. . . CHAPTER 7 . . .

Starsky dashed out into the cold night, his eyes adjusting to the darkness outside, silently wondering if Mari had another vision that had prompted her to run. His eyes darted about as he searched up and down the street, seeing only his bright red Torino parked in front of his house.

The curly haired detective made a quick decision and started sprinting in the direction he thought she would head in. It was dangerous for her to be out here alone, in the dark. If he were a girl, he reasoned, he would make it to the store a couple of blocks down. At least at the store, it would be relatively safe with enough light and people around.

He passed several homes, his mind focused on finding the young Asian woman who had once again eluded him, when suddenly; he felt himself being yanked into one of the many narrow, dark side roads that flanked the main street. He had the air knocked out of his lungs, as he was slammed hard against the brick wall that lined the deserted thoroughfare.

“Uungh!” he gasped, stars exploding in his head as it bashed against the cold bricks from the momentum of the pull. Something razor sharp slashed across his lower abdomen, easily slicing through his thin, light-blue pullover. Gasping, Starsky fell to one knee, his right hand over his lower mid-section, feeling the warmth of his blood as it dripped through his fingers.

Breathing hard, the brunet shook his head, to clear the cobwebs and disorientation away. It was dark and the pain in his lower mid-section made it difficult to think and focus. He automatically reached with his left hand for his gun, only to find it missing. He lifted his dazed blue eyes to his assailant, who stood in the narrow street, his black-gloved hand clutching the large, sharp blade. Starsky gasped softly, blinking to clear his vision, trying to make out the dark shape of the man who stood before him.

“You think you’re something special . . . don’t you pig?” the large man snarled, contempt clearly evident in his voice, “Did you have your way with her yet? Did you fuck her? She was mine you prick and now you’ve dirtied her!”

“You think . . . she would ever be yours . . . asshole?” Starsky gasped, his fingers growing slick as his blood continued to seep out, “She was . . . never yours,” Starsky rasped, purposely trying to goad the perp into making a careless move. The way he was bleeding out, Starsky knew he had to move fast. “And yeah . . . just in case you’re wonderin’ . . . she was damn good!”

“Fuck you, bastard!” The killer snapped and charged the downed man, stopping himself in time from running into the wall, when the detective suddenly curled his body and rolled away at the last minute.

“Starsk? Starsky!” Hutch called as he jogged down the street . . . so far he had seen nothing . . . no sign of his partner anywhere. The blond felt worried, as the cold finger of fear raced up his spine, “Dammit Starsky . . . where are you?”

The large man looked over his shoulder, knowing the cop’s partner was just around the corner. He quickly grabbed the wounded detective before he could get to his feet, knowing the curly haired man was still trying to get his bearings after rolling away the way he did. Hearing the brunet gasping painfully as he pinned him up against the brick wall, brought an evil grin the killer’s hard, cruel mouth.

“You’ll die,” he hissed softly into the Starsky’s ear, “Knowing you couldn’t save her . . . that in the end, she’ll still be mine!” With a vicious upward arc, he drove his blade into the detective’s right side, just under his ribs, smiling with satisfaction when he heard the cop cry out in pain, his body tense and rigid against the wall. The shock and pain in the wide, blue eyes of the detective was forever ingrained upon the killer’s mind.

“Starsky?” Hutch called out, racing down the street when he heard the soft cry of pain in the night.

The large man grinned evilly, his face shadowed by the dim streetlight; his features were indistinguishable as he watched the detective slowly slide down the wall, the knife embedded to the hilt in his side. At the sound of feet running towards them, the assailant took one last look at the bleeding brunet and sprinted off into the night.

“Starsky?” Hutch called out, slowing to walk, as he listened to the stillness of the night. He could have sworn he heard something around this area. The blond looked down the narrow, darkened side street, “Starsk?”

“H-Hutch . . . help.” Starsky gasped softly, as red-hot pain brutally flared with each labored breath that he took. The brunet gasped, sinking slowly to the ground in a crumpled heap, by the time Hutch had found him.

“Starsk?” Hutch said, sliding to his knees next to his fallen partner, “Oh god buddy . . .

d-don’t move.” The sight of the blade’s hilt protruding from his friend’s side sickened the blonde.

Starsky gasped in pain, his vision beginning to blur, “Uungh . . . oh god Hutch,” the brunet panted, his trembling right hand trying to pull the blade out, “H-hurts!”

Hutch grabbed his partner’s seeking hand, restraining it from doing more damage, “I know babe, but I can’t let you pull it out . . . not yet, y-you’ll bleed to death.” Hutch quickly looked his partner over, noticing the pool of blood on the waistband of his jeans. “Shit . . .” he whispered softly, the concern and worry he felt for his friend was etched upon his face. “I-I gotta see where he hurt you Starsk,” Hutch said soothingly, easing his friend onto his back so that he could unsnap the top button of his tight jeans, wincing as he heard his partner’s sharp intake of breath.

Starsky groaned softly, tensing in pain, as Hutch carefully pulled the bloody bottom of his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. “Oh god,” Hutch whispered softly, hearing the sirens approaching in the distance, he looked over the six-inch gash that ran along the lower abdomen of his partner.

“Here . . . use this, we’ve got to stop the bleeding . . .” a small voice whispered above him. Hutch looked up to see Mari holding a towel that she began to shred into strips.

“I took this from his bathroom when I left,” she whispered, her almond shaped eyes locked on the dark haired detective, “It reminded me of home . . .”

“What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to stay at the store?” Hutch snapped angrily, taking his worry and frustration out on the small woman who ignored his outburst, as she knelt next to the wounded man.

She wiped the perspiration from Starsky’s clammy face with the edge of the soft towel strip and gently pressed another wider piece along the slashed area of the detective’s abdomen.

Starsky jolted in pain at the slight pressure to the wound, gasping, eyes tightly scrunched. He groaned softly, turning his head away from her as he gritted his teeth to hold back any more unwanted sounds, as he silently surfed through the stabbing waves of pain that bombarded his rigid body.

Mari bit her lip, silent tears streamed down her face. She looked up at the blond, “Listen to me Hutch,” she whispered, “You can’t take David to the hospital . . . he’ll be there . . . he’s waiting to finish what he started.”

“I won’t let him!” Hutch snarled, pressing his large hands over her smaller one to help staunch the flow of his partner’s life-blood that continued to spill out onto the dark narrow road.

“Uungh” the brunet groaned as he tried to twist his body away from the invasive pain that stabbed into his mid-section, his long, dark lashes lifted slightly to reveal a sliver of dark blue.

“Hey buddy . . . take it easy, no, no . . don’t move . . . I’m right here . . . we’re right here

. . . Mari is too.” Hutch said softly, using the gentle voice he reserved for his partner and best friend, the soothing tone, seeming to calm the wounded man who relaxed slightly against the hard, paved road, his eyes drifting to the girl at Hutch’s side.

“H-hey . . .” the brunet gasped, attempting to grin as he saw the worry that marred the pretty features of the young Asian girl. “W-where’dya go . . . huh?” he murmured, his speech becoming slurred as his long lashes lowered once more to fan out across his pale, damp skin.

Hutch could hear the doors slamming as the police cars lined the narrow road.

“Please Hutch, hear me . . . you must take him somewhere else . . . the killer is evil and so very clever, he’s been able to elude the police for over a year now . . . he will succeed in killing David if you do not heed my words,” Mari whispered, nervously eyeing the policemen who made their way towards them. She could feel her whole body trembling in her desperation to make the blond detective understand, but no one had ever bothered to listen to her before . . . why should this time be any different?

Hutch looked at Mari, his pale blue eyes seemed to shimmer like ice in the dark, as they crouched over Starsky. “My partner needs medical attention.” Hutch whispered, barely controlling the rage that wanted to flare up.

“Then get him help.” Mari snapped, keeping her voice low, “Take him somewhere safe and bring a doctor over there,” She looked down at Starsky, her small hand cupping the side of his face, her dark brown eyes softening as she gazed at the wounded cop, then she turned to glare at the blond, whispering desperately, “I feel the special bond you have with this man . . . I know you love him . . . and if this is so, then you must listen to me . . . save him . . . please Hutch!” she begged, seeing once again in her mind’s eye those dark, blue eyes filled with pain and horror. “Please!” she urged.

“Detective, the ambulance is on its way,” a uniformed officer said, crouching low beside the blond cop, his eyes taking in the damage to the downed detective.

“Thanks for calling it in,” Hutch said gratefully, eyeing the name tag of the officer’s uniform, “Roberts.”

“Don’t thank me . . . some anonymous woman called it in as we were heading up here.”

Hutch turned to look at Mari who continued to gaze down at the wounded brunet.

“Roberts,” Hutch said abruptly, making up his mind, “I need you to take my place here and apply direct pressure on Detective’s Starsky’s abdomen. He’s bleeding out. Try not to jar him . . . he’s also got a knife in his side. I need to use your radio to call Captain Dobey immediately,” Hutch said, carefully standing as Roberts replaced him. Mari also stood, her eyes never leaving the blond detective’s face, a hesitant, tiny smile touched her lips, as hope filled her eyes, making them appear almost luminescent under the dim glow of the streetlights.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The safe house was set up like a makeshift hospital by the time the ambulance pulled into its driveway. Starsky was taken into the nearest room that resembled an emergency triage unit. Dobey met them at the doors. “How is he?” the large, black man asked.

“He has a knife wound to his side, the blade is still in there. He’s also got a nasty laceration to his lower abdomen . . . he’s lost a lot of blood Cap.” Hutch said worriedly.

“And the girl?” Dobey queried.

“She disappeared again . . . like a ghost. I walked over to use Robert’s radio to call you. She was right behind me Captain . . . no one saw her leave from that narrow road. There was no way she could have gotten by without anyone seeing her, but she’s gone.” Hutch said softly.

“Detective Hutchinson?” a nurse called out as she hurried over to the blond, “Your partner needs you. Under the unusual circumstance that we find ourselves in, Doctor Bernstein has given his permission to allow you inside, in hopes that you can help with your partner. He’s refusing anesthetics and he’s in considerable pain.

“Go,” Dobey ordered, “Before your stubborn-assed partner does more damage to himself! We’ll talk later.”

“Yeah,” Hutch anxiously agreed, as he hurried after the nurse. The tall blond was allowed into the triage room where his struggling partner was laid out on a roll away gurney.

“Hey buddy . . . take it easy . . . it’s okay . . .” Hutch said softly, grabbing onto his partner’s trembling left hand, as he wearily lifted it, “What’s this I hear about you giving these doctors a bad time huh? You need to let them fix you up buddy.”

“H-Hutch . . . M-Mari . . .” the weary brunet gasped, his pale countenance gleamed with perspiration, his eyelids lowered at half-mast, dark blue peeping out from under heavy, dark lashes.

“She’s fine buddy,” Hutch lied, feeling sick and guilty at how easily that lie came out, but Mari was the last thing that his partner should be worrying about. The blond saw his friend open his blue eyes wider and he knew that Starsky saw right through his fib.

“Ya gotta . . . f-find her Hutch,” the brunet gasped, as he reached out and grabbed his partner’s jacket, partially lifting himself from the gurney in his desperation for Hutch to understand. Starsky cried out softly, feeling the knife slide deeper into his side with the sudden movement. “Uungh,” the brunet gasped softly, clutching the handle that was buried to the hilt, as Hutch gently pushed him back down.

“Take it easy Starsk, d-don’t move,” Hutch soothed softly, sickened by his partner’s rigid, straining body; seeing the knife sticking out obscenely from his friend’s body made the sensitive blond want to throw-up. Hutch gently stroked the sweat-plastered curls back from his gasping partner’s face, “Easy, easy, just lie still buddy . . .”

“He’s . . . g-gonna rape and kill her . . . f-find her . . .Hutch.” Starsky gasped, his bloody fingers still hooked in Hutch’s jacket, as Dr. Bernstein made his way over to the gurney, “She’s all . . . alone . . . out there,” the brunet gasped, his face lined in pain, his rigid body straining with the effort if took to speak

“Shh, okay, okay buddy,” Hutch whispered, “I will, but first you gotta promise to lie still and do whatever the doc says okay?”

Hutch forced a smile to his lips, his sky-blue eyes softening as he saw his partner’s lips tweak at the corners, “H-hey ... that’s b-bribery . . .” Starsky whispered softly, a lopsided grin appearing briefly, before his face once again contorted in pain.

‘Was it only yesterday that his partner had said the same thing when he was offered a bag of doughnuts? It seemed so long ago,’ the blond absently thought, the crease in his brow deepened with concern, as Starsky stiffened and gasped once again with the pain that lanced throughout his body.

“Easy buddy,” Hutch said, gently restraining the hand that once again reached for the blade’s hilt. Hutch watched as the doctor injected something into the IV line that ran into his crook of his partner’s elbow. Starsky slowly closed his eyes; dark lashes hiding the familiar blue that Hutch longed to see once again.

“We’re starting the anesthetics now, we need to take the blade out.” Dr. Bernstein said.

“Yeah,” Hutch said, looking down once more into his partner’s face, listening to the brunet’s soft gasps of pain, wanting to stay, but knowing the doctor was asking him politely to leave.

“Detective?” The doctor said once more, impatience making his tone sharper than before.

“Yeah. Okay.” Hutch replied quickly, irritably, as he took one last look at his partner, hearing his rapid, shallow breathing. As he turned to leave, the blond felt a weak tug on the sleeve of his jacket. Hutch looked back to see his partner’s eyes wearily open once more; his long dark lashes were spiked with perspiration.

“F-find her Hutch.” Starsky whispered.

“I will buddy . . . and you better hang on and get through this, you hear me?” Hutch said firmly, placing his other large hand over his partner’s that still hung onto his sleeve. The tall blond squeezed the brunet’s clammy hand affectionately.

“L-loud . . . n’clear,” came the soft, sarcastic reply. Hutch smiled, gently placing his partner’s hand back down onto his chest, squeezing it briefly once more, before he reluctantly turned to walk out.

. . . CHAPTER 8 . . .

“Well?” Dobey barked, the minute Hutch came out, “How is he?”

The tall blond detective sighed; dry washing his face, as he wearily walked towards his Captain, and sat down heavily in one of the cushioned chairs in the living room. The tall blond looked to his hands and saw that they were stained with his partner’s blood. The sight shook him and he stammered, “They’re g-gonna remove that blade in his side now,” Hutch said softly, worry and concern evident upon his face, as he continued to stare at his hands, “H-he wants me to go out and find that girl, Mari . . . wouldn’t settle down until I promised.” Dobey handed Hutch his handkerchief and the blond smiled a weary thanks and began to scrub at the dried blood on his hands.

“What’re you going to do?” Dobey asked, knowing that his blond detective was torn with indecision . . . not wanting to leave here without knowing the condition of his partner, yet feeling the burden of the promise he made to Starsky, its heavy weight tugging on his conscience.

Hutch sighed heavily, lifting light blue, weary eyes to his captains’, dragging his hand through his hair, as he eyed the large black man sitting across from him, “I don’t know . . . I-I guess I should head out . . .”

“I put as many men as I could afford to out there on the streets to look for the girl,” Dobey said gruffly, wanting to ease the tired blond’s mind, “Why don’t you just wait here until you hear from the doctor. Anyway, you’ll only be distracted out there, wondering about that partner of yours. If they find her Hutch, we’ll be the first to know.”

“They’re not gonna find her Cap, especially if she doesn’t want to be found.” Hutch said in a quiet voice, “She’s walking with shadows right now . . .”

“What?” Dobey said, one brow rose in question, as he looked his detective in the eye.

“Nothing,” Hutch sighed, “It’s just that she’s been on the run for so long, she’s perfected that skill.”

“So what’s been going on with this girl? Did you find out anything else about her?”

“She came over to Starsky’s place last night. Captain, she said the man who killed that hooker is also the same man we’ve dubbed as the Interstate Killer. He’s here now in Bay City. This creep has murdered and raped so many women over the years and for some strange reason, Mari has the ability to “see” the horrific things he’s done. She thinks that he’s linked to her somehow . . . psychically . . . like he knows her every move, and that for some strange reason, Starsk is connected to all of this. She said she knows that the killer is going to try to kill her and Starsky too.”

“Well,” Dobey snapped, “Why the hell didn’t you bring her into the station . . . if what she said is true and this is the Interstate Killer, then she should be under protective custody. We’re also going to have to call the Feds in on this case. They’ve been tracking this killer for a while now, but he’s always eluded them.” Dobey frowned, and then reiterated, “You should’ve called me right away.”

“We would’ve Cap, but then she took off through the bathroom window . . . she knew the killer was coming and she didn’t want to lead him to Starsky’s place . . . she called me from the store she was at, and told me that. In the meantime, Starsky went out to look for her and this happened.” Hutch said softly, as he filled his Captain in on the details.

“Do you know if Starsky got a look at his assailant?” Dobey questioned.

“I don’t know, it was pretty dark and seeing Starsky hurt the way he was, I didn’t even think to ask if he saw the guy.” Hutch replied. “In any case, I think Mari knew Starsky was going to be attacked because she called the ambulance, that’s how we got help there so fast. I thought at first, that it might have been the back-up officers who arrived on the scene who called it in, but Roberts said it was an anonymous call from a woman.”

“And you think this anonymous caller was her?” Dobey asked.

“Who else could it be? And then, she came back to help. She had a towel with her . . . if it wasn’t for that, Starsky might have bled to death . . .” Hutch said with a shudder.

Dobey frowned, “You think she had another one of her . . .”

“Episodes . . . she calls them ‘episodes’ . . . her visions I mean,” Hutch interjected.

“And you really believe what this woman claims? That she is a psychic?” Dobey asked, his brow once again rising skeptically.

“What do you think I believe?” Hutch asked, his voice quiet and soft, as he looked his Captain in the eye, “The question is . . . what do you believe?”

Dobey’s frowned deepened; his dark, brown eyes were bloodshot as he glared at his detective. A few seconds later the large black man sighed, then gruffly said, “Well, obviously I believe something . . . or I wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble of arranging this medically equipped safe house right?”

“Yeah,” Hutch said, his voice warm with affection for his large, disgruntled Captain, who at times, was more of a father figure to both he and his curly haired partner, “I never got to thank you for that . . . for trusting me enough to do all of this for Starsky.”

“Well . . .” Dobey said softly, his voice mellowing a bit, feeling uncomfortable with the emotion that was shining in the blond’s gaze, “I would have done that for any of my men.”

“Yeah,” Hutch said quietly, knowing that his Captain had a soft spot for the both of them despite what he just said, “But thanks anyway . . . it means a lot to me . . . and to Starsk.”

For a long while both men sat quietly, deep in their own thoughts, as time dragged slowly by. Finally Hutch reluctantly got to his feet, drawing the attention of his captain’s gaze.

“You leaving?” Dobey asked.

“Yeah,” Hutch said softly, “I made a promise to Starsk . . .”

“Detective Hutchinson?” Dr. Bernstein said, coming towards them, as Dobey also struggled to his feet.

“We’ve removed the blade,” the doctor said, handing the bloody knife in a clear plastic bag to the tall blond, “I believe this is evidence, although Detective Starsky’s prints must be all over the handle.”

“Yeah, it is,” Hutch said, gingerly taking the bag, seeing the blade stained with a light shade of red and knowing that it was his partner’s blood, made the tall blond feel suddenly weak. He anxiously lifted pale, blue eyes to the doctor’s face and tried to read his expression, “How is he doctor?”

“Despite how awful it looked, your friend was very lucky. The blade missed his vital organs by mere inches. The damage he received on his lower abdomen from the laceration, believe it or not, was worse. He’s lost quite a lot of blood and we had to replace it intravenously with three units while we stitched him up. The abdomen has many tiny blood vessels that run throughout it and as such, any wound to that area will bleed profusely. It’s a good thing you had that towel to staunch the flow of blood.” Bernstein said.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Hutch asked, feeling the weakening sense of relief beginning to wash over him.

“Detective Starsky needed several stitches on the inside, as well as twelve stitches on the outside to close up the wound to his lower mid-section. We’re starting him on an antibiotic drip to prevent infection, however he was very fortunate in that the blade hadn’t sliced deep enough to rupture his intestines. He’s also suffered a slight concussion. It appears he hit his head against the wall or the street when he fell. Like I said before, all in all, your friend is a very lucky man.” Bernstein concluded.

“C-can I see him?” Hutch asked, needing to see for himself that his partner was fine.

Dr. Bernstein pulled off his scrub cap, and wearily pinched the bridge of his nose, before looking the blond in the eye, “They’re cleaning him up now and he’ll be under heavy sedation. Any type of puncture wound is extremely painful, Detective Hutchinson. He’ll sleep well for another hour or two, before he starts to wake up. We’ll probably have to keep him on a regime of painkillers until the pain becomes more bearable.”

“Thank you doctor,” Dobey said, “For coming to the safe house like this and for saving the life of one of my men.”

The doctor smiled briefly, as he shook the hands of both men, “Although this has been highly unusual, I am glad that it turned out the way it did for Detective Starsky. We will be packing most of this equipment up, however, he will have a nurse here to attend to his needs and monitor his stats. She is highly qualified and will alert us at once if there are any signs of infection.

“Thank you doctor,” Hutch said again, feeling ever grateful that once again, his partner was able to cheat the grave. The tall blond watched as the doctor walked away, before turning to his Captain.

The rotund Captain looked at his blond detective, a big smile on his face, “The boy had me worried for a bit,” Dobey finally admitted.

“Yeah,” Hutch agreed, “Look Cap’n, Starsky will be out for a couple of hours, I’m gonna swing back to his place. I just remembered that Mari left her backpack at Starsky’s. Maybe there’s something in there that can tell us more about her.”

“Okay,” Dobey said, “I’m gonna leave in a little bit too. I want to take a peek at your partner first, maybe sit with him for a while, and then I’ll head on down to the station, once the men who are going to watch over your partner arrives. Keep your radio on Hutch. If one of the units out there finds her, we’ll call you.”

“Listen Captain, could you do me a favor if you get to the station before me?” Hutch asked. At Dobey’s quick nod, the blond cop continued, “Last night I wanted to run a check on any missing redheaded, green-eyed females in the Oregon area. Mari said she saw the Interstate Killer raping and murdering a woman with this description. You might also call the Oregon State Police and let them know about the possible shallow grave the body was put in.”

“She saw that too?” Dobey asked. At Hutch’s nod, the large man asked, “Do you know around where the body was buried?”

“She wasn’t too sure on that; it was probably somewhere in the mountains. She could smell pine trees. She said it was a shallow grave that the killer dug and that the elements and animals probably already did a number on the victim’s remains.” Hutch said, suppressing a shudder as an image of shoveled dirt falling over green moonlit eyes came into mind.

“Okay,” Dobey said again, “Want me to take that in too?” the captain said nodding to the clear plastic bag holding the knife used on Starsky.

Hutch looked to the bag he held in his hand and lifted it at eye-level, “Nah, I’ll take it with me . . . if I find Mari, maybe she can get a reading on this knife that will lead us to the killer. In any case, I’ll bring it to the station and give it to the lab once I get there, but I already know they won’t find anything except Starsky’s prints on it. I’d rather place my bet on Mari . . . if we can find her in time.”

. . . CHAPTER 9 . . .

Hutch threw his car’s gear into park and walked up the familiar stairs to his partner’s apartment. He opened the door with the spare key Starsky had given him when he had first moved here. The place was quiet and empty, strangely reflecting what Hutch was feeling inside. Without Starsky at his side, the blond felt like he wasn’t complete, like he was missing his arm . . . or his heart. 'Maybe both,’ the blond thought silently to himself. His mind drifted once again to his partner, wishing he could be there to comfort him when he awoke from the anesthesia.

Shutting the door with a sigh, Hutch walked over to the couch where the small, black backpack still sat, quickly opening it up to look within. The blond took out the few, neatly folded articles of clothing, a small bag of toiletries, a little travel clock, a brush, and a wallet. It was obvious that Mari traveled very light.

Picking up the wallet, Hutch opened it, seeing the few dollar bills and coins that she carried. He silently wondered how she managed to survive on so little, surmising that she probably took odd and end jobs in whatever state or town she ran to, earning just enough to keep her going . . . to keep her safe.

Hutch took out the plastic photo sleeve, seeing a picture of what was obviously Mari’s family. She looked so young in the picture, smiling confidently, her dimples appearing under her high cheekbones, hair shining, falling becomingly around her heart-shaped face. She looked secure and happy, so different from the woman who had sat on this very same couch just the night before.

Hutch’s pale, blue eyes skimmed over the faces of her parents and her older sister who was also very beautiful in an exotic way. The blond quietly wondered what had happened to this girl’s family. Where were they? Why weren’t they looking for Mari? Behind the picture in another plastic sleeve was Mari’s driver’s license. Hutch took this out, reading her full name softly, “Mari Miyamoto.” The license had been issued in Washington State. Hutch got up and made a quick call to the station to check up on the information he had gleaned from the few things in Mari’s bag.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The window of the battered LTD had been left opened, enticingly beckoning anyone to look inside. Mari silently wondered why people would tempt fate and be so foolish as to leave their cars and themselves vulnerable to attack. Didn’t they even know that predators lurked about, looking for opportunities like this?

Her mind drifted back to another girl who was murdered in Washington by the bastard that hurt David. That young girl had been foolish enough to leave the window of her car down, as she dashed into the library to quickly return some overdue books. Upon returning to her vehicle, she jumped in and drove off, never suspecting that someone would be hiding behind the seats, crouched down low with a knife in his hands, never once thinking that this would be her last day on earth. Mari shuddered and focused her attention back to Hutch’s car.

She thought briefly back to last night, joyfully amazed at how the tall blond had actually listened to her, calling his captain to arrange a safe house for David with a medical team on hand, ready to help him. She smiled; hope once again shining in her brown eyes, as she thought of the dark haired detective. Perhaps now, he would be safe and that image of him, his dark blue eyes filled with pain and horror would be something of the past.

She mulled over that for a minute, silently wondering if the image she kept seeing of the David came from his attack last night in the narrow street. Sometimes her ‘episodes’ and dreams were not always very clear to interpretation, but her heart told her that the dread she felt whenever she dreamed of David’s eyes had something to do with death, and she knew for certain that David was still very much alive.

She quietly looked up at the windows to David’s apartment, knowing Hutch was within, probably going through her meager belongings. She had come back to claim them herself. It was time she left . . . staying here in Bay City would only endanger David again, and in his weakened state, he would be no match for the demon who haunted her dreams and followed her like a ghost.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

“Yeah . . . I see,” Hutch said, “And nobody in the town of Blaine, Washington knew what became of her since she left the foster home she was put in?” Hutch asked, his heart heavy and sad for what Mari had endured in her childhood, “I see . . . this town . . . Blaine . . . this sits near the border of Canada right? Yeah . . . okay . . . wait a minute,” Hutch said as he fished his notebook and a pencil from his back pocket.

The blond quickly scribbled down notes to himself, “So her last place of employment there was at a local eatery called, ‘Sam’s Haven?’ Yeah . . . okay. Look, is Dobey in yet? No, no it’s okay. I’ll be in shortly myself and talk to him personally . . . yeah, thanks for the info.” Hutch hung up the phone and looked up to see Mari standing hesitantly in the open doorway.

“Mari?” Hutch said gently, walking slowly towards the door so that he wouldn’t scare her off, “Hey . . . I’ve been worried about you . . . Starsky too . . . he wanted me to find you.”

“Really?” Mari said softly, feeling a slight crack splinter the wall she had wrapped around her heart for so long. Could it be possible that someone really cared about her? “David . . . is he okay?” she whispered, her heart told her he was, but to hear it from Hutch would validate her feelings.

“He’s fine.” Hutch replied, keeping his voice gentle and soothing, “They operated on him earlier. Although he lost a lot of blood, the knife thankfully missed his vital organs. They’ve sedated him to keep him still, but he should be coming out of it shortly. I’d like to be there when he gets up and I know he’d like to see you again . . .”

Mari bit her lower lip in indecision. She wanted to see David and make sure he was fine, if only for one last time, but fear kept her back, “I-I don’t know Hutch . . . I just came in here to get my things and tell you that I’m leaving . . . I was hoping you would tell David goodbye for me.” She said softly, her eyes dropping sadly to the floor.

“I’m sure Starsk would want to say goodbye to you himself . . .”

“I have to leave now,” Mari interjected softly, looking the detective in the eye, “If I leave Bay City, then the demon will leave too. He will follow me wherever I go. He mustn’t find David when he’s weak and unable to protect himself.”

“Listen to me Mari,” Hutch said earnestly, cautiously walking up towards her until he was standing next to her, his blond head towering above her. “You cannot keep running forever. I mean you’re good at slipping away, becoming one of the shadows, but you’re tired, and one day you’ll slip and he’ll find you. You need to let us help you . . . l-let me take you into the station and introduce you to my Captain. He’ll put you under protective custody . . .”

“No!” Mari said, eyes wide with terror, “No . . .please Hutch, just give me my bag and I’ll go . . .”

“Mari,” Hutch said gently, his voice soft with compassion, “I know . . . I know about your family . . . about what happened . . .” The blond cop watched as Mari slowly backed away from him, her haunted eyes widening in fear. She quickly turned to run out the door, but Hutch grabbed her slender arm, pulling her into his strong embrace, feeling her slight form trembling in his arms, as she finally gave way to quiet tears, emptying her heart, releasing the burden of the pain and grief and abject loneliness that she harbored these many long years.

“Shh . . . it’s okay . . .” Hutch soothed, running his calloused hands down her long, dark, silky hair, feeling his shirt becoming damp with her hot tears. “You’re not alone anymore Mari . . . Starsky and I are here with you now, let us help you.”

Mari looked up into eyes the color of the sky as they hovered above her, feeling Hutch’s thumb as it gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. Taking a deep breath, Mari nodded slowly . . . maybe they could help her. God, she was so tired of running and to feel someone actually holding her . . . she couldn’t even recall the last time she had been held like this. To be touched by someone warm and kind . . . to be embraced by another human being . . . she had forgotten what it felt like . . . forgotten what it was like to be cared about . . .

“Okay,” she finally whispered, nodding hesitantly, seeing the tall blond man smile reassuringly, and taking refuge in his soft blue eyes. “Okay . . . I’ll go with you to the station.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

He sat unmoving for hours watching the comings and goings from the small house, tucked away in an inconspicuous rural neighborhood. He smiled, his yellow stained teeth gleaming dully from the waning sunlight that managed to trickle through the thick leaves of the hedge that he hid under. Did they think he was that stupid? Did they think that he wouldn’t be able to find that no good punk? He had waited at Memorial Hospital for a while, doubling back to the cop’s neighborhood after realizing that they weren’t gonna bring him in.

He cautiously drove by the narrow road. Some black and whites were still there, but the ambulance was gone. He parked down the road, angrily slamming the heels of his hands on the steering wheel of his rented car. Breathing heavily, he forced his mind to relax . . . sending out his “feelers” as he silently searched. It was only a matter of minutes before he honed in on the direction his nemesis had taken, and though he didn’t clearly “know” where the curly haired detective was, he knew he would find him. It was only a matter of time. Somehow that cop had become as linked to him as Mari was.

He clenched his fists as silent rage overtook him again, hearing the soft gasps of the cop as he taunted him on that narrow road last night, “You think . . . she would ever be yours . . . asshole? She was . . . never yours. And yeah . . . just in case you’re wonderin’ . . . she was damn good!”

A jealous rage overtook the large man as he lay stomach down on the ground a good distance from the house he had been watching. He had seen the doctors and medical people leaving with their equipment some time ago. He watched as the blond cop, and then later on, a large black man left the house, taking into account, the three plain clothed cops still left within the structure. He grinned to himself, his gray eyes glimmering in the dark, shady spot he hid in, “Soon pig . . . very soon . . . you’ll never get a chance to touch my Mari again.”

. . . CHAPTER 10 . . .

Hutch pushed the clutter over the passenger side of the seat, helping Mari in, as he closed the door behind her and walked around the car to the driver’s side. The tall blond got in and looked over at the diminutive woman sitting beside him, noticing her eyes were glued to something on the seat.

Hutch glanced at the clear, plastic bag holding the bloodstained knife, quickly raising his pale, blue orbs to dark brown almond-shaped eyes filled with horror.

“That’s the knife isn’t it?” Mari whispered, “The one that he used on David last night?”

“Yes,” Hutch said softly, “I’m bringing it into the station . . . gonna send it to the lab. I don’t think it’ll do much good though . . .”

“It won’t,” Mari said softly, her eyes growing distant, her voice becoming almost flat and lifeless as the “episode” took hold, “They’ll only be able to find David’s prints on the handle,” she said without expression, her features were blank and her eyes grew vacant, as she continued to “see” what was only privy to her.

Hutch stared in fascination as Mari continued to whisper, her soft, expressionless voice seemed almost to resonate in the stillness of the car, “He waited last night at the hospital, angry at being tricked, his hands . . . his hands are pounding the wheel. So angry . . . Red . . . he sees red and rage fills his heart. He knows . . . he knows . . . you took David away. He will follow . . . he is waiting there now . . . at the safe house . . . for the right time . . . to kill . . . to kill . . .”

“Oh God,” Hutch whispered, trying to still the hammering of his heart, instinctively grabbing Mari the minute he saw her eyes roll back, preventing her from hitting her head on the dashboard as she passed out. He gently pulled her over, pushing the paper and junk that littered his seat to the floor, so that she could lay comfortably with her head on his lap. Hutch quickly slammed his car into gear and raced back to the safe house, praying that he would be in time. “Hang on buddy . . . just hang on!” he whispered frantically.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Awareness came to him slowly, as he floated peacefully in unnatural slumber. He could hear sounds first, soft muted footfalls that walked around him, his own breathing, strangely labored and shallow. He felt his wrist being held for a minute before it was gently put down once again. He felt uncomfortable, feeling the pain in his side and gut as it slowly registered in his brain.

Groaning softly, Starsky groggily opened his eyes, a sliver of blue peeking out from under dark, long lashes. He closed his eyes again, his lashes fanning out across his pale cheeks, effectively shutting out the bright light that filtered in from the windows, hurting his eyes. He tried to move and gasped sharply, “H-Hutch?” he rasped, his mouth felt like it was full of cotton.

“Just lie still now,” a woman’s kindly voice was heard, “Don’t want you to be opening up those stitches we worked so hard on last night.”

The dark haired detective gingerly opened one blurry eye, spying a matronly nurse who clucked and hovered over him. “I know . . . I know . . . you hurt, don’t you? I’ll bring you more painkillers and some ice chips for you to suck on . . . alright dear?”

“H-Hutch?” Starsky gasped, opening two eyes now, feeling dazed and disoriented as the room spun crazily. He swallowed back the nausea that crept up his dry throat.

“Are you asking for that handsome blond detective who was with you before your surgery?” At the brunet’s stilted nod, she smiled warmly, “He left awhile back, but I’m sure he’ll be back. Do you need to speak with the other officers outside?”

Starsky slowly shook his head and closed his eyes. He just wanted Hutch by his side, feeling weak and vulnerable without his buddy to watch his back. “Where am I?” he rasped, his throat feeling dry and scratchy, watching the nurse as she adjusted the drip going into his arm.

“You’re at a safe house set up by the police. Your captain just left about an hour ago. He was in here with you while you slept, but then he had to go. Now, I want you to rest and don’t worry. Try not to move around . . . I’ll be right back.” The plump woman said, smiling as she ambled out of the room.

Starsky closed his eyes, and for short while, he drifted off again, still feeling the effects from the anesthetics in his system, but as the pain became increasingly more and more difficult to bear, he soon awoke realizing that the nurse had not come back as promised.

The dark haired detective opened his weary blue eyes, slowly tracking the marks on the ceiling, as he quietly surfed through the pain that ripped into him. He could feel perspiration running down the side of his face. He closed his eyes again, breathing rapid, shallow breaths, the pain in his gut and side making it difficult to breathe. The brunet wearily lifted his hand and gingerly held onto his side, which expanded painfully with each breath that he took in. Where was that nurse? What time was it? Didn’t she say she’d be right back?

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Hutch parked quite a distance down the road, not wanting to give away his element of surprise. Drawing his large magnum from its holster, the tall blond glanced at the quiet woman sitting beside him. “You stay here Mari,” Hutch said, “I’ve already called for back-up so they should be here shortly. Wait for them . . .don’t come out until help arrives . . . do you understand?”

Mari silently nodded, her eyes wide with fear, “He’s here . . . so close” she whispered, “I can f-feel him.” Her instinct to run was so strong, and she trembled as she fought hard to remain where she was.

“Get down here,” Hutch said, gently pushing her down to the floor of the car, “Stay here and don’t move.”

The tall blond turned to leave, but stopped when Mari grabbed his hand, “Be careful Hutch,” she whispered, surprised at herself for impulsively reaching out to the detective the way she did.

Hutch grinned down at the small woman crouched in the litter that was strewn all over the floor of his car, “Starsk and I will be back,” he said reassuringly, and then he was gone. Mari wished she could feel as sure as Hutch did. She quickly looked down, as her hand brushed against something hard in the rubbish that was strewn all over the floor of the car.

Picking up the baggie that was buried in the papers and cups, she carefully lifted it to eye level, staring at the large, bloodstained blade. She knew this was the knife, the memento of the demon, the keepsake that housed all the memories of the lives he’d stolen. Her dark brown eyes widened as they ran along the stained serrated edge of the blade.

Why would he have left it in David? Why hadn’t he pulled the blade out and taken it with him like he usually did? He was always so careful to keep this particular knife within his reach. This was his treasure. Did he leave it with David knowing that she would soon stumble upon this moment? Did he somehow know that she would be holding this instrument of death in her hands, that she would soon look upon its dreaded sharp edge and “know” all his secrets?

She closed her eyes, wanting more than anything to throw the offensive article out of the car and run far away. Her senses screamed out at her to not touch it, to heed its warning, but she pushed down her fear, her small hands trembling, as she opened the lip of the clear plastic bag.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

He dozed fitfully; the unrelenting pain pursuing and dragging him upwards to float near the surface of awareness, whenever he tried to evade its punishing grip, and sink back down into dark nothingness. He vaguely heard the door opening softly, concentrating on the soft pad of footfalls as it neared his bed. The nurse.

Starsky wearily attempted to lift his heavy eyelids that somehow felt like it was weighted down in concrete. He was exhausted from laboring silently against the burning, agonizing pain that stabbed into his side and lower abdomen with each shallow breath that he took. It would be a relief now, to accept some painkillers and rest his battered mind and body. It sure took the nurse long enough to come back. To finally open his eyes and see the large man looming blurrily above him sent chills racing up his spine. Starsky struggled to move away, feebly trying to block the man’s descending hand as it reached for him.

The killer chuckled mockingly, easily batting the brunet’s hand away, knowing the detective was weakened and in pain. Grabbing a handful of dark curls, the large man yanked the brunet’s head back, grinning as he heard the cop’s soft gasp of pain, “Not so tough now, are you?” the man smirked.

“Don’t know why you’re still alive,” the intruder continued, hissing into the shell of Starsky’s ear, his narrow gray eyes spying the IV line that was inserted and taped into the crook of the wounded man’s arm.

“This what’s keeping you alive . . . huh?” the killer whispered hoarsely. The angry man callously ripped the large needle from the cop’s arm, laughing as he heard the sharp intake of breath, watching in fascination as the blood welled up from the puncture site, before the brunet lethargically dragged his bleeding arm over his mid-section. “You should’ve died last night pig!” the murderer snapped irately. With that, the large man pushed the cop over the side of the bed, chuckling as he heard the grunt of pain that emanated from the dark haired detective.

Starsky knew he was in for a world of hurt, his mind comprehending this even as he braced himself, his body slamming down hard on the cold, concrete tile. Like fireworks on the Fourth of July, pain exploded cruelly, erupting blood red hues of agonizing shards that burst behind the ink black backdrop of his tightly scrunched eyelids, stabbing mercilessly throughout his broken and battered body. Although he tried to prevent it, a groan leaked out, causing his assailant to giggle with mirth.

“Well,” the killer said menacingly, as he slowly walked around the bed, “It looks like it’s just you and me pig . . . so we might as well have some fun before I slice your jugular open . . . so much blood that way . . . it spurts out you know . . . I could even finger-paint the walls with it . . . maybe leave a nice message for your blond partner to find . . . now wouldn’t that be something?”

Starsky lay on his side, gasping as he rode out the waves of pain that tore through his lower abdomen and side. His dazed mind vaguely registered his surprise at seeing the perp’s face. The Interstate Killer could have passed for the boy next door. He was deceivingly clean-cut and boyishly handsome. ‘How could someone so vile, look so decent and wholesome?’

He listened to the heavy footsteps as it came ever closer, hearing the smirk in the murderer’s voice as he talked about Hutch. ‘Hutch, I need ya now partner,’ Starksy thought quietly, willfully clearing his mind and stilling his heart to focus on the footfalls of the man who slowly stalked him; the red-hot pain that flared in his side continued to steal his breath away.

The dark haired detective forced himself to lie still, as his assailant shouted at him to get up. He bit down on the urge to cry out, as the large man drew back his booted foot and kicked him solidly in the back, forcing himself to continue to lie still, playing possum, waiting for the right moment, hoping his hurt filled body would cooperate with him when the time came.

Starsky could feel the man pause. He knew the killer watched his every move and he struggled to remain still and passive, although every nerve and muscle in his body were screaming to be heard.

The man swore softly, as he slowly bent over to check the unconscious cop, totally livid because his “fun” had been abruptly taken away. His cold gray eyes widened with surprise as the still form suddenly sprang to life, the cop rolling onto his back to face him, both legs coiled back, only to plunge them forcefully into his belly, almost lifting the killer as he flew backwards and tumbled over the bed, crashing heavily to the floor, a metal bedpan hitting him on the head.

Starksy gasped, feeling the stitches in his lower abdomen tearing, as his legs connected and pushed against the killer’s abdomen, his body shaking from the effort and strain it took to nearly lift the large man, the momentum carrying the assailant over the bed. Without waiting or looking back to see what had become of the bad guy, Starsky forced himself to crawl to the door, hearing the loud, resounding crash behind him, pressing one hand firmly against his abdomen in an attempt to staunch the warm gush of blood as it dripped through his fingers.

Breathing heavily, the dark haired detective hoisted himself to his feet, ignoring the agonizing pain that ripped through his mid-section. Biting back the groan that wanted to escape, he blinked the perspiration out of his feverishly, bright blue eyes, swaying as he reached a trembling hand for the doorknob.

Starsky’s eyes widened, as he stumbled out into the living room, tripping over something that lay just outside of his bedroom door. Gasping in pain as he fell to the floor, Starsky turned back, only to see the kindly nurse lying dead, her blue gaze vacantly focused on the ceiling above, blood trickling slowly from her ripped jugular, as it pooled in an ever widening circle under her neck. The brunet frantically looked around, sickened beyond belief as he saw the nightmarish gore around him, recognizing three men from Metro that he was vaguely familiar with.

Crawling over to the man nearest him, Starsky groaned, recognizing Roberts, the cop that helped him from the night before. The brunet remembered the young cop, hovering over him in the dark, causing him to gasp in pain as he pressed down firmly on his lower abdomen to staunch the flow of his blood when Hutch went to make the call. This man had helped to save his life, and now he lay dead, sacrificing his life in service to another cop.

Roberts’ sightless brown eyes, open and empty, seemed to glare accusingly at him. His hands, bloody once more, but now covered with his own blood, clutched the knife protruding from his chest. From the look that was forever frozen on his face, it was apparent that he had been caught by surprise, as were the other two officers dressed in plain street clothes, the razor-sharp blades striking them with deadly accuracy, obviously thrown by an experienced hand.

Realizing he could do nothing for those men and the nurse, Starsky struggled to get to his feet once more, making his way to the front door as quickly as he possibly could, his trembling, blood stained hand reaching out for the doorknob, when he was suddenly tackled from behind, the air expelling from his lungs, as he fell face first to the hard wooden floor. Gasping, trying to get his wind back, the dark haired detective felt himself being roughly rolled over, a sharp blade quickly indenting the tender flesh on the side of his neck.

Breathing heavily, Starsky looked up into the eyes of the madman, confusion striking him again to see hypocrisy staring him in the face. The handsome “All American” look of the deranged killer certainly didn’t match the gruesome and horrendous deeds he had committed. Someone who looked as decent as the man crouched above him simply couldn’t have done those despicable and ruthless killings. The face and actions of this murderer were as unlikely a fit as a pair of unmatched socks.

The brunet winced as his curly haired head was forced back, clearing his shocked mind from his wandering thoughts. His breathing, both rapid and shallow, made the murderer grin as he applied enough pressure to the blade to draw a thin line of blood.

Starsky winced as the razor sharp edge sliced easily through his skin and he shuddered in repulsion, as the large man leaned in close, his sour breath rasping against his face as he mockingly hissed, “Going somewhere pig?”

. . . CHAPTER 11 . . .

Hutch crept silently into the side door that led to the kitchen of the safe house. Crouched behind the countertop, the blond peered around its edges, his senses on high alert. It was quiet . . . too quiet. Hutch pressed his back against the wooden cabinets that sat under the counter, his heavy magnum held out to his side.

He knew that to get to Starsky’s room, he would have to pass through the living room and then go down the hallway where there would be no cover. The tall blond strained to hear the sound of sirens, but all was still.

‘Damn!’ Hutch thought silently, knowing it would be foolish to dash in there, but just the thought of his wounded partner at the mercy of that sick murderer, made the detective resolved to try.

‘Hang on Starsk, I’m here now . . .’ Hutch whispered quietly to himself, hoping his partner would sense his presence. ‘He would if he were still alive,’ a small voice whispered in his head, and the blond angrily pushed that morbid thought away, upset with himself for even thinking that in the first place. If Starsky were dead, he would know it. . . his heart would feel it. No. Starsky was definitely alive, the question though . . . was for how long?

Hutch got down to the floor and crawled commando style over to the back of one of the couches in the living room. The blond cop quickly hunched over and sprinted to its edge, his pale blue eyes widening, as he caught sight of Robert’s sightless eyes staring at him when he peered around the edge of the leather furniture.

Hutch quickly withdrew behind the couch, shaken, drawing in quick breaths. The young cop had apparently been sitting when he had been killed, falling down in front of the couch. From where he was crouched, Hutch could only see the upper torso of the man, his lower body hidden behind the furniture. It sickened the sensitive blond to see the young police officer who had helped him last night with his partner, lying dead like that, cut down in the prime of his life. The front of Robert’s shirt was soaked red with blood, the knife embedded to the hilt in the young cop’s chest. ‘Stabbed in the heart,’ Hutch surmised, as he closed his eyes and shook his head. Breathing heavily, he suppressed the urge to gag, trying to clear his mind of those eyes that somehow seemed to be glaring at him in accusation for getting here so late.

“Shit,” Hutch whispered, peering around the couch again, his eyes suddenly catching sight of the other dead officers, their bloody corpses lay motionless, strewn about the living room. Knives were protruding out in various parts of their bodies, making them resemble grotesque mannequins seemingly lying about in a macabre display for some advertisement of the latest horror flick.

Hutch got to the hallway, his eyes spotting the matronly nurse dressed in her white uniform, lying just outside of the doorway to Starsky’s room. Her throat had obviously been slit, the blood, soaking into the carpet beneath her, resembled a red halo surrounding her head. She looked like an angel that had been ritualistically sacrificed at a perverse gathering of some cult. The unwanted face of Simon Marcus rose in the mind’s eye of the blond detective, and he pushed down the fear that image brought to the surface.

Starsky.

The blond swallowed hard, making his way to the doorway to peep inside, his gun held high, pointing to the ceiling, as his horror filled eyes darted wildly about the room; from the empty bed, to the metal bedpan lying overturned, to the sheets and blankets hanging over the side of the mussed bed, to the blood on the floor. ‘Oh god, where are you Starsky?’ his mind screamed silently.

“He’s right here . . .” a low voice called from a distance, sounding almost hollow as it bounced off the walls and echoed down the deserted hallway. Hutch whipped around, peering down the corridor, seeing a door at the far end slightly ajar. If he remembered the layout of the house correctly, that door led to a storage room or den of some sort.

“That’s it cop . . . I got your friend in here, and if you want to keep him alive, you better listen up. You can’t see me, but I can see you. I want you to throw your gun into that bedroom behind you and I want you to walk on over to this door with your hands locked behind your head,” the voice instructed from behind the door.

“You wanna deal? You lemme see my partner first,” Hutch said, his voice harsh and angry, as he pointed his gun down the corridor, maneuvering his body into the doorframe of Starsky’s room, his pale blue gaze locked on the door down the hall that stood between him and his partner. Hutch ached to storm down the hallway, knowing Starsky was hurt and wounded. His partner had just come out of surgery for Christ’s sake, and though he knew the brunet was tough, there was no way he would be able to stand up against the killer in his weakened condition.

“You’re in no position to make demands cop,” the voice droned out, “I’ll kill him right now, if you don’t do as I . . .”

Hutch interjected harshly, “How stupid do you think I am? My partner might be already dead. If you wanna deal . . . I need to see him alive first!” the blond angrily snapped, pale blue eyes frozen on the door down the hall, his heart hammering on the thought that his partner might indeed be dead.

There was a pregnant pause for a moment, as Hutch waited with bated breath to see what would happen. He could feel his body grow rigid and tense as the door slowly creaked open another inch, and he strained his eyes to peer into the distant darkness within.

Nothing.

The door had only opened a fraction more and it was impossible to see anything from where he was standing. After several seconds of waiting, Hutch called out again, “Just let me see my partner and if he’s alive, I’ll come out . . . maybe we can work something out huh?” When nothing was heard, Hutch cautiously ventured out into the hallway, knowing there was no cover for him at all . . . knowing that he would be a sitting duck . . .knowing he was making a foolish move, but knowing that his partner needed him, far outweighed everything else.

The blond detective crept out, ready to duck or roll away at the slightest movement of the door, which remained strangely still. Hutch could feel the sweat dripping down the sides of his face and back, as he made his way stealthily towards the partially opened portal.

Safely reaching the end of the hallway, Hutch stood to the side of the door with his back pressed against the wall, his detective senses screaming out a warning, his lithe body ready to react, his adrenaline singing through his veins as he cautiously pushed the door open.

Breathing heavily, the blond whipped his body into the entranceway, crouching low, his magnum held out before him, as his eyes darted about the interior of the storage room, adjusting to the dim light that came from the one opened window at the right side of the room.

Hutch could see his partner, lying unconscious on his side, a dirty rag tied around his mouth, effectively gagging him. After making sure that no one else was in the room, Hutch slid to his knees next to his prone partner who had his arms tied tightly behind his back with what appeared to be a cut telephone cord.

“Hang on buddy,” the blond said soothingly, attempting to keep the worry from his voice, as he eyed the blood stained bandages on his partner’s lower abdomen, “Let me take a look at you . . .”

Hutch quickly untied his friend, first the gag and then the cords, hearing a soft moan from his partner as his arms fell limply to his sides. He carefully rolled his partner onto his back and lifted him gently against his chest, hoping to comfort the brunet with his touch, as he saw Starsky’s dark, lashes begin to flutter and slowly rise, the familiar blue peeping up from beneath them brought a sense of relief to the tall blond, and he let out the soft breath of air that he had been unconsciously holding in.

“Hey pal,” Hutch smiled down reassuringly at his partner’s dazed expression, squeezing him tighter against his warm chest, as he listened to the brunet’s labored breathing, “ Shh . . . it’s okay Starsk . . . I got you now buddy.”

Starsky visibly stiffened as Hutch probed the back his head, his long fingers connecting with the gash he received from the bastard who had obviously hit him, then fled through the opened window like the coward that he was. “Easy buddy . . .” Hutch murmured, as the dark haired detective gasped softly and began to struggle feebly.

“Hutsh?” Starsky groaned, coming around as waves of pain buffeted his body. He could feel the warmth of his partner’s embrace, feeling safe as Hutch held him close. “Hutch? Oh . . . my head . . . ” the brunet gasped softly, his hand reaching for the back of his head.

“Yeah . . . right here Gordo . . . take it easy,” Hutch whispered, “You got hit on the head from behind . . . he left through that window over there . . .” Hutch said, keeping his voice soft and soothing as he reached down to examine his partner’s lower abdomen.

His roving hand was immediately stopped and was weakly grasped by Starsky’s bloodstained fingers, “No . . . don’t,” the brunet gasped sharply, his breathing shallow and rapid.

“You’re bleeding again Starsk . . . I just want to check and make sure . . .”

“’m fine . . . jus’ tore some stitches . . . the creep . . . weighed a ton,” Starsky rasped, grinning lopsidedly when he saw the small smile that tweaked the corners of the blond’s mouth. Although his body was riddled with pain, the warm feeling of being in his partner’s embrace filled Starsky with a lethargic feeling of safety and peace. The brunet looked dazedly around the small storage room, “Did you . . . find Mari?”

“Yeah, she’s fine buddy. I left her outside in the car . . .”

“You what?” Starsky gasped, as he attempted to sit up, groaning softly at the sudden movement, his hand clenching his lower abdomen as he gritted his teeth against the lancing pain.

“Take it easy buddy,” Hutch soothed, noting the sudden fear and anxiety that washed over his partner’s pale, glistening face, “Shh . . . don’t move . . . help’s on the way.” Hutch gently turned his partner’s head, so that he could look at the trickle of blood that ran down the side of the brunet’s neck.

“Hutch . . . he went after her.” Starsky gasped, “He had me standing in front of him, tied up and gagged . . . he was waitin’ for you to throw your gun down . . . watching you . . . through the small opening of the doorway . . . when all of a sudden . . . I felt him tense up . . . heard him say Mari’s name . . . next thing you’re here . . . and he’s gone . . .”

Hutch could feel the color drain from his face as he pictured the small woman crouched on the litter-strewn floor of his car with the killer creeping up on her. “You mean he sensed she was outside?”

“Go Hutch . . .” Starsky gasped, “’m fine . . . need to help her . . .” The brunet could feel his partner squeeze him tighter against his chest, indecision making the blond hesitate. Starsky knew that his partner didn’t want to leave him alone like this, especially if he was hurt.

“Hutch will you go on?” Starsky said firmly, “She don’t . . . stand a chance against him. Jus’ lock me in here . . . if it’ll make you feel better . . .I’ll be fine . . .” the dark haired detective said reassuringly, knowing how protective his blond friend got whenever he was wounded and vulnerable.

Hutch bit his lip in indecision, as he thought of and rejected the different scenarios that raced through his mind. The thought of leaving his hurt partner alone in here made his skin crawl, but he knew Starsky was right . . . Mari would die if that bastard got a hold of her, and she was defenseless out there. There was no way that he could drag or carry his partner with him and race back to the car in time to help Mari. The tall blond felt a weak tug on the sleeve of his jacket and looked down into stormy blue depths that locked onto him with a determined frown.

“Dammit Hutch . . .” Starsky swore, struggling to sit up again.

“Okay . . . okay,” Hutch soothed, “I’m going. Look, I’m going to move you over by the window, hang on okay?” At the brunet’s curt nod, Hutch stood and dragged his partner under his arms over to the far wall beside the window, carefully leaning Starsky against it. The tall blond crouched beside his partner, listening to the labored breathing of the dark haired detective as he tried to get a handle on the pain that coursed through his body. Hutch knew that dragging him by the arms the way he did, stretched the stitched wounds even more, but it was faster than picking him up.

“You okay?” Hutch whispered, glancing down at his partner after cautiously peeping through the window, failing to keep the anxiety from his soft voice as he gazed down at his hurting partner with worry.

Starsky gasped, attempting to control the pain that pierced his side with each breath that he drew in, “Yeah . . . whatta ya see?”

“Nothing. I parked the car away from the house. I can’t see it from here.” Hutch said softly, crouching down next to the brunet, the worry and anxiety he felt for both his partner and Mari caused the furrow to deepen between his pale brows.

The blond detective closed and locked the window. “Look Starsk . . . you take this and keep it pointed to the door,” Hutch said, handing his magnum over to his wounded partner, “I’m going to lock you in here . . . it might get a little warm but . . .”

“No . . .” Starsky said through gritted teeth, refusing the weapon, “Ain’t gonna take it . . . you need it out there Hutch . . . who knows what else he has . . . besides knives . . .”

Hutch looked over to where his partner’s hand covered the stained and bloodied bandages that wrapped around his abdomen. It killed him to have to leave Starsky like this, hurt and defenseless. What if the killer came back here when he left to look for Mari? How would Starsky defend himself in his weakened condition?

“Hutch . . . will you go on?” Starsky rasped, his blue eyes flashing with impatience, “I can take care of myself.” The brunet knew how difficult this was for his partner and he straightened up, biting back the groan that wanted to escape from the jolting pain that the simple movement had caused.

“Alright, I’m going!” Hutch snapped, the stress and anxiety he felt brought his anger to the forefront, making his usually soft and gentle voice, seem suddenly hard and abrupt. He knew what his partner was trying to do and though he understood it, it still irritated him to know he was being forced to leave.

A small grin tweaked the corners of the brunet’s mouth, “Now there’s the Hutch I know

. . .” Starsky whispered, his dark blue eyes growing soft with affection as he winked at his frustrated partner.

Hutch glared at his partner then snorted softly, lowering his golden head to press his forehead gently against the soft, sable curls of his dark haired friend, who in turn, reached up to finger the silky locks at the nape of the blond’s neck.

“I’ll be fine Hutch,” the brunet whispered breathlessly, letting Hutch’s baby fine tendrils slip through his fingers, “Ain’t gonna miss the turkey that Huggy’s gonna roast this year for nuthin’. . .” Starsky grinned, “Thanksgiving’s the next best holiday . . . next to Christmas . . . all them grinds to eat . . .”

Hutch snorted softly, “Yeah, it would be you to think of food at a time like this. Look, I’m locking you in here and you better be here when I come back . . . you hear me Gordo?” Hutch whispered softly against the shell of his partner’s ear, his voice soft and intimate with the love and concern he felt for the brunet. At Starsky’s slight nod, Hutch reluctantly pulled away, feeling the slight trembling and the soft gasp that came from his hurt filled partner who struggled to ride out the sudden pain that lanced in his side. It killed him to have to leave Starsky like this . . . so vulnerable and so alone.

Taking a deep breath, Starsky raised dark blue to his partner’s, “Ain’t goin’ nowhere . . .” Starsky said, feeling suddenly weary, giving in to the pain and exhaustion that wracked his body, but feeling pleased just the same because he had gotten his way with his stubborn, worried friend. Hutch really had no choice in the matter. He had to go. They both knew that. They were cops first and they had taken a vow to serve and protect. Starsky felt his partner gently squeeze his shoulder once more before he stood and made his move towards the door.

“Hey,” Starsky whispered softly, stopping the blond in his tracks, “Be careful out there . . .” The brunet heard a small snort come from his fair headed partner, and he watched as Hutch moved across the small room to the door.

The tall blond detective cautiously opened the door and glanced down the deserted hallway, dreading to see the bodies strewn out in the living room. He looked back to his dark haired friend who was slouched against the wall, his hand over his mid-section, blood trickling down the side of his neck; Starsky’s breathing was too rapid and shallow for his liking.

It tore Hutch up to leave his partner defenseless like this. Guilt and worry must have been apparent on his face because he saw his partner suddenly frown again, dark blue eyes connecting to pale ones across the small expanse of the dimly lit room, “You hang on buddy . . .” Hutch said softly, sky blue eyes softening with suppressed emotions.

Starsky swallowed down the lump in his throat as their gazes locked, “Yeah . . . and you watch you’re back out there Blintz.” To willingly send his best friend out there alone with a lunatic running about was the hardest thing for the brunet to do. Their eyes locked once more, sky blue to stormy cobalt. “See ya . . .” Starsky whispered softly.

The dark haired detective saw his blond partner give a small nod and then he was gone, locking the door behind him as he left. Starsky slowly let out a breath, unaware he had been holding it until Hutch was gone. The brunet closed his eyes, long dark lashes fanned out against pale, damp cheeks, as he said a silent prayer for his partner’s . . . and Mari’s well being.

. . . CHAPTER 12 . . .

He was floating on a wave of darkness just above the level of pain, until the soft continuous tapping slowly dredged him upwards from his troubled sleep. Heavy, dark lashes lifted to reveal dazed blue orbs that tracked its way to the window ledge above him. Starsky blinked the perspiration from his eyes, willing his hazy vision to clear, squinting to focus on the blurry shape that stood outside of the window, struggling to make sense of what he saw as he peered through the dirt stained glass. It was Mari.

Breathing hard and gritting his teeth against the sudden pain that flared through his side, the dark haired cop forced himself to sit up straighter, as he lifted his arm to grab the window ledge. Dragging himself to a standing position, his pressed his other hand against his lower abdomen, feeling the pull on his stitches, as he leaned unsteadily against the wall. Starsky unlatched the top lock and pushed the window up, a cool breeze immediately caressed his warm face, and the brunet briefly closed his eyes enjoying the fresh air that filled the enclosed room.

“Where’s Hutch?” the dark haired detective said, breathing heavily as he looked for his partner.

“Hutch? Isn’t he with you?” Mari whispered, climbing over the window ledge, “He left a while ago to look for you.”

Starsky grabbed onto the small woman’s arm and helped her over the ledge. He quickly closed the window and locked it, pulling Mari down to the floor with him. That simple task had drained the brunet of his already depleted energy, and he gasped softly as he once again slouched against the wall, turning his face away from the woman as he silently surfed through the pain that tore through his side.

“He’s out there,” Mari whispered, “I knew he was coming. Hutch told me not to leave, but I knew he was coming out to find me . . . I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve known that Hutch was coming back.”

Starsky turned to face the frightened girl, sending up a silent prayer of safety for his partner, “Hey . . . it’s okay,” the brunet said reassuringly, “Hutch is a big boy . . . with a big gun . . . he’ll be okay. It’s better . . . that you’re here . . .” The dark haired detective looked to the trembling girl, a small smile tweaking the corners of his mouth as he covered Mari’s hand with his own, his heavy breathing the only sound in the quiet room.

“You okay?” he asked softly. Everything swam in and out of focus for the dark haired detective who wearily fought against the nausea that roiled in his gut. He was so damn tired . . . tired of fighting against the pull of the dark tide that wanted to drag him under once more.

Mari lifted sad brown eyes to the brunet’s face which glistened with perspiration, and nodded silently, watching as the detective wearily closed his own eyes, concealing those beautiful blue orbs from her view, his shallow breathing filling the silence as he rested once more, apprehension and anxiety for his partner’s safety causing him to drift in and out of an uneasy sleep.

‘Was she okay?’ Mari pondered silently, in the stillness of the stuffy room she was cloistered in, the detective’s soft question still ringing in her ears. ‘Would anyone be okay when faced with the knowledge she had just gleaned?’ All these years of ‘seeing’ and running led her to this moment . . . this day of reckoning.

The small Asian woman shuddered silently with the knowledge that had been bestowed upon her. All these years . . . it was no wonder that she and the killer were linked; they shared something so horrific that the universe had bound them together in an eternal web of fear, pain, anger and death.

It was him . . . all this time . . . it was him and she never knew . . . how could she have been so stupid? Yet, everything that had been shown to her through her “episodes” about this man had until now, been out of sequence, vague and distorted until today . . . now everything was so clear and the clarity of all those years shook her to the core.

Mari bit her lower lip to still its trembling, feeling the overly warm grasp of David’s hand still upon hers. She looked down to where they were connected, her vision blurring suddenly, as a silent tear splashed down upon the wooden flooring. She closed her eyes, feeling the warm rivulets as they ran down her face, her mind drifting back to the source of her anguish.

She sat amid the Styrofoam cups and assorted paper that littered the floor of Hutch’s car, clearly disregarding her senses that screamed out to her to run, that warned her not to touch the blood stained blade. Shaking with fear, fighting down her instincts for self-preservation, Mari carefully opened the zip lock bag. Taking a deep breath to stop her quaking, she reached in, her hands shaking as she brought the blade out. Clenching the handle in both hands immediately brought bloody visions of death and slaughter to her mind’s eye, her senses were violently bombarded as her as ‘episodes’ rushed to the forefront of her mind with such force, that she felt her back slam against the glove compartment of the car.

She could hear herself gasping from a distance, as images of small hands breaking the neck of a pigeon came into view; the bird’s piteously limp head rolling to one side, its eyes forever staring at its killer as the boy chuckled, and tossed it without any remorse, to the stack of other dead birds he had previously killed. She witnessed those same hands over the years, hands that had changed and grown, but still left a wake of pain and destruction, as it killed and tortured kittens and other defenseless animals. Larger, brutal hands that graduated to wielding knives that carved mercilessly into the flanks of puppies and dogs . . . ‘familiar’ hands that held back the leaves from the hedge that he peeped through, as he watched the young Asian woman walking home from the community college he attended.

Mari gasped softly seeing her sister in her vision . . . feeling the lust of the man hiding behind the bushes, his hands frantically grabbing onto the front of his pants, stroking himself through the material, as he quickly brought himself some relief, the sticky moisture uncomfortably adhering his underwear to his skin. Gasping with pleasure as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm, he thought about the small woman who walked by unknowingly, watching with fascination as she opened the door and walked into her modest home.

“My home” Mari whispered, as she crouched beside the sleeping detective, her eyes vacant and distant, lost in the “episode” that took her over . . .

There was something about Naomi . . . her quiet confidence, her poise and grace, the way she carried herself that irritated him. Most girls found him attractive and he was usually sought after on campus with his good lucks and charming personality, but Naomi had no interest in him, even when he turned on his charm and flashed her the grin that seemed to make girls fall so easily for him. Instead Naomi just seemed to shudder and quake inside when she saw him and that pissed him off. He sensed somehow that she ‘knew’ . . . knew of the dirty and sordid things that he did . . . that she could somehow feel his thoughts . . . perhaps that was why she detested and stayed away from him . . .

Naomi intrigued him with her indifference to his ploys. It annoyed him as well, and his infatuation with the petite Asian woman grew to an obsession. He watched her all the time when he thought she wasn’t looking, wanting her, needing to be the one who would melt that cold, icy heart with his perverted passion.

Naomi was on his mind every waking moment, as he discreetly followed her around campus, watching her every move, noting what she wore, or what she ordered at the campus cafeteria. To see her one day, standing outside of the library, talking to a tall handsome student and watching as the young man leaned his dark head down to sweetly kiss her, brought his killing instincts to the surface, he could barely control the raging jealousy that coursed through his veins. No one would have Naomi. No fucking bastards would touch her if he couldn’t. He vowed to himself that he would be the first, and the last man she would ever know, and he plotted and schemed on what he would do to keep his vow sacred.

It killed Mari to see her family’s demise through the eyes of the gloating killer . . . to see the horror and fear on her parents’ face as they stared at the gun, to “live” through the agony of what her sister endured until all life left her body. To feel the triumph and the satisfaction the killer felt as he pulled up his pants and wiped the bloody blade against the hem of her sister’s dress . . . to subconsciously know, as her worst nightmare unfolded before her horror filled eyes in the present, that she was hiding silently in a hamper, unable to stop the madness from happening in the past. Everything swirled in a vortex of colors and sound as the truth was rapidly unfurled in her mind’s eye.

Her visions came one after another . . . rocking her world in a kaleidoscope of images, as she sat on the floor of the LTD. She could suddenly seeing herself with a blanket over her shoulders, in a black and white newspaper photo next to the article of her family’s slaughter, reading the headlines through the eyes of the killer as he skimmed over the details of his triumphant first kill, seeing his large hands tremble as he pondered over what to do about the little sister that got away. ‘Hearing’ his thoughts as he decided to get out of state and move up to Canada where it would be safer for him, where no one knew of him . . . ‘feeling’ how sweetly addicting and powerful the taste of that first kill had been which eventually drove him to kill again and again, though nothing came close to the sweet intensity and magnitude he derived from killing Naomi and her family.

Mari “knew” the exact moment when the killer realized that he needed to find Naomi’s sister and relive the power and glory of that wonderful first kill . . . feeling blessed in his ownership of the young girl who he felt belonged to him. She could see him now in her mind’s eye, cruising around the neighborhood in search of Naomi’s baby sister, who he deemed as his ‘property’. That was the day her life as a fugitive began, the day her never-ending nightmare started.

Mari shook as tears ran silently down her face, trembling, as she crouched under the window with the wounded detective who still held her hand as he slept. Everything was clear now … abundantly clear. Everyone thought the Interstate Killer had made his first kill up in Canada, only Mari knew that he had started his spree on home soil . . . in her home, horrifically stealing everything that she loved away from her, turning her sheltered life into a dark nightmare that she had been running from ever since.

The young woman sighed softly, and rubbed at the tears with her free hand. Mari looked once more to Dave’s hand that still held onto hers, the warmth from his large hand traveling up her arm and into her heart. Today, two people had held her, offering comfort and support, and though it felt almost foreign to her, it nevertheless filled her with solace and security.

She lifted her small hand nervously and gently cupped the side of the detective’s face, watching as the heavy line of his dark lashes rolled and fluttered up, revealing a sliver of dark blue. Mari smiled at the dazed look on the brunet’s face, watching as he focused in on her face. Something about that vulnerable look reminded her of a little boy who had just awoken from his nap.

“Hey,” Mari whispered, “You okay?”

Starsky snorted softly, a little grin breaking out, “You stealin’ my words? Didn’t I just ask you that?”

“That was a little while ago . . .” Mari said softly, concern for the detective making her frown, as she lifted her hand from his flushed cheek to his forehead, feeling the warm feverish heat that emanated from the brunet.

“H-Hutch?” Starsky whispered, closing his eyes at her gentle, cool touch to his brow. The dark haired detective drew in a shuddering breath and opened his eyes again when Mari remained silent.

“He hasn’t returned yet.” Mari said softly, the worry she felt evident in her voice, as she watched the concern darken the blue in the detective’s eyes, “Maybe I should go out and look for him . . .”

“No . . .” Starsky interjected, struggling to sit up straighter, squeezing her hand reassuringly, as he shook his head to clear the cobwebs away, “He’s okay . . . didn’t hear any gunshots . . .”

“A knife has no voice,” Mari whispered, gently reminding the brunet of the precarious situation that Hutch might be in.

Starsky softly gasped as he straightened up, the wound to his side jarring with the movement, “Look . . . Hutch wants us to stay here . . . when he finds you gone, he’ll come back . . . he’s probably . . . on his way back now . . . we gotta . . . ”

Whatever else the dark haired detective was about to say was lost, as both sets of eyes turned abruptly to look at the doorknob, when it suddenly rattled and turned . . .

. . . CHAPTER 13 . . .

Starsky struggled to his feet, his bright blue eyes riveted to the door, while Mari quickly came to his side to shoulder some of his weight.

“Listen . . .” Starsky gasped, “I want you to climb out . . . this window . . . if it ain’t Hutch that comes through that door . . . y’understand?” His dark blue, expressive eyes locked onto Mari’s, and it spoke volumes to the young woman. She knew he would stay back and sacrifice his life for hers, so that she could get away. The thought of this detective dying at the hands of the devil that took her family caused Mari’s heart to palpitate painfully.

“What about you?” Mari whispered, her almond shaped eyes were filled with fear, as she opened the latch and lifted the window up, “We’ll go together . . . I-I can’t leave you here like this . . .” With the opening of the window, they both could hear the distant sound of sirens which filled Mari’s heart with sudden hope, but Starsky knew the squad cars were still a while away.

Starsky could feel his adrenalin pumping, as he kept his eyes glued to the door. Something told him that it wasn’t Hutch out there and when the angry pounding suddenly erupted at the door, the brunet knew for sure. “Hurry,” he gasped, clutching his side as he turned to the young woman beside him, “Run and become part of the shadows . . . that bastard’ll break through this door any minute . . .”

Tears brimmed her dark, brown eyes, which shimmered as they touched upon the face of the brunet, “How can I leave you?” Mari whispered as she stared up at the dark haired detective.

Starsky grinned reassuringly and gently brushed a strand of her long, black hair behind her ear, urging her towards the window as he helped her over the ledge, “I’ll only slow you down if I go with you . . . I need you to go and find Hutch . . .” he said softly, “I’ll be fine . . . the cavalry’s on its way . . . now hurry and go . . . ”

The dark haired detective quickly closed and locked the window behind Mari, just as the door busted in. Starsky looked into the gray eyes of the killer, taken aback once again, by the clean cut look of the man who blocked the doorway with his huge frame, “Where is she?” the killer snapped, his slate-gray eyes darting around the empty room.

Starsky leaned wearily against the wall, feeling thankful that Mari had gotten out in time, breathing heavily to ease the sharp pain in his side and lower abdomen, “Sorry t’disappoint ya like this,” the brunet said smugly, a slow smirk tweaking his lips, “But it looks like it’s just me and the dust motes in here . . .”

“Get away from that window you stinkin’ pig,” the large man snarled, drawing a small gun from behind him where it was tucked into the waistband of his pants. The killer smiled evilly, his yellow stained teeth immediately morphing his clean cut visage into something vile and revolting.

Stormy blue eyes followed the point of the gun as it was lowered towards his midsection, a silencer screwed to the tip of the weapon. Starsky calmly raised his eyes to look the killer in the face, the perspiration running in rivulets down his neck, “It’s too late you know . . . you can kill me, but you won’t find Mari . . . and in a few minutes this place will be swarming with cops.”

The large man looked warily to the window, his mind obviously processing what the dark haired detective had said, as he cocked his gun and flicked it towards the door. The sirens were louder now and it grated on his nerves, making him want to squeeze the trigger. “I said . . . move away from the window asshole!” the killer snapped, waving the gun once again in the direction he wanted the detective to move.

Breathing heavily, Starsky stood unsteadily, his hand pressed against his lower abdomen as he slowly made his way towards the killer, his mind racing as he thought of possible solutions to get him out of this mess. He knew that his assailant was jumpy with the sounds of the approaching sirens, and the brunet made sure that his movements were slow and easy.

“Put your hands behind your head . . .NOW!” the killer demanded.

The dark haired cop slowly complied, wincing as he raised his hands, feeling the pull of his stitches, “Listen to me . . .” Starsky said, using a calm, low voice, spreading his fingers, palms held up as he locked them together behind his head, keeping his movements deliberate and unhurried, knowing the killer wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if he got spooked, “We can work something out . . .”

“Shut the fuck up!” the large man growled, as he suddenly grabbed the wounded cop and threw him to the ground, the sirens were agitating him, making him feel anxious and angry as he thought of his imminent capture. He could sense that Mari was somewhere near, but it didn’t matter anymore . . . he would never be locked up like an animal . . . never! He’d die before he let the cops take him in.

“Uungh,” Starsky grunted softly, barely having the time to catch his fall with his hands locked behind his head, almost blacking out from the impact as his body connected to the hard floor. He curled into the pain, squeezing his eyes shut, as he gritted his teeth against the overwhelming weariness and fiery heat that ripped through his broken and battered being.

“You listen to me chump,” the killer whispered angrily, roughly turning the cop onto his back, as he crouched above the hurting brunet, bristling with rage, “I’ve got nothing to lose anymore if Mari’s gone . . . I’m not letting them take me alive y’hear me? And you’re going with me for the long ride to hell, pig . . .”

“I’m here . . .” a quiet voice said as Mari stepped into the doorway. Both men turned to look at the young woman, as she took a few hesitant steps into the room, stopping just before she reached them.

“Mari,” Starsky gasped, his bright blue gaze locked onto the Asian girl who wavered in and out of focus, as the detective tried to get a handle of the crippling pain that wracked his body.

Mari risked a quick glance at the wounded detective, and then turned her attention to the large man who crouched over him with a gun. She stared openly at the killer who had never stopped pursuing her, who had made her life a living hell. She took a long hard look at the beast who had been tied to her for years now, who snatched everything that she loved and held most dear, away from her . . . and it amazed her that evil could look so clean . . . so decent and . . . and wholesome. The thought sickened her. She always “knew” he had the kind of face that anyone would trust, and yet, finally seeing it for the very first time herself, it shook her to the core.

“Mari,” the large man whispered, breathing hard, his gray eyes growing soft with want, “Come here . . .”

“Let him go first,” Mari said quietly, her voice trembling as she nodded towards the downed detective, watching warily as the large man slowly rose to his feet.

Mari swallowed down her fear as she took a small step back, “I’ll go willingly with you. Y-you can use me to get out of here. The police won’t shoot at you . . . not if you have a hostage. I’ll go with you . . . if you leave him alone, but if you h-hurt David . . . I’ll run . . . I’ll run and hide where you will never find me . . . and you know that what I say is true

. . . don’t you?” the petite woman queried softly.

At the killer’s slight nod, Mari continued, her voice soft and almost hypnotic, “You’ve never been able to catch me all this time . . . and you’ll never have me, if you don’t let him go . . .” Mari took a few steps back as the man slowly advanced towards her.

Starsky knew that Mari was leading the killer away from him and he struggled to get to his feet. The Interstate Killer seemed oblivious to his sluggish movements; his sole attention was focused upon the young woman who continued to back up, leading him towards the opened door.

“I know how you think . . . I saw what you did . . . t-to my family . . . my sister,” Mari’s soft voice echoed in the small empty room.

“Naomi,” the large man whispered brokenly, as he took a few steps towards the young woman, staring in fascination at her face. Over the years, Mari had grown to resemble her beautiful older sister and the large man ached with the need to touch his ‘Naomi’ once more.

Mari stared with morbid fascination, as she faced her nightmare, warily watching him slowly advancing towards her like the snake that he was, feeling her limbs quaking as she continued to back slowly towards the door. She wanted to look at David so badly, to seek comfort and courage in his bright blue gaze, but she dared not take her eyes away from the beast who continued to stalk her, following her slowly, whispering the name of her sister the whole time he crept towards her.

The need to look at David made Mari quickly glanced at Starsky, who by now was standing unsteadily, his dark blue eyes locked on her face. Without warning, everything seemed to happen at once to Mari . . . events mixing together in a blur, as the killer took that moment to rush her, grabbing her by the arm, cruelly twisting it, as he dragged her roughly towards him.

Mari cried out as she saw the huge man turn and level his gun at the wounded cop, and before she could cower and change her mind, she determinedly brought the large knife out from behind her with her free hand from where she had hidden it, tucked away into the back of her jeans.

Without thinking of the repercussions Mari abruptly plunged the blade into the shoulder of her assailant, using the same knife that had taken the life of her sister and the lives of countless others. Trembling with fear, adrenalin pumping, she quickly moved away when the large man dropped his gun; hearing him scream with rage and pain as he abruptly let go of her arm to grasp the handle of the blade. She saw the look of pain and surprise twist the features of the hated beast as he stared at his treasure . . . his memento . . . that now was ironically buried to the hilt, embedded into his own shoulder. From the corner of her eye, Mari saw Starsky move into action, diving for the gun, as the killer simultaneously did the same thing.

Mari watched in horror, as the two men scuffled for the gun. Worry and despair flared in her as the larger man kicked the wounded detective just under his ribs, and she saw the brunet fall to one knee, gasping as he clutched his side in agony. She watched as the gun slipped out of the killer’s hand, sliding across the floor in her direction.

On instinct alone Mari ran to retrieve the gun, hearing Starsky cry out a warning as the killer pulled the blade out from his shoulder and threw it at her with deadly aim. Mari gasped, her eyes opening wide as she felt the sharp blade forcefully plunging into her body, vaguely registering the booming sound of a gunshot that came from the door behind her.

She locked her gaze onto the shocked face of the curly haired detective, whose dark blue eyes were filled with pain and widened with horror . . . those familiar eyes she had repeatedly seen in her dreams and visions. It was those same eyes that had haunted her these past few months that had also been the catalyst for her seeking him out. Beautiful blue eyes as deep as the ocean; that now watched in horror as she wavered unsteadily on her feet.

Mari could feel herself falling as the room began to spin. Gasping for air, she felt herself sinking slowly to the floor, only to be caught up in arms that held her tenderly, arms that sheltered her as she stared up at eyes that were bright with unshed tears, familiar blue eyes that were sad now, and filled with despair. Random, fuzzy thoughts ran through her mind as she stared up at the man who held her.

David.

Her breaths were coming short and fast, as the peripheral edges of her vision began to grow dim. The sharp intolerable pain was almost numb now, as her body grew heavy and lethargic, enticing her to surrender, to give up and finally seek rest. She could feel herself begin to slip over the edge, sinking into the murky depths where the pain couldn’t touch her any longer. Yet, the intensity of those blue eyes held her anchored to the here and now, and Mari could feel his arms tighten around her, refusing to let her go.

“Don’t you give up, y’hear me Mari? You hang in there! Help is on the way!” Starsky said; desperation and despair making his voice ring with a sharpness that she had never heard before, as he squeezed her roughly to his chest, staring intently into her sad, brown eyes that never left his, as if he could make her stay with him by sheer will alone. “You stay here with me, I’m right here holdin’ ya, not goin’ t’leave . . .” he said as he wrapped his hands around her small one that held on to the hilt of the knife deeply embedded in her abdomen. The dark haired detective was sickened by the amount of blood that bloomed and stained her thin brown tee shirt.

It hurt Starsky to see Mari so still, knowing that she was struggling just to breath, listening to the soft gasps, so afraid that each breath she drew in, might be her last. The curly haired detective shook his head. It just wasn’t fair . . . her whole life had been messed up by this creep. To know that he had taken everything from her . . . her family, her freedom and now her life, made Starsky begin to question the existence of the benevolent God in which he believed. Some people had life so damn hard. “Just hang on Mari . . . just hang on . . .” he whispered gently, his voice breaking, as he watched the light slowly fading from her almond shaped eyes.

Mari could hear the fear in the brunet’s voice and she reached out a trembling hand to cup the side of his face, a sad, but serene smile came to her quivering lips . . . all this time she had thought her “episodes” were about him, that she had foreseen his death. Never once did she think that those blue eyes, widened in horror and filled with pain, appeared in her visions because he was watching her die. Never once, did she think that those eyes would be the last thing that she would see before she left this earth. And yet, a strange sense of peace filled her heart as the brunet held her close to his chest. These two detectives, one light and one dark, men that she barely knew, had only shown her compassion and kindness. Who would have known, how much they would have come to mean to her.

Mari took a shuddering breath, as the dark haired detective gently brushed a strand of her hair away from her face and tuck it tenderly behind her ear, her throat constricted with emotion as she felt his pain and she tried to tell him that it was okay, but she was tired, and it just took too much energy to speak. She was so cold now . . . and so weary . . .

“Mari . . . Mari,” Starsky whispered desperately, feeling her life slipping away from her, “Oh God, please . . .” the dark haired detective pleaded, unconsciously turning once again in his despair to the higher power he had just previously doubted.

Starsky watched as Mari slowly closed her eyes, her lashes fanning out across pale cheeks, only to see her head lolling gently into his chest. “No . . .” he whispered sadly, staring down at her peaceful face, “No . . .”

The brunet gently rocked her to him, as his cobalt blue eyes sadly lifted to meet the pale blue eyes of his blond partner, who stood rigidly at the door, his magnum still pointing at the large figure of the man who now lay dead.

. . . EPILOGUE . . .

The tall blond surreptitiously glanced over the bowed heads that were gathered together, his pale blue eyes traveled over familiar faces that were solemn and quiet as the prayers were being said. He could hear the cold November winds blowing outside, heralding the winter months to come, feeling thankful that he was indoors today and not out on the chilly streets.

Hutch’s sky colored eyes briefly paused in its meanderings, as he noticed that Huggy and Dobey stood somberly next to each other, the proprietor’s fuchsia colored jumpsuit stood out loudly next to the dull, drab colors that Dobey chose to wear for the function. Under different circumstances, Hutch might have chuckled out loud at the obvious and rather comical differences between the two black men who stood side by side, one being tall and lanky, the other squat and stout, but everyone was reverently quiet and still, and his humorous snickering would have been very inappropriate.

His gaze continued on until they alighted upon his partner’s face; and though the blond tried hard not to, he couldn’t help but crack a grin as he spied the brunet’s bright blues comically peeping out from under his ridiculously long eyelashes.

The blond’s smile widened, as he watched the impatient glower and exasperation that came across his partner’s face, as Starsky peeked in the direction of the person reciting the prayers.

From where he stood, Hutch could have sworn he heard the angry rumblings of his friend’s stomach and he chuckled softly when he saw the brunet cover his midsection with his hand. ‘As if that would stop the noise,’ Hutch thought, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he caught his partner’s embarrassed look from across the table. The tall blond winked reassuringly at his humiliated partner, who rewarded him with a lopsided grin just as the prayers of gratitude were reaching an end.

Everyone breathed a silent sigh of relief and gave a resounding “Amen” as Edith Dobey’s long-winded grace finally came to a close.

“Man sistah, that was some blessin’ . . . I think you included everyone and their mother in your grace,” Huggy said, white teeth flashing as he smiled widely at Captain Dobey’s wife.

“Why thank you Huggy,” Edith smiled, “I hope I didn’t leave anyone out. With Harold losing his voice from his recent cold, I was hoping I would do a good job. Harold usually says the blessings over our Thanksgiving get-togethers you know.” Edith said happily, as everyone began to pass around the plates and utensils.

“Is that why the big man is so quiet this evening?” Huggy said with a smile, “And here I thought I might’ve overcooked the bird. The way he was glaring at me, I thought he was going to arrest me for “fowl” play.”

Overhearing Huggy’s loud comment, Hutch chuckled and came over to put his arm around the tall, skinny black man, “Huggy, the turkey you roasted looks delicious . . .” Hutch’s compliment was cut short by a burst of loud giggles coming from one of the back tables at “The Pits,” which Huggy had graciously closed for the celebrating of this auspicious occasion. All eyes turned to see Starsky whispering something into Rosie’s ear, sending her into a fit of joyful laughter once more.

Harold Dobey cleared his throat and rasped, “Well this year we have a lot to be thankful for . . .” The Captain’s voice was strained and hoarse, but he nodded in the direction of his little daughter Rosie, who continued to giggle, as she held onto the hand of the young Asian woman who had been staying with the Dobeys’ since she had come out of the hospital a little over a week ago.

“Rosie just adores Mari . . . those two are like peas in a pod.” Edith said smiling, happy to see the joyful expression on her daughter’s face.

“Three peas in a pod . . .” Hutch said grinning, “Don’t forget the big kid with the curls,” Everyone laughed as Captain Dobey picked up the carving knife and began slicing the turkey.

“Starsk and I think it’s so great that you’ve opened your home and your hearts to Mari,” Hutch said softly to Edith Dobey who smiled warmly in return.

“It was Harold’s idea,” Edith said, as she looked into the pale blue of eyes of the tall blond who stood beside her, “Mari is such a lovely girl and after what she’s been through, I wouldn’t have dreamed of her being anywhere else. It’s a blessing that girl is still alive!”

“Yeah,” Hutch agreed softly, remembering how close they came to losing her. The fact that Mari and Starsky were here, celebrating Thanksgiving with everyone, was nothing short of a miracle. Hutch stared at his laughing partner and the smiling young woman, his mind drifting back over the past few weeks.

They had almost lost her several times on the way to the hospital. Shock and blood loss complicated matters; the blade had ruptured her intestines, which caused bacteria to enter into her system leaving her weak and nearly comatose as she battled the raging infection and a high fever that spread throughout her body. Starsky too, had suffered through a period of fever and infection, but luckily for him, his fever broke the next day and he was allowed to come home shortly after, much to his pleasure.

While Starsky had been recuperating at home after his short stay in the hospital, Hutch had been bombarded with paperwork regarding the case. The Feds had come down to take the body of James B. Anderson, a.k.a. “The Interstate Killer”, back to Washington State, and they needed the paperwork from Bay City to close the case. Ironically, they had only found out the name of the man responsible for the rape and murders of over seventeen women and the brutal slaughtering of Mari’s family, after he was dead and gone.

The Oregon State Police had called Captain Dobey to report and confirm the pitiful findings of Melissa Rutgers, a red head, green-eyed woman who had been raped, stabbed, and then buried in a shallow grave in a wooded area near Corvallis. They identified the victim through dental records and like Mari predicted, they located her remains a few days after Dobey had called to inform them of the possible homicide.

“At first she was a little shy with us,” Edith continued, drawing Hutch back from his reflections, “But now she’s warmed up to us and I think that my Calvin has a crush on her.” Mrs. Dobey chuckled, as she watched her son make his way over to the noisy table to join in on the fun.

“I think it’s wonderful that she can stay with your family for awhile,” Hutch said quietly, staring kindly at the young Asian women who smiled down at Rosie, the blond’s voice was gentle and soft, “After all, she wasn’t that much older than Cal when she lost her family.”

“Yes,” Edith said sadly, “I can’t imagine what she went through . . . I talked to her last night after Rosie went to bed, and Mari said that she would probably stay in Bay City for a little while until she could get back on her feet. She told me Huggy offered her a job as a waitress for “The Pits.” She said she just might take him up on that offer and earn a little money so that she can buy a ticket to go back to Washington.”

“She’s planning on going back?” Hutch asked surprised that she would even contemplate returning to a place where there were only bad memories. God knows he avoided going home as much as possible, because of those very same reasons. Hutch’s childhood memories were not something he took out to peruse very often. In fact, the tall blond didn’t even consider Minnesota his home anymore, although his family still lived there. Home to Hutch, was here in Bay City, with Starsky and everyone that was gathered around the table tonight. He had found his “family” and if he were honest with himself, a part of him was hoping that Mari would adopt them as her “family” too.

Edith smiled softly, “That girl is so wise for someone so young . . .”

Hutch frowned, puzzled by Edith’s comment, “What do you mean?”

“She told me last night that she’d been thinking about staying here. Said that this was the closest place to home that she knew of.” Edith said sadly, “Mari told me that she hadn’t been hugged by anyone for so long, she’d forgotten what it felt like, until you and Starsky held her in your arms.”

Hutch swallowed down a lump that formed in his throat, feeling terribly sad for the young woman after hearing Edith’s soft words, empathizing with Mari. After all, if it hadn’t been for Starsky, Hutch would probably have never known what a “real” family was like or what a warm touch could do to a person’s heart. “That’s what I mean . . . I mean . . . that’s why I thought she’d stay here with all of us . . . we could be the family she lost . . .” the blond detective stammered.

Edith smiled and cupped the side of Hutch’s face, “That’s so sweet honey, but that little girl has the soul of Solomon. She told me last night that even though she’d love to stay here, she couldn’t run forever. Mari said that there were things she needed to make peace with back home, things in her heart that she needed to heal. She said she needed to close some chapters of her life, before she could open some new ones. That girl has such a good head on her shoulders and a beautiful heart too. I told her last night that the good Lord was surely proud of her, and that He’d sent angels to watch over her this whole time that she’d been going through this horrible ordeal . . . and do you know what she told me Hutch?”

Hutch smiled down at his Captain’s wife, touched by the warmth of her hand against his cheek. The tall blond shook his head slowly, “No . . . no I don’t . . . what did Mari say?”

Edith smiled, lowering her hand as she looked over at the young girl who laughed at the antics of the curly haired detective, as he scratched under his arms and jumped up and down, doing his imitation of a baboon or a monkey of some sort, “She told me she ‘saw’ her angels . . . she said one of them had eyes the color of the sky and hair as golden as a wheat field; the other angel she said, was as dark as the other was light, had a head full of curly brown locks and ocean blue eyes that twinkled like the stars. Now why do I think I know these angels huh?” the dark woman laughed.

Hutch snorted softly, feeling himself blushing under the scrutiny of the Edith’s knowing gaze. The blond detective raised his brows and shrugged, “Dunno . . . maybe she was hallucinating or something, especially if she saw an angel with dark curly hair . . . now the golden one sounds more like something God would send down.”

“Riiiight!” Edith laughed, nudging the tall blond playfully in the arm. They both laughed together until they saw the “kids” coming over to the table. Edith leaned over and whispered to Hutch, “Mari opened her backpack and showed me something last night that her mother had given to her when she was young. I told her that I wanted her to share it with all of us tonight . . .”

“Alright everyone . . . it is time to grind!” Huggy announced proudly, gesturing a long slim hand at the cloth covered table ladened with delicious delectables.

“Oh man,” Starsky said, his eyes twinkling with excitement as he licked his lips, “Mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, cranberries and gravy . . .man oh man . . . I can’t wait to sink my teeth into that turkey Hug.”

“Yeah? Well you better hold on before ‘Harold’ over there takes a bite outta you, turkey,” Huggy whispered, “I think the Dobeys’ ain’t finished yet with the giving of thanks . . .”

“What?” Starsky said, dragging his eyes away from the food to look over at his Captain who stood at the head of the table with his large arm around the small shoulders of the young Asian woman.

“Starsky,” Dobey rasped, “Keep your hands off that turkey before I knock the stuffing out of you . . . Mari here, has something she’d like to share before we eat . . .” The large police captain gently nudged the petite woman forward.

Starsky stared at Mari, his blue eyes wide with disbelief, “Wait a minute . . . Mari . . . you mean you’re gonna say another prayer?”

Hutch gently elbowed his partner from behind, while Mari smiled then laughed at the outrageous look on the dark haired detective’s face, “No … not a prayer, just a poem. Mrs. Dobey thought that I should share it this evening . . . ” Mari said, grinning as she caught the look that Starsky gave Hutch.

“T’rrific,” Starsky mumbled under his breath, as his stomach gave a loud growl of protest, “First a prayer, then a poem, then maybe Hutch can grab his guitar and sing a few hymns . . .” The brunet abruptly stopped his mutterings, jolting forward as Hutch elbowed him from behind once again to quiet him down. Everyone watched as Mari unfolded a worn and stained paper that she took from the back pocket of her jeans.

The young woman looked to the paper, and then looked up shyly at everyone who stood around the table. Though her soft voice quavered, it could be heard by all, “Um . . . this was given to me a long time ago from my mother. When I w-was a kid, I thought I knew it all and sometimes I forgot be grateful for things that I got. One night, after she and I had a fight, she gave me this poem that was written by an anonymous author and I . . . I’ve always carried it with me wherever I went . . . read it a lot when I was on the run. I’d like to share it with all of you. It’s called, ‘Be Thankful’.”

Everyone quieted down, as the young woman started, her voice growing stronger as she read through the poem, “Be thankful that you don’t already have everything you desire. If you did, what would there be to look forward to? Be thankful when you don’t know something, for it gives you the opportunity to learn. Be thankful for the difficult times . . . during those times, you grow. Be thankful for your limitations, because they give you opportunities for improvement. Be thankful for each new challenge, because it will build your strength and character. Be thankful for your mistakes for they will teach you valuable lessons. Be thankful when you’re tired and weary, because it means you’ve made a difference.” Mari paused and looked up, then continued to recite the poem clearly from memory, “It is easy to be thankful for the good things. A life of rich fulfillment comes to those who are also thankful for the setbacks. Gratitude can turn a negative into a positive. Find a way to be thankful for your troubles, and they can become your blessings.”

The silence that ensued was almost deafening. Mari lowered the paper, tears brimming in her eyes. Captain Dobey put his arm around her shoulders again as Mari’s soft voice floated out over the table, “Tonight means so much to me, to be here with all of you . . . to give thanks . . . and share in this celebration. Now I know what my mother wanted me to understand, for I have finally found my blessings through all of the troubles I’ve endured, and my heart is so full of gratitude and love.”

“Aw Mari,” Hutch said, opening his arms to her, only to enfold her small form in his embrace. Soon everyone got a chance to hug the diminutive woman and she laughed gaily as Starsky gave her a big bear hug and a warm kiss on her forehead when it came to his turn.

“Okay,” Starsky said decisively, his arm still wrapped around Mari shoulders, “I think this celebration is getting a bit too soapy here. . . and anyway, that beautiful turkey is getting cold.”

“I wanna make a toast,” Rosie’s young voice sang out above the din of people filling their plates. The little girl raised the cup of grape juice that she held, as Hutch lifted her in his arms to give her a bird’s eye view of the gathering. Rosie waited until she had the attention of everyone there, watching as they filled their glasses, “Happy Thanksgiving!”

she said joyfully.

“Happy Thanksgiving Rosie,” the happy feasters replied.

Rosie giggled at the loud response that she got, her eyes twinkling merrily she said again in a louder voice, “Happy Thanksgiving to you all!”

-finis-

Author’s Note: And may I take this time dear reader to echo Rosie’s toast. In Hawaiian we say, “Happy Thanksgiving” like this: “Hau’oli La Ho’omakika’i (pronounced: how-oh-lee la ho-o-mah- key-kah-ee) Wishing you and yours, a very happy and safe Thanksgiving holiday. Love and aloha, Shawne