Disclaimer This story was written purely for entertainment and is not for profit. It is not meant to trespass in any way on the holders to the rights of Starsky and Hutch.

Warning: “Family Business” is truly a dark tale and contains some scenes of incest, male rape and foul language that may be offensive to some readers. If this is not your cup of tea, then please refrain from sipping. I truly do not want to offend anyone and it is never my intentions to do so. Please consider yourself warned.

Aloha Everyone . . . It is summer and school has finally come to a close. I thank all of you for your kind emails regarding my return to fan fiction and for your sweet sentiments and continued friendships during my self-imposed hiatus. I also wanted to thank you all for the lovely Torino Awards that I received. I was truly honored and humbled at the same time. I have truly missed all of you and I have decided to use these next few weeks to explore a disturbing topic that has been on my mind for some time now. Please take the time to read the warning above. I don’t want to upset anyone okay? I will not be offended at all if you choose not to read this one. Mahalo again, for always being such bright lights in an often times dreary world. You guys truly rock. . . . and now I bring you . . . “Family Business.”

Aloha Pumehana . . . Shawne ‘til dawn

Chapter One

The warm rivulet of blood that ran down his forearms and slowly pooled into the crook of his aching shoulders, was the catalyst that brought the dark haired man to the surface of awareness, pulling him up from the black abyss he’d fallen in.

‘Fallen? More like shoved . . .’ the brunet thought dazedly; slowly attempting to lower his arms, his reflective sarcasm caused a slow grin to pull at the corner of his mouth, before it quickly disappeared into a grimace as he felt his body suddenly scream in agony. White hot tendrils of fire blazed a trail from his numb fingers to his stinging, bloody wrists tied taunt with rawhide strips that had once been soaked with water and was now nearly dried, brutally pinching his skin and cutting off the circulation to his swollen hands above. Fiery pain raced down his stretched forearms, glistening with sweat, to his taunt shoulders and across the pulled muscles in his upper back.

The dark haired cop gasped softly, gritting his teeth tightly to keep from crying out as every throbbing muscle in his arms, and upper torso, clamored at once for attention. The unforgiving pain stole his breath away and the curly haired brunet groaned as he slowly lifted his heavy head, only now realizing that it had been hanging down between his outstretched shoulders and arms. His strained neck protested the forced movement, as Starsky wearily lifted long dark lashes, spiked now with perspiration. Dark blue eyes, glazed and unfocused, squinted slightly as he looked past his secured hands that held him up, to the thick chain that attached itself to his bindings and ran through a metal loop that was screwed to the wooden rafters above him.

The weary cop dropped his head once more, trying to shake off the residual grogginess, breathing heavily as he attempted to drag his feet back under him, trying to gain purchase to alleviate some of the weight off of his arms and shoulders, easing the relentless pain that tore at his straining muscles. Starsky slowly lifted his head once more to look around, his detective mind trying to piece together what had happened, as he took in his surroundings. He knew he had been hanging for some time now, the punishing pain in his upper body confirmed that, but it was hard to tell how much time had elapsed since he had first gotten into this mess.

It was dark and stifling hot wherever he was; the humidity alone made drops of perspiration run down between his shoulder blades and along the sides of his neck. His head pounded and pulsed and his left temple stung terribly as sweat ran down the side of his face. He was locked up in some kind of a wooden shack or barn; the sweltering sun forced bright light between the wooden slats and Starsky squinted, turning his head away from the glare.

The brunet looked again to the rafters, determined blue eyes locked on the chains above him. Starsky tried to steady himself from swaying, but since the balls of his bare feet were barely touching the dirt floor it made it very difficult to accomplish. Taking in a deep breath the dark haired detective held it, dreading what he was about to do, realizing he would pay for it in the end, but knowing he could think of nothing else until he tried this. With all of his strength, the brunet yanked at the chain, using his weight to jerk against his bonds, hoping beyond hope to loosen the screw from the beam above, twisting his already bleeding wrists, only to mangle them further in the process, swearing angrily as he realized he only succeeded in tightening the leather thongs, the rawhide slicing cruelly into his already torn and abraded flesh.

Groaning softly, Starsky finally gave up his futile attempts at escape and lowered his head once more to ease the merciless pounding in his skull. His body ached even more from his thrashing and he could feel the blood running freely from his ravaged wrists. Breathing heavily, overheated and trembling with exhaustion and pain, the brunet ceased his struggles. Dark lashes hid the frustration and anxiety he felt, as he fought off the waves of dizziness and nausea that assaulted his senses. His head felt like it was going to explode and he fleetingly wondered if he was suffering from a concussion. Unbidden, sky blue eyes, soft with affection and laughter filled his mind’s eye, and the brunet sighed wearily.

‘Hutch. I need you now buddy . . . hurry up!’

He hoped Hutch was on his way to rescue him from this nightmare. ‘Hell, if it wasn’t for Hutch’s bright idea, I wouldn’t even be in this mess,’ the dark haired detective thought morosely. Hanging and hurting, with nothing else to do, Starsky let his thoughts wander back to the time before this whole nightmare began . . .

oo0oo

“Country roads . . . take me home . . . to the place . . . I be-long . . .” Starsky sang loudly, nodding his head to the beat of the song, drumming the rhythm of the music upon the steering wheel as he drove along, unintentionally drowning out the melodically mellow voice of John Denver that came through the radio as his own voice rang out slightly off-key, ‘West Virginia . . . mountain momma . . . take me home . . . country roads . . . take me home . . . country roads!” The curly haired detective grinned, pleased with his solo performance and the crescendo in his voice at the finale.

‘Too bad Hutch couldn’t hear that,’ the brunet thought smugly, his bright smile fading as he took in the never ending stretch of road, flanked on each side by never ending fields of corn and pastureland. The dark haired cop sighed, wishing for the hundredth time that he had Hutch beside him. He felt bored and restless with only grass and cattle and corn to look at for the last two hours, and listening to country music was not his thing, but since it was the only radio station that came in clearly, he wasn’t about to complain. Reaching across the bench seat of his Torino, Starsky snagged the folded paper and read the address and directions to the farm scrawled in Hutch’s familiar handwriting with a phone number scribbled on the bottom.

“Just in case you get lost buddy,” Hutch had said, handing him the note at the airport two days ago. “It’ll be nice to just relax up at the farm . . . get some fishing in and some fresh air . . . you’ll see Starsk. I’ll have everything ready by the time you get up there,” Hutch chuckled at the brunet’s skeptical look, his pale blue eyes softening with fondness for his partner, “Hey . . . trust me okay?”

Starsky smiled at the memory and refolded the paper, slipping it into his wallet that was on the seat beside him and looked once again to the road. ‘Yeah . . . well you would think there would be some kind of payphone out here Blondie,’ the brunet thought sourly, his dark blue eyes peered out from behind his shades, scanning the terrain for any road signs or telephone booths. ‘One day, when I retire from the force, I’m gonna make some type of mobile phone so that people who are lost like me, can get help right away!’ the curly haired man thought irritably, ‘I should have never let you talk me into this Hutchinson! Fishin’ and fresh air . . .’ the detective grumbled under his breath.

Starsky sighed as he thought about his fair-haired partner. He knew Hutch had been worried about him. It had been a rough month for the both of them. Finding John’s body in the cheap, seedy room of the St. Francis Hotel and finding out that his childhood mentor had been secretly hiding his homosexual tendencies had rocked the brunet’s world. He’d known John Blaine practically his whole life and it was mainly because of John that he’d chosen to become a police officer himself. To find out that Blaine had led a double life saddened the brunet, not only because he was close to John and his wife Maggie; but because he knew John was ashamed of being gay and that he had felt the need to hide that part of his life from his family and friends.

The dark haired detective sighed again and looked out his window at the sea of endless green. ‘No wonder Hutch left this place and came out California . . . there’s no action here!’ he grouched silently to himself. Yet, if the truth were known, Starsky was thankful for this bit of respite from the busy city and its dreary dirtiness. He was tired . . . tired of worrying about Hutch and him surviving on the streets, tired of hospital rooms and recovering from injuries, tired of seeing people hurting, the bums, drug addicts and prostitutes on the streets, tired of watching his back from the bad guys, especially when he had to watch both his back and Hutch’s from the “good” guys too.

It blew Starsky away when he found out that Alex Corday, a fellow officer of the law and someone that they should have supposedly been able to trust since he was a fellow “good” guy, was the one who was really responsible for taking John’s life. Needless to say, it had really shaken the brunet to the core. Dealing with his mentor’s death and funeral had been hard enough, but to realize that John had led a double life and that his life was taken by someone who was supposed to be trusted . . . and then helping John’s wife, Maggie, deal with the aftermath of everything, when he himself was having challenges dealing with it . . . well . . . it had definitely been a rough month.

Going over to tell Maggie about John’s death, explaining how her husband had been with a man and how they found him in the dirty hotel room, robbed and murdered, was one of the most difficult things Starsky had ever had to do; and he could still hear Maggie’s soft, sorrow-filled voice as he remembered her begging him to understand that her husband had been good man . . .

…

“I’m sorry David,” Maggie whispered as she turned from the shelf, “I know you’re not lying. I guess I’ve known about it for a long time. I knew, but there are some things better left unsaid.”

Starsky watched sadly as Maggie stood in front of him, tear filled eyes beseeching, “David . . . John was a good man. No matter what you find out, John was a good man!” It broke his heart to hear Maggie’s soft words, to hear her silently begging him to understand and not judge her husband, but to love and accept all that he was unconditionally . . .

…

The dark haired detective sighed once again as his thoughts took him back to his childhood days, remembering how John became an almost surrogate father for him as he was growing up. Growing up had been difficult, especially with the suppressed anger he felt as a boy towards his mother, for sending him out alone to California after his father had been gunned down in the streets. It took Johnny Blaine to breach the walls of his heart and to make him understand that his mother made that difficult decision out of love.

Soon afterwards, the Blaine’s had become his extended family and John had become his idol and mentor. It was John who taught him things from plastic model-making to football. Whenever he or Ross, his childhood neighbor and friend, had disagreements or were in trouble, it was always John who came to the rescue. John was an integral part of not only his childhood, but of him reaching manhood and becoming a cop. How could he ever think that Johnny Blaine was anything but a good man?

It was shortly after the Blaine case had been solved and closed that Hutch got word of his parent’s intention to sell his grandfather’s farm in Minnesota. Starsky knew the decision had been a difficult one for his blond friend to stomach, for Hutch had had so many fond memories created on that farm with his grandfather whom he dearly loved.

They had a week of off -time coming to them and the tall blond had enticed his dark haired partner to spend the week with him up at the farm before the property was sold. If it weren’t for the fact that Starsky had promised to help Maggie pack up and move her belongings from the Blaine’s large home to a smaller apartment she’d bought, the brunet would have ridden the plane over to Minnesota with Hutch the other day.

“Just drive your red tomato on up after you help Maggie move out,” Hutch had cajoled, “It’ll be a nice, peaceful drive for you and then we can both ride home together after the weekend is over? It would be a great road trip . . . what do you say buddy?”

‘Hmph! Should’ve known that “nice” and “peaceful” meant boring!’ Starsky complained silently as he drove, remembering his partner’s words. “You always know what to say to get me to do the things I don’t wanna do Hutchinson!” Starsky said to no one, a grin lighting up his face as he thought of his blond counterpart batting his pale lashes coquettishly, finally resorting to begging, softly saying, “Pleeeease Starsk,” when the brunet took too long to answer.

The dark haired detective chuckled softly, glanced at the review mirror and saw that he was alone on the narrow strip of road that trailed endlessly behind him. He flicked his cobalt blue eyes to the front and saw the endless strip of deserted road ahead of him, the cornfields had now turned to forestland on the left side of the road that stretched as far as the eye could see, ‘Damn . . . where the hell am I?’ the brunet wondered, reaching over for the map.

The sudden loud hiss of steam that came from his bursting radiator made the brunet swear under his breath. The perpetual summer heat had been plaguing his car for the past few months now, pissing his blond friend off whenever they had to walk to work in the sweltering heat of the day. He had taken his car in several times to Merle for adjustments and had thought the problem had been fixed, but this cross-country drive might have pushed his baby over the edge once again.

“Damn!”

Pulling over to the side of the road, Starsky got out of the car and lifted the hot, shiny hood, carefully avoiding the billowing clouds of angry steam. “Shit!” the brunet swore again, pissed with himself, for not bringing any coolant or water for his car. Starsky sighed in exasperation; he had thought the problem had been fixed. He would need to get help, but looking up and down the empty strip of road and wishing and praying wasn’t going to bring a tow truck to him. “So much for peaceful and nice . . .” the curly haired cop bitched softly to himself, his sable curls almost plastered against his head as sweat dripped down the sides of his face. ‘Well it’s a good thing Hutch ain’t here,” Starsky thought silently, remembering Hutch’s last blowout that mirrored the Torino’s . . .

…

“Look Starsk,” Hutch said irritably as they stood in the middle of the busy street next to the stalled red car whose engine hissed and steamed, “I think it’s about time you made a choice between this pile of junk and me!”

“Don’t make me choose,” Starsky glared at his partner, sweat running down the sides of his face.

“Walking in this heat ain’t exactly my idea of a good time!” Hutch snapped.

“My temperature gauge went up about 10 degrees,” Starsky said, trying to make his irate partner understand.

“Well mine’s going up about 20!” Hutch shouted, ice blue eyes freezing the overheated brunet on the spot.

“Well if I keep drivin’, I might blow my engine,” Starsky futilely pointed out, swallowing as he saw the look his blond partner gave him.

“You do this again, you might blow a partner!”

…

Starsky gave an exasperated sigh. Yes, it was good thing Hutch wasn’t here. He’d be pissed as hell, that’s for sure, if he’d had to walk in this heat, and walking was the only option at the moment. For a minute or two the brunet pondered over his dilemma, hating to leave his car out in the middle of nowhere, but making up his mind; Starsky leaned into the car and shoved his wallet into his back pocket and his gun into his holster, rolling up the windows and locking the doors of the Torino. Sighing with frustration, the dark haired detective resolved that he would walk to the nearest town if he had to. Rolling up the sleeves of his light blue denim shirt and walking a few yards along the road, the Californian cop took one last look over his shoulder at his beloved automobile parked in the distance and he shook his head disgustedly as he snorted, “Peaceful and nice huh Blondie? Right!”

oo0oo

The sudden creaking of the door made the brunet lift his weary head once more, bringing him back to the here and now. Breathing heavily, his heart beating erratically, Starsky watched as the door to the shack was slowly opened.

Chapter Two

Starsky eyed the young man, who hesitantly smiled, as he walked into the dingy shed. The dark haired cop gritted his teeth as he attempted to straighten up, pushing down the sudden lancing pain in his arms and shoulders and the dizziness that wanted to overtake him.

He must have been about fifteen or sixteen at the most, tall and lanky with dirty, greasy straw-colored hair that hung about his narrow, pinched features. The boy was wearing a stained orange shirt under a bibbed overall, and he looked strangely familiar, though as of yet, Starsky couldn’t pinpoint exactly where they had met. Yet, it was his eyes that held the brunet’s attention . . . dark gray eyes that sunk into the hollows of his sockets, eyes that were haunted and shadowed . . . tortured eyes that had seen too much, in too short a life.

The tall boy smiled, his teeth were yellowed and crooked, twisting his face into a grimace of some sort. As he neared the bound man, Starsky suddenly remembered where he had seen him before . . .

oo0oo

He had walked for nearly an hour without seeing anyone or anything except a forest of trees that lined the highway. The heat and humidity were oppressive and Starsky squinted as a drop of perspiration fell from the tip of his lash, into his eye. The weary cop blinked against the sting of sweat and heaved a heavy sigh. After 30 or so hours of driving, he was tired and all of this walking was wearing him out. He was thirsty and he kept licking his parched lips as he forged ahead, suddenly stopping as he spied it . . . a spiral of smoke that floated out over the trees somewhere in the forest. The dark haired detective kept his eye on the smoky wisps as he searched for a road of some kind that would lead to the house in the woods. He finally found the narrow dirt pathway, almost hidden by the large trees that surrounded it, strewn over with small rocks and pebbles and little tufts of grass that somehow managed to grow in the middle of the desolate trail.

He could feel the excitement building as he neared the dilapidated wooden structure . . . a type of log house that sat forlorn and alone amid the trees, and Starsky could see a smaller shed to the left, a few yards away from the house. Wiping the sweat as best he could from his face, Starsky climbed up the few steps that led to the wooden door of the cabin. “Hello? Anyone home?” the brunet called out.

The dark haired detective put on his patented winning smile as he heard the click of the door being opened from the inside. A tall boy with stringy straw colored hair eyed him suspiciously from just inside of the doorframe. The boy looked filthy and the smell coming from his unwashed hair and body wafted out towards the cop who took a small step back, “Hi, my car busted its radiator a mile or so back on the highway . . . I saw your chimney smoke and I was hoping I could use your phone to call a tow company and my friend . . . it seems I got lost.

“Where ya headin’ mistah?” the boy said softly, opening the door a bit wider, the suspicious look on his face relaxing somewhat, “Sorry ‘bout lookin’ the way ah do, been workin’ wit’ mah pa out back . . . we ain’t hardly git no visitahs ‘round here . . .”

Starsky smiled at the youth’s unfamiliar dialect, “It’s okay . . . no need to apologize for that . . . I was supposed to meet my friend out on his farm in Duluth . . .”

“Duluth?” the tall lad interjected, “ Yer fah off mistah . . . this hea ain’t Duluth . . . it’s a town called Makinen . . . ya mustah takin’ a wrong turn ‘bout 60 miles back or so,” the boy said, a grin spreading across his face, “Where ya from mistah?”

“California, Bay City . . .” Starsky said, “Been driving for a while . . . my car overheated . . . I . . . um . . . I need to call a tow truck and my friend . . .” the detective gently reminded the boy, “Do you have a phone I can borrow?”

The tall youth bit his lip with indecision, his brows drawing together in a frown, “Ah guess so . . . wouldn’t hurt none, but mah pa don’t take kindly to no furners goin’ through his b’longings so’s ya have’ta make it quick.” The dirty lad opened the door and stepped aside inviting the “foreigner” in.

“Thanks,” Starsky smiled, “I’ll make it quick . . . I promise,” The brunet followed the boy over to the dusty phone sitting on the end of a dustier countertop near the entranceway to a filthy kitchen.

“Here ya go mistah . . . bes’ make it quick.” The boy said nervously, his gray, sad eyes darting about the room.

“Yeah . . . thanks . . . hey you got a phone book or something? Need to call that tow truck . . .” Starsky said, turning his back to the kitchen, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet, casually flipping it open to pull out the piece of paper Hutch had given him as he turned the phone around and lifted the receiver off the hook. The brunet quickly dialed the number scrawled on the bottom of the page, impatiently listening to it ring, as his dark blue eyes took in the dingy filth of the living room and the rest of the hovel the young boy called “home”.

“H’lo?”

Starsky felt his face break into a huge smile. It was so good to hear his partner’s voice once again and the brunet could immediately feel the tension of the last hour slowly ebbing from his body.

“Hey Blondie . . . long time no hear!” The brunet said laughing.

“Starsk? Where are you?” Hutch said anxiously, “Thought you’d be here hours ago.”

Starsky smiled sheepishly, “I would’ve, but I guess I had too much “nice” and “peaceful” . . . wasn’t payin’ much attention, so I took a wrong turn about 60 miles back . . . completely missed Duluth . . . I’m in a place called Ma . . .” The sudden explosion of white hot pain slammed into the back of his skull, stealing his words as the phone fell from his hand and he crumpled to the floor. Someone came over and brutally kicked him along the side of his head.

The dark haired cop could feel a warm puddle forming under his temple as he struggled to stay conscious, dark, blurry images swam before his dazed eyes and he could vaguely hear his partner’s frantic calling of his name through the phone’s receiver that lay beside him on the filthy tattered carpet.

Starsky gasped in pain as he tried to roll over, feeling the darkness coming, swallowing down the bile that rose from his stomach to his throat as he desperately tried to make his lips form the words that he tried to speak, “Hu . . . tch,” he whispered softly, before he was swallowed up whole by the black abyss.

oo0oo

“Howdy mistah, ‘bout time ya gots up. Ah was beginnin’ ta think yer playin’ ‘possum.”

The boy’s drawl brought the brunet’s attention to the forefront and his dark blue eyes narrowed with anger, “Wha’ . . . what’s . . . goin’ on? Why am I trussed up like this? Whatta ya want . . .with me?” Starsky said, watching warily as the lad just remained silent and came closer, unintentionally flinching as the boy reached out a hand to grab his chin, turning the cop’s face to the side.

“Tsk-tsk,” the boy clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, as he eyed the deep gash along the brunet’s temple, “Got ya a good one . . .seen fellahs git addled with less . . . but ya seem jus’ fine and dandy. Almost had me worried though . . . ya been out so long.”

Breathing heavily, Starsky jerked his head from the boy’s grasp and blinked the perspiration from his eyes, “Yeah . . . well . . . you pack . . . a good punch kid,”

The young man smiled sadly and his gray eyes grew dark with some knowledge that made the detective tense even more, “T’wern’t me that hit’chya . . . mah pa did . . . snuck up behind’ya and hit’chya with his shovel. Damn near took yer head off too.” The boy whispered nervously.

“Yeah? Mind tellin’ me why?” Starsky asked irritably, gasping softly as the pain in the side and back of his skull flared up and pulsed with each rapid beat of his heart.

Both men turned to look towards the door as it creaked open once more. Starsky watched as a big burly man walked through the dilapidated frame, his overall bib hung down over his belly, exposing his wide girth and a chest full of wiry black hair. The large man drew his dirty, hole-ridden hat from his balding head with one hand and tugged at his long, black beard with his other. “He awake boy?” the low gruff voice carried from across the small expanse of the room.

“Yas sir,” the tall lad immediately said, snapping to his full height as his father made his way over, “He jus’ woke up pa.”

“Well now . . . Ah‘spect yer wonderin’ why yer here,” the large man said amiably, as he made his way over and stood in front of the chained detective. “Jebbediah Woods’ mah name . . . Jebb for short. This hea’s my son, Lee Roy . . . Roy for short,” the big man guffawed as he looked up at his tall son, coughing up some spittle as he laughed at his own cleverness.

Jebb wiped the spit from his mouth and smeared it on the leg of his overall, sticking his meaty hand into the deep pocket there and drawing out the cop’s leather wallet, “And y’be . . . David Starsky,” the hillbilly said, reading the license in the wallet, “and a pohleece man too.” Starsky watched as Jebb’s large fingers thumped against his badge, surprised that the backwoodsman could read at all. “Ah saw this hea piece’a tin a’shinin’ from yer wallet when y’were makin’ yer phone call . . . knew right off y’were a law man. Had t’hit ya ‘fore ya called all yer pohleece friends over.”

The burly man nodded to his son, who quickly dragged over a wooden barrel for his old man to sit on. Jebb sat heavily, fishing out a battered corn pipe from his pocket, taking the time to puff gently on its end as he lit it up, his eyes never straying from the bound man. “Ya aftah us boy?” the mountain man finally asked, his gruff voice soft and suspicious as he blew out a puff of smoke, his keen gray eyes narrowing as he read every nuance on the brunet’s face.

Starsky bit back a groan as he flexed his shoulder to ease the strain, “Wha’?” he gasped, dark blue eyes were filled with pain and confusion, his pounding head and aching joints made it hard to follow the hillbilly’s strange speech, “I’m here to visit . . . my friend up in Duluth . . . took a . . . took a wrong turn and . . . and got lost when my car broke down . . . I’m not after anyone . . . I think you . . . I think you made a mistake . .. cut me down and . . . let me go . . . I . . . ” His ears rang from the force of the blow as Jebb’s meaty fist suddenly connected with the side of his jaw. He was probably already suffering from a concussion thanks to that shovel, but the sharp crack to his jaw nearly pushed him over the edge into the welcoming darkness once again.

“Shut yer tater trap boy, ya bes’ learn yer place,” Jebb drawled calmly, “T’ain’t nobody, kin or not, that tells Jebb what he can or cain’t do . . . y’hear me boy?” The backwoodsman lifted the cop’s bowed head with a thick, dirty finger that he shoved under the brunet’s chin.

Cobalt blue eyes, though dazed and glassy, still sparkled with defiance, and the hillbilly chuckled and licked his lips, his own gray eyes smoldered with something that made the brunet’s skin crawl, “Well now . . . yer eyes are a purty shade of blue . . . and ya gots a head full of soft, dark curls . . . and long spiky ‘lashes . . . almos’ like a gurl’s.” Jebb rubbed his own bald head as he looked the detective over, “Why . . . yer as purty as a speckled pup . . . ain’t he Roy?” The burly man reached out to touch the cop’s sable curls only to have his captive jerk his head out of his reach.

“What? Ya think yer sumpin’ special? Too good for ole Jebb? Ya come hea . . .dressed for a shindig, all highfalutin’ and uppity . . . Ah think ah have’ta teach ya some mannahs boy . . . yer gonna learn how’ta be pohlite ‘fore ah’m through wit’ ya,” the burly man promised, as a sneering smile spread across the hillbilly’s face, exposing a mouthful of teeth that were rotted or missing. The stench that came from his gaping mouth overwhelmed the hurting cop who turned his head away in order to breathe, swallowing convulsively to keep down the bile that wanted to spew out.

“Yeah? Well somebody . . . should teach you about hygiene,” Starsky gasped, “Obviously you, nor the kid, ever learned . . . about bathin’ or brushin’ your teeth.”

“Uungh,” the brunet grunted softly as a resounding blow twisted his head back, brutally connecting against his mouth, as blood began to run freely from his now, split lip. Starsky shook his head to clear the black dots that danced across his vision, which only succeeded in increasing the pounding tempo in his head. Breathing rapid, short breaths, the detective lifted his head to glare at the disgusting man as Jebb looked at his cut and bleeding knuckles.

“You’re . . . you’re pretty quick . . . for an ape,” the cop said cockily, panting heavily through a bout of dizziness as he pushed back the nausea that climbed up his throat. There was no way in hell that he was going to lose it and puke in front of these sadistic hicks.

The hillbilly stuck out his tongue and gave one long, smooth lap along the ridges of his bleeding knuckles, his dark gray eyes watching his captive the whole time, smiling lewdly when the brunet couldn’t control the imperceptible shiver that wracked his hurting body. Smacking his lips loudly, Jebbediah said softly, “Ah tol’ ya boy . . . y’bes’ shut that pie hole of yer’s or ah’ma gonna have to shut it fer ya!” The burly backwoodsman reached out and grabbed a handful of dark, damp curls, yanking the cop’s head back to stare into his rebellious, stormy blue orbs, “Y’hea me boy?”

“I hear you,” Starsky said, “But mostly . . . I smell ya.” Angry blue locked onto murky gray until Jeb finally released the cop, shoving him roughly in the process, making the bound man sway from his tied hands and arms, smiling knowingly at the pain it caused the brunet.

“You got spunk . . . I like a boy with spunk. Now, let’s see what we gots hea. . .” Jebb continued as he hunkered down once more over the barrel, looking through the detective’s wallet. The stained, meaty fingers leafed through the small pictures in its plastic sleeves, taking them out one by one.

“This hea yer mama boy?” Jebb asked, looking greedily at the picture of Rachel Starsky. “She be a fine woman . . . bet yer daddy loved to fuck her dry huh?” the hillbilly leered, smiling when he saw the tic flare in the jaw of the bound man. “She looks like ya . . . so purty . . . with all of them dark curls,” Jebb dug out the picture and threw it to the ground.

“An’ looky hea . . . this shure is a purty little filly,” the burly man flicked the picture of Terry Roberts over to his son, “That yer gurl, boy?” Jebb said to the detective, whose stormy blue eyes shot out daggers at the two hillbillies. “Ah bet she was good in bed too. Milked ya real tight ‘twixt them creamy thighs of hers . . . huh boy?”

Jebbediah snorted when the cop remained silent, knowing he was egging the brunet on, flipping to another picture of Hutch carrying his dark haired partner. It had been a good natured joke . . . two men trying to demonstrate their physical prowness and a picture had been snapped when Hutch hoisted his partner up into his arms, declaring himself the winner. That picture never failed to bring back fond memories of a day filled with laughter and comraderie whenever Starsky looked at it, and the thought of this scum rummaging through his things pissed the dark haired detective off.

“Well, well . . . yer wallet’s jus’ full o’ purty people ain’t it? He’s all golden like the sun, a totin’ ya up with his hand ‘twixt yer legs. Makes me kinda wondah if ya like to hop the fence now and then . . . if’n ya knows what ah mean?” Jebb eyed the detective leeringly, wagging his bushy eyebrows up and down as he licked his thick lips again, sending shivers down the shackled man’s spine.

“Lee Roy?” Jebbediah snapped, never taking his dark gray eyes off of the cop, “Take these hea pictures and burn ‘em. Cain’t chance havin’ someone find ‘em now, can we?”

“Yas sir,” Roy said quickly, scurrying around in the dirt as he retrieved the pictures his daddy had carelessly tossed about. Breathing heavily, Starsky watched in anger as Roy struck a match and lit each picture up one by one.

“Dun’t that make ya angrier than a hornet’s nest boy?” Jebb taunted, grinning at the tic he saw in the brunet’s jaw, moving in closer to the bound man so that Starsky nearly heaved at the foul smell of the hillbilly’s sour breath, “Now mistah fancy pohleece man, yer gonna open that sassy hole of yer’s and tell me some thangs that I wanna know . . . an’ yer gonna start tawlkin’right now . . .y’hea me?”

Chapter Three

“Starsk? Starsky!” Hutch shouted anxiously, a feeling of dread pierced his heart when he heard the clatter of the phone dropping and his partner’s soft, pain-filled whisper as the brunet struggled to call out his name.

“Hu . . .tch.”

There was a pause, a sudden, gaping, silent emptiness that made the blond hold his breath while pressing the receiver he was holding even tighter against his ear in hopes of hearing something . . . anything! But all he heard was the barely perceptible shuffling of footsteps approaching the receiver just before the ominous, “Click” was heard, as the phone on the other end was deliberately hung up.

“Starsk? Dammit! Answer me . . .” Hutch shouted, knowing it was too late, but still needing desperately to connect with his partner who he knew was hurt. ‘What the hell was happening?’ “Damn,” Hutch swore, slamming the phone down, only to pick it up once more, hastily dialing the number he’d known his whole life, his fingers moving quickly as his mind raced and his heart pounded, listening impatiently to the rings on the other end until it was suddenly picked up.

“Dad?” Hutch began when he heard his father’s voice, “Yeah, I’m up at the farm.” He listened impatiently as his father rambled on, “Yes, I know . . . I should have called when I got in, but I’ve been busy tidying up the place and storing provisions . . . yes I know dad, everything will be fine. Yes, yes, I promise we’ll be out by the end of the week and we won’t wreck the place.” Hutch said, trying to keep his irritation with his father from leaking into his voice, especially because he needed to ask a favor.

“Um . . . listen Dad, my friend hasn’t arrived here yet . . . it seems he took a wrong turn and he’s about 60 miles or so away from the farm. He just called and said he’s in a town that begins with an ‘M’, but he wasn’t too sure of the name exactly. I need to go pick him up. He’s had some trouble with his car, and I was wondering if you knew of any other towns around here, about 60 miles or so out from the farm that begin with the letter M? Yeah, we got cut off . . . accidentally. I guess Starsky didn’t have another quarter on him. I know dad . . . I’m sorry . . . I wouldn’t be asking, but I don’t have a map on me . . .yeah, yeah, I’ll hold . . .”

Hutch bit his lip in trepidation, glancing at his watch in frustration as he listened to his dad shuffling around for his map. “Yeah dad, I’m here,” Hutch said, as his father got back on the line, “Okay . . . so there’s three? Okay hold on . . . lemme get a pencil,” Hutch said, as he quickly snagged the writing implement and a piece of paper from the old desk where he sat and began to scribble the information down.

“Okay let me repeat that . . . there’s Macon, Makinen and a town called Mckinley? Right. And all of them are about 60 or so miles from Grandpa’s farm? Okay thanks dad . . . um don’t worry about the place. We’ll leave it as good as we found it . . . yeah and I appreciate you letting us stay for the week . . . this place has a lot of memories for me . . . I kinda hate to see it go. Yeah well, thanks again dad. I really appreciate it.” Hutch said softly, hesitating slightly before finally hanging up on his end.

The blond stood for a second, his pale lashes hiding the hurt he felt. His father’s stiff, formal voice never failed to bring a hint of sadness to the sensitive blond. Hutch snorted softly, ‘You’d think by now I’d be used to being treated like a stranger from my own father,’ he thought silently, although in the back of his mind, he realized that he had made no effort to connect with his family either; and he was honest enough to admit that if Starsky had made it to the farm like they had planned, it was in all likelihood that Hutch wouldn’t even have attempted to call his parents at all. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, if his Starsky-sense wasn’t screaming out a red alert that his partner was in imminent danger, and if he wasn’t so pressed for time, Hutch would have gone down to the local grocery store to purchase a map for himself, just to save him the pain and trouble of having to speak with his cold and aloof father.

Hutch shrugged off the hurt, pushing it deep down into his heart, placing it under lock and key where it usually belonged, as he quickly took out his grandfather’s old phone book to look up the sheriff’s offices for these particular towns. If anyone could help him quickly, it would be the local police in these different areas and Hutch would move mountain and earth to find his partner . . .

‘Hang on buddy,’ Hutch thought determinedly, ‘I’m coming . . .’

oo0oo

“Ya still with me boy?” Jebb said, grinning as he lifted the weary detective’s head by the roots of his curly, dark hair, “Don’ think I cain’t tell a lie from the truth . . . now tell me again . . . y’come hea alone or do y’have yer pohleece buddies outside somewhere, hidin’ in mah woods? Ya’ll watchin’ and spyin’ on mah family boy? Pokin’ yer noses in mah family business again? Tell me mistah law man . . . y’aftah my ‘shine . . . ain’t ya?” the large hillbilly said, squinting suspiciously.

Starsky gasped, taking in short, ragged breaths to clear the ringing in his ears, his abdomen aching from the beatings he’d been taking. Remaining stubbornly silent had only angered the dirty backwoodsman, who took great joy in breaking down the obstinance and belligerence out of the brunet, but finally getting the cop to talk only aggravated the hillbilly more, for he was sure the detective was lying to him.

Starsky gritted teeth as he bit back the pain that pummeled his bruised and battered body, “Look . . . for the last time . . . I . . . I don’ know what the hell . . . your talkin’ about. No one is coming . . . no one is after you . . . but they will be though . . . if you don’t let me go.”

“Yeah? Y’tellin’ me what t’do again boy?” Jebb asked softly, cocking his bald head to one side, “Well now . . . ya seem to fergit that ah don’ take kindly to furner’s bossin’ me ‘round,” the fat, offensive mountain man said as he yanked the handful of curls he still held tightly in his fist, shaking the wounded cop’s head for good measure before he thrust it away, watching with a grin as it slumped back down and hung between the cop’s straining arms.

Jebb backed up a few paces and picked up the two by four he had carelessly thrown down a while back. “Ya need t’be reminded so’s ya don’ fergit again,” Jebb grinned. Taking the thick piece of wood, Jebb raised it and held it like a bat, swinging with all his might, making sure it connected against the cop’s left side, feeling satisfied when he simultaneously heard the brunet finally cry out in pain and the sickening sound of wood crunching against bone. Laughing, Jebbediah Woods hobbled over to the wooden barrel he had Roy drag over so that he could sit for a while and rest . . . working the cop over was plumb tiring.

He watched for a minute, enjoying the soft gasps of pain that came from the bound man, as he attempted to surf through the waves of stabbing agony that pierced his side, silently suffering once more, refusing to give Jebb the satisfaction of hearing him scream. ‘That boy sure has spunk,’ the big man thought, but he was used to breaking willfulness, in fact, he got off on it. Jebb turned to look at his own son who sat quietly in darkening hovel, “Lee Roy?” the older man crooned softly.

“Yas sir?” Lee Roy hopped to attention, unfurling his long length from where he sat huddled in the corner of the shed, as his pa carried on the interrogation, wincing each time his pa took a swing at the shackled man with the piece of lumber, trying to tune out the gasps and grunts of pain coming from the cop, afraid to say anything that might make his pa notice his presence as memories of his own beatings were still fresh in his mind, even though his bruises had already begun to fade. The tall youth hurried over to where the curly haired man hung from the rafters, his sunken gray eyes looked sad and remorseful as they raked over the hurting detective who gasped with pain, dark lashes pressed against his pale, sweat-drenched cheeks.

Roy could feel his heart beating with fear. His pa was crazy sometimes . . . always thinking someone was after them, moving his family out from Tennessee when the county police began to crack down on moonshine producers who illegally sold their jugs by the gallons to the local eateries and bars in the surrounding areas. “Damn, fuckin’ pohleece,” his pa had cussed at that time, kicking the dilapidated furniture in his rage, “always nosin’ around in things that ain’t their damn concern . . . this hea’s mah family business . . . who the hell are they t’tell us what we can or cain’t do!”

They had moved shortly thereafter, up here to Minnesota of all places, hoping to start up their business up once more after the dust had settled. For the most part, they lived quietly, their humble home obscured and hidden by the surrounding trees; going into town for supplies and such, but never staying too long.

Roy looked guiltily at the bound man whose head hung low once again. He should’ve never answered the door. Seeing this stranger coming up their dirt road had filled the boy’s heart with trepidation and fear; and in a way, he felt responsible for the mess this man was in. ‘If I had jus’ kept quiet, or if I had jus’ warned the man and turned him away . . . he would never be hea hangin’ from the rafters all bruised up and hurtin,’ the tall boy thought, his dark eyes raking ruefully over the shackled man.

“Bring me those shears ovah thea on the shelf boy,” Jebb said softly, his eyes never leaving the heaving, glistening body of his captive, “Our guest looks like he’s hot. Ah guess ah’m obliged to help him out . . . bein’ that ah’m the host ‘n’all,” the burly man grinned.

Roy looked once more at the cop who hung from his bleeding wrists, his heart going out to the wounded man as he eyed the top of his bruised ribcage peeking out from between the open vee of his denim shirt now stained with sweat and blood; his dark, gray eyes continued to rove over the sable curls, finally settling on the bleeding gash on the side of the cop’s head.

“Now boy!” Jebb snapped, his brows drawing together in a menacing frown, “Stop yer dawdling, or y’can take his place.”

“Yas sir,” Lee Roy said quickly, his lithe young body moving hastily to the dirty shelf where his pa stored his tools, snatching the sharp shears by the blades, and hurrying over to his father who continued to eye the law-man. “Here pa,” Roy whispered, brushing his matted bangs from his eyes with his free hand, his body flinching as his father snatched the shears from his outstretched hand.

“Nex’ time ah tell ya t’git . . . y’bes’ move yer hinny, y’hea me boy?” Jebb snarled, his angry, flint-colored eyes flicking over to his son, who nodded vigorously and stepped back into the shadows, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible as he slowly crouched down once more in the corner of the shed, which had darkened considerably since the sun had begun to set.

Jebb got off his haunches and ambled over to the brunet who hung motionless, his heaving chest and labored breathing, the only indication of life. The hillbilly walked slowly behind the bound man, using his sharp shears to cut through the back of the denim shirt up and almost through the collar, exposing the strained muscles of the cop’s shoulders and upper back.

The burly redneck moved to the front of the dark haired man, his feral gray eyes eerily gleaming in the dim, waning light that leaked through the slats of the wooden shed. Jebb smiled and took his time unbuttoning the front of the shirt which now hung limply over the detective’s broad shoulders, almost leering as the cop’s hairy chest came into few. The hillbilly snatched the denim in his large hands and viciously yanked it off, causing the dark haired man to gasp softly as he raised his weary head that had hung once more between his outstretched arms.

Starsky bit back the groan that wanted to escape each time that he took in a labored breath, gritting his teeth together to keep the unwanted sounds from slipping through his bruised and bleeding lips. It took effort to hold his head up, when all it wanted to do was to sag back down, and he raised his hooded lids at half-mast to glare at his tormentor, his dark blue eyes narrowing on the large, burly shape that blurred in and out of focus, the offensive smell coming from the hillbilly making him want to gag as he once again forced down the bile that rose up this throat, the muscles in his parched throat working as he tried to speak.

“You . . . could’ve had the shirt . . . if you . . . if you just said, ‘please’ . . . thought you . . . you knew all about manners.” Starsky said between breaths, glaring hostilely at Jebb, his swollen lip curling in contempt as he sneered at the hillbilly, knowing he was asking for more trouble, but wanting to get a few more digs in before completely blacking out.

Jebb snorted, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand as some snot blew out. The burly man laughed, “Yer a fighter, that’s fer shure . . . an’ ah shure like what ah’m seein’ now boy. . .” Jebbediah grinned, stepping even closer to the bound man, his eyes fastened on the muscular chest and firm abdomen sprinkled with fine dark hair. He whistled lewdly through the gaps of his rotted, yellow teeth, “Yer a fine piece o’ work boy, betch’ya lots of gurls love t’look at them stomach muscles of yers and they must jus’ love t’do this . . .” The burly redneck reached out and touched the bound man, his large dirty hand roaming over the cop’s glistening abdomen, his beefy finger tracing the indentations of Starsky’s abs, making the detective strain against his bonds, his stomach shrinking away from Jebb’s gruesome touch, as he tried to distance himself from the foul man.

Jebbediah chuckled, licking the drool that seeped from the corner of his mouth, “Whatsamattah boy? Ain’t no man evah teched ya befoa? Don’ tell ole Jebb that that nice lookin’ blond man in dem pictures ain’t nevah done this t’ya,” The backwoodsman quickly reached out to pinch and twist one of the brunet’s nipples between his filthy fingers, causing Starsky to gasp in pain. “Don’ tell me he ain’t nevah done that t’ya befoa. Ah seen that picture . . . how his hand was snuggl’d all cozy like in yer crotch area.

The bound man jerked away, breathing heavily, his stormy dark eyes throwing daggers at the hillbilly, “Lay your filthy paws on me again . . . and I swear . . . I’ll kill ya . . . you son of a bitch!” Starsky snapped, yanking against his chains, a feral snarl curling his lips, looking like a wild animal trapped in a snare.

Jebb stopped his advances, hesitantly withdrawing his hand, feeling the cold finger of fear crawl up his spine. He was thankful that the man before him was chained up tightly the way he was, his dark gray eyes crawled up to the metal loop, making sure it was securely screwed into the rafters despite the jerks and yanks it took from the thrashing cop. The hillbilly’s look of concern morphed into a mask of smug righteousness when he knew he was safe from the brunet’s retaliation. Jebb could feel admiration bloom under his skin for the defiant and angry cop, “Yas siree, y’be a fighter . . . but ah’ma gonna enjoy breakin’ ya boy . . .” the burly man growled, taking off the leather belt he wore through the loops that went around his wide girth, holding his loose overalls up, “Gonna have mah way wit ya and teach ya a lessin’ ya’ll ne’er fergit . . .”

“Pa?” Roy interjected quietly, swallowing the fear that rose in his throat when Jebb turned to stare at him, “Ah’m sorry pa for inneruptin’ and all, but ah think we bettah get his car ‘fore someone finds it parked there on the highway.” the tall boy said, nodding in the bound man’s direction, “If the sheriff’s office finds it, their gonna know fer shure that somethin’s wrong . . . him being a cop an’ all.”

Jebb stared at his son, his anger slowly dissipating as he gave thought to Roy’s words. “Yer right son,” he finally said, “Y’ain’t usually the sharpest tool in the shed, but this time yer right,” The hillbilly turned back to the dark haired man and eyed him for a few seconds before he whispered softly, his voice carrying loudly in the stillness of the dirty shed, “Git ‘im ready Lee Roy . . . when I gets back, we’re goin’ snipe huntin’!”

Chapter 4

“Mistah?”

The cool wash of the rag running over his hot face and chest felt deliciously good and Starsky slowly attempted to raise his head once more, not even realizing he had passed out. He remembered watching as father and son walked out of the shed together to look for his car, feeling his battered form growing weary as the adrenalin that kept him up and fighting slowly left his body, replacing it with the exhaustion and pain he was trying to keep at bay.

“Please mistah, y’needs t’wake up now,”

Starsky could hear the quiet urgency in the whispered voice and felt the gentle shake to his aching shoulder. The cool brushes of moisture helped to bring the brunet out of the welcoming arms of darkness that he’d collapsed into, and he struggled to raise the heavy line of lashes that framed his dazed blue eyes.

“Hey mistah,” Lee Roy said softly as his dirty face came into focus, “I brung ya some water . . . knew ya would be thirsty.” The tall lad brought the ladle of cool water to the detective’s parched lips, gently lifting it as the brunet gulped its contents down, “Easy mistah, don’ guzzle it down too fast, its crik water, yer belly might not be used’ta it.” Roy looked away as he brought the empty ladle down, guilt and remorse tearing away at his conscience as his gazed roamed over the hurting man’s battered and bruised torso.

“Where’s . . . your dad?” Starsky asked, his voice sounded gravelly and strained, “Thought you . . . went with him.”

“Mah pa took a short cut down yonder through them woods to the highway, ah ‘spect it’ll take ‘im about a half an hour or so to get back hea wit y’car.” Roy said softly, his gray eyes became the color of steel as he quickly struck a match and lit up the lantern that was hanging on a hook screwed into a wooden beam. Starsky watched as he carefully set the kerosene lamp on the barrel facing the detective.

“Listen to me Lee Roy,” Starsky rasped, his dark blue eyes squinting until it got used to the sudden glare from the lantern, “Cut me down . . .”

“Ah cain’t mistah,” Roy interjected miserably, “He’s gonna git me if’n ah do that. Y’ain’t the only one he’s done that too . . . he’s jus’ goes crazy sometimes . . . there ain’t no talkin’ sense t’him when he gits like that . . .”

Starsky bit back a groan as he twisted his mangled wrists, “Roy, cut me down . . . that’s all you gotta do . . . I can help you . . . I’m a cop . . . my partner . . . I know he’s looking for me . . . as we speak. If you help me, you won’t be considered . . . an accessory . . . to kidnapping and assault.”

The tall hillbilly boy bit his lip with indecision, and then shook his head slowly. “Ah cain’t do that mistah. Ah’m sorry . . . ah know it’s mah fault this is happenin’ to ya . . . ah should’a nevah let ya in . . . should’a lied and tol’ ya we had no phone. My pa . . . when he gets in those moods of his, there ain’t no talkin’ t’him . . . ah git so ‘fraid . . .” Roy twisted his hands together, then raised his left index finger to chew on the dirty nail growing there.

“Roy . . . listen to me,” Starsky gasped, wincing as he twisted his wrists in desperation, “I’ll help ya get outta here . . . ya don’t have’ta feel afraid. My partner Hutch, he and I will protect you. If you cut me down now . . . we’ll still have time . . . to hide and get away from him . . . make it to town and call for help . . . we’ll call the sheriff’s department and . . .”

“There’s gonna be a full moon t’night . . .” the boy said softly, his gray eyes grew distant as it looked to the chain that held the man’s wrists stretched to the ceiling, “Ah’m not ‘pose t’tell ya this, but when the hunt begins, stick to the crik and follow her down ‘bout two miles or so ‘til ya gits to the Johnson’s farm.”

“The hunt?” Starsky repeated, one dark brow rose slightly, “Jus’ what is . . . a snipe hunt?” the detective asked softly, remembering Jebb mentioning that just before he left the shed.

Lee Roy sighed heavily and lowered his eyes to his dirty bare feet. “It’s a hunt of some sorts. Deep’n the South, and back in mah hometown, whenever there was a newcomer to town or when a kid came of age, the folks would send them out into the woods, all by their lonesome, with a gunny sack and a lantern to hunt snipe.”

“What is snipe?” Starsky asked; his head ached terribly, pounding out a painful beat, which made it hard to follow the boy’s ramblings.

The tall boy snorted softly, the trembling smile gracing his lips failed to reach his sad, gray eyes, “Nobody really knows what a snipe is. Some say it’s a bird, others say it’s a wild cat, but mah pa . . . he says a snipe is an animal turned human, and whenever he gets th’chance, he hunts ‘em. Says nuthin’ is bettah than huntin’ human snipe.” Roy turned to look at the detective who stared back at him, comprehension sinking in as he swallowed down his fear.

“You gotta . . . you gotta be kidding. He’s gonna hunt me? You . . . you people hunt humans?” Starsky asked, a look of incredulous horror masking his face, “How long has this been goin’ on?”

Roy shrugged his lanky shoulders, “Don’ rightly know . . . fer as long as ah can r’membah.” the boy said softly, lowering his eyes to the dirt floor of the shed, clearing his throat almost apologetically as he whispered, “Mah pa . . . he’s good at huntin’ . . . he nevah misses. In Tennessee, he’d hunt snipe . . . well, human snipe at least once, sometimes twice a year.”

“But . . . the bodies . . . what does he do with them?” Starsky asked, a shiver of fear racing through his system as he saw the boys expression become haunted and distant.

“Mah pa . . . he’s a wily one. He always knows what kinda snipe t’go aftah. Usually he’d hunt strangers or loners that wanna just pass through town, people who don’t look like they have anyone who cares about ‘em. In all my born years, ain’t no one come a’lookin’ fer the snipes mah pa hunted. He’d bury ‘em deep in th’woods. Used’ta laugh when he came home from those hunts . . . used’ta brag an’tell me the snipes were a’restin’ in Jebbediah’s Woods . . . then he’d come home an’ . . .” Roy paused, shivered slightly, and then sighed softly again, “He’s always so excited aftah a hunt, always making jokes ‘bout his name . . . says that’s why God made our last name Woods . . . ‘cawse He knows we bury thangs in the woods.”

Starsky watched the boy’s expression and caught the small hesitation the boy made, “What else does he do? Does he ever . . .”

“Sometimes,” Lee Roy continued on, almost like he had never heard the detective say anything, “He’d keep a tuft of hair or a piece of jewelry or a shirt fer a trophy, but most times, they’d jus’ disappear completely . . . like they nevah even existed . . . ya know?” Roy looked up again at the tall brunet who hung by his arms, shaking his head with shame and remorse, “Ah bettah start to git thangs ready fer the hunt. Mah pa will be angry as a grizzly, if’n ah don’ do what needs t’be done.”

“Roy wait,” Starsky called out to the retreating lad, “Listen to me . . . it’s not too late . . .”

The tall boy turned at the door to look sadly back at the detective, “Ah’m sorry mistah . . . ah jus’ cain’t . . . and yer wrong y’know . . .” Roy said softly, a soft sad sigh escaping his lips before he said quietly, “It is too late . . . fer you.”

The dark haired detective lowered his head once more as he heard the soft click of the door, instantly relieving the strain in his neck muscles from turning to look at the door. “Hutch,” the brunet whispered miserably, “Hurry up pal . . . ole Jebbediah’s gonna have me for his snipe stew if you don’t figure this out in time . . .”

Starsky listened quietly, trying to hear any other sounds going on outside his make-shift prison, but all he heard was his labored breathing. “Fuck!” Starsky swore softly, feeling the quick heat of rage that fueled his spirit, growing angry with himself at the helplessness he felt while he dangled from the rafters, his feet barely brushing the floor. His thoughts drifted back to the way Jebb eyed him, to the lewd comments he’d made and the way he touched him with his dirty hands. “Sick son of a bitch!” the cop growled, feeling his heart accelerating as the heat of anger flared within him.

With all the strength he had remaining, Starsky began to struggle against his bonds once more; pushing down the weariness, fear and pain, but allowing the anger and hostility he felt within him to fuel his efforts. It would be no surprise to him if Jebbediah Woods was a man who had an incestuous relationship with his son. The boy had that look about him . . . the haunted look of a hopeless soul who’d been living through hell and it spurned the brunet to try harder to break free of his bonds. The dark haired detective grunted as he twisted and thrashed against his chains, but the sudden sound of a vehicle pulling up aborted his efforts.

There was no mistaking the hum and purr of his prized possession. The burly backwoodsman had found the Torino and had driven her up here with the keys he’d taken. A sinking feeling flooded Starsky’s being and the brunet could feel the fight drain from his spirit. Jebbediah Woods had come home.

Chapter 5

The burly man got out from the old truck he drove, slamming its rusty door behind him as he ambled in the dark towards the bed of the vehicle and looked up at his son who sat beside their captive. He drew in a deep breath, listening to sounds of crickets chirping and in the distance, the resonant croaking of frogs. He loved this neck of the woods and he shivered, as he felt the excitement that a hunt always brought on.

“Well, let’s git goin’ ‘fore the moon sets,” Jebb grinned, reaching out a thick arm to drag the shirtless, bound man to the lip of the bed, tossing him carelessly to the ground, chuckling as he heard the soft grunt that came from the brunet when he landed hard on his left side. The hillbilly chuckled. He knew that had to hurt, and with the cop bound and unable to see, there was no way he could have broken his fall.

“Let ‘im see where we are boy,” Jebb drawled slowly, nodding towards the bound man, who lay curled in pain on the forest floor.

Lee Roy nodded and jumped down from the back of the truck; he knelt beside the detective and slowly sat him up, biting his lip with remorse as he heard the painful gasps and short, rapid breaths coming from behind the thick burlap. The tall boy quickly removed the gunny sack that was tied around the cop’s head, “Sorry mistah, ah know yer ribs are hurtin’ ya mighty fierce.”

The boy’s gray eyes connected to angry blue, which quickly looked around, trying to take in his surroundings. Lee Roy closed his eyes as he remembered the sharp cry of pain that came unwillingly from the cop when they had finally cut him down from the rafters in the shed, several hours after Jebb had come home. He knew of the intense burn the detective was probably feeling in his arms and shoulders, as his arms dropped and he fell to the ground. It pained him greatly to watch as the cop instinctively curled one strained arm around his bruised and battered ribs. At that time, Lee Roy had felt the sickening sense of despair growing deep in the pit of his stomach when he looked at the wounded man, but to his credit, the brunet gritted his teeth and made no more sounds, his dark blue eyes defiant and angry as they glared up at Jebb, just like how they were doing now, glittering almost catlike as they caught the light from the shimmering moon.

“Don’ look at mah pa like that mistah,” Lee Roy whispered softly to the cop, feeling his nose twitch as the brunet’s dark curls tickled its tip, “Don’ go makin’ him madder than he already is . . .” the boy warned softly. The tall lad liked the rugged detective. He liked the defiant and rebellious nature of the cop named Starsky, and wished he had half of his courage when it came to standing up to his daddy. He also really liked the car the cop drove and had never seen such a vehicle up close like the one he had seen tonight . . .

To see his pa driving up the narrow dirt road in the furner’s car was something to marvel at, and Lee Roy couldn’t help but notice that the shiny red car parked in front of their cabin just emphasized the filth and the squalor that they lived in. Steam rose slightly from the Torino’s hood, and Lee Roy rubbed his dirty palm against the sides of his overalls before he ran it reverently against the car’s sleek side.

“She’s beautiful pa,” the teen whispered, his gray eyes wide with wonder, “Ah guess pohleece men must make quite a livin’ doin’ what they do.”

“She runs like a racehorse,” Jebb grinned, “Drove her ‘round for a bit ‘fore comin’ back here. We can fix her up real good an’ keep her after everythin’ cools down and they stop lookin’ for the cop.” Jebbediah snorted, “We’ll drive her into the shed fer now, lock her up in there until we can find a better place t’ hide her. Jebb turned to look towards the shed in the darkness behind him, a strange glint coming to his dark gray eyes. “An’ how’s our ‘guest’ doin’ boy?” he asked quietly, a slow smile tweaking his thick lips.

“He’s hurtin’ pa,” Lee Roy said softly, “Ah think . . . ah think we should cut ‘im down.” The tall lad looked quickly to his dirty feet, knowing he had said too much, but there was something he really liked about the cop that was hanging from the rafters of their shed. What they were doing was wrong, but then again, everything that happened in their neck of the woods was wrong.

Jebb snorted as he looked at his son, “Y’do, do ya?” the big man said, one brow rising in derision, “An’ jus’ when have ah ever asked fer yer ‘pinion boy? Y’bes’ mind yer tone w’me y’hear?” the hillbilly threatened, grinning as he saw his son cower back down once more, “An’ as fer the pig . . . well, he ain’t even felt what hurtin’ is all ‘bout . . . but he will boy, he will . . .”

The almost inaudible groan from the cop brought the boy out of his recollections and he shivered as he remembered his pa’s threats. Sighing softly, his eyes filled with compassion and sorrow, Lee Roy made sure the detective could sit up by himself before he went back to the truck and took out the things he’d brought. He walked quietly back to the bound man and squatted beside him in the dark, opening the gunny sack to put in a canteen of water and a sandwich that he made before they left. “Here ya go mistah. Ah brought some vittles fer ya t’keeps up yer strength.” Lee Roy carefully placed it before the cop and reached behind him to cut the ropes that tied his hands behind his back.

Starsky grunted softly as circulation flowed once more to his extremities, causing the familiar burning pain to flare as he winced and rubbed his mangled wrists. “So what now? ” the detective snarled as Roy stepped away, stormy blue eyes glittered dangerously as he glared at the large hillbilly, “You gonna strip me naked and chase me through the woods?” Starsky flicked his cobalt blue gaze over at Lee Roy when the boy gasped softly; his gray eyes were suddenly filled with fear and trepidation.

“Don’ push me boy,” Jebb sneered, licking his thick slimy lips, “An’ don’ give me no ideas that ah ain’t already thought of m’self. Now git yer ass off th’ground and start hightailin’ it. Ya gots 15 minutes ‘fore we come a’lookin’ for ya . . . snipe!”

Starsky watched as Jebb looked at the cheap watch he had strapped around his thick hairy wrist. Confusion marred his features as he stared at the two hillbillies in the moonlight, the moment seemed almost surreal as he tried to stand, one hand clenched against his left side, the other holding the gunnysack that Roy had given him. Starsky looked from father to son, seeing the look of sheer terror on the boy’s face.

Lee Roy bit his lip, his dark gray eyes conveying the urgency he felt within. ‘Why was the cop just standing there?’

“Fourteen minutes,” Jebb said calmly, the gleam in his eye reflected the thrill he felt as the countdown began.

Looking from his pa to the dark haired man, Lee Roy blurted out, “Run mistah, don’ jus’ stand there like a deer caught in th’headlights . . .ya gots t’run!” The tall youngster pushed the cop towards the dark trees, “Run mistah, run fer yer life.”

Starsky turned and began to run, his hand clenched tightly to his side, as sharp agonizing pain stabbed into him with each jarring crunch of his bare feet against the pine needles that littered the forest floor. Breathing heavily, Starsky ran until he was as far from the truck that brought them here, the thick forest quickly swallowing his retreating form.

It was chilly, the night air caused puffs of smoke to appear each time the brunet exhaled. Breathing was a bitch with the pain that flared in his side and the Starsky knew that a few of his ribs might have been cracked from the beating he took in the shed. The wounded detective stopped for moment to catch his breath and bearings, hearing the sound of running water in the distance. Gasping softly, Starsky looked to the brightness of the moon that streamed down through the thick branches of the pine.

“There’s gonna be a full moon t’night . . .”

“Ah’m not ‘pose t’tell ya this, but when the hunt begins, stick to the crik and follow her down ‘bout a mile or so ‘til ya gits to the Johnson’s farm.”

Remembering the boy’s soft words spurred the cop into action once more as he made his way towards the creek, making sure to cover his tracks as he went. He felt thankful for the moonlight, which made it easy to pick his way through the bushes and thick brambles and foliage of the forest; yet at the same time, the iridescent glow gave his pursuers an advantage over him . . . especially because they had the rifle and all he had for protection was a burlap sack filled with a canteen full of water and a haphazardly made sandwich.

Had the situation not been so dire, the curly haired cop might have even found it humorous, but with his head pounding and his ribs aching, there wasn’t much to laugh about. Being in this situation was like being stuck in a nightmare. Who would have thought he’d be running for his life, as redneck hicks chased him through the woods at night. Thoughts of his blond haired counterpart flitted through his mind as he crouched behind a large tree trunk, catching his breath. He could only hope that Hutch understood his message, which was abruptly ended thanks to Jebb’s shovel. Starsky gingerly felt the back of his skull. The crusty goose-sized egg he’d found there throbbed and pulsed and the brunet leaned wearily against the trunk, attempting to slow his breath, as his eyes darted back and forth through the foliage. “Aw Hutch,” he whispered, “Hurry up and move that ass of yours buddy.”

“It’ll be a nice, peaceful drive for you and then we can both ride home together after the weekend is over? It would be a great road trip . . . what do you say buddy?”

The dark haired cop snorted derisively as he thought of what Hutch had said to entice him to visit his home state. “Yeah . . . right!” he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment as he gave in to the exhaustion and pain and that pummeled his body, suddenly feeling the chill of the night air against his sweat-damp skin. Yet, just imagining his partner’s soothing voice helped him to find the stamina to continue on through this holocaust he suddenly found himself in.

If anyone could have told him that he would be stuck in the middle of nowhere, with a psychotic redneck hot on his trail, hunting his ass down with a loaded rifle as he ran through a forest at night . . . well, he would have thought that person was off his rocker or doing drugs; but here he was living out his very own “Twilight Zone,” his bruised and aching body loudly protesting the crouched position that he was in, as he peered into the darkness of the night.

Being out in the wilderness like this, adrenaline pumping, being on guard and watchful, reminded Starsky of the time he served in ‘Nam. Dark memories of running silently through the humid jungle, dodging bullets as the staccato sounds of gunfire played repeatedly in the background, watching his friend Ross being blown to smithereens right before his eyes from the enemy’s grenade came rushing back full force.

Ross . . . his childhood buddy. He hadn’t thought about his friend for a long, long time. He and Ross would often go over to Johnny Blaine’s house to listen to his stories about being a cop. John always had a way of building it up, somehow making it sound more exciting than it really was, enticing the imagination of two young boys as they listened to him tell his stories of life on the streets, of putting the bad guys behind bars, somehow making good always triumph over evil, leaving them wide-eyed with wonder and excitement.

Starsky snorted softly at the memory, pain filled sadness spilling out from his wounded heart, ‘Ya lied to us Johnny,’ the dark haired detective thought, silently berating his deceased mentor in his mind, The brunet sighed wearily, his dark blue eyes searc“Ya should’a told us about the scum and filth on the streets, instead of makin’ it seem like cops were heroes, knights disguised in uniforms wearing gleaming badges of polished metal . . .’ hing warily through the darkness, ‘Now look at you . . . and Ross too . . . you’re both dead and buried . . . gone. See Johnny? Knights don’t exist.’

Yet, in the back of his mind, Starsky knew of one cop who reminded him of the knights of yore; the brave and noble knights that he and Ross would pretend to be as they rode through their neighborhood street on their trusted bikes turned to steeds . . . glorified, shining knights who sat at King Arthur’s legendary Round Table in the stories that John used read to them when they were just boys . . . and that cop was Hutch.

Hutch was the golden white knight who stood up for the underprivileged though he himself, came from affluence, a cop who wasn’t afraid to show compassion for the drunks and derelicts on the dirty streets as he doled out money to help ease the strain of their miserable lives, a sensitive cop who would be the first to reach out a warm hand and lay it on a quaking shoulder to comfort with his touch. There was something innately good about his partner that Starsky strived to emulate . . . something that reminded him so much of Ross and so much of John.

‘Aw Hutch,’

Starsky longed for his partner, leaning back against the solid trunk of the tree that he hid behind. The quiet stillness of the night, the cadence and rhythm of the crickets chirping helped to ease his rapidly beating heart. He was so tired and cold. His head throbbed and the chilly night air made him want to just close his eyes if only for a little while. He knew he was relatively safe, well hidden between a large tree trunk and a thick bramble bush. If he just stayed still, it would be near impossible to see him. His mind knew he had to move on . . . get to the creek, but his limbs were so heavy and just breathing in and out became a painful chore . . .

A sudden snap of a twig nearby brought him quickly around and he jolted stiffly awake. He hadn’t even known he had passed out again. ‘Damn,’ he thought silently, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of movement as he pressed his back into the trunk, peering stealthily through the waning darkness. The brunet cursed his weakness, he should have been trying to escape, should have been using the cloak of darkness to elude his pursuers instead of giving into the sleepiness that a head injury brought on. If Hutch had been with him, he wouldn’t have drifted off . . . concussion or not, the blond Blintz would have made sure he didn’t nod off. Starsky looked to the sky above the hills in the east, its purple and pink highlights were the herald of the dawn. “Fuck!” the cop swore softly under his breath.

The sudden retort of the rifle’s loud bark filled the quiet stillness of the forest, effectively silencing the chirping insects and the hum of nocturnal life in the woods; the force of the discharged bullet sped through air and leaves to gouge itself into the side of the tree trunk, mere inches from where Starky’s hand lay pressed against it. Small splinters of wood and bark pierced sharply into the side of the brunet’s palm, causing the detective to hiss quietly in pain as he quickly retracted his hand.

“Y’should’ve been runnin’ boy, ‘stead of sleepin’,” Jebb’s voice rang out from the darkness, sending a chill of fear racing down the detective’s spine, “’cawse ah’ma comin’ fer ya now . . .”

Chapter 6

Jebb smiled as he looked through the high-powered lens and pulled the trigger. He and Roy had been searching throughout the night and it seemed like that cop had just disappeared right out from under their noses. He was losing his patience, knowing the sun would be up in just under an hour, but he could track anything. The hillbilly smiled confidently knowing he’d met a worthy opponent. It appeared the cop had some skill in covering his tracks. He’d never thought that a city boy would know how to do stuff like that and his admiration for the lawman raised a notch.

He almost missed spotting the cop hiding behind the large tree trunk, the brambles and bushes nearly camouflaging him completely, but Jebb was an experienced hunter. He knew all the tricks that his prey would use and the thrill of the hunt raced through his blood. He loved the sound of the rifle firing loudly in the early morning just before dawn, loved the hard kick of the rifle’s butt into his shoulder, loved the ping the bullet made as it sunk into the bark of the trunk next to his “snipe”.

Jebb laughed, calling out to the cop, chiding him in a sneering voice as he heard the frantic scrambling of his prey trying to escape in the distance. “Give it up boy,” he shouted smugly, “Y’don’ stand a chance in the daylight!” The fat hillbilly lowered his rifle butt to the ground as he held its sleek neck in his thick, meaty hand.

“Gimme some of that ‘shine boy,” Jebb said over his shoulder, snatching the jug from his son’s hand, pulling the cork out as he tipped his head back to guzzle down some of his homemade brew, loving the burn as it slid down his throat. The hillbilly lowered the jug and belched loudly, enjoying the cool trail of the moonshine as it dripped down his chin and into his wiry beard.

Jebbediah dragged the back of his hand against his mouth, handing the jug back to the tall boy who trailed silently behind him the whole night. The mountain man turned and eyed his son, who corked the jug and quickly looked down at his feet. “Don’ worry boy, we’ll catch ‘im . . . and then the fun’ll jus’ begin . . .”

Lee Roy said nothing, feeling his father’s keen eyes upon him as he looked to his bare feet. He knew what his pa was insinuating at, and the sick feeling in his belly continued to worsen. The tall boy had wished with all his heart that the cop would escape and somehow find help; he should’ve never fallen asleep.

Throughout the night, Lee Roy had followed along behind his pa, silently hoping that the dark haired lawman had made it, that he had somehow gotten away, but he nearly cried out in frustration when he saw his pa lift the rifle to his shoulder, unexpectedly jumping as his pa fired, the roar of the firearm disturbing the quiet, early morning hours. He hoped the brunet was all right, he could hear the faint sounds of bare feet running in the distance and it alleviated his worry somewhat. Lee Roy gnawed on his thumbnail; though he couldn’t see anything from where he stood, he quickly sent up a silent prayer anyway that the brunet would keep going and that he would somehow make it to the Johnson’s farm.

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The early morning sun had finally shown her radiant head, illuminating the tips of the pine trees, bathing them with soft, golden highlights. It would have been breathtakingly beautiful had he had time to just sit and watch the dawn gracefully unfolding. Hutch had once told him how he and his grandfather had watched the sun come up one morning when he was a kid, and Starsky had always wanted to see that magical moment that Hutch had described, but being hunted down by some insane backwoods hillbilly somehow took away all the marvel and splendor that nature wanted to reveal.

It had taken him some time to cover his tracks again as he made his way quickly to the creek, his hand clutched tightly to his side, holding his ribs together as he quickly moved through the foliage wet with morning dew. The agonizing rub of bone against bone nearly took his breath away, but Starsky knew he didn’t have time to tend to his wounds. If he had his shirt, he could have probably made some makeshift bandages to bind his ribs, but as luck would have it, that sick bastard had taken that opportunity away.

Starsky looked out at the waterway from behind a tree. Dark, slippery rocks were strewn haphazardly in the heart of the creek, but there was hardly any coverage on the bank, except for a few rocks here or there. He would have to stay in the woods, making sure to follow the creek downstream in hopes of getting to the Johnson’s farm. Staying low as he followed the path of the stream was killing his ribs, which screamed out in protest.

Starsky gritted his teeth and bore down on the debilitating pain, pushing himself to hurry while at the same time, making sure he was covering his tracks. He felt flushed and dizzy; hazy bits and pieces of his time in ‘Nam drifted back to him as he remembered running from the VC, his small group cut off from the rest of the platoon. It was a miracle that they made it through that day, surrounded as they were by the enemy who held guns on them and made them kneel with their hands behind their heads, only to have their platoon arrive in the knick of time, killing off several of the astounded Viet Congs and taking the rest as prisoners of war. That was the day Ross had died, blown up right before the brunet’s eyes as they sat quietly in a tree on a reconnaissance mission.

Ross.

He had never talked about Ross to anyone, not even to Hutch. It was just too painful, and like the childhood memories he had had of his father, Starsky laid the memories of Ross to rest, sad and bittersweet memories that he had thought were long buried in his heart. It truly surprised the dark haired detective that it would come to the forefront now, during this nightmare he was forced to live through, 'Must have a fever or somethin’,' he thought silently, wiping the back of his hand against his warm brow.

He was thirsty and he cursed himself ten times a fool, for leaving the canteen of water and the gunnysack next to that tree where he had fallen asleep. His energy was near depletion and his stomach rumbled miserably as he made his way over to the rushing water. He could probably get a quick drink of creek water, but he’d have to be careful since there was no coverage there.

Breathing heavily, Starsky stumbled along, his mind dazedly racing, his ribs and body screaming out for him to stop, if only for moment, but the brunet just grimaced and sucked it up, forcing himself to move on, stopping only when he realized that the sounds of the forest had stilled. Dark blue eyes darted about; seeking out the enemy who he knew was close by. A shot rang out, and then another, pinging dangerously near his head, as he ducked and raced for the only cover available.

The dark haired detective crouched low beside a large rock, his erratic breathing sounding loud in his ears, though he knew that the sound of the running water effectively masked his hurt filled gasps. Starsky blinked the sweat from his eyes, cursing softly under his breath, as he cautiously looked around, it was hard to tell which direction the bullets had come from.

“We gots ya now pig,” Jebb’s called out, his voice booming over the sound of the rushing water, “Ah sees ya behind that rock.”

Breathing hard, Starsky clutched his left side tightly, his detective’s mind racing as he looked around for more cover. If he could make it back to the trees he would stand a chance of escaping, but the nearest tree was a yard or more away. Usually a fast runner, Starsky wouldn’t have hesitated before, but he knew his busted ribs and concussed head would slow him down. Yet, he really had no choice in the matter. Out here by the waterway, he was a sitting duck and he knew it.

Drawing a breath in to steady himself, Starsky made a mad dash to the line of trees in the distance, holding his breath as bullets dog tailed his footsteps, running for all his worth until he suddenly gasped in pain, feeling a hot slug agonizingly tear through his upper left thigh, causing him to fall just short of the trees, the momentum of his run spinning him head over heels as the crippling pain flared fiery trails of white hot agony up the conduit to his brain.

“Uungh,” Starsky groaned softly, digging his hands into the dirt and moss so that he could drag his body up against the trunk of a nearby tree, wiping the dirt from his hands so that he could cover and press down upon the ragged wound on his outer thigh that was bleeding profusely. The dark haired detective pushed down upon his torn flesh, his body jolting against the fiery pain as he closed his eyes in agony, his shallow and rapid breaths sounding loud in his ears, as the warm blood gushed through his fingers, saturating his jeans, the tangy smell of copper filling the air. Though he couldn’t be sure, it looked like the bullet had just grazed him, but with all the blood, it was hard to tell. Gasping, the detective quickly looked up as he heard heavy footsteps approaching.

“Well now . . . looky here,” Jebb drawled, breathing hard as he ambled over to the wounded man, his gray eyes raked over his prey, his breath reeking of sour staleness, “Looks like ah gots me a snipe!”

Chapter 7

Hutch stepped on the accelerator as he sped down the highway towards Makinen; the sun had already risen hours ago and he’d wasted precious time last night in Macon; the sheriff there telling him of a reported vehicle, red in color, make unknown, sighted by some of the town locals who were quick to notice things out of the ordinary, and a sporty red vehicle was definitely something out of the ordinary in their little town. In Macon, everybody knew everybody’s business and that red car was not recognized as being from their area. A quick call to the other sheriff’s office in the other two towns had nothing yet to report, so Hutch made it out to Macon to check on his only lead, which later turned out to be absolutely nothing but a waste of time and effort.

The wild “goose-chase” had the blond feeling angry and frustrated. Thoughts of his partner hurt, or worse yet, dead, flashed in the fair-headed detective’s mind. Starsky was depending on him and he was fucking it up as the proverbial sand continued to pour through his mental hourglass. Snapping at Sheriff Jenkins did nothing to speed up the process and only earned him glares and disgusted shakes of their hat covered heads.

“We don’t rush things here in Macon like you city boys do,” Jenkins said calmly, his deep voice as slow as molasses, “All things will turn up in their right time, son . . . they always do.”

Much later, they had finally found the owner of the red sports car in the early morning hours just before dawn. They had made quite a scene, pounding loudly on the door of the motel room, waking the visitors from their uncomfortable motel bed to ask them unnecessary questions and validate their license and identifications. They were just tourists from the east, passing through the state of Minnesota on a little summer road trip as they headed on to California to see the wonderful world of Disney.

Finishing up on their “lead”, the frustrated and exasperated blond detective from Bay City quickly called the sheriff’s offices of McKinley and Makinen to once again to see if there were any new leads on his partner’s whereabouts.

Though McKinley’s Sheriff Thomas had nothing to report, Hutch could feel hope flare in his heart when the Sherriff of Makinen county reported that some of the folks living near the highway had seen Jebbediah Woods, a local derelict, driving some hot shot red car with a loud white stripe painted across her side. Apparently Frank Johnson, a local farmer, had seen the car parked on the side of the highway for quite some time, before he finally saw his neighbor, a man named Jebbediah Woods, driving the car around some hours later. Growing suspicious, especially because he despised his neighbor, Johnson decided to place a little report in to Sheriff McCabe.

Listening to McCabe’s description, Hutch knew that the car was Starsky’s and his heart palpitated wildly knowing that his partner wouldn’t have willingly handed over his car keys to anyone unless there was something that had gone wrong. Sheriff McCabe had mentioned that he’d already sent his deputy out to the Woods’ place, but the deputy reported back that no one was home at the time and all had appeared normal there.

“Damn incompetents!” Hutch thought irritably. He would be in Makinen in an hour, maybe just under an hour if he continued to push the rent a car like he was doing right now. “Hang on buddy,” Hutch silently thought, hoping his friend would know he was doing everything within his power to find him, “I’m almost there . . . almost there.”

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The soft, painful moans and loud grunts coming from the next room brought the hurting brunet to the surface of awareness. Long dark lashes lifted to reveal dazed blue eyes that first tracked the wooden beams above him, then skirted around the room in which he found himself, skimming over the small fire that blazed in the hearth, uncomfortably heating the already too warm room, to finally rest upon his cuffed wrists that held him shackled to the dirty bed in the corner of the cabin’s living room.

Gritting his teeth to bite back the groan that wanted to escape, Starsky slowly lifted his head to see that his legs were also tightly bound to the wooden bed frame preventing him from moving; and to his horror, he found that his jeans and underwear had been removed and he was lying butt naked, spread eagle, on the dirty, scratchy patchwork quilt beneath him.

He quickly twisted his wrists, feeling vulnerable and exposed, arching his back, struggling and straining against his bonds only to fall back once more, pain exploding in his ribs and on his upper thigh. “Fuck,” he whispered as the intensity of the lancing pain brought back the frightening memory of the moonlit hunt and how he got shot up in the woods. He remembered Jebb standing above him as he tried to staunch the flow of blood that gushed from his outer thigh, hearing the hillbilly say that he finally caught his “snipe” before the insane backwoodsman used the butt of the rifle to knock him senseless.

It didn’t take a genius to realize that they had loaded him up and brought him back to their decrepit hovel once again, using his own cuffs to shackle him to this bed. From the sickening smell of copper that assaulted his nostrils, the dark haired cop could only assume that his newly acquired rifle wound had been left unattended.

Starsky wearily lifted his head once more, pulling against his bonds to see his upper left thigh, killing his ribs in the process. Grunting softly, he strained to see the wound, which as he suspected, still ran a slow leak of his life’s blood. He could feel it dripping warmly down the side of his thigh to pool in the quilt, leaving a sticky ebony mass that reflected the flickering light from the fireplace.

Breathing heavily, the brunet abruptly fell back, his throbbing head pounded out a drum solo as sudden dizziness washed over him, which he vaguely attributed to either blood loss or to the ever-present possibility of a concussion. “Fuck,” he swore again, closing his eyes, dark lashes lying like crescents against his glistening cheeks, while he attempted to breathe through the nausea that assailed him, his throat muscles working spasmodically as he swallowed back the bile.

A muffled groan from the other room made the detective snap his eyes open again as he turned his head to look at the shut door. The loud grunts of pleasure made him feel sick inside as he turned away to look up at the wooden ceiling, his mind trying to shut out the sounds that filtered out from that back room. Jebbediah Woods was one sick bastard and Starsky itched to put him away for good.

He remembered the hideous feeling of Jebb’s hands as it ran over his abdomen, pinching his nipples, and the lewd and lascivious grin on the hillbilly’s face as he touched him. “Whatsamattah boy? Ain’t no man evah teched ya befoa? Don’ tell ole Jebb that that nice lookin’ blond man in dem pictures ain’t nevah done this t’ya,” The hillbilly’s ghostly taunts came back to haunt him, making him shudder with disgust and loathing.

The thought of what was happening in the back room, made the detective physically sick and his mind inadvertently drifted to his mentor. ‘How could two men even get it up do it?’ he wondered silently, 'I mean how could a man derive pleasure from that?’ the dark haired cop thought darkly, wondering how John could prefer a man’s hardened body to the soft voluptuousness of Maggie’s. A woman’s body was made to fit a man’s, not visa versa. He was savvy enough to know what went on between homosexuals, and though he never openly judged their chosen lifestyles, he never really chose to get close to anyone with that sexual preference either; they always existed outside of the tight circle of friends and family he surrounded himself with . . . until John.

The brunet frowned, ‘Maybe working 24/7 with men all the time, like how they did as cops, made it easier to bend the other way. Maybe feelings become so intertwined, you don’t even know when its changed.’ His mind raced back to that strange discussion he had had with Hutch as they rode in the blond’s beat up car one afternoon, after John Blaine’s case had been solved. He remembered sitting in the backseat of Hutch’s messy LTD, feeling drained, still trying to comprehend and deal with the shock of finding out about John’s secret life . . .

“You’d think in this business we’d get used to surprises . . .” Starsky said, his two feet propped casually on the back of the LTD’s front seat, a magazine in hand as he relaxed into the backseat, loving the cool summer breeze that occasionally ruffled his thick sable curls.

“Well . . . the day that happens, we might as well throw in the towel.” Hutch replied, his eyes on the road.

“Yeah, well it’s still kinda hard to believe . . .” the brunet sighed, his mind’s eye drifting to John, seeing him lying on the dirty bed of the cheesy motel.

“Starsk, it’s no big thing . . .”

The blond’s remark caused the dark haired detective to snap out of his meanderings and look up from the magazine he was holding, “Hey you’re not that sophisticated,” Starsky said, as he eyed his blond counterpart through the review mirror, “A man preferring a man is not as casual as having a bad cold!”

“Is that right?” Hutch asked softly, glancing at the mirror, sky blue eyes connecting with the darker blue of his partner’s, before once again returning to the road.

“Yeah, I mean . . . I’m not taking a position for or against it, but it is something to contend with,” Starsky clarified, “I mean, it’s not your usual everyday thing right?”

The tall blond casually changed the subject, asking if his partner was hungry, before pausing and saying, “Starsk, would you consider that a man who spends 75 percent of his time with another man has got certain tendencies?”

“75? You mean three quarters?” Starsky asked absently, once again flipping through the magazine he was perusing, knowing his partner was rolling his eyes just by the slight irritation he heard in Hutch’s voice as he answered with a monotoned, ‘Right.’

The brunet looked up, “Yeah, sure . . . why not . . . you mean in the case of John . . .”

“No, no, no . . .” Hutch interjected, “It’s the case between you and me . . .”

“What?” Starsky asked perplexed, trying to follow what his partner was trying to say.

“Well figure it out,” Hutch said calmly, “In a five-day week, there’s about 80 waking hours right?”

“Yeah,” Starsky said, leaning forward now, his mind adding up the actual minutes that he and Hutch did spend together on a regular basis.

“We work, eat and drink about twelve of those hours right?” the blond continued, “That’s sixty hours a week . . . 75 percent of the time we spend together and you’re not even a good kisser!”

Starsky paused for a minute, feeling the sudden quiet that filled the car’s interior, before putting on a puzzled look of indignation as he leaned close to his parnter’s back, looking at Hutch through the review mirror, his eyes twinkling playfully, “How do you know that?” he said, a smile breaking out on his face as Hutch’s eyes widened in surprise making them both laugh out loud.

In the darkness of the cabin, Starsky frowned. Though he had answered Hutch’s question with their familiar banter, instantly easing the quiet tension that he suddenly felt in the car, if he were honest with himself, everything Hutch had said had thrown him for a loop and had made him think. Spending time with his partner came second nature to him . . . almost like breathing. Hutch was the yin to his yang, the right to his left, the better half to his soul. He wondered for a moment if John had felt this way about the young politician he’d been secretly seeing for many years.

There was a rhythm that he shared with his tall blond friend. Their connection and bond was so strong that they sometimes finished each other’s sentences or knew what the other was thinking before it was said. It was this same closeness that probably saved their lives countless times on the streets and made them the gossip of the department, earning them snide remarks from the older detectives who were jealous of the duo’s success. Those insinuations from their fellow colleagues never bothered him one bit because he knew Hutch, understood him like no other. He was secure enough in their relationship to enjoy the gentle touches his blond friend was so willing to bestow upon him . . . it was what made them so close, what drew them together and separated them from any other partnerships in Dobey’s squad room. The sudden soft moan from the back room dragged the dark haired detective from his confusing thoughts, filling his heart with trepidation and disgust.

Starsky sighed, hissing softly as he jangled the cuffs that had been threaded around one of the steel pipes of the bed’s frame, inadvertently scraping his already mangled and tender skin against the unforgiving metal, reopening the wounds there, feeling the warmth of his blood as it trickled from his wrists to his forearms. Starsky closed his eyes as thoughts of Hutch raced through his mind, making him long to see his partner once more.

‘Hutch, where are you buddy?’ He knew his partner was coming, could almost ‘feel’ it, but would he be in time? Would he get here before that incestuous bastard finished, before he came out and . . .

Starky shoved that horrid thought from his mind, pushing back the fear that wanted to creep out and take over his heart. He could still hear the soft whimpering coming from the other room, as haunted gray eyes rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind.

His heart ached for the ungainly youth. Lee Roy was just a kid. No kid should have to be put through that kind of horror. A parent should be there to serve and protect . . . just like cops. Starsky breathed heavily and jerked as a spasm of pain ripped through his thigh and stabbed into his ribs, gritting his teeth once more to stifle the cry that wanted to leave his lips. The dark haired detective focused his thoughts on Corday, as John Blaine’s face swam before him, forcing back the pain, surfing through it until it became more tolerable.

‘Aw Johnny,’

Corday was a pig . . . as bad as Woods . . . maybe even worse. Starsky thought of those two men, both so different; yet cut from the same cloth. Jebb was an ignorant and uncultured bastard who took great joy in hurting others who were weaker than himself. Corday on the other hand, was an educated cop; he had taken an oath to serve and protect the weak and bring justice to the bad guys, yet in Starsky’s mind, these two men were one and the same in that they were both evil. Evil came in many forms, and Starsky was streetwise enough to know that evil often masked itself, deceptively cloaked its hideous visage in sheep’s skin, often posing as something that evoked trust and represented justice and benevolence to the people it tried to deceive . . . someone who misleadingly stood in the place of authority like a cop . . .or better yet, a parent.

Starsky heard another quiet groan from behind the closed door and he clenched his fists, letting his anger for the abused teenager mask the fear that he felt inside for himself. How could anyone do that to kid? It was no wonder that Lee Roy had those eyes on him . . . sad, desperate eyes that had seen too much, hooded gray eyes that reminded him of a dark, stormy day, eyes that reflected the pain of betrayal and hurt locked deep within, like a heavy dark cloud ready to burst . . . and yet, Starsky knew that had Lee Roy been given a different set of circumstances, he would have been a great kid. There was an innate sense of kindness and compassion in the boy that superceded all the horror and abuse that he’d been living through.

The creaking of door filled the sudden silence of the cabin. Starsky had been so lost in his own dark thoughts to drown out the horrible sounds that had come from the back room, purposely filling his mind so that he could concentrate on something else . . . anything else, that he had been unaware of the sudden stillness that permeated the cabin.

The squeaking of the door made him turn his head in the direction of the sound as Lee Roy quietly crept from the back room, softly shutting the door behind him. Stormy cobalt connected to shimmering gray from across the expanse of the room, until the tall boy, slowly ducked his head and hitched up his jeans, tugging at the rope that served as a belt for the too large pants, hiding his shame from the detective as he gathered some gauze, a bottle of peroxide and a first aid kit. The young boy hobbled over to the bound man, pulling up a wooden stool to sit beside the detective.

“Hey kid,” Starsky said softly, sapphire blue eyes filled with compassion and sympathy as he looked to the boy’s face, running his gaze downwards until he saw the dark bruises on Lee Roy’s arms. The curly haired cop could just imagine Jebb gripping onto his son’s arms as he rutted away like the dirty pig that he was.

“Fuckin’ piece’a shit,” Starsky snapped, his sapphire colored eyes hardening, as it locked on the finger-shaped bruises that lined the upper arms of the boy, ‘I’m gonna kill him!” the cop snarled, pulling angrily at his bonds, straining to get free so he could bust through the next room and kick the fat hillbilly’s ass.

Lee Roy sighed softly, laying the things he carried on the bed next to the naked man, before he gently pushed the cop back down with a hand to his chest, “Please mistah, ya gots t’keep it down, mah pa . . . he’s sleepin’ now . . . if’n ya wakes him up, he’ll be as unforgivin’ as a swarm o’ angry bees.” The boy bit his bottom lip in trepidation as he warily glanced to the back room. Seeing the fear in the boy’s eyes made Starsky push down the anger he felt raging inside, as he attempted to calm down for the boy’s sake.

“Ah’m sorry mistah, yer still bleedin’,” the boy whispered as he opened the bottle of peroxide, “Ah wanted t’clean ya up when we first brought ya home, but mah pa . . .” Lee Roy paused for a moment, his eyes growing dark.

“I’m sorry kid,” Starsky said softly, feeling sick inside for the tall boy, “You don’t have to put up with that kind of abuse . . . I can help you Lee Roy . . . if you let me . . . you don’t have to be afraid . . .” Starsky stared into the boy’s eyes, the intensity of those blue orbs caused Lee Roy to look away, “If you help me . . . we can make all of this stop right here and now!”

The boy took a deep breath to still the anger that suddenly came over him as he thought of his father sleeping in the back room, his bottom lip trembled as hate filled his heart, but he quickly pushed that emotion down as he exhaled slowly, lowering his voice even further, “Anyways, this is gonna sting some,” he continued softly, pretending he didn’t hear the dark haired cop at all, “Yer leg’s all torn up, but I don’ think there’s a bullet in there.”

Starsky frowned, watching the parade of emotions that passed across the boy’s face when he suddenly jolted and hissed as Lee Roy slowly poured the burning, clear liquid over his bleeding gash. The dark haired cop scrunched his eyes closed and clenched his fists tightly as his flesh foamed and sizzled, cleaning out the bacteria that had already settled into the open wound, feeling the cold solution running down the side of his thigh.

“Sorry mistah . . . I know it hurts,” Roy said softly, his eyes sunk lower as they looked over the wound. “Ah’m’a gonna have t’do this one more time ‘fore ah wraps it up fer ya . . . jus’ t’make shure it’s all disinfected and all . . . y‘kay mistah?”

“Dave . . .,” Starsky said through gritted teeth, “Call me Dave.”

Lee Roy lifted his sad, gray eyes and they connected once again to agonized blue ones, now shining bright with pain. The tall boy gently touched the wounded man’s thigh and then leaned over and laid his hand on Starsky’s forehead, “Y’feel hot Mistah . . . ah mean . . . M-Mistah Dave . . . think y’might be running a temp.”

“Lee Roy,” Starsky said softly, willing the boy to look at him, “Do you know where the keys are to these cuffs?”

The tall lad nodded slowly, “They’re in there,” Lee Roy jerked his head towards the back room, “Wit’ mah pa . . .”

“And my pants?” Starsky said quickly, noticing how the boy’s eyes strayed downwards over his naked form only to raise once again and connect with his own, a blush staining his cheeks.

“Ah’m sorry mistah,” Roy mumbled, shaking his head, his sad, gray eyes glanced down at the ruined denim on the floor, “Mah pa took ‘em from ya when y’were out cold . . . said ya wouldn’t be needin’ ‘em fer awhile wit’ yer wound an’ all. He cut ‘em off of ya, cut ‘em into shreds, but I have an extra pair ah can lend ya aftah we bind up your wound.”

“Forget the wound, just get those keys and the pants and let’s get the hell outta here,” Starsky said urgently, “And stop apologizing and calling me mister.”

The boy bit his lip once more at the gruff tone of the detective, “Mah pa will hurt me if’n ah helps ya t’escape . . .”

“He’ll continue to hurt ya anyway,” Starsky interjected forcefully, desperate to make the boy understand, “whether I escape or not!” The cop lowered his voice as he saw the tall boy’s eyes dart to the door of the back room, “Ya know I’m not lyin’ to ya kid . . . this is your chance to get away . . . now . . . before he wakes.”

Lee Roy nodded and stood slowly, knowing the dark haired man was right, struggling to get past the fear that was attempting to anchor him to the spot. If he didn’t do it now, there wouldn’t be another chance and he owed it to this man to help him get out. Making up his mind, Lee Roy murmured, “’Kay Mistah . . . ah mean . . . Dave . . . I’ll be right back wit’ them keys and then ah’ll get a knife to cut those ropes from ya.”

The boy made to move around the bed when suddenly the door to the back room slammed open and Jebb stumbled out, his large hand held up his weight against the doorframe as he eyed his son who stopped in his tracks and trembled before him.

The nude hillbilly scratched his large belly as he looked from his son on over to the bound man who glared angrily back at him. “What’chya been talkin’ ‘bout boy? Huh?” Jebb sneered, belching loudly as the sickening smell of regurgitated moonshine filled the cramped cabin, “Y’ain’t thinkin’ on escapin’ are ya?” Jebbed chuckled, one brow raised lewdly as he looked to the dark haired man’s genitals, “Cawse the party’s jus’ beginnin’!”

Chapter 8

“C’mere boy,” Jebb called softly to his son, seeing the defeated look that came to Lee Roy’s eyes, “It got cold in there without ya.”

“You fuckin’ pervert,” Starsky snarled, straining to free himself from his bonds, not caring as the metal cuffs cut brutally into his wrists once more as he futilely twisted them, “Leave the kid alone!”

Jebb grinned widely, exposing the many gaps of his missing teeth, “Were ya listenin’ in on our ‘family business’ boy?” The fat hillbilly chuckled and lowered his hand to cup his hanging genitals, “Did’ya get off on hearin’ me fuck my boy’s hole? Did it git ya all hot’n bothered?” Jebbediah Woods laughed obscenely, then ambled over to his son, laying a heavy arm across the boys’s thin shoulders, “Cawse if it did, Lee Roy hea, don’ mind sharin’ his pa wit’ another fine lookin’ stud like our pohleece man friend . . . d’ya boy? In fact . . . we can make it a threesome . . .”

Lee Roy quickly dropped his eyes and shook his head, “Ah don’ mind . . . whatevah y’wants pa,” he whispered softly, fear extinguishing the fire of hope that had kindled in his heart just a few seconds ago. Listening to the cop’s words had fueled his courage and for a brief moment, he had actually believed that he could escape the nightmarish life he had been born into; but the sudden appearance of his pa had killed that little spark of hope, crushing it ruthlessly, beating it back down into submission beneath the threat of punishment or something even worse, until the mask of defeat that he usually wore was once again back in its place.

The resigned look of despair in his son’s eyes caused Jebbediah to chuckle once more as he roughly slapped the boy on his backside, causing the lad to wince in pain. “He likes t’take a man up his ass now and then, don’chya boy? I taught ya well.” The detestable hillbilly dragged his son close, sticking out his fat, sticky tongue to obscenely lick the side of Lee Roy’s neck, eyeing the tied up detective the whole time, as he cruelly pinched the boys butt cheeks through the thin denim fabric of his jeans.

“Pa . . . pa please,” Lee Roy begged softly, his face turning red as he winced in pain.

“Yassiree . . . mah boy jus’ loves t’take a man up his ass . . .” Jebb reiterated as he held his son tighter against his bulk, loving the feel of the squirming boy at his side.

“I said to leave the kid alone you red-neck son of a bitch!” Starsky growled, hurting for the boy, feeling the rage he felt for the lascivious hillbilly consume him as he struggled once again against his bonds, “You ain’t a man . . . if you were, you’d cut me loose. You’re just a coward . . . picking on kids and huntin’ unarmed people . . . you make me sick!”

The bound detective glared at Jebb defiantly, lowering his gaze as he mockingly eyed the pot belly and sagging chest of the hillbilly, “Yeah, you definitely ain’t a man,” Starsky sneered, “And you’re a fucking poor excuse for a parent . . .go take a look at your ignorant self in the mirror . . . with your pig-like features, it’s no wonder you can’t find any woman to share your bed!”

The dark haired detective smiled contemptuously at the fat man, knowing he was egging him on and that he was probably going to be hurting even more, but if it would make him leave the kid alone, he was willing to run interference to draw Jebb away from his son’s side.

The lewd smile on Jebb’s face slowly faded as he roughly pushed his son away from him, making the boy stumble and fall. “Well now . . . looks like ya gots some of that spunk back in ya. . . it’s a good thang ya gots t’rest for a spell.” Jebb glanced at his son who slowly stood, seeing the fear once again etched upon the lad’s features. The older hillbilly sneered once more, turning to look at the brunet, “Ya like mah boy cop? That why he lef’ me an’ came out hea to be wit’ ya?” Jebb asked, his voice deceptively soft.

Lee Roy stuttered, his eyes round with fear, “N-no pa . . . ah jus’ came out t’tend to his wound . . . he’s still b-bleedin’ an’ all . . .” the boy’s soft voice pleaded. Large gray eyes watched as his father walked over and then stood before the fireplace, quietly gazing into the burning embers that glowed fiery red in the dark of the room. “Ah swear pa . . . ah didn’t do nuthin’ else,” the tall boy whispered, his frightened eyes glued on his father’s back.

Starsky lifted his head, watching as the fat hillbilly reach down to draw out a hot poker, its fiery tip glowing brightly in the darkening room. Jebb turned to face the wounded cop, “Now ain’t that sweet. Mah boy any good at playin’ nurse maid?” Starsky could feel his breath quicken as the backwoodsman approached him, his dark blue eyes locked on the smoking iron rod held up in the hillbilly’s meaty fist.

Jebb came alongside the bed, an evil grin slashed across his face, as he stood above the bound man near his left thigh. “Y’aint so mouthy right now . . . are ya boy?” The hillbilly glanced down at the wound his rifle had caused. “Yup, yer still bleedin’ all right . . . guess mah boy didn’t know how t’do this . . .” Jebb’s eyes gleamed with delight as he chuckled and pressed the red-hot, smoking iron tip of the poker into his captive’s skin, searing his flesh with a wicked sizzling sound as the sickening stench of burning meat filled the cramped quarters.

Starsky jolted against his bonds, crying out sharply, his sweat slick body glistened as it strained against the ropes and cuffs that held him strapped to the bed, abruptly relaxing and falling back onto the dirty mattress when Jebb quickly removed the hot poker, hurt filled gasps the only sound in the dirty cabin. The hillbilly greedily eyed the dark haired man who lay panting, his long dark lashes lay spiked against his pale sweaty cheeks, his muscled chest heaving, his strong abdominal muscles moving in and out as he labored to surf through the pain that ripped throughout his body.

“Pa . . . please . . . don’ hurt ‘im anymore,” Lee Roy cried out, his dark gray eyes round with horror and despair, as he moved to stand on the other side of the strapped man, “Please pa . . .”

“Shut yer pie hole boy,” Jebb shouted, turning his wrathful gaze upon his quaking son, “Don’ y’ever tell yer pa what t’do.” At the boy’s frightened nod, the bulky hillbilly turned back to look once again at the bound nude man who clenched his jaw and his fists as he rode out the flaring pain.

“There now,” Jebb consoled mockingly, “Ah was just cauterizin’ yer wound there fer ya . . . couldn’t have y’bleedin’ to death . . . after all, the fun’s just startin’!” Jebbediah licked his lips at the sight of the ruggedly handsome and vulnerable man; feeling empowered to know he had caused this strong man so much pain. His eyes fastened on the cop’s heaving abdomen and chest, loving the soft gasps that came from the brunet’s luscious and slightly opened lips, roving his gaze up the sculpted body to rest upon the dark lashes that hid the intensity of those blue eyes.

Jebb rubbed the back of his wrist against his lips to wipe the drool that leaked out from the corner of his mouth, “Yer lucky ah shot ya where ah did boy,” the burly man said, “Cawse any higher, and ah wouldn’t be able to do this!”

Starsky jerked as he felt the bastard touch his penis, his thick hand enfolding his limp flesh, feeling the hillbilly’s dirty thumb at it rubbed around the head of his cock. “You son of a bitch!” the angry brunet snarled, blue fire blazing in the depths of his eyes that snapped open, oblivious to the agonizing pain that ripped throughout his body from the multiple wounds he’d acquired, “Get your hands off me you filthy prick!”

“Pa!” Lee Roy said, “Pa . . . please . . .”

Jebb chuckled as the cop struggled and bucked, arching his back as he tried to dislodge his hand from his member, “Mmm mmm . . .yer a feisty one that’s fer shure. Jus’ like a big black stallion. Gonna love breakin’ ya boy,” Woods whispered obscenely, leaning his wide girth over to stick his warm, slippery tongue into the shell of the struggling detective’s ear, leaving a slimy trail as he slowly traced its contours. The fat hillbilly reluctantly let the cop’s cock slip out of his grip with a sigh, shaking his head, as he looked the brunet over. “Gonna be hard to do what ah wants t’do wit’ y’tied up an’ lying flat on yer back that’a way,” Jebb leered.

A soft, quivering sob made Jebbediah look to his son, feeling the anger flaring once again for the tall teenager, “Shut up boy! Go an’ put this poker back in the fireplace and get yer ass back in bed. Ah want ya to shut yer trap and wait fer me on that bed . . . y’hear? Wait fer me cawse ah gots some business t’do with our friend hea.” Jebb shouted, his icy glare hardened when the boy stood rooted to his place, “Y’hear what ah just told ya boy? Now git!” The fat hillbilly raised his heavy arm and pointed to door, watching with pleasure as his son took the iron rod back to the fire and slunk back to the room from which he came. Smiling smugly, Jebbediah Woods turned his attention back to the bound man, once he heard the soft click of the door being shut behind him.

“Now where was we?” Jebb said amiably as he stared at the glaring cop, “D’ya know y’have the purttiest eyes?” he said, wetting his lips once more with a swipe of his tongue, “Ah likes ya lookin’ at me like that, yer eyes all full of sapphire flames,” Jebbediah whispered seductively, his breathing growing heavy as he cupped his balls in his hand, rolling his testicles between his pudgy fingers, making his manhood swell and harden once more, “Yer gonna feel mighty good boy . . . ah bet yer hole’s nevah been stretched by a man before.” The backwoodsman leaned closer, eyes raking over the sweat drenched body that was laid before him like a banquet to be feasted upon, his gray eyes connecting to the blazing cobalt that would have fried him to the spot had he known his victim had not been tied as tightly as he was. A lascivious grin came to the Jebb’s face and he raised a bushy brow, his voice deepened as he softly asked, “Y’a virgin boy?”

“Fuck you, you stinkin’ bastard,” Starsky growled, the cuffs jangling as he struggled against his bonds, wanting to bash his fist into the dirty pig’s smug and leering face, “I’ll kill you if you touch me again . . . so help me God!”

“God ain’t hea boy,” Jebb whispered eerily, “Go ask Lee Roy, he knows . . . he can tell ya. God don’ visit this part of the woods no more,” Jebb looked around and spied the torn and ripped jeans thrown on the dirty floor of the cabin, the jeans the cop had been wearing before he cut it off the man’s lean hips. Reaching for the article, the hillbilly rolled up the denim and roughly jammed it under the brunet’s hips as a bolster. “There now . . . that might make it a bit easier fer the both of us.”

“Cut me loose you fuckin’ coward,” Starsky snapped, angry at the helplessness he felt as he strained against his bindings, his twisting ankles were raw and bleeding as the rope cut into his tender skin, stripping it bare from his constant thrashing as he tried to push away the material from under his hips. He could feel his heart beating erratically, feeling vulnerable and exposed, as the lecherous hick reached out and touched him again, running his index finger along the length of his inner thigh.

“Now, now . . . take it easy boy . . .” Jebb murmured as the handsome curly haired man bucked and thrashed once again, “Jus’ the sight of yer body a’twistin’ that way ‘s’gonna make me cum,” the hillbilly panted as he rubbed his turgid shaft, “Love how yer body s’all shiny and sweaty . . . sweet and ripe fer th’pickin’. The burly man heaved his bulk onto the bed, lying down between the detective’s spread and bound ankles, feasting his eyes on the dark haired man before him. Jebbediah cupped his palms under the cop’s thrashing buttocks, lifting his hips as high as his bindings would allow, spreading his cheeks roughly to get a better look at the prize he longed for.

“Mmm . . . yer hole’s gonna be so tight . . . ah can tell,” Jebb murmured, looking up to catch the angry blue gaze that shot bolts of hate in his direction. The old hillbilly grinned as he slowly stuck his thick index finger into his mouth, coating it with his slimy saliva, relishing the look of hatred and fear in the brunet’s eyes. “Ah’ma gonna take this nice n’slow being that yer a virgin an’ all . . .”

“You fucking bastard,” Starsky snarled, his muscled legs pulling at the ropes that held them apart, wanting to kick the fat hillbilly in the head. The dark haired detective tensed as he felt Jebb’s thick finger at his center, spreading his saliva against his most vulnerable spot. Starsky increased his thrashing, unmindful of the pain in his ribs or his thigh, not caring about his wrists and ankles as blood flowed freely from his abraded flesh, his mind just focused on that hidden area where Jebb’s finger continued to stroke.

“You filthy pig,” the brunet gasped, feeling enraged at the helplessness he felt, “The minute I get outta here . . . you’re a dead mother fucker,” Starsky shouted, as he bucked his hips to free himself from Jebb’s grasp.

The brunet suddenly cried out, arching his spine as he threw his head back and clenched his eyes shut, his body tensing in pain as the hillbilly suddenly jammed his finger within the cop’s unwilling body, twisting it painfully, only to draw it out once more almost to the tip of his fingernail, just to thrust it forcefully back in again, bruising Starsky’s inner walls.

“Damn, boy,” Jebb groaned, feeling the muscles in the cop’s ass contracting around his meaty digit, “Yer hole is as tight as ah thought it would be.” The burly hillbilly grinned as he heard the bound man swear angrily once again, “Now ya gots a dirty mouth on ya boy, so’s ah suggest ya keep it shut,” the hillbilly said, sweat beading on his brow as he tried to contain the excitement he felt, “Cawse we can make this as nice or as painful as y’wants.” The hillbilly licked his lips, breathing heavily as he watched the bound man grit his teeth and bite back the scream, as he rammed his finger in him once more, loving the feel of the tight muscle clenching and squeezing almost painfully around his buried digit. “Y’bes’ relax yer ass boy, or ah’ma gonna make ya bloody,”

“You son of a bitch,” Starsky gasped, his body and mind going into shock as Jebb rammed in another finger to join the first. The brunet arched again, his body tense and unyielding, lifting as high as his bindings would allow, groaning in pain as he felt his tender flesh tear from the hillbilly’s brutal invasion, feeling sick and ashamed as his blood eased the burning friction from the thick digits buried within him, lubricating his abused and hurting passage. “I’ll . . . kill you . . . you slimy piece of shit,” Starsky said between gasps of pain, groaning once more as he felt Jebb’s meaty fingers scissoring back and forth within him to stretch him even further.

Lustful grunts and painful gasps filled the silence of the cabin as the hillbilly gloated, loving the idea of breaking the arrogant cop. “Now ah’ma gonna give ya a taste of somethin’ real nice,” Jebb murmured as he carefully crooked his fingers inside his captive’s passage to rub against the detective’s prostate, loving how the brunet jerked and tensed as a jolt of pleasure stabbed deep within him, burning its way up to his gut. The hillbilly smiled at the sharp gasp that came from the sweating dark haired man, noting the flicker of surprise and confusion in the cobalt blue eyes that held his gaze.

“That feel good boy?” Jebb asked softly, smiling lewdly as he repeated the motion, loving the jolt of the rugged body above him, watching intently as the brunet closed his eyes, long dark lashes hiding the turmoil and bewilderment he felt inside as his cock twitched spasmodically. The hillbilly smirked eyeing the brunet’s limp cock as it began to slightly swell, becoming semi-hard before his greedy eyes. Jebb licked his lips and eagerly crooked his finger once more, rubbing the hidden gland again, enjoying the breathless gasp and the involuntary jolts that raced through the cop’s twisting body.

The hillbilly repeated the action again, sliding the pad of his fingers against the brunet’s prostate, loving the inner turmoil he knew he was causing the detective. “Jus’ like a fish on a hook,” Jebb whispered obscenely as he slowly removed his fingers, enjoying the shudder and gasp that came from the cop as he pulled free, obscenely licking his fingers clean as he eyed the silent, broken cop who looked away in disgust, loving the sight of the brunet’s heaving chest as he labored to breathe through the shame that coursed through his soul.

“Ya liked it, din’t ya? There’s more where that came from,” Jebb said softly, smacking his lips, as he stroked his own hard shaft. “Ya taste real good boy,” Woods murmured softly, reaching over to slowly untie the cop’s left ankle so that he could have easier access to the brunet’s body . . . getting off on the idea that he was breaking the rebellious boy’s spirit. “Ah’m gonna fuck yer hole so hard boy, y’ain’t gonna be able t’walk fer a while . . . ah’ma gonna ram it in and hit yer sweet spot again and again, gonna make you cum boy,” Jebb bragged, releasing the man’s left leg, pushing it slowly up to the brunet’s chest as he focused his gaze on the cop’s ass, hoping to see that sweet entrance that he wanted to plunder.

Without warning, Jebb flew backwards as Starsky kicked out despite the debilitating pain that agonizingly flared in his thigh, sending the hillbilly stumbling backwards towards the fireplace, pissing the backwoodsman off as he quickly grabbed the iron poker once more, sneering as he looked up at the glowing red point, “Ah had ‘bout enough of yer ornery ways boy,” Jebb shouted, “Now yer gonna feel yer hole really burn when ah shove this stick up yer ass!” The hillbilly quickly ambled over to the bed as Starsky braced himself for whatever the burly man was going to do.

Dark blue eyes widened with shock as the sound of a gunshot reverberated loudly within the confined quarters of the cabin and the top of Jebbediah’s head blew off. Starsky closed his eyes quickly, shuddering, as pieces of gray brain matter splattered all over his chest and oozed down his sides. He could hear the hillbilly’s body fall heavily to the floor beside him and he tried to breath through the sudden nausea that brought the sick taste of bile to his throat.

“Mistah? Y’okay?” Lee Roy’s soft voice called out, after a moment’s silence.

Starsky swallowed and opened his eyes, refusing to look at the warm mess on his own chest and abdomen as he locked his gaze to the familiar, yet fearful gray eyes that shimmered with tears.

“Kid?” Starsky rasped, as he looked over to the tall boy who held the smoking rifle in his hands, his shaking finger still locked on the trigger. Starsky was surprised to hear the tremor in his own voice as he swallowed once again, clearing his throat before he said, “Yeah . . . yeah, I’m . . . I’m good.”

The brunet watched the boy slowly lower the rifle, as silent tears ran down his sallow cheeks. “It’s okay kid,” Starsky said softly, knowing that it would never be okay . . . not for the kid . . . and not for himself. He could feel his body trembling in the aftermath of the filthy violation he lived through, “U-untie me will’ya?”

The boy put down the gun and came over the bed, making sure to walk around his father without looking at his body. Lee Roy quickly fished out the key from his pocket, unlocking the metal cuffs, hearing the cop groan softly as his arms fell to the bed. With trembling hands, the boy quickly cut Starsky’s other leg free from the bed frame with the small pocketknife he took from the back of his jeans, and reached over to help the naked man sit up, inadvertently touching the soft gooey mess on the detective’s abdomen. Lee Roy quickly stood, his horror filled eyes staring at his glistening hand.

“Oh my God, Mistah . . .” Lee Roy said softly, his lower lip trembling, “Ah killed mah pa . . . ah jus’ . . . ah jus’ killed mah pa!” The boy turned to look horrifically at the cop who was using the dirty quilt to rub off Jebbediah’s grisly remains, “Ah . . . k-killed mah pa!” Lee Roy said again, his soft voice rose into a keening wail as hysteria and shock took a hold of him, the impact and finality of what he had done sinking into his distressed and confused mind.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay Lee Roy,” Starsky whispered as he turned to look at the young boy, his heart breaking at the expression on the kid’s face, “It’s okay,” the brunet said soothingly as he stood unsteadily and gently pulled the boy into his embrace, hugging the kid tightly against his chest as he tried to comfort and shield him from the horror of what he had just done.

“Look,” Starsky said softly, feeling the boy’s hot tears running down his chest, “I’m a cop, I’ll help ya through all of this okay? We’ll . . . we’ll help each other.” Though the boy was shaking in his arms, he felt the small nod of agreement and the brunet gently took a step back to look at the young hillbilly. Sighing heavily, Starsky took the damp quilt and covered Jebb’s body, to shield the boy from the gruesome mess that had once been his father. “Okay listen kid, you get my pants and I’ll go call for some help okay?”

Lee Roy nodded again and went into the back room once more as Starsky made his way on shaky legs to the kitchen. The past two days had been surreal; and it felt like a déjà vu experience to be reaching for the same phone, to be holding the same receiver he had held just yesterday as he talked to Hutch. So much had happened since then . . . it seemed almost a lifetime ago. A shudder ran through the brunet’s body as his adrenalin slowed down and the aches and pains he had made itself known once again, pummeling his torn and exhausted body. He felt somehow broken not only physically, but mentally and emotionally too.

The dark haired cop wearily began to dial the number he’d memorize, the number to Hutch’s grandfather’s farm, seeing Hutch’s handwriting in his mind, when he heard the sirens in the distance. Lee Roy came running out of the back room with a pair of jeans in his hands, “They’re comin’”, he cried, “What am ah gonna do? The pohleece, they’re comin’!”

Putting down the phone as the wailing sounds became louder, Starsky turned and grabbed the trembling boy by both arms, “Listen to me kid,” he said sharply, breaking through the fear that engulfed the tall boy, “Calm down . . . it’ll be okay, but you have to hold it together!”

At the boy’s terrified nod, the brunet quickly donned on the denim, hissing softly as he pulled the jeans over his wounded thigh, biting down the urge to cry out as the burn rubbed against the rough material. He glanced at the covered body of Jebb, hearing the sounds of car doors opening and slamming shut outside and he quickly turned to Lee Roy, “It’ll be okay kid . . . just let me do the talking huh?” Starsky smiled gently at the boy, hoping to comfort and soothe the lad, yet inside, it was all he could do to hold himself together.

The door suddenly burst open and Starsky’s eyes widened in disbelief . . . there standing before him in all his shining glory was Hutch. The tall blond detective stood in the wooden doorway, his familiar, large cannon in hand, a look of relief slowly replacing the mask of anger and worry that was etched upon his visage as he spied his partner near the dilapidated kitchen. “Starsk,” his familiar voice made the dark haired cop suddenly tremble as the past few hours of hell took its toll and washed over the brunet’s weary mind and exhausted body.

Starsky swallowed back the emotion that wanted to roll him over, that wanted to take him down and break him apart. If there had been no one else in the room, perhaps he would have just let go, but the brunet was conscious of the sheriff and the deputy that made their way into the cabin . . . and there was Lee Roy he still had to contend with. He could feel his partner giving him the once over as he tucked his gun into his holster, a frown marring the blond’s handsome face as he sensed the brunet’s distress.

“Starsk?”

The tall blond saw his partner flinch as his soft voice carried across the cabin; he could see that his partner had been hurt, his icy blue gaze ran over the brunet’s whole body, quickly noting his partner’s bleeding wrists and ankles, skimming over the dark bruises that covered his friend’s abdomen and ribcage, to the bruised jawbone, cut lip, and the gash on the side of Starsky’s temple. The crease between the blond’s brows deepened, turning Hutch’s frown into a scowl. “You okay buddy?” the fair haired cop asked gently, and though he made sure that he kept his voice calm and soothing, Hutch could see the slight trembling in his partner’s fingers and he watched as the brunet squared his shoulders, already knowing that his dark haired counterpart would downplay the extent of his injuries.

Starsky sighed softly. It took every effort within him to lean casually against the wall, and bring a cocky grin to his lips, it took every effort to pull himself together and be strong when his body was shaking from the shock of surviving the horrific events of the past few hours, it took every ounce of strength to force himself to meet his partner’s worried gaze and quietly say, “Yeah . . .’m fine . . . what took ya so long huh?”

Chapter 9

Hutch stood in the quiet corridor of Makinen’s small local hospital as he waited to hear about his partner’s condition. The tall blond tipped his head back as he lifted the coffee cup to his lips, downing the last sip of the dark, bitter brew. The detective quickly crushed the foam cup in his large hand and walked to the trashcan, disposing of the Styrofoam. Leaning one hand against the wall, Hutch pinched the bridge of his nose between the fingers of his other hand, hoping the added pressure there would alleviate the pounding ache between his brows. He was tired . . . the race to find his missing partner left him running on empty, consuming his every thought and action for the last twenty-eight hours. Who would have thought that something like this could happen in Minnesota? The handsome blond sighed softly, releasing the bridge of his nose to wearily rub the grit from the corner of his eye, his detective’s mind trying to piece together the horrific events of what his dark haired counterpart had lived through . . .

Unable to ride down in the overcrowded ambulance, the tall blond had made sure his partner was settled comfortably despite his protest of having to lie on a gurney; promising to meet him at the hospital once everything got squared away up at the cabin. Starksy, for the most part, had put up a fuss, insisting that he was okay and that he didn’t need any medical attention, but the sheriff had made it quite clear that the dark haired detective and Lee Roy would take a trip to the hospital to be checked out by a doctor and Hutch had agreed with him, earning him an angry glare from his uncooperative partner.

Hutch thumped the back of the ambulance as it slowly drove away, the bright red taillights illuminating the dark silhouette of tall pine trees as it drove down the narrow dirt road that led to the highway. Exhaling softly, Hutch went back into the cabin to look around once more. He had seen the ropes near the foot of the bed frame and the blood and gore on the dirty old quilt, which had been packed up for evidence along with the iron poker and the rifle. Following the coroners as they took the wrapped body of the deceased hillbilly to load into the van, the blond detective went into the shed where he could hear the deputy and sheriff murmuring softly. The bright, shiny red and white Torino stood out in its crude surroundings, a splash of color amid the dreary drabness of the wooden shack. A tow truck had been called for earlier, and they were awaiting its arrival.

The tall blond could feel the hot flare of anger that erupted in his heart when he looked up, following the direction of where the sheriff and his deputy were staring, seeing the chains hanging from the rafters there, knowing his partner had been hurt in here. Hutch squatted as he spied the two by four lying on the ground, remembering the bruises on his partner’s ribcage. “Damn,” he said softly, his large hand clenching around the piece of wood as he picked it up, feeling guilty for spending so much time in Macon when his partner had been here, waiting . . . suffering all alone.

The tall blond rose to his feet, dragging his hand through his hair as he tried to stem the anger and frustration that came to the forefront once again as he pictured his partner standing near the kitchen, his arm wrapped around his ribs. He would never forget the almost fragile look on his partner’s face as he busted through the cabin door, reading the weariness and shock etched in the fine lines around his partner’s eyes and mouth before the brunet effectively covered up his exposed vulnerability with a cocky grin, mouthing the familiar words that somehow warded off the severity of any life and death situation they found themselves in . . .

“Yeah . . .’m fine . . . what took ya so long huh?”

Hutch remembered what he had said, sensing his partner’s fragile state, wanting to help his friend’s silent struggle to maintain some sense of normalcy after the hell he’d been through, “Well . . . I would have been here sooner pal, but I went to check out motel rooms for our road trip home,” Hutch countered softly, seeing a shadow of a smile that came to the brunet’s lips as he tried to honor his partner’s strained banter, knowing that Starsky had attempted to alleviate the tense situation with his familiar question.

Hutch walked slowly over to his dark haired counterpart, concern clearly plastered across his face as he took in the apparent injuries on his friend’s upper torso, “You been in a fight with a bat buddy?” Hutch joked, though his smile didn’t reach his pale blue eyes, lifting a reassuring hand out to squeeze his partner’s shoulder.

Starsky tensed, “I said ‘m fine Hutch,” the brunet murmured stiltedly, seeing the flicker of surprised hurt in the tall blond’s eyes as he pulled away quickly before Hutch could touch him. The dark haired detective bit his bottom lip, feeling guilty that he had indirectly wounded his partner, but for the life of him, he just didn’t want anyone touching him right now, especially not after . . .

Starsky sighed, his right arm wrapping tighter around his hurting ribs, “Really Blintz,” he said softly, his dark blue eyes rising hesitantly to meet those of his partner, “’m fine . . . it’s the kid I’m worried about.” The dark haired detective looked away, knowing his blond friend could sense that something was wrong aside from the obvious bruises and contusions that were already visible on his body, and he struggled to maintain a semblance of balance that would ease the searching look his partner gave him, “And besides, it wasn’t a bat, it was a piece of lumber.” Starsky said as an afterthought, a slow grin lifting the corner of his mouth as he winked and passed the worried blond to limp over to Lee Roy who was trembling in fear as the sheriff tried to take his statement.

“It’s okay son,” Sheriff McCabe said gently, “Slow down and tell me again . . . what happened here tonight.”

“Ah told ya . . . ah did it, ah killed mah pa,” Lee Roy said in a soft trembling voice, tears streaming silently down his dirty face, “Ah took the rifle that he keeps next t’his bed an’ ah . . . an ah shot ‘im . . . he was . . . he was hurtin’ Mistah Dave . . . an’ ah . . . ah jus’ had t’stop ‘im.”

“I see . . .” McCabe nodded, his pencil moving rapidly across his small notebook, “And how was he hurting the detective?”

“Mah pa had Mistah Dave strapped to that bed,” Lee Roy nodded to the small cot in the corner, “And he was . . .”

“He had that hot iron rod in his hand,” Starsky calmly interjected as he came and stood beside Lee Roy, “He was going to use it on me,” the brunet said softly, feeling his partner’s eyes upon him.

“An’ ah shot mah pa ‘fore he could use it,” Lee Roy said, looking with relief to the tall brunet. “Mah pa hurt ‘im real bad . . . he had ‘im strung up in the shed when we first got ‘im, and he beat ‘im real bad fer a long time.” Lee Roy whispered, “An’ then we went snipe huntin’ and he shot ‘im, and ah was cleanin’ his wound, aftah . . . aftah he . . . an’ then he came out an’ he wanted to hurt mistah Dave and ah jus’ couldn’t let ‘im anymore . . . ah jus’ couldn’t let ‘im . . .”

“It’s okay son,” Sheriff McCabe said kindly, as he gently eased the trembling boy down onto a nearby stool, “We can finish this later. Deputy Simpson radioed in and the ambulance should be here shortly, along with the coroner’s wagon and the tow truck. I want you to just relax, and then you and Mister Dave here, can go and get yourselves checked out at the hospital okay? It’s gonna be okay son.” The Sheriff said kindly, his low rumble of a voice was soothing to the lad who nodded silently, but his eyes were still filled with doubt and self-recrimination.

“Is it gonna be okay Mistah Dave?” Lee Roy whispered, looking up at the dark haired detective, gray eyes shimmering with tears and a flicker of hope that brought a lump to the brunet’s throat.

Starsky nodded, “Yeah kid, it’ll be okay . . . I promise.” The curly haired cop nodded to the sheriff as the older man motioned for him to come over by the fireplace, “Listen to me, Lee Roy,” Starsky whispered, “Ya just sit over here and rest okay? You’re doin’ jus’ fine kid.” The brunet smiled his thanks as Hutch first laid a blanket over his own shoulders, and then one over the shoulders of the trembling boy.

“Don’t worry,” Hutch added kindly, leaning over to hover over the boy as he whispered conspiratorially, “We’ll handle the Sheriff.” The tall blond detective smiled as he gently ruffled the boy’s dirty hair, “Thanks Lee Roy, for taking care of my friend,” Hutch said softly, winking as he stood to his full height and walked alongside his limping partner as they went to stand by Sheriff McCabe who began to ask questions once more.

Hutch listened intently as his partner gave his statement and stiffly went through the details of his ordeal, from the time he first got clobbered after he got stranded on the highway, to the horror of the moonlit hunt, and finally to waking in that corner bed tied and branded with the iron poker. It was all Hutch could do to stand calmly when he wanted to lash out and throw something . . . do anything . . . except stand here and listen to the monotone retelling of the horror his partner had lived through. It was good thing that Jebbediah Woods had been killed by his own son, for if he hadn’t, Hutch would have gladly done it.

“Detective Hutchinson?”

The soft inquiry drew the blond detective from his morbid thoughts and he immediately straightened and stuck out his hand to shake the doctor’s, “Yeah, I’m Hutchinson, how is he doc?” Hutch asked anxiously.

“I’m Doctor Brennan. Your partner is doing remarkably well Detective Hutchinson, considering the circumstances of his abduction. There is a good size lump on the back of his head from where he took that hit from the shovel. I’ve checked for signs of concussion, especially after he told me how he had passed out for a while in the wood, but I think we can rule that out. Right now, his pupils appear equal and reactive and it has been over 24 hours since he acquired his head injury. However, he also has a few cracked ribs and has a multitude of contusions over his chest and abdominal area. We’ve taken him to imaging and ran x-rays over those areas, but though it looks bad on the outside, his vital organs remain uninjured and intact.”

“What about the gunshot?” Hutch asked, the throbbing ache in his skull growing by the minute, “The boy said he was shot.” The tall blond closed his eyes and rubbed the area between his furrowed brows with his forefingers.

“Yes, we examined the area . . . the bullet grazed his upper thigh, but it is the 3rd degree burn that we are most concerned about,” the doctor continued as he looked to the detective, “Apparently he was branded by a hot iron rod. Though it cauterized the bleeding from his wound, we need to be careful to monitor the burn and keep it from getting infected.” At the detective’s nod, the doctor said, “Although it is against my better judgment, your partner insists on leaving the hospital tonight . . . says you’re used to looking out for him and that you know the old song and dance routine of caring for injuries.”

Hutch snorted softly, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth, “Yeah . . . he hates hospitals . . . can he be released soon?”

Doctor Brennan sighed softly, “Detective, burns like these are very painful in itself, but your partner has also been bruised and battered quite severely. We wanted to have him stay here at least overnight so that we could monitor his breathing.

“His breathing?” Hutch reiterated, one brow rose in silent inquiry, pale blue eyes locked on the doctor’s weary face as he tried to read every nuance and cipher out anything the doctor might be keeping from him.

“His cracked ribs make breathing rather painful. They are being wrapped at this moment which should bring some relief and support, but I think it would be in your partner’s best interest if he remains overnight.” Doctor Brennan said solemnly.

“Can I see him?” Hutch asked, “I’ll try to persuade him to stay overnight, but my partner can be a mule-headed goat once he got his mind set on something.”

The doctor chuckled, “Yes, I have been made privy to that side of his demeanor as well, although the word that came to mind was more along the lines of ‘pig-headed’ . . . excuse the pun detective . . .” The two men chuckled softly in the quiet hallway as Doctor Brennan took off his spectacles and wiped the lenses against his white coat, “Go ahead Detective. Go on in, I’ll be bringing him some pain medication.”

Hutch nodded, “Thanks doc. I appreciate it.” The detective turned to leave, eager to see for himself how his partner was faring. He remembered the shuttered look in the brunet’s eyes and the way he avoided being touched up at the cabin, and though it was understandable with the aftermath of what his partner had survived, it still worried the tall blond. Maybe now, in the safe surroundings of the hospital, after being away from the scene of his horrific abduction and the brutal beatings he’d had to endure from the psychotic redneck, Starsky would be more like himself.

“Oh Detective?” Doctor Brennan called out hesitantly to the retreating man’s broad back, watching as the tall blond turned to look at him.

“Yeah doc?” Hutch replied, turning slightly as his light blue eyes connected once again to Brennans’; waiting almost impatiently for the doctor to continue so that he could fulfill his need to see his partner.

The doctor frowned, his brows drawing together as he debated whether or not to tell the blond detective about his partner’s adamant refusal to be checked thoroughly. Sheriff McCabe had asked the good doctor to run a complete physical on the dark haired detective, and legally, the doctor was obliged to do it for the records, but the brunet had stubbornly refused, angrily threatening to walk out. He had just come from checking Lee Roy Woods and finding out about the young boy’s sexual abuse had made the doctor speculate if something more than just the branding and bruises had been done to the battered cop.

“Ah . . . nothing . . . nothing . . . never mind detective,” Brennan said softly, making up his mind to let his suspicions rest, “I’ll be there shortly . . . just make sure he doesn’t run away in the meantime.”

The tall, blond detective snorted and smiled, “Yeah, I’ll hold him down myself if I have to,” he said to the kindly doctor, quickly turning to walk to the room down the hall. Hutch quietly pushed the door opened and peeked around its edges to see his partner sitting up in the middle of the bed, his long dark lashes lay pressed against pale cheeks, making the dark bruise along the brunet’s jaw more blatantly obvious. A regulation hospital gown was knotted behind his back bringing a smile to the blond’s lips, for he knew how much Starsky despised those gowns.

“Hey buddy,” Hutch said softly, entering the room, the door silently swinging closed behind him as his dark haired counterpart looked up, “How ya doin’? Love the outfit by the way . . .”

“Hey . . .” Starsky softly greeted, snorting as he pulled at the neckline of the short blue gown, “This old thing? It brings out the color in my eyes,” the brunet smiled, his dark blue eyes though weary and dazed, lit up as he saw the tall blond, “Ya springin’ me from this joint or what?”

Hutch snorted and came to stand beside the bed, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of immense gratitude that his partner was here and alive. The bruise on Starsky’s jaw line and the butterfly bandage along his temple made the blond suddenly angry that this whole nightmare had to have happened in the first place. It was supposed to be a vacation for crying out loud! If he could have just figured it out sooner, if the farmer had just called it in when he had first spied the Torino, then maybe his partner would have been spared some of the agony he was put through. The look on his face must have mirrored his feelings because the brunet suddenly cleared his throat, bringing the blond’s gaze back to his own.

“You okay Blondie?” Starsky asked softly, seeing the familiar guilt and remorse that washed over his partner’s face, “Hey . . . this wasn’t your fault ya know . . .” It killed him to know his partner was blaming himself, but Hutch was accustomed to shouldering responsibility and was a master at feeling guilt and regret.

‘Thanks to his wonderful upbringing from his ‘forgiving’ and ‘accepting’ parents,’ the dark haired detective thought sarcastically. For a minute, Starsky could picture Hutch as a young sensitive boy and suddenly an image came to his mind of another boy with sad, gray eyes and stringy blond hair. “How’s the kid?” Starsky asked softly, cobalt blue ran searchingly over the blond’s face.

“He’s fine buddy,” Hutch said softly, remembering Sheriff McCabe coming to talk to him as he waited for word on Starsky. Apparently Jebbediah had sexually and physically abused the boy and the sheriff was waiting for child protective services to get to the hospital.

“They’re going to put him in a foster home Starsk; he’d been sexually and physically abused by his father for years . . . CPS has been called in.” Hutch whispered, seeing the tense look of anger that came to the brunet’s face and the tic that flared in his jaw. “He’ll probably have to go to professional counseling . . . poor kid, he’s been through hell.”

“Yeah,” Starsky agreed softly, lowering his lashes to hide the dangerous glint that came to his eyes, as he unconsciously rubbed his sore and torn wrists, “His father was a fuckin’ bastard . . . a sick son of a bitch . . . I’m glad he’s dead . . . I wish I had killed him.”

Hutch nodded, feeling the anger that rolled off of his wounded partner, “Hey, it’s okay buddy, take it easy partner,” the blond soothed softly, reaching out to gently rub above his friend’s abraded wrist, “He’s dead alr. . .” The blond stopped in mid-sentence, a look of surprise etching his face as his partner jerked his wrist away, wincing in sympathy as a sharp pain stabbed into the brunet’s ribs from the jolting movement.

“Starsk?”

The brunet quickly wrapped his arm around his side, breathing through the sudden crippling pain that lanced his ribs, as Jebb’s voice swirled through his mind . . .

“He’s all golden like the sun, a totin’ ya up with his hand ‘twixt yer legs. Makes me kinda wondah if ya like to hop the fence now and then . . . if’n ya knows what ah mean?”

“Yeah . . . sorry . . . ‘m jus’ tired,” Starsky said, trying to appear unshaken, hating the look of confusion that entered his partner’s soft blue eyes. Starsky looked down at the crisp white bed sheet and ran his fingers over it, self-consciously smoothing it out, wanting desperately to remedy the quiet stillness that permeated the room, “Jus’ kinda jumpy I guess . . .” The brunet snorted self-consciously and looked at his hand that suddenly fisted the sheet, his voice soft and vulnerable as he asked, “Hey when are we getting’ outta here huh?”

“Well . . . the doc wanted you to stay the night,” Hutch said softly, unable to keep the worry from his eyes as his partner refused to look at him, knowing the brunet well enough to know that he was changing the subject, and that for the time being, he would let him, “I think maybe you should listen to him . . .”

“What?” Starsky said, dark eyes lifting to connect to his partner’s sky blue, “Ya gotta be kiddin’ me right?”

“No, he’s not,” Doctor Brennan said, walking into the quiet room, “I’d really like you to stay overnight just for observations . . .”

“But I’m fine,” Starsky interjected, “Hutch can take care of me . . . it’s not like I ain’t had my ribs busted before.” The dark haired cop looked beseechingly at his partner, “Right? Tell him Hutch . . .”

The tall blond snorted, “Yeah, I told him already buddy,” he said soothingly, “But the doc feels . . .”

“You don’t only have broken ribs, you were burned by a hot iron poker tonight too. We’d have to monitor that . . . burns are very painful. Right now it’s not so bad, but the sedative we gave you when you were first brought in will be wearing off in a few hours. We’d have to clean and change that dressing and watch it closely for any signs of infection,” Brennen said firmly.

“Nope . . . I ain’t stayin’,” Starsky said stubbornly, wincing as he eased over to swing his legs off the bed. “I had enough pokin’ and proddin’ to last me a lifetime,” the brunet grumbled, grunting softly as he tried to reach behind him to untie the strings of the gown that he wore, feeling the agonizing pull in his side, “I’m outta here tonight . . .”

“Okay, okay . . . take it easy buddy,” Hutch murmured, pushing his partner’s searching hand away to first untie the gown for him, and then to help him lift it over his head, wincing as he heard the brunet’s soft grunt of pain, “I told you he’s a mule-head,” the blond said apologetically to the doctor who in turn, sighed and shook his head.

“More pig-headed if you ask me,” Brennan said sarcastically.

Hutch sighed, “Can you tell me how to care for that burn? I’ll help him to clean and change the dressing and I’ll watch out for any signs of infection.”

Dr. Brennan eyed the stubborn brunet who picked up the shirt his partner had brought for him and resignedly handed Hutch two small brown bottles. “Painkillers and antibiotics,” he said, at the detective’s silent question, “Believe me, he’ll need them.”

Chapter 10

They decided to stay at a Motel 8 along Makinen’s main highway, thanks to the belated recommendation from Sheriff McCabe who had walked into the hospital room shortly after Doctor Brennan had exited, informing the brunet that he needed to stay in town at least for another day just in case he had further questions for the detective. The elderly lawman had also told them that he had released Lee Roy Woods into the care of Child Protective Services after taking his statement in the hospital, and he handed Hutch the address to the garage where the Torino had been towed.

When Starsky asked McCabe about the welfare of his prized baby, the sheriff shrugged his shoulders apologetically and smiled as he told the detectives that he had no idea how long it would take to fix the problem with the flashy red and white car.

The motel was your run of the mill place, nothing fancy, just practical. Hutch parked the car in one of the many vacant stalls and walked to the front desk; the bright neon light flashing vacancies illuminated the dark with its harsh colors as the blond entered the lobby and registered them for the night, while Starsky waited in the car. Getting the key and the room number, the tall blond thanked the clerk and made his way back to his partner.

“Room 9,” Hutch said, leaning up against the open window on the passenger’s side, “Got us a room on the bottom floor so you don’t have to climb the steps buddy. Stay here while I dump the bags, and then we can drive over to that diner we saw down the highway okay?”

Hutch waited for a reply, but all he got was a brief nod from his silent and brooding partner who leaned wearily against the door, looking out through the rain splattered windshield.

Hutch sighed softly, knowing Starsky was hurting both physically and emotionally, and he wanted so badly to reach out and squeeze his partner’s shoulder, to let the brunet know without words that he was there for him, but the fair haired detective kept his hands to his side. Refraining from touching him, Hutch quietly took the bags from the trunk, though his mind never left his companion. The tall blond frowned; he hated when Starsky would shut him out, going within to lick his wounds, but that was his partner’s SOP when he was hurting or wounded, especially when it was emotional hurt that he was trying to deal with.

For the most part, Hutch understood his partner and tried hard not to push, allowing their natural bond and chemistry to somehow ease the way in so that his partner would open up on his own, but this time . . . well this time there was something that seemed to be “blocking” it. Though he couldn’t put his finger on it, Hutch could ‘feel’ it and it bothered him immensely. As the tall blond methodically opened the motel room with the key; not even bothering to flip on the lights as he quickly placed the bags down and shut the door, he thought back to what had happened back at the hospital . . .

Hutch had wanted to help his partner dress, knowing how difficult it was with broken ribs, but the brunet had stubbornly refused, insisting that he could manage, becoming irritated and short with his blond counterpart when he continued to hover.

“Hutch! Will you stop?” Starsky snapped, as the tall blond held up the sleeve of the tee-shirt to make it easier for the brunet to get his arm through, “I can do it myself!” the brunet grumbled, feeling suddenly awkward and uncomfortable with his partner’s close proximity. The dark haired detective sighed as he saw the flash of hurt that entered in his partner’s light blue orbs, “Look buddy,” Starsky began, finally giving in to the blond’s persistence as he clenched his teeth and begrudgingly stuck his arm through the sleeve, “I get that this whole thing freaked us out, but it’s over now. I’m fine. I’ve lived through worse injuries than this.”

“Starsky, that backwoods psycho abducted you, beat you, hunted you down . . . like you were some kind of animal, and he . . .”

“And he’s dead already!” Starsky snapped, angrily cutting the blond off, feeling the sudden, almost tangible silence that filled the small room. The brunet exhaled slowly, trying to get a handle on his raging emotions, knowing he was intentionally pushing Hutch away and hating himself for it. “I’m sorry Blintz,” Starsky said more calmly, “But really, I’m fine . . . okay?”

Hutch snorted softly, the look on his face was both sheepish and apologetic, “Yeah . . . okay . . . no mother-henning . . . I get it.”

“Good!” Starsky said, “Now hand me my pants.” The brunet grinned as Hutch tossed him another pair of what his blond friend called ‘crummy”’ jeans. “Thanks pal!” Starsky winked, trying hard to make light of his earlier sharp retort, wanting to smooth over the awkwardness of the moment with the friendly banter that they were so fond of. He didn’t want to hurt his partner, but just being with anyone right now took effort and the weary detective struggled valiantly for normalcy.

Hutch grinned as he caught the playful twinkle in his partner’s sapphire gaze, “Yeah . . . you owe me one buddy . . . you’re lucky I remembered to take your duffle bag out of the trunk before your piece of junk got towed.”

“Junk?” Starsky feigned a hurtful expression, “She’s a work of art Hutch . . .”

“Yeah? She blew her engine again buddy, you need to trade her in.” Hutch interjected.

“What?” the dark haired detective frowned, grimacing as he pulled the tight pants over his bandaged thigh, hating to be in any state of undress right now, especially with his partner standing so near.

“You’re just lucky I don’t trade you in pal!” Hutch griped, though a tiny smile tweaking the corners of his mouth softened his declaration, giving away his pretense of irritation, as he eyed his partner, wincing in sympathy, almost feeling the pain himself from the wound on the brunet’s thigh.

The dark haired cop grinned, “Hey . . . tell ya what? I’ll buy dinner at the first greasy diner we see around here . . . ‘sides I’m starvin’,” Starsky whined, as he searched through the pockets of his jeans, his puzzled look turning to one of anger, “Damn! I forgot!”

“What?” Hutch asked, as he regretfully saw the frown marring his partner’s previously smiling face. The tall blond was beginning to enjoy their playful banter, making things feel somehow right and normal again between them, “What’s wrong buddy?”

The brunet cursed softly under his breath, “My wallet . . . I forgot that scum bag took it.” Thinking of Jebb made him remember how the hillbilly had looked through his pictures, hearing his drawl, making lewd comments as he leered with his toothless grin at the people who were closest to his heart . . .

“This hea yer mama boy?”

“She be a fine woman . . . bet yer daddy loved to fuck her dry huh?”

“She looks like ya . . . so purty . . . with all of them dark curls,”

“An’ looky hea . . . this shure is a purty little filly,”

“That yer gurl, boy?”

“Ah bet she was good in bed too. Milked ya real tight ‘twixt them creamy thighs of hers . . . huh boy?”

“Well, well . . . yer wallet’s jus’ full o’ purty people ain’t it? He’s all golden like the sun, a totin’ ya up with his hand ‘twixt yer legs. Makes me kinda wondah if ya like to hop the fence now and then . . . if’n ya knows what ah mean?”

“Starsk?” Hutch called softly as he watched the emotions that played across the brunet’s face, intuitively knowing that something was wrong, that some horrible memory of his capture was being replayed in his mind. Hutch walked quietly over to his friend, not wanting to startle him, reaching out a comforting hand to place it upon the brunet’s rigid shoulder . . .

“Whatsamattah boy? Ain’t no man evah teched ya befoa? Don’ tell ole Jebb that that nice lookin’ blond man in dem pictures ain’t nevah done this t’ya,”

Starsky jolted at the unexpected touch, reacting on instinct as he roughly whacked Hutch’s hand away, his eyes glittering angrily as he snarled, “You son of a bitch!”

For a second there was only stunned silence and the heavy breathing of the brunet who suddenly registered the blond’s astonished face, feeling sick inside as he quickly lowered his eyes to hide the raw anxiety and humiliation that he felt within, while struggling to bring his breathing and rapid heartbeat under control.

Hutch was concerned and perplexed. If he didn’t know better, he would think that Starsky was keeping something from him; granted his partner had been through hell, but this kind of reaction wasn’t typical of Starsky, especially not when it came to them. Touching one another was something that brought them comfort; that made their bond even tighter, that took away and eased the pain and horror of whatever the streets and their job threw their way. “Starsk?” Hutch began again, keeping his voice soft and soothing like he would if he were speaking to a wounded animal or a frightened child, “Buddy, it’s me . . . you wanna . . . you wanna talk about it?”

The dark haired detective kept his head down as he tried to get a grip, he could feel the slight tremors that raced throughout his body, could feel the intense and worried gaze of his partner and he knew the look of concern that would be etched upon the blond’s face if he raised his head; so he didn’t . . . he couldn’t . . . not yet. It sickened him to think that he had struck Hutch’s hand off, when his partner was just trying to comfort him, but the ‘nightmare’ of Jebb was still so vivid, still so harshly ‘real’, and to be frank, Hutch being in his personal space all the time was starting to unnerve him, it was unsettling, almost suffocating . . .

“Ya liked it, din’t ya? There’s more where that came from,”

“Starsk?”

Swallowing hard, the brunet lifted his head; a stormy blue ocean met the blue of a soft, summer sky, “Let’s get outta here huh? I’m starvin’.”

Hutch nodded slowly, knowing his partner was trying to change the subject again, knowing that Starsky was trying to bury whatever it was that was bothering him and it tore the sensitive blond up, but for now, Hutch would let it go. Now was not the time or the place for the heart to heart talk they needed to have.

“Okay,” the tall blond conceded, “Let’s get you out of here pal.”

Hutch frowned as he made his way back to his rented car. He was gonna get to the bottom of whatever was eating away at his partner. Maybe after he ate something the tight-lipped brunet would be more apt to talk. The tall blond prayed it would be so.

…

Starsky laid his weary head against the window, the cold, smooth glass felt good to his warm forehead. His body loudly protested his upright position, but slouching lower made the knife-like stabs in his ribs flare painfully, so he just eased back and leaned against the door, tracking the tall form of his friend through the rivulets of water that ran down the window pane, watching as he carried the bags until he disappeared around the corner.

The dark haired detective closed his eyes, letting the fatigue wash over him, feeling the residual effects of the sedative start to fade as the pain in his body grew more intense. He was so tired, tired of sitting up, tired of thinking about forcing himself to eat so Hutch wouldn’t worry so much, tired of making conversation and pretending that everything was okay when all he wanted to really do was to take a hot shower and wash the filth and horror of Jebb’s disgusting memory away from him. Yet mere soap and water alone would never take that nightmare away, for if the truth were known, Starsky felt as dirty on the inside as he did on the outside.

The dark haired cop could feel anger and confusion flaring within as he remembered the jolting stab of pleasure that breached through his defenses as he bore the brutal and painful assault of Jebb’s invading fingers, hearing the slime’s whispered words, the barely contained excitement in the hillbilly’s panting voice . . .

“That feel good boy?”

“Ya liked it, din’t ya? There’s more where that came from,”

Starsky shuddered, hating himself inside as the hot color rose from his neck and stained his cheeks in the dark and quiet solitude of the car. “Fuck!” he swore softly, “I’m as sick as that fuckin’ son of a bitch,” he whispered to himself, hanging his head with shame and degradation as he thought of the jolt of pleasure that had pierced his soul. How could he have found any pleasure in that whole horrific ordeal? ‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ the brunet thought angrily, ‘Maybe I’m more like Johnny than I thought.’ Starsky held onto his aching ribs and sat up straighter as he saw the approaching blond making his way over to the car. “T’rrific!”

The brunet sighed, feeling his mask of indifference fall back into place, knowing he was building a protective wall around his heart, but how could he even begin to share any of this with Hutch? If his partner knew, he would freak . . . there was no way, he would ever share what happened up at the cabin . . . as it was, he knew they were already talked about by the others in the department and if they found out that he found any pleasure in that disgusting act . . .

The dark haired detective’s sapphire eyes hardened with determination as he thought, ‘There is no way anyone will ever know . . .not now . . .not ever! Not Hutch, not Huggy, no one.’ Starsky sighed softly, tightening his arm around his ribs as he closed his eyes in despair, determinedly making up his mind. He would die before he would expose himself . . . and he would make sure that no one would ever know what a sick bastard he was.

Hutch walked quickly through the light drizzle as he approached the car; making out the dark silhouette of his partner still slumped against his side of the door. The fair-haired detective took in a deep breath and squared his shoulders; whatever was bothering his friend was going to be resolved as soon as possible. Hutch plastered a grin to his face as he opened the driver’s side of the door to peer in at his partner, “Okay, you ready to eat pal?”

Starsky turned to look at his longtime friend and attempted to grin back, though the smile somehow never reached his eyes, “Yeah, starvin’ . . . let’s go huh?” he said softly. The gentle jostling of his partner getting into the car beside him made his ribs ache painfully and the brunet inconspicuously clenched his side as the blond closed the door, and started the motor. The darkness that settled over them was comforting to the curly haired cop for he knew it cloaked his expression from his partner; and he leaned wearily against the door looking out his window, not registering any of the town that slowly drifted by.

Chapter 11

“Well, what are you hungry for?” Hutch asked, his pale blue eyes skimming over the menu as he tried to decide what he was going to eat, “Hank’s Tavern is known for their meatloaf and ale.”

“Maybe just a cup of soup and some fries,” the brunet mumbled absently, his dark blue eyes were distant and unfocused as he gazed out the large picture window at the falling rain, his menu remained closed and untouched on the scarred surface of the wooden table on which they sat, one hand unconsciously rubbing the abraded and bruised wrist of the other.

The tall blond looked over his menu to inconspicuously peek at his silent and brooding partner who continued to gaze out the window. Hutch’s pale blue eyes drifted downward and he frowned as he eyed his friend distractedly rubbing his wrists; worry and concern making the grooves between his brows deepen. He knew his partner was trying hard to keep the walls down, making lame attempts at smiles and banter, but the fair haired detective knew his friend too well, knew he was harboring something inside, something more than just physical pain. The quiet introspection of his dark haired counterpart was starting to wear on the blond; for deep inside, Hutch intuitively knew that something horrible that happened up at that cabin, something more than what his partner was telling him.

“Stop it!”

Hutch glanced up at his partner as the soft command intruded upon his thoughts, watching as the brunet turned slowly from the window to look at him, stormy blue eyes pinning him to the spot.

“What’s that buddy?” the tall blond asked softly.

“I said, stop it!” Starsky reiterated.

“Stop what?” Hutch asked, a perplexed look upon his face.

“Stop staring at me.”

“What?” the blond said in surprise, “I wasn’t staring at you . . . believe me, I have better things to look at . . . like that waitress over there,” the flaxen haired detective said as he smiled and nodded at the tall, buxom redhead who was making her way over to their table. “She’s better looking than you,” Hutch whispered with a chuckle, “Why would I waste my time and look at your ugly mug? You look like you went ten rounds with Muhammed Ali and lost.”

“I saw ya . . .,” Starksy said, self-consciously touching the deep cut on his bottom lip, “Through the window. . .”

“Oh,” Hutch said, looking down at his folded hands which he placed over his menu, “ Well . . . I was just wondering what you were thinking about buddy . . .”

“What can I get you boys?” the green-eyed waitress said, unwittingly cutting off all attempts at communication, as she smiled at the curly haired brunet while fishing for her pad and the pencil that she took down from behind her ear, “Hey, are you from around here?” the redhead smiled and winked, “Haven’t we met before?”

“Nah,” Starsky said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable as he felt the vibes and the silent invitation from the woman before him, “Not from here . . . we’re from outta state . . . road trip and all . .. don’t think we’ve met . . .”

“I’m Candy,” the woman said brightly, “What’s your name cutie?”

Starsky sighed softly, not feeling very sociable especially with all the aches and pains bombarding his body, “Name’s Dave . . . hey um . . . can we order?”

Hutch frowned, noting the weary lines around this partner’s eyes and the pinched expression on his face. He could tell his partner was exhausted and the pain had to be bad by now, “Yeah, I’ll have the meatloaf and a mug of ale.”

The waitress scribbled down the order, turning her green eyes upon the brunet once more, “And you Dave, what do you want?” Candy said, her eyes roaming over the ruggedly handsome man; despite the bruises that marred his face, the brunet was still a very enticing hunk of meat in her eyes, “You look like you could use a massage honey,” she said as she winked again.

Starsky smiled uncomfortably and cleared his throat, “I’ll ah . . . I’ll jus’ have whatever soup ya got and a plate of fries.”

The red haired woman took the order and smiled, “I’ll be right back with your dinner.”

For a few minutes, the two men sat in virtual silence once more, the blond looking around the diner, wracking his brains on how to casually continue their interrupted conversation; as and the brunet went back to his brooding vigil, staring silently out of the window once again.

“Hey,” Hutch said softly as he turned to look at his partner, watching as the brunet slowly turned to look at him. “How ya doing Gordo?”

Starsky snorted softly, “Been better,” he said quietly, a small smile gracing his lips at the familiar nickname, “Just tired s’all . . . not even that hungry.”

“Yeah, but I want you to try to eat something,” Hutch said, his blue eyes softening with affection for his partner, “You can’t takes these meds on an empty stomach,” the blond said, fishing the brown pill bottles out from his jacket pocket. Hutch popped the caps on both and spilled two tablets onto his palm. At the brunet’s silent question he said, “The white one is the antibiotic, the blue one is the painkiller.”

The brunet reached over and took the white pill, purposely leaving the blue one. If he took it, it would probably knock him out, and Starsky couldn’t chance the possibility of saying something in his sleep that would alert Hutch about what had happened up at the cabin. Pain was no stranger to the brunet, and he could tough it out when he had to.

Starsky slipped the pill into his mouth and lifted the glass of water to his lips, noting the blond as he raised his brow in silent question. The brunet swallowed down the pill and said, “I don’ need that one, I’m fine for now.” He could see the frown that immediately appeared across his blond friend’s forehead and he exhaled wearily, preparing himself for the battle ahead. “Look Hutch . . .” he began softly, his usually bright blue eyes were dull with exhaustion, “I jus’ . . .”

“No, you look buddy,” Hutch said, pale blue eyes hardening, as he pointed his long index finger at his partner, “The doc said you need to take this . . . at any time the pain can flare out of control and this will help to keep it manageable. You need to listen to the doc, Starsky. Your body has been through hell and it needs to rest, to heal itself and rejuvenate . . . this pill will allow your body to recuperate and give it reprieve from the pain that I know you must be feeling, especially now, since what they gave you at the hospital must be wearing off.”

Starsky sighed once more and turned to stare out of the window, “Get off my back Hutch,” he said quietly, feeling the invisible wall of defense rising back into place, feeling himself retreating behind it, where it was safe. There was no way Hutch could know why he was avoiding that pill, if he knew he was keeping something from him, the persistent blond would keep digging, not stopping until he ferreted out the truth and that was not an option.

The tall blond could feel the anger rise up as his partner tried to shut him out again, “Starsky . . .”

“Here you go boys,” Candy said, placing the food before them, “Nice and hot.”

Hutch sighed and turned to force a smile at the waitress, “Thanks Candy,” he said graciously, noticing that the brunet didn’t even turn to address the woman, his cobalt gaze still locked on the silent drizzle outside, “It looks great.” The tall blond finished lamely, wishing the waitress would just leave so that he could finish his point and make his mule-headed friend understand the importance of taking his pain meds.

“Hey Dave,” the redhead said, a wanton smile came to her lips as she saw the brunet finally turn to look at her, “I get off work in another two hours . . .” Candy leaned over and whispered, purposely allowing the brunet to see the swell of her ample, creamy bosom. “I can give you that massage I was tellin’ you about . . . I can tell you might need one . . . they say my fingers are the best in the state!”

Hutch worried his lower lip as he saw the slight blush from his exhausted friend, and he briefly wondered if Starsky was starting on a fever, “I think my friend and I just want to eat . . . we’re starving,” the blond said, hoping the woman would catch a clue.

“C’mon Dave,” she cajoled, totally ignoring the tall blond man who sat across the quiet brunet, “It would be fun,” she added as she slid her voluptuous body onto the bench beside the dark haired man, reaching her hand out to caress the detective’s broad chest, accidentally elbowing the man in the ribs as she tried to get him to move over.

Starsky grunted in pain as he immediately wrapped his arm tightly around his left side, dark lashes pressed tightly against suddenly pale cheeks, breathing short rapid breaths while he tried to surf through the knife-like stabs that suddenly pierced into his ribs.

“Starsk!” the tall blond winced, almost sharing the agony his friend was feeling as he reached over the table to lay a comforting hand on Starsky’s rigid shoulder, turning to look angrily at the waitress as he said, “Look lady, he ain’t interested okay? Just lay off and get back to work . . . I think some of your customers are waiting for your service . . .”

The concerned look that marred the redhead’s face morphed into a mask of hostility as she glared at the blond, “Geez, I should’ve known . . .” she sneered, looking once again to the handsome brunet, “All the good ones are usually taken. You could’ve just said you were gay . . . then I wouldn’t have gone through all that trouble!” Candy huffed as she slid out from the bench seat, pulling down her short dress as she stood, “Nowadays it’s hard to tell the straight guys from the queer ones . . . maybe next time you should wear a sign!”

The dark haired detective felt the color drain from his face as the redhead stormed off, her comment made the brunet feel ill inside, dragging up issues that had been lurking at the edges of his consciousness, the face of Johnny Blaine flashing across his mind’s eye, making him feel nauseous as the knot in the pit of his stomach continued to grow.

“You okay buddy?” Hutch asked, noticing his friend’s pallor and that his partner was not eating as the blond slowly chewed on his overly dry meatloaf, “You not hungry?”

Starsky sighed and nodded, pushing the soup bowl away, “Yeah, I guess I ain’t hungry after all . . . jus’ wanna lie down for a bit, but don’t worry . . . ‘M fine . . . jus’ finish your meatloaf.”

Hutch took a sip of his beer, suddenly feeling his appetite waning as he looked at his partner’s weary and pinched features as the brunet absently began to rub his chafed and abraded wrists once again, “I’ll jus’ have this wrapped and we can leave, but I want you to take a few spoonfuls of that soup buddy, you took that antibiotic on an empty stomach okay?”

The brunet snorted as he looked to his partner’s soft blue eyes, feeling the strong bond that they shared, a glimmer of a twinkle appeared in his own dark blue depths, “I thought ya said ya weren’t gonna mother-hen me Blintz?”

Hutch chuckled, “Well . . . I lied! Now hurry up and drink that soup pal before it gets cold!”

oo0oo

Hutch stopped the car, dropping his partner as close to their room as possible, “Here Starsk, take the key and open it up,” he said, handing the brunet the small metal key, “I’ll go park the car and meet you back here.”

“Thanks,” Starsky said, opening the car door and gingerly stepping out, grateful for the blond’s consideration as the ache in his ribs and thigh screamed to be heard, “Try not to get lost huh?” the brunet murmured cockily.

Hutch snorted, looking over his weary partner, “Yeah, and try to not to fall down,” he laughed, as the door slammed shut. The dark haired detective made his way to their room as the blond eased the rental into a stall a few doors down.

Starsky slowly opened the door to the room, after fumbling with the lock. It was your average standard motel room, cheap curtains hanging over a window with an air conditioner in place beneath it, a TV consol, and a small bathroom made up the rest of it. The musty stale odor of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke filled his nostrils, but it was the sight of the bed that made the brunet stop in his tracks. There was only one queen size bed in the middle of the room, and the sight of it shook him, suddenly filling his fragile state of being with dread.

In the past, something like this wouldn’t have even fazed him, for there were many times the partners had shared a bed for one reason or another, but this time . . . with his emotions so raw, with the pain of his recent ordeal still so fresh in his mind, sharing a bed with anyone, much less Hutch, was not something he was relishing. He could still hear the waitress, her voice mocking and condescending as she stood, 'You could’ve just said you were gay . . . then I wouldn’t have gone through all that trouble!'

“Hey, how’s the room?” Hutch asked as he quietly came up behind the brunet who was still standing in the doorframe, “What’s wrong? How come you still out here?”

“It stuffy in there . . . smells like smoke and there’s only one bed,” Starsky said petulantly, masking his face into a playful pout so that Hutch wouldn’t know that the idea of sharing a bed had kept him rooted to the door, shaking him to the core. The brunet tried to take in a deep breath to push down and still the fear that suddenly wanted to overwhelm him, but the painful stab in his cracked ribs reminded him that that was not possible. Starsky’s eyes never left the bed, as his blond friend pushed gently past him to peruse the room.

“Yeah,” Hutch said looking around at the cheap decor, “Well, it’s not too bad, we’ve been in worse places, just turn on the air con, it might help circulate the air better.” Hutch walked over to the bed and ran his hand over the cheap bedspread, “The guy at the front desk said that all bottom floored rooms had only queen size accommodations . . . thought it really wouldn’t matter since we’ll probably be here just for the night. Didn’t want you to have climb those stairs,” the tall blond said turning to look at his partner, a frown drawing his pale brows together as he said, “You’re not uncomfortable with the arrangements are you? I mean …”

“No,” Starsky said quickly, cutting off the blond as he walked into the room and closed the door behind him, “It’s not a big deal . . . ain’t like we never shared a bed before . . . jus’ make sure though that you stay on your own side . . . and keep your hands to yourself Blondie!” The brunet forced himself to grin when he heard the soft snort that came from his partner. He knew Hutch had taken his comment as a joke, but deep inside, Starsky knew that for himself, this was far from being a joking matter.

Hutch chuckled as he lifted the brunet’s duffle onto the edge of the bed, “Yeah, like I’m gonna rape you,” he grinned, turning to see the color drain from the dark haired detective’s face, “Starsk? You okay?” the blond asked softly, concern instantly replacing the smile that had been there just a moment ago, “You should lie down buddy and you really need to take that painkiller.” Hutch said, crossing the short distance to reach out and place his hand on Starsky’s shoulder. A look of shocked surprise raced across his face as the dark haired detective angrily shrugged his hand off.

“Don’t!” Starsky snapped. The air crackled with suppressed electricity as the rigid brunet bristled with sudden anger.

“Starsk? Hey buddy . . . what’s going on?” Hutch asked, his hand slowly lowering to his side, a look of perplexed concern mirrored in his pale blue eyes.

Starsky sighed, willing the hammering in his heart to slow down as he attempted to calm the raging emotions Hutch’s words had provoked as he turned to walk over to the bed, refusing to look at his partner, not wanting to see the hurt and confusion he knew Hutch was feeling. He didn’t know how to respond to the tall blond’s question. How could he explain something that he, himself, was having trouble understanding? His turbulent emotions were so mixed up, feelings of anger, remorse, humiliation and fear coursed through his veins, making him want to just throw up and purge what little he had in his knotted gut. He knew Hutch was just trying to help him, lend him a comforting hand like they usually did when one or the other had been through something traumatic, but the thought of anyone touching him right now just made him feel ill.

“I don’ want ya to tou . . . to talk about those pills anymore okay? Jus’ drop it Hutch. I tol’ ya . . . I’m fine!” the brunet said gruffly as he opened his duffle and angrily dug through his bag, taking out some fresh clothes. The silence that permeated the room was overwhelming, and all Starsky wanted to do was run from it, run from the silent speculation and perusal of the silent blond, intuitively knowing that his partner’s sharp mind was slowly trying to piece together what was wrong. The thought of Hutch figuring it all out scared the brunet shitless.

“Hey, I’m sorry buddy . . . I-I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” the soft voice of the blond reached out across the small expanse of the room touching the brunet’s heart, the tinge of sadness, and the slight stutter made Starsky tremble with despair, knowing he was inadvertently wounding his friend, “B-but if you can just talk to me . . . maybe I can figure out wh-what I’m doing that’s upsetting you . . .”

The dark haired detective sighed, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them once more as he turned towards his friend. “Look, I’m sorry okay?” Starsky said softly, glancing up at his partner from under his thick, dark lashes, feeling miserable and sick as he saw the look of bewilderment and hurt on Hutch’s face. The brunet sighed again, feeling the claws of guilt as it tore into his heart, “You’re not doin’ anything wrong Hutch, it’s me,” the dark haired detective said quietly, pressing his clothes against his chest, feeling the sharp pain that flared in his side, “I’m just tired and jumpy . . . jus’ need to take a hot shower . . . it’ll help me relax I think . . .” Starsky lifted wide blue eyes, the apology clearly reflected in its sapphire depths.

Pale blue eyes softened with fondness as the tall blond stared at his partner, noting the dark circles under the familiar cobalt orbs and the weariness that lined Starsky’s face. Hutch snorted softly, his mind racing, feeling a sudden sense of relief as he saw the tiny grin that immediately lifted the corners of his partner’s mouth. ‘Maybe that’s all it is . . . maybe he was reading more into this than what was really there; after all, it was obvious that the dark haired detective was exhausted and coming from that horrific situation where he had almost lost his life . . . well it would shake anyone.’

The blond grinned back, his heart warming with affection for his best friend, “Need help with that?” Hutch asked softly, nodding towards his partner’s side, knowing the brunet would have to take off the layers of bandages that bound his ribs before he could take that shower. “What about the burn on your thigh?” the blond pressed, “You have to remove the bandages there too.”

The brunet forced himself to keep the grin on his face, “Hutch, I’m fine okay? Tell ya what . . . if I need help, I’ll call ya . . . I promise!”

The tall blond detective watched as his wounded partner turned and limped towards the adjoining bathroom and though he listened intently and waited for a call from his friend, it never came.