was no answer."

     "He's probably taking a run.  He always runs in the morning, but
since we've been workin' second shift, he ends up goin' out later."

     "I see.  Well, get a hold of him, and then you two get back out
on the streets.  We've got to track down those degenerates before they
do any serious damage."

     "Right, sir."

     "Keep me informed."

     "Don't we always?"  Starsky asked.  There was a snorted laugh,
and then a dialtone.  

     Hanging up the phone, Starsky pulled on his clothes, not exactly
sure what to do with the thing in the bed.  Leaving it there to
decompose further wasn't an option, and disposing of it was destroying
evidence.  With a slight wave of revulsion, he realized there was one
possibility--storing it in his refrigerator.  

     Once dressed, he went to the trash and fished out a stack of
newspapers.  He returned to the bedroom, swallowed hard, and
wrapped layers of the paper around the limb, lifting it carefully off the
bed and enfolding it in the newspaper sections.  He took the horrible
bundle to the refrigerator and slid it in on the bottom shelf.  That arm
belonged to someone, and there was no way he could justify disposing
of it.  

     Realizing that storming the old zoo alone probably wasn't the
most effective method, Starsky poured himself a glass of water and
took a few gulps.  He needed an edge.  Some kind of help from
someone who would take all this hocus pocus seriously...  He set the
water down and rushed out the door as he was struck with inspiration.

********

     Starsky pulled up in front of the dilapidated old house, putting
the Torino in park and cutting the engine.  The elderly woman who
lived inside was reputed to be psychic, and considered by the
neighborhood children to be a witch.   Even when he'd lived with his
Aunt Rose as a teenager, she had been "old Mrs. Weatherby".  "Old"
must have meant fifty-something in reality, but to a child, that
apparently qualifies one for the "old" label.  

     He got out of the car and stood next to it, looking up at the
paint-thirsty two storey Victorian, its sagging porch and the overgrowth
around it.  Running up to the door had been a dare among the kids at
his school, though Starsky himself had rarely set foot beyond the small,
rickety front gate, which he approached now.  

     Having been close to his grandmother until her death the year
before he moved to California, taunting old women wasn't something
that ever really appealed to him as a form of recreation.  While she'd
been living over the restaurant in New York, his grandmother had been
hassled on the sidewalk on a few occasions by some neighborhood
kids.  Neighborhood kids a twelve-year-old Starsky had sent staggering
off for the last time with bloody noses and a couple missing teeth the
one and only time he caught them in the act.

     Now, as a grown man, he made his somewhat hesitant
pilgrimage up the weed-encroached front walk to the sagging porch,
and carefully stepped up the four steps to the front door.  Relieved not
to have fallen through the porch yet, he knocked on the somewhat
battered, heavy oak front door.  When he was about to give up and turn
back, the lock disengaged, and the door opened a crack.  A small,
white-haired woman in her mid-seventies looked out at him.

     "Yes?"

     "Mrs. Weatherby?"  he asked. //*This* is the witch?  I'd be more
afraid of my grandmother on a cranky day.//  

     "Who are you?" she asked, her eyes narrowing a bit behind the
silver-framed, slightly pointed glasses she wore.  

     "Police, ma'am."  Starsky held up his badge, mainly to assuage
her fears that he was any danger to her.  "I'm not really here on police
business, though.  I need help, and...and I always used to hear that..."

     "Your partner needs you," she said, simply, opening the door
and grasping his arm with a small, bony hand, pulling him inside. 
"There is great evil pursuing you," she added.

     "How...?"

     "You came to me for help.  You must know what I am capable
of, or you wouldn't be here."

     "No, I didn't--I mean, I always heard things about you--I used to
live about five blocks from here..."

     "I never saw you.  You were never here before," she stated
simply.

     "Yeah, well, ringing the doorbell and running sort of lost its
lure when I was about eight years old," Starsky said, smiling.  

     "Please, come in, sit down."  She led the way into the shadowy
parlor, furnished with ornate antiques and lit only by a few stray rays of
daylight struggling through the dirty front window--what little of it was
not obscured by an overgrown shrub.  They sat in matching chairs on
either side of a small marble table that held a decorative antique lamp
with a rose-colored shade.

     "My grandmother had one like this," Starsky said, running his
fingers lightly under the little fringe that hung from the brocaded
shade.  "Belonged to her mother."

     "You loved your grandmother very much, didn't you?"  she
asked.

     "She was like a second mother to me, yeah," Starsky said,
smiling and nodding.  "I spent as much time with her as I could.  Every
day after school, until she died."  He watched, puzzled, as the old
woman sat back in her chair and closed her eyes, and fell silent for a
prolonged period of minutes.  Just when he was about to say
something, certain she'd nodded off, she opened her eyes.  

     "She is very proud of you, Davey.  You are so like your father. 
She said that he is proud of you, too--what a fine officer and a fine man
you are."

     "Wait a minute--I didn't tell you my name...oh, my ID--"

     "David, is it?"  she asked, and he nodded.  "David, I need a
magnifying glass to read small print, and you held your identification
well out of my range of vision for reading.  If you are going to save
your partner's life, you have to believe.  You can't cling to your old
ideas of what's real and what isn't.  If you do, you will both die."

     "You spoke to my grandmother?"

     "No, she spoke to me.  I open my mind and my heart, and
sometimes, if the conditions are just right, the spirits speak to me.  That
is what she said."

     "Nobody would know about you...nobody could get to you to
tell you...to set me up..."  Starsky mused aloud, and the old woman
smiled.

     "You must believe, David.  You know that a dead man returned
to life has taken your partner from you.  How much more do you need
as proof that the limits of this earth, the physical, is not all there is?"

     "You're right."  Starsky swallowed.  "She really said all that? 
You're sure?  It wasn't somebody else's relative or about somebody
else?"

     "I'm a bit more accurate than an answering service, David.  I'm
sure.  I know what I felt.  That's what your grandmother wanted you to
know.  That, and that she still loves you very much."

     "Wow," Starsky said softly, swallowing hard again and blinking
back tears.  "I'm sorry, I didn't expect it, I guess."  He blinked rapidly
and took a deep breath.  "I still miss her.  I, uh, almost died a couple
years ago, and when I was in a lot of pain, and tryin' to get better, it was
crazy, but I kept thinkin' about how I wished she was there.  She always
took care of me when I was sick.  After my dad was killed, Ma had to
work--she got a job at a department store downtown--so it was
Gramma who was there if we needed her during the day."  Starsky
shook his head.  "I'm sorry.  I don't really have time to do this now.  I
need help to find Hutch, to save his life.  To save him from..."

     "From the tortures they visited on you when you were in his
place?"  she concluded.  Starsky nodded, feeling oddly exposed by the
comment.  There was no denying this woman knew things she had no
earthly way of knowing, and Starsky couldn't help but wonder how
much she knew, and how vivid it all was in her mind's eye.  

     "How do I help him?"  he asked simply.

     "You love him very much," she said.

     "It wouldn't take a psychic to figure that one out," Starsky
responded, smiling a little.  "He's...we're..."  Starsky paused, groping for
the right words.  "He's everything."

     "Your enemy is going to use that love to draw you out, to bring
you to him.  He is going to want your life in exchange for your
partner's.  There is no guarantee then that your partner will survive, but
what will be asked of you is to give your own life for his."

     "I'd do that in a heartbeat," Starsky responded easily.  "Is that
the only way?  There's no way to save us both?"  Starsky took in a deep
breath.  "Y'know, I came real close to death a couple times before, and
you wanna know the thing that scared me most?"

     "Leaving your partner behind?"  she asked, smiling.

     "You're scary, lady," Starsky responded, and the elderly woman
laughed softly, despite the darkness of their conversation.  

     "I don't know how it's going to turn out.  Unfortunately,
precognition isn't my strongest talent.  I only know that's the choice
you'll be asked to make--your life or his."

     "Then it's easy.  I just have to know how to do it right, to do it
so Hutch gets out okay.  I mean, I'm not gonna be able to help him after
I'm dead."

     "Don't discount the dead, David.  The dead can be very
powerful, indeed.  The enemy you face now is nothing more than a
powerful escapee from the other side of the grave.  You only have one
chance.  You have to fight him on a spiritual level, and you have to
bring with you the souls of the departed.  They will take him back."

     "I don't understand."

     "He doesn't belong on this side of the plane.  He is an evil
being, one that has used evil to cross over, to come back and wreak
havoc on the living."  Mrs. Weatherby was quiet a moment.  "When I
was a girl, I began having visions.  I was just beginning to realize my
abilities, and the very first spirit who ever spoke to me was that of a
young nun who died of pneumonia--she had been a teacher at our
school, a woman I greatly admired.  Her death was very devastating for
all her students.  Not long after she died, I began having dreams about
her, and soon the dreams became like...*conversations*.  Sister Mary
Elizabeth is my spiritual guide, my contact with the other side.  She
told me that angels really do exist."

     "So angels could help me get Hutch back?"

     "They will help to capture an unclean spirit and drag it back to
the other side.  But first, you must help me to summon the souls of the
departed who loved either you or your partner during their lives.  Use
these spirits as your...*back-up*," she said.  

     "So I just go in there and call on these spirits and
*abracadabra*, Marcos is dead?"

     "Not exactly, but first, tell me about the souls who could help
you."

     "Hutch's grandmother, Jane Hutchinson, died three years ago,
and he was pretty close to her."

     "Good," Mrs. Weatherby replied, leaning back in her chair and
closing her eyes.  "Go on."

     "There was Gillian--she loved Hutch a lot...I think they
would've ended up together if she hadn't been murdered.    Vanessa--
this is gonna sound crazy, but she was Hutch's ex-wife.  I think she still
carried a torch for him."

     "Tell me about yourself...your losses."

     "You know about my grandmother.  My dad was killed in the
line of duty when I was eight."  Starsky took a deep breath.  "The
woman I was gonna marry--Terry--she was murdered four years ago. 
She said she'd always be there, waiting for me," Starsky recalled with a
sad smile.  Helen...things didn't work out but for a while, we sure did
love each other," Starsky recalled fondly.  "John Blaine--he was a cop,
and he was a real influence on me when I was livin' out here with my
Aunt and Uncle..."

     Mrs. Weatherby said nothing, and again, Starsky thought she
looked as if she had fallen asleep there in the ornate high-back chair. 
In a few moments, though, she opened her eyes and stood.  Starsky
followed suit quickly.  She reached out both hands to him and he
grasped them.

     "The spirits are with you," she said, closing her eyes.  "Listen to
them, open your mind and let them speak to you.  They will help you
when the time is right.  They want to take Simon Marcos and the others
back to the side of the plane where he belongs. *You* must help
*them* to do that."

     "How do I help them?"

     "Go and rescue your partner," she said, opening her eyes and
releasing his hands.  "And remember to listen."

     "I don't understand.  I don't feel anything.  I don't hear anything
and--"

     "David, you will understand all you need to know when the
time is right.  You have to have faith.  Evil is a strong, horrible,
malignant power.  Good can be just as strong.  Love goes a long way in
battling darkness."

     "If it does, then maybe we'll be okay."

     "Don't think 'maybe'.  You *will*--you have to have faith,
remember?"

     "I'll remember," Starsky said, smiling.  He leaned forward and
gave the elderly woman a peck on the cheek.  "Thank you."

     "I only have one request."

     "What's that?"

     "I'd like to meet your partner after you bring him home."

     "I think we can arrange that," Starsky responded, his smile
broadening a little.

********

     Hutch slowly opened his eyes, not entirely sure he wanted to
face the throbbing in his head or the ordeal that was most likely ahead
of him.  Sitting against what felt like solid rock, he could feel his hands
bound tightly behind him.  His breath caught in his throat when he
looked at the woman sitting on the ground before him, dressed in a
flowing white gown.  Her skin was almost the color of her dress, and
two bluish gashes marred her inner wrists.  Only her red hair stood out
in vivid relief against the pallor.  Gail Harcourt held a large butcher
knife in her hands. 

     "Gail," Hutch said, finding his voice was a little gravelly.  He
cleared his throat.  "Wh...What are you going to do with that thing?"

     "I won't cut you.  Simon didn't dream that," she replied, her
expression blank, her eyes glassy.  

     "Gail, look at what he's done to you.  What he's cost you.  You
don't want to do this--you don't want to let him control you this way."

     "I'm going to give you a bath.  You have to be purified for the
ritual."

     "Think about the kinds of rituals that go on here.  Think about
what happened to Starsky.  You remember him, right?  You know what
they did to him, don't you?"  he demanded, and for a moment, the dead
woman before him flinched a bit, her blank expression faltering.  "Gail,
they tortured him.  You know that.  They terrorized him...and they
violated him in the worst possible way.  You did all you could to help
him, to save his life.  You got away from Marcos.  You made a life for
yourself," he paused, trying to think of more to say to the confused-looking 
woman who was staring at the knife now as if she didn't quite
recognize it.  "Gail, you're just reliving a nightmare.  That's all this is
about.  The only thing different about it is who the victim is.  Don't you
see what he's doing to you?  He's turned you into some sort of...puppet."

     "I...I didn't want...to go..."  She tossed the knife aside and
looked at the insides of her own wrists, a look of revulsion crossing her
features.  "I didn't want to die!"  she shouted.

     "Neither do I, Gail.  Help me.  Tell me how to get out of here. 
We can both get away from him."

     "I can't leave...I...how..."  Mid-sentence, she froze, staring at
some point above and to her left.  Hutch followed her gazed to see
Luke standing there, dressed in his long black robe.  

     "Go to Simon.  I'll finish," he said, holding out his hand,
presumably for the knife.  

     "Don't do it, Gail," Hutch countered.

     "Gail," Luke said firmly.  Realizing there was little point in
pushing Gail into a futile resistance, Hutch watched silently as she
picked up the knife and handed it to Luke.  As soon as he had the
weapon in hand, he backhanded Gail, knocking her to the ground
again.  "Do not defy Simon," he shouted at the cowering woman, who
slowly rose to her feet and fled into the bowels of the cave.  "You
should have cooperated with Gail, pig."  Luke squatted in front of him,
sneering evilly.  "Tell me, is your ass nice and tight like your partner's
was?"

     "Damn you to hell, you fucking pervert," Hutch spat back at
him.  "What's in this for you, huh?  Not enough guys to rape in prison
to suit you?  Or did you get sick of them fucking your ugly ass
instead?"  Hutch wasn't even surprised by the blow that earned him, but
he didn't care before it happened, and even with the coppery tang of
blood filling his mouth, he didn't care now.  "Not such a big man in the
joint, are you?  No, you've gotta prove yourself by beating and
tormenting a helpless man who's hopelessly outnumbered."

     "I don't have to prove anything.  To you or anyone else.  I'm
Simon's chosen one."

     "Enjoy it, because you're going to pay for what you did to my
partner."

     "You're not going to make me pay, pig."  Luke pressed the blade
of the knife against Hutch's throat.  "Maybe I'll just fuck you with this
instead.  How do you think that would feel, huh?  Think there'll be
anything left to sew back together for your partner to fuck when we get
done with you?  Maybe I'll just stick the knife in and gut you like a pig
and hang you up on your partner's porch."  He pressed the blade hard
enough against Hutch's throat that the tip drew a tiny drop of blood
where it pierced the flesh.

     "What's Marcos promised you for all this, huh?  Money?  Fame? 
Eternal life?  The last time you got roped into this, you ended up in the
joint."

     "I'm not in the joint anymore.  Simon takes care of his own." 
Luke moved the knife away from Hutch's throat and rose.  "You will
not speak to Gail again.  She will give you your bath and get you ready
for the ceremony.  It is her role.  If you interfere with her again, I'll cut
your throat and be done with it."  With that, Luke turned and strode
away.  

     "Oh, God, Starsk, now I know how you felt..."  Hutch whispered
to himself, leaning his head back against the rock, closing his eyes. 
"Please, God, don't let him find the body, whatever happens," Hutch
prayed silently, mouthing words inaudible to anyone but him.  "Don't
let him come here."

********

     Starsky parked his car half a mile up the road from the old zoo. 
The last thing he wanted to risk was a couple of rookies showing up to
investigate and getting them both killed.  Locked gates now blocked
the road that led back into the property.  Starsky stood before them a
moment, regarding the place with a sort of revulsion and trepidation.

     The only calls the cops got for this place anymore was to roust
kids who were either smoking pot, drinking, making out or running
around through the bear cave on dares.  The sole time he and Hutch
had been closest to the scene to respond to such a call, a year after
Starsky's ordeal, just approaching the gates had brought on something
Starsky could only describe as a panic attack.  He'd gone deathly white,
according to Hutch, was sweating profusely, and his knuckles went
white on the wheel of the Torino.  The most he'd been capable of doing
was staggering out of the car and vomiting convulsively by the side of
it.  

     Hutch had loaded him back in the car, called for back-up,
explaining that his partner was ill and they couldn't complete the call,
and headed for his place.  Starsky remembered the nightmares he'd
gone through that night, and the way Hutch had been there to comfort
him, to reassure him...

     The next time such a call came in, a year or so later, they
ignored it, leaving it to other area units to handle.  Looking at the
entrance to the zoo, Starsky wiped a hand over his face, bringing it
away damp with perspiration.  Standing at the mouth of Hell wouldn't
be this unnerving.  Steeling himself against old ghosts--and the very
reasonable fear of new ones--he made his way to a spot at the back of
the property where the ground rose up and the fence was somewhat
broken down--in other words, the ideal point of entry.  

     After a somewhat awkward climb and drop over the fence,
Starsky followed a gravel path through a maze of abandoned structures
and cages.  He pulled his weapon and checked the clip, the sun shining
brightly over where he stood, glinting off the metal.  He questioned the
usefulness of a gun against what he might face here, but since Luke and
Peter were still mere mortals as far as he knew, it couldn't hurt to be
prepared.  

     Knowing Marcos' sadistic tendencies, and his delight for
symbolism, Starsky accepted early in his quest that there would be one
place, and one place alone where he would find either Hutch, or any
clue to his whereabouts--in the heart of the bear cave.  He paused at the
mouth of it now, trying to tamp down the swell of panic as he stood on
the spot where Luke had blocked his first escape attempt and Peter had
grabbed him by the hair, moments before they'd hauled him back inside
to...

     //Damn it, Starsky, get a fucking hold of yourself,// he thought,
leaning his forearm on the rock, his head against his arm.  The
memories were so vivid here that he couldn't make his feet move,
couldn't make himself enter that portal that would take him straight
down to his own personal Hell.  

     //But you'd walk straight into Hell for Hutch...so you better get
the lead out, boy,// he silently prodded himself, moving away from the
rock and forcing his shaking legs to take each step downward, trying
not to picture the desperation he'd felt as he crawled up those steps in
one of those damn black robes, mistakenly thinking freedom was just a
few more yards away.

     He paused at the bottom of the steps, then bolstering his
resolve, turned on the flashlight he'd been carrying to help illuminate
his path.  There were no torches now, just a bit of light from the
opening of the cave.  He walked across the ground where he had been
thrown down and violated so brutally years earlier, the beam of light
picking up on the blood stains from Gail's recent suicide, which were
dark patches of reddish brown on the dirt floor of the cave. 

     Scanning the walls, the ground and the tunnels that led to other
chambers, he at first saw nothing.  On the next scan, something small
and square and brown caught his eye.  He moved over to the object
lying in the dirt and picked it up.  He held Hutch's badge and police ID
in his hand.  Tucked inside it was another note.  

     START AT THE END

     Satisfied that Hutch was not in the cave, or anywhere else on
the premises, Starsky tucked the ID in his jacket and hurried back up
the steps to the daylight above, not daring to look behind him.  He
knew he was alone now, but the old fear wouldn't let him out of its iron
grip.  He wouldn't breathe easily again until he'd scrambled back over
the fence and made it to the Torino.  

     Hutch had been there, but he wasn't there anymore.  When
Marcos had told Hutch to start where it finished, Hutch had gone to the
storefront Marcos had been using as a church.  Figuring this was as
good a guess as any other, Starsky started out for that destination.  

     Four years later, the space was being utilized by a dry cleaner,
of all things.  Quick-Clean boasted stain removal while you wait,
among other cleaning services.  Baffled as to how a message could be
left here for him, Starsky parked in front of the business and walked
inside, approaching the front counter.  

     "Can I help you, sir?  Oh, right, we can get that coney sauce
stain out of your jacket in no time!"  the enthusiastic young man behind
the counter said, pointing at Starsky's tan jacket.  

     "Police."  Starsky flashed his ID.  "Detective Starsky.  I was told
there was a message here for me."

     "Oh, yeah, hang on a second."  The red-haired man disappeared
into the back room, returning moments later with a slip of paper.  "We
just got a phone call.  Here."  He handed it to Starsky, who opened the
folded piece of paper.

     THE WHITE KNIGHT WAITS BENEATH THE HARVEST

     "Did you take this call?"  Starsky's eyes were still riveted to the
bizarre words on the paper.

     "Yes, sir.  It was a man who left the message, but he didn't give
his name.  Some kinda secret cop code, huh?"

     "Could you identify his voice if you heard it again?"

     "I don't know.  Maybe."

     "What's your name, kid?"  Starsky asked, tucking the paper in
his pocket and taking out his notepad.

     "Ryan," he said, pointing to his name tag.

     "Got a last name, Ryan?"

     "Kennedy."

     "You work here full-time?"  Starsky asked.

     "Sure do.  I'm here from 7:30 in the morning till 4:00--then the
next shift comes on."

     "Okay.  Thanks.  I'll be in touch."

     "Hope this is nothing serious," Ryan said.

     "Very serious," Starsky responded, then hurried out the door
and back to his car.   

     He sat behind the wheel of the Torino and stared at the note
again.  "Beneath the Harvest?"  he repeated aloud, then tucked the note
back in his pocket and sighed heavily.  Hutch was always better at this
free association stuff than he was.  Last time he'd tried it, he'd ended up
back in his parents' hall closet. //I ended up in the closet about a lot of
things,// he added silently, almost smiling at the irony of the statement.  

     Harvest...wheat...crops...corn...farms...  

     Beneath...under...below...buried?

     No, Marcos wouldn't waste killing Hutch without Starsky there
to watch.  Plus, if what Mrs. Weatherby said was true--and given all the
things she'd known so uncannily, he was disinclined to doubt her on
this--Marcos couldn't very well ask Starsky to make a choice if Hutch
were already dead.  

     "Under the wheat.  Under the crop.  Under the farm..."  Starsky
muttered.  "Farms..."  He started up the car and drove toward Lydia
Russell's house.  Maybe someone in the Marcos-Russell family owned
farm land.  It was a strange path to follow, but the only one he could
glean from the bizarre clue.

     Fortunately, Ms. Russell was home when he arrived at her door,
but she was less than happy to receive him.  She somewhat grudgingly
stepped aside while he entered the house, and closed the door behind
him.

     "What do you want?"

     "You realize that now two of your cousin's former cultists
committed suicide, and two escaped from prison?  And now my
partner's missing?"

     "I'm sorry to hear about your partner.  As for what the cult
members are or aren't doing, I really don't keep tabs on them. 
Simon's...activities in that vein weren't something his family knew
much about."

     "I really didn't come out here to talk about them, to be honest.  I
need to know if anyone in your family owns any farm land."

     "Farm land?"  She raised her eyebrows.

     "I have reason to believe my partner is being held somewhere
on a farm."

     "I'm afraid I can't help you out there.  I have a summer cottage
on Pine Lake, but nothing along the lines of farm property.  To my
knowledge, no one in our family does, or has ever done any farming."

     "Did Simon know about your cottage?"

     "I suppose he did.  I never talked much with him about it--he
used to like the outdoors--especially when he was a boy.  Being he was
in prison when I bought the cottage, I didn't really want to taunt him
with discussing my latest excursion to the lake.  The fact I bought it
probably came up at some point during our conversations or letters
though.  He wouldn't have known the exact location."  She frowned. 
"Detective Starsky, Simon is dead.  What does it matter now if he knew
or not?"

     "Trust me.  It matters."

     "Wait here."  She left the living room and disappeared down the
hall.  A few minutes later, she returned with a tri-folded piece of
notebook paper, handing it to Starsky.  "This was in my mailbox a few
days ago--no envelope, no return address, nothing.  Just...*this*."

     Starsky opened the paper.

"Lydia,

Remember what I told you, and have faith, sister of my heart.  I will
come back for you."

     "No signature?"  Starsky turned the paper over, scanning it front
and back.

     "No.  But that's what Simon always called me--he said I was
just a cousin by blood, but a sister of his heart.  I was the only one of
the family who was always there--through the trial, the sentencing, and
then whatever contact they'd allow from the prison.  He used to say that
he was going to achieve this great power over death, that the universe
was a prize simply waiting for the right leader to claim it, and that he
was 'marshaling his forces' to do so."  She sighed and smiled a little.  "I
accepted that Simon had some delusions."  She took the note back. 
"This shocked me, though, because it was something between us,
something probably only he would know.  But then, the way all his
calls and mail were monitored, and his visits supervised, I'm sure
plenty of other people heard it.  Probably just a prank--a little
Halloween harassment for the crazy Satanist's cousin."

     "When Simon was buried...did you see the body?  Did you see
them close the casket?"

     "That's a rather morose question, Detective.  I saw his body
against the funeral director's better judgment.  I must say I wish I'd
listened.  I never saw the casket open--it was closed for visitation, and
then buried.  My cousin was most certainly very dead when I saw him."

     "Since he died...have you had any dreams?  Nightmares?"

     "This would be relevant to finding your partner in what way
exactly?"  she asked pointedly.

     "Because I think that note might have come from the man
himself.  I don't know how or why, but I think your cousin is still...
around."

     "I see."  She nodded.  "Perhaps Simon wasn't the only one with
a few delusions.  Detective, I realize that you had a very unpleasant
experience with Simon's cult, and for that, I am sorry.  For my part, I
have to live with a very ugly image of my cousin's body, and that's left
me with my own demons.  But it doesn't bring him back as some sort
of...*undead*."

     "No, I suppose not.  Thank you for your time, Ms. Russell.  If
you have any more problems with...uh...harassment...like the note,
would you call me?"  Starsky held out his card.

     "I will."  She took it.  "I hope everything is okay with your
partner."

     "Thanks."  Starsky headed out the door and returned to his car.  He sat 
behind the wheel, rubbing his eyes a moment, then
checked his watch.  It was three o'clock, which explained the increased
number of school children populating the sidewalks of the
neighborhood.  He had to smile at the sight of one particularly
energetic little ghost hurrying down the street toward home. 
Apparently, the area schools had let the kids dress up in their
Halloween costumes.

     //Gone are the days,// he thought, starting up the engine.  But
then, days that carefree had been gone a long time.  By the time he was
the age of the little boy in the ghost costume, his father had already
been gunned down on the sidewalk a couple blocks from home.  

********

     Dobey looked up from his paperwork to see a somewhat
beleaguered-looking Starsky walk into his office and drop into a chair. 
No knock, no words, nothing.

     "Starsky?"  he prodded, eschewing the stern reprimand for
barging into the office that had sprung to mind first.  

     "I don't know what to do.  I think I made a huge mistake.  I don't
know how to fix it."

     "Maybe you should start at the beginning."
     
     "Hutch is missing."

     "Since when?"  Dobey demanded.

     "Since this morning."

     "He was already gone when I called you?"  Dobey shot back
angrily.

     "Yeah, he was gone, and there was this...uh...note."  Starsky
took it out of his pocket and handed it to Dobey.  "And then this one, at
the old zoo," he handed over the second note.  "And then this one at the
dry cleaners that are in the old storefront where Marcos had his
church."

     "You've been working on this all day on your own?"

     "If we call in the cops, bring in back up, Marcos is gonna know. 
Cap'n, I can't do that.  I can't risk Hutch dyin' because I bring in
protection for myself.  The problem is, I don't know what that last note
means.  Maybe I'm just not as good at these games as Hutch is, but I
can't figure it out.  I tried to listen to the spirits and...nothin'," Starsky
said, almost blankly, as if he were talking to himself.  "I need help."

     Dobey looked at the folded notes on the desk, then got up and
went out to the coffee maker just outside the door of his office, and
poured a cup of coffee, adding a healthy dose of sugar.  He closed the
door behind him before handing it to Starsky.  

     "Thanks," he said quietly, staring into the dark liquid as if he
thought it should impart some sort of wisdom.

     "Drink some.  It'll perk you up a little," Dobey said gruffly,
sitting behind his desk.  Starsky without Hutch had always been
inconsolable, and this was no exception.  Only one thing assuaged
Starsky's misery in these situations, and that was getting his partner
back again.  What Dobey needed to find was the one thing that would
lift the heavy discouragement and replace it with that irrepressible
determination--which had always led to a good result.

     "I can't find him.  I couldn't let Marcos win because I'm not
smart enough to play his games like Hutch could.  Usually, y'know, it
doesn't matter so much that Hutch is smarter, better with words...I
never really felt like it mattered on the streets...doin' the job.  But it
matters now."  Starsky never took his eyes off the coffee as he spoke. 
"You went to college, Cap'n.  Is there some sort'a symbolism here I
can't figure out?"

     "Going to college isn't a magic guarantee of useful knowledge--or 
intelligence, for that matter.  Don't tell Cal I said that," he added,
smiling a little.  "As for this, it's a lot of mumbo-jumbo, but it
obviously means something.  It did the last time, but it took Hutch,
Huggy and myself a long night of analyzing to figure it out."

     "But we haven't got a long night!"  Starsky finally looked up to
meet Dobey's eyes.  "Whatever's gonna happen is gonna happen
tonight, and if I don't get to him before that, it'll be too late."

     "Let's get the case file on Marcos up here.  We'll go over that as
quickly as we can.  He's probably using something you should know--
something at least he expects you'll figure out.  That means it's
probably in the file someplace."  Dobey picked up the phone and
barked out the orders to R&I to pull anything and everything on
Marcos.  He glanced at Starsky, watching the man's hand shake slightly
as he raised the cup and finally took a long drink of the coffee. 
Knowing he had only hours to live hadn't left Starsky this afraid--not
even pale and ill with Bellamy's poison flowing through his system. 
When he hung up the phone, he said, "We'll find him, Dave."

     Starsky's adam's apple bobbed quickly a couple times at that,
and he hastily took another drink of coffee.  

     "I can't let 'em do it to Hutch," he mumbled, dropping his
forehead into his hand as he rested his elbow on the seat of the chair. 
"All this time I've been wastin' chasin' my tail...  It'll be my fault."

     "Nothing that happens to Hutch in this situation is your fault.
What specifically is it you're worried about?  We know they're not at
the old zoo--so the whole bear thing isn't it.  It's probably a given
they've roughed him up a little.  Not much getting around that."

     There was a tap at the door, and the interruption seemed to snap
Starsky out of his stupor.  He straightened in the chair and took another
drink of coffee.  

     "Captain Dobey?  The Marcos files from R&I," a young file
clerk said, walking to the desk and handing him the folders.  She made
it a point to have eye contact with Starsky and smile.  He forced a
smirk in return, and she left the room.  Another tall blonde, but not the
right one.

     Dobey picked up his phone again, and this time ordered that he
was not to be interrupted for anything but an emergency, or any type of
communication from or relating to Detectives Hutchinson or Starsky. 

     "Okay, let's get started."  He pushed his other paperwork aside,
and handed Starsky half the folders on the Marcos case.  

     "This is gonna take forever," Starsky observed dejectedly as he
pulled his chair up closer to the desk and started looking through a file.

     "Patience is a virtue you could learn to cultivate a bit, Starsky,"
Dobey needled.  It had the desired effect of raising one corner of
Starsky's mouth in the approximation of an answering grin.  

     After two hours of reading through everything in the files,
Dobey went back to the first folder and started going through the lists
of witnesses.  

     "Starsky."  The firmness of the tone made the other man raise
his head from his own research.

     "The Crow place."

     "What?"  Starsky looked puzzled.

     "Remember the ranch where the bulls were slaughtered?"

     "He had farm land out back of him!"  Starsky exclaimed,
leaping out of his chair.  It was now almost eight o'clock.

     "Starsky!  You're not going anywhere without back-up."

     "If I bring in back-up, Marcos is gonna know it and he'll kill
Hutch before I even get there," Starsky shot back.  "This has always
been about a confrontation.  Right from the start.  Me blastin' in there
with the whole department behind me isn't what he wants."

     "Fine, we'll stay back.  But you're not doing this without help."

     "Please...let me do this my way."

     "We'll station a couple units a mile down the road, and you'll be
wired for sound.  It's that or I toss your can in a holding cell and handle
this with more objective personnel."

     "You wouldn't do that.  That would cost Hutch his life!"

     "And if you run in there half-cocked with no back-up, you're
both gonna end up dead.  Now this isn't up for debate."  Dobey picked
up the phone and called for the necessary surveillance equipment.

********

     Starsky drove the Torino along the dirt road that led back into
the Crow ranch.  Since the owner's death four years earlier, it was
obvious that the property had fallen into disrepair.  There was a "for
sale" sign near the road, but apparently no interested buyers had
surfaced since it had gone through probate after Crow's demise in the
bombed barn.  

     Parking the car near the one-floor house, Starsky got out and
stood in the moonlight, looking around at the silver and shadow of
what was a truly magnificent country night.  He smiled sadly as he
thought of how Hutch would be extolling its virtues right about now,
probably suggesting they ought to buy the place themselves and
become country hicks.  It rocked him to his core when he realized that
if buying a run-down ranch in the sticks would mean he could live with
Hutch forever, like a couple, he would agree to it in a heartbeat
happily.

     A walk around the house, flashing the beam of his flashlight in
through dirty windows, revealed nothing.  So he started walking,
trudging across the somewhat spongy ground out toward the field
behind the house.  It was then that he spotted it--a storm shelter, or
maybe a bomb shelter, he wasn't sure which--it's entrance consisting of
a mound of weedy ground with a couple of weather-beaten wood doors,
secured by a cross bar.  

     "I think I found it," Starsky murmured into the wire.  "About
sixty yards behind the house is some kind of storm or bomb shelter. 
I'm gonna check it out."  

     Dobey was the only one on the other end of the listening device. 
There were two units--one containing Dobey and another detective, and
one other unmarked car with another team of cops behind it.  Starsky
and Dobey had agreed that due to what could be the bizarre nature of
what might be heard coming over the wire, only the captain would be
privy to it.  Dobey had grudgingly agreed not to storm the place without
Starsky's signal, but Starsky had some concern as to how long that pact
would hold up if things got rough.  The bottom line was, if it was his
life in exchange for Hutch's that Marcos wanted, Starsky was prepared
to give it.  He doubted their captain would be so willing to give up
either man without a fight.

     He lifted the old cross bar and then opened the doors.  He
directed a beam of light into the shadows below, and could only see a
set of wooden steps leading down into the hole.  There were no signs of
life and no sounds of movement from within.  Still, Starsky headed
slowly down the rickety steps, feeling some of the old wood sag a bit
under his feet as he stepped down on them.  

     Once at the bottom, he could see the original shelter with its
shelves of what were probably rancid canned goods--although he'd read
about somebody opening something decades later and finding it
preserved.  Just like a well-embalmed corpse.  The imagery made him
shudder as he left this outer chamber and followed a tunnel which
stretched outward from the end of the room opposite the steps.  It was
too short for him to stand fully straight, so he crouched as he followed
it, pausing when he heard some low, steady chanting coming from
deeper within the bowels of the earth.  

     "Sometimes you gotta know when to play by the rules, and
when to play around 'em," his father's voice said, seeming so real that
he spun around, expecting to see the man standing behind him.  All his
flashlight caught was the area of tunnel he'd finished walking.  It was a
phrase he'd heard his father to say to the man who was his partner at
the time of his death.  

     "Cap'n, this is it.  I'm gonna ask you to leave it alone, and let me
finish this.  Send in the National Guard if you want to after one o'clock
this mornin', but until then, let it lie."  Starsky paused.  "Thanks...for
everything."  He struggled to think of one other concise thing to say to
somehow convey his appreciation for the support and help Dobey had
always given them, but he left it at that and removed the wire, turning
it off and leaving it on the floor of the tunnel.  With that, he kept
moving. //Hope that's what you meant, Dad,// he said to himself.

********

     Hutch struggled to keep focused, to fight the influence of
whatever drug he'd been given before he was transported from the old
zoo.  He remembered almost nothing of that journey, except being
pushed, dragged and tossed around by Luke and Peter.  Dressed in one
of the despicable black robes now, his hands bound tightly behind his
back, he huddled against the earthen wall of some sort of underground
chamber. //Marcos must have a thing for caves,// he thought, his own
levity doing little to raise his spirits.  

     In one corner of the cave-like room, a small group of black clad
figures, led by a pasty-faced Matthew, knelt and chanted, Simon's name
drilling its way into Hutch's brain with each redundant utterance.

     Truth be told, he was terrified.  He knew what they'd done to
Starsky, and while he would have done anything, including taking
Starsky's place, to save him that pain, it didn't change the fact that now
that it was a potential reality, the terror of it twisted his guts into a
knot.  Not to mention the mental imagery that accompanied Luke's
threat about using the knife.  They were one bunch of crazy, blood-thirsty 
fuckers, and Hutch wouldn't have put any level of depravity or
brutality past them.

     He looked up now to see Gail arriving by his side again,
carrying a cup of water, which she offered to hold for him to drink.  

     "No thanks," he said curtly, and she withdrew, a bit puzzled.  

     "I thought you would be thirsty," she said, setting the cup aside.

     "There's probably something in the water.  That's what your
friends did to Starsky, remember?"  he prodded.  Gail looked confused
a moment, then looked at the water.  

     "I got this for you myself," she defended.

     "Gail.  Listen to me.  You listened to me before.  I know you
can hear me.  Somewhere underneath what they've done to you, what
they've turned you into, I know you can still hear me.  I need your help. 
Just please untie the ropes and I'll do the rest."  He felt a little hopeful
as Gail looked at him, her expression somewhat torn.

     "You never learn, do you, pig?"  Luke said, coming into Hutch's
line of vision and then squatting in front of him.  "The time is almost
here.  Your partner is nearby."

     "Leave Starsky out of this.  You've already had your go at him. 
What's the point?"

     "It is what Simon dreamed."

     "Oh, right, I forgot.  For a minute there I thought you had a
mind of your own."  

     Luke backhanded him hard enough to snap his head to one side. 
They were just so many bruises.  Hutch had ceased to care anymore. 
He was most likely going to suffer a lot worse before this was over--he
already was suffering much worse--he knew Starsky had taken the bait
and was coming for him.  Not that, in his partner's place, he'd have
done anything differently.  But just this once, Hutch had prayed for a
streak of selfishness and self-preservation to overtake his partner...his
lover.  His lover... 
     
     "Simon beat death at its own game.  You won't be so lucky."

     "Is that what he promised you?  Eternal life?  As what?  His
flunky?"

     "Power, and yes, eternal life.  Long after your miserable bones
are nothing but dust."  

     "I think we have company."  

     Hutch turned to see the man who had uttered those words, and
confirmed his assumption that it was Marcos.  There was no confusing
him with a dream this time as he made his way across the dirt floor of
the underground chamber, dressed in a long black robe with a large
hood that obscured his face.  

     "Luke, you and Peter go greet our visitor.  I'm sure you have a
lot of catching up to do."

     "Yes, Simon," Luke responded, smiling licentiously.

     "Remember, he is to be untouched before the ceremony."

     Attempting not to appear too deflated by the admonition, Luke
retreated into the tunnel leading out of the chamber, Peter close behind
him.  

     "Gail, please, untie these ropes!"  Hutch whispered desperately.

     "I can't," she said, biting her bottom lip and looking over at
Matthew.  Even in this horrible state of walking death, Gail was more
tragic than she was frightening.  A trapped soul bound into Simon's
service, dragged from her hard-won freedom back into servitude.

     "Gail."  Simon moved closer, within earshot of the two people
crouched there on the ground.  He pointed at a spot on the floor near
his own feet.  With a look of regret, Gail moved away from Hutch and
knelt in the indicated spot, beginning to rock and chant in unison with
Matthew and the others.  Simon smiled and stroked the top of her head. 
"She is mine, Hutchinson.  Your little schemes are useless with her or
any of my followers."

     He'd no sooner said this when Luke and Peter appeared,
dragging a somewhat resistant Starsky toward Simon.  Except for a
blossoming fat lip, he looked relatively unharmed.  

     "Hutch," he said, taking in his partner's haggard appearance as
he sat on the floor near the wall of the cave.  "Let me go, you mother--" 

     "Release him," Simon instructed.  Luke and Peter gave Starsky
a joint shove that sent him sprawling on the floor, a shove Hutch
imagined was not unlike another one that Starsky had to be
remembering.  Nonetheless, Starsky was on his feet in a heartbeat,
rushing to his partner, trying to reach for the ropes to untie them. 
"Leave the ropes as they are, or I will tie you both," Simon said,
smiling slightly, almost cordially.  His tone was nothing more assertive
than conversational.  

     Starsky abandoned the rope project and pulled Hutch against
him in an awkward hug.  Hutch could do little more than press his head
against Starsky's, his arms bound as they were, but he still relished the
moment of closeness.  It was no secret they were lovers, and even less
a secret how much they loved each other.  Simon had known that much
from the beginning.  

     When he moved back, Starsky brushed some fly away hair out
of Hutch's face, letting his hand rest on a bruised cheek.  

     "What've they done to you, babe?"  he whispered, his thumb
lightly caressing a purple smudge of bruising.  

     "Nothing, Starsk.  I'm okay."

     "Yeah, sure you are."  Starsky turned back to Marcos.  "Do you
just get off on brutality for the fun of it?  What's the purpose of beating
the hell out him?  You're getting what you wanted."

     "I did not beat your partner," Simon said, as if the notion he
would engage in such a pursuit was patently absurd.  "He proved a very
difficult prisoner, and he had to be...controlled.  My followers employ
the methods necessary to carry out my orders."

     "You were using this place the whole time Crow was still alive
up there, weren't you?"  Starsky asked, looking around at the generous
dimensions of the chamber, the altar constructed at one end of it, and
the group of hooded head cases chanting in the corner.  It was all a bit
too complex to have been thrown together in the last few weeks.

     "Strange, but he never looked down here.  Now isn't that
interesting?"  Simon mused.  He pushed his hood back now, completely
exposing his pallid face, and the ghastly blue-black wound on his neck,
the crescent shape of which grinned out at them like a demonic second
smile.  "I think we should begin."  Marcos turned and walked toward
the altar, and Gail rose and followed him.  Luke and Peter still stared
down at the two captives.

     "You wanted me here, Marcos!"  Starsky challenged, standing
up.  "What for?  Just to watch you do your Vincent Price routine?  Well
I've seen a lotta late movies, so you can cut the crap.  What do you
want from me?"

     "A great deal, Starsky," he responded calmly.  Raising his arms
in a mockery of prayer, his followers flanking him six across on both
sides, he began reciting the Lord's Prayer backwards.  Matthew and
another follower brought in a small goat, hoisting it onto the altar as it
twitched and struggled.  

     Something made Starsky look away from the spectacle back to
his partner.  Hutch's eyes were riveted to it in horror, as if he dreaded
the sight of its slaughter more than anything, but couldn't look away. 
Crouching to the ground, Starsky pulled Hutch against him, hiding
Hutch's face in the fabric of his jacket and closing his own eyes as the
animal met its bloody fate.

     "It's okay, babe.  It's over," he whispered into the blond hair.  

     "Guess I can't handle watching animals die...not like that,"
Hutch whispered back.  He was shaking now, hard, less from the fate
of the goat than from the realization that the ordeal was really starting
now.  "I'm scared," he muttered to Starsky, who just nodded.

     "I know, blintz.  I am too," he responded softly, still keeping
Hutch loosely in his arms.  He was amazed that Simon or his goons
were allowing them any solace, least of all from each other, but then
their attention seemed momentarily diverted from their captives.

     "Got your gun?"  Hutch asked.

     "Not anymore.  Long Tall Sally over there's got it," he said,
inclining his head toward Luke.  He grinned as Hutch actually smiled at
the name.  "I love you, Hutch.  No matter what happens, it won't be so
bad.  We'll be together."

     "You shouldn't have come."

     "Prob'ly not, but I'm awful glad I did."  Starsky smiled, not
caring if the world was ending right then.  As long as they exited
together, it would be okay.  Together, or...or if he could save Hutch.  

     "Behold the Blood of Satan!"  Marcos bellowed, holding up a
chalice filled with the goat's blood.  

     Relinquishing his hold on Hutch, Starsky rose to his feet and
shouted back at Marcos.  

     "You're on the wrong side of the grave, Marcos!  It's time to go
back, and take your zombie pals with you!"  A little unsure of where
his surge of energy was coming from, Starsky rode the tide of it.  His
eyes widened as he felt the earth around them tremor a bit.  

     Marcos' response was to gulp blood from the chalice, then raise
it up again as if in praise of the devil.  

     "Almighty Master--"

     "Damn you to Hell where you belong, Simon Marcos!  You're
going back there, and I'm going to be the one to send you!"  Starsky
shouted.  

     Marcos looked at him and laughed, a little blood trickling from
the corner of his mouth, his teeth reddened with it.  

     "Bring him!" 

     Suddenly, several strong pairs of hands were holding Starsky
back, and he expected to be hauled up to the bloody altar.  Instead, he
watched in horror as another group of the robed figures began dragging
his partner there instead.  

     "Let him go!  You wanted me, Marcos!  Here I am!  Let him
go!"

     "Let him go?"  Simon smiled and shook his head, picking up the
dead goat and hurling it with a superhuman strength toward the wall
behind him, where it impacted and fell to the ground like a broken doll. 
"You want to be with your lover forever!  Now you can follow him into
Hell.  I dreamed you would come for him, and I dreamed you would
follow him into the pit," Marcos said grimly.

     //Damn it, if there are spirits out there somewhere, now would
be a damn good time to *help me*!// Starsky thought desperately.  

     There was a rumble of the earth and a crack began to work its
way across the floor.  Starsky and the men holding him back jumped
aside and watched its progress, which ran directly under the center of
the altar where Marcos' goons were tying Hutch.  

     "Almighty Satan, we offer you this man in homage to your
greatness.  Upon the spilling of his blood, show yourself to us!" 
Marcos raised a long knife high above Hutch's chest.

     "No!!!"  Starsky shouted, pulling frantically at the arms holding
him back.  Miraculously, the man on his left released him, lurching
back as if he'd been struck.  Not pausing to analyze the source of his
unseen assistance, Starsky crashed his left fist into the face of the man
on his right and made a mad run for Marcos.  Catching his arms on the
downward arc and pushing upward, the two of them were locked in a
battle of strength and wills over Hutch's prone form.  With Hutch's life
as the prize, Starsky was not about to give up. 

     Wild, deranged eyes met his, and Marcos smiled, as if he were
actually relishing the battle with a worthy opponent.  As the others
moved to swarm on the altar, coming to their leader's aid, the crack in
the ground widened, and Starsky spared only a momentary downward
flick of his eyes to see that Marcos straddled almost a two-foot opening
in the ground--a cavity that seemed to plunge endlessly into the black
recesses of the earth.  

     Changing strategies, he pulled violently to the left, throwing
Marcos off balance.  There was a brief look of horror on the dead man's
face as his foot made a fatal slip.  One more lurch forward from
Starsky sent him backward, falling with a scream of terror into the
ever-widening opening that revealed only blackness in its depths.  

     "We're gonna be okay, babe," Starsky muttered, pulling out his
pocket knife and cutting at the ropes with shaking hands.  The whole
earth was shaking now, dirt beginning to fall in from the ceiling.  Black
robed figures scattered and ran toward the tunnels, seeking escape.  

     "Starsky, look out!"  Hutch shouted, just in time to warn Starsky
of Matthew's approach with a long butcher knife.  Starsky caught the
man's wrist with both of his own and forced it back, finding this dead
man's strength to be somewhat less impressive than that of Marcos. 
Still, Matthew was not easily dissuaded.  Just when Starsky feared the
cresting of the walking corpse's strength would be too much for
already-exhausted arms to fight off, a sudden impact against Matthew's
body sent him plummeting into the abyss beneath the altar.  

     Gail stood at the edge of the cavity herself, barely avoiding
following Matthew into its depths.  She picked up the butcher knife
that had dropped to the floor and worked at freeing Hutch's ankles from
the ropes that bound them to the altar while Starsky freed his partner's
wrists.  

     "We've gotta get out of here," Starsky stated, somewhat
unnecessarily.  "Gail--I...just...thank you."  On an impulse, he hugged
the dead woman's cold, stiff form against him.  There was something
horrible in the sensation of feeling the cold, dead arms respond to the
embrace, and at the same time, it was his last chance to thank her for
being their angel the second time around.  "Someone told me angels
were real," he said, pulling back, stroking her hair briefly.

     "You have to go now.  Run!  There's no more time!"  she
warned as more dirt poured out of the ceiling of the underground room. 


     Starsky pulled his partner by the arm toward the tunnel he'd
used to find his way to the room, and pushed him to go through the
mouth of it first.  Reluctantly, Hutch went.  What few followers hadn't
raced for the tunnels already were now huddling against the walls of
the underground room, on one side or the other of the underground
chamber as the chasm that divided it grew with each passing second.

     "Gail!  Come with us!"  Starsky called back, trying to reach for
her.

     "I belong on the other side too," she said, a bit sadly, backing
away until she plunged into the chasm herself.

     "Gail!"  Starsky shouted, rushing to the edge of it, feeling that
she should have never fallen into the same horrible abyss that had
claimed Marcos and Matthew.  He let out a shout of his own when he
felt the edge of the ground give way beneath him, and found his own
legs dangling down into the cavernous gulch, only his clawing hands
keeping him from following the less fortunate to their fates.  

     "Starsky!"  Hutch was back through the opening of the tunnel
now, and soon a strong hand had a hold of his.  But there was an
intense pull from below, a magnetic force that dragged him downward. 
Before long, he found himself most of the way into the crack, with
Hutch's upper body following him.  

     "Let go, babe," Starsky said softly.  "I love you, but you've gotta
let go."

     "NO!"  Hutch pulled back determinedly, refusing to accept that
any force of God, man or the devil himself would take Starsky away
from him now.

     "I mean it, Hutch.  I'm gettin' pulled and I can't get any leverage. 
I'm goin' down, babe.  I love ya too much to take you with me."

     "I love you too much to let go," Hutch countered, just as
forcefully.  "I won't do it."  

     "Course you're not going to let go, Hutchinson.  Why would you
do a damn fool thing like that?!"  Dobey demanded, pulling hard on
Hutch's mid-section, dragging him back while two other detectives
anchored Dobey.  One mighty suction from below threw them all off
balance until all Dobey found himself clutching were Hutch's ankles.  

     The crack in the earth began to close up.  

     "Hutch, dammit, let go'a me!"  Starsky shouted, trying to wrest
his hand out of the iron grip.  

     "You let go of me!"  Hutch shouted up to Dobey.

     "Nobody's lettin' go of anybody!  What the hell's the matter with
you pansies up there?!  Pull!!!"  Dobey bellowed at the men holding
him.  

     "Oh, God, Gramma, Dad, Terry, Gail, help me!"  Starsky called
into the black vortex below him.  There was a slight lessening of the
downward force.  "Gillian, Vanessa, Grandma Jane, help Hutch!  You
love him!  Help me save him!"  

     "That's it, let's get some decent pull here for a change!"  Dobey
shouted at the men behind him, who were pulling for all they were
worth, and finally getting some results as Dobey moved farther back
from the opening, at Hutch's lower body was dragged back over the
edge.  

     "Starsk, you gotta give me your other hand!"  Hutch shouted. 
"I'm losing my grip!"  

     "Help me, Gramma," Starsky said silently.  "I love him so
much.  Help me reach him."  

     He made one desperate swipe for Hutch's outstretched hand and
caught it, just as the grip on his left hand slipped and broke loose.  

     "It's okay!  I've got you!"  Hutch reassured, his free hand going
now to Starsky's wrist.  

     Finally, Hutch was back on solid ground, and in a moment, and
another hard pull, Starsky came lurching out over the edge of the
opening, and into his partner's waiting arms.  

     "We did it!"  Starsky gasped against Hutch's chest.

     "Come on, this whole place is gonna go!"  Dobey shouted,
leading the charge into the tunnel, with Starsky, Hutch and the other
two cops behind him.  

     The earth was vibrating, making their progress unsteady at best
as they fought their way back toward the original storm shelter, then,
finally, scrambled up the staircase to the fresh night air above.

     As the five exhausted men staggered away from the storm
shelter and by unspoken agreement, dropped to the grass to catch their
collective breath, Starsky gasped out a question.

     "How'd you know when to come in?"  Starsky asked Dobey.

     "You called me, Starsky."

     "No I didn't!  I was in the hole, and before that I was wrestlin'
with Marcos and then Matthew--and my wire was in the tunnel!"

     "Somebody called me--it was your voice, Starsky."

     "It wasn't me."  Starsky gulped, and then went white as a sheet. 

     "What is it, Starsk?"  Hutch asked gently, resting a hand on
Starsky's arm.  

     "Every time I call Ma on the phone, she says I sound just like
my dad," he said, running a hand back over his hair.  

     Dobey looked seriously disconcerted by that, and the other two
detectives who were sprawled on the grass, men in their later thirties,
both rolled their eyes and pushed up onto their feet.  

     "We better call this in.  Some of those nut cases are probably
running around out here someplace," the taller of the two men said,
pulling his partner to his feet.  

     "Thanks, guys," Hutch said to the two men he recognized as
Sanchez and Walker, another team from Homicide.  

     "Yeah, sure, anytime," Sanchez responded, a bit uneasily as he
followed his partner toward their waiting car.  

     Just then, the doors of the storm shelter were sucked inward,
and the entire raised area of earth that was the entrance folded in on
itself, collapsing back into the ground until all that remained was a
smouldering, dark hole.  
     
     "I think this would be a good time to get out of here."  Dobey
started to get up, and was relieved for the leverage he received from
Starsky.  Together, the three men headed for the cars.

********

     Hutch's check up at the emergency room was quite perfunctory,
since he only had surface bruising to show for his ordeal.  Painful, but
not life-threatening.  So with a bottle of painkillers, the doctor sent him
on his way.  Dobey had made a side trip to Hutch's place and picked up
some clothes, which he delivered to Starsky while Hutch was being
checked over.  

     A number of Marcos' followers were corralled not far from the
ranch.  It was too far out in the boonies for them to reach any
opportunities for transportation, so with the exception of one or two
who managed to either hide more effectively or hitch a ride of some
sort on a country road, most who had managed to escape death in the
underground shelter were captured within twelve hours of the bizarre
subterranean earthquake.  Luke and Peter were among the bodies
fished out of one of the underground tunnels.

     Starsky drove them back toward his place, both men somewhat
quiet with their own thoughts.  They needed to talk, but they needed to
do so in the peace and comfort of their home.

     Hutch stole a glance at Starsky, and thought about how his first
reaction to their becoming lovers was to want to live together.  To set
up housekeeping like any other couple.  Looking at all they'd been
through, his own caution on that point seemed somewhat useless.  

     "We're home, babe," Starsky said softly, and Hutch looked out
the window then, seeing that they were, indeed, in front of Starsky's
place. //He's right.  We need someplace that's home for both of us.//

     Together, they wearily climbed the steps and went inside,
Starsky turning the locks behind them.  

     "Oh, damn."

     "What?"  Hutch frowned.  

     "Don't look in the refrigerator."

     "What?"  

     "Just...don't, okay?  I'll deal with it tomorrow."

     "Starsky, what's in the refrigerator."

     "You don't wanna know.  And just stay here a minute.  I gotta
fix the bathroom."

     "Okay. Time out.  What's in the bathroom?"

     "Your name on the mirror in blood."

     "Charming."

     "D'you remember anything about them takin' you outta here?"

     "Not much.  I vaguely remember another nightmare about
Marcos...maybe it was real, and he was here.  Next thing I knew, I
woke up in the bear cave at the old zoo."

     "He got in here, or his goon squad did, and must'a drugged us
both, and hauled you outta here.  They left your name on the mirror in
blood, and there was a note, telling me to go to the old zoo.  Well, it
said 'temple of the first kingdom', but it's the same thing."

     "You were there?  God, Starsk, I know how you feel about that
place."  Hutch went to his partner then and pulled him into a hug.  

     "Nothin' compared to how I feel about you, darlin'.  You're my
everything, y'know?"  he said, squeezing Hutch as tightly as he could
without hurting any sore or bruised parts.  "I'd go anywhere in the
whole world for you."

     "I know you would.  I know it, love.  I would too, for you."

     "There's an arm in the refrigerator, Hutch."

     "A *what*?"  Hutch stepped back, his eyes bugged.

     "They left some dead guy's arm in the apartment with a note on
it.  It was, uh, on the bed."

     "There was a dead guy's arm in our bed?"

     "Yeah," Starsky said, smiling.

     "You think that's funny?"  Hutch demanded.

     "You called it 'our bed'."

     "It *is* our bed."

     "Usedta just be 'my bed'.  I like it bein' ours."

     "Yeah, me too, babe," Hutch said, smiling in spite of himself. 
"Now call the crime lab while I bag the sheets.  I'm not spending the
night in this apartment with that...*thing* in the 'fridge."

     "Okay," Starsky agreed, somewhat dejectedly.  He was tired to
the point of exhaustion, and he didn't expect the beast with five fingers
to crawl out of the refrigerator through the night.  Still, it *did* belong
in Ginny's custody, not theirs.

     With the disembodied arm on its way downtown, the bed
changed, and the bathroom cleaned, the two worn out men finally
crawled into their shared bed sometime near dawn.  They wound
around each other, kissing and nuzzling and exchanging little love
words, too worn out to do anything more.  

     When Starsky woke the next time, it was Hutch who was
writhing in the bed clothes, obviously in the grip of a nightmare.  

     "Hutch, wake up."  Starsky pulled the wiggling body tighter
against him, riding out the brief, weak struggle.  "Shh.  Just a dream.  
It's me, babe.  You're okay."

     "Damn."  Hutch sagged in Starsky's arms, the nightmare having
released him from its grip.  "The thing with the goat...really got me, I
guess."

     "I know, darlin'.  It's okay."

     "Starsk, I was thinking, earlier..."

     "Don't hurt yourself now, blondie," Starsky countered, and
smiled as Hutch actually chuckled a little. 

     "I think we ought to get a place together.  Maybe a fixer-upper--
preferably one that the porch is intact, but you know what I mean. 
Something we could invest in together."

     "You don't have to do that, Hutch.  I'm gonna love you the rest
of our lives--and longer.  I can do that here, or at your place, or in the
backseat'a my car," Starsky teased, kissing the end of Hutch's nose.

     "I'm serious, Starsk.  We almost died...*horribly*.  Without ever
having the chance to have a place that was *ours*.  Not mine, or yours,
not where we 'stay over' with each other.  Somewhere that we both *go
home* to."

     "Might look kinda funny to people at the PD, babe.  That hasn't
changed."

     "I hate to break this to you, Starsk, but we already look funny to
a lot of people at the PD."

     "I guess we probably do," Starsky responded, smiling.

     "Maybe we can get a few days off, go look at some places
together, huh?"

     "Hutch?"

     "Yeah?"

     "Make love to me."

     "Thought you'd never ask," Hutch smiled, leaning in for a kiss.

     "No, I mean...*really*.  All the way.  I don't want to wait
anymore."

     "Starsk, after what happened, I thought it would bring up a lot
of old ghosts, and--"

     "You wanna know somethin'?  It did, at first.  I was scared
t'death of goin' into that cave, and the memories were really awful for
those minutes when I went in there and walked around, but even when
Luke and Peter were shoving me around last night, making their sick
remarks...the only thing that mattered was you.  And it made me realize
that what they did all that time ago...it's over.  It's got everything to do
with them and nothing to do with us.  Nothing you could ever do to me
would have anything to do with what they did."  Starsky paused a
moment.  "I feel like it's really over, really gone--dead and gone.  In the
past.  Now I wanna make a new start."

     "We'll need something..."

     "I got some Vaseline in the bathroom.  We can use that.  Hutch,
just...please don't say no, okay?"

     "Okay," Hutch said softly, kissing the spot between Starsky's
eyes.  "I love you."

     "I know.  Now you can show me."  Starsky smiled and leaned in
for another kiss before getting up and hurrying into the bathroom to
retrieve the jar of Vaseline.  

     Hutch rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, letting the
significance of what they were about to do, wash over him.  After four
years, they were going to lay Starsky's demons to rest once and for all,
and they were consummating a commitment.  A commitment that was
going to be both the single greatest joy of their lives, and most likely
the single greatest challenge.  Society wasn't kind to unions like theirs,
and PD's were even more unkind to such relationships.  To be partners
and lovers was against regulations even in mixed gender partnerships. 
Hutch had to smile then.  Dobey had made pretzels out of the
regulations in their behalf more than once, and provided they didn't tell
their captain more than he wanted to know, Hutch figured this time
would be no exception.

     "I was only gone a couple minutes.  How'd you get so deep
inside that pretty blond head'a yours, huh?"  Starsky asked, sitting on
the bed and kissing Hutch's forehead.  "Damn them," he said softly,
kissing the bruising around Hutch's right eye, the soft lips trailing down
to the swelling on one side of his mouth.  

     "Forget them, babe.  We're both alive, and we're together." 
Hutch pulled himself into a sitting position and rested a hand on
Starsky's cheek.  "We won."

     "We sure did," Starsky responded, his face splitting in a wide
smile.  "I, uh, got the stuff," he added a little nervously, gesturing with
the jar of Vaseline.  "We're both naked."

     "Those are both good starts, Starsk," Hutch teased, smiling.  "I
suppose you think I know what to do here."

     "You've done this with a woman before, right?"  Starsky asked,
as if it should be a forgone conclusion that anyone would have done
that.  

     "Well, sure, uh, but..."  Hutch rolled his eyes.  "No, damn it, I
haven't done it with a woman that way either," Hutch admitted.

     "Me neither," Starsky admitted.

     "But...before you said...when we talked about it--you said it
couldn't be much different than doing it with a woman--I figured that
meant--"

     "I meant goin' in the front door.  A woman's got her own built in
slippery stuff, so if you're gonna do it the other way, you need
something to keep things moving.  Any time I got a finger in there for
some reason, it was real tight.  I had a girl ask me about doing it that
way once, and she sort of told me how she liked it.  I was more
interested in just doing in the regular way, so that's what we did."

     "So neither one of us knows what we're talking about?"

     "Nope," Starsky responded, grinning happily.  "We get to figure
it out together.  Couple of stupid virgins."

     "I love you," Hutch said suddenly, stroking back through the
dark curls.  "Whatever we do, I promise I won't hurt you."

     "You don't need to promise that, babe.  I know that."  Starsky
moved forward into his lover's arms, and they tipped back on the bed
together, mouths sealing over one another, plunging into a deep,
prolonged kiss.  

     "Hey, there's something missing," Hutch said softly.  At
Starsky's puzzled expression, he nudged Starsky to let him up.  

     "Where're you going?"  

     "Nevermind.  I'll be right back."  

     Hutch hurried into the kitchen and found a bottle of wine and
two glasses.  Then he stopped by the stereo and sifted through the
records there.  Locating an album of instrumental piano music, he put it
on the turntable and set it to repeat.  Returning to the bedroom, he held
up his supplies.  

     "Romance."  He set the wine and glasses on the night stand.  "I
want to romance you, babe."  He poured a glass of wine and handed it
to Starsky, who had propped himself up on a couple of pillows while
he waited.  Hutch poured his own wine and held it up.  "It's kind of
corny, I guess, but...to us?"

     "Yeah, to *us*.  And our new house, wherever it is--but most
important...to us moving in together."

     "I'll drink to that."  Hutch tapped his glass against his lover's,
but before he could drink it, Starsky stopped him.  Then he moved
forward and then crossed arms before taking the first sip.  "I love you,
babe."

     "I love you too, you big gorgeous blond."  Starsky punctuated
his statement by sliding his fingers up into Hutch's hair.  

     Hutch set his wine aside, then took Starsky's, setting the glasses
next to each other.  He moved over his partner, blanketing him with his
own body, devouring his mouth greedily, their tongues sharing the
flavor of the wine, and each other.  He pulled away from the addictive
mouth and moved down to Starsky's neck, trailing kisses from his jaw
to his throat, pausing in the hollow there to lick and suck the tender
flesh, his efforts leaving a passion mark in their wake and drawing a
little groan of pleasure from the man moving under him.  

     And Starsky was always in motion.  Arms that moved up and
down Hutch's back, graceful fingers threading through his hair,
powerful legs spreading and closing around his hips.

     Hutch stopped his pattern of kissing, and dragged the tip of his
tongue down the middle of Starsky's chest until he stopped in a wet,
open-mouthed kiss centered between hardening nipples.  His tongue
encountered part of a surgical scar from the Gunther hit, and Hutch
kissed it, trailing kisses up the little line until he found himself under
Starsky's right nipple.  Every one of those scars was a lifeline--a sign of
survival.  He moved up to the taut nub and sucked it into his mouth,
drawing hard, loving the cry of pleasure it dragged out of Starsky just
before he grabbed onto Hutch's hair with both hands, and thrust upward
against him.  

     Satisfied the first nub had been sufficiently tormented, Hutch
licked his way over to its mate, and sucked it into his mouth.  

     "God, Hutch...too good..."  Starsky thrust up against him again,
and Hutch could feel the raging erection fighting for release.  

     "Relax, babe.  We've got a ways to go till the main event,"
Hutch muttered against the wet nipple before licking and nipping his
way down the flat stomach to the hollow of navel, which he teased and
poked with the tip of his tongue.  

     "I'm not gonna last, babe.  Gotta go for it soon," Starsky
managed, encouraging Hutch's head up and toward him, where they
met in a prolonged kiss.  

     "Uh, you should...uh, probably t-turn over," Hutch said,
immediately hating not only the awkwardness of his words but the
stutter that popped into the middle of them.  

     "I don't think I can do it that way, Hutch," Starsky said, his own
voice strained.  "I need t'see you."

     "It's going to be harder this way, I think."

     "I can't do it the other way, babe.  I'm sorry.  I can't."  

     "Hey, we'll work around it, love."  Hutch pulled his partner into
a close embrace.  "It's okay.  I just didn't want to hurt you."

     "I need to see you, Hutch," he repeated against Hutch's neck.  

     "I know, babe.  It's okay."  Hutch pulled back, smiling.  "We'll
just take it slow and easy, and do it face to face."

     "Sounds great," Starsky responded, grinning.

     "Let's get some pillows under your back, babe.  Otherwise
you're going to end up standing on your head with no support."  

     "Gee, thanks, Hutch, that sounds great," Starsky responded,
rolling his eyes.  

     "Hush up and lift your ass, huh?"  Hutch retorted, chuckling.

     "Man, all this nice music, sweet talk...you're makin' me cry
here, babe.  Is that how you talk to all your lovers?"

     "Just my partner."  Hutch smiled and stuffed a couple of pillows
under Starsky's lower back, which gave him some support.  He took the
physical cue and drew his knees back, exposing himself fully.  "I love
you, you know," Hutch said softly, kissing the inside of one of the
raised thighs.

     "I know.  Love you too."

     Presented with such unobstructed access to his lover's most
secret places, Hutch nuzzled the heavy balls, and then sucked one into
his mouth.  Starsky was grabbing the sheets, moaning, and Hutch knew
he was risking it by driving his partner so close to the edge.  Still, he
wanted Starsky so far gone with pleasure that fear wouldn't play any
part in their lovemaking.  

     Releasing the first oval from his mouth, he provided the same
stimulation to the second until finally relinquishing it to explore the
tender skin behind it, just above his lover's center.  

     "Aw, God, Hutch...do something," Starsky moaned, writhing a
little under the ministrations of the hot, wet, fiendish tongue.  

     "Skin's so soft here, babe.  Just like satin."  With that, Hutch
moved lower, flicking his tongue over the little pucker there.  Starsky
froze, and for a moment, Hutch wasn't sure if it was a bad sign, or if
he'd upset him somehow.  So he took the plunge and probed the little
pucker again with the tip of his tongue.  The sound that came from
Starsky was more of a low, animal growl of pleasure than anything
else.  It was a raw, animal reaction to the most intimate and primal an
act one lover could visit on another.  

     Hutch fumbled for the jar of Vaseline, and with a parting kiss to
the wet flesh, he concentrated his efforts on opening the jar and coating
his finger.  

     "You're going to feel my finger, babe.  Just relax, and tell me if
you want to stop."  Hutch leaned forward and kissed the flat stomach,
then concentrated on stroking and kissing a downy thigh as he carefully
slid one finger just inside the tight ring of muscle.  Starsky was silent,
and still, but he wasn't tensing against it.  "Love you, babe.  God, you
look so incredible...feel so good," Hutch muttered, hoping the soothing
little litany would relax Starsky, and it did.  He slid the finger further
inside, and began carefully stretching a little.

     "Mmm, feels good, babe," Starsky sighed, bearing down a little
on the invader.  

     Hutch carefully slid the first finger out and after adding more
lubrication, returned with two.

     "Two this time, love.  If it's uncomfortable, tell me."

     "It's uncomfortable without somethin' in there," Starsky
complained.  "How about gettin' the show on the road, blondie?"

     "Your wish..."  Hutch retorted, grinning and slipping the two
fingers carefully into the hot, slick passage that gripped them like an
iron glove.  His long middle finger was seeking something, a special
spot...

     "Aahhh!"  Starsky let out a shout of pleasure, his whole body
arching up as Hutch's finger brushed his prostate.  Deciding that was
worthy of an encore performance, Hutch repeated the motion, and drew
another electric jolt from his lover.  "Now, babe.  Want you now,"
Starsky panted.

     Hutch withdrew the fingers and coated himself, his own cock
throbbing at full hardness, waiting for release.  

     "Relax, love.  Gonna take it slow and easy.  Tell me how you're
feeling," Hutch said, lining the head of his cock up with the slick
pucker.  Then he pushed gently, then a little more firmly, and felt the
head pop inside the initial resistance.  

     "You're a big boy, Hutch," Starsky managed, his breathing
getting heavier now.  

     "You're not so bad yourself."  Hutch gently pumped Starsky's
cock with one hand, the other stroking his hip lovingly.  He pushed in a
bit further, but froze when Starsky groaned, and not in pleasure.

     "Hurts," he muttered.  "Wait a minute.  My stomach..."

     "Relax, babe."  Hutch moved his hand from Starsky's hip to his
stomach and rubbed gently.  "Love you, babe.  Relax for me. 
Everything's okay."

     "Try more," Starsky said finally, and gratefully, Hutch advanced
a bit more, and when he met with no more complaint, carefully slid the
rest of the way into the welcoming heat until his groin was pressed
against the firm mounds of Starsky's ass.  

     "We're there, babe."  Hutch kept up a slow, gentle pumping of
Starsky's cock while he spoke.  "Just me and thee."

     "Me and thee...  Forever," Starsky added, his voice still a little
strained as he fought to adjust to the large visitor stretching his
passage.  "Try moving, darlin'.  Just take it slow, okay?"

     "Always, babe."  Hutch pulled back slightly and slid back in,
watching Starsky's face for a sign of how to proceed.  Since that
movement didn't elicit much, he tried a bit more aggressive movement. 
He was stunned with Starsky thrust back in perfect counter-motion to
his move.  

     "Come on, babe, love me for real," Starsky said with a smile,
his hands managing to catch onto Hutch's, lacing their fingers.  "Just
like this.  I wanna come from you being inside me."

     Hutch took time to bring one hand to his mouth and kiss it
thoroughly before resuming their shared motion.  It was a gentle but
steady rhythm, but the tightness was unlike anything Hutch had ever
experienced before.  Beyond all that, though, it was Starsky.  Starsky's
body moving beneath him, and Starsky's voice coming out in low,
throaty moans of pleasure.  The one person he loved beyond all reason
or description was finally his lover, finally the one sharing his body as
well as his heart and soul.  Me and thee, indeed...

     He angled his strokes and grazed over Starsky's prostate,
watching his lover go wild with the sensations, writhing with the
pleasure and screaming out Hutch's name.  Then those tight internal
muscles were contracting around Hutch, squeezing him, milking him as
Starsky's completion shot over Hutch's chest and stomach.  The sight of
Starsky spiraling up to his climax, and his release, as well as the
incredible pressure on his cock, sent Hutch plummeting over the edge
himself, crying out Starsky's name as he filled the deepest recesses of
his body.  
     
     Spent, he was glad for the support of the strong hands that were
still entwined with his.  He managed to lean down low and steal a long
kiss, lingering to nudge his lover's nose.

     "You're the most beautiful being in the world, you know that,
right?"  Hutch said, diving in for another kiss.

     "I think it's a tie between me and my blond angel," Starsky said,
smiling and stroking back the now damp blond hair from Hutch's face. 
"I love you so much, darlin'.  Wanna be with you forever."

     "You will be, love.  You're never getting rid of me."

     "Never want to," Starsky countered, his voice very serious. 
"Not ever."

     "I'm gonna move now, babe.  Hold my hand.  It might smart a
little."  

     Hutch slipped free of Starsky's body as carefully as he could,
and only drew a slight squeeze from his lover's hand.  

     "Okay?"  Hutch asked hesitantly.  Starsky yanked the pillows
out from under him so they could stretch out together more
comfortably.  He happily accepted Hutch's weight pressing down on
him again, loving the warmth of the long body blanketing him.  

     "Great," he responded, smiling before accepting another kiss,
opening up to it and letting their two tongues slide lazily together.  

     "I didn't hurt you?"

     "You said you wouldn't...and you didn't, babe.  It was
incredible.  Loved bein' so close to you."

     "Being inside you was...there just aren't words, love.  It was..."

     "Like being one person."

     "Yeah, exactly."

     "We always were, babe.  One person."

     "We always will be.  I love you."

     "I love you too.  Now put that gorgeous head'a yours right here
and take a rest.  A performance like that oughtta be worth a nap."

     "Mmm.  Now *this* is good."  Hutch settled against Starsky's
chest, listening to the slightly elevated heartbeat evening out again as
his lover relaxed under him.  

********

     Long after Hutch had dozed off, Starsky was still awake, his
fingers toying with the soft blond strands.  Leave it to Hutch to take the
one thing he feared the most in the world and make it the most
beautiful moment of his life.  He treasured the weight and heat from
the body pressed against his, and even treasured what was a dull,
almost pleasant ache from their lovemaking.  He knew Hutch had been
there, no question about that.  But it wasn't pain.  It was just his body's
memory of something incredible--something that had driven out the
last of the demons once and for all.  

     "Leave it to my beautiful blond angel to drive all the demons
away," Starsky whispered, kissing the top of Hutch's head, smiling as
the other man stirred a little and smiled in his sleep.  Sighing
contentedly, Starsky closed his eyes and let himself drift.

********

     "I can't believe you actually came to consult the neighborhood
witch," Hutch teased as they drove toward Mrs. Weatherby's house.  

     "Just wipe that smirk off your face, buddy.  It's because of her
we're still sittin' here and not running around with pitchforks right
now."

     "Thanks for that mental image, Starsk."  Hutch chortled, then
became serious.  "She really told you to call on the dead?"

     "She really did.  And I did, and it worked.  When I really called
out for help, they were there."

     "Dobey still insists you called him on the radio."

     "Yeah, well, I didn't.  I didn't even have the transmitter with me
anymore."  Starsky was quiet a moment.  "Before I went the rest of the
way to the place where they were keeping you, I took it off, and I did it
because...because my dad thought I should.  It was like he talked to me. 
He was guiding me what to do."  Starsky shrugged.  "I know it sounds
nuts, and you know, a month ago, I wouldn't've bought it either..."

     "Is that the place?"  Hutch asked, gesturing toward the old
house to their right.

     "Yep, that's the place."

     "It's a dump, Starsky."

     "Well, it needs a little paint, a little cleaning--"

     "A little wood, a new foundation, a whole new *yard*."

     "She's an old lady, Hutch."  Starsky cut the engine and the two
men got out of the car.  "Hey, that wasn't there before," he said,
pointing at the "For Sale" sign in the front yard.

     "Must be she decided to sell before it tipped over."

     "Very funny," Starsky retorted, approaching the front door and
knocking.  Soon, a woman of about fifty opened the door.

     "May I help you?"

     "Is Mrs. Weatherby here?  She asked me to bring my partner by
to meet her."

     "Excuse me?"  The woman frowned, looking dumbfounded.

     "Mrs. Weatherby--is she here?"  Starsky persisted.

     "No, no she isn't.  I'm her niece.  My aunt has been dead for six
months.  We're just getting ready to settle the estate.  I'm sorry if you
didn't know before now."

     "Wait, that can't be.  I was just here a couple days ago."

     "Well, I don't know who you talked to, but it wasn't my aunt. 
Are you sure you have the right house?"

     "Are we talking about the same Mrs. Weatherby?" Hutch asked. 
"Is there anyone else in your family--"

     "My aunt died of a heart attack in her favorite chair--very
peacefully.  She was the only Mrs. Weatherby left in the family."

     "And the only psychic," Starsky added, more to himself than to
her.

     "Well, according to her, anyway.  If you ask me, it was all so
much mumbo jumbo cooked up by a lonely old woman.  But that's all
in the past now.  I'm sorry to cut this short, but I have to be going.  You
must be mistaken about when you spoke to her or you spoke to
someone else, which I find very unsettling.  I'll have to report that to
the police."

     "Don't bother, ma'am," Hutch said, flashing his badge.  "We'll
look into it."

     "Oh.  Well, good.  If you need me to sign something, let me
know.  I have an appointment, so if you'll excuse me."
     
     "Of course.  Sorry to have bothered you," Hutch responded. 
The door closed on them.

     "I know what I saw."  Starsky started down the front steps. 
"Hutch, I talked to her.  I touched her...she asked me to bring you here
when I got you back."

     "Starsk, I believe you.  We talked to Gail and touched her too.  I
can't explain how that happened either.  How these...*ghosts*, or
whatever the hell they were, ended up...corporeal."

     "Wait a minute."  Starsky paused by the "For Sale" sign. 
"Everything she told me was for a reason.  Whaddya wanna bet she
knew we'd be lookin' for a house."

     "Oh, no.  Wait just one minute, Starsk.  You are *not* going to
schnocker me into this dilapidated rat trap by turning it into a prophecy
from beyond the grave."

     "It was her last request--that I bring you here.  Why would she
ask that if she knew she wasn't gonna be here?"

     "I don't know that, but then I can't always effectively analyze
the motives of dead people.  I can't explain why you even saw or talked
to her, let alone why she would say what she did.  I'm just...grateful
we're both still alive to talk about it."

     "Think about it, babe.  All those big rooms--nice big yard.  It's
gotta be cheap--it's a fixer-upper, and it's in an estate!  Hutch, it's
perfect!  She wanted us to have it!"

     "Short of leaving it to us in her will, I don't buy that."

     "Aw, man, come on!  We could paint it up, fix up the porch... 
Hutch, it'd be *ours*.  Not yours.  Not mine. *Ours*.  Our house.  And
we could fix it up the way we wanted.  You could have a whole room
for your plants, and another one for your music, and I could have my
trains and my ship models, and we could have a library with
bookshelves, and I bet there's a really terrific big bedroom up there
somewhere," he said gesturing at the house.  

     Hutch looked back at the house, then looked back at the

imploring face he was getting from Starsky.  And he knew he'd been
had.  Game, set, and match to the Starsky hound eyes.  To those
sapphire eyes that got almost black with passion when they made love. 
To that man who held his heart and soul in the palm of one graceful-fingered hand.  

     "I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask how much they want for it," he
conceded.  

     "I know we can afford it!  I just know it!  Aw, Hutch, you're not
gonna regret this.  It's gonna be great!"

     Starsky continued to effervesce as they returned to the door to
drag the hurried woman back to answer their questions.  Hutch had
little doubt that even they could easily afford this giant money pit in its
present state.  Then he smiled to himself. //What the hell.  This is a
lifetime project...just like us.//

********

THE END...

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!