Starsky and Hutch 1. Chapter 1

**A MATTER OF SURVIVAL**

**When Starsky is taken prisoner by Simon Marcus and his cult, he must find the will to survive against unimaginable odds. This is a very dark story. Scenes of graphic violence and abuse. PLEASE DO NOT READ ANY FARTHER IF THIS TOPIC OFFENDS YOU!**

**A/N: This story is being written with the kind permission of TLR who wrote the original Times and Seasons series. The original idea for this story came from the first story in the Time and Seasons series, and was further inspired by the story **_**Times and Seasons Journel—Missing Time.**_** I hope that I can do justice to TLR'S original concept. If you have not read this series, I strongly recommend that you do. It is fantastic! This series was also the indirect inspiration for Starsky's multiple personality disorder in my story **_**On The Dark Side**_**. This is a pre-sequel of sorts to TLR's original series. Some of the longer scenes in this story are taken directly from her story and are credited as such. This is strictly a Starsky story, very little Hutch except in the beginning and briefly at the end. **

**CHAPTER 1**

David Starsky and his partner, Ken Hutchinson, cautiously climbed out of Starsky's Candy Apple Red Torino with the broad white racing stripe and looked around. They were in the Warehouse district of Bay City. At this time of night, the area was dark and deserted. Acting on a phone call from a reliable source, they were here to meet with a nervous snitch who claimed to have some information about a recent string of murders that had been occurring on their beat.

"What time is it?" Starsky asked, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the stillness around them. He pulled his lightweight cloth jacket tighter around him against the chill in the night air.

"Almost midnight." Hutch replied. He squinted his eyes as he peered into the darkness around them. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he tried to ignore a sudden urge to climb back into the Torino and get the hell out of there.

"They said to meet 'em on the other side of the building." Starsky reminded his partner unnecessarily.

"Starsky, I'm not too sure about this," Hutch said, voicing his concerns. "It's too quiet…too dark. They could be setting us up."

"Only one way to find out." Starsky said, as he reached beneath his jacket and drew his Beretta from his shoulder harness. He flipped off the safety and held the gun in both hands with the barrel pointed upward. Hutch copied his partner's actions and drew his Magnum, holding it in the ready position, as the two men began to cautiously walk towards the empty warehouse where they were supposed to meet their informant.

When they reached the opposite side of the building, they paused and listened for any unusual sounds. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. The only sounds they heard was the skittering of the rats rummaging in the trash piled beside the building.

"Is anybody here?" Hutch said, raising his voice slightly. "It's Detective Hutchinson and Detective Starsky!" No Answer. He glanced at his partner and shrugged his shoulders. "Looks like he decided not to show."

Starsky nodded as he slowly lowered his gun. "Let's get out of here. This place gives me the creeps." He flipped the safety back on and slipped his gun back into his holster. Hutch did the same.

"Come on, buddy." Hutch said "I'll buy you a beer at The Pits." Smiling, the men turned to walk back to the car. As they began to cross the distance between the car and the building, there was a sudden shifting of the shadows to Hutch's left and four men appeared out of the darkness. They were all dressed in black, including black ski masks, so they blended into the night. Two of them held guns aimed directly at both detectives.

"Drop your guns to the ground and kick them to me." One of the men ordered in a husky whisper.

Realizing that they were outnumbered, Starsky and Hutch carefully pulled their weapons from their holsters and dropped them to the ground, kicking them in the general direction of the group of men. Once they were unarmed, two more men stepped out of the darkness. These men were also dressed in black, long black robes with an inverted red cross embossed on the front of the garment.

Starsky drew in a quick, sharp breath at the sight of the two additional men. He recognized the robes they were wearing immediately. Simon Marcus and his cult of brainwashed followers had terrorized Bay City for months before Starsky and Hutch had finally captured Marcus. He had been convicted over nine counts of first degree murder but was suspected of having committed many more than that.

In an attempt to free Marcus from jail before his sentencing, some of his men had kidnapped Starsky from the Federal Courthouse in downtown Bay City and threatened to kill him if Marcus wasn't set free. They had held Starsky prisoner for twenty-four hours before Hutch rescued him. During that time, they had tortured the brunet relentlessly, beating him, poisoning him, and intimidating him. Even Hutch didn't know all the details about the things they had done to him. It had taken Starsky months to fully recover from his ordeal at their hands. Months before he could sleep without reoccurring nightmares.

Hutch recognized the significance of the robes too and instinctively moved closer to his partner. Even from his prison cell, Marcus had vowed that Starsky belonged to him and that someday he would return to claim what was his. Hutch had vowed never to let that happen.

"Polaris has been called by the master. The dark knight must come with us." One of the robed figures said in a flat monotone.

"He's not going anywhere with you!" Hutch growled in a menacing voice, as he stepped in front of Starsky to protect him. Marcus and his followers were less then human, they were evil incarnate. He would die if that was what it took to keep Starsky from falling into these monster's hands again.

The six men spread out, surrounding the two detectives. The two with guns kept their weapons trained on Starsky and Hutch. At such close range, they couldn't miss and a shot would more than likely be fatal. Suddenly, three of the unarmed men reached out and grabbed Hutch. The big blond began to struggle with them, simultaneously yelling at his partner, "STARSKY! GO!"

Starsky immediately darted around one of the other men and broke into a run, trying to get to one of their guns. If he could just get his hands on one of their weapons, they would at least have a fighting change. A shot rang out and Hutch watched in horror as Starsky went down.

With a bellow of rage, Hutch pulled away from the men who were holding him and began to run towards Starsky. Another shot rang out. The bullet hit Hutch high in the back, his left shoulder. He stumbled but kept going. Starsky was hurt. Starsky needed him. A second shot rang out. Hutch felt the bullet hit his left calf, almost knocking his legs out from under him. He struggled to stay on his feet, limping and stumbling as he continued towards his fallen partner.

Hutch fell heavily to his knees and slowly crawled the rest of the distance that separated him from Starsky. He could see the blood that was rapidly soaking through the back of Starsky's cloth jacket. Too much blood. Hutch went down but not before his trembling hand reached out to clutch desperately at Starsky's arm.

The six men slowly advanced on the two fallen detectives. They were in no hurry. They knew that the two men weren't going anywhere. One of the men stood over Hutch and grinned in satisfaction and triumph as he fired one final shot at the blond half of the dynamic duo. One of the robed figures knelt down and pried Hutch's fingers loose from his partner's arm.

"Get him in the van." The second robed figure ordered. Two of the other men picked up Starsky while a third man slid open the door on a black panel van parked a short distance away from the Torino. The two men carried Starsky's body to the van and carelessly threw him inside. Without a word, the six men climbed into the van and it disappeared into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Starsky faded in and out of consciousness, never quite waking up completely. His brief moments of awareness were filled with a searing pain that radiated from the middle of his back. He was weak and disoriented, crying out for Hutch in his momentary periods of lucidity.

His hands and feet were free but he couldn't have moved even if he had wanted to. Even an involuntary spasm of his muscles sent waves of mind numbing agony washing over him. Wherever he was the air was hot and stuffy. He could feel hard metal beneath his skin, metal that turned hot and then cold with changes in the outside temperature. His own body temperature rose as he grew feverish, infection beginning to invade his system.

The side door to the van opened and two men, along with a woman, climbed into the vehicle. The men were both in their late twenties and were casually dressed in blue jeans and tee shirts. The woman was a bit younger and was dressed in a peasant blouse and a low flowing skirt with bare feet. Long dark blonde hair hung halfway down her back in a thick braid. They stared at the body of their prisoner lying in a heap on the floor of the van.

The woman knelt down and gently felt his forehead. Glaring at the two men, she said, "He's running a fever. That bullet has to come out and the wound has to be drained or the infection will kill him." Her ice blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "Simon told you that Polaris was not to be harmed!"

"Andrew is the one who shot him, not us." One of the men declared defensively, as he shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Sara was one of the elders and her status within the cult was unquestioned. In her life before Simon, she had also been a nurse which substantially increased her favor in Simon's eyes.

"And he will be dealt with accordingly." Sara snapped. "Simon is deciding his punishment as we speak." Philip and Thomas shared a relieved glance, thankful that they had not disobeyed Simon and harmed Polaris themselves. Simon's punishments were swift and brutal.

Sara turned her attention back to the injured man lying in front of her. "You and Thomas will have to hold him still while I remove the bullet. If he moves around too much he could hurt himself more. Help me get this jacket and shirt off of him."

Between the three of them, they stripped Starsky of his bloodstained jacket and tee shirt. Philip tied the clothes into a bundle and threw them in the corner of the van, along with Starsky's empty holster.

Starsky groaned as they rolled him from his side onto his stomach, straightening out his legs and arms. The bullet had entered his body just below his left shoulder blade, dangerously close to his spine. The entire area around the entrance wound was swollen and red. A mixture of blood and pus still seeped from the wound. Starsky struggled weakly when Thomas grabbed his arms and pulled them over his head, securely holding his wrists to the floor.. Philip straddled Starsky's legs, resting his weight on the back of the brunet's knees, pinning him down. He rested his hands on the small of Starsky's back to help prevent him from moving.

In his semi-conscious state, Starsky knew that someone was holding him down but his confused mind didn't understand why. He struggled weakly but he didn't have the strength to free himself. He mumbled incoherently under his breath, choking back the bile that rose into his throat. He felt cool hands probing at the wound on his back and he cried out at the pain that simple gesture caused.

Ignoring his cry of pain, Sara opened the small leather satchel at her side and took out a small scalpel and a probe. Placing the blade of the scalpel against Starsky's skin, she made a swift cut across the entrance wound. Starsky's body jerked in reflex to the new pain that assaulted his senses.

"No…please…don't…" he whimpered as he tried in vain to pull away from the hands that were causing him additional pain.

Sara wiped away the gush of blood and pus that poured from the wound, then used the probe to try and find the bullet that was still lodged in Starsky's back. Starsky's scream filled the air as she dug for the piece of metal that was still embedded somewhere in muscle and tissue. Finally, she found the illusive missile and grasped it securely. As she pulled it from his body, Starsky mercifully lost consciousness. She dropped the tiny piece of lead to the van floor where it made a soft ping as it hit the metal and then rolled underneath the front seat.

With the lead safely removed from Starsky's body, Sara continued to probe at the wound, forcing out copious amounts of blood and pus. When she was satisfied that she had removed as much of the infection as possible, she picked up a bottle of alcohol and poured it freely over the bleeding wound. Even through he was unconscious, Starsky moaned deeply, his muscles contracting, as the alcohol burned into the open wound.

Sara finished by taping a large gauze pad over the wound.

Putting the blood stained tools back into the satchel to be cleaned later, she looked at the two men holding Starsky down. "You can let him go now," she said with a sneer "He's not going anywhere." She straightened up, balancing herself on her knees as she rocked back on her heels. "Simon wants him taken inside."

Philip and Thomas rolled Starsky over onto his back. Thomas slipped his hands underneath Starsky's armpits, while Philip grabbed him under his knees. Inching backwards, they scooted out of the van, taking Starsky with them. Sara followed.

Another disciple was standing near the front of the van, wiping down the surface of the vehicle. Like Thomas and Philip, he was casually dressed in blue jeans and tee shirt, his long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail.

"Bartholemew," Sara said sharply "Make sure you wash out the inside of the van when you're done there." Bartholemew nodded curtly to show her that he understood and then turned his attention back to wiping down the body of the van.

She followed Philip and Thomas as they carried Starsky from the van to their compound which was hidden deep in the woods where they could do their dirty work far from prying eyes. The surrounding area suited their purposes perfectly. The area was secluded and rugged, almost impossible to access. The nearest highway was almost ten miles away and the nearest town was closer to twenty.

There were several rundown buildings, barely inhabitable. They were what remained of a hunting lodge that had been abandoned years ago after an earthquake had blocked the main access road. Behind one of the buildings, several dogs barked frantically whenever one of the cult members passed by their pen.

Philip and Matthew paused beside a heavy wooden trap door that was mounted in the ground. Sara opened the door to the underground root cellar and stepped back so the two men could carry Starsky's body down the narrow, steep steps into the dark pit below. Leaving the door open, she followed them down the steps and paused at the bottom to light a lantern sitting on a ledge.

Pale yellow light filled the underground enclosure. It was roughly twelve feet by twenty with dirt walls and a partially dirt floor. Four heavy beams stood in each corner of the cellar to support the wooden ceiling and keep it from collapsing. Thomas and Philip laid Starsky's unconscious body down on a ragged blanket lying on the ground. Sara walked over to the nearest wooden post and picked up a thick length of chain that was securely bolted to the base of the beam. Kneeling down beside Starsky, she fastened the thick leather strap attached to one end of the chain to his left ankle. She finished by locking the strap in place with a small padlock so it could not be removed without the key.

Silently, the three members of the cult turned and started to climb back up the steps to the entrance to the pit. Sara blew out the lantern, leaving the pit in almost total darkness once the door was closed from above.

Philip and Thomas hurried away to tend to other tasks while Sara walked across the uneven ground to the main building. Slipping inside, she walked down a long hallway to a private room. Knocking on the door, she waited until a deceptively soothing voice gave her permission to enter before opening the door and stepping inside.

Simon Marcus lounged back on the bed in the middle of the room. The young girl beside him, a new recruit named Mary, stared blankly at the ceiling too spaced out to even notice Sara's presence in the room.

"The bullet has been removed and Polaris is secured." Sara repeated to her master in a solemn voice. She kept her head bowed and avoided making direct eye contact with the cult leader.

"Good." Simon said with an evil smile. "Soon Polaris will belong to me for eternity and the black knight will be no more. This time there will be no white knight to come to his rescue." He dismissed Sara with a wave of his hand. She backed out of the room and closed the door behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

**A/N: Some of the dialogue and content in this chapter is taken directly from TLR's Times and Seasons story. **

For the next three days, Starsky drifted in and out of a fevered consciousness, still confused and disoriented. Sara checked on him periodically, bathing his feverish face and changing the bandage on his back. She occasionally gave him a few sips of tepid water along with some penicillin tablets, but no food. In his delirium, Starsky continued to call for Hutch seeking the comfort only his partner could provide.

Despite his weakened state, Starsky's body fought back against the infection from the gunshot wound in his back. In his more lucid moments, he knew that he had been abducted. He vaguely remembered the shooting but his memories were spotty at best. He was totally unaware of the fact that Hutch had been shot too. The trauma of the shooting had erased his memories of the two men dressed in the familiar black robes of Marcus' cult. For the time being, he was blissfully unaware of the danger that he was in.

As Starsky's body rallied and Sara reported his progress to Marcus, the cult leader began making plans for the initiation ritual that would claim Starsky as his eternal sacrifice. Since his previous failure, he had become obsessed with the dark haired man. His months in prison had been spent, not only carefully planning his escape, but also planning his revenge on the man he had christened Polaris. Now his visions were about to be fulfilled and Starsky's worst nightmare was about to begin.

Sara opened the door to the cellar and climbed down the steep stone steps. As she lit the lantern at the base of the steps, Starsky moaned softly, closing his eyes against the glow of light that filtered into the room. Sara knelt down beside him and gently loosened the bandage on his back. Starsky flinched as the tape pulled at his skin and whimpered.

"Water…" he whispered through his dry, parched mouth. He opened his eyes and struggled to focus on Sara's face. "Help me…"

Ignoring his pleas, Sara examined the wound on his back. It was healing nicely and the signs of infection were gone. She decided that it was safe to leave the wound uncovered. Her job was to keep Starsky alive as long as Marcus decreed and nothing more. In her eyes, he was less than human, no longer a man. He was Polaris, the dark angel whose strength and blood would make Marcus immortal. Satisfied that Starsky was alert enough for the ceremony, she gave him a few sips of tainted water before leaving to prepare for the ritual.

The water did little to satisfy his thirst. Starsky's mouth and throat were still dry and parched. He closed his eyes as his stomach rolled with a sudden attack of nausea brought on by the tainted water. He gagged but there was nothing in his stomach to bring up so he ended up dry heaving. Finally, he stopped. His face was covered with sweat and he panted from the effort of trying to puke his guts out.

Sometime later, Starsky was startled awake by the sound of the heavy door above him being opened. He focused his attention on the steps as someone came down the stairs to his prison. Flickering candle light lit up the darkness as, one by one, the cult members came down the steps. They were dressed in the long black robes with the inverted red crosses, the hoods pulled up over their heads and hiding their identity. Starsky felt his heart pounding with terror as he realized for the first time who had abducted him.

"Noooooooo…" he whimpered in a barely audible voice as the cult members slowly filled the room. They began chanting quietly, their words unintelligible, their faces obscured by the hoods of their robes.

"Get up!" one of the cultists ordered as he nudged Starsky's side with his shoe. When Starsky's only response was a soft moan, a second cultist kicked him in the side. "Get up! Marcus is coming! You have to be up for the induction!"

Some of the cultists had moved to the back of the room and were filling a large wooden tub from buckets, obviously preparing a bath of some sort. More cultists brought buckets down the steps and emptied them into the wood vat. Starsky watched helplessly through half hooded eyes, remembering the first time he had been abducted by Simon's band of crazies and given a bath as part of one of their sick rituals. The terror was almost overwhelming because Starsky was well aware of the sick atrocities these monsters were capable of.

The door creaked again and the cultists all fell down on one knee with their heads bowed as their master came down the stone steps. The sound of their chanting grew louder as they intoned their leader's name. "Simon…Simon…Simon…Simon…"

Two cultists reached down and pulled Starsky roughly to his feet, holding him between them when his knees buckled beneath him.

"Bow to the master!" one of them commanded but Starsky remained where he was, struggling to keep from passing out. They started to push Starsky to his knees but Simon held up a hand to stop them.

"He will." Simon said in a confident voice "But, he must do it of his own free will. Only then will he truly belong to me." Starsky's head was lolling against his chest and he didn't seem to hear Simon's words until Simon stepped forward and trailed his finger down Starsky's chest and stomach. "The bath comes first. He must be purified."

At the sound of Simon's voice and the touch of his hand, Starsky cringed and tried to pull away from the hands holding him upright, mumbling under his breath, as his chest heaved violently.

"Shhhhh…" Simon soothed as he grabbed the front of Starsky's belt and pulled him closer. "Your fate has been sealed by my dreams. You are to be my eternal sacrifice. Alive forever. Mine for the rest of your life."

Starsky groaned and tried to pull away but Marcus pulled him back with a soft chuckle. Starsky raised his head and tried to focus his glazed eyes on the face of evil incarnate. "Hutch…" he whimpered.

"The white knight is no more." Marcus said almost kindly. "He will never be here again. You're all alone and there's nothing you can do this time to stop me from making you mine forever."

A small whimper escaped from Starsky's lips as Marcus held him securely with one hand, while his other hand reached out to unbuckle his belt. "Don't be afraid," Marcus whispered as he tilted his head and gently kissed Starsky on the lips.

Starsky made a feeble attempt to pull away, groaning in both fear and revulsion, but Marcus held his head between both hands and gazed deeply into those dark sapphire eyes. "It will be all right. The baptism will cleanse you and make you mine forever."

Marcus continued to hold his head so that Starsky had no choice but to look at the face of his tormenter while the other two cultists supported his body. Two more members of the cult stepped forward and began to remove the rest of his clothes.

"Stop…don't touch me…" Starsky mumbled, too weak to see or know who was pawing at his body, stroking him suggestively as they undressed him. The other cultists gathered around, murmuring and chanting as their hands reached out to touch his body, caressing and soothing, until four of them picked him up, each by an arm or a leg, and carried him over to the wooden tub.

Starsky was silent and submissive until he felt himself being lifted into the air and held over the tub. Then he looked down into the tub and began a pathetic, useless struggle to get away. "No," he moaned as he batted feebly at the hands holding him. "Please…no…let me go…"

Ignoring Starsky's pitiful pleas and feeble attempts to free himself, Marcus disrobed and climbed the few steps that led up to the wooden tub. He settled himself into the deepness of the vat and held out his arms as if he were about to be handed a baby. "Give him to me."

Starsky felt his body being lower into the tub. To Simon's waiting arms. "Noooooo…" he cried out, his voice cracking with terror.

"You must be baptized in my name." Simon said as he took the struggling Starsky into his arms and pushed him under the surface of the blood that filled the tub. Simon held Starsky under for a few moments and then pulled him back up again. Now, Starsky was drenched in blood from head to foot and screaming in uncontrollable terror.

Starsky head fell back against Simon's chest as his mind slipped away into unconsciousness. Simon smiled and kissed the nape of his neck before carefully handing the limp body back to his disciples. "Now you belong to me." He whispered into a curl covered ear.

Two of the women, Elizabeth and Mary, were assigned the task of bathing Starsky, this time with soap and water. They didn't bother to redress him, taking his clothes with them to throw away when they left. Sara watched as Simon knelt beside Starsky's body and sealed his fate with a kiss, before straightening up and climbing the steps to the entrance with Sara tailing along behind him.

Sometime later, Starsky slowly regained consciously, striking out blindly in a panic as his awareness returned. It took several minutes before his panicked mind registered the fact that he was alone in the darkness. Chilled by the cold air in the cellar, he curled up in a fetal position as he tried to get warm. He consciously concentrated on slowing his breathing down to a normal rate.

Once he had calmed down, he reached out and felt around him in the darkness. He found the chain that had been fastened to his ankle, relieved to discover that he was no longer chained to the post like some kind of animal.

Raising himself to his knees, he began to crawl in the darkness, exploring the confines of his prison. He cried out and fell backwards when he touched the side of the wooden tub he had been forced into earlier. Trying not to think about the baptism by blood, he scooted in the opposite direction until he felt the stone steps behind his back.

Using his hands as a guide, he slowly crawled up the steps to the door to his prison. He shoved against it with both hands as hard as he could, not surprised to find it locked from the outside. Whimpering, he began to scratch at the wood with his fingers, tearing and breaking several fingernails in the process. "Hutch…" he sobbed, as he collapsed on the steps, exhausted both mentally and physically. "Where are you? I need you…please…get me out of here…"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: There may be a short delay in posting the next chapter. We had a fire at our apartment last night and it will be a couple of days before we can get back in. Staying with my son in the meantime. **

**CHAPTER 4**

Trapped in the darkness with no sense of time, Starsky had no idea how long he had been alone when he heard the door open and footsteps coming down the stairs. At least two people from the sound. Thomas and Andrew appeared at the bottom of the steps. Instead of the hated black robes, they were dressed in jeans and tee shirts. Andrew was a tall, muscular man with stringy brown hair and cold blue eyes. He had a nasty slash running down his right cheek and his right arm was in a sling, visible evidence of his punishment for shooting Polaris when he was abducted.

"Get up, pig and get dressed." Andrew growled, throwing a pair of jeans and some worn underwear to Starsky. "Simon wants to see you."

"Fuck you." Starsky said sullenly, glaring at the two men belligerently. He remained sitting on the ground, watching the two men cautiously as they took a step towards him. Andrew kicked him in the side, knocking the air out of his lungs and making him gasp.

Thomas reached down and grabbed a handful of thick dark curls and jerked Starsky's head back, forcing the brunet to look at him.

"We can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way. It's up to you." Thomas said in a calm voice. He smiled thinly but the smile never quite reached his eyes. To emphasis his words, he slapped Starsky across the face with the back of his hand, snapping his head sharply to one side with the force of the blow. Starsky tasted the blood in his mouth and felt the sting of a busted lip. The slap was followed by another sharp kick to his stomach.

Starsky doubled over from the force of the blow, gagging and coughing as he tried to catch his breath.

"Get dressed." Andrew repeated "Or we'll beat the shit out you and dress you ourselves."

Knowing that he was still in a weakened condition from the gunshot wound, Starsky slowly complied. With stiff fingers that felt awkward and uncooperative, he managed to tug on the underwear and jeans. When he had finished, Andrew grabbed one arm and Thomas grabbed the other. They drug him across the room and up the stone steps to the surface.

Starsky blinked, his eyes sensitive to the sunlight after being held captive in the dark for so long. His detective's mind made a detailed sketch of his surroundings as he was led through the compound to the main building. He strained to hear any sounds that meant civilization but all he could hear was the sound of birds chirping and the breeze blowing through the leaves of the trees. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realized that there was probably nobody close by to hear his screams. He was on his own, at least until Hutch found him. And he had no doubt in his mind that his partner would find him eventually.

Starsky was led into a large open room. A chair was sitting in the middle of the room with a portable television on a stand in front of it. As Starsky was forced down into the chair and his hands were tightly secured behind him, he noticed that the TV had a built in VCR deck. Although VCR's had been used at the police station for months to tape confessions, the machines had only just recently been sold for home use.

Marcus stepped out of the shadows, his face creased with a evil smile. He held an unmarked VCR tape in his hand that he slipped into the machine. Turning on the power button on the VCR and the TV, he said, "We put together a little film that we thought you'd like to see."

The grainy film began to flicker across the television screen, the picture jumping as whoever was holding the camera and filming the scene tried to keep track of the action.

It took a minute for Starsky to realize that he was watching a film of their confrontation at the warehouse and his abduction. He winced as he watched himself get shot in the back, but the worst was yet to come. When he saw Hutch get shot, not once but three times, as he tried to get to his fallen partner, Starsky cried out as his heart lurched inside his chest. Tears flooded his eyes when he saw Hutch fall, then crawl to Starsky's side to clutch his sleeve. He watched as one of the men pried Hutch's fingers from his arm, then picked up Starsky's unconscious body and threw him in the back of the van.

Leaning forward as far as his bound hands would allow, Starsky began to retch violently, physically ill at the image of his wounded partner lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood.

Marcus grabbed Starsky's hair and pulled him upright forcing him to look at the screen with the image of Hutch's body frozen in place. "The white knight can't help you now." Marcus hissed in Starsky's ear. "He'll never be able to help you again." He held Starsky's head so that he couldn't move and forced him to watch the scene of Hutch being shot over and over again.

"Noooooo…pleaseeeeeee…stop…" Starsky sobbed, the tears falling without shame down his face. He was trembling all over at the thought that Hutch could be dead. Closer than brothers, Hutch was Starsky's soul mate in the truest sense of the word. If Hutch was truly dead, then Starsky had no reason to go on alone. He decided that he would provoke Simon into killing him as quickly as possible so that he could be with Hutch.

"You belong to me now, Polaris." Simon cooed as he leaned in closer to Starsky. In an instinctive move, Starsky spit in Simon's face. Simon hissed and drew back in surprise at Starsky's defiance. Smiling thinly, he took a step back and wiped at his face with his hand, nodding mutely at his two henchmen. Thomas and Andrew immediately moved in and began to beat Starsky viciously. With his hands tied securely behind his back, Starsky was defenseless to defend himself as he was beaten into unconsciousness.

When Starsky regained consciousness, he found himself back in the root cellar with his ankle chained to the wooden beam. He moaned when he tried to move, his battered body protesting violently. One eye was swollen almost shut and he could feel a couple of loose teeth. It also hurt to breathe, his ribs were either badly bruised or cracked. His head hurt from where his hair had been pulled and he felt sick to his stomach. But, none of that mattered. Not if Hutch was dead. He welcomed the pain, the beating that brought him one step closer to death.

As he lay there on the ground in his cold, damp prison, he noticed that a tiny window at ground level had been uncovered, allowing a tiny bit of sunlight to filter into the darkness. It wasn't much but it was enough to allow Starsky to see the shadows that formed the steps and the wooden tub sitting at one end of the room.

Starsky saw a pile of bread scraps lying on the floor beside him. He was hungry but he refused to eat garbage. A bowl of water sat near the bottom of the steps, just out of his reach. No matter how far he stretched his arm, he couldn't quite grasp the dish to get a drink. Frustrated, he collapsed on the ground and began to sob helplessly.

"Please, God…" he whimpered "Please…just let me die…" He choked back a strangled cry. "If you took Hutch, then take me too...." He finally cried himself into an exhausted slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I am back. They finally got our electric back on around midnight last night. Luckily, the fire was contained to an attached shed at the back of our house. We just lost our electric when the main line into our house got burned through and we had some smoke damage. They are saying that it was deliberately set.**

**CHAPTER 5**

Days passed. Days filled with beatings, near starvation, and long periods of unconsciousness. Starsky had no way of judging how long he had been held captive. He found a small rock on the ground and used it to make a slash mark on the wall to try and mark the passage of time. He started with five slashes and hoped that he hadn't been there longer than that. He refused to eat for a long time but had finally been driven by hunger to eat the meager scraps of bread that the cultists found fit to feed him. He prayed

for death to free him but God ignored his prayers.

Almost everyday, Starsky was beaten into submission and then drug from his prison to the main building where he was forced to watch Hutch being shot, over and over again. Usually Simon taunted him, telling him that Hutch was dead but, recently, he had started telling him that Hutch had lived but that he thought Starsky was dead so nobody was looking for him. Not knowing what to believe, Starsky nevertheless clung to the hope that Hutch had survived being shot three times. He wanted to give up and he came dangerously close to doing just that, but then he decided to fight. If there was any chance that Hutch was still alive, he had to escape. He had to stay alive.

They always had to beat him to make him watch the tape because it tore him apart inside to watch them shoot Hutch over and over. The only way he could bear to watch it was because he knew that at the end, Hutch would be there holding onto his jacket and refusing to let go. They had to pry the big blond's fingers off his sleeve and even then, he didn't want to let go.

In spite of his weakened condition, Starsky's mind was still sharp and alert most of the time. When he was alone, he would sit and plot ways to escape. Other times, he would dream about pizza, tacos, burritos and large cold glasses of beer. He was always hungry, the bread scraps they fed him was barely enough to keep him alive and he was starting to lose weight. His skin was stretched tightly over his ribs and hipbones, his face gaunt and haggard. The bullet wound in his back had finally healed but it still ached sometimes at night when the cellar became cold enough to make him shiver. A threadbare blanket was his only source of warmth and it smelled musty and decayed. He thought about the dark blue comforter that he kept on his bed at home and wished he had it to keep him warm.

The only thing that kept him sane was his memories of Hutch and the times they had spent together, both on the job and off. He kept hoping that Hutch was looking for him and would rescue him the way that he had done before. But, with each day that passed, each new beating, each new way they found to fuck with his mind that hope slowly began to fade.

Starsky was dozing when he was awakened by a violent kick in the side that took his breath away. He opened his eyes and forced his eyes to focus on the face of another one of Simon's disciples, Thaddeus. He was a young man barely in his twenties who seemed to have the mind of a child; a large, cruel child who enjoyed bullying others. He was prone to slapping, pinching, or punching without any provocation. He seemed to take a particular pleasure in thinking up new ones to torment Starsky.

"Get up!" he ordered, grabbing Starsky arm and pulling him to his feet. Starsky stumbled, off balance, and was rewarded with a hard slap that made his head spin. Clucking his tongue, Thaddeus said, "You're too slow…" He grabbed Starsky's wrists and twisted his arms behind his back, trying them together with a thin strip of leather. Laughing with glee, he took a leather dog collar out of his pocket and fastened it around Starsky's neck. He attacked a leash to the ring in the collar and said, "Come on now like a good doggie. Let's take a walk."

Giggling, he jerked on the leash forcing Starsky to follow him up the steps and into the sunlight. "You've been a bad doggie…dirtying your house like that. So, you're going to get tied up outside while I clean it."

Since Starsky had no other way of taking care of his normal bodily functions, he had dug a small pit in one corner of the room with his bare hands to use as his toilet. He had become accustomed to the odor and no longer noticed it or his own body odor for that matter. A normally fastidious man when it came to his personal hygiene, he no longer noticed the dirty broken finger nails, the dirt crusted on the soles of his feet and his knees, or the long tangled curls that hung around his face.

Thaddeus pulled Starsky across the clearing to a stake driven into the ground. He removed the leash and replaced it with a dog chain that was fastened to the stake. Nodding in satisfaction, he said, "After I clean up your mess, then I'll clean you up." He aimed another kick at Starsky's side making him yelp in pain. "You bad, bad doggie." Thaddeus laughed hysterically as he walked away.

Breathing deeply to ease the pain in his side, Starsky crouched down on the ground. Closing his eyes, he raised his face up towards the sun, relishing the feeling of the warmth on his face. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd felt the sun on his face. But, it wasn't long before the heat began to make him pant as sweat began to drip down his face. He blinked as the salt in his perspiration burned his eyes and made them sting. He felt the tender skin on his back and torso start to burn from the unfiltered rays of the sun. Although his normally olive complexion usually tanned easily, he had been shut away in the darkness for so long that his skin had become sensitive to being burned.

He sat there in the burning rays of the sun for hours before Thaddeus finally returned. Starsky was startled when the younger man threw a bucket of ice cold water over his head. He caught his breath sharply as the water dripped over his burned skin. He tried to pull away as Thaddeus grabbed his arm and produced a scrub brush from the bucket. He squealed in pain as Thaddeus began to scrub his tender skin with the rough bristles of the brush. Ignoring his screams, Thaddeus scrubbed at his body until Starsky's skin began to bleed in several spots. By the time he finally stopped, Starsky's body was trembling violently and he was whimpering in pain.

Thaddeus unchained him and fastened the leash to the collar, roughly jerking Starsky to his feet. When his knees buckled and he fell to his knees, Thaddeus began kicking him in the side and swearing at him. Starsky fell to the ground and curled up into a fetal position to try and protect himself from the vicious attack. Darkness surrounded him as Thaddeus kicked him into unconsciousness.

Starsky woke up back in his underground prison. His hands were still tied behind his back and his ankle was chained to the post. Every muscle in his body hurt from the vicious kicks and his skin burned both from the over exposure to the sun and the scrub brush. He moaned softly as he tried to find a comfortable position to lie in. Finally, he gave up and simply lay on his side with his face in the dirt.

When he opened his eyes again, a bowl of water had been placed on the ground beside him along with his nightly meal of scraps. This time instead of just a few pieces of bread, there were also some pieces of rotten lettuce and rancid smelling meat. Even though he was hungry, he refused to eat the nauseating mixture of garbage. Struggling to his knees, he lowered his head and lapped at the bowl of water with his tongue to sooth his parched throat and dry mouth.

Quenching his thirst, he lay back down on the ground and closed his eyes, drifting into an uneasy slumber. He was awakened by a fist in the stomach as Thaddeus screamed at him for refusing to eat the food he'd been given. Unable to fight back and defend himself, Starsky endured a vicious beating that left him retching and gagging.

As Thaddeus stomped back up the steps, Starsky curled up into a ball and sobbed in silence. Simon's other victims were either tortured and then sacrificed or inducted into the cult. But, Starsky was somewhere in between. Simon wanted to possess him, body and soul, but he wanted to torture him without mercy for eternity to do it.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

**A/N: The major part of the scene in this chapter is a recreation taken from TLR's original Times and Seasons series. **

After several weeks of captivity in his underground prison, the cult members began taking Starsky out of his prison every couple of days. They would take him above ground and let him take a bath in the water trough while the other cultists watched. Starsky didn't care. It was to late to worry about privacy or modesty. Being out in the sunshine, even for a couple of hours, was a small pleasure that Starsky had come to treasure.

When he was allowed outside, Starsky was always aware of being watched, even though he couldn't always see the members of the cult. He often found himself gazing at the woods that surrounded the compound. He hated the woods. Hutch was the 'nature boy' not Starsky. Everything in the woods looked the same to Starsky and he jumped at every unfamiliar sound. He knew that in order to escape, he would have to brave the woods.

One day, while he was outside, something seemed different. The cultists seemed preoccupied with something else. Starsky's heart began to pound frantically when he realized that this was the best chance he would ever have to escape. He wasn't being guarded as closely as usual and he hadn't been tied to prevent him from escaping. For a brief moment, he thought about it being some kind of trick but he didn't want to die a slow death in this place. He wanted to go home.

He started walking past the van, down the rutted dirt road, trying to keep the van between himself and their line of sight if any of the cultists decided to check on him. Finally, he started to run, his muscles tightening in anticipation of a bullet in the back again. He darted off the road and entered the woods, pushing his way through the tangled undergrowth and briar bushes that tried to bar his way.

He found a almost hidden trail that looked like it could be used to travel through the woods. Starsky hoped that it would lead him out of the woods and to safety, somewhere where he could flag down a ride and escape. The thought of escaping, of being free again, excited him and gave him the courage to forge ahead.

He'd dreamed about this day. About getting free. About seeing Hutch again. Thinking about Hutch gave him more determination. He still didn't know if Hutch was alive or dead but hope was all he had. Believing that Hutch had survived in spite of being shot three times was all that kept Starsky from giving up. He would survive and he would do it for Hutch's sake.

A cramp in his side forced him to slow down to a stumbling gait. All he could hear was the frantic pounding of his own heart. He was going to make it. He was going to feel human again instead of an animal. This time, he would make sure Simon and all the other crazy fuckers went down and went down hard. He would have his day in court.

Suddenly, he heard a sound in the distance behind him. Dogs barking. Shit, how could he have forgotten about the fucking dogs? Up ahead he could see an open field and a farm house in the distance. He forced himself to keep moving, his gait a stumbling lurch. He was hanging on to the branches of trees to keep moving. Tripping. Stumbling. Panting. Nearing exhaustion from the unaccustomed exertion. The dogs coming closer. Then they jumped him.

Starsky fell to the ground, screaming, as he threw his arm up over his face to try and ward off the sharp fangs of the dogs. As the darkness reached out to pull him into its comforting embrace, he welcomed it. Even if he died now, he would have died trying to escape. He would die a free man.

When he came to, he was flat on his back on the ground, back at the barnyard, in the dirt, his arms and legs tied to stakes driven into the ground. And he was naked. It was dark but he could see the cultists circling around him, chanting, light flickering from the torches they held. The dogs were sitting at alert just waiting for the signal to attack.

Then the dogs were on him, snapping at his face, his throat, his stomach, his groin. Starsky screamed in both fear and pain as he felt their teeth tearing at his exposed flesh. Simon stepped forward with a smug smile on his face and gave the order for the dogs to stop the attack. Starsky had been prepared to die, his system pumped full of adrenaline, only to be allowed to live at the last possible second. The shock to his system caused him to lose consciousness again.

When Starsky finally opened his eyes again, he was back in the cellar, still nude, and lying in his own vomit. His body hurt all over. He had deep gashes on his forearms and hands where he had tried to defend himself from the dog's first attack in the woods. The second attack had left additional bites marks on his legs, his stomach and even his groin. Too exhausted and sick to move, he closed his eyes and fell back into an uneasy doze.

The next few days were a blur. With only minimal medical attention at best, Starsky's wounds became infected and he ran a high fever, leaving him delirious and disoriented. In his delirium, he cried out for Hutch, begging him to come and save him. At least while he was so sick, the cultists left him alone.

When he was alert enough to be aware of his surroundings, the cultists came for him again. They tied him to a chair and forced him to watch the tape of Hutch being shot again but this time, there was also additional footage of his vicious attack by the dogs when he tried to escape. After showing him the tape over and over again for hours, they finally untied Starsky. But, they weren't done with him yet.

They took him back to the cellar where one of the women hacked off his long tangled curls with a knife. Then, he was forced to go through another blood baptism with Simon as part of one of their bizarre rituals. The chanting faded into the background as Starsky let his mind shut down, finding some release, at least temporarily, from the torment. Nobody even seemed to notice the difference. The cultists had become so used to ignoring him when they weren't abusing him that he had become a non-entity to them, something no longer human without feelings and emotions. But then, they were something less then human themselves. Their humanity and compassion had been lost the minute they met Simon Marcus and gave themselves over to him.

After his part in the ceremony was finished, Starsky was shoved into one corner while the rest of the cult members engaged in an orgy of sex and drugs. The heavy smoke that hung in the air gave Starsky a contact high, reminding of his younger days in Viet Nam when he smoked pot to help deal with the horrors of war.

One of the women, a skinny redhead with a pockmarked face who went by the name of Halo, crawled over to where Starsky was sitting and smiled at him suggestively. She reached out and fondled his flaccid genitals, licking her lips in a morbid parody of lust. It wasn't the first time that one of the cult members had fondled Starsky sexually and it wasn't always a female doing the fondling. It had become so common place that Starsky no longer cared or noticed. He never responded physically. It was just another form of abuse that he was forced to endure. Starsky closed his eyes when he felt her mouth on him, waiting for her to finish so she would go away and leave him alone.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

Starsky gave up trying to keep track of how long he had been held prisoner. He had stopped making marks on the cellar wall after 6 weeks. Time no longer had any meaning since nothing ever changed. One day blended into another, day into night, filled with periods of torture, hours of isolation, and almost constant fear. Fear of not knowing when the cultists would return to abuse him more, fear of living, fear of dying, fear of being alone. The only human contact he had hurt so he started to withdraw into himself. He didn't want to die but he didn't want to live either, not like this. He was no longer living, he was simply surviving. Waiting for the day that this living hell would end one way or the other.

He still dreamed about Hutch at night but he no longer counted on the white knight rushing to the rescue. He still watched and waited for another chance to escape. No matter how much he was beaten down, it was not in his nature to give up. He would continue to fight to his dying breathe to be free again. He tried not to show them how afraid he was since they fed on the fear. But even Starsky had his limits, there were times when he begged for his life, times when he broke down and cried, times when he tried to hide. He began to pretend that it was someone else being torture instead of him. He escaped, at least in his mind, using the guided imagery techniques that Hutch had taught him to help him deal with the pain during his long recovery after he had been shot in the police garage. He always pictured himself on a lonely stretch of beach at sunset with Hutch by his side.

When Thomas and John came down the steps dressed in the hated black robes, Starsky sighed in resignation. He knew that he was about to participate in another one of their black ceremonies. Sometimes, Starsky was just there as an observer, while at other times, he was an unwilling participant in the rituals. After a particularly intense ceremony, it often took Starsky days to recover.

Thomas and John forced Starsky to his feet, after punching him a few times just for practice. After so many weeks of abuse, Starsky's appearance had changed dramatically. He had lost so much weight that he looked like a concentration camp survivor. His hair had gown back since the last time it had been cut and hung to his shoulders in dirty, tangled strands. Old scars and healing wounds covered his arms, his legs, his torso and his face. He walked with a stumbling, lurching gait, favoring his left leg. The toenails on his left foot had been pulled out as punishment for not bowing to Simon and the nail beds were badly inflamed and infected.

Instead of the main building where most of the ceremonies were held, they led Starsky to a large open field behind the old rundown barn where the rest of the cult was already gathered around a huge bonfire. The familiar chanting filled the air. Simon stood beside the fire, his arms spread open as if welcoming Starsky to their ceremony.

John and Thomas put their hands on his shoulders and forced Starsky down to his knees in front of Marcus. Simon smiled benevolently and laid his hand on top of Starsky's curly head. In a solemn voice, he intoned, "By the blood of our sacrifices, you have been baptized as Polaris, my eternal sacrifice. From now until the end of time, you belong to me." He reached down and cupped Starsky's chin in his face, forcing him to raise his head and look into Simon's eyes "Renounce those who came before me and accept me as your only master."

"Fuck you," Starsky spat out "You'll never be my master." Starsky knew from painful experience that his defiance would cost him and cost him dearly but he refused to bend to Simon's will.

Simon's eyes darkened but he didn't appear to be surprised by Starsky's defiance, he had expected as much from the rebellious brunet. It was that inner strength, that stubborn nature that he coveted above all. Breaking this man had become Simon's only goal in live, breaking his spirit and making him suffer as much as humanly possible in the process.

He let go of Starsky and stepped back with a thin smile. The gathering of his apostles moved in closer, surrounding the defenseless Starsky. From the folds of their robes, they pulled various instruments of torture; clubs, a baseball bat, bicycle chains. Systematically, they began beating Starsky, alternating their weapons with kicks at the more vulnerable parts of Starsky's anatomy.

Starsky yelps of pain were drowned out by the chanting of the cultists. Starsky felt at least two ribs give way under the assault. A particularly vicious kick caught him squarely in the groin, taking his breath away. Starsky felt his senses beginning to fade away as he retreated into the darkness of his mind, his only means of escape.

When Starsky opened his eyes again, he was stacked out on the ground and the dogs were coming at him, attacking him. He cried out and tried to turn his head as one of them lunged at his face. He didn't care much for dogs, especially big dogs, and these where specially trained Dobermans. They bit his hands, his legs, his stomach and even his toes. When Simon finally called them off and ordered Thomas and Adam to untie Starsky and take him back to his cellar, the brunet was covered with bites and blood, barely conscious.

The severe beating and the attack by the dogs, especially in his already weakened condition, took its toll on Starsky and he lapsed into a coma that evening. For the next week, Sara tended to him, keeping him alive, as Simon and the others waited to see if Starsky would live or die.

Finally, Starsky opened his eyes. He had survived against all the odds but with each new attack, something inside of him died. He was suspicious when Sara and Mary came after him and told him they were taking him for a bath. Instead of taking him to the horse trough where they usually made him bath, the women took him into the main compound and actually let him take a real bath in a real tub with hot water. It was a small comfort that he had been denied for so long, he simply lay there in the water and cried. When he was finished, he was given a pair of clean jeans and a tee shirt to wear, another small comfort he was usually denied. He was even more surprised when the women insisted on trimming his hair, cutting it with scissors instead of just hacking it off with a knife the way they usually did.

When he was clean and groomed, the women led him back outside where the rest of the cult was gathered. Simon stepped forward and looked at Starsky fiercely. In a grave voice, he said, "You have proven that you are stronger then we thought. We have grown tired of trying to break your spirit. So…" he waved his arm gallantly, "You are free to go."

Starsky's head jerked up sharply and he stared at Simon in disbelief. After all this time, all the pain, all the abuse, he couldn't believe they were giving up that easily. He stayed standing, afraid to move.

"Go!" Simon repeated in a louder voice "You are free to go. We no longer have any use for you!"

After a brief hesitation, Starsky bolted and ran towards the woods. Or at least he tried to. It was hard to run all busted up like he was. But, he was running through the woods and it felt wonderful because he was finally escaping from the terror, the pain, and the insanity he'd been going through. He didn't care where he was going or how he got there, he was finally free.

He finally had to stop to catch his breath. He leaned against a tree for support and listened carefully to see if they were following him or if they had sent the dogs after him. Nothing. Nothing but heavenly silence. It was too good to be true, his mind was having a hard time accepting the fact that they weren't trying to trick him.

He began to run again. Suddenly, he felt a crushing pain that ran up his entire left leg and knocked him to the ground. Gasping in pain, he struggled to sit up, a cry of rage and despair escaping from his lips when he saw that his left ankle was caught in the jaws of a steel bear trap. The pain was incredible and he felt sick to his stomach as he looked at the mangled flesh of his ankle where the steel teeth sank deep into the flesh.

Panting heavily, he grabbed the jaws of the trap with his hands and tried to pry it open but the tension was too strong. It wouldn't open. Starsky cried out in anger and began smashing his fists against the steel trap in frustration until he exhausted himself. He fell back on the ground and closed his eyes, knowing that he had failed. Letting him go had just been another one of their mind games.

Starsky had no idea how long he had laid there, trying to control the pain of his crushed ankle, when he heard the sound of someone coming towards him. He wasn't surprised to see Adam, Thaddeus and three other men advancing on him, laughing when they saw him caught in the trap. Starsky simply closed his eyes, resigned to his fate.

They freed him from the trap, laughing the entire time and telling him that he was crazy if he really thought they would let him go that easily. He lost consciousness after they released his ankle and didn't feel it as they picked him up and carried him back to the compound. He woke up in back in the cellar, his entire left leg swollen and throbbing with pain. Someone had fashioned a crude makeshift split that ran from his ankle all the way up to his thigh. Starsky closed his eyes and sought solace in the darkness as another small piece of the man he used to be died.


	8. Chapter 8

**I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. I took my laptop to have it cleaned and checked to make sure the smoke from the recent fire didn't damage it and I just got it back. **

**CHAPTER 8**

Starsky looked over his shoulder to make sure none of the cultists were watching him. They had brought him outside for a bath and then staked him out in the sun to dry. Satisfied that nobody was watching, he quickly grabbed one of the wild mushrooms and stuffed it in his mouth. Constantly hungry, he had taken to eating anything he could find to sublimate his meager diet of bread and table scraps. Thankfully, Hutch had shown him on one of the camping trips he had drug a reluctant Starsky on how to identify which wild mushrooms were safe to eat. Sometimes he even ate bugs and honeysuckle, but nothing seemed to fill his stomach. He constantly craved all the things he could no longer have. Milkshakes. Ice Cream. Coffee. Hamburgers. French Fries. He'd even settle for one of Hutch's salads.

He heard thunder rumbling in the distance. If he was lucky, they'd leave him outside while it rained. He didn't mind the rain. He could tilt back his head and open his mouth, quenching his constant thirst. At least he knew it was water that wouldn't be tainted with drugs or something else to make him sick. Most of the water the cultists gave him was tepid with a flat, brackish taste, sometimes with a foul odor. He drank it because he had no choice.

His ankle had healed but without proper medical care, he was left with a limp and a knot on his ankle where the bone hadn't healed properly, along with an ugly scar where the steel teeth of the trap had ripped into the skin. It still ached almost constantly, especially at night. Because of his poor diet and weakened condition, it had taken a long time for it to heal but that hadn't stopped Simon from continuing to use Starsky in their rituals.

He absently rubbed at one of the open wounds on his right forearm. There had been a special ritual the night before. It had been one of their black holy days. As part of the ceremony, Simon had cut Starsky's arm and then he had caught the blood in a silver cup that he drank from first and then passed around to the others. Simon had ordered Starsky tortured first by setting the dogs on him and then telling him that his throat would be slit at the height of the ceremony that night. By the time Simon cut him, Starsky was so terrorized that he barely felt the cuts which enabled Simon to cut him more and deeper.

They made quite a production of draining the cup and then chanting for more. The ceremony had ended with Starsky's mock crucifixion and then the customary orgy.

In the end, Starsky was both relieved and disappointed that Simon hadn't actually cut his throat after all.

Although Starsky still resisted and defied them whenever he could, he knew that his will to fight back was getting weaker with each day that passed. He found himself wondering just how long it would be before he just gave up and stopped caring. He had gotten so good at escaping in his own mind that he could almost endure the dog's fangs in his face and at his throat without cringing. At first he had been scared out of his mind but the more they abused him and tortured him, keeping him in constant state of fear and apprehension, the better he became at disappearing.

But, in his heart, Starsky knew that he was beginning to change inside. His disappearing act was keeping him alive and sane but it was changing him at the same time. Each time they abused him, a little bit more of his soul belonged to them because he had to escape, at least mentally, to get through it. It had reached the point that it was only much later, when he was alone in the darkness of his prison that he would feel the pain.

Finally, the rain came. A cold, refreshing rain that made Starsky feel clean again. Too many times the bathes they gave him were associated with one of their ceremonies and he never really felt clean. Maybe he would never really feel clean again. The dirt that surrounded Marcus and the others had seeped too deep inside his soul to ever be washed away. Another reason Starsky liked the rain, he could cry and nobody noticed the tears on his face.

Starsky remained passive and submissive when Adam came to take him back to the cellar. He immediately scooted over into the far corner of the room until after Adam left, closing and locking the heavy door behind him. Pulling his knees up against his thin chest, Starsky wrapped his arms around his legs and began rocking back and forth, singing softly to himself.

"_All I want is black bean soup_

_and you to make it with me_

_Honey, won't you be my love _

_While love will stay_

_And wear your ribbons for me"_

His voice trailed off into a strangled sob as he whispered in a choked voice, "_"Hutch…"_

He broke down in heart wrenching sobs. He was no longer sure exactly what he was crying for, maybe he had just finally reached his breaking point. He was good at hiding his feelings, his fear, acting braver than he really was. His early years on the mean streets of New York City had taught him how to pretend to be someone he wasn't in order to survive. Then his years in the military, in the jungles of Viet Nam, had taught him how to hide his fear even when he was so scared that all he wanted to crawl in a hole and hide.

Being a cop had also taught him how to hide his fears and his feelings. You couldn't do the job if you were afraid or wore your heart on your sleeve. But, that life was far removed from the life he was trapped in now. That life was a dream, this life was his reality.

Finally regaining some control over his emotions, Starsky crawled over to a spot under the tiny window where he had hidden some of the precious mushrooms that grew wild outside. He dug them out of his hiding spot and ate them, savoring the taste and the texture. Even that small amount of exertion wasted what little energy he had. When he had finished, he crawled back over to his bed on the hard dirt floor and wrapped himself up in the thin, threadbare blanket to sleep.

He woke up to the dogs attacking him. Some of the cultists were standing in the background with their torches. Chanting. Cheering. Laughing. The dogs, snarling, snapping, biting.

Starsky cowered in the corner, trying to kick at the dogs to keep them away, his arms covering his head.

"Get 'em off me!" he begged as he screamed in fear and pain. "Marcus! Help me! Get 'em off me!"

He never noticed the thin smile of satisfaction that tugged at Simon's lips when he heard Starsky calling his name, asking him to save him instead of Hutch.

The dogs sank their fangs into his arms, his wrists, jerking and pulling, shaking him. They had him on the floor, sinking their fangs into his side, his ribs, his thighs. All he could do was scream in pain and try to protect his face. Slowly his agonized screams turned to whimpering as he began to whine, his eyes staring at the ceiling in surrender.

Marcus gave a sharp whistle. The dogs immediately backed off and settled back on their haunches waiting for their next command. "Adam, take the dogs back to the pen." He ordered gruffly. "Sara, get him cleaned up. We need him for the ceremony tonight."

With those orders issued, Simon left the cellar.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

Starsky cowered in the corner of the cellar, whimpering as he deliberately reopened a healing wound on his forearm. Sometimes he would use a rock and pound at his fingers until he drew blood. In some strange way, it helped to calm him when he saw the blood and acted as an emotional release when the terror threatened to overwhelm him. He knew that it was a crazy thing to do, just another sign that he was losing his grip on reality. Sometimes, he did it just to prove to himself that he was still alive, to feel something besides the emotional numbness.

He cringed and pulled back closer to the wall when Adam and Thadduas came for him. There was another ceremony tonight and Starsky was to be a big part of it. He whimpered softly as they pulled him to his feet, struggling weakly as Adam drapped one of the hated black robes around his shoulders and belted it tightly around his waist. He stumbled between them as they drug him up the steps and into the fading daylight.

The others were already gathered in the clearing behind the old barn, chanting and swaying to the light of their torches. The stone altar sitting in the middle of their circle was stained with blood, the blood of their victims and their sacrifices, both human and animal.

A goat stood tethered nearby, obviously one of the evenings planned sacrifices. On the ground beside Marcus was a large burlap bag that wiggled occasionally from whatever wildlife was trapped inside. Starsky was forced to stand beside the altar. He had to watch while they made the sacrifice. Watch while Marcus caught the blood in his cup, then sliced Starsky's arm to add his blood too. Then the entire congregation would take a turn drinking from the cup until the blood was gone. The first time Marcus had forced Starsky to drink from the cup, he had refused, earning himself a vicious beating, then he was held down while Marcus pinched his nose shut, forcing him to open his mouth in order to breathe. When he did, he was forced to drink the blood offering. But, he still never drank it voluntarily; they always had to force him.

The chanting increased in volume as the goat was prepared for the sacrifice. It bleated once, loud and shrill, as the razor sharp blade of the dagger was drawn against it's throat.

Blood gushed forth from the wound, pouring over the top of the altar. Starsky found himself wondering why Marcus wasn't collecting the blood but decided that he didn't really care.

Suddenly, Marcus grabbed Starsky's thin wrist and pulled him forward, up beside the altar by his side. Starsky yelped in surprise and looked at his tormenter with wide, frightened eyes. In a smug voice, Simon said, "Tonight, Polaris, you will join us. The next sacrifice is for you. You will make the first cut."

Marcus stepped quickly to the side and wrapped his arms around Starsky's frail body, grabbing his left hand tightly and forcing his fingers around the handle of the dagger. Starsky struggled but was too feeble to break free.

"No…" Starsky whimpered "Don't make me do this…"

"You know better then to tell me no," Marcus sneered, tightening his arms around Starsky's body making it hard for him to breathe. "Would you like me to let the dogs loose again?"

Starsky shook his head. He was terrified of the dogs and Marcus knew it. That was why he used them against Starsky so often. It was the most effective way to get him to obey. Starsky bowed his head in submission, knowing that he had no choice. Either way, he would be forced to participate in the sacrifice. Marcus would make sure of that. A single tear rolled down Starsky's cheek as he gave in.

Adam picked up the bag from the ground at Simon's feet and laid it on the altar. A soft, muffled cry could be heard as he untied the bag and reached inside.

"It's only a puppy." Simon whispered in Starsky's curl covered ear. His hand tightened around Starsky's fingers to keep him from letting go of the knife. "Only a noisy little puppy. A runt that the mother no longer wants."

Starsky slowly raised his head, his eyes widening in shock when he saw the tiny newborn baby nestled in Adam's arms. "Noooooo….Noooooo…" he screamed, starting to struggle again as Adam extended the baby towards Marcus.

Marcus tightened his hold on Starsky and raised his hand, bringing Starsky's hand down in one swift motion. The blade of the dagger cut across the infant's throat as Mary leapt forward to hold the cup to catch the rich flow of blood.

"Noooo…Noooo….Noooo…" Starsky screamed again and again, as he collapsed in Simon's arms, his mind shutting down, denying the truth of what he had just been forced to do.

He was blissfully unaware of Marcus cutting his arm and adding his blood to the blood in the cup. Although his eyes were open and he appeared to be conscious, his mind had retreated to his safe place where he couldn't be reached. He didn't resist when Simon held the cup to his lips and forced him to drink. After Starsky had drank from the cup, Marcus dipped his fingers in the blood and traced the symbol of the inverted cross on Starsky's forehead. He handed the semi-conscious man over to his helpers and ordered them to put him back into the cellar so the ceremony could continue without him.

It was hours later before Starsky came out of his self induced trance. As the memory of what he had been forced to do flooded over him, he doubled over and clutched at his stomach, retching violently. He continued to gag unable to stop, shaking violently as his mind forced him to accept the reality of what he had done. At that moment, David Starsky ceased to exist. In his place all that remained was an empty shell, programmed to do what he was told.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

Starsky lay on the floor of his prison, exhausted and breathing heavily. After being attacked once again by the dogs earlier that day, Marcus had ordered Thomas and Matthew to bury him in a shallow grave behind the barn. Too weak to fight, Starsky had felt them carrying him across the uneven terrain to a hole they had already dug.

They threw him into the grave face down, ignoring his grunt of pain. Starsky lay there, still breathing, as they began to pile dirt on his back. Even as the dirt filtered down to clog his nose and mouth, he didn't try to escape. He welcomed death. It was his only salvation. But as the dirt kept piling up around him and he began to gasp for air, his dormant instinct for survival kicked in and he began to struggle. The grave was shallow enough that he was able to roll over onto his back. He began digging at the dirt with his hands, fighting his way out of the makeshift grave.

As he cleared the dirt away from his face and gasped in deep lungful of air, he heard Thomas and Thaddeus laughing at him and realized that burying him alive had just been another one of Simon's sick mind games. He pulled his aching body out of the hole and collapsed on the ground beside it. He felt the two men pick him up. They carried him back to the cellar and recklessly threw him down the stone steps.

Starsky cried out in pain as he felt a rib give way as he hit the bottom of the stairs. He'd had so many broken bones since his captivity that after the initial shock of the injury, he barely felt the pain. He crawled over to his corner of the room and curled up in a ball to try and sleep. Sleep had become just another way to escape. The atrocities that he'd had forced on his person repeatedly had become so common place that Starsky no longer thought about them once they were over.

With no sense of time or place, Starsky had no way of knowing that his captivity had lasted for almost eighteen years. A lifetime. He was no longer the ruggedly handsome, virile, self confident man he had been at thirty-six. At fifty four, he was a frail, wasted figure with a scarred body and long tangled hair that was interwoven with steaks of gray.

Nothing remained of the original David Starsky, except for the eyes. They were still a vivid sapphire blue that burned with an inner fire and intensity that could not be ignored.

He had cursed a God he no longer believed in for not allowing him to die but it was his own inner strength that refused to let him give up. He may have learned to submit in order to survive but there was a part of him, buried deep inside, that had never been dominated. Marcus may have destroyed a lot of things that had made up the core of the man but he had failed to destroy Starsky's iron will and stubborn nature.

It was hours later, late at night, when Thaddeus crept down the steps into the cellar and stealthily approached the sleeping Starsky. Thaddeus awakened him with a vicious kick in the stomach. Starsky awoke with a grunt and glared at the most brutal and hated of Simon's followers. Thaddeus was the only one who still came for Starsky on a regular basis, abusing him for his own perverse pleasure. With the passage of time, most of the others had come to ignore him unless Simon demanded his presence at one of their ceremonies or delegated a punishment for his own pleasure.

Thaddeus grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet, dragging him up the steps and across the field towards the old barn. Once inside the barn, Thaddeus swiftly tied Starsky's wrists together with a piece of frayed rope. Starsky stood there in silence as Thaddeus slipped the rope around his neck and then pulled, lifting him off the ground. Instinctively, Starsky began to kick with his legs as his air was cut off. Suddenly, two things happened simultaneously. One of Starsky's kicks caught Thaddeus in the face and the rope around his neck broke, dropping his body to the ground.

Scrambling to his knees, Starsky saw Thaddeus sitting on his ass, looking stunned and confused. Suddenly, an overwhelming rage seemed to consume Starsky. He threw himself at Thaddeus and knocked him to the ground. He pulled at the rope around his wrists and, miraculously, the frayed rope broke. Without a second thought, Starsky wrapped his hands around Thaddeus's throat, his sudden rage giving him almost superhuman strength in spite of his frail condition.

Thaddeus's eyes widened in alarm and sudden fear as he felt the unnatural strength in those long slender fingers, choking the life out of him. He began to struggle but years of suppressed anger gave Starsky the strength he needed to subdue him as he slowly choked the man to death. Starsky had never choked a man to death with his bare hands before but, as he watched the light fade from those pale blue eyes, he felt a certain grim satisfaction. Once he was sure that Thaddeus was dead and no longer posed a threat, Starsky pushed himself away from the body and fought to catch his breath.

There was a part of him that was rational enough to realize that killing Thaddeus had signed his own death warrant. Simon would have no choice to kill him now. He also realized that this was his last chance to try and escape before anyone discovered that he and Thaddeus were both missing. Awkwardly shoving himself to his feet, he clutched one arm around his ribs as the one he had broken earlier protested the movement.

He stumbled from the barn and made his way towards the woods, moving as fast as he could over the uneven ground and giving a silent prayer of thanks that there was no moon that night, allowing the cover of darkness to camouflage his escape from anyone who might be watching. He made sure he stayed downwind so the dogs wouldn't catch his scent and send up an alarm by barking. Some of the things he had learned in the jungles of Viet Nam had stayed with him, although he would have never told Hutch that he was more capable of surviving in the wilderness than he had ever let on.

As he disappeared into the woods, he paused to let his eyes adjust as much as possible to the blackness that surrounded him. He knew that he had to put as much distance as possible between himself and the compound before morning when someone would be sure to find Thaddeus's body and sound the alarm. He walked through the thick foliage, ever mindful of possible traps that could foil his escape. He stumbled across a tiny creek entirely by accident. Dropping to the ground on his belly, he drank his fill and then he waded into the middle of the thigh high water. Walking down the creek bed would slow his progress but it would also disguise his scent from the dogs. Even if they sent the dogs after him, they would lose his trail at the creek and become confused.

He followed the creek until he saw the first rays of the rising sun filtering through the branches of the trees. As he climbed onto the bank, he realized that the trees seemed to be thinning out. As he started walking, he heard a sound he thought he would never live long enough to hear again. The sound of a car horn somewhere in the distance. He picked up his pace and soon found himself at the edge of a small slope at the edge of the woods. Beneath him lay a ribbon of highway stretching as far as his eyes could see.

He thought about trying to flag down a ride to the closest town but quickly decided against that idea. It was too dangerous. Besides, nobody in their right mind would stop to pick up someone that looked like he did at the moment. He signed in resignation, realizing that he had no choice but to keep walking and it would be safer to do it under the cover of the forest. He moved back into the woods, staying close enough to the edge that he could still see the road. He had no idea where he was or how far he was from Bay City. But he was finally free and he would kill himself before he would allow himself to fall back into Simon's hands.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

It took almost two days before Starsky reached the outskirts of a small town. The city limit sign read _Ashwood Valley._ Somewhere in the recesses of his memories, Starsky remembered that Ashwood Valley was a small town over 40 miles to the east of Bay City, nestled at the base of one of the numerous mountain ranges that ran through the area.

Starsky sighed softly. He was still along way from home and terribly weak. Walking this far had depleted his meager reserve of energy, even though he had stopped frequently to rest. He'd never be able to walk that far. His only hope was to sneak a ride that was heading in the right direction. His mind was still confused and it was difficult to concentrate but his instincts for survival were stronger than ever.

Staying out of sight, Starsky crept into town. He found an alley behind what passed for the main street of town and dug through the trash cans looking for something to eat. After his enforced diet of the past 18 years, he was willing to eat almost anything. He found some stale rolls and brushed off the dirt, crouching down behind one of the cans to fill his empty stomach. When he finished, he moved on.

Aswood Valley wasn't very big. It consisted of a few stores, a post office, three bars and a gas station. It was one of those towns that had sprung up during California's gold rush days when people flocked to the state seeking to make a fortune. It had died just as quickly when the gold proved more elusive to find that most people had anticipated. Only a handful of people remained as permanent residents. Now it was nothing more than a convenient place to stop for gas or a bite to eat on your way to some other destination.

With almost animal like cunning, Starsky stayed out of sight and he moved through town until he reached the single gas station at the opposite end of town. Since the town was just off a main highway that ran through the state, Starsky was hoping he wouldn't have to wait long to sneak a ride with some unsuspecting driver. All he had to do was wait for the right type of vehicle to come along that was heading in the right direction.

His wait turned out to be a bit longer than he had hoped. It was almost evening when a pickup truck towing an empty horse trailer behind it pulled in for gas. From his hiding place, Starsky heard the driver tell the gas station attendant that he was heading to Los Angeles for a big horse auction. Both the destination and the vehicle met Starsky's needs perfectly. He waited until the attendant went back into the building and the driver made a quick trip to the men's room to run across the lot. He scrambled into the back of the empty trailer and hunkered down out of sight. Within a few minutes, he heard the driver climbing back into the truck and he pulled away with a jerk that almost sent Starsky sprawling.

The gentle sway of the trailer and the comforting sound of the tires on the pavement soon lulled Starsky asleep. He jerked awake, startled badly, when he heard the sound of heavy traffic and noises that he automatically associated with the city. When the truck stopped for a traffic light, Starsky instinctively jumped out of the trailer. Ignoring the blaring horns from the oncoming traffic, he darted across the street and into the mouth of a dark alley. He slumped to the ground, leaning his back against a brick wall and caught his breath as he waited for his heart to stop it's frantic pounding. Now that he was back in the city, he was overwhelmed with fear. Too much noise, too many strange faces, too much danger. His over stimulated mind couldn't process it all. He had to find Hutch. Hutch would take care of him. Hutch would keep him safe. All he had to do was remember how the hell to find Hutch.

After several minutes, Starsky managed to overcome his fear enough to creep farther down the alley. Somehow, he knew that he was in Los Angeles but nothing looked familiar to him anymore. He still had no idea just how long he had been gone, locked away in his own private version of hell.

He chose a direction at random and started walking. Although his appearance was disturbing to say the least, in a city like L.A., he could easily pass for just another one of the unfortunates who were forced to live on the streets because they had no place else to go. After wandering around for what seemed like hours, Starsky was no closer to finding Hutch than he had been when he started. Finally, driven by exhaustion, he found a secluded spot underneath an overpass and curled up to get some sleep.

The early morning sunlight woke him and he blinked against the harsh glare of the sun. Reluctant to venture out in the daytime, he stayed in his little haven until darkness fell and his own hunger and thirst forced him to venture out. In another alley, he found something to eat in a trash can and drank his fill from a public fountain.

Suddenly, he realized that something about the neighborhood he found himself in seemed vaguely familiar. The name _Venice Place_ flashed through his mind. That was where he needed to go, that was where he would find Hutch. Drawn by nearly forgotten memories, he found himself turning the south. He was exhausted when he finally found the address he was looking for only to discover that it was now nothing but a vacant lot. Tears of frustration and rage filled his eyes as he slumped down to his knees. How was he supposed to find Hutch now?

Too tired to think about that now, he crawled off to find a safe place to get some sleep and wait out the daylight to start his search again the next night.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

**A/N: The reunion scene between Starsky and Hutch in this chapter is taken directly from TLR's story.**

In the end, finding Hutch's new address turned out to be as simple as looking in the phone book. There was only one listing for anyone named Hutchinson, a K. R. Hutchinson, but Starsky knew it had to be his Hutch. He immediately recognized the address. It was in one of the secluded Canyons that were scattered throughout the city, not far from where Starsky's own apartment had been. The problem was it was also clear across town. Although Starsky was rapidly nearing total exhaustion, his need to see Hutch was stronger than the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him entirely. His mind was also over stimulated from the sights and sounds of the city that he was no longer familiar with and was in danger of pulling him back into the depths of despair and terror that had been his constant companions for so long. His only hope was to find Hutch before that happened and he was lost forever.

He forced himself to go on through sheer determination. Each step was harder than last, each breath he took requiring more concentration and effort. His mind began to drift as he stumbled along the long city blocks towards his final destination. It was after midnight before he finally found the address he was looking for. With barely any strength left, he crawled up the steps to the front stoop of the tiny house and collapsed. Reaching out he began to scratch at the door, praying that someone inside would hear him.

Then the door opened and an much older version of Hutch was standing there, leveling a gun at the wasted figure of his former partner and best friend, who was struggling to hang onto the doorframe, trying to scratch again as he struggled to his knees.

"Oh, my God," Hutch whispered, unable to believe his own eyes. The gun fell from his hand and he caught Starsky under the arms before he landed on his face. Hutch burst into tears and kissed the top of the dark curly head over and over. "Oh, my God!" he shouted joyfully. "It's you! Starsky, it's you! Oh, my God!"

But, his joy was short-lived, because the shock of seeing him alive after all these years was disappearing and being replaced with bits of reality---Starsky pawing for his sleeves, scars and fresh rope-burns, along with frayed ropes, still around his wrists. His lean, trembling muscles, his near-gray pallor, the numerous scars on his face.

His eyes, though, hadn't changed. Although bruised black, they were still very blue and intensely alive.

As for Starsky, nothing else mattered except the feel of Hutch's secure embrace, grounding him in reality as he gently pulled him into the house. For the first in 18 years, Starsky felt safe and protected.

**A/N: To find out the rest of this story, you will have to read TLR's Times and Seasons series. It will also fill you in on what Hutch has been up to for the past 18 years. You can go to Bay City Library and then go to the stories by TLR. There you will find the first story in this series (which is the story this is the pre-sequel to) The story is simply called times and seasons (revised) This is a revised version with a few minor changes. I have both versions.**

For anyone who is interested in reading this entire series, I do have the entire series and would be glad to share them with you, just contact me with your email address,. Please note, if you send me your email address thru an instant message, please type it out as follows xxxx at yahoo dot com. If you write it out the usual way, it will not come thru on an instant message correctly

Also, with TLR's kind permission, I would like to share her email with you that she sent to me after reading this story once it was completed. I feel both honored and humbled that she thought I did such a good job expanding on her original idea.

**Well, where do I start. With how you blended your story with mine, and got so inside of S during his captivity that I couldn't wait to see what happened next, although I kind of knew, but had never thought about it in such great detail. By the time I got to chapter 9, I felt like T&S belonged to you, and that was so great. You were so into that story, and S's trials. You didn't leave out a thing, even reminding me of things I myself had forgotten about. I especially liked how you captured what I was going after when I had him escaping in his mind. You really got that part, without changing it or over-explaining it. And the gradual loss of his sense of self was compelling too, the balance between feeling like an animal wanting to give up, but a human fighting to survive. You did all that so well without shaking anything up. How did you do that? I know for a fact I could not do that with anyone's story, and I like all of the stories I read. It's almost like you wrote the original T&S story yourself, or with me, or could have, easily. Missing scenes from a story. What a concept. It's not that you got inside S's head. That alone was wonderful enough. It's like you got into mine too, with the making of it, and that's what really threw me in the best way. Maybe other people wouldn't be so blown away by doing something like this, but I am. It's a clever concept, and you executed it better than I would have. I don't know if an effort like this would give anyone else the big head, but it has me. Thank you. I don't really know what else to say. You really brought the baby sacrifice scene alive too. My heart was kind of pounding on that one. And then how you portrayed S's escape from his near-hanging, well, that was awesome too, plus his trek home. I don't want to make you feel like you have to write any more in this series, I am quite satisfied, but if you do, please let me know so I can read it. Now I have to find a way to pull my head out of the clouds. You've made my day.**

**Sincerely,**

**TLR**


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