The Stowaway

Chapter One

“You’re faking.” Hutch glared at his partner in mock anger as he once again checked the readout on the thermometer. 102.6. Damn.

“You’re faking because you don’t want to go to this stupid Halloween party with me.”

“You’re on to me, buddy,” Starsky replied, dissolving into yet another paroxysm of coughing. “You know me too–” He paused to catch his breath. “–too well.”

“I’m not going. I never wanted to in the first place. I just let you talk me into it.”

“Hutch, you gotta go. You promised Richardson you’d be there.”

“No,” Hutch argued, raising his index finger so insistently that Starsky stifled a grin, “you promised her we’d be there. You never even asked me.”

“But you know I couldn’t go without you.”

“But you expect me to go alone?”

“Aww, c’mon, Hutch, this is different. How was I supposed to know I’d get sidelined with the flu at the last minute? Richardson’s counting on you showing up with your guitar. You know she’s gonna want you to sing for them.”

“I can live without doing that, believe me.”

“You gotta go.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You don’t have any valid excuses.”

“I’ll say I’m taking care of you.”

Starsky coughed again, then sighed. “Hutch, I’m a grownup. I can take care of myself and I’m sure Richardson knows that. If you don’t show up, her feelings are gonna be hurt.”

Hutch’s sigh matched his partner’s. “Fine,” he grumbled at last. “I’ll go. But I’m leaving early.”

Starsky lay back at last, relieved. He appreciated all Hutch’s efforts to care for him while he was ill, but at the moment all he wanted was to sleep. Hutch was worse than an overprotective grandmother when Starsky was sick. It was fine for a day or so, but this was going on the third day with no letup in his friend’s nursing care. Starsky was afraid if he couldn’t get rid of Hutch for a few hours, he was going to throw a bowl of chicken soup right in his face.

“What’re you gonna wear?”

Hutch looked at Starsky as if he’d gone completely nuts, and indicated the jeans and shirt he was currently wearing. Starsky shook his head vehemently.

“No way, Hutch, you can’t go to a Halloween party dressed like a normal person! Didn’t you get a costume, like I told you to?”

“Of course not. Starsky, you know dressing up isn’t my kind of thing.”

“It was once,” Starsky grumbled.

“That was different. There was something important riding on that bet.” Before it all went wrong, he thought, but didn’t add.

“There’s something important riding on this, too,” Starsky insisted.

“What’s that?”

“My reputation. How will I ever live it down if my partner is the only person to show up at a Halloween party with no costume? I’ll never be able to show my face at the precinct again.”

Hutch was gripped with an evil brilliance. “Fine,” he agreed, turning on his heel and going toward the living room. Starsky could hear him rummaging through a drawer, and when he returned he was carrying a large black magic marker. He opened Starsky’s dresser drawer and poked around until he found one of his partner’s seldom-worn undershirts.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.”

Hutch carried the shirt and marker out of the room, and when he returned a few minutes later, he had removed his own shirt and was wearing Starsky’s. On the front of it, in black marker, he had written, ‘MY HALLOWEEN COSTUME.’ On the back, in a scary-looking script, he’d added, ‘BOO!’

“Great,” Starsky groaned. “Nobody but you would think of something like that.”

“It’s what makes me unique,” Hutch returned. “You should be happy I’m agreeing to go to the party at all. I won’t have a good time, and it’ll be all your fault.”

“I can live with the guilt.”

“I’ll drop back by here afterwards to see how you’re doing.”

“Hutch, I’m fine.”

“I know,” Hutch agreed, suddenly serious. “But I worry. I just want to check your temperature again before I go home.”

“All right, fine,” his partner grumbled. “Come cluck over me some more, so you can go home and get some sleep.”

“Cluck?”

“Cluck. As in, like a mother hen.”

“You been talking to Dobey again?”

“Get out.”

Chuckling, Hutch obeyed.

*****

When he got to the party, things were already beginning to hop. There was music blaring from a stereo, and the drinks and food were flowing.

“Hutch!” Kathy Richardson, dressed in a classic Wicked Witch costume, greeted him at the door with a quick hug. “Starsky’s not with you? I was hoping he’d be over his flu by tonight.”

“He’s still got a fever,” Hutch told her. “He was really disappointed he couldn’t come. He’s been looking forward to it for weeks.”

“Well, here’s hoping he can make my Christmas party. Love your costume,” she winked, linking her arm with his and leading him inside.

Hutch wandered the room, talking briefly with the many coworkers he recognized. Most of them asked about Starsky, and Hutch wondered for a moment if his partner knew just how well-liked he was among their fellow cops. Sometimes it seemed as though half the force considered Starsky an oddball, but Hutch knew that wasn’t true. The genuine concern he was seeing for Starsky’s welfare touched him. He made a mental note to tell his partner about the many comments and well-wishes he’d received on his behalf.

Hutch danced a few times with different women, but for the most part he hung back toward the periphery of the party. It wasn’t that he felt out of place, really, just that Starsky was always the more social of the two. If he’d brought a date, it would have been different, but all his prospects had been unavailable–or at least had said they were. If Starsky had been here, he’d have hounded Hutch to join in some of the fun that was happening in various parts of the room, but on his own, Hutch was content just to watch. Sure enough, the sing-along Starsky had predicted came to pass, and Hutch was in demand with his guitar. He let them talk him into one solo, then managed to get a group of guests to sing with him. After half an hour he put his guitar aside, pleading tired fingers from all the paperwork he’d had to complete and sign while Starsky was out sick.

It was getting on toward midnight, and Hutch was wondering if he could make his exit without seeming rude, when Kathy strode to the middle of the room and called for quiet. Someone shut off the stereo, and all the party guests gave her their attention.

“In honor of it being Halloween, today I bought a new toy. And since it’s almost the witching hour,” she smiled evilly, “I’d like to invite anyone who wants to help me play with it.” So saying, Kathy removed a box from behind the sofa.

Hutch nearly groaned aloud when he saw what she had purchased. A Ouija board. Good grief.

There were assorted murmurs from the dozen or so guests, some positive and some negative.

“I don’t know about this, Kathy,” a woman Hutch knew only as Melanie said. “I’ve heard some pretty awful stories about those things.”

“Really?” asked Bob Tolman. “Want to tell?”

Melanie shivered visibly. “Not at midnight,” she said firmly. “Maybe sometime in the broad light of day.”

“I know there are stories, but they’re just that–stories,” Kathy replied patiently. “It’s only a board game, nothing more. If it was dangerous, surely you wouldn’t be able to buy it at toy stores.”

“Well, you can mess with it if you want, but I hope you’ll forgive me if I say I just don’t want to be part of it. Thanks for a lovely party, Kathy, but I’d better go.” So saying, Melanie took her leave, followed by three other guests who said their goodbyes quickly.

“Anyone else afraid?” Kathy asked the room at large, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Until that moment, Hutch had considered leaving with the others, but that word ‘afraid’ sparked memories of childhood dares. Suddenly, he found himself more embarrassed to walk out than to stay. Which was utterly stupid, he chided himself silently, but still very real.

“Come on, then, let’s all gather around the dining room table. Hutch, would you cut the lights? I’ve got some candles.”

“You’re really prepared,” Hutch observed as he watched her light two black taper candles and set them on the table. He waited until she had set up the board in between the candles to shut off the lights.

“I wanted this to be authentic,” she smiled.

“Kathy, if you really want an authentic Ouija experience, you have to stop fooling around,” James Davis commented. “I’ve been involved in stuff like this before, and the spirits don’t like to be played with. If you’re not serious, you shouldn’t do this at all.”

Kathy leaped on his statement. “Really? You’ve done this before?”

“A few times,” Davis nodded.

“Good, then you can show us how. And I promise not to crack any more jokes,” she said, visibly trying to get her teasing attitude under control. It was pretty clear Kathy had imbibed a few too many beers, and she was obviously a happy drunk.

“Everyone take a seat around the table, and we’ll all hold hands,” Davis ordered, his voice suddenly lower and more commanding than Hutch had ever heard it. Dramatic. Hutch fought the urge to roll his eyes.

For lack of a decent excuse, Hutch took a seat and allowed the friends on his right and left sides to grip his hands. He wondered if Starsky was awake, and how he’d react when Hutch told him what he’d missed. Starsky had a love-hate relationship with all things supernatural. They fascinated him, but they also scared the crap out of him at times. Starsky would either have loved participating in what they were about to do, or he’d have provided Hutch with the much-desired excuse to leave the party now. Hutch wasn’t sure which. With Starsky-logic, it could all hinge on what his partner had eaten for breakfast that morning, or something equally strange.

“Spirits,” Davis intoned from his spot at the head of the table, “we are here tonight to open ourselves to you, to allow you to reach out to us. We invite all friendly spirits in, and ask that you speak to us.”

He put his fingers lightly on the edge of the planchette, and motioned for the others to do the same. Hutch moved to obey, and at once felt an intense nausea grip him.

“Uh, you guys go ahead,” he said, brushing at his suddenly sweating forehead. He wondered if he’d caught Starsky’s flu at last. “I think I’ll just watch.”

“Ken, it doesn’t work as well if you break the circle,” Kathy protested.

“No, it’ll be fine,” Davis insisted. “Just don’t say anything to interrupt the spirits, Hutch.”

“No problem,” Hutch muttered, leaning back weakly in his chair. The nausea had subsided once he’d pulled his hands away from the planchette, but the weirdness of the occurrence had left him feeling a little shaky. ‘Good thing Starsky isn’t here,’ he told himself wryly. ‘He’d never let me live this down.’

Davis asked a few generic questions, beginning with, “Is anyone there that would like to speak to us?” The planchette remained firmly still. After several more attempts, he removed his fingers and sat back. “It’s not going to work,” he announced. “The spirits don’t like the circle being broken.”

“Come on, Hutch, please?” Kathy asked. “Just put your fingers on the pointer. You don’t have to say anything. Come on, I want to play with my new toy!”

Her exaggerated pout made Hutch smile and shake his head in defeat. “All right,” he agreed at last, and reached forward again. This time there was no nausea, and his fingers settled alongside Kathy’s and Roy Parmelee’s without incident.

“Spirits, speak to us,” Davis said, dropping into his sepulcher voice again, and to Hutch’s surprise, the planchette began to move.

At first the pointer moved around the board in a figure-8 pattern, stopping nowhere, refusing to respond to the questions Davis continued to ask. Then, after a minute, it paused above the K. Hutch watched, his eyes growing wider as it continued to spell out his name–not ‘Ken’ or even ‘Hutch’, but K. E. N. N. E. T. H.

He thought it would stop when it finished his name, but when the planchette headed back toward the ‘K’ he met Kathy’s eyes with a confused glance.

I.
L.
L.
S.
T.
A.
R.
S.
K.

Hutch wrenched his hands off the planchette angrily. “Very funny, guys,” he spat. “Who’s moving this thing?”

Nobody said a word.

Hutch got up and flipped on the lights, surveying his “friends” with contempt. “I want an answer,” he ground out. “Which one of you thought that was funny?”

“Hutch, I don’t think any of us was moving–” Davis began.

“Of course someone was!” Hutch nearly shouted. “Did you see what that thing was spelling out? Now I want to know who did it, and I want to know right now!”

“Hutch,” Kathy said softly, rising from her seat and putting a gentle hand on his arm. “I think you need to calm down. It’s just a game.”

Hutch shook her off. “It’s not a game when somebody tells me to kill my partner,” he retorted. “That’s not even remotely funny. I don’t know which one of you has that twisted a sense of humor, but I don’t want any part of this. Kathy, thanks for the invitation. I’ll be going now.”

Before anyone else could respond, Hutch was out the door.

He slammed into the car and dug his keys out of his pocket furiously. It took several tries for him to get the key in the ignition, and he realized with some shock that his hands were shaking.

Damned stupid game! he fumed silently. Knew I shouldn’t have gone to that idiotic party alone.

By the time he’d reached Starsky’s apartment, Hutch had cooled considerably. After all, he reminded himself, it was just a silly party game. Yes, one of their friends had a sick sense of humor, and he couldn’t figure out who among the group would have done it–but it really didn’t mean anything. Maybe he just needed to pick his friends more carefully in the future.

It certainly wouldn’t do to mention the event to Starsky. As paranoid as his partner could be at times, Hutch knew he’d never hear the end of it. Every time he accidentally bumped into Starsk, he’d be accused of trying to push his friend into moving traffic, or something equally absurd.

When he reached the apartment, all the lights were out except for a blue glow coming from the living room window. TV, his mind registered. Starsk must be feeling better.

Sure enough, he found his partner sprawled on the sofa, sound asleep in front of what appeared to be an old Clint Eastwood western.

“Come on, buddy, wake up,” he said softly, shaking Starsky’s shoulder. “Let’s get you back into bed.”

“Huh?” Starsky asked groggily.

“You fell asleep. You’re gonna have a crick in your neck if you don’t go to bed. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to sleep on the sofa without a pillow?”

“I don’t listen to a lot of things my mother tells me,” the darker man smirked. “Do you?”

Hutch ignored his question.

“How was the party?”

“Everybody missed you.”

“Didja have fun?”

“Not really.”

“Party pooper.”

“Actually,” Hutch admitted, settling his friend into bed, “it wasn’t that bad until toward the end.”

“What happened toward the end?”

“Nothing.”

Starsky rolled his eyes. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

Hutch stuck the thermometer into his mouth, hoping to shut him up, but things were never that easy with Starsky.

“You got turned down by some chick, right?” his partner said around the thermometer.

Hutch had picked up the second pillow to stuff it behind Starsky’s back, and for a moment he felt odd–dizzy, lightheaded–and something flashed before his eyes. It was so quick he could almost believe it hadn’t happened, but…

…he’d seen it. Himself, holding the pillow over his struggling friend’s face, Starsky’s legs kicking frantically, his arms pulling at Hutch’s in an effort to dislodge the smothering pillow, until finally they’d grown weaker and weaker, and then just fallen limply to the bed.

All of that in just a second.

White-faced, Hutch stared at the pillow in his hands.

“What?” asked Starsky, seeing his friend’s disconcerted expression. “I’m right, aren’t I? Who was she?”

“Uh, nobody you know,” Hutch answered lamely, handing the pillow to a confused Starsky. “Now shut up and let the thermometer do its work, would you? I’ll get you some water. It’s time for your pills.”

He returned with a glass of water and waited, timing the thermometer with his watch. When he removed it from Starsky’s mouth, he smiled. “Down to 100. I think you’ll pull through.”

Starsky downed the pills, placing the empty glass on the night table, and watched his partner. Something was going on, something that Hutch didn’t want to discuss. But how much trouble could the blond have gotten into at a party? Still, Hutch’s face had been absolutely colorless for a minute there.

“Anything else you need before I head out?”

Starsky shook his head, still not taking his eyes off Hutch. “Not a thing. Thanks.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just trying to figure out what you’re not telling me,” Starsky said after a moment’s pause.

“Starsk. Really.” Hutch made a show of straightening the blankets around his friend. “Get some sleep.”

“See you in the morning, Hutch.”

“Are you going to be up to working?”

“I’ll have to be. Can’t afford any more time off right now.” He waved his hand in a friendly dismissal. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. See you at eight.”

Hutch nodded and left, taking care to lock the door behind him. All the way home, he tried desperately to shake that awful image from his memory, but it wouldn’t budge.

K. I. L. L. S. T. A. R. S. K.–

Was it the Ouija’s message that had caused him to have such a vision? It had to be. As angry as he sometimes got with Starsky, the idea of actually causing physical harm to him had never crossed his mind. They were as close as any twin brothers could be, almost aching when the other ached. Hutch was surprised he didn’t have a sympathy-fever just because Starsky had the flu.

When he got home, he’d try a little light meditation to relax himself. That would put him to sleep.

*****

True to his word, Starsky was waiting for him when Hutch arrived the next morning. The minute his friend bounced into the car, Hutch knew it was going to be a long day.

“I’ve got it,” Starsky announced, stifling a cough.

“You’ve got what? Are you still running a fever?”

“Just a little one. If you haven’t caught this from me by now, you probably won’t. Sarah Daniels.”

“What? Log us in, Starsk.” Starsky did, and as he fumbled to put the mic away, Hutch asked, “What about Sarah Daniels?”

“I’m betting she’s the one who turned you down last night. Do I win the prize?”

Starsky’s eyes twinkled, and Hutch decided this was as good a time as any to nip his friend’s curiosity in the bud. “Yep, you got it in one. Coffee and a donut for you.”

“Let’s skip the donut,” Starsky grimaced. “I’m not feeling that much better.”

“How about some nice chicken soup?”

“Just as long as it comes from a can and not my Aunt Rosie’s house.”

*****

Later, having lunch at their desks because Dobey had insisted they finish their reports–“Daily, I’ve told you a dozen times, daily reports, not weekly!”–Hutch watch Starsky pick at a bowl of the cafeteria’s vegetable soup and half a turkey sandwich. It was the healthiest thing he’d seen his partner eat in a long time, although he wasn’t eating much.

“You should get sick more often,” he commented, rising and grabbing up the pot of fresh coffee. “Might do you good.”

“Very funny. If I ate this way all the time, I’d waste away to nothing.”

“Wouldn’t be a very long trip for you to be nothing,” Hutch replied in an odd voice.

The sheer meanness of the statement made Starsky swivel around to stare at the blond. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What?”

“That crack you just made!”

Hutch looked genuinely confused. “I didn’t say anything, Starsk.”

“Yes you did, you called me nothing!”

Hutch poured himself a cup of coffee, set it on top of the file cabinet, and poured a second for his friend. “Why would I say something like that? I think that flu’s affected your hearing.”

“I heard what I heard,” Starsky argued obstinately. “Not nice, Hutch. Not nice at all.”

“I’m telling you, I didn’t open my mouth,” Hutch protested. He reached to hand Starsky the cup of coffee, and that sense of dizziness, of being outside himself gripped him once more.

The next thing he knew, Starsky was yelling at him, and frantically mopping hot coffee out of his lap with a wad from the tissue box on the desk.

“Geez, Hutch, be careful! Are you trying to kill me?”

“God, Starsky, I’m sorry!” Hutch grabbed a handful of napkins from beside the coffee maker and tried to help clean up the mess. Starsky hissed in pain as his hands brushed burned thighs, and Hutch pulled back.

“Let’s go to the restroom and take a look at your legs, partner. You might need a doctor.”

“I’ll do it,” Starsky said. “You–stay here. And don’t touch any coffee.”

Hutch watched his partner leave the squad room, uncertain whether to follow or not. Starsky appeared truly angry, but he couldn’t figure out why. Sure, it wasn’t fun to have coffee dumped in your lap, but surely Starsky didn’t think he’d done it purposely. Did he?

When Starsky hadn’t returned five minutes later, Hutch launched a solo search. He found his partner in the men’s room, sitting on the edge of a sink with his jeans pulled halfway down, wetting paper towels with cold water and applying them to his legs. Hutch gasped when he saw the damage. Starsky’s inner thighs were visibly burned, and blisters had formed in a couple of places.

“Starsky, we’ve got to get you to a doctor.”

“Great. You want me to pull up my soaking wet jeans over this?” Starsky demanded, indicating his legs. “It hurts, Hutch.”

“I know. Wait here. I’ll find something.”

Hutch left, and returned a few minutes later with a pair of Starsky’s sweat pants he’d pulled out of his gym locker downstairs. “Here, put these on. I’ll tell Dobey we’ll be gone for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Oh yeah. He’s gonna love that,” he called to a retreating Hutch.

Starsky removed his shoes and carefully drew the sweats over his burned skin. Putting his sneakers back on, he wondered what the hell had happened. It had looked as if Hutch had deliberately dumped hot coffee in his lap. And that stupid remark he’d made–Hutch could swear he hadn’t said anything all he wanted, but Starsky knew what he had heard.

Something odd was going on with Hutch, but right now, Starsky just hurt too much to try and figure it out. He only hoped he could make it to the doctor in one piece. After all, Hutch would have to drive him.

He called his doctor from the phone on his desk and was told he could come right in, so that was a relief. No long wait at the emergency room, not to mention the extra charge to his insurance. Hutch came out of the inner office with Dobey right behind.

“You all right, Starsky?”

“I will be, Cap’n. Just as soon as I get a new lap.”

“Hey, buddy, you’re lucky it was just your thighs that got burned. Could have been worse.”

“Yeah.” Starsky turned back to Dobey. “Sorry about this, Cap’n. I know I just got back from sick leave–”

“Just get yourself taken care of. And Hutchinson? Try not to be so clumsy in the future, would you?”

Hutch looked at the ceiling and didn’t bother to answer.

“You ready, Starsk?”

“Yeah. And after this, you can buy me lunch, since mine got ruined.”

“Anything you want, buddy.”

The fact that Hutch didn’t even argue worried Starsky more than anything else so far.

 

Chapter Two

Both men were mostly silent on the way to the doctor’s office. Starsky leaned against the seat with his eyes closed, and every now and then Hutch, glancing anxiously over at his partner, would see a wince of pain cross his face. He knew Starsky was trying to be strong, but it had to hurt like hell. Hutch parked the car in front of the office, braking as gently as he could so as not to jostle the other man.

“Starsk? We’re here.”

Starsky opened his eyes, blinking a few times in the bright sunlight. He’d barely managed to get his door open before Hutch was there to help him. With his partner’s hand on his arm to steady him, Starsky walked slowly into the office. An occasional hissing intake of breath was the only indication of the pain he was feeling.

“David,” greeted the office nurse warmly. “We’re ready for you now.”

“Hi, Sarah,” Starsky returned, and followed her into an examining room. Hutch wasn’t sure if his partner wanted company or not, so he hung back until Starsky turned around. “You coming?”

“Uh–”

“After all, you got me into this.” The words, spoken with Starsky’s usual bantering tone, eased Hutch’s mind a great deal.

“Sure, if you need someone to hold your hand, I’ll be there, buddy.”

“Knew I could count on you,” Starsky’s voice drifted back to him.

The doctor came in shortly after Sarah had taken Starsky’s vital signs and gone. “What happened?” he asked.

Both detectives answered at once.

“I did it.” Hutch’s voice, guilty.

“It was an accident.” Starsky’s, firm.

Dr. Pryor looked from one man to the other, then nodded as if he understood perfectly. “Let me take a look.”

Starsky eased the sweats down to his knees, carefully avoiding scraping over the burned skin. Dr. Pryor gave a low whistle. “What did this?”

“Hot coffee,” Starsky replied, glaring at Hutch when his partner tried to step in and take blame again. “It was just an accident,” he repeated.

“First- and second-degree burns,” the doctor commented after examining the injured area. “Are you having much pain?”

“Yes, he is,” Hutch broke in before Starsky could answer.

“Thought so. I’ll give you something for that. I’m afraid you won’t be back at work for a few days. I’m going to write a prescription for some Silvadene cream. You’ll have to treat the burns twice a day with it and keep them covered with bandages.” He went on to explain the method for applying the cream, and Hutch listened intently, knowing Starsky was probably hurting too much right now to pay close attention.

“Got it,” Hutch said after the doctor finished speaking. “Doc, can you give him something for the pain now? I’m driving, so he’ll be all right, and he’s really hurting a lot.”

“I’m fine, Hutch.”

“That why you’re gripping the edge of that table so hard your knuckles are white? Come on, Starsk, it’s gotta hurt.”

“I’ll have the nurse give him something for the pain now, and I’ll also write a prescription for some pills. Burns like this are quite painful, usually. Take them if you need them, David. Don’t try to ride it out. There’s really no point.”

“Okay,” Starsky agreed. Now that relief from his agony was imminent, he was anxious to get the interview over.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let him ignore it,” Hutch said firmly.

“Will there be someone to look after you, David? You really shouldn’t be on your own for a couple of days. Walking is going to be more difficult than you imagine right now.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Will you stop answering for me,” Starsky said crossly. “Yeah, Doc, Blondie here’ll take care of me. It’s what he does best.”

The doctor smiled and handed Hutch Starsky’s prescriptions. “I’ll want to see you back in about four days. Make an appointment before you go.”

When the doctor left, Hutch turned to his partner. “Starsky, I’m so sorry, I–”

“Stop it, Hutch. Just stop. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.

You wouldn’t do something like that.” But Hutch’s hurtful words just before the coffee spilled–the ones Hutch claimed he never uttered–still stung, and that kind of ache, Starsky wasn’t sure how to deal with.

The nurse entered the room with a syringe in her hand, and Hutch took the opportunity to step out and book Starsky’s next appointment. He made a mental note to call Dobey as soon as he got Starsky home and settled, and break the bad news to him that they were both going to need more time off. ‘We’ll be lucky if we get paid at all next week,’ he thought grimly, but pushed the thought aside. Both of them had enough money in savings to cover a short paycheck, should worse come to worst. Besides, it was only another week or so. Starsky probably had enough junk food in his apartment to feed both of them for at least that long. He might die of indigestion, but he wouldn’t starve.

After they left the doctor’s, Hutch drove to the nearest supermarket that he knew also contained a pharmacy. “You hungry at all, Starsk?”

Starsky just shook his head. He’d slumped against the door and was almost asleep already from the medicine the nurse had shot him up with.

“I’m gonna go get your prescriptions filled then, buddy. I’ll be right back.”

“‘kay.”

While the pharmacist filled Starsky’s prescriptions, Hutch took a cart and pushed it up and down the frozen food aisle. Starsky had recently spent–in Hutch’s opinion–way too much money on a microwave oven, and now he was addicted to the convenience. He’d probably starve without it, Hutch told himself with a chuckle as he loaded up some of his partner’s favorites. He added some yogurt, bagels, and fixings for a salad for himself, then on impulse put a couple of thick steaks in the cart. Starsk probably wouldn’t feel like eating them tonight, but maybe tomorrow. Starsky’s favorite flavor of ice cream rounded out the order, and after picking up the medicine he paid for it all and left.

Hutch noticed Starsky didn’t even stir while he loaded groceries into the trunk of his car.

“You still with me, Starsk?”

“Mmm.”

He guessed that was a yes. The drive back to Starsky’s place took around fifteen minutes, and he unloaded all the groceries and put them away before disturbing his partner.

“Come on, buddy,” Hutch said, opening the passenger door and shaking Starsky gently. “We’ve got to get you upstairs.”

Starsky opened his eyes groggily. “Hutch?”

“Yeah. We’re at your place. Can you walk upstairs, or do I have to carry you?”

The thought of being carried by his partner was enough to wake Starsky briefly, and Hutch managed to get him upstairs with only one slight stumble. He guided Starsky toward the bedroom and settled him on his back, then pulled off Starsky’s shoes and socks. The sweatpants were more difficult, but he finally managed to get them off with only a couple of brief moans from his friend.

“Must have been some good stuff that nurse gave you,” Hutch muttered. He took the medical supplies out of the bag and, after reading the instructions on the Silvadene cream, washed his hands and carefully followed them. Once the bandages were in place, he took a light blanket and threw it over his sleeping partner. Starsky never even stirred during his ministrations.

Hutch reported to Dobey, made himself a salad and ate it, then read for a few hours until he heard Starsky stir.

“You awake?” he asked, standing in the bedroom door.

Starsky blinked sleepily. “Sorta. How long was I out?”

“About four hours.”

“Geez.” He yawned. “Don’t know what she gave me, but it worked.”

“Hurting any?”

“Nope. Not right now anyway. ‘m hungry.”

“How about some peanut butter fudge ripple ice cream?”

Starsky’s eyes widened. “You bought that for me?”

“Figured it was the least I could do after nearly castrating you.”

Starsky snorted. “Don’t worry, Hutch, that isn’t injured.”

“Good thing, or you’d have never forgiven me.”

“Hutch–”

“Be right back.”

Starsky tried to sit himself up, making very little progress without being able to use his legs to help. When Hutch returned, he placed two bowls of ice cream on the night table and grabbed his partner under the arms. A quick tug had Starsk sitting upright, and Hutch tucked the pillows behind his back. A memory of the vision he’d had the night before flashed quickly across his mind, and he blocked it out just as quickly. Stupid, he told himself, he was being stupid.

Starsky accepted the bowl of ice cream his partner thrust into his hands, and the two of them ate silently for a few minutes. When he’d finally scraped out the last bit of the tasty snack his spoon could capture, Starsky put the bowl aside and leaned back into the pillows.

“Hutch.”

“Hmm?” Hutch asked, still working on his ice cream.

“We gotta talk about this.”

“About what?” Hutch asked, his eyes not meeting Starsky’s.

“You know what. What happened there at the station?”

“What do you mean? I accidentally spilled coffee on you, that’s what happened.”

“Yeah, I know it was an accident. I know it was an accident because it’s you, Hutch, but if it was anybody else…”

Hutch raised his eyes then, and the look in them made Starsky pause. There was such an expression of anger there–something he wasn’t used to seeing on Hutch’s face, not directed at him. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and continued. “If it was anybody else, I’d’a said they did it on purpose.”

There. It was out. Hutch could make of that what he wanted.

Before his partner could answer, the phone beside Starsky’s bed rang, and he reached over to answer it, not taking his eyes off the blond. Hutch’s expression had gone from intensely furious to confused all in the space of one ring of the telephone.

“Yeah?”

“Starsky? It’s Kathy Richardson. How are you feeling?”

Realizing she probably didn’t know about his most recent mishap, he assured her, “I’m better, Kathy, thanks.”

“We sure missed you at the party last night. Hey, Hutch isn’t still mad, is he?”

“Mad?”

“Yeah, he was pretty upset when he left here. I admit, it was a dumb thing to do, but we were all a little drunk, and it was just a stupid party game. If I ever find out who was moving that thing, though, I’ll kick their asses, you tell Hutch that for me, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll tell him.”

“You take care, now, Starsky. Bye.”

“Bye.” He put the phone down by touch, still not moving his gaze from his partner.

“Kathy?” Hutch asked unnecessarily.

“She hopes you’re not still mad.”

“Oh.” Hutch raised both eyebrows, as if the question of him being angry was a silly one, and gathered up their bowls.

Starsky waited while Hutch washed the dishes, dried them, and put them away. It was clear the other man was stalling, and the more he did, the more curious Starsky grew.

When Hutch finally ran out of excuses to stay in the kitchen, he wandered back to Starsky’s bedside. Starsky patted the side of the bed, but it wasn’t an invitation. It was a command. Hutch obeyed, carefully studying his shoes.

“Tell me what happened at the party last night.”

Hutch shrugged nonchalantly. “It was nothing, just a stupid game.”

“Yeah, so she said. What was it about a stupid game that made you angry enough to leave the party?”

“Look, Starsk, we’d all had a few too many beers, I guess.”

“She said that, too.”

“And Kathy had this stupid board game she’d picked up yesterday.”

“What game?”

Hutch turned deliberately to stare at Starsky, and again Starsky saw something unfamiliar flicker in the pale blue eyes. “Why are you pushing this?”

“Because I want to know what’s been eating you all day. And don’t deny that something has. You never would’a spilled coffee on me on a normal day, Hutch. Something’s bothering you.”

Hutch continued staring for a moment, but when Starsky didn’t back down or look away, the odd flicker died out in his eyes and it was just Hutch again. He sighed.

“She had a Ouija board, okay? I didn’t even want to participate, but like an idiot I let them talk me into it. And then–well, Starsk, one or more of our so-called friends has a very bizarre sense of humor.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, at first. I didn’t even have my hands on the damn thing. Then they said it wouldn’t work without everybody playing, and you know how Richardson gets those big puppy-dog eyes and that pout…”

Starsky shot his partner a sympathetic grin. “You let her get to you.”

“In a big way. So I went ahead and put my fingers on the stupid thing, and the next thing I know, it’s spelling out my name.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And–I know there’s more to the story that you’re still not telling me. You wouldn’t be upset over it spelling out your name. What did it say that makes you believe someone has a bizarre sense of humor?”

Hutch sighed again. “Starsk, just drop it, okay?”

“No way, buddy. You’re in this too deep now. You have to tell me everything.”

“Fine!” Hutch bit out, rising from the bed. He started out of the room, and then turned back to point his finger at his partner. “It told me…Starsky, it told me to kill you.”

From the way Hutch had been acting, Starsky suspected it had been something along those lines, so he was somewhat prepared. He never missed a beat.

“You’re not gonna do it, are you?”

Hutch, who had turned away again, ostensibly to go to the bathroom, swung around to glare at his partner. It wasn’t until he saw the twinkle in Starsky’s eyes that he realized the other man was joking.

“Don’t tempt me,” he advised with a wink before disappearing around the corner.

After he’d gone, Starsky’s slight smile faded away. He didn’t know much about these things, but one thing he did know was Hutch, and Hutch had most definitely been acting strangely today.

In fact, he’d been a little off last night, for a few minutes there.

Thinking it best not to pursue the matter further just now, Starsky let it drop, and when Hutch returned, he challenged his partner to a game of chess.

*****

Two days later, Starsky was beginning to seriously worry about his friend.

It wasn’t like Hutch, usually so cheerful and optimistic, to be in such a foul mood for such a long time. He’d been rude, abrupt, and even downright nasty a time or two in the past few days. Starsky had tried to talk him into going back to work, claiming he’d be fine on his own for a few hours, but if nothing else, Hutch’s sense of duty kept him at Starsky’s side.

The only thing was, Starsky was growing more than a little afraid that Hutch might do something besides just yell at him. He walked on verbal eggshells, and sometimes it was enough, but it was almost like Hutch resented being there.

And that wasn’t like Hutch, either. Not at all. They’d always cared for one another when they were ill or injured. Sure, Hutch had been putting in some Starsky-overtime lately, what with the flu and now this injury, but it wasn’t as if that had never happened before, either.

Something was just…not right. Starsky felt as if there was a stranger roaming his apartment, and he didn’t like being even partially at this person’s mercy.

“Time for this again,” Hutch announced, coming from the bathroom with the Silvadene cream and gauze bandages. Starsky noted with relief that for the moment, Hutch sounded like himself.

“I can do it, Hutch,” he offered, but Hutch shook his head.

“No you can’t. You can’t reach all the places it needs to go without hurting yourself. Just let me, Gordo.”

“Okay,” Starsky agreed reluctantly, “but I really can do it.”

Hutch ignored him, and pulled off the old bandages as carefully as he could. He winced when the tape pulled at the hair on Starsky’s legs. “Sorry.”

“‘S’okay.”

After removing the old bandages, Hutch began gently spreading the cream over Starsky’s burns with a sterile tongue depressor. Starsky leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. The cream was cool, and as long as Hutch was careful, having it applied wasn’t overly painful. He hadn’t even needed one of his pain pills today.

Hutch was almost finished, having covered the lesser of the burns, and was now making his way to where the blisters were, when Starsky gasped and his eyes flew open in shock. His partner was no longer even attempting to be gentle–in fact, he was slapping the tongue depressor angrily against Starsky’s burned skin.

“Hutch–”

“Shut up!” Hutch growled, and Starsky’s eyes widened at the low, unfamiliar voice.

Afraid to say anything that might further enrage his partner, Starsky gritted his teeth, clenched his hands into fists, and rode it out. By the time Hutch was ready to apply fresh bandages, whatever force had gripped him had subsided, and he was once again the tender friend Starsky knew.

“You okay, buddy?” Hutch asked, nothing but concern on his face as he noticed the slight tearing in Starsky’s eyes. “You’re white as these sheets. You hurting?”

“Yeah,” Starsky managed, breathing heavily.

“Hang on, I’ll get you some water and you can take a pain pill.”

The idea of being in a drugged sleep while Hutch was in his apartment suddenly scared Starsky to death.

“No, I’m okay, Hutch. I’d rather just deal with it. You know I hate what those things do to me.”

“Starsk, there’s no point in you lying there in pain–”

“Really, it’s not that bad.”

Hutch studied his partner for a few seconds, then came to the bed and sat down deliberately. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” Starsky had to use all his willpower not to draw back, but this was Hutch for God’s sake!

“You act like you’re afraid of something.”

“Just tired, I guess. Look, I’ll be fine here now. You should go on home tonight. Sleeping on my sofa can’t be doing your back any good.”

Hutch’s brow furrowed with his frown. “You sure?”

“Yeah. If it’ll make you feel better, you could come by tomorrow and put the cream on before you go to work.” Even as he said the words, Starsky felt a coldness in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he’d take a pain pill tomorrow before Hutch arrived. That should protect him from any repeat of the odd behavior of a few minutes ago.

Hutch patted his knee softly. “Think I’ll do that, then, if you really don’t mind being alone. I’ll have the phone right next to me, though. You gotta promise to call if you need anything, Starsk.”

“Promise. Go home, get some decent sleep for a change. I’ll be fine.”

“Sure you don’t want that pain pill? You’re sweating, and you still look pale.”

“Nah, I’ll be okay. Go on, Hutch. You deserve a break. All you’ve done for the past two weeks is take care of me.”

“I’ll be here at seven.”

“I’ll have coffee ready.”

“Uh-uh. Don’t want you up and about. I’ll bring the coffee.”

“Donuts too?” Starsky asked hopefully.

Hutch smiled. “You bet, partner. Night.”

“G’night, Hutch.”

Starsky lay in the bed, listening carefully for the sound of Hutch driving away. It was at least half an hour before he relaxed fully. When he finally did, he limped into the kitchen and swallowed one of his pills. Then he reached for the telephone and dialed The Pits.

“Diane? Get me Huggy, would you? Hey, Hug, it’s Starsky.”

“Starsky, m’man, what can I do for you?”

“I need a favor. And I need you to keep it just between the two of us.”

“Uh oh. Last time you asked me to do that, it was bad news.”

“It’s not bad news yet, Huggy. Just something I want to check up on without Hutch knowing. Can I trust you?”

“You gotta ask?” Huggy demanded indignantly. “What is it you need?”

“Tomorrow, I need you to get me some books from the library.”

*****

True to his word, Hutch arrived promptly at seven, bearing coffee, a bagel for himself, and two chocolate covered donuts for Starsky.

“You’re too good to me, pal,” Starsky grinned, accepting the offering and biting happily into a donut. “How was Dobey when you told him you’d be back at work today?”

“Grumpy because you weren’t,” Hutch answered. “But I told him not to look for you until Monday.”

“I could probably go in and get some desk work done,” Starsky mused. “I’m not exactly bedridden now, Hutch.”

“I know, but I’d rather you didn’t. The doctor said you were susceptible to infection, and you never know what kind of scum you’ll run into down at the station. Besides, until he sees you on Friday, you should consider yourself not cleared for duty.”

“Yes, Ma,” Starsky sighed, licking the chocolate from his fingers.

In the warm light of the rising sun, he could almost forget how much last night’s bandage change had hurt him, and he’d overslept this morning so he hadn’t had a chance to down that pain pill he’d planned to take before Hutch got here. Now he could only pray that whatever weirdness was periodically gripping his partner would be absent this morning. It had taken him two hours to fall asleep last night because of the throbbing in his thighs, and that was after taking one of his pills prior to his talk with Huggy.

Starsky soon found out he needn’t have worried. Hutch was his usual careful self while tending his partner’s burns, and after finishing up with fresh bandages and washing his hands, even fluffed the pillows and made sure Starsky was completely comfortable.

“I really don’t like leaving you alone all day. It was different while you were asleep, but if you should need something–”

“Hutch, I promise, if anything happens and I need you, I’ll call. And if you’re really going to fret, you can always drop by here on your lunch break.”

“Oh, I plan to do that. I’ll bring you something disgusting to eat.”

Starsky grinned widely. “Thanks, buddy.”

Hutch left, reluctantly, and Starsky lay back on the pillows, thinking hard. It was so easy this morning to tell himself that he’d imagined all the odd things Hutch had done the night before.

And even if his partner had been a little rough with the treatment, he was tired. He’d been taking care of Starsky non-stop for so long, and Hutch tended to worry more than was necessary anyway. It was probably just stress, coupled with fatigue. And Starsky had to admit that when he was forced to let Hutch take care of him, he could be more than a bit of a pain in the ass at times. It was his way of coping with the loss of control.

Starsky spent the morning in front of the television, dozing mostly, since daytime TV was enough to rot anyone’s brain. By the time he heard Hutch fumbling at the door, his stomach was beginning to growl.

“Hey,” the blond called, stepping into the apartment and shutting the door. “What are you doing up?”

“Got tired of looking at the ceiling,” Starsky answered. “What did you bring me?”

Hutch grinned and held out a white paper bag that already had a few grease spots forming on the bottom. “Just what I promised. Something disgusting.”

“Tacos!” Starsky crowed, recognizing the bag from his favorite Mexican take-out. “Thanks, Hutch.”

“Sure.” Hutch sat down next to Starsky and opened a deli sandwich for himself. “Boring around there without you, though. Dobey’s been bellowing all morning, too.”

“Sorry,” Starsky offered, not really sounding sorry at all. “What’s his beef?”

“He keeps muttering something about his best pair of detectives being out of work soon, just before he yells at somebody to sign something, or finish some report, or clarify something written in the report we haven’t signed.”

Starsky grimaced. “Sounds like he’s really on the rampage.”

“Ah, he’ll get over it. I called Edith and begged her to get him off our backs. When I left, she was just arriving with a special lunch she’d made for him. He should be a pussycat this afternoon.”

Starsky almost choked on his taco laughing. “Now why didn’t I ever think of that?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures. How are you doing this morning? Any pain?”

“Nope, I’m fine. Huggy’s supposed to drop by later, so I’m sure he’ll take his turn at nagging me.”

The moment the words were out, Starsky realized his mistake.

“What’s Huggy coming over for?”

“Uh, I think he just wants to check up on me. Did you put him up to that, Hutch?”

“You know very well I didn’t,” Hutch replied, and his voice was quietly controlled. “What’s going on, Starsk?”

“Nothing, I just–”

“Don’t lie to me!”

Starsky actually jumped, the change in Hutch was so sudden and so frightening.

“Hutch, I’m not lying! Huggy just called to see how I was doing last night and he said he might drop by this afternoon. It’s no big deal. Honest.”

Any further argument was interrupted by a knock at the door. Starsky blanched. It had to be Huggy, and if he’d done as Starsky requested, his arms would be full of incriminating reading material.

“I’ll get it,” Hutch said, pushing gently on Starsky’s shoulder as his partner tried to stand. “You just stay put.”

Starsky obeyed, feeling in the pit of his stomach that something very bad was about to happen. The rapid switches from Normal-Hutch to Evil-Pod-Person-Hutch and back to Normal-Hutch were giving him a headache. He feared that was soon to be the least of his worries.

“Huggy, hi,” Hutch greeted, swinging the door open. “What’s all this?” He reached to take a few of the books that were beginning to slide from Huggy’s arms.

“Oh, just…uh…”

“Dark Stories of Ouija,” Hutch read. “The Truth Behind the Parlor Game. Huggy, what the hell is all this about?”

“I asked him to bring them,” Starsky said from behind Hutch. “I just wanted to know a little more about–”

“You asked him!” Hutch flared. “Why? To spy on me?”

“Spy on you?” Huggy demanded. “Hutch, have you lost your mind? Starsky wouldn’t no more spy on you than–”

“Oh, can it, Huggy. It wouldn’t be the first time he went behind my back, and you know it.” He turned to Starsky. “So I was right,” he sneered. “You were lying. This is no visit just to check up on you.”

Starsky, trying to gain control of a situation that was rapidly unraveling, put a hand on Hutch’s arm. “Hutch, calm down. Will you just let me explain?”

Hutch jerked his arm away roughly. “Don’t tell me to calm down! I want to know what this is all about, and I want to know right now. I want to know why you have Huggy sneaking around, doing your dirty work–”

“Why are you so sure this is all about you? For your information, Blondie, the world don’t revolve around your hind end.”

Hutch stopped, taken aback by Huggy’s vehemence.

“Starsky asked me to pick up these books because a friend told him she was concerned.”

“Kathy?” Hutch asked Starsky.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, Kathy.” Huggy caught on quickly, although he’d never actually heard the woman’s name before. “She was worried about something that happened at a party the other night, and Starsky said he’d help her out.”

“Tell me what happened, Starsk,” Hutch invited in a voice so silky that Starsky knew they hadn’t fooled him one bit. “After all, Kathy’s my friend, too. Maybe I can help.”

“Sure, Hutch, I’ll tell you all about it, after Huggy’s gone. He doesn’t want to hear this stuff.”

“Darn right, I don’t,” Huggy agreed. “I told you, Starsky, this stuff is bad news. The stories I could tell you–”

“Don’t,” Hutch ordered. “He doesn’t need anymore strange ideas in his head.”

“Thanks, Huggy,” Starsky said, practically shoving his friend toward the door. “I know you have to get back to get ready for the dinner rush.”

Huggy looked from Hutch to Starsky. The message he saw in Starsky’s eyes was disconcerting. ‘Go,’ it said, ‘go now. Please.’

“You call me if you need anything,” he said, stressing the last word. Starsky nodded, thanked him again, and shut the door behind him.

Then he turned to face his partner, wondering which of the two Hutches it would be. He was afraid he could guess.

“So,” Hutch said, flipping through one of the books Huggy had dropped on the coffee table. “You want to tell me what this big problem is with Kathy, buddy?” His voiced dripped sarcasm.

“Hutch,” Starsky said softly, leaning against the front door, “I don’t want to argue with you. It’s just that, ever since that party…you’ve said and done some pretty odd things.”

Hutch looked up, pinning Starsky to the door with his gaze. “Odd?” he asked, dropping the book and slowly advancing.

“Yes.” Starsky raised his chin defiantly. If Hutch wanted a fight, he was going to give as good as he was able. He didn’t have much doubt Hutch could beat him, not given his present condition, but he wasn’t going to go down easy. “You’ve said things, and done things that the Hutch I know would never do or say.”

“Such as?” Hutch continued to advance.

“Such as dumping that coffee on my lap, for one thing!” Starsky retorted. “I know we both pretended it was an accident, but Hutch, I know what I saw! And I know what I heard that day, too. And then last night, when you were putting that cream on my legs–you hurt me deliberately, buddy. But the thing is, I don’t think it was really you.”

“And just who do you think it was?” Hutch asked, his voice still deadly calm. He stood directly before Starsky now, and Starsky forced himself to meet Hutch’s eyes.

“I think some sort of–of–spirit or demon or something got into you at that party,” he said levelly. “And I think that spirit or whatever it is, for whatever reason, wants to hurt me.”

“That’s insane.”

“Maybe. But how do you explain not even remembering what you said to me? And you did say it, Hutch. And then when you hurt me last night, in the next minute you were all soft and gentle, like you’d normally be if you were doing something like that. And Hutch, you’ve been that way all week! First you yell at me, then you act like it never happened. I think you do that because you don’t even remember it happening.”

“That,” Hutch announced, reaching out and gripping Starsky’s biceps tightly, “is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Hutch–”

“Do you really think–” Hutch pulled him away from the door, not letting go of his arms, and began to shake him roughly. “–do you honestly believe that I’m…what?…possessed or something? Is that what you think, Starsky?”

“Hutch, let go of me, you’re–”

Hutch swung him around and shoved him onto the couch, falling atop Starsky and pinning him down. Starsky let out a yelp when Hutch’s body landed on his burned legs.

Hutch kept on shaking Starsky, slamming his head into the sofa cushion hard enough to hurt, and Starsky struggled beneath the larger man for all he was worth. Hutch seemed stronger, or maybe Starsky was weaker from his illness, but he couldn’t seem to get the upper hand, and they were usually pretty evenly matched.

Just when Starsky had resigned himself to enduring the agony until Hutch decided to stop, his partner froze.

“Oh,” Hutch said softly, staring down at Starsky with horror in his eyes. “Oh, God. Starsk. What–”

“Couldja get off me, please?” Starsky gasped. “Hurts.”

Hutch stood up, and helped his partner to a sitting position.

“Starsky, I don’t know what–did I do this to you? I don’t understand–I don’t remember–Starsk, how did I end up–?” He ran his fingers through his blond hair, clearly agitated.

Starsky fought to get his breathing under control while he watched his partner warily. When Hutch dropped into a chair, frightened and confused, he leaned forward and lay a comforting hand on the blond man’s knee.

“Hutch, please, buddy,” he almost begged. “You gotta let me try to help you.”

 

Chapter Three

“Help how?” Hutch demanded. “Help with what? Starsky, I don’t understand what’s going on here!”

“I know that!” Starsky shot back. “You think I do? But one thing I do understand, this thing inside of you hates me, and I can’t take much more of it, Hutch. Not while it’s wearing your face.”

Hutch stood up and began pacing back and forth in front of the sofa. “All right,” he bit out at last. “I’ll admit there’s something–strange happening, but it can’t be what you think.”

“Can’t it?”

“Starsk, those things don’t exist! They’re stories, fairy-tales. There’s no such thing as demon possession!”

“Then what do you think it is?”

Hutch stopped, staring out the window at the bright afternoon suddenly grown cloudy in his mind. “How the hell do I know?” he snapped. “If I knew, I’d–maybe I need to see a doctor. It’s not normal to have these blackouts.”

Starsky shook his head vehemently, crossing to where his partner stood. “You can’t do that, Hutch,” he argued, putting a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “They’d yank you off the streets!”

“Starsky, I’d rather have my career ruined than hurt you, maybe even kill you!” Hutch pointed at the sofa with an angry finger. “I had you pinned down there, you couldn’t even move…and I don’t remember doing it, Starsk! That’s the scariest part! How could I have done that to you? I’d never–not even in my subconscious–want to hurt you like that!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Starsky was suddenly exhausted. He rubbed his head, which was beginning to ache in earnest now, and dropped to the chair Hutch had just vacated. “I know you wouldn’t, Hutch. I’m just saying, let’s not be so quick to do something that might ruin both our careers.”

“Both?”

Starsky snorted. “You think I’m hitting the streets with some young punk to back me up? Not in this lifetime, buddy. At this point, it’s you or nobody.”

Hutch couldn’t prevent a small smile at the loyalty of his partner. “Well if this keeps up, it just might end up being nobody. I don’t know what’s happening, Starsky but I know it isn’t right. And I agree, we have to do something. I’m just kind of at a loss…”

“Huggy,” Starsky said immediately.

“Oh, please, Starsk–”

“No, wait, hear me out. Huggy has a cousin–”

“Doesn’t he always?”

Starsky sighed patiently at the interruption. “Look, Huggy knows about these Ouija board things. He told me there are stories that would curl your toes. He doesn’t even like to talk about it. And whether the stories are true or not, the fact is, Hutch, that you didn’t start this weird behavior until after that night at the party.”

Hutch was silent, pretending to study the street below so he wouldn’t have to look at his partner.

“What could it hurt, Hutch? Let’s just talk to the man. Remember Huggy’s vampire cure?”

Hutch had to laugh at the memory of the strange ritual Huggy had insisted on performing on Starsky that night after the girls had gone home. “Yeah, I remember. As I recall, it involved something he swore up and down was chicken blood.”

Starsky grinned. “Yeah, but it didn’t hurt me any. So whatever weird thing his cousin wants to do, I’m sure it won’t hurt you, either. And you never know. It just might work. After all,” he joked, “I didn’t change into a vampire.”

“You weren’t dead.”

“Huh?”

“The vampire has to kill you before you turn into a vampire.”

“I thought you said vampires don’t exist.”

“Starsky–”

“Will you just think about it? Please, Hutch.”

“Fine,” Hutch grumbled after a few seconds. “We’ll go see him. But not until tomorrow, after your doctor’s appointment. And I’m only doing this to humor you, Starsk.”

Starsky relaxed a bit now that the promise had been extracted. “Always knew you were a pushover.”

“Yeah, well this pushover had better get back to work, or Dobey’ll be more lion than pussycat in spite of Edith’s best efforts.”

“You should send her flowers or something. What she did was definitely beyond the call of duty.”

“Maybe I’ll do that.” Hutch smiled as he waved goodbye to his partner and left.

Starsky waited until he heard Hutch’s car pull away before grabbing up the telephone.

“Huggy? Glad I caught you. No, I’m ok, everything’s fine. Listen, I need your help with–yeah, he agreed. Finally. Tomorrow afternoon all right? Great. We’ll be there. Thanks, Hug.”

*****

“Enjoy your lunch, Captain?”

“Of course I did, Hutchinson, but the next time you feel the need to enlist my wife’s help you might consider that she has enough to do without running down here to rescue your sorry butt. How’s Starsky? When’s he coming back to work?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Captain. I think Edith just loves you and wanted to do something nice for you. Is your birthday coming up, maybe? Starsky’s doing better. He has another doctor visit tomorrow, and he should be back in here on Monday.”

“Good. My birthday’s not for another four months. I want you two back out on the streets where you belong. Having you around the squad room is getting on my nerves.” Dobey retreated back into his office, muttering under his breath, “I’m beginning to talk like him now!”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Nice to spend time with you, too,” he muttered, inserting another blank report form into his typewriter. “If I don’t get away from this desk soon, I’m not going to be responsible for my actions.”

That comment, naturally, started him thinking about his recent memory blackouts, and the things Starsky had said. He propped his chin on his fist and stared at the wall. His generous partner would say he wasn’t responsible for those actions, either, but Hutch felt differently. He’d never forget the moment of regaining–was it consciousness?–and finding himself leaning over a frightened, hurting Starsky. The look of relief on the curly-haired man’s face when Hutch had come back to himself was enough to fuel the Hutchinson guilt for a long time to come. Just what had Starsky been afraid his best friend might do to him? And what were the things he’d supposedly said to Starsky–yelled at him–during the past week?

Hutch wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

*****

After work, he mentally debated whether or not to visit Starsky, and finally decided on a call. He found himself both relieved and apprehensive when his partner told him to come over.

“You’ll just fuss about me getting the cream on the burns right if you don’t do it. This way you can see for yourself–”

“But Starsk, what if…”

“Hutch,” the answer came back immediately, in a voice that was clear of any teasing, “I trust you. And if something happens that’s not your fault,” Starsky emphasized, “I can take care of myself. Don’t worry.”

“Like you did this afternoon?”

Starsky sighed. “That took me by surprise,” he admitted. “This time, I’ll be ready.”

Hutch was silent for so long, Starsky was concerned. He was just about to break the tension with a lame joke when Hutch finally spoke up.

“All right. All right, but just to do the cream. I’m not staying any longer than necessary. There’s no point in taking chances.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly, Starsky! Who knows what could happen if I black out like that again?” Hutch flared.

“Well, if you go home and have a blackout, what’s to stop you from driving over here, if you’re determined to get to me?” Starsky asked reasonably.

“Stop it,” the blond commanded sharply. “Just stop.”

“Sorry, Hutch, but I just think you’re worrying too much.”

“Did you talk to Huggy?”

“Yeah. He said four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. That’ll give us time to have some lunch before we go.”

“Great. All right, I’m leaving here in ten minutes, as soon as I turn these reports in to Dobey. I’ll see you in half an hour.”

“Did the Edith Special soften him up?”

“Not so’s you’d notice.”

“Ouch. Tough room.”

Hutch could almost see Starsky’s sympathetic grimace as he hung up the phone.

*****

After Starsky was given the all-clear by his doctor, Hutch was able to persuade his partner to come back to his place and order pizza. He wasn’t feeling confident enough to sit in a restaurant somewhere, and the thought of Starsky’s request–take-out burritos–just turned his stomach.

So far the day had been uneventful. He’d put in a full morning at work, assuring Dobey again that Starsky would be back, fit and ready to go on Monday, then picked up his friend and taken him to his appointment.

Now the clock was creeping on toward late afternoon, and Hutch was growing more uncertain by the minute.

“Will you relax?” Starsky asked, patting Hutch’s shoulder, and the blond man gave a small smile, realizing Starsky had seen what he’d been trying to hide from him for the past few hours.

“Sorry,” Hutch shrugged. “It’s just–this whole thing has me weirded out. I don’t know what to think, and I certainly don’t believe anything Huggy’s cousin can do is going to change anything. I still think I need to make an appointment with some kind of doctor. Maybe a psychiatrist.”

“Okay, but before you jump in the deep water with both feet, why not try this first?” Starsky persuaded. “You may want to deny the existence of magic and voodoo, but you can’t deny Papa Theodore did something to me on that island.”

“That was drugs, Starsk, and hypnosis.”

“Well whatever it was, it nearly worked,” Starsky insisted, still uncomfortable with the hazy memory of attacking his friend.

“You know, that’s a possibility,” Hutch mused. “A slim one, but something we haven’t thought of before.”

“What?”

“That someone managed to slip me a drug that makes me have these blackouts, and exhibit aggressive behavior toward you.”

“If that were true, how could they make sure you’d only be aggressive toward me?” Starsky asked as he hefted another slice of pepperoni pizza. “I haven’t seen you–change–with anyone else.”

“But you haven’t been around me that much,” Hutch pointed out. “I’ve been at work while you’ve been at home.”

“Has anyone else complained?”

“No, but Dobey’s sure been on a tear this week.”

“Aww, he’s just grumpy because I got hurt right after recovering from the flu, and we couldn’t go out on the streets. He’ll be fine on Monday, you watch.”

“Maybe.” Hutch fiddled with his Coke can, wiping away the beads of condensation that had formed on the outside. “Starsk, I don’t want to do this. It just doesn’t feel right, somehow.”

Starsky took a napkin, wiped cheese from his chin, and wadded it into a ball. He played with it as he considered how best to persuade Hutch to go along with the plan.

“I can’t force you,” he said at last, trying for a casual tone. “But I really think you ought to at least give it a try. I mean seriously, Hutch, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Hutch grinned. “I could get chicken blood on my new shirt?”

“So wear an old one.”

“You really want me to go through with this, don’t you?”

Starsky nodded.

“Why are you so sure it’ll work?”

“I’m not. I’m just–scared of the alternatives. If this weird, way-out thing of Huggy’s doesn’t work, then that means there’s something really wrong. And that means you’re going to have to see a doctor, maybe even a shrink. And that means Dobey’s gonna have to pull you off the streets, at least temporarily. If it’s temporary, it means he’ll assign me another partner–”

“Could be Meredith again.”

“–and if it’s permanent, it means we’ll probably both be riding a desk soon. And none of those options are very attractive. And no, Hutch, working with Meredith wasn’t that much fun. It was okay for a little while, but she’s not you. She couldn’t be you even if we worked together for years.”

Hutch didn’t know what to say. “Thanks, buddy,” he offered after a minute. Then he sighed, and drained what was left of the Coke. “So, we’ll do it,” he agreed. “I still think it’s stupid.”

“You said you’d humor me,” Starsky pointed out.

“So I did. And if we’re going to get there by four, we’d better get going.”

Starsky helped Hutch clean up the mess and store the extra pizza in the refrigerator. Hutch turned off the lights and followed Starsky out of the apartment.

Just before starting down the stairs, Starsky turned to Hutch with a smile. “Hey, maybe–”

He never got to finish his sentence.

As soon as Starsky felt Hutch’s touch on his back, he knew the uninvited visitor had returned. Hutch’s hand felt…cold, somehow, as if his partner had been playing with ice cubes just a moment before.

Starsky grabbed at anything he could to break his fall, but there was nothing available except smooth wall, and the endless steps he bounced down. He felt his shoulder slam against the wall, his ankle twist as he tried to catch his balance, and at last he wound up at the foot of the stairs, flat on his back, his right arm twisted at a frightening angle.

Hutch was there in a heartbeat.

“Starsky! Oh, my God! I didn’t even see you fall–I wasn’t paying attention–I’m so sorry! I don’t know where my mind was…”

Hutch trailed off as Starsky stared up at him through pain-filled eyes.

“No,” Hutch whispered. “No, I didn’t. I couldn’t have.”

“Think you’d better call an ambulance,” Starsky said, his voice tight with the effort of holding it together. “I’m pretty sure my arm’s broken. Maybe my ankle, too.”

Hutch swiped his hands over his face, taking in the broken form of his partner once more, then nodded quickly and ran up the stairs. He made the call for an ambulance, grabbed a pillow and blanket from the sofa, and returned to Starsky in record time.

“Here,” he said, gently lifting Starsky’s head enough to slip the pillow beneath it.

Starsky gasped at the pain, and Hutch winced.

“You’ve got a bump the size of Alaska back there, buddy,” he joked as he spread the blanket over his friend’s body.

“I’ve had worse,” Starsky murmured. “Hutch–” He reached out his left hand, and Hutch gripped it at once. “Stay with me?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” A siren sounded in the distance, and Hutch lifted his head momentarily. “I think they’re almost here,” he said, turning his gaze back to his partner.

Starsky just nodded and closed his eyes, breathing carefully through aching ribs. Moments later, the ambulance came to a halt outside Venice Place, and Hutch rose to motion them inside.

“Here, over here,” he said, going back to hover over Starsky while the paramedics entered.

“What happened?” asked one of them.

Hutch opened his mouth to reply but before he could say anything, he heard Starsky’s voice, clear and surprisingly strong considering his condition.

“Tripped over my own damn feet and fell down the stairs.”

No! Hutch wanted to scream. No, he’s lying, I did it! He caught Starsky’s eye, saw the pleading expression there, and decided to keep silent for now. Starsky needed him, and he couldn’t be there if he was being questioned about the incident. There was plenty of time for that later.

“Sir,” one of the paramedics said to the blond, “I’m going to have to ask you to step back. We need to get a stretcher in here.”

Hutch backed away, watching while they strapped Starsky to the rolling stretcher and loaded him onto the ambulance.

“Hutch?” he heard Starsky call after he’d been secured inside.

“Right here, buddy. I’m going to follow in my car. I’ll be right behind you.”

“‘kay.” Starsky seemed satisfied with that answer, and Hutch jumped behind the wheel of his LTD, praying the engine wouldn’t give him trouble today.

It started with a roar on the first try, and he peeled out of the parking space, right behind the ambulance.

*****

It was four hours before Starsky was released from the ER, right arm in a cast, left ankle taped, a prescription for still more pain medicine in his pocket. Luckily, there’d been no concussion, but the bump on his head and various aches and bruises hurt him more than his broken arm or sprained ankle at the moment.

It was dark when Hutch helped him into the passenger side of the brown Ford.

“Your place or mine?” Hutch asked with a wry smile after he’d taken his place behind the wheel.

“Huggy’s,” Starsky replied firmly.

“We’re about three hours late for that appointment.”

“I don’t care, Hutch. Let’s go see him anyway.”

“I meant to call him from the hospital and completely forgot.”

“You had other things on your mind.”

“Yeah,” Hutch grimaced as he pointed the car toward The Pits.

They were completely silent on the ten minute drive, and Starsky kept glancing at Hutch out of the corner of his eyes. He was half-afraid the thing inside Hutch might actually wreck the car to avoid getting to Huggy’s, but the trip was made without further mishap.

“Wait in the car,” Hutch ordered after pulling to a stop in the alley behind the restaurant. “I’ll see if I can bring Huggy out here. You don’t need to be walking on that ankle.”

Starsky was happy to obey.

Hutch disappeared inside, and returned a couple of minutes later with Huggy Bear in tow, accompanied by a beautiful young woman with cocoa skin and almond-shaped eyes. Her dark hair was slightly wavy, reaching almost to her waist, and the expression on her face was serene.

“Starsky, Hutch, my cousin Angeline,” Huggy told them. “Angeline, these are the dudes I was telling you about this afternoon. Apparently they got a bit sidetracked on their way over here.”

Angeline moved closer to Hutch and stared into his eyes. “You are a good man.” Her voice was soft and modulated, with a slight Jamaican accent. “You care very much for this one.” She indicated Starsky, never taking her eyes off Hutch.

“Yes,” Hutch said, not sure what was happening but finding himself unable to break the eye contact.

Angeline put her hands on either side of his face, feeling its contours, running her fingers through his hair, then sliding them down to his shoulders. Her expression darkened a bit when she put both hands directly over his heart. She closed her eyes, and for a long moment there was utter silence in the alley, even the city noises seeming distant.

“There is something evil inside of you,” she announced at length. “It wars with your spirit. So far, you have managed to keep it at bay, but it grows stronger every hour.”

Angeline’s eyes flew open. “Where did you take on this interloper in your soul?”

“A-at a Halloween party. There was a Ouija board…”

“Ah,” she nodded, understanding. “I can help, if you will allow me.”

Hutch glanced over at Starsky, and his partner gave a slight nod.

“All right,” Hutch agreed. “How can you help me?”

Angeline smiled, a real smile, one that lit up the night. “Not tonight, for I must prepare. I cannot tell you when. Your demon will hear. It will fight. You must be prepared for it to hurt you or your friend again.”

“No!” Hutch said vehemently. “I’m not going near Starsky until this–thing–is out of me. I’ve hurt him enough.”

“How will we know when?” Starsky asked her. “I mean, if you can’t tell us–”

“I will arrange to have him brought to me, when it is time,” she replied. “You will not know how, or when. You must have faith. And when the ceremony begins, you must obey all that I tell you. Unless you agree to this, I can do nothing.”

Hutch stared down at the slender young woman, wondering just what he was getting himself into. “All right,” he found himself agreeing. “All right. We’ll try it.”

 

Chapter Four

There was still more silence on the drive back to Starsky’s place. Starsky was almost unconscious from the medications they’d given him at the hospital. Hutch, for his part, was torn between wanting to keep away from Starsky in order to protect him, and needing to help his friend through the difficulty of being without one arm for a time. At least it wasn’t his dominant arm that was broken, he realized thankfully. He’d be able to feed himself, anyway.

But not get the top off his medication bottles. Not dress and undress himself–at least not easily. And showering–well, forget that. He’d been told to wrap the cast in plastic to protect it from the water. How was Starsky supposed to do that one-handed? Hutch sighed. He wondered how much a temporary visiting nurse would cost.

“Hey, Starsk,” he said quietly when he’d edged his Ford up behind Starsky’s car. There was no answer from his practically comatose partner. “Starsky,” he said, a little louder. When there was still no response, Hutch patted the other man’s cheek lightly.

“Hm–what?” Starsky muttered, struggling to open his eyes. “Hutch?”

“Yeah, buddy. We’re home. Can you make it upstairs?”

“You’re not gonna carry me,” Starsky replied obstinately, struggling to open the car door.

“Wait,” Hutch ordered, hurrying around to open the door and offer Starsky his hand for support.

“I hate this stuff,” Starsky complained. “It always makes me stupid.”

“I feel a sarcastic comment coming on, but because you’re hurt I’ll manage to stifle it,” Hutch joked, and then sobered. Because I hurt you, he thought. “Come on, just hang on to my arm. One step at a time.”

Slowly they made their way to the bottom of the stairs. Starsky looked up, his expression indicating that Mt. Everest might be easier to climb. With a fortifying sigh, he held on tightly to Hutch, glad of his partner’s steadying presence, and doggedly put one foot on the bottom stair. They had gotten up four steps when Hutch stopped suddenly.

“What is it?” Starsky asked, noticing his friend’s sudden pallor even in the moonlight. “Hutch? Is that you in there?” He tried to keep the panic out of his voice, but wasn’t entirely successful.

“It’s me,” Hutch said softly. “I’m scared, though. What if I–what if something happens again?”

“It won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because,” Starsky replied, tugging Hutch up another step, “I just can’t take anymore right now. It’s just not gonna happen, Hutch, you hear me?”

Hutch chuckled. “Whatever you say, Partner.”

To the relief of both men, the stairs were accomplished without incident, and Hutch opened the door with his own key. Starsky made for the sofa, but Hutch guided him gently toward the bed.

“Come on, Starsk, you’re dead on your feet. Bed.”

“Don’t wanna,” Starsky mumbled. “Spent the last month in bed, feels like.”

Hutch grinned at how his friend slipped back into more casual dialect when he was stoned or drunk. It was just another of those things that made Starsky so interesting.

“Well, it’s going to be a month and a night,” Hutch informed him. Starsky dropped to the bed like a dead weight when Hutch released him, and the blond grabbed at his partner to keep him from falling over. “All right, let’s go,” he said, laying Starsky back gently and swinging his legs up onto the bed. He continued murmuring soothing words while he undressed Starsky down to his boxers and t-shirt, then helped him slip beneath the covers.

Hutch had already turned out the light and thought his partner was sound asleep when a voice came from the bed.

“Hutch?”

“Yeah, Starsk?”

“Do you think you could stay a while?”

Hutch took a deep breath. It was decision time. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he began, but Starsky stopped him with his next words.

“Think I needya to,” he slurred. “Not too with it, I guess…”

There was no way he could refuse a request like that. Not from Starsky. Hutch closed his eyes briefly, offering up a quick prayer that he would remain in control of himself. “All right,” he agreed at last. “I’ll stay. But if you even think I’m getting–weird–I want you to call Huggy, okay?”

“M-hm.”

Hutch shook his head with a slight frown. He wasn’t even sure Starsky had heard him.

*****

Huggy Bear surveyed the clientele with a practiced eye. The two guys in the corner were going to be trouble before the night was over, that much was obvious. They’d both been drinking steadily for over an hour, and what had begun as a light-hearted disagreement had the distinct potential to become a physical argument before much longer. The redhead at the bar was obviously looking for tricks, but Huggy didn’t mind working girls doing a little business in his place, as long as they kept it discreet. He’d seen this one before, and never had any cause to complain about her. The rest of the joint was full of the usual Thursday night crowd. No surprises, really.

In fact, the only thing unusual about this entire week was that his two favorite cops hadn’t darkened his door. And that was odd. They’d usually come in for lunch at least once a week, and a game or two of pool and a couple of beers to unwind one or two nights after work. Of course, Starsky must still be on medical leave, he realized, but surely Hutch was back on the job.

Could it be the blond was avoiding him?

“SueEllen,” he spoke to his newest waitress, a petite brunette with gorgeous green eyes. “Hold down the fort for me while I make a phone call.”

“Sure, Huggy.”

He slipped into the back office and shut the door, blocking out the worst of the noise from the bar. He wasn’t sure why his hands trembled slightly when he dialed Angeline’s number.

She answered on the first ring.

“Angeline? It’s me.”

“I thought it would be you, Huggy,” his cousin answered in her low, sultry voice. “Have you heard from them?”

“Not yet. And it’s got me worried. It’s not normal for them to stay away from this place for a week at a time.”

“The demon is avoiding you,” she said immediately. “Perhaps we must plan a surprise attack.”

Huggy twisted the telephone cord nervously. “I was afraid you were gonna say that,” he groused. “I don’t like it. These dudes are my friends, Angie. We’re tight, you know what I mean?”

“Of course I do,” she said sharply. “I, too, have friends whom I love dearly. But if you want to help them, you must make a decision.”

He gnawed his lip for a moment, hating the choice he was being forced to make, and at last rubbed a hand over tired eyes. “Fine,” he said, his voice sounding more defeated than Angeline had ever heard it. “What do you want me to do?”

*****

“Hutch, it’s been almost a week. Will you go home already?” Starsky grinned to take the sting out of his voice, but the fact was that his friend’s constant hovering had long since trampled on his last nerve. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been out of the blond’s sight for more than three minutes at a time since they’d left Huggy and his cousin in the alley that night.

“I don’t feel good about leaving you on your own,” Hutch replied obstinately. “There are still a lot of things you can’t do.”

Starsky rolled his eyes and fought for patience. “Hutch, people get along with their arm in a cast all the time. Hell, some guys even get their arms cut off and they manage. I might not be able to play my guitar or type a report, but I’m not gonna die on my own. And if you don’t get back to work soon, you’re liable to be out of a job.”

“I talked to Dobey.”

Starsky snorted. “More like he yelled and you listened.”

Hutch shrugged. “Either way, I got the days off.”

“Without pay.”

“I can manage.”

Starsky sighed, picked up his friend’s jacket and holster and practically shoved them at him. “Put these on, go to work, and then go home,” he ordered. “You need your space. I need my space. And you need to sleep in a real bed again.”

“You’ll starve without me,” Hutch protested feebly. “How are you going to get your frozen dinners out of the box with only one good arm?”

“That’s why God gave us teeth. Now go. Surprise Dobey. You’ll be a ray of sunshine in his day.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Hutch muttered. “All right, I’ll go,” he agreed at last, an obvious ‘but…’ in his voice.

Starsky lifted one eyebrow and waited.

“I’m coming back here after work. We’ll go get something to eat. You must be going crazy after a week in this place.”

“A lot of things are driving me crazy,” Starsky cracked, practically pushing Hutch out the door. “You know I appreciate everything you’ve done, but if you don’t go now, I’m gonna have to kill you.” He managed to get his friend out the door and onto the landing before the other man turned back.

“I don’t like it.”

“Goodbye, Hutch,” Starsky said sweetly, and slammed the door on Hutch’s upraised index finger.

“I’m coming back after work!” he heard his friend yell from the other side of the door.

“Great!” he yelled back. “See ya!”

Starsky didn’t move until he heard the unmistakable sound of the Hutchmobile starting up and groaning its way into traffic. Then he wandered around the apartment, picking up dirty clothes, straightening up small messes left by his partner, and generally enjoying the peace and quiet.

He napped, watched television, and was working on opening a frozen pizza box when someone knocked at the door.

“I swear, Hutch, if this is you–” he muttered as he stomped over to open the door. His eyes widened in surprise. “Huggy, Angeline,” he greeted. “Come on in.”

“Where’s Blondie?” Huggy asked, taking the pizza box from Starsky and opening it easily.

“Thanks, Hug. I finally talked him into going to work.”

Huggy looked up in surprise. “How’d you manage that?”

“Practically threatened him,” Starsky grumbled, adjusting the temperature on the oven. “He hasn’t let me out of his sight for days. Driving me crazy.”

“It is the demon,” Angeline spoke up softly. “It is afraid.”

“Yeah, well I’ve been thinking about that demon thing all week, and I’m wondering if maybe we were wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

He put the pizza in the oven, shut the door and rubbed his forehead with his left hand. The damn headache he’d been fighting all morning was coming back with a vengeance.

“He’s been–normal–all week,” he told them. “Not a single incident. I think maybe if there was anything in Hutch, it’s gone now.”

“No,” Angeline replied, her voice quiet but insistent. “It is hiding. It is attempting to trick you.”

“I haven’t seen you at my place all week,” Huggy commented. “I kept hoping the two of you would drop in for a burger, at least.”

“Yeah, well I suggested it a few times, but Hutch always had some reason for not…” He trailed off. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Huggy agreed. “So Angeline has a plan. But I guarantee, you’re not gonna like it. I don’t like it much myself.”

Starsky looked into the deep, dark eyes of Huggy’s cousin, and felt an unexpected sense of safety. He hadn’t felt it in such a long time, it took him a moment to even recognize the emotion.

“What’s the plan?”

“We ambush him.”

Starsky stared at Huggy for a long moment. “You’re right. I don’t like it. Huggy, this is Hutch we’re talking about!”

“No,” Angeline objected. “It is not your friend. The demon is growing stronger, and it is very cunning. If you do not help him while you can, it will consume him completely.”

Starsky looked from one to the other, then rubbed his head again. “Huggy, get me some aspirin out of that cupboard behind you, willya?”

Huggy did, opening the bottle and shaking two of the white tablets into Starsky’s hand. He handed his friend a cold soda out of the refrigerator and waited until Starsky had swallowed the aspirin and half the drink.

“Starsky, I don’t care for the plan, either, but what else can we do? That thing inside Hutch ain’t gonna get within a mile of Angeline, not willingly.”

Starsky twisted the soda can in his hand, absently rubbing his finger around the top of it for a few minutes. Huggy and Angeline waited. Finally, Starsky looked up.

“Let me try one more time to get him into your place first, huh?”

“It won’t matter. We’re gonna have to drug him anyway, to get him to Angeline’s house.”

“Whoa!” Starsky held up a hand. “Nobody said anything about drugs, Hug.”

Huggy rolled his eyes ceilingward. “You got a better way to get Hutch to cooperate?” he demanded. “What we’re doing is called kidnapping, Starsky. I don’t think Blondie’ll go quietly.”

Starsky slumped visibly. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. What is this drug you want to use on Hutch?” he asked the girl.

“Nothing that will harm him, I assure you. It is a combination of herbs. It will make him sleep, nothing more. It is not an addictive substance.”

Starsky tossed the now empty can into the trash and began pacing the small living room. “If we’re wrong…”

“If we’re wrong, your better half is gonna be pissed, no question,” Huggy allowed. “But he won’t hold it against you forever, Curly, you know that.”

“I used to know that. Nowadays…”

“Nowadays, it ain’t Hutch in there half the time. Look, would you rather he went to a shrink? What would a doctor say about–”

“I can’t let that happen. His career as a cop would be over.”

“Right. But this way–well, worst case, we’re not any worse off than we are right now.”

“All right, Huggy, all right. I’m convinced.” He turned to Angeline. “Tell me what to do.”

She removed a small packet from her purse. “Put this in his food. You must mix it in well so he cannot see it.”

Starsky inspected the small packet of herbs carefully. “Looks like marijuana,” he joked. “Will Hutch be able to taste it? He’s an expert on weird herbs and things.”

“It will taste like normal seasonings. Put it in something liquid, like soup. Make sure he consumes it entirely.”

“What if he doesn’t? What if he’s not hungry, or doesn’t like it, or–”

“You must make certain,” she insisted, her voice taking on a sharpness of tone that Starsky hadn’t heard before. “If the demon suspects, it will fight you. It could kill you this time. You must find a way.”

“Okay, okay.” He stuck the packet in a cupboard, behind the box of salt. “Then after he eats it, what?”

“It will take half an hour to work. When he is asleep, you will signal to Huggy and me. We will come and get him.”

“Signal?”

“We’ll be outside,” Huggy put in. “Hutch won’t be asleep for long, so we’ll have to work quickly.”

“You can’t carry him by yourself, and I won’t be much help,” Starsky pointed out. “You’re gonna need some more help, Hug.”

“True.” Huggy bit his lip. “Carlos. He can be trusted. I’ll bring him along.”

Starsky nodded. He’d met Huggy’s friend Carlos a time or two, and he seemed like a decent guy.

“What will you do to him?” he asked Angeline. “I mean, what sort of ceremony are you talking about?”

“That, I cannot reveal. I assure you, he will not be harmed. If we are successful, your friend will be returned to you. I must inform you that there is a slight risk that the demon will be stronger than my powers. If this is so…”

“What? If this is so–what?”

Angeline straightened her shoulders and met his gaze squarely. “If the demon is too strong for me, there is a possibility your friend could be entirely consumed by it. After talking to him, I do not believe this to be the case, but there is always the possibility. You must be prepared for such an event.”

Suddenly, the whole situation had taken on a frightening new dimension.

“When do you expect the blond one home?”

“About six.”

Huggy nodded. “We’ll expect your signal around six-thirty or seven, then. Just blink the porch light a few times. We’ll be parked where we can see it, but out of sight of Hutch.”

“Wait until you are certain he is sleeping soundly,” Angeline warned. “The demon could be more clever than we imagine.”

“Right.”

She took Starsky’s right hand, squeezing it gently. “It will be all right,” she said, her small smile somehow encouraging. “I feel the presence of goodness around me. I believe the ceremony will be successful and you will have your friend back by tomorrow.”

“I hope so. If not…” Starsky just shook his head at the possibility.

“Hang in there, bro,” Huggy said, gripping his shoulder for a moment in friendly support. “And now we’d better get going. He’ll be here soon. We’ll go get Carlos and be back in plenty of time for the main event.”

After they had gone, Starsky took the packet out again, and stared at the contents. He opened it and sniffed. It smelled something like the spices his grandmother had used in spaghetti sauce. “Good idea,” he told himself aloud. “Better than soup. Hutch’d never believe that coming from me.”

Luckily, Starsky considered spaghetti and sauce to be necessary staples of living, so he already had the supplies. He opened a can of the red sauce, suddenly more thankful than ever for electric can openers, and was about to stir the packet of herbs into it when he realized Hutch would be suspicious if he didn’t have any sauce–and it wouldn’t do anyone much good if he conked out, too. Quickly, he ladled a serving of the plain sauce into a bowl and put it aside for himself. Then he added the packet to what remained in the pan. It blended with the seasonings already in the spaghetti sauce so well that he couldn’t see it or smell it. He even tried a small taste of the unheated sauce, and thought he could detect a slight, unfamiliar tang. Starsky covered the pan, turned it on low to let it simmer, and hoped heat would remove the odd taste, or at least mask it enough that Hutch wouldn’t notice.

He looked at the clock–five-thirty–and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Opening it one-handed was a challenge, but one he met with alacrity. Maybe it would calm the rising fear in the pit of his stomach.

For now, he could only hope and pray that Hutch wouldn’t notice, that this would work, and that when it was all over, he’d have his best friend back whole and unharmed.

*****

By the time Hutch walked in, Starsky had finished cooking the spaghetti and poured his reserved sauce over a plateful of the pasta. He drowned it in cheese, knowing Hutch wouldn’t touch it after that, so there could be no mix-up.

“Smells good,” Hutch commented, following his nose to the kitchen.

“Only the best spaghetti sauce you can buy,” Starsky informed him.

“How’d you manage to do all this, Starsk?”

“I told you, I’m not helpless. Just a little hampered. Sit down.”

“Let me help,” Hutch said, grabbing at the pan with the sauce as it tipped in Starsky’s hand on the way from the stove to the table.

“Thanks, buddy.” Whew!

Starsky watched as Hutch served himself, covering the pasta with the spaghetti sauce. He hoped it would be enough.

“So how was it around there today?” he asked as he twirled a bite of spaghetti on his fork.

Hutch sighed and looked up as if hoping for patience. “Don’t ask.”

“That bad?”

“Worse. You got another beer in there?”

Hutch started to his feet, but Starsky motioned him back down. “I’ll get it. You’ve waited on me enough this past week.”

Hutch watched as he went to the refrigerator and grabbed the last bottle of beer, then held it under his arm and twisted off the top.

“Neat.”

“Been practicing.”

“What’s in it?”

Starsky looked up, startled. “Huh?”

“I said,” Hutch repeated, deliberately taking the beer from Starsky and putting it aside, “what did you put in it?”

“What are you talking about?”

Hutch advanced and Starsky retreated, until the darker man was trapped between his partner and the kitchen cabinet. Hutch didn’t touch Starsky with his hands, but his eyes held pure venom.

“You put something in the beer. That’s why it was the last one. That’s why it was so easy for you to open–it had been opened before, hadn’t it? Who helped you? Huggy?”

Starsky tamped down on his building terror and tried for a tone of impatience. “Hutch, will you listen to yourself? Why would I put something in your beer, huh?”

“To get rid of me.”

“If I wanted to do that, I have my gun. I can still shoot, you know.”

Hutch’s eyes began to lose their glimmer, but it was a slow change this time, rather than the instant one Starsky had seen in the past. “I guess so.” He put his hands on Starsky’s shoulders in what should have been a conciliatory gesture, but massaged them perhaps a little too roughly.

Starsky tried not to wince at the pain that shot down his arm. “Let’s eat,” he suggested.

“Good idea.”

Hutch had started toward the table, but before Starsky took two steps, he turned back. His habitual warning finger came up, and Starsky suddenly felt an hysterical giggle want to bubble out of him. It was stifled at once with his partner’s next words.

“If you ever do think of trying anything like that, I’ll kill you.”

Starsky was so stunned by the threat that he could only watch silently as Hutch took his place at the table and dug into the spaghetti in front of him with gusto.

Watch, and pray.

 

Chapter Five

Starsky breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Hutch reached for the spaghetti sauce and ladled it over his second serving of pasta.

“Good stuff,” Hutch commented. “Did you jazz it up somehow?”

Starsky’s eyes probed Hutch’s face for any sign of the demon’s return, but his friend was only regarding him with idle curiosity.

“Uh, put a little extra oregano in it,” Starsky managed to say in a fairly steady voice.

“I’ll have to try that next time.” Hutch finished the spaghetti quickly, and rose to take his plate to the sink. He spotted the opened beer on the counter.

“Hey, Starsk, is this your beer?”

Starsky didn’t reply as Hutch took a swig of the brew. The blond held it out in offering to his partner, but Starsky shook his head, eyes wide with anticipation. Hutch just shrugged and took it with him when he wandered over to the couch.

“Anything on the tube worth watching?”

“Haven’t checked,” Starsky called over the sound of running water as he rinsed his own plate. A few minutes later he joined his partner, who was perusing the current issue of TV Guide.

“You’d think there’d be something decent on a Friday night,” Hutch grumbled, stifling a yawn with his hand.

“Too early,” Starsky commented. “Nothing on right now except the news and a couple of game shows. How about some chess?”

Hutch yawned again. “I’m not sure I could concentrate on it right now. I guess it’s been a longer week than I realized.”

Starsky grinned. “You’ve worn yourself out taking care of me.”

“I didn’t mind. Monopoly?” Hutch suggested. “Doesn’t require very many brain cells for me to whip your butt at that.”

“That’s what you think, buddy. I’ve been studying up.”

He fetched the Monopoly box from the closet and handed it to Hutch. “You count money. I’ll handle deeds.”

Starsky concentrated on sorting the cardboard squares into their proper sequence, surreptitiously glancing at Hutch now and then. The blond’s eyes were obviously growing heavy, but Starsky worried that he hadn’t eaten enough of the mysterious herbs to actually knock him out. If it was just Hutch, Starsky was sure Huggy and Carlos could handle him in a weakened state, but with the demon in charge, all bets were off. It seemed to be physically stronger than his partner.

“I’ll roll first.”

“No way,” Hutch argued, holding the dice out of Starsky’s reach. “You went first last time.”

“Did not.”

Hutch yawned once more, hugely, and Starsky took the opportunity to relieve him of the dice.

“Six.”

Hutch threw the dice and came up with eight. “Hah! I’m first.”

“Smartass,” Starsky grumbled good-naturedly.

Three turns into the game, when Hutch had collected three pieces of property and Starsky was already cooling his heels in jail, Hutch slumped sideways on the sofa.

“Hutch?”

There was no answer. He reached out his good hand and shook Hutch. “Hey, Hutch? You awake?”

Still no response, but his friend’s regular breathing reassured him that the blond would be all right. With a sigh of relief, Starsky went to the front door and flicked the porch light as he’d been instructed, then opened the door to wait for his friends. He looked over his shoulder, half expecting to be grabbed from behind, but Hutch still slept soundly on the couch.

“Good job,” Huggy said as they entered the apartment. “Carlos, let’s work fast, m’man.”

They picked up Hutch and carried him downstairs to where Huggy’s car waited. The unconscious man was placed in the back seat between Starsky and Carlos, and Huggy slipped behind the wheel.

“We should have cuffed him,” Huggy said as he drove away. “Just in case he wakes up too soon.”

“No,” Starsky said firmly. “I don’t like any of this. That’s going too far.”

Huggy and Angeline exchanged a glance in the front seat, but Starsky was too intent on watching his partner to see it.

They reached Angeline’s house fifteen minutes later, and Hutch was already showing signs of waking up.

“Did he not consume all the herb?” Angeline asked Starsky as Huggy and Carlos wrestled the blond out of the back seat.

“Most of it,” he told her. “I couldn’t very well force the rest down his throat. And you’re right. The demon isn’t gone. It put in a brief appearance before Hutch ate the stuff.”

Angeline just nodded and followed the other two men into her house.

“Where to, Angie?”

“The back room,” she instructed. When Starsky followed them, she turned and put a hand on his chest. “You must wait out here.”

“What? No way. I’m goin’ wherever Hutch is.”

“I am afraid you cannot. It is too dangerous for you.”

“I’ll risk it.”

She shook her head firmly, not backing down. “No, it is not possible.”

“Look, lady, you’ve got my partner back there–”

“Starsky, wait.” Huggy stepped out of the small room where they’d taken Hutch, and motioned his cousin inside. He waited until the door was shut before turning back to his friend. “You can’t be there, Starsky.”

“Huggy, what’s she gonna do to Hutch?”

“I’m not sure, but from what I do understand, there’s gonna be one pissed off demon floating around in there soon. It already hates your guts. If it can’t have Hutch…”

“It might take me?”

“Right.”

“I don’t care. I want to be with Hutch.”

“Well I care. And believe me, Hutch would care.”

Starsky grabbed Huggy’s arm. “Hug–”

“Look, Starsky,” the black man said gently. “You know I won’t let anything happen to Hutch if I can possibly stop it. You’re just going to have to trust me to take care of him for a little while. Now go sit down in the living room, and let Angeline do her job.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Duly noted and agreed upon, but there ain’t much choice.”

After a long look, Starsky at last obeyed Huggy, perching uneasily in a leather chair.

“Tell her…just tell her to be careful with him, Huggy.”

“Hey, I don’t have to tell her that.” At Starsky’s quick look, he added, “But I will. You just sit tight and try to relax.”

“How long is this going to take?”

“No idea.” Huggy disappeared into the room again, and Starsky was left along with his thoughts.

*****

Hutch opened his eyes, blinking at the bright light that shone in his face. He tried to sit up, and realized he was lying on some type of hard surface, his arms and legs pulled taut and securely bound.

“What the hell!” He tried to struggle, but couldn’t move more than a few inches. He relaxed only marginally when Huggy’s face came into view above his. “Huggy? What’s going on? Let me loose!” he demanded.

“‘Fraid I can’t do that just yet, Blondie. Not until Angeline here is finished with you.”

Hutch turned his head to the right and caught sight of Huggy’s cousin, busily setting up a small table with several odd-looking implements and four large, white taper candles. He turned back to Huggy.

“Where’s Starsky?” he demanded. “You’ve got about two seconds to explain all this to me, Huggy, before I–”

“Before you what?” Huggy sighed. “Look, Hutch, just calm down. You know I ain’t about to hurt you. Even if I wanted to, my life wouldn’t be worth spit after Curly got hold of me.”

“Where is he?”

“In the other room. It’s too dangerous for him to be in here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about, Angeline’s gonna rid you of that intruder that’s been making you and Starsky both miserable lately.”

“How?”

“It is a painless ritual,” Angeline replied, coming into the light so Hutch could see her better. “But the demon will be angry. If it sees your partner, it is possible he will be in danger.”

“You think it won’t know he’s in the next room?” Hutch asked, disbelief written on his features.

“After it is driven from your body, it will no longer have your cognizance. It will know only what it can sense in the immediate proximity.”

“Then what’s to stop it from jumping into you? Or Huggy?”

“We will be protected. Carlos as well.”

“Carlos?” Hutch squinted at the spot where Angeline had gestured and could barely make out Huggy’s friend standing against the wall. “If you can protect the three of you, why not Starsky?”

“The demon’s desire for him would be too strong. Please, no more questions. We must begin.”

“Huggy–?”

“Hutch, I’ll tell you what I told Starsky. You’re just going to have to try and trust me for the next little while as much as you trust him. I won’t let anything happen to either of you.”

“You really think this will work?”

“It must,” Angeline answered, and shut off the light that had been blinding him.

She had lit the four candles, and now the room flickered with eerie, dim light. Hutch watched as she donned a white robe from a closet in the corner. He smelled something unusual, finally identifying it as a strange incense.

Huggy backed up to join Carlos against the wall. Angeline took a small vial of what appeared to be oil of some sort, and began anointing Hutch with it. She touched his forehead, his neck where the blood flowed through his arteries, and several other places on his body, muttering unfamiliar words under her breath. After she’d set the oil aside, her eyes closed, and she began swaying gently back and forth. She chanted, again words Hutch didn’t recognize.

He felt an ache in his wrists, and realized with a start that he’d been twisting them, unconsciously trying to free himself from the ropes.

And then he felt the rage beginning to build.

*****

Starsky couldn’t sit still, so he paced a bit. He heard the sound of voices coming from the back room, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. He even walked down the hall, his hand reaching for the doorknob, until he remembered Huggy’s words. He knew they could trust him–Huggy would never do anything to harm him or Hutch–but letting go of the control in such a situation was terrifying. To know that his best friend was behind that door, in a fight for his very soul, and he wasn’t allowed to even watch was tearing him up inside.

Resolutely, he turned back to the living room. Angeline had some magazines on her coffee table, and Starsky picked one up and began flipping through it, not even seeing the pictures and articles that passed before his eyes. His whole being was concentrated on that door, and on the blond man behind it.

A breeze stirred the curtains, and he looked up, startled. He realized it had grown chilly in the room, and he rose to shut the window. He pulled back the curtain and stared in shock at the tightly closed window.

Starsky backed away, watching as the “breeze” that drifted through the room continued to move the curtains. Pages fluttered on the abandoned magazine that had fallen to the floor. His head jerked toward the hall when he heard a loud noise from the back room, then another.

Angeline’s voice drifted from the room, raised now but still using a language Starsky could not understand or even recognize.

He felt under his jacket for his weapon, grateful that he’d thought to grab it on his way out of the apartment. If things got too much weirder, he was going to storm that room, no matter what Huggy’s cousin said. Hutch was his partner, not Huggy’s, and it was his job to look out for him.

The next sound he heard both froze his blood and galvanized him into action.

It was Hutch’s scream. Long, loud, agonized.

Starsky didn’t waste another breath. He raced to the door and twisted the knob, only to find it unyielding. In a split second he considered knocking and rejected the idea. He kicked at the door, and was surprised when it did not open immediately. Houses of this vintage weren’t known for their strength.

Starsky kicked again, and realized that something–or someone–was holding the door shut from the other side.

“Huggy!” he yelled. “Let me in!”

Hutch screamed again, and Starsky gave the door one more mighty kick. It opened at last. He crossed the threshold and stopped, frozen with fear at the sight before him.

The breeze in the outer room had been nothing compared to the whirlwind that swirled around Hutch and Angeline, and the temperature in here was roughly that of a meat locker. The candles had blown out, and the only light was that which made its way through the window from the streetlamp outside.

Hutch lay spread-eagled, tied to a large table. He writhed and twisted against the ropes, his face contorted in pain. Angeline stood over him, holding a small beaker with some sort of light blue liquid which she sprinkled over Hutch as she chanted.

Starsky started forward, but Huggy and Carlos pulled him back.

“Starsky, no!”

“Let me go, Huggy!” He struggled against the two men, almost managing to pull free. Carlos put one arm around his waist and another around his neck, pulling Starsky back against his massive body.

“Starsk, you gotta give her a chance to finish!”

They were yelling above the noise of the whirlwind, but still it felt as if their words were swallowed up by the gale.

“She’s hurting him!”

Suddenly the wind ceased, and all three men watched in fascinated terror as a black cloud of…something…rose from Hutch. Like ashes floating in the air, Starsky thought wildly. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust and what IS that thing?

“Get him out of here!” Angeline screamed, pointing at Starsky.

Huggy and Carlos started to hustle Starsky out of the room, but to their surprise, the black cloud didn’t seem to have its sights set on the detective at all. Instead, they watched as it left off hovering over Hutch, and quickly enveloped Angeline.

Angeline’s face changed immediately, taking on a twisted, evil contortion that made her appear barely human.

“Angie!” Huggy yelled. He started toward his cousin, and it was his turn to be pulled back by Carlos, who released Starsky in order to grab the other man.

Time seemed to stop as Angeline turned to the table where her instruments waited, picked up a large knife and swung back around to Hutch.

Hutch, now free of the demon but still unable to move, could only watch as she lifted the knife above her head. It glittered brilliantly in the dimness, as if illuminated by its own spotlight, and Hutch thought very clearly through the chaos, I am about to die.

“No!” he and Huggy both cried at once, but their voices were overwhelmed by the report of Starsky’s gun.

Angeline was thrown back against the table, toppling it and its contents to the floor. The knife fell from her hand, now dull and unthreatening, an inanimate piece of wood and metal. She clutched at her shoulder, blood gushing between her fingers, and stared at the men.

The cloud rose from her this time, hovering again, and Starsky, already at Hutch’s side, dimly heard her calling instructions to Huggy and Carlos.

“Hutch?” he pleaded, running his hands over Hutch’s torso to make sure there were no injuries to his friend. “You all right, buddy? Talk to me, Hutch!”

Hutch’s eyes were focused on the black cloud. It had begun drifting toward Starsky.

“Starsk, look out!” he tried to say, but at that moment, Huggy, following Angeline’s command, tossed the beaker full of the blue liquid directly into the cloud.

The noise temporarily deafened them all. Later, Hutch would describe it as a shrieking sound, like metal on metal, but to Starsky, it sounded like the cry of a thousand tortured souls.

In the space of one second, the cloud dispersed and disappeared.

They all stared at one another, silent, until Angeline struggled to her feet.

“It is over,” she told them.

Huggy sprang into action. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No!” She held out a hand to stop him, and in spite of being pumped with adrenaline, he waited. “If you call an ambulance, how will we explain things?” she said, smiling slightly.

Starsky picked up the knife Angeline had been about to plunge into Hutch and used it to cut the ropes that bound his partner. Hutch sat up, rubbing at his sore wrists, ankles, and shoulders. Starsky, after making certain his friend was unharmed, turned to the woman he’d shot.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, helping her out to the kitchen where there was better light.

“It is all right,” she told him. “You had no choice.”

“Still, I’m sorry I had to hurt you.”

“I am glad you did. You allowed us to banish the demon. If I had killed your friend, I would have it on my conscience forever. Is the bullet still inside me?”

The men managed to get the robe off her, and cut away the clothing covering her shoulder so they could take a good look at her injury.

“Went clean through,” Starsky told her.

“Good. Then I will be all right.”

“We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”

“That is not necessary. I have a friend I can call. He will take care of me. Huggy, the telephone, if you please.”

They all waited, Starsky doing his best to staunch the flow of blood, while she made a quick call. Her few sentences were cryptic, but she appeared satisfied when she hung up.

“He is coming,” she told the group of men who still hovered over her. “Please do not worry. I will be fine.”

“At least come in the other room so you can lie down,” Huggy urged, and she allowed them to guide her into the living room.

Starsky spread out a clean blanket on the sofa, and they eased her onto it. Hutch put a pillow under her head. So far, Starsky’s makeshift bandage seemed to be controlling the bleeding.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Hutch began, but she waved his words away as if they were nothing.

“It is what I do,” she told him. “I am happy I could help you and your friend. And now,” she chided, her eyes twinkling, “I hope you will choose your parlor games more carefully in the future.”

“No more Ouija boards for me,” Hutch promised soberly.

Starsky put a hand on Hutch’s shoulder, and Hutch patted it, then gently removed it. Starsky raised his eyebrows, but Hutch had an odd look on his face. He vowed to get to the bottom of this later.

When Angeline’s friend arrived, he took a look at her, thanked them all for their help, and then pointedly dismissed them. Left with no other option, the four men piled back into Huggy’s car and headed for home.

Few words were spoken during the drive, and when they arrived at Starsky’s apartment, Hutch quickly climbed into his car and drove away, leaving Starsky and Huggy watching in confusion.

“What’s up with him?” Huggy asked the world at large.

“I’m not sure, but I’ll find out.” He patted Huggy lightly on the arm. “Thanks, Hug. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”

“Think nothing of it, my curly-haired friend. You’d do the same for me, I’m sure.”

Starsky thanked Carlos, as well, and watched until the tail lights on Huggy’s car disappeared around the corner.

Slowly, he climbed the stairs to his apartment. He was almost surprised to find it looking exactly as he’d left it. The wind and noise of the demon had been so strong that Starsky half-expected to find his place a mess, even from across town.

He started to gather up the Monopoly money, stacking it in the proper piles with one hand, and realized all at once that he was utterly exhausted. With one more look around the room, he took himself off to bed.

*****

Hutch drove blindly, aimlessly, until dawn began to creep over the horizon. Then, only because it was nearby and he was trembling with fatigue, he parked beside his favorite strip of beach. He stared out over the water for a few minutes, the view not really registering at all. Anyone looking at his face would have seen the torment there, but none could have guessed its depths.

He remembered very little of the ritual Angeline had performed. He did recall a tearing, ripping pain that had wrenched screams from his throat, and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget the horrifying helplessness of watching as Angeline prepared to thrust the knife into his heart.

These images were powerful, and new, and they would stick with him, but at this moment he would take them running through his mind forever if he could only block out the others. The true torture was the fact that when the demon had been dispossessed of his body, it had left the memories behind. All the words and deeds it had kept carefully hidden from his consciousness were exposed now, and he remembered.

He recalled the hateful, cruel things he’d said to his best friend over the past days. He remembered how it had felt to push Starsky down the stairs, watching the hapless man as he tried desperately to break his own fall. He shuddered now, still able to hear the crack of the bones in Starsky’s arm as they broke against the steps. That split-second moment of looking down at the broken body of his partner, wondering if he was still alive, before the demon had retreated and left Starsky and Hutch to live with the aftermath.

And he remembered the threat he’d issued so casually only hours before.

If you ever do think of trying anything like that, I’ll kill you.

Words spoken frequently in jest, in mock-anger, but when he’d uttered them then, they’d been sincere. At least the demon had meant them. And Hutch had no doubt that, had Starsky and Huggy not abducted him and forced him to go through the ritual, they would have eventually come true. Possibly in the not-too-distant future.

The knowledge that it hadn’t really been him, that he hadn’t been in control of himself, didn’t help a bit. Not when he could close his eyes and see Starsky’s face, hear his cries of pain and fear as he tumbled down the stairs. It could have been all over that time. He could have broken his neck, or sustained severe brain or spinal injury, or–

Hutch drew in a sharp breath, the realization of just how lucky they’d been hitting him all at once. He crossed his arms over the steering wheel and buried his face in them, trying to block out the images, but they were like a living collage in his mind, bombarding him with the knowledge of his guilt.

And hardest of all to bear was the realization that Starsky would forgive him, whether or not he was deserving of that forgiveness.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, trying to decide what to do now that his life had been destroyed. There was really only one thing, he supposed, since until he turned in his badge and gun, he was still a cop.

With a head that ached and a heart that was broken, Hutch started the car and drove toward the station.

*****

Starsky had finally managed to fall asleep, after several hours of tossing and turning in his bed. The memory of what had happened the night before wouldn’t leave, but it wasn’t completely clear, either. He felt as if he’d witnessed the entire scene through an alcohol-induced haze–it was odd, gauzy, like a half-remembered dream.

He remembered the black cloud, and the way it had turned toward him–that was frightening enough, but Angeline about to stab his partner to death was infinitely more so. He knew he’d shot her, knew she wouldn’t allow a doctor, but beyond that… The drive home had barely registered.

He did recall that Hutch had left without a word, and that had filled him with dread.

The phone rang, and he rolled over to fumble for it. Of course it would be Hutch. They had the day off. They’d get together later this morning for some lunch, maybe catch a college football game or two on TV. He might even be able to talk Hutch into something really good for lunch, like Lorenzo’s Italian. They’d been there a few times, and his partner had appeared to enjoy it.

“H’lo,” he muttered into the phone. “Hutch?”

“Starsky.”

Starsky sat up in bed, suddenly wide awake.

“Yeah, Cap’n, what is it?”

“I think you’d better get down here and talk some sense into this dimwitted partner of yours.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Come see for yourself,” Dobey invited gruffly. “I’ve been trying to reason with him for the past hour, but I’m not getting anywhere. He never listens to anyone but you, anyway.”

“I’ll be right there, Cap.” Starsky was already throwing off the covers and heading for the shower by the time he hung up.

*****

When he entered the squad room, Hutch had apparently just finished typing up some sort of report. He was attempting to hand it off to their captain, who was looking at it with disgust mixed with a healthy dose of anger.

“What’s going on?” Starsky asked casually, leaning against his desk.

The squad room was empty except for the three of them, so Dobey didn’t hold back.

“This idiot partner of yours has some sort of fool idea about resigning!” he blustered. “And this cockamamie report–” He grabbed it from Hutch and was about to rip it in half when the blond snatched it back.

“I’m a cop, Captain, and facts are facts,” Hutch said, his voice low and calm, despite the pallor on his face and the unnatural shine to his eyes. “Everything in that report is a fact.”

“Can I see?” Starsky held out his hand, and Hutch gave him the report, not meeting his eyes.

“You’ll have to sign that,” Hutch told him, removing his gun from his holster and holding it out toward Dobey. When the captain ignored him, he sighed and placed the weapon on the desk, along with his badge.

Starsky, who had guessed what the report contained as soon as he’d seen Hutch’s face, skimmed it over quickly. He’d been correct–it held all the facts, but none of the truth. Hutch had effectively documented all the crimes, both major and minor, that had been committed against Starsky by his partner’s hands, but had left out the most important fact of all–that it wasn’t Hutch who was responsible.

When he reached the bottom, he took the pen Hutch held out to him, but instead of signing the report, he just tucked the pen behind his ear and tore the paper into pieces.

“Starsky, what the hell–that took me two hours!” Hutch looked truly angry at the turn of events, and Starsky fought to remain calm.

“I don’t know where you got all that shit, Blondie, but I don’t remember any of it. And since I’m the supposed victim, and there aren’t any witnesses…” He shrugged. “Guess you don’t have much of a case.”

“Dammit, Starsky–”

“Look, you two,” broke in Dobey in a voice low with fury. “I don’t know what this is all about, but I am ordering the two of you to work it out. Hutchinson, this ridiculous idea of resigning–just forget about it right now. I refuse to accept a resignation from one of my best officers with no good reason–”

“Captain, you can’t refuse–”

“–and if you think he’ll be any use to me on his own,” he jabbed an irritated finger toward Starsky, “you can think again! Now I only came in this morning to pick up the jacket I left here yesterday, so I can go watch my nephew’s peewee football game without freezing my ass off. I didn’t expect to find you here, minus your brain, Hutchinson!”

“Captain–”

“No! Shut up. I don’t want to hear another word. I’m leaving now. You two have the weekend off, and when I get here on Monday morning, I expect to find both of you behind these desks, ready to work! Is that clear?”

“Yes, Captain,” Starsky said demurely.

As if realizing he’d get no response from Hutch, and unwilling to waste a terrific exit line, Dobey stormed out of the squad room, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the glass. Starsky winced.

“Well?” he said to Hutch once the building had stopped shaking. “You want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Hutch said sullenly, holstering his weapon and shoving his badge back into his pocket. “Dobey might not want to accept my resignation, but he’ll find out he doesn’t have any choice when I go over his head to the commissioner.”

“Were you going to talk to me about any of this, or did you just come to the decision to end our partnership all by yourself?”

“Starsky, I very nearly ended it permanently! I could have killed you, almost did kill you, threatened to kill you! How can you just forget all that?”

Starsky sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head in total exasperation.

“Come with me,” he said after a minute, and turned to leave the room.

“Where?”

“Just come on, willya? I’m not gonna ask you twice, Hutch.”

True to his word, Starsky walked to his car without looking back. He could hear Hutch following, and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure what he’d have done if Hutch hadn’t obeyed.

“Did you drive here one-handed?”

“Yeah.”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Give me the keys.”

Starsky ignored him, and slid behind the wheel.

“Starsky–”

“Hutch, it’s an automatic. It has power steering. It only requires one hand to drive. Believe me, I know. I drive with one had holding food all the time.”

“Yeah, and scare the hell out of me every time you do it.”

“So, if I scare you today, you can always grab the wheel. Will you just get in the damn car?”

“Fine,” Hutch groused, settling himself in the passenger seat.

He slammed the door a little too hard, but Starsky refrained from commenting. He just pulled the car into traffic and headed toward the beach.

“It’s too cold for a swim, Starsk.”

“I can’t swim with this cast, anyway.”

Which only served to remind Hutch that he was the reason behind the cast. Starsky glanced sideways at his partner, saw the look on his face, and interpreted it correctly.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop blaming yourself for something you had no control over.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Easy for me to do, too.”

“Starsky, you don’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Hutch was silent until Starsky parked the car and said again, “Try me, Hutch. Trust me.”

“I–I remember,” Hutch whispered, his eyes glued to the clenched hands in his lap. “I remember everything, Starsk. All the things I did to you, everything I said…”

Starsky shrugged. “Yeah? So do I. Only the way I remember it, it wasn’t you.”

Hutch looked at him then, and the anguish in his eyes nearly ripped Starsky apart. “I can’t forget, though,” he said in a strangled voice. “I can’t forget that I pushed you down those stairs, I poured that hot coffee in your lap–Starsk, I threatened to kill you!”

Starsky didn’t say anything for a minute, then he opened the door and got out.

“Come on,” he said over his shoulder, and once again was relieved when Hutch followed.

They walked for about five minutes, not side-by-side, as they normally would, but with Starsky in the lead. He got the distinct impression Hutch didn’t feel worthy to walk next to him any longer. When they finally reached the spot Starsky was heading for, he stopped.

“Remember this place?” he asked quietly.

“How could I forget?”

Hutch looked out over the water, shimmering in the sunshine this time, and fingered the badge in his pocket. He pulled it out, and looked at it for long moments. Then he glanced over at Starsky and realized his friend had taken his own badge out and was holding it, waiting.

“Well?” Starsky asked when Hutch said nothing.

Hutch just looked out at the water again.

“You know if you throw yours away again, I’m gonna have to do the same.”

“Starsky–”

“We already talked about this, Hutch. I can’t be a cop if you’re not there to back me up. I can’t do it. I won’t.”

“Don’t,” Hutch pleaded softly. “Don’t put this on me, Starsky. Don’t put this one on my shoulders.”

“I have to. Because all that other stuff, all that weight you’re carrying around like a cannonball chained to your neck, Hutch, that’s nothing. That wasn’t you. I still trust you with my life. Would I say that, if I believed you were in control of one single thing that–that thing did to us?”

Hutch shook his head slowly. “I suppose not.”

“Darn right I wouldn’t. But this one, Hutch, this one’s all yours. Nobody can make this decision but you, but I think you’d better consider how it’s gonna affect everybody else around you before you make it.” He stroked the tip of his finger lightly along the shield. “I worked my whole life to earn this,” he said quietly. “I wanted it like I’ve never wanted anything else in the world. The only times I considered giving it up were the times I wasn’t thinking straight. Times I let myself be ruled by grief, or fear, or something other than plain old good sense. But I always managed to get my head together with your help. Now it’s up to you whether or not I keep it. Because you mean more to me than this badge, buddy. Our friendship means more than anything else. And if you’re leaving the force…” He shrugged, and gave a small sigh. “I’m just gonna follow you, y’know.”

The silence lengthened until Starsky was afraid he’d lost his gamble, feared he’d actually lost Hutch this time. Then, at last, the blond spoke.

“How do I live with this?” he asked in a voice that was barely audible against the breaking waves.

“You don’t,” Starsky replied at once. “You let it go.”

Hutch didn’t answer, and Starsky reached out to take his friend’s hand. “This,” he said, holding up their two clasped hands, “is the only thing that matters. That we’ve been friends through so much, for so long, and we’re still partners. That you know what I feel and I know what you feel, and yeah, sometimes we irritate the hell out of each other, but we’re still here, Hutch. That’s what matters. And throwing that badge away, that’s not gonna change anything, buddy. Because I’ll still be here, whether you want me or not.”

Hutch looked at their hands, at his shield, at the water, but said nothing at all.

“Look, if you want me to say I forgive you, I’ll say it. Not that it’s necessary, but if it’ll help you feel better…I forgive you. Okay? Now can we please go get some lunch? I’m starving.”

He watched his partner’s face keenly, waiting for any break in the armor, and was at last rewarded by a slight crinkling around the eyes. It was soon followed by the ghost of a smile and what might have been a chuckle.

“You’re right, Starsk. Some things never change.”

“Lorenzo’s?”

“Aww, come on, Starsk–it’s not even noon yet. How about some bagels?”

“Lunch, Hutch, not duck food.”

“I can’t eat Italian this early, it’ll sit in my stomach like a rock all day.”

“Pizza?”

“That’s Italian, too, dummy!”

“Actually, technically, it’s not. Did you know–”

“Starsk?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up, or I’ll throw you in the ocean.”

“I’d like to see you try it!”

And Starsky caught the playful glint in Hutch’s eyes just in time to give him a slight head start as they ran down the beach together.

End