Monster Mash Challenge - Haunted Hearts 1 by Tiranog

[tiranog]

Medium: Story
Title: Haunted Hearts
Author: Tira Nog
Author's email address: tiranog2729@yahoo.co.uk
Author's web page: tiranog.southroad.com
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at:
Starsky & Hutch Archive
Me and Thee Archive:

Hutch shifted in his chair, ducking quickly as the accordianed, white paper mache legs of a cardboard skeleton sailed straight at his face as Huggy rushed by in his decorating frenzy.

"Hey, watch it, will ya?" Hutch groused, regaining the vertical.

"Sorry, man," Huggy apologized, climbing the chair beside Hutch to tape the skeleton to the ceiling overhead. Huggy was all in black today and looking very somber.

Hutch supposed he should be grateful that their flamboyant friend wasn't dressed as a vampire or zombie. But, knowing Huggy, he figured the costume would probably come on later tonight. It wasn't exactly easy to hang decorations in a cape or Frankenstein mask.

Hutch quickly extinguished the votive candle burning on the table as a cardboard bony foot dangled dangerously close to the flame.

"You're gonna burn the place down at this rate," he warned.

A distracted "Uh huh," came from above as Huggy struggled with the tape.

Hutch could hardly hear the answer. The sound of a coffin squealing open grated through the place as the Monster Mash started up for the eighth time in the forty minutes they'd been here.

Hutch thought there was every possibility that he might pull his magnum and shoot the damn jukebox if he had to hear that song one more time.

"He did the mash. He did the monster mash. The monster mash. It was a graveyard smash . . ." Starsky's less than dulcet tone overwhelmed the canned music as he made his way to the table.

Hutch couldn't help it. His eyes automatically scanned the trim line of Starsky's body, taking in the tight black jeans and orange sweatshirt.

The Santa Anas had blown some relief into his life when they'd arrived last week. Today Starsky was wearing a tight black leather jacket that matched his outfit, but for the last few days, he'd been sporting that bulky Mexican sweater that fell halfway down his thighs. Though it was a crime to cover his partner's amazing assets, Hutch had to admit it had made his life easier, not having so much of what he couldn't touch on display. Today, however, he was back to square one when it came to the temptation department.

If they'd been outside, Hutch would have donned his cheap sunglasses to hide the direction his eyes were moving, but Starsk had started hassling him about keeping them on indoors, so he tried to keep his gaze up and centered on his partner's eyes. Only, it was so hard to ignore those tight fitting jeans.

"Hey, the food's here," Starsky crowed with delight as he took the seat next to him and practically lowered his face to the plate to inhale his burger.

Amused, Hutch watched the inelegant display. Unlike last summer's almost daily trials at the ice cream stand, watching Starsky gobble down a burger and fries did nothing to his libido - for which he was eternally grateful.

"Something wrong with yours?" Starsky inquired.

"Huh?" Hutch asked, starting in his chair.

"You haven't touched it yet."

"I got distracted watching Huggy put up the decorations," Hutch extemporized.

Starsky looked to where Huggy was currently struggling to tape a cardboard witch flying on a broom to the ceiling at the next table.

"Place looks great, Hug!" Starsky shouted over.

Both he and Starsky lunged to their feet as the chair Huggy was balanced on went out from under him. The resulting crash brought all three of them to the wooden floor in a painful crush of elbows and knees.

"Uh, thanks," Huggy said as he untangled himself.

Once they'd all righted themselves, Hutch said, "I think that's enough decorating, don't you?"

Huggy surveyed the room. Nearly every table had a skeleton, witch, monster, or bat dangling over it.

"You think it's enough?" Huggy questioned.

"Looks great," Starsky admired. "What do you think, Hutch? Does it need a few more ghosts?"

Hutch, who thought that a single pumpkin decoration was more than enough, said, "You don't want to overdo it. That'd be . . . garish."

"Halloween's all about bein' garish, my man," Huggy said as they headed back towards their table. "But, maybe you're right. I'm beat and it's not even party time yet. You guys going to make the celebration? Anita said she's bringing jelly apples."

"I love jelly apples," Starsky said, repossessing his burger.

"I'm afraid we're gonna miss the party," Hutch said. "We're on duty tonight."

"I thought you had Saturdays off this month?" Huggy said.

"We did," Hutch answered. "Dobey called us in. We, and every other homicide detective in the city, are on stakeout tonight. We just thought we'd stop in here and grab a quick dinner before we went on duty."

Huggy's off centered face frowned. "You ain't after that satanic dude, are you?"

Huggy was always in tune with the pulse of his city. He'd known about the first two ritual killings before the newspapers had splashed the grisly details across their headlines.

This sicko had five notches to his belt now. A body a month, the victims all slaughtered on the night of the full moon in abandoned or little used cemeteries throughout the metropolitan area.

"Yeah," Stasky answered.

"Those murders weren't even in your jurisdiction," Huggy pointed out.

"It's not like the killer's been respecting jurisdiction," Starsky said. "The murders have been all over the city."

"The commissioner's ordered every precinct to stake out the cemeteries in their jurisdictions tonight," Hutch said.

"All the cemeteries?" Huggy asked, his tone making it plain he knew the scope of the task they'd been assigned.

With their line of work, they had a tendency to visit cemeteries more than most people did. But when Hutch thought about graveyards, it was always places like Forest Lawn or Westwood that came to mind. It wasn't until they'd started investigating these killings that he'd realized just how many tiny private cemeteries were scattered throughout Bay City. There were dozens of churchyards and even a few historical missions that had burial sites on their property, not to mention some of the older estates that had family plots. It was a truly daunting task the commissioner had assigned them.

"Yep," Starsky answered, "all the cemeteries."

"You're spending Halloween night in a cemetery?" Huggy didn't even seem to be trying to hide his horror.

"Yeah," Starsky's tone reflected his feelings on that matter.

"Are you nuts? It's bad enough to be in a cemetery at night, but on Halloween - "

"Huggy," Hutch interrupted. "We don't have a choice. And we're not going to be out in the cemetery. We're going to be surveilling it from a nearby house. We don't want to scare the killer off by being too visible."

"Which cemetery are you going to be watchin'?" Huggy asked.

"Like it makes a difference," Starsky said. "It's still a graveyard."

Ignoring his partner's near-whine, Hutch offered, "We've been assigned the one behind Holy Cross on Willis."

"The church burnt down six years ago," Huggy said.

"Yeah," Hutch said, remembering how sad the burnt out remains had looked when Starsk and he checked the site out yesterday afternoon.

"So where are you setting up, then?" Huggy asked.

Hutch made a quick scan of the bar to make sure they were still alone before replying, "There's a big, old boarded up abandoned building behind the cemetery."

"The Tatum Place," Huggy said with a knowledgeable nod. "You can't stay there."

"Why not?" Hutch asked, losing patience.

"Everyone in the neighbourhood knows that place is haunted. Why do you think it's stayed empty all these years," Huggy said. "Not even the squatters go in there."

Hutch wanted to strangle him for the strain in Starsky's voice as he asked, "What do you mean - haunted?"

"I mean ghosts, things that go bump in the night, the whole nine yards," Huggy said.

"Huggy - " Hutch began in a warning tone.

"I ain't yankin' your chain here," Huggy protested, looking genuinely worried. "That place used to be a pretty swanky funeral home back in the twenties before my relatives lived in the neighborhood. Tatum, the owner, was rich as a king. He married this pretty young thing that was said to be quite the looker. Apparently, she had eyes for some silent screen actor type. Tatum caught them together and shot them both dead. Talk has it that he chopped them up and burned them in the mortuary's crematorium. Folks that have tried to stay in the house say they see Tatum's pretty young wife roaming the halls at night."

"I told you that place was haunted, Hutch," Starsky complained, all the color gone from his face.

"For Christ's sake, Huggy," Hutch snapped. "I've spent the last two days trying to convince him that there's nothing to be scared of. Did you really have to tell that story?"

"It ain't no story, it's the god's truth. Tatum shot them both. You can look that up in the newspaper records," Huggy argued.

"But that doesn't mean the place is haunted," Hutch countered. "Starsk, you know there's no such thing as ghosts."

"No, you know that. All I know is that place gave me the creeps," Starsk said.

Hutch wanted to tell him he was overreacting, but the Tatum place had raised the hairs on the back of his neck, too, even though the most threatening thing that they'd seen in the empty house was a spooked mouse. But he sure as hell wasn't going to admit that to his superstitious partner.

Thinking fast, Hutch said in his most reasonable tone, "Okay, you don't want to stay there, we won't. The only other possible observation point was that big old crypt on the hill in the middle of the cemetery. Do you want to spend the night in a tomb instead?"

Hutch made the offer as though he fully intended to spend the night in the crypt.

Starsky was looking at him like he'd grown a third eye in the center of his forehead. "You can't be serious."

"Those are our two choices, buddy. You pick. I'm okay with either," Hutch said.

"I ain't sitting in the middle of a graveyard on Halloween night," Starsky protested.

"Fine. Then we're sitting in the Tatum place. Hurry up and finish your burger. We need to get moving," Hutch said, checking his wristwatch.

Starsky's expression plainly stated that he'd lost his appetite. "I'm done."

"Okay, let's hit the streets. Hug, next time you've got a story like that, do us a favor and keep it to yourself, okay?" Hutch said as he rose and donned his denim jacket.

"You two just be careful. I ain't kiddin'," Huggy implored.

The legitimate worry in those familiar dark eyes did nothing to alleviate the ball of tension gripping his gut. A glance at his partner told him Starsky was ready to bolt.

Masking his uneasiness, Hutch said as matter-of-factly as possible, "We'll be fine. It's just an empty house. See you later."

"Yeah, Hug. See you later," Starsky said in a tone that broadcasted his apprehension.

The ride over to Willis was completely silent.

"This is a really bad idea," Starsky said as he steered the Torino into the designated cul de sac three blocks from the cemetery. The two black and whites assigned to Holy Cross were already waiting there.

The houses on the street were as run down and neglected as most of the buildings on their beat were. Most of them were single family, wood frame dwellings with weed infested yards. There were one or two houses that had neat little gardens in front, but the majority might just as well have been abandoned for all the care their inhabitants took. Hutch knew that poor didn't necessarily equate to shabby, but sometimes it seemed that the unrelenting poverty just wore people's spirits down. It was a testament to the level of crime in the area that there was no reaction to the very visible police presence on the block.

"Hey, Morris," Hutch greeted the uniformed black officer leaning against the nearest police car as he climbed out of the Torino. He took a moment to retrieve the walkie talkie and flashlight from where he'd stowed them under the seat before entering the Pits. Seeing that Starsk had forgotten his flashlight, he picked it up off the seat as well.

Morris grinned. "How you guys doin'? You ready to face the ghouls and zombies of Tatum House?"

"Don't you start," Hutch said, forcing a smile. "We just got that schtick from Huggy Bear."

"It ain't no scthick," Morris said. "You guys must be really brave. No one in the neighborhood will set foot in that place."

Hutch ignored Starsky's nervous, "Hutch - "

"Fine. That will make our job all the easier. Is your walkie talkie juiced up?" Hutch asked, in a vain attempt to change the topic.

"I put new batteries in ten minutes ago," Morris answered.

"Good. We'll see you later. Starsk, here's your flashlight."

Knowing that Starsky would follow him, he cut through the nearest yard that bordered the back of Holy Cross cemetery. The fence separating the backyard from the graveyard was an aging wooden affair that Hutch didn't even have to climb to get over. It was only three feet high and wouldn't have kept out a lazy gopher.

A month ago, it would have been broad daylight at this time of day, but autumn had laid claim to even sunny California and the sun was starting to sink below the horizon.

The cemetery was just as rundown as the surrounding neighborhood. At some time in the distant past, there must have been some money in the community, for many of the plots around them sported fancy Victorian statuary and ornate crosses. Several of the crypts looked like they'd had stained glass windows at one time. But most of the weeping angels were missing heads or limbs and nearly all of the crypts' windows were shattered. There was some maintenance going on in the cemetery, for the grounds weren't the riot of weeds that most of the nearby yards had been, but even though the place was well maintained, the vandalized monuments were depressing as hell.

Hutch glanced over at his too-silent companion.

Starsky's lips were tightly pursed, his left hand hovering close to his shoulder holster as his wide eyes scanned the small city of tombstones, crypts, and broken statues as if expecting Dracula to pop out from behind one of them. Knowing his partner, that was probably exactly what Starsky was expecting.

The fading sunlight picked out the reddish highlights in his dark curls and cast a burnished glow to Starsky's skin. The orange sweatshirt he was wearing complimented the effects of the light perfectly, while his black leather jacket glinted in the dying light like onyx.

Struck by how damn beautiful the man was, Hutch ached to take his partner in his arms and kiss away his anxieties. The urge was so strong that it hurt.

"What's that?" Starsky nervously enquired as a rustling sound came from a nearby yew tree, his Beretta in hand as he trailed the source of the noise.

Spying the large black bird in the highest limb of the tree, Hutch said, "It's a crow. For God's sake, Starsk, try to relax."

"It's the full moon on Halloween night, and we're in a graveyard waiting for some psycho killer to show up and do his thing. That ain't exactly relaxing, partner."

"It's still light out. The moon isn't even up yet."

"You tell yourself that when Tatum's ghost grabs you. This is just asking for - " The word 'trouble' that Starsky was doubtless about to voice died as they crested the hill with the fancy crypt Hutch had mentioned earlier on it and the Tatum place came into sight behind the jumble of headstones, monoliths, and mausoleums.

Dusk was setting in. The cemetery was a montage of shifting shadows and dancing tree limbs in the wind.

"It didn't look this bad yesterday when we were out here," Starsky said. "It looks like the Bates motel in this light."

"That's really helpful, partner," Hutch sassed, though, he had to admit there was some truth to Starsky's words. The sun had set now and the world was turning gray around them. The Tatum place stood alone at the edge of the cemetery, on a block of burnt out buildings. They were approaching the place from the back, but even from behind, it was an intimidating sight. The fancy Victorian structure with its copulas and bay windows was a monument to an age of excess that was as dead as its builders. In its current state of neglect, even a sceptic like him was forced to admit that it was the perfect candidate for a haunted house.

"Do you think we could hang out on the back stairs?" Starsky asked.

Hutch didn't want to go into the place anymore than his partner did. But he knew he had to be the reasonable one or they would never get through this. "That would be a little obvious, don't you think? There's next to no cover around the house and it's visible from almost all of the cemetery. Besides, we already set up the surveillance equipment upstairs. Come on, Starsk. You know Huggy was just trying to get you going. We were in there yesterday. It's just an empty old house."

"Filled with ghosts and demons," Starsky grumbled.

Hutch smiled. "Yeah. Let's go meet those ghosts and demons of yours."

Yesterday morning, they'd entered the house from the front entrance, hauling the equipment up from the Torino in record time. No one had seemed to notice their intrusion. It wasn't like there were any other houses on the street. The estate was so big, it covered the entire block. The homes that had existed across the street at one time had been burned down in the spectacular fire that had taken out the neighboring church. Only the Tatum house had remained untouched by that monster blaze. Looking at it now, Hutch's imagination couldn't help but suggest that even that hungry fire had been too scared to enter the place.

Even though there were no neighbors to observe their comings and goings, they'd decided to play it safe and come in the back way. Scaling the twelve foot iron fence surrounding the Tatum grounds was easier said than done. The iron rods on top had wicked points that made it all but impossible to get over.

Bending down, Hutch clasped his hands together and gave his partner a hand up.

Once he'd dropped to the dried out, overgrown grass on the other side of the fence, Starsky squatted down, stuck both his hands through the fence, laced his fingers together as Hutch had, and gave Hutch a hand up.

Even with the boost, he nearly impaled himself on one of the points. Shaking a little at the close call, he dropped down beside his partner.

Sometimes, it still amazed him how in sync they were. All it took was a single glance at Starsky's face for him to know everything he was feeling. His own nervousness must have been showing, for Starsky gave an obviously forced smile and said, "Duty calls."

That small smile shot a burst of courage through him that was incongruously reassuring. It was so like his partner to offer him strength when Starsk was about to fall apart himself.

Side by side, they quickly crossed the backyard and made their way up the rickety wooden stairs to the back door. The door's window was so covered with grime that Hutch couldn't tell if there were a shade hanging behind it.

They'd forced the lock yesterday and oiled the hinges, so the door swung almost soundlessly open, not that there was anyone inside they'd be disturbing. Hutch had just figured that the squealing sound of rusty hinges might carry through the deserted cemetery behind the house.

He knew from yesterday's visit that the door opened onto an antique kitchen, but no light seemed to penetrate the filthy windows. The inside was as black as Simon Marcus' soul.

Catching Starsky's equally nervous eye, Hutch whispered, "Here goes," switched on his flashlight and stepped inside.

The beam of Starsky's light joined his own as they closed the door behind them.

It was his imagination, of course, but the place really did seem darker than it should be. It was only twilight outside. Some light should be coming in, for the wall beside the door had two windows on it. But the room was as pitch dark as a mine.

The beams of their flashlights played over a monstrous looking double tubbed sink, a huge, black cast iron stove that would have been an antique dealer's dream if it hadn't been coated in decades worth of dust and spider webs, an equally filthy wooden table with a couple of broken chairs around it, and an old fashioned icebox like the kind his grandfather had had in the farm's basement.

They quickly navigated their way through the kitchen, passing through a hall that was so thick with cobwebs that they looked like drapes in the shifting light.

The hall opened into a huge room with a massive fieldstone fireplace at one end. Like the kitchen, this room looked like it had been hastily evacuated, for it was still full of furniture. Though covered in decades of dust, Hutch was able to make out a couple of huge Victorian couches and wingbacked chairs, side tables, a massive wooden breakfront that must have been stunning in its day, and several standing lamps.

There was also a huge piano-like structure buried under decades of dust in the corner. Hutch had checked it out yesterday afternoon when some daylight was filtering into the room. It was a harpsichord. He'd never played one before. Not that he'd been able to get anything like music out of the untuned relic.

Both Starsky and he froze as their shifting flashlight beams settled on a pair of baleful eyes staring out of a harsh looking face. Those dark eyes seemed to be staring right at them.

"What the - "

"It's just a picture," Hutch hastily assured, moving his flashlight to pick out more details of the filthy oil painting. He remembered seeing it yesterday as they made their way upstairs, but it hadn't made quite the impression that it did in the dark.

It was a family portrait. A gray haired man with a hard featured face in a black suit dominated the painting. He was standing beside an exquisitely beautiful blonde with fine-boned features who looked like a teenager. Though it was common practice for portrait subjects not to smile in paintings done in that age, Hutch thought the young girl staring down at them looked particularly sad.

"You think that's Tatum and his wife?" Starsky asked.

"Probably," Hutch answered.

"He looks old enough to be her grandfather," Starsky commented.

"They married young back then."

"Huggy was right. She was a real looker," Starsky said.

"We should get upstairs before it gets much darker outside," Hutch said, something in him needing to get away from that depressing portrait. His imagination was running wild tonight. He really felt like the young girl's eyes were silently pleading with him for help.

"Yeah," Starsk agreed and turned to lead the way to a double staircase that looked like it had been the model for the one in Gone with the Wind. They'd already cut through what looked like a century's worth of cobwebs and dust on the left side yesterday. The right was still veiled from ceiling to stair with cobwebs that shifted eerily in their flashlight beams.

He followed Starsky up the left side, sticking closer than was absolutely necessary.

The bedroom they'd chosen to set up their surveillance equipment in had a view of the entire cemetery. Judging from the size of the chamber, and the humongous, filthy canopy bed, it had probably been the master bedroom. Hutch couldn't imagine what it would be like to sleep in a room with a graveyard view. Holy Cross had been an active cemetery back then, so the master and lady of the house would have had front row seats to every funeral.

The room felt strangely cold. He told himself that it was just the window they'd left open yesterday, but Hutch couldn't help but feel that they weren't welcome here.

Despite the twenty-four hours airing out, the room was still thick with dust and cobwebs.

The folding chairs they'd set up yesterday were still in place behind the open window, as was the camera tripod. Neither of them had been exactly comfortable leaving the expensive equipment they'd signed out unattended in the deserted house, but there was no way the delicate camera would have survived their jaunt over the twelve foot fence.

Like the living room downstairs, the place looked like it had been hastily deserted. The top of the long bureau held a lady's vanity that still had brush, comb, perfume bottles, and other toiletries scattered across it. They were as buried in dust as everything else. The open closet was still filled with clothes, though most of them were rotting. Hutch had even noticed what he'd thought to be a mink coat in it when he'd glanced into the closet yesterday.

He couldn't help but wonder why the servants hadn't packed the place up after Tatum was arrested, if indeed he had been arrested. It was strange how completely intact the building's contents were after being deserted for decades.

There was another oil painting up here. It was on the shadowed wall across from the bed. This portrait only had a single subject, the same sad-eyed blond girl. She was surprisingly visible through the dirt of ages coating the painting. Perhaps it was the white dress she was wearing that made her shine through the grime. The rendition was frighteningly lifelike. Hutch suddenly understood all the ghost stories that surrounded this place. If an intruder were to enter this room at night and catch sight of that picture in the shifting shadows, it might look like a ghost.

The second Hutch stepped into the bedroom, he was hit with a sneezing fit. He'd spent over an hour trying to clear out the worst of the dirt around where they'd be sitting, but the dust was just too pervasive for any sketchy cleaning to remove. Even the night's airing out had done little to help.

"You all right?" Starsk asked, laying a hand on his arm as if to brace him. The beam of the flashlight his partner held in his right hand played crazily around the filthy room.

When the sneezes showed no indication of abating, Starsky's left hand abandoned Hutch to dig into the pocket of his tight jacket and emerged with a wad of folded tissues. "Here. Use these."

Hutch quickly peeled one of the tissues off the pile and blew his nose. It helped some, but his allergies still left him stuffed up and miserable once the more dramatic sneezing stopped after what felt like forever.

Sniffling, Hutch wiped his nose with the now soggy tissue. It was only as he was putting the nasty thing in his own pocket that he realized how strange it was that Starsky had been carrying tissues. His partner didn't exactly live by the Boy Scout motto.

"Hey, what are you doing carrying tissues?" Hutch asked, leaping at any subject that would take his mind off their surroundings.

"With the way you were sneezing your head off yesterday, I thought you could use them," Starsk answered. And, somehow, his partner had known that Hutch would forget to bring them himself.

It was little, thoughtful gestures like this that were killing him by slow degrees. If his attraction to Starsky were just physical, Hutch knew he could have gotten over this insane infatuation months, maybe even years ago. But this need wasn't driven solely by hormones. It wasn't just sex or lust or the superficial attraction that had fuelled the dozens of relationships Hutch had had in the past that pulled him to Starsky's side. This man complemented his very soul.

"What is it?" Starsky asked, reading god only knew what in his shadowed face.

The room was nearly as dark as the kitchen had been. Hutch knew he shouldn't be able to see a thing other than his partner's sketchy features, and, yet, he could read Starsky's concern as clearly as he would have in the noonday sun. He didn't seem able to look away from the emotion in those night dark eyes.

"I . . . . " He what? This was hardly the setting for any kind of confession. Not knowing what to say, Hutch settled on an inadequate, "Thanks, partner."

Starsk gave his arm an encouraging squeeze and said with false cheer, "Come on. Let's get set up. I want to catch that creep and get the hell outta here."

"Sounds like a plan," Hutch said, taking a deep breath of the dusty air as Starsky stepped away. He hadn't been aware of how much heat Starsky had been radiating until he moved away.

They moved further into the room. They'd barely gone three steps when Starsky froze beside him.

"Was that picture there when we were here yesterday?" Starsky's voice shattered the unwelcoming silence of the deserted room.

Hutch started. "What?"

"That little round portrait. I don't remember seeing it yesterday. It, ah, isn't covered with dust like all the other junk on the dresser," Starsky said, pointing out the anomalously glinting, gold framed picture. It was directly across the room from the open window, so all the available natural light caught the frame.

Hutch wondered how he'd missed seeing it himself, but Starsky was always preternaturally aware of his surroundings. Starsk was always the one who noticed things like a wristwatch on a surgery patient's arm or other small details that most cops overlooked, himself included.

"I must have brushed against it when I was clearing out the cobwebs," Hutch said, eyeing the picture. It was way too clean.

"Look at it." Starsky had approached the dresser and was shining his flashlight down on the object. "It looks like it's been recently polished. Who do you think he is?"

Despite his better sense, Hutch joined his partner at the bureau and peered down at the picture. Starsky was right. The frame didn't look like the dust had been removed through casual contact. The glass above the handsome young man's face was crystal clear, the gold of the frame highly polished - which was blatantly impossible.

"Don't know. Her lover, maybe?" Hutch suggested.

"How'd it get here?"

"We must have just missed seeing it yesterday, Starsk. Let's not make a bug deal over it, okay?"

"But why is it so damn clean? Everything else in this place is filthy," Starsky pointed out.

"I dunno. It is weird," Hutch agreed, trying to ignore the shiver that shuddered down his spine. "Come on. Let's get set up. Do you want to man the camera first or do you want me to?"

Starsky was still standing near the dresser, staring down at the portrait, his uneasiness visible.

"Starsk?" Hutch prodded when Starsky didn't move from the other side of the room.

Hutch was still frantically searching his mind for some explanation to the anomaly when Starsky straightened and joined him at the window.

"I'll take first watch," Starsky offered. "Not that it matters who goes first. It's not like either of us is going to be trying to catch some sleep in that thing." Starsky's chin gestured to the canopy bed that was so covered in dust that its drapes looked gray. "And I sure as hell ain't letting you leave me alone here."

Hutch snorted and sat down in the metal folding chair that didn't have the tripod in front of it.

Starsky settled into the other chair and leaned forward to look through the camera. Its enormous black lens had a better range than field glasses.

They both shut off their flashlights and settled in for what looked to be a long, uncomfortable stakeout.

The only sounds were their breathing, the wind whispering through the tall grass in the backyard, and the occasional creaking and groaning of the house settling around them.

"Did you see that new blond down in the cafeteria?" Starsky asked as he stared through the camera lens, his tone obviously fishing for conversational topics.

"Huh?" Hutch asked.

"The one that was giving you the come on yesterday at lunch. Short blond with curly hair and huge - "

Remembering the woman's impressive bust line, Hutch quickly answered, "Yeah, I remember her. What about her?"

"She's pretty hot, don't you think?"

Not compared to you, Hutch thought. However. he had the sense to keep the sentiment to himself, answering with a desultory, "I suppose."

The brief silence that followed was rife with a strange tension that had nothing to do with their weird surroundings. Hutch had the feeling that Starsky was picking whatever he was going to say very carefully.

After a few minutes, Starsky said, "I can't even remember the last time we went out on a double date. I think it was before Gunther."

His gut clenching in dread, because he knew what was coming, Hutch replied as casually as he could manage, "Yeah, I think it was."

"You, um, don't talk about women at all anymore," Starsky commented.

"Don't I?" Hutch asked, as if it were no big deal.

"No, you don't. I was watching you with that pretty lady yesterday, and it was like you didn't even notice her."

"Maybe I had other things on my mind," Hutch said.

Of course, Starsky had to ask, "What kinda things?"

Tired of pretending, Hutch gave a weary, "Complicated things."

Starsky seemed to hear the truth in his answer, for he took a long moment to consider his next conversational volley. His question just about made Hutch lose it completely.

"You ain't seein' a married woman on the sly, are you? You know you could tell me if you were," Starsky said, all earnest concern, just inviting confidences.

Unable to keep his chuckle in, Hutch answered, "No, I'm not having an affair with a married woman."

Hutch couldn't help but think that compared to what was going on with him, that would be easy.

"So what's the deal, then?" Starsky asked. "Celibacy's never exactly been your style before."

"What makes you think I'm celibate?" Hutch asked. "Maybe I'm seeing a six foot four linebacker on the sly."

He said the last in a joking tone, mostly to see what kind of reaction he'd get.

He'd expected a chuckle, but after what a romance writer would call a pregnant pause, Starsky asked in an oddly serious tone, "Are you?"

Starsky wasn't looking through the camera anymore. Hutch could feel his gaze upon him.

Keeping his own eyes focused on the neat lines of tombstones a couple hundred yards away, Hutch asked, "And if I were? What then?"

His heart was literally in his throat. He could barely breathe as he waited Starsky's response. For once in his life, he hadn't a clue as to how this man he knew so well would react. With anything else, Hutch could usually predict his partner's response, but ever since Johnny Blaine had been found dead in that sleazy hotel, Starsk had been struggling with this issue.

Starsky's laugh took him by complete surprise. "Then I better be getting box seats to the game."

Hutch looked over. There wasn't much light, yet he could see Starsky's grin. But above the smile, Starsky's eyes were dark and serious, like he knew they weren't really joking anymore.

"There isn't any linebacker," Hutch said at last, to prevent any misunderstandings.

"I know," Starsk said.

That tension was back between them again. Starsky seemed to be waiting for him to say or do something.

They both jumped as the walkie-talkie crackled into that tense silence.

"Starsky? Hutch?" Morris' deep voice boomed through the room.

"Yeah?" Hutch said, grabbing the walkie talkie and pressing the button that would allow him to transmit.

When he released the button, Morris' voice continued with, "Abrams and Marcus from the 15th just bagged the suspect over in Gate of Heaven."

"That's great," Hutch said, trying to contain his disappointment that he and Starsky hadn't had a chance to arrest the creep themselves.

"Dobey said we can call it quits for the night. He said to bring the surveillance equipment in with you on Monday," Morris said.

"Okay. Thanks for the back up, man," Hutch said.

"It was our pleasure," Morris answered. "See you guys on Monday."

Hutch turned off the walkie talkie and looked over at Starsky. His partner's face mirrored his own disappointment.

"At least we won't have to spend four hours booking the creep," Hutch offered.

"Yeah. Let's pack this stuff up and get the hell out of here," Starsky said.

"Why don't you go get the car and I'll put the equipment away," Hutch offered. "It'll save us some time."

"You want me to leave you alone in this place?" Starsky sounded stunned.

Hutch looked around the filthy room. "It's just an abandoned house. I'll be fine."

Clearly tempted by the prospect of shaving off some time, Starsky checked, "You sure?"

"Positive. Go on. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"I'll be right back," Starsky promised and headed for the door.

Hutch watched his retreating partner until he lost sight of him in the gloomy hall outside the bedroom. As he turned to detach the camera from its tripod, he couldn't help but wonder where the conversation would have gone if it hadn't been interrupted. He couldn't help but feel that he'd missed the opportunity of a lifetime.

Second part of story