MIND CONTROL

This is the pre-sequel to Tortured Minds. How did the men who took Starsky turn him into the man he was when Hutch found him in Viet Nam? WARNING: some graphic scenes of abuse: physical, emotional, psychological and sexual. There is also a lot of strong language. If any of these topics offend you, please note any warnings accompanying individual chapters.

Beta Read by Megan

CHAPTER ONE

"STARSKY! WAIT!" Hutch yelled as he ran into the hallway after his distraught partner. He glanced down the corridor in time to see the elevator doors sliding shut. He knew that he would never make it down the stairs in time to catch him before Starsky made it out of the building. Ignoring the curious glances of the other people in the hallway, Hutch leaned heavily against the wall and covered his face with his hand to get a handle on his own wavering emotions.

After almost eleven months of hell, struggling to recover from the injuries he had received in a shooting in the Police Department parking lot, Starsky had just heard the verdict from the review board concerning his future with the Bay City P.D. According to the reports submitted by his various physicians, Starsky would never be fit enough to return to active duty as an undercover police detective working the streets of the inner city. He was being retired from the force on permanent disability.

Hutch still couldn't believe it. Starsky was in better physical condition now than he had been since the academy. He still had some healing to do but his spirit and his determination were still intact. Even when the odds had seemed insurmountable, even when he was in so much pain that he broke down and cried, Starsky had kept one goal and one goal only in mind. The day he could return to the streets with Hutch at his side. Now that dream had been taken away from him without any room for discussion. The most damning medical report had been the one from his cardiologist and his pulmonary surgeon, who both stated, in no uncertain terms, that the brunet had suffered permanent damage to his heart and his left lung from the shooting that would prevent him from being able to handle the physical demands of the job.

Hutch made his way to the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. Although he had driven them to the Federal building that morning, Hutch doubted if he would find Starsky waiting for him in the parking lot. The brunet had been too upset when he stormed out of the conference room. He would find a quiet place where he could be alone to lick his wounds. With heavy steps, Hutch left the building and slowly trudged to the lot where he had parked his car. Climbing behind the wheel, he slowly drove back to the little beachside cottage he had shared with Starsky for the past nine months, ever since Starsky was discharged from the hospital, two months after almost dying on the cold hard pavement of the parking garage.

Hutch had used some money from a trust fund his grandfather had left him to buy the cottage. Both men had apartments that were up a long flight of stairs and the doctors had made it clear that Starsky would not be able to walk up and down steps for quite some time. Hutch had notified both landlords and enlisted the help of their friends to move their belongings to the beach while Starsky was still in the hospital. The one story cottage was perfect for Starsky's needs. The rooms were large and open with handrails installed in the bathroom and hallways. The cottage had been designed by a man whose wife was confined to a wheelchair and had been built to accommodate her needs. After following the story surrounding Starsky's shooting and recovery in the newspaper, the man had contacted Hutch and offered to sell him the cottage at a ridiculously low price. His wife had recently passed away and he wanted it to go to someone who would appreciate the love that had gone into building it. When Hutch saw it for the first time, he knew that it was the perfect place for the severely injured Starsky to finish his recovery. He had written a check for the initial down payment on the spot.

In the beginning, Starsky was still too weak to do anything for himself. He required twenty-four hour a day care for even his most basic needs. Even though the department's medical insurance would have paid for a full time nurse to come in and care for him, Hutch refused to allow anyone to care for his partner except for himself. In the beginning, it was awkward and embarrassing for both of them for Hutch to have to be the one bathing Starsky and taking him to the bathroom, sometimes even giving him enemas to help with his sluggish bowels. But they had managed and as a result, they had become even closer than they were before. Me and thee had become us and they had built a home together in their little retreat on the beach.

Before the shooting, rumors had floated around the department for years that they were more than just 'friends' because of the unique closeness of their relationship. Neither one of them had ever let the rumors bother them. Their closest friends knew the truth. They were both red blooded, heterosexuals with an active sex life. After the shooting, nobody batted an eye when the two of them moved in together. Their colleagues and friends quickly discounted any lingering rumors about their relationship. They had all seen first hand how devastated Hutch had been by the shooting and how devoted and loyal he was to his best friend. More than a few of their peers had volunteered their opinion that if Starsky had died, Hutch would have died too.

It was that same devotion and loyalty, combined with the unique bond they shared, that enabled the big blond to feel Starsky's pain at the review board's decision as if it were his own because his own pain mirrored that of his partner completely. With the scrawl of a pen, the legendary team of Starsky and Hutch no longer existed, at least not in the police department's eyes. They would always be best friends, nothing would ever change that, but their professional partnership was over along with Starsky's career.

Hutch knew better than anyone how hard that would be for Starsky to accept. All he had ever wanted to do was to be was a cop like his father. And he had been one of the best cops the department had ever seen. Along with Hutch, the two friends had earned the respect of not only their peers but the snitches, hookers and other street people they came into contact with every day. They had gained the reputation of being tough and hard nosed but fair and honest. Hutch had returned to work six weeks ago, working part time behind a desk because he had refused to work the streets without Starsky.

Starsky had already suffered through his share of depression since the shooting and this could be the final straw, the one that even the resilient brunet wouldn't be able to bounce back from. And that scared Hutch more than anything else. He didn't want Starsky to give up, to have his spirit broken beyond repair, after everything he had already had to endure.

When Hutch finally arrived at the cottage, he was relieved to see Starsky sitting at the edge of the beach behind the house, staring out at the ocean. The big blond approached him with caution, not wanting to startle the brunet unnecessarily. "Hey, buddy…" Hutch said quietly, as he sank down on the sand beside him. "You okay?"

Starsky remained silent, staring out at the water with an unreadable expression in his deep sapphire eyes. His posture was tense and stiff, a clear indication to Hutch that he was still holding his pain deep inside, refusing to let it surface. Hutch sighed and clasped Starsky's shoulder in a gesture of friendship and compassion. He would have done anything if it were within his power to take away Starsky's pain and ease his suffering. All he could do was wait for Starsky to open up and share his feelings and thoughts with him. Then maybe together, they could find a way to help him deal with the news. They sat there for almost an hour, neither of them speaking, just taking comfort from being together.

"It's not fair." Starsky finally said in a forlorn voice that tore at the sensitive blond's heart. "How could they do that? They won't even give me a chance to prove the doctors are wrong." There was a hard edge of bitterness in Starsky's voice that Hutch could sympathize with.

"You could appeal the decision." Hutch suggested helpfully. "Force them to let you try to re-qualify in a few months. You could see other specialists; get a second opinion about the damage to your heart and lungs."

"What's the use?" Starsky asked in a defeated voice that Hutch had seldom heard him use. "They'll just find another reason to keep me from coming back." He turned to face Hutch, his eyes filled with so much pain it was almost overwhelming. "Face it, Hutch. I'm finished…washed up…I'll never be the man I used to be."

"Don't say that!" Hutch said, a bit more sharply then he intended to. "You can't give up! Not now! You've worked your ass off to get this far and I think you can still prove them wrong and make them stuff their decision up their ass!"

"That's easy for you to say, Blondie." Starsky said with a sad little smile as he slowly shoved himself to his feet. His face twisted with a grimace of pain as still recovering muscles protested the long time he had spent sitting in one position. "You're not the one that had your body ripped apart and then put back together with baling wire and duct tape! You're not the one who has to live everyday with the things you can't do anymore and probably never will again!"

Hutch bounced to his feet and fell in step with Starsky as he started back to the cottage. He wisely chose to ignore the cutting remarks that held too much of a ring of truth for them both. He slung his arm around Starsky's too thin shoulders and said,

"Let's get you something eat and your meds. Then you can take a nap. It's been a long day already and you're exhausted." He knew the words were the wrong thing to say as soon as they were out of his mouth.

Starsky pulled away from his embrace with a growl and glared at Hutch angrily. "STOP TREATING ME LIKE A FUCKING INVALID!" he snarled "I can take my own meds and fix myself something to eat! And I don't have to take a nap if I don't want to!"

He stomped away as fast as his body would allow, his back rigid with that stubborn pride that Hutch knew so well.

Hutch sighed heavily and followed at a slower pace. He knew when to push Starsky and when to back off and let him work things out for himself. And this was one of those times that he needed to back off. After so many months of being Starsky's sole caretaker, holding him while he puked, cleaning up after him when he had an accident, and just cuddling him when the pain became too much for him to handle and he needed to cry, had left the big blond fiercely protective of the brunet. It was impossible for him to just let go. He knew that there were times when Starsky resented Hutch's attention and felt smothered. He had made that increasingly clear over the past few weeks as he struggled to reassert his independence. Hutch vowed to be there to pick up the pieces left over from this latest crisis if and when Starsky needed him to.

CHAPTER TWO

Starsky wandered around the cottage, assessing the pieces of his shattered life. His life as he knew it had been wiped away in a matter of minutes in the Police Garage when he faced a hail of bullets from his would be assassins. He didn't remember the actual shooting and probably never would. The doctors kept telling him that it was best if he didn't. He only had vague memories of the first couple of weeks in the hospital, memories of waking up to a world of pain that took his breath away. His clearest memory of that time was Hutch being at his side constantly, encouraging him, soothing away the pain and keeping the nightmares from sending him over the edge.

In the beginning, he couldn't even move without feeling like his body was being ripped apart from the inside out. He spent most of his time sleeping, heavily drugged to help his shattered body fight the pain and start to heal. Tubes, wires and machines monitored his vital signs, emptied his bladder, provided him with food, kept his body hydrated, and even took over the task of breathing for him. All he could do was lie in his hospital bed and stare at the ceiling, his mind trapped in a helpless body.

During the two months he spent in the hospital after the shooting, he battled two severe infections, three bouts with pneumonia, blood poisoning, three additional surgeries, bed sores, and constricted muscles. He lost almost thirty pounds and most of his muscle tone. The powerful medications he was on made him severely nauseated and he began suffering from migraines.

It was almost a month before the doctors decided that he was strong enough to be moved out of the Intensive Care Unit and into a private room with fewer restrictions. He was finally able to get rid of some of the machinery and tubes that had been keeping him confined to his bed but his body was so messed up that he had to relearn how to recognize the subtle signals that he needed to go to the bathroom. He had taken his first faltering steps six weeks after the shooting. He has barely managed to take three steps before collapsing in Hutch's supportive arms. He had suffered from severe vertigo whenever he tried to stand upright, his healing muscles loudly protesting any change in his position.

He was restricted to a soft, bland diet. His damaged digestive system often rejecting even the mild foods he was allowed to eat. His appetite became almost non-existent. The only thing he seemed to be able to keep down consistently was ice cream and he soon became tired of even that. As a result, he'd lost almost ten more pounds until he began to look like a concentration camp survivor. The doctors finally inserted a tube directly into his stomach to supply his malnourished body with the necessary vitamins and nutrients to help him get stronger.

Two weeks before he finally got out of the hospital, the physical therapist started working with his constricted muscles to help him regain more mobility and flexibility. At first even the gentle stretching and range of motion exercises were enough to reduce him to tears. He was still in constant, unrelenting pain and it was beginning to take a toil on both his emotions and his stamina.

Finally his recovering body reached the point that the doctors decided he no longer needed constant medical supervision. Arrangements were made for him to go home with Hutch acting as his primary caregiver. He was still weak and could barely do anything for himself with a long list of restrictions on what he could and couldn't do for the next few months. His immediate future was still filled with doctor's appointments, physical therapy sessions and medical tests.

At first, Hutch had to help him do everything. The big blond took him to the bathroom, wiped his ass, and gave him a shower. He dressed him and undressed him, chauffeured him to his numerous appointments, cooked his meals and fed him. He changed the dressings on the brunet's various wounds and gave Starsky full body massages to relax him. He slept in the same bed with Starsky at night, holding him close to keep the nightmares away, or just cuddling him when the emotions overwhelmed the brunet and all he could do was cry. Hutch cleaned up his puke, his piss and his shit without ever complaining even once.

It took months of hard work but slowly Starsky began to get stronger. The external injuries healed, leaving Starsky's torso covered with horrendous scars, a permanent reminder of how close he had come to death. Hutch finally told Starsky that his heart had stopped three times in the forty-eight hours immediately following the shooting. The last time, in the I.C.U., it had taken the doctors almost four minutes to get it started again. Starsky's severely traumatized body had almost given up but the resilient brunet had refused to let go.

Now, almost a year later, it seemed as if his efforts and hard work to get back to a normal level of functioning had all been in vain. Starsky knew he wasn't fully recovered yet. The doctors had warned him that it would take up to eighteen months for the damaged muscles and shredded tissue to heal completely. He was still fifteen pounds below his usual body weight before the shooting. He had to watch his diet and there were certain foods that he had to avoid, mainly the spicy, exotic foods that he still craved the most. He had learned to live with a certain amount of pain, especially if he moved too quickly or tried to twist his body beyond the limits his healing muscles could tolerate. He also tired more easily than he had in the past. Double shifts for days at a time were out of the question and so were long stakeouts sitting in a cramped car for hours at a time.

Still, he had clung to the hope that eventually he would be able to return to the streets and to the job that he loved. Now the review board had made it painfully clear that was not an option. The bullets that had torn through his body had left permanent damage to his heart and left lung, taking his livelihood away from him along with everything else he had lost. That decision had done the one thing that the shooting had failed to do, it had broken his spirit and his heart.

He went through the motions of his morning routine, taking a shower and shaving, then getting dressed for the day without really paying attention to what he was doing. The man staring back at him from the reflection in the full length mirror hanging on the back of his bedroom door was a stranger to the brunet. Still painfully thin, the jeans that used to hug his body like a second skin hung loose around his hips. His face was gaunt with sharply defined cheekbones. The sapphire eyes looked dull and vacant, the vibrant sparkle gone. Dark circles underneath those eyes bore mute evidence to restless nights without enough sleep. Dark tangled curls hung almost to his shoulders, the hair looking dry and unkempt.

A thin, contemptuous smile tugged at the lips. Why should he care about his appearance? No woman in her right mind would want him anymore and he no longer had a job to go to. Starsky knew that he was feeling sorry for himself but he rationalized that he had earned the right to some self-pity. The only one who had been there to bully him, to cheer him on, to cry with him and to hold him since the shooting had been Hutch. He had struggled and fought with every fiber of his being not just for himself but for the big blond too. And it had all been a waste of time. He was useless, washed up, an empty shell of the man he used to be. A cripple. An invalid. Permanently disabled and not much use to anyone.

Without thinking, Starsky slammed his fist into the mirror, shattering it and cutting his knuckles. His left shoulder screamed with pain as barely healed muscles protested his sudden burst of anger. Biting back a groan of pain, the brunet stumbled into the bathroom and ran cold water over his bruised and bleeding knuckles. The wounds to his hand were minor. It was the wound to his psyche that ran deep into his very soul.

He cleaned the cuts and carefully bandaged his hand. He knew Hutch would question him about it when he got home but he didn't care. Striking out at the mirror had at least released some of his pent up anger and frustration.

He shuffled into the living room and slumped down on the sofa. Picking up the remote, he turned on the TV and flipped through the channels disinterestedly. He finally settled on some inane daytime game show, the background noise lulling him into a pleasant stupor. This was all he had to look forward to now so he might as well get used to it. This was his future for the next forty or fifty years. Eating a bullet suddenly took on a certain appeal.

CHAPTER THREE

Hutch cast a worried glance at his partner as he slipped on his shoulder harness and shrugged into his lightweight jacket so the weapon nestled under his left armpit would be concealed. It had been over a week since the decision had come down from the review board about Starsky's future on the Bay City Police Department and the curly haired half of the duo had fallen into a deep depression, appearing to have lost interest in almost everything. For the first time since the shooting, Starsky seemed to be giving up.

He refused to talk about it with Hutch, storming into his bedroom and locking the door securely whenever Hutch tried to bring up the subject. Finally, Hutch stopped pushing so hard. He didn't know what to do for Starsky, how to ease this pain that wasn't so much physical as it was emotional and mental. All he could do was pray that Starsky would come around eventually and then the two of them could discuss their plans for the future realistically.

"What are you gonna do today, buddy?" Hutch asked as he prepared to leave for work.

"Nothing." Starsky muttered. This had been his standard reply to the same question for the past week.

"Oh, come on, Starsky." Hutch said in an exasperated voice "Why don't you get out of the house? Take a walk on the beach? Get some fresh air."

Starsky stared at Hutch sullenly for that suggestion and then turned his attention back to the drone of the television, effectively putting up a 'no trespass sign' and shutting Hutch out.

"I won't be home tonight until after midnight." Hutch told him as he looked around to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. "I'm pulling a double shift. I've got court all day and then I'm covering for Hamilton so he can go to the hospital to be with his wife. She just had surgery." Starsky grunted, the only acknowledgement that he had heard Hutch talking. Hutch sighed heavily and headed out of the door to go to work before he was late. He made a mental note to call the counselor Starsky had been seeing since the shooting and ask her advice on how to help his friend cope with this latest crisis in his life.

After Hutch left for the day, Starsky went back to bed and slept until noon. Since the shooting, sleep had become an effective way for him to escape from reality when the pressure got too be too much for him to handle. An insistent message from his full bladder forced him out of bed and into the bathroom to relief himself. He leaned one hand against the wall to balance himself as he stood over the commode. When he had finished, he washed his hands and shuffled into the kitchen to find something to eat for lunch.

He was making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when someone knocked at the door. Starsky frowned absently. He didn't get many visitors these days, especially while Hutch was at work. Leaving his partially prepared sandwich on the counter, he walked over to the sliding glass doors that opened onto the front deck of the cottage. Through the glass, he saw four men standing on the deck, all dressed in military uniforms. He was startled to recognize one of them as an old friend from the Academy, John Colby. Starsky's 'cop radar' immediately kicked in. John Colby had been sent to prison two years ago after Starsky and Hutch had discovered that he was working as a hit man who had been hired to kill a government witness in an upcoming trial. He had lied to Starsky and Hutch, using their previous friendship, to help him discover where the government had hidden the witness to protect him until the trial. It had been the direct testimony of the two former friends and detectives that had sentenced Colby to prison for twenty years.

Cautiously, Starsky opened the door, every sense heightened and on full alert for potential danger. Colby smiled at his former friend and said heartily, "Hi, Starsk. Glad to see you up and around after what happened."

"What the fuck do you want, John?" Starsky growled, standing in the doorway to keep the men from entering the cottage. "You're supposed to be in prison."

"I guess you haven't heard. I won my appeal and they let me out for good behavior." Colby said easily. "I heard about what happened to you and just thought I'd see how you were since I was in the neighborhood."

"I'm fine." Starsky said sullenly "So now you can go. I don't have anything to say to you."

"Well, actually, my friends here would like to talk to you." Colby said, indicating the other three men with him. "They've got a job offer you might be interested in."

"I don't think so." Starsky said firmly, taking a step back and reaching out to close the door. Before he could, Colby shouldered his way inside, followed closely by the other three men. Starsky's eyes darkened dangerously as he glared at the intruders. "I said I'm not interested." He repeated "Now get the hell out of here."

"Sergeant Starsky," said one of the men briskly "I'm Major O'Conners. United States Army. We've reviewed your military records and your police file. We could use a man like you working for us as an advisor on an upcoming mission."

"I said I'm not interested. Now get the fuck out of here." Starsky said, starting to lose patience with his uninvited guests.

"Come on, Dave." Colby wheedled "You don't owe the police department anything. They tossed you out on your can. You could at least listen to what the Major has to say."

"I assure you, Sergeant, we can make it worth your while. We're willing to pay you three times as much as you were receiving as a police officer and all you have to do is help my men plan a strategic rescue operation in Viet Nam."

"You have to be out of your mind!" Starsky snarled "You're crazy if you think I want anything to do with Viet Nam! That part of my life is dead and buried!"

"So is your career as a police officer." Colby pointed out sarcastically. "So what have you got to lose?"

"SHUT UP!" Starsky yelled, his temper flaring. He regretted his outburst immediately as a fiery pain tore through his chest and made him wince. Wrapping his left arm around his torso protectively, he stood his ground and stared at the four men in front of him. In a cold, deadly voice that he usually reserved for the bad guys, he said, "I'm only going to say this one more time. I…am…not…interested." He spoke each word clearly, emphasizing each syllable deliberately. "NOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE BEFORE I CALL THE COPS!"

"What are you gonna do, Davey? Call Hutch? The white knight to the rescue?" Colby said with a smirk. "Hell, you don't owe him anything either. He just stood by and let them almost blow you away."

Immediately Starsky attacked, his left fist smashing into Colby's jaw and sending him to his knees. Before he could continue his assault, one of the other men stepped forward, pulling a gun from beneath his jacket and smashed it against the base of Starsky's skull. Starsky's eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed to the floor, unconscious. Colby pulled himself to his feet with a scowl. He pulled back his foot and viciously kicked the brunet in the ribs, pulling a groan of pain from his unconscious victim.

"Damn, I forgot how hard the little prick could punch." Colby said, rubbing his aching jaw as he glanced at his companions. "I told you that he wouldn't go for it."

"Well, then I guess we go to plan B." Major O'Conners said grimly. He looked at the other two men. "Get him out to the van and give him a shot to make sure he stays out for a while." He glanced at Colby "You follow us in that jazzed up car of his. I'll call headquarters and have them meet us at the Canyon with Private Bixler."

The two men nodded and grabbed Starsky's limp body, carrying him out of the cottage and towards a nondescript brown van parked in the driveway. Colby grabbed the keys to the Torino which were hanging on a peg board near the front door and hurried outside to the red and white vehicle. The Major stayed behind long enough to make two phone calls before joining the rest of the men outside. He climbed into the van and they left the secluded cottage with the van in the lead and Colby following in Starsky's Torino.

CHAPTER FOUR

The two vehicles drove up into Benedict Canyon, stopping alongside a sheer drop off with no guardrail between the road and the edge of the steep incline. The four men waited patiently. While they waited, two of the men stripped off the clothes that Starsky was wearing, along with his wristwatch. They attempted to remove the two rings he wore on his left pinky finger but they were too tight. They couldn't be removed. One of the men had given Starsky a strong sedative that would keep the brunet blissfully unaware for at least the next four to six hours. Plenty of time for them to carry out the rest of their plan.

Twenty minutes after they arrived, a nondescript blue sedan pulled up and three more men climbed out of the vehicle. One of them was a young man approximately Starsky's height and age. He was even underweight like the recovering brunet. Even his coloring and hair color was the same. The Major handed the other man the clothes they had taken off Starsky and ordered him to change into them. The young man did as he was ordered. When he had finished, one of the other men slammed him in the back of the head with the butt of his gun. The man slumped to the ground without making a sound. Private Bixler had finished with his part of the mission.

The other men quickly put the young man behind the wheel of the Torino and slammed the door. Two of them moved to the rear of the car and pushed the heavy vehicle to the edge of the embankment. At a signal from the Major, they shoved the car over the edge. A few minutes later, there was a loud explosion and a plume of black smoke rose in the air. Peering over the edge of the cliff, they gazed down at the crashed Torino lying at the bottom of the canyon, engulfed in flames. Colby, the Major and two of the men climbed into the van, while the other men climbed into the other car and they drove away. Step two of their plan was completed.

The van drove for hours before reaching their destination, a hidden military compound deep in the desert, safe from prying eyes and uninvited visitors. The van drove through the gates without bothering to check in, the sticker on the windshield authorizing their entrance to the base. The driver maneuvered through the winding road to an isolated building at the far end of the base. He stopped at the gate and showed his identification before being allowed to pass into the restricted section of the compound. He drove around to the back of the large sprawling building and stopped the van. Two of the men grabbed Starsky, who was still unconscious and unaware of being manhandled by his captors.

The men entered the building and walked down a long corridor to a stairway that led underground. Colby and the Major followed as the men entered the top secret section of the base. The two men carrying Starsky's limp body took him to a room at the end of a long hall. The Major stepped forward and unlocked the door with the swipe of a keycard.

The room was bare except for a hospital bed sitting in the middle of the room. The two men laid Starsky down on the thin mattress, fastening thick leather cuffs around each ankle and his wrists, effectively restraining their captive. A separate strap was fastened around his chest. Satisfied that Starsky couldn't escape, they all left the room except for the Major and Colby.

"You'd better be right about him." The Major said gruffly. "We're putting a lot of money into this project."

"Don't worry, once you break him…he'll be perfect for your mission." Colby said confidently. "But getting him under your control is going to take some time."

"We have at least a year and all the experimental drugs and brainwashing techniques that the military has devised in the past five years at our disposal."

"It could take that long with this one." Colby said with a sneer. "He ain't gonna go down easy."

"We don't expect him to. That's what makes this such a challenge…for both of us." The Major looked at Colby with an arched brow "We're counting on you to tell us all of his weaknesses that can be used against him."

"His biggest weakness is that partner of his. I already told you that. But, he's also afraid of heights and of snakes. Plus, he was a POW in Nam for almost six months. He never talks about it, but you've read his military files. They really did a number on him."

"Yes and we can use that to our advantage. I'm sure there are a lot of memories locked away in that head of his that he'd rather not think about."

"You've seen his scars and read his records. He can deal with a hell of a lot of pain and still keep fighting. You'll have to find other ways to break his spirit."

"And we will. I assure you, we will." The Major said confidently.

"I hope that Hutchinson and the rest of the cops buy him killing himself because he was depressed over getting kicked off the force." Colby said, a touch of worry creeping into his voice. "Cause I guarantee it, you don't want Hutchinson on your trail. He's like a pit bull, once he latches on, he doesn't let go."

"Well, then for his sake, I hope Detective Hutchinson believes his partner is dead or I'm afraid we'll have to arrange a little accident for him too."

"How did you ever convince Bixler to go along with the switch?"

"Let's just say that Private Bixler wasn't informed of all the details of this operation." The Major said smugly. "He didn't know he was going to become the victim of an unfortunate accident."

"Yeah, but if they check the dental records, they'll know that's not Starsky's body."

"Don't worry about it. One of our operatives made sure that a copy of Private Bixler's dental records was switched for Detective Starskys. And his blood type is the same. The fire will take care of the rest for us. The body will be too burned for a physical identification and there won't be enough left of the fingers for them to take prints."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Of course I am. Sergeant Lukas is going back to the scene to make sure the body burned the way we wanted it to. Not that I believe that is necessary."

"I just want my chance to get even with him for putting me in prison for almost two years." Colby said, throwing am icy glare at the brunet lying on the bed.

"And you shall have it. That was our agreement. After his initial conditioning, you'll be an active participant in all of his sessions."

"Good." Colby said in a satisfied voice. "I wanna hear him begging me to make the pain go away."

The major clasped Colby's shoulder and said with a thin smile, "Let's go, shall we? It wouldn't do to have our guest wake up and find us here…not yet anyway."

Colby nodded but before leaving, he walked over to the bed and bent down over the bound brunet. He hissed into a curl covered ear, "Your ass is mine now, Starsky and you're going to be sorry that you were ever born." Chuckling to himself, Colby straightened up and left the room with the Major.

CHAPTER FIVE

It was quiet, much too quiet. Starsky groaned and tried to force open his heavy eyelids. The pounding in his skull felt like someone was on the inside of his head, trying to knock his way out with a sledgehammer. He panicked when he tried to move his hands but couldn't. Finally, his eyes snapped open and he looked around wildly. Plain unadorned white walls. A single doorway and no windows. Where the fuck am I?

As full awareness slowly returned, Starsky realized that the reason he couldn't move was because his hands and ankles were strapped down. He pulled at the leather restraints with a frustrated growl. The only thing he managed to do was rub the skin underneath the straps raw.

'WHERE AM I? LET ME GO!" Starsky yelled, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the empty room. ''I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE! COME IN HERE AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN!"

Nothing. There was no response to his screams. Starsky sighed and took stock of his injuries. Other than a monstrous headache, he didn't seem to hurt anywhere else. He vaguely remembered the men coming to the cottage, one of them being John Colby. It was apparent that they didn't intend to take no for an answer. The brunet noticed that he was lying on a hospital bed with the side rails pulled up and locked in place. He was dressed in an open backed gown with nothing on underneath. There was a chill in the air that made him shiver involuntarily.

Starsky continued yelling, demanding to be released, but his cries went unnoticed or ignored. He yelled until his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, his throat sore and irritated from his screams. The eerie silence wore on his ragged nerves. His heart pounded painfully in his chest as he contemplated what they had in mind for him. The fear of the unknown sent a chill of uncertainty down his spine.

Starsky continued to pull at the restraints even though he had little hope of freeing himself. It simply wasn't in his nature to give up without a fight. His stomach growled with hunger and he wondered how long he'd been unconscious. He glanced across the room as the door silently opened and a young woman stepped into the room.

She was a cute little redhead with an unblemished complexion and a smattering of freckles across her nose. She appeared to be in her early to mid-twenties with a petite figure. She was dressed in a white uniform and Starsky assumed that she must be a nurse. She was pushing a small cart with a towel covering whatever lay on top.

"Hey, am I glad to see you." Starsky said with a crooked smile. "Can you get me out of these things?" He pulled at the restraints on his wrists to emphasize his question. The young woman didn't say a word as she walked over to the bed and calmly started taking Starsky's vital signs. "My name's Dave. Dave Starsky. What's yours?" Starsky asked, hoping she would answer. Her silence was unnerving and frustrating. The woman still didn't say a word to the captive brunet.

She pulled the towel off the cart and Starsky saw various medical paraphernalia including plastic tubing and a full IV bag. "Hey, what are you doing that for?" Starsky demanded as the young woman used an alcohol swab to wipe the back of his right hand.

Deftly, she inserted a needle into the back of his hand and hooked it to the tubing that led to the IV bag. She reached up and hung the bag on a pole sitting beside the bed, making a few minor adjustments to the flow. Satisfied, she securely taped the needle to the back of Starsky's hand.

When she picked up the second piece of tubing on the cart, Starsky's eyes widened in alarm. He recognized it as a Foley catheter. He'd been in the hospital enough to know that catheterization was both uncomfortable and painful. And at the moment, totally unnecessary. "Hey, you don't have to do that!" Starsky objected "There ain't nothing wrong with me! I can get up and go to the bathroom, all you have to do is unfasten these damned straps." The woman ignored his complaints as she flipped back his hospital gown to expose his groin area.

"Come on, please don't do this…" Starsky said, hating the pleading tone in his voice as the woman continued with her task silently and efficiently. Since Starsky was lying on his back with his legs and hands restrained, his awkward position made it more painful than it needed be as she carefully began to insert the tube into the head of his penis. Starsky bit back a groan and tried to relax as she threaded the tube towards his bladder. Sweat beaded his forehead as his muscles cramped with the intrusion into his body "Please…stop…you're hurting me." Starsky whined, hoping the whimper in his voice would make her stop. But the nurse seemed determined to carry out her task. She ignored him as she continued with the procedure. Finally, the tube was in place. She used a needle to fill the ball inside Starsky's body with water so the tube wouldn't slip out, then she taped a piece of the tubing to the top of his thigh so that it ran over the side of the bed where she hooked the tube to a bag hanging on the side of the bed. She opened the clamp on the tubing and was rewarded with a few drops of golden urine. Starsky took several deep cleansing breathes to ease the painful cramps in his abdomen.

"Why are you doing this?" Starsky demanded "Where am I?"

Still without speaking, the woman knelt beside the bed and opened the nightstand, pulling out a metal bedpan. Placing one hand on Starsky's left hip, she expertly rolled him onto his side and slid the bedpan underneath him. Rolling him back onto his back so that he was positioned over the bedpan, she walked to the foot of the bed and used the handle to raise the head of the bed slightly. Then she quietly left the room, leaving Starsky alone once more.

Starsky choked back a frustrated outburst. Obviously, his captors had no intention of releasing him anytime soon, not even to go to the bathroom. Hutch! Where are you? I could use help right about now, buddy. He had no doubt that the big blond was tearing up the streets looking for him. However, if the military was involved in this whole mess, Starsky knew that there may not be any clues for Hutch to follow in order to solve his abduction. That was one thing he remembered quite clearly about his days in the military. They were experts at covering their tracks.

Starsky closed his eyes, trying not to think about the tightening his chest from overexerting himself. Without his pain meds, he knew that the tightening would soon turn into painful muscle spasms that would take his breath away with their intensity. Restrained the way he was, he wouldn't even be able to change positions to ease the worst of the pain. His throat was dry, his mouth parched. He wished he had thought to ask the nurse for drink of water before she left. She would have to return eventually to take him off the bedpan, he could ask her then. Two hours later, he was still waiting. With no windows in the room, he had no sense of time and with nothing to distract him from his thoughts, his anxiety level was rising rapidly.

Finally the nurse came back into the room. Starsky let out a deep sigh of relief. His lower back ached from being in one position for so long, along with other parts of his anatomy from sitting on the hard metal bedpan for an extended period of time. The redhead still didn't speak to him as she lowered the head of the bed and removed the bedpan. She replaced the empty bedpan in the nightstand beside the bed and pulled a light blanket up to Starsky's waist. Then she was gone again.

Lying there on that hospital bed with no idea of how long he had even been there, his hands and ankles restrained so he couldn't move, and hooked up to various paraphernalia to care for his most basic needs, Starsky couldn't feel anything but sorry for himself. The position he found himself evoked painful memories of his long hospital stay after the shooting. He was uncomfortable, he was bored, he was frustrated and he was afraid. Unaccustomed to sleeping on his back and with the bright overhead light shining in his face, he couldn't get any rest. Unable to sleep and isolated from any human contact except with the nurse who went about her tasks without speaking to him, he began drifting in and out of a semi-conscious stupor.

CHAPTER SIX

Hutch stood at the edge of the ravine, silently staring down into the canyon at the burned out hulk of the car. The color was indistinguishable, the metal burned and scorched from the intense heat of the flames. But it didn't matter. Hutch would have known his partner's car anywhere. His veiled eyes watched as the corpse was removed from behind the wheel and placed into a black body bag. A body burned beyond recognition, the limps drawn up and contracted from the heat.

No one dared to approach the big blond. Most of the men gathered there knew the history between Starsky and Hutch, the depth of their friendship and their legendary partnership. Even the few who didn't know Hutch sensed that it would be in their best interest not to disturb the man staring over the edge of the cliff into the canyon. Hutch stood rigid, almost at attention, with a closed off look on his face and a haunted expression in his ice blue eyes.

Captain Harold Dobey, a large burly black man in his early fifties, cautiously approached the grieving detective. He had been notified as soon as the burned out vehicle at the bottom of the canyon was identified as being Starsky's car. It had been Dobey's unpleasant duty to inform Hutch of the discovery. He had insisted that Hutch ride to the scene of the accident with him, realizing that the big blond was in no condition to drive himself. Hutch hadn't said a word since they had left headquarters and since arriving at the scene, he had been standing there, staring at the activity in the valley below. His silence, his rigid control over his emotions, was unnerving and totally out of character for the big blond, especially where David Starsky was concerned.

Dobey laid a gentle hand on Hutch's shoulder and said quietly, "There's nothing more we can do here. Why don't you come back to the house with me? You don't need to be alone right now."

"It's not Starsky." Hutch said in a voice that was barely above a whisper. "I don't know who it is…but it's not Starsky."

Recognizing the signs of shock when he saw them, Dobey took Hutch by the arm and tugged gently, easing him away from the edge of the cliff and back towards his car which was parked a short distance away. Hutch's movements were slow and jerky but he didn't resist the Captain's direction. Dobey opened the car door and settled the big blond into the passengers side of the vehicle. Dobey's own emotions were in turmoil. Starsky and Hutch had worked for him for almost ten years and, over time, had become almost like part of his own family. They were not only the best team of detectives on his squad, they were also close personal friends.

He had watched Hutch almost fall apart after Starsky was gunned down in the police garage. He had watched the big blond hunt down the man responsible with a single minded determination. And he had watched Hutch come to life again when the doctors said Starsky would live. The big blond had devoted himself to his partner's care, nursing him back to health and even taking an extended leave of absence to be there for him after Starsky was released from the hospital. They were like two halves of the same whole, complete only when they were together. They drew their strength from one another and when one was hurt, the other one felt his pain. They were soul bonded at the most fundamental level. At times, they even seemed to share a psychic connection, carrying on an entire conversation between themselves without ever saying a word. It could be unnerving to witness, even to someone like Dobey who had grown used to it over the years.

Dobey knew that the preliminary reports on the accident all pointed to the possibility of suicide. There were no skid marks, no signs of any other tire tracks on the lonely stretch of highway. It was also a theory that Dobey knew Hutch would never accept. The big black man was at a loss as to how to proceed. Taking Hutch home with him seemed to be the best solution at the moment. His wife, Edith, had always had a soft spot for both young detectives and his daughter, Rosie, considered them her favorite Uncles. Dobey hoped that the loving environment of his family and his home would help Hutch through the initial stages of grief. Other than the few words he had muttered back at the accident site, Hutch didn't say a word all the way back to town.

The Dobey home was located in a quiet residential neighborhood in an upper middle class section of town. Most of the neighbors were blue collar workers with children still living at home. Dobey pulled into the driveway in front of the two-story white frame house where he had lived with his family for almost fifteen years. The front door burst open and his eight year old daughter, Rosie, came running out to greet him. When she saw Hutch in the front seat beside her father, she clapped her hands and squealed happily. "Uncle Ken! Uncle Ken!" She paused, a puzzled frown on her face. "Where's Uncle Dave?" she asked innocently "Didn't he come with you?"

"Rosie, why don't you go in the house and tell your mother that Uncle Ken is joining us for supper and that he will be our guest for a few days?"

"Yes, sir." Rosie said, immediately obeying her father. As she turned and ran back into the house, Dobey glanced at Hutch who was still sitting in the car, staring through the windshield at the Dobey home. There was an expression of such profound grief etched on his face that Dobey felt his own heart ache in response.

"Come on, son." He said, opening the car door and helping Hutch to climb out of the vehicle. "Let's go inside." Numbly, Hutch followed Dobey's instructions, still without speaking. It seemed to be taking all of his concentration just to force his body to go through the motions. Dobey knew that kind of rigid control couldn't last forever and when he finally broke down, Hutch was going to need someone close to pick up the pieces. In the past, the person he could always count on being there to do that was Starsky but this time, Starsky was the reason he was in such unbearable pain.

Edith Dobey met her husband at the front door. She took one look at Hutch's stricken face and empty eyes and knew at once the reason why he was there with her husband on a weekday afternoon. She exchanged a glance with her husband, her eyes flooding with unshed tears, as she watched her husband lead the docile blond up the stairs towards the second floor guest room.

"Mama," Rosie's childish voice said from behind her. "Why is Uncle Ken so sad? Is something wrong with Uncle Dave? Did he get shot again?"

Edith turned to gather her youngest child in her loving embrace. "I'm sure Daddy will tell us what's going on when he comes back down. Right now he's helping Uncle Ken."

The precocious child nodded solemnly. As a police officers daughter, she had already learned at an early age how dangerous that job could be. She had been seriously traumatized when Starsky was gunned down in the police department parking lot. She hadn't been allowed to see him while he was in the hospital but she had seen him after he was released. She had seen how frail and fragile her favorite Uncle was and had witnessed his painful recovery firsthand.

She followed her mother into the kitchen to help start supper. It was a long time before her father joined them. He slumped down at the kitchen table and buried his face in his hands, sighing heavily. Leaning against her father's side and seeking the warmth of his embrace, Rosie said quietly "Something bad happened to Uncle Dave, didn't it?"

"Yes, baby." Dobey said, raising his head and catching Edith's loving gaze from across the room. He took a deep breath before delivering the devastating news to his wife and daughter. "There was an accident up in Benedict Canyon. Starsky's car went off the road and exploded. He didn't make it."

"He got burned?" Rosie asked in an alarmed voice, her eyes searching her father's face questioningly. "Did it hurt?"

"No, baby." Dobey said reassuringly, putting his arm around Rosie's slender shoulders and giving her a tight hug. "I'm sure he didn't suffer." He gave his daughter another heartfelt hug and then playfully swatted her on the butt. "Why don't you go outside and play so I can talk to your mother?"

Rosie knew she was being dismissed so the adults could talk privately. She nodded solemnly. "I love you, Daddy" she whispered, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I love you too, Rosie." Dobey replied, feeling the burn of tears stinging his eyes as he watched her slowly walk over to the back door and let herself out. He had done his best over the years to keep the violence of his job away from the family that he loved but sometimes it was impossible, especially since Starsky and Hutch had become so much a part of their lives.

As the door shut behind her, he looked at Edith and said, "There were no signs of anyone forcing him off the road or skid marks to indicate that he lost control of the car."

"You're not suggesting that David…." Edith said, her words trailing off as her mind refused to consider the implications of her husband's statement.

"That's the way the preliminary report is going to read." Dobey said "All the evidence at the scene suggests that David deliberately drove off the edge of the road."

"Then the evidence is wrong. It has to be. David would never do anything like that."

"According to the police psychologist, he's been seriously depressed every since the shooting. I'm worried that the letter from the review board stating that the department was placing him on permanent disability status may have been the last straw."

"But do you really think he'd kill himself?"

"I don't know. I just don't know. We'll have to wait and see what the investigation turns up. In the meantime, I think Hutch needs to stay here with us."

"Of course. He shouldn't be alone right now. How is he?"

"About the way you would expect. The only thing he's said since I got the call about the car being found was that it wasn't Starsky in the car." He paused and then added, "The body was too burned for visual identification. We'll have to rely on the fingerprints and dental records for a positive ID."

"My god, hasn't Hutch been through enough in the past year? First he comes so close to losing David after the shooting and now this? He'll never make it…he'll never be the same…not without David at his side."

"I know. That's what worries me." Dobey admitted "With Starsky gone, we could very easily lose Hutch too. I already took his gun away from him and hid it."

"Unfortunately, we can't watch over him twenty-four hours a day for the rest of his life." Edith pointed out. "All we can do is pray for the good lord to watch over him for us."

Harold Dobey nodded. He stood up and walked over to his wife, pulling her into his arms and holding her close, as they shared their mutual grief over the loss of one friend and their concern for another.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Starsky had lost complete track of time. A minute seemed like an hour, an hour felt like a day. He was scared and alone, the isolation from any other human contact breaking through his defenses. He pleaded with the nurse to talk to him when she came in to do her routine care. Just one word, anything just so he could hear the sound of her voice. But she remained silent as she changed his IV, emptied the catheter bag, checked his vital signs or put him on the bedpan. If he asked for a drink, she gave him some water. If he requested a blanket because he was cold, she got him one. She just refused to speak to him no matter how much he pleaded. Her continuing silence confused and upset Starsky. Why wouldn't she talk to him. He longed to hear the sound of another person's voice.

His wrists and ankles were still restrained and his muscles felt stiff and cramped from his enforced inactivity. There was a constant ache in his lower back and the itching from his healing scars was driving him crazy. He knew he was being given some kind of drug through his IV line on a regular basis that left him groggy and disoriented. His body, already weakened from his long recovery from the shooting, was getting weaker as the hours slowly passed by. Was this what his captors had in mind? To just keep him here like this until he slowly wasted away?

He glanced towards the doorway when he heard the door open.Expecting to see the redheaded nurse, he was startled to see John Colby walk into the room. Colby smiled coldly as he walked over to the bed and looked down at the restrained brunet.

"You should have listened to my friends and accepted their offer." Colby told him smugly. "Now, we're going to have to do things the hard way."

"What the fuck do you want with me?" Starsky demanded, a hard edge creeping into his voice as he stared into the eyes of his former friend.

"I thought the Major made that perfectly clear. He wants you to help us out on a little mission in Viet Nam."

"You're both fucking crazy if you think I'm going to agree to help you do anything!"

"You're not exactly in any position right now to argue, are you? We can do whatever we want with you and there's nothing you can do to stop us."

"You can't just snatch a cop and expect to get away with it." Starsky reminded him curtly. "Hutch won't stop looking for me until he finds me."

"Unfortunately, everyone back in Bay City thinks you're dead. Including Hutch." Colby told him with a certain morbid pleasure. "An unfortunate accident, I'm afraid."

"You're lying! Hutch won't believe it! Not without a body!"

"But there was a body. Too bad it was burned beyond any recognition and when they compare dental charts, they're going to match perfectly. Same blood type, same height, same weight…everything is going to be a match."

"Not the fingerprints! You can't copy those!"

"No, but prints aren't much use when the fingers are burned so badly there's no way to take any prints."

"Even if you can make Hutch believe it was me, he's still not going to stop until he finds whoever is responsible for killing me!" Starsky said confidently.

"True, but the official report is going to say that it was a suicide. You were so depressed when the review board pensioned you out that you drove your car off the cliff yourself. There won't be anyone for Hutch to hunt down for your murder." Colby said with a thin smile.

"Hutch will never believe that!" Starsky muttered but his voice didn't sound as confident as it had. Someone had gone to great lengths to set up this deception. The brunet suddenly realized that it could take a long time before anyone discovered the truth. With the military behind his abduction, he could very well disappear while everyone back home believed that he was dead. Starsky knew that he was in a lot of trouble and for the first time since he woke up, his hopes for a speedy rescue began to diminish.

He was scared, not only for himself but for Hutch too. He knew how much the big blond would grieve if he thought Starsky was dead. He knew because that was how he would feel. The pain would be unbearable and even friends like the Dobey family and Huggy Bear wouldn't be able to ease his pain. Going on alone without the other one at his side was unimaginable. The only release from his grief would be his own death.

"It doesn't matter if Hutch ever accepts it or not…as long as everyone else does." Colby snapped. "Even if he tries, Hutch will never find you. Right now you're on a secured military base in a restricted area over two hundred miles from Bay City." Colby saw some of the defiance fade from the sapphire eyes staring back at him. He was going to enjoy breaking the brunet's spirit and making him suffer.

"How do you plan on making me agree to do what you want?" Starsky demanded "By keeping me like this?"

"No, this is only the beginning. Surely you must remember how effective the military is at conditioning and brainwashing subjects. Their techniques are even more advanced now then they were a few years ago."

"Isolation, drugs, sleep deprivation, coercion, torture…" Starsky said quietly, naming off the various techniques he knew were most often used.

"You got it." Colby said in a pleased voice. "And that's just the beginning. The more you fight it, the longer it'll take and the harder it will be on you. But I'm sure you know that already." Colby leaned forward and grabbed Starsky's chin in his hand forcing him to look at his nemesis. "I'm going to enjoy watching you suffer. I'm going to break you, David, no matter how long it takes."

Starsky spat in his tormentor's face which only enraged Colby further. Drawing back his hand, he slapped Starsky across the face, snapping his head sharply to one side and splitting open his bottom lip. Starsky almost welcomed the pain. It reinforced his determination not to give up, no matter what they did to him. Starsky felt Colby twisting his fingers in his dark curls, forcing the brunet to look back at him. Colby saw the smoldering rage in the depths of those dark blue eyes and recognized the unspoken challenge clearly. He chuckled softly as he released his grip on Starsky's hair and patted his cheek almost fondly.

"Face it, David. We have you right where we want you and this is one battle you aren't going to win."

"Fuck you, asshole!" Starsky growled as Colby turned to walk away. Although he had heard Starsky's defiant words, Colby ignored them as he stepped out of the room.

The Major was waiting for him in the hallway. He looked at the younger man questioningly and said, "Is he ready for the next step?"

"Oh, yeah…he's ready." Colby said smugly. "And he's gonna fight you every step of the way."

"Let him fight. That just makes things more challenging for us, doesn't it?" The Major smiled coldly. "This is the perfect opportunity for us to try out some of our new techniques we haven't quite perfected yet. I'm sure that Sergeant Starsky will turn out to be an excellent test subject."

"Just don't let your guard down with him. No matter how much you think you have the upper hand, you'll never control him completely."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. Some of the experimental drugs we have at our disposal are quite effective at destroying a man's will and making him conform to our wishes."

"Just don't say I didn't warn you." Colby said "Remember, I know David Starsky better than you do. There's something deep inside of him, in his very soul, that you will never be able to control completely."

"Then let the games begin. I'm looking forward to it." The Major said as he turned and walked down the hall. Colby hesitated for a moment and then walked in the opposite direction. He honestly didn't care what lay in store for Starsky. When the Major had approached him seeking a good candidate for the mission they had in mind, Colby had suggested Starsky out of spite and a need for revenge. A careful review of Starsky's military record and confidential police files had convinced the Major and his associates that Starsky was indeed the perfect man for what they had planned.

It had taken almost six months to put everything in place. The shooting in the police garage had been an event they had used to their advantage. A lot of time and effort had gone into planning Starsky's abduction. Colby had warned them from the beginning that the brunet would never willing convert to their cause. To the military, Starsky was expendable. He could always be eliminated if he proved to be too difficult to handle. Either way, Colby would be there to extract his pound of flesh and that was all he cared about.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The synagogue was filled with police officers, family and friends who had come to pay their last respects to David Michael Starsky. Because of the condition of the body, the casket was closed and covered with a flag. An enlarged picture of Starsky, taken shortly before the shooting, was mounted on an easel beside the casket.

Hutch sat in the front row, huddled beside Rachel Starsky. Her youngest son, Nicky, sat on the other side of his grieving mother. Other members of Starsky's large extended family were in attendance; his Uncle Al and Aunt Rosie, numerous cousins and other aunts and uncles who still lived in New York. Huggy Bear was there along with two of his waitresses, Anita and Diana. Sweet Alice was there, dressed demurely, and wiping her puffy eyes with a lacy hanky. People from all walks of life whose lives Starsky had touched throughout the years. People who had sincerely cared about the man, not just the cop.

Hutch was beyond consoling. He had retreated into a world of his own, wrapped up in his own grief and pain. Even though the dental records had positively identified the body in the car as being Starsky, the big blond still refused to believe the unofficial findings that suggested that the brunet had committed suicide due to severe depression. Hutch vowed that he would do whatever it took, even if it took the rest of his life, to find out what had really happened to his partner and friend. It was the only reason he had to go on living with Starsky gone.

In the three days that had passed since the Torino had been found at the bottom of the Canyon, the Dobey family had insisted that Hutch stay with them, afraid to let the grieving blond out of their sight. The only one Hutch seemed to be able to share the depth of his grief with had been Rachel Starsky. When she had arrived from New York, along with Nick and the other Starsky relatives from back east, she had immediately insisted on seeing Hutch.

As soon as he saw his partner's mother, Hutch had broken down in heart rendering sobs when the petite woman took him into her arms and embraced him. Rachel had held him, rocking him gently back and forth as if he were a child, until his sobs finally stopped. The heartbreaking scene had left a deep impression on everyone who witnessed it.

Rachel had calmly discussed the plans for the traditional Jewish ceremony which would be extended to include the official police department ceremony. Against Nicky's strenuous objections, Rachel had insisted that Hutch would be included in the traditional Jewish customs as part of the family even though the big blond was not Jewish. Despite his own overwhelming grief, Hutch was grateful for her thoughtfulness. She knew how close her son had been to his partner and how much the two men had meant to each other. They were brothers of the heart, even if they were not brothers by blood.

Her decision did not set well with her youngest son but Nick Starsky knew better than to go against his mother's wishes. Nicky and Starsky had grown apart due to their forced separation during the years and Nicky had always been jealous of the relationship Starsky and Hutch had shared. He felt that Hutch had taken his rightful place in his brother's life.

That was why Hutch was now sitting in the front row with Rachel and Nicky. A few minutes before the service began, Hutch had joined Rachel and the rest of the Starsky family mourners, to observe the first formal act of mourning, kriah, or the tearing of a black ribbon pinned to their sleeves. In the Jewish religion, the torn sleeve symbolized the tear that was in their hearts. Most of the Jewish mourners had the tear on the right side but Rachel, Nicky and Hutch wore the tear on the left to acknowledge the difference in their relationship to Starsky.

The Rabbi stepped to the front of the room and the service began. Thankfully, the Jewish portion of the ceremony was brief. Selections were read from Psalms and Hutch delivered a short eulogy. When the big blond broke down, unable to finish, Nick had finished it. Despite the differences between Hutch and the youngest Starsky son, they had agreed to put those differences aside for Rachel's sake. Afterwards, the other mourners were allowed to say a few words of their on if they chose to. Huggy Bear, Captain Dobey and even little Rosie all said a few words about the loss of their friend and colleague.

Hutch, Nick, Huggy, Captain Dobey, Al Starsky, and another Starsky uncle, acted as the pall bearers, carrying the simple pine casket out to the waiting hearse after the ceremony. At the gravesite, the Rabbi said a few words and then the police department gave the traditional twenty-one gun salute to their fallen comrade. The police honor guard carefully folded the flag covering the casket and solemnly presented it to Rachel Starsky. She smiled sadly as she accepted the gesture of respect, then she surprised everyone by turning and presenting the flag to Hutch. The blond broke down in tears as he accepted the precious gift, clutching it close to his heart.

After the casket was lowered into the ground, each of the mourners, starting with Hutch, Rachel and Nicky, shoveled some earth into the grave. This followed another old Jewish tradition which was meant to show a continuing concern for the deceased as family members made sure the final journey is completed.

Once the service was over, the Starsky family formed two lines through which the other mourners walked on their way back to their cars, offering words of comfort to the family mourners as they did. Afterwards, the family members returned to Rosie and Al Starsky's home where they would sit Shivah for the next seven days. Once again, Rachel had insisted that Hutch be included in the age old tradition.

There were several customs involving Shivah that Rachel had carefully explained to Hutch, including covering all the mirrors in the home, not wearing shoes and sitting on low stools instead of the sofa or chairs. For close family members such as Rachel and Nicky, the traditional mourning period was a year. During that time, kaddish, would be recited for eleven months and one day, either in the morning or in the evening. Although Hutch was under no obligation to follow that particular tradition, it was one he intended to follow. Starsky had taught him the words to the centuries old prayer years ago when they both realized the depth of their friendship and commitment to one another.

Hutch had barely made it through the day, the depth of his grief so overwhelming that he was almost catatonic. He followed the directions he was given either by Captain Dobey or Rachel Starsky, behaving like an obedient child who needed someone to hold his hand. When they arrived at Al's home, Rachel had immediately insisted that Hutch lay down as soon as they finished eating the traditional mourning dinner prepared by family and friends. She had been keeping a close eye on the big blond all day, saddened by the depth of his grief for her eldest son. Nicky was following the customs and traditions but it was obvious that his grief for his brother didn't run nearly as deep as Hutch's did. Rachel was glad that she had decided to include Hutch in the old traditions. He had as much right to be there as Nicky did, maybe even more. She knew that if it hadn't been for Hutch, she would have lost her eldest son long ago to the violence of his chosen career.

Although she knew the circumstances surrounding her son's death, like Hutch, Rachel Starsky refused to believe that her David had taken his own life. He loved life too much to go against one of the oldest teachings of their faith, that suicide was a criminal act and that when a person commits suicide, the soul has nowhere to go. She was grateful that the official reports released by the department listed his death as accidental. Her son had earned the right to be remembered with honor and not shame.

Rachel had never gotten over the loss of her husband when she was in her early thirties. Now, losing her David, had left her feeling like a very old woman with little reason left to go on living. Nicky had always been a disappointment. It was David who had been the strong one, her rock, her pride and joy. She had never entirely forgiven herself for sending him to California to live with Al and Rosie when he was so young but in her heart, she knew she had done the right thing for her eldest son. If he had stayed in New York, he would have turned out just like his brother and that would have broken her heart beyond repair. Now all she had left was her memories of the child he had been and the man he had become.

CHAPTER NINE

The sound of the door opening aroused Starsky from his stupor. He watched with disinterest as Colby pushed a cart into the room with a portable television sitting on it. Colby pushed the stand close to the bed where Starsky could see the screen clearly and plugged it in.

"Thought you might want to watch the news." Colby said with a sneer "Catch up on what's going on in the world." He flipped on the TV and switched through the channels until he found the local station.

Starsky struggled to focus his attention on the screen. He listened as the newscaster recapped his alleged accidental death three days before, the victim of a one car accident. The reporter gave a brief summary of his career with the police department, reporting his numerous commendations and achievements, ending with the shooting in the police garage that almost killed him the previous year and the subsequent investigation that had brought down one of the most powerful men in the country. Then a short clip came on the screen, images filmed at his 'funeral'. Starsky felt a lump lodge in his throat when he saw his mother and Hutch appear on the screen. His mother was obviously grief stricken but Starsky's attention was focused primarily on Hutch. The big blond looked completely devastated, his eyes flat and lifeless, the color gone from his face. Starsky closed his eyes to block out the sight of his closest friend in so much pain.

Colby laughed as he turned off the TV and pulled the plug. Leaning over the side rail of the bed, he got in Starsky's face and said, "As far as everyone back in Bay City is concerned, you're dead and you ain't never coming back." He chuckled with pleasure. "I wonder how long it'll take for 'golden boy' to eat a bullet and put himself out of his own misery."

Starsky's eyes snapped open, the sapphire pupils filled with a cold, deadly rage. "If anything happens to Hutch, I'll fucking kill you with my bare hands!"

"You're not in any position to threaten me, old friend." Colby said with a mocking laugh. "You're dead and buried…nobody cares and nobody is going to be looking for you. Welcome to hell…" He stepped back and turned, wheeling the cart with the TV on it out of the room.

Starsky lay there, his eyes closed, the images he'd seen on the TV screen playing over and over in his mind. His chest ached and his eyes burned with unshed tears as he pictured Hutch's grief stricken face in his mind. His head pounded as he searched desperately for that almost psychic bond he had always shared with Hutch, a bond neither one of them completely understood but one they simply accepted. For the first time since he had met the big blond back in the academy, Starsky couldn't feel that bond anymore. He was alone, painfully alone, and that knowledge cut through his heart like a knife.

I'm still alive, buddy…don't leave me here alone! Please…I don't want to be alone. I'm not dead! I'm not dead! Starsky's mind raced frantically, his thoughts in chaos. He knew he was still being drugged and that whatever they were pumping into his veins was keeping him disoriented, his emotions dangerously close to the surface. The isolation and lack of human contact was taking its toll. He found himself talking aloud just to hear the sound of his own voice.

Shortly after Colby left after showing Starsky his own private viewing of his funeral, the nurse came in. Silently, she took his vital signs and injected something into his IV. Starsky had given up talking to her since she never answered him anyway. Within minutes, the brunet felt a heaviness settle over his body and his eyes slowly drifted closed.

A short time later, Colby opened the door and peered into the room, pleased to see that the brunet was out cold. He nodded at the two men accompanying him and the three men stepped into the room. One of them deftly removed the catheter and the IV, while the other man unfastened the restraints around the brunet's wrists and ankles. When they had finished with their tasks, they lifted Starsky's limp body off the bed and laid him on the floor in the far corner of the room. They wheeled the hospital bed out of the room, leaving Colby alone with the brunet. Walking over to where Starsky's unconscious body lay on the cold tile floor, Colby smiled coldly as he knelt down and pulled a long length of thinly linked chain out of his jacket. He fastened one end of the chain around the long vertical pole fastened securely to the wall, padlocking it in place. The other end of the chain he fastened around Starsky's left ankle, also using a padlock to fasten it into place.

Satisfied that Starsky was securely, Colby removed the hospital gown leaving his former friend lying nude in the slightly chilled room. Whistling under his breath, Colby left the room, pausing in the outside hallway to turn down the temperature control, lowering the temperature in the room to a chilly fifty degrees. Cold enough to be uncomfortable for Starsky when he awoke but not cold enough to cause hypothermia. Colby also turned off the switch that controlled the lights in the room, leaving Starsky in total darkness. Phase two of the brunet's conditioning was about to begin.

Almost two hours passed before Starsky began to regain consciousness. As he struggled towards awareness, he immediately sensed that something was different but he wasn't sure what it was. As he became more aware of his surroundings, he shivered involuntarily at the coldness in the room. Slowly, the hardness of the floor he was lying on registered in his clouded mind. He groaned as he forced open his heavy eyelids. At first he thought he had suddenly gone blind when he found himself in pitch blackness. As panic clawed at his throat, he saw a faint line of light shining underneath the door from the hallway and realized that lights in the room had been turned off. At the same time, he realized that his hands and legs were no longer restrained with the thick leather cuffs.

His limbs hurt from being restrained in one position for so long, unused muscles protesting any sudden movements. Starsky lay there, fighting to control his breathing, as his mind tried to assimilate this new information and figure out what it all meant. Slowly, he took stock of his new environment. The room was cold, dark and uncomfortable. His hands were free but there was something fastened around his left ankle and he was no longer dressed in the open backed gown. The IV and the catheter had both been removed leaving his penis irritated and sore. Regardless of the change in his confinement, he was still a prisoner in this room and at the mercy of his captors.

Moving slowly and with great care, Starsky eased himself to a sitting position, ignoring the stiffness in his arms and legs. After lying flat on his back for an extended period of time, it was a vast relief just to be able to move around a little on his own. Running his hand down the length of his leg, he found the chain that was fastened around his ankle. He followed the length of the chain, estimating it to be approximately six feet long. He found the metal pole it was fastened to and used it to pull himself to his feet. He swayed unsteadily as a wave of vertigo threatened to send him crashing to the floor.

After the dizziness passed, Starsky ran his hand along the bar. It ran along the length of one wall, giving him a relatively fair amount of freedom to move around the room at will. He tried to think, to plan a way out of this situation, but his mind was still fuzzy from the drugs flowing through his system. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to keep his thoughts organized and rational.

Feeling his way around the room with his hands, he tested his boundaries. He found the tiny bathroom in one corner of the room. It wasn't much larger than a closet with a commode and a tiny shower stall. Although the chain was long enough for him to reach the commode, the shower was beyond his stretch. The rest of the room was empty and the chain on his ankle wasn't long enough for him to reach the doorway. Exhausted from his short exploration of his cell, he slumped on the floor and leaned his back against the wall, trying to catch his breath. An overwhelming feeling of sadness and loss swept over him. He found himself wondering if he would ever see any of his friends or family again or would he slowly lose his mind and his soul to his captors.

CHAPTER TEN

Starsky instinctively raised his arm, shielding eyes from the bright light that filtered into the room from the hallway as the door was opened. He heard a soft clink as the tray with his supper was sat on the floor and the door swung shut. Carefully, Starsky felt his way across the room as far as the chain would allow. He had to stretch out to reach the tray and pull it closer. He scooted back to the safety of a corner of the room and used his sense of touch and smell to identify the food on the floor in front of him. A sandwich on stale bread, a small container of lumpy mashed potatoes, and a tin cup of lukewarm watered down coffee. It seemed as if a lifetime had passed since he had awakened to the darkness of his own private hell. With no sense of time, Starsky didn't know if it had actually been weeks or just a few days.

He was only allowed one meal a day and without any silverware to use, he was forced to eat with his fingers. The sandwich consisted of a thin slice of baloney that tasted almost as stale as the bread. The potatoes were cold and unseasoned, tasting more like paste than food. Still, he forced himself to eat the meager offering, knowing that he needed the food to keep up his strength. The servings he was given were small, barely enough to take the edge off his hunger. And the one cup of watered down coffee he was allowed, one in the morning and one in the evening, did little to quench his constant thirst.

Since he was no longer on an IV or had a catheter, he was also denied contact with the nurse. Even though she never spoke as she went about her routine tasks, she had been his only source of human contact in the first few days of his captivity. Since Colby had shown him the news coverage of his own alleged death and funeral, leaving him alone to wake up in a cold, darkened room, he hadn't seen or talked to anyone. The loneliness was almost intolerable. Even the sound of his own voice no longer offered much comfort.

Starsky knew he couldn't take much more of this treatment. Already weakened when his ordeal began, he had grown steadily weaker from the lack of exercise and inadequate food. Most of his time was spent in a stupor, not quite awake but not asleep either. He had an almost constant headache, his mind was sluggish and slow to respond. He wondered if they were giving him drugs in his food or drinks but he needed the nourishment to survive. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Hutch again. He wanted his old life back.

He yelped in surprise when the overhead light in the room suddenly came on, blinding him with its brightness. Whimpering, he drew his knees up against his chest and buried his face in his hands to avoid the unexpected glare. He heard the door to his prison open and several sets of footsteps coming into the room but he refused to look up. He heard the sound of something being moved into the room and a soft rattling sound that he couldn't immediately identify. He flinched when he felt someone's hand touch his ankle and tried, without much success, to pull away. After a moment, the touch was removed and then the footsteps left the room, the door closing behind them.

Starsky remained sitting against the wall with his face hidden in his hands for several long minutes, afraid to move. The only readily identifiable emotion he could feel was fear. After a while, he noticed that the temperature in the room seemed different, warmer and more comfortable. He had grown so used to the cold that the change didn't register at first. Finally, he raised his head, squinting against the glare of the light that hurt his eyes from his long isolation in the darkness.

He was surprised to discover that the room had been transformed. A single sized roll away bed had been placed against the far wall, covered with a thin blanket but no pillow. Even more surprising was that the shackle around his ankle had been unlocked, all he had to do was remove it. With shaky hands, he removed the chain and slowly eased himself to his feet. He walked over to the bed where he found a pair of worn gray sweatpants and a white tee shirt lying neatly folded on top of the blanket. There was also a threadbare towel and a thin bar of soap, similar to the kind you found in motel rooms.

Starsky grabbed the towel and soap, shuffling across the room to the tiny bathroom. Starsky's chain had been barely long enough for him to make it to the commode. He couldn't reach the shower before. Now all he wanted was to feel clean again.Swaying unsteadily, he reached up and turned on the shower, the water wasn't much more than a fast drip and was only lukewarm but it still felt like heaven to the brunet who had not been able to bathe since his ordeal began.

His face was covered with a heavy growth of beard but he hadn't been allowed a razor to shave with. Starsky might prefer his ragged jeans and faded tee shirts to pressed slacks and sports shirts but he had always been fastidious when it came to his personal hygiene. He carefully lathered his body, washing away the odor of his captivity. He would have given almost anything to be able to brush his teeth and shampoo his hair but those luxuries were still being denied.

After showering as best he could under the circumstances, he dried off and dressed in the clean clothes lying on the bed. Then he finally allowed himself to stretch out on the thin mattress, sighing in relief at the simple comfort of not being forced to sleep on the hard floor any longer. His entire world had been reduced to this room and the whims of his captors. Even a restful night's sleep had been denied him. He was exhausted and tired most of the time. He found himself dozing for brief periods of time and then waking up again.

Starsky was familiar enough with the tactics used by the military to exert control over a political prisoner or to interrogate a resistant double agent, to recognize the various techniques that had been used on him thus far. Controlling his environment, denying him simple things like a bath or a decent meal, even the lack of human contact and isolation were all techniques meant to break down his will and make him more susceptible to what they wanted. The only thing he couldn't figure out was why they wanted him to join their cause so much that they were willing to go to such lengths to gain his cooperation.

Despite his relief at the few simple amenities they had decided to allow him to have, Starsky was no where close to giving up. He would not let them win. He would not let them control him. He would not become one of their mindless operatives, obeying their orders without any questions or remorse. He would not lose the part of himself that made him David Michael Starsky. He threw one arm up over his eyes and tried to sleep. It was the only form of escape he had left.

He must have dozed off. When he woke up, he was pleasantly surprised to find a tray of food sitting on the floor in front of the door. It was a decent meal this time on a real plate with real silverware. The aroma of fried chicken, mashed potatoes with rich dark gravy, and a hot roll smeared with butter made his mouth water and his stomach cramp. This time the coffee was rich and hearty with plenty of cream and sugar, the way he usually drank it. Smiling happily, he began shoveling in the food.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Colby paced the Major's office restlessly. "How much longer is it gonna take before we can start the next phase?" he demanded almost belligerently.

"We should be able to start this afternoon." The Major said offhandedly. "He's been receiving the drugs for almost three weeks now, he should be more docile and controllable. Combine that with the isolation and the lack of comfort, he should be ready for us to proceed."

"Good." Colby said with a satisfied smile. "So what's next?"

"We'll start by seeing how cooperative he's going to be and if he refuses to cooperate, we'll start using more physical discipline to remind him exactly who is in charge."

Colby hid a smile at the thought of Starsky being punished and suffering even more than he had already had. His goal was to completely break the man's spirit, to see his nemesis cowering at his feet and begging him for mercy. The major sorted through some papers on his desk, then glanced at his second in command. "Go to the control room and tell Private Masters to give you whatever you need to discuss things with our friend."

Colby saluted smartly and left the room. He hurried down the corridor and up the steps to the second floor of the compound. Inside the tiny control room, he found the officer in charge slouched in a chair, watching the monitor that showed the inside of Starsky's room. The former detective was lying on the bed and appeared to be asleep.

"How long has he been like that?" Colby asked, leaning down to peer at the monitor with interest.

"Most of the morning. He ate his breakfast and then paced around the room for a while. Then he laid back down a couple of hours ago."

"I'm going to pay him a little visit. I need a stun belt to put on him"

.The other officer shrugged and shoved himself to his feet. He walked over to a cabinet and unlocked it, taking out a thick leather belt that he handed to Colby. Unlike an ordinary belt, this one was almost six inches wide and was designed to be securely locked around a man's waist so that it couldn't be removed by the person wearing it. Wires concealed in the base of the belt would conduct an electrical shock through the body of whoever