No More Dreaming

810

A Bloodbath story. Missing scenes and other weird things.

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It was a meadow. Not unlike others he’d seen during his lifetime, it could have easily been the meadow on the fringe of his home town, where he had spent his weekends playing football with friends. Or the grassy hill where he and his biology class had taken a field trip to, exploring its inhabitants. Or just that lazy summer walk through waist high grass, simple in its joy. It was a meadow. A chaotic jungle of grass, spiders, wild flowers and snails. Only this particular meadow stretching out before him was the only thing keeping him from his partner and certain death.

Hutch ran at a fair pace, over clusters of large rocks and a labyrinth of tree roots. Squinting his eyes against the bright morning sunshine, he could just make out a mass of robed figures swarming atop a stonework platform.

Only halfway there Hutch looked over his shoulder to the rest of his team. “Move it!” he yelled.

Speeding up, he edged close to a nearby tree. Hutch’s breathing was rapid, and he was completely exhausted from no sleep, fighting a pounding headache that four aspirin failed to cure. Squinting again, he knew there wasn’t any doubt. In the midst of the meadow and a circle of almost floating black robes, beneath an old oak, hung Starsky, his wrists bound and arms stretched high over his head. The taut rope was attached to a metal pole, and his feet dangled just inches above the ground. Hutch could hear the chanting now. He was within a hundred yards, and could see a girl holding a knife, her steady hand prepared to guide it into his partner’s chest. He was dangerously close to losing his best friend. Something deep inside Hutch snapped, and without a word he tore away from the tree. He beat a path over a small dusty trail and climbed the stones toward his partner. When he got to the top, somehow he found Starsky was on the ground fighting off an attacker. Fists a blazing, he borrowed strength from an unknown source and made easy work of several of Simon’s followers.

Hutch felt hot brazen anger course through his body, and his bulging biceps strained beneath his leather jacket. If they had delayed only a minute longer. If they’d miss read a single one of Marcus’s clues. If–if– he hadn’t made it in time, his partner would be finished. Seeing Starsky struggle to sit up, and hearing his backup, Hutch calmed himself quickly. Not bothering to look behind him, trusting they’d do their jobs, Hutch took one step forward and kneeled in front of his partner.

“It’s over. It’s all over.” Hutch’s bloody-knuckled hand reached to the nape of Starsky’s neck and pulled him close.

“What took you so long?” Starsky said, nabbing Hutch’s jacket fiercely, and double knotting his fingers into the tanned leather.

“That’s a nice lookin’ nightgown you got there,” Hutch said halfheartedly, having no other explanation.

Starsky half laughed, half sobbed, causing Hutch to peer down at him. His face was covered with whiskers, and his eyelids were creased, the skin around them looking leathery from very little sleep. He noted Starsky’s breaths,coming in ragged gasps, and his pallor was dusty gray. The way Starsky was trembling, Hutch also knew he had to be very weak and possibly dizzy.

“Hey,” Hutch whispered. Starsky’s eyes met his for the first time. “Trust me, it’s going to be okay, Starsk,” he said with a smile.

Starsky uttered a quiet “Hutch.” Then his eyes rolled up in his head, and he fell silent against his partner.

With quivering fingers, Hutch felt along Starsky’s neck for a pulse. He held his breath, then peered skyward, when the beat was strong beneath his touch. Hutch relaxed, letting his hand thread through the curls instead. Glancing up he nodded to a nearby officer to take the woman clinging at the foot of Starsky’s robe.

“Is he going to be all right?” The officer asked, as he gently pried the woman away.

“I’m no doctor,” Hutch snipped. “Sorry,” he quickly added. “He’s pretty beat up, but I don’t think it’s anything too serious.”

“Good, good,” the officer said. Allowing the two their privacy he quietly edged away with the woman in tow.

*****************************************************************************************

Something had crept into the blackness of Starsky’s mind; it changed and shifted till a foggy white cloud parted, revealing a mirror. He stood straight and stiff before it. Only it wasn’t his reflection staring back at him. It was Marcus, coldly laughing. Starsky wanted to run, but his feet seemed to be encased in ice. He stood still and silent as Marcus’s hand, glistening with the blood of his victims, reached out through the mirrored glass to clutch at his throat and squeeze. The fingers tightened their grip and Starsky choked. He instinctively tried to pull them away, feeling unable to breathe. He could almost feel the embodiment of evil that radiated from those fingers. Suddenly something warm in his ear calling to him made the vision fade away and his eyes opened. He’d only been out a few minutes, but his mind reeled, trying to grasp what was happening.

“Psst, hey, buddy,” Hutch took Starsky’s scrabbling hand away from his throat, a sad look on his face, as he watched his partner groggily struggle back to consciousness. “Starsky? You think you can stay awake?” Starsky thrashed, his breathing short and heavy. “Just come on now,” Hutch’s voice crooned.

Blinking against the glare of the morning sunlight, Starsky couldn’t seem to find what he was looking for at first. “Hey, take it easy.” Hearing the caring voice, he turned, spying the person it belonged to. Briefly, Starsky considered the blue eyes of his partner. Suddenly the urgency to breathe left him, as well as his dream and pounding heartbeat. Starsky’s head throbbed, and warm blood ran down his arms from his wrists. He frantically pulled at Hutch’s jacket, bracing himself. Starsky twisted in his partner’s hold, not understanding at first what the hell was going on. Did he need to back Hutch up? Where were they?

“Don’t buddy. We got them. You understand?” The soothing voice of his partner settled his heart rate.

“You still there, Hutch?”

“Still here, partner.” Hutch quickly answered.

“It’s over?” Starsky asked, his lips trembling.

“You’re right, partner, it’s all over,” Hutch said, noting the tremulous lips and the smell of sweat and fear.

Hutch wrapped his arms around Starsky. Even in his darkest nightmares, Hutch never dreamed anything like what was about to play out in front of him.

“You-you found me?” Starsky said, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Hutch laughed nervously, averting his moist eyes only briefly. “Had some help, buddy.” He forced his voice to stay steady and held back his tears of relief. “Besides, Starsk, once, in high-school, a kid stole my lunch money. I tracked him all the way across town to get it back.” Hutch looked up and motioned an order to a nearby officer, who nodded.

“Didn’t think you’d make it on time.” Starsky shuddered helplessly. “W-was like falling straight into hell being in that-that pit.” Starsky stumbled over his emotions, listening to the scuffling footsteps and the loud voices around him.

“Of course I made it on time, buddy. I think you’re more important than my lunch money,” Hutch lightly said, yet knowing how close it had been. The officer Hutch had directed moments earlier had returned, handing over a blanket he’d retrieved from the trunk of his car. Hutch wrapped it around his partner’s shoulders. “No way I was going to lose you, Starsk. You know what I mean?” He nodded his thanks to the officer, dismissing him.

Hutch’s voice was gentle. His embrace warmed the cold Starsky felt inside. “I know,” Starsky said, pushing a fist against his uninjured eye and scrubbing away the black pinpricks that threatened to overtake him.

Out of the blue Starsky seemed to become more aware of the chaos around him.

“Don’t move! Show us your hands! Drop your weapon!” The familiar words floated above him like stars in the sky. He looked up to see uniformed officers swarming around. Some were cuffing Simon’s followers and hauling them away. Others were bagging evidence. Off in a corner two officers still struggled to disarm one of the freakish robed men. Starsky felt dwarfed by it all, and a driven force deep inside him sprung alive. He could almost describe it as anger. He needed to be a cop, not the quarry of a kidnapping.

A gasp of air drained from his lungs. “Help me up!” Starsky pulled on the handful he had of Hutch’s jacket.

“Where do you think you’re going, Starsky?” Hutch noted how milk pale his partner became as the blood abandoned his face.

“Got a job to finish, help arrest these freaks.” Starsky continued to pull himself up but he teetered, lapsing against Hutch breathlessly.

“Buddy, you’re too weak, just rest.”

“I-I can-can handle it, Hutch.”

“Starsky, you couldn’t shoot your way out of a wet paper bag right now!” Hutch pointed out the obvious.

“I need to help, it’s my job.”

“Our guys can handle it, Starsky. That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Starsky twisted left then right, as if looking for something. “Gayle. She helped me.” He forced his fingers deeper into Hutch’s jacket. “She helped me, Hutch!”

Starsky tried again to gather up enough strength to stand, but his gut suddenly felt like it was engulfed in flames, this time too damn much to make his struggle more than a flutter in Hutch’s hold.

“We’ll take care of her, buddy. Don’t you worry.”

“Hutch.” Starsky doubled over, barely able to hold back the sob of pain.

Hutch immediately raised his head, making eye contact with the nearest available man. “Get me that ambulance!”

“No. I’m good. I’m good,” Starsky said, after a deep swallow. Just being with Hutch settled his stomach a bit. “Was like a dream, Hutch. A bad dream. Couldn’t escape it.” He lifted his head a few inches to look Hutch in the eye. “No hospital. Okay?”

“Starsky.” Hutch began to argue.

“Hutch.” Starsky’s breathing came harder. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his robe. “Not… hurtn’…. so… bad,” he said between deep breaths. “Please.”

The last word grabbed Hutch’s heart. He eyed the shivering man in his arms. Starsky looked well worked over. He imagined how afraid and alone he must have felt. Unable to escape physical and mental anguish. He’d want to go straight home too if he were in Starsky’s shoes.

Hutch gingerly touched the red splotch by Starsky’s eye. “Ouch!” Starsky flinched.

“Not hurting, huh?”

“‘Cept there.” Starsky gave a wan smile. “Hutch, trust me.”

Starsky wasn’t going to receive top prize for that snow job, but after a brief scan, Hutch seemed semi-satisfied that his injuries were not life threatening. Hutch would always trust his partner, until his last breath of air was gone. The important thing here was he’d found him. Alive.

“Starsky, no arguments.” Hutch’s words didn’t carry the weight he’d wanted them to.

Starsky frowned for a moment then clumsily leaned deeper into Hutch. He licked his lips surprised at how dry his mouth was. His head drooped, his body quivered, and his heart raced like a fast train. He looked to the robe he was wearing. It was embarrassing. He felt his body getting hot, like it always did when he got angry. He gritted his teeth, trying to control the mess of emotions inside of him.

“Is he okay?” Dobey’s voice thundered from out of nowhere; the loud voice startled Starsky causing him to jerk.

Hutch looked down to the man in his arms. “He’s going to be all right, Captain,” he said, offering up his own brand of snow job.

“He doesn’t look all right, Hutchinson. You get him to the hospital, now!” Dobey insisted.

Starsky’s head shot up at that. “I’m going home to take a shower. I smell. Then I want to book these guys and get my report written up.” He needed to have some control over things. Starsky tensed and he grabbed at Hutch’s jacket, grappling like a frenzied animal. “Get me up, will you!” He reached higher, grabbing Hutch’s shoulder, his feet striking out, blindly scrabbling to find traction.

“Starsky!” Dobey bellowed.

“Easy, okay, okay, let me help you, Starsk.” Hutch had no choice but to pull his partner’s trembling body up to its feet.

Starsky looked at Hutch hard, his eyes making it clear what the game plan would be. “Got a car?” He asked Hutch.

“Yep, yours.”

“Good, help me get to it.”

“Starsky, quit being stupid,” Dobey said sternly. “Look–”

“Yes, look, Captain,” Starsky interceded. “I just need to go home and wash up, rest, eat.” Starsky’s voice was raw and trembling with determination.

Captain Dobey didn’t say a word. He stood solid, taking in the detective before him. He noted the blood caked along the side of his face, the small eyes edged with sleep deprivation, the slightly dehydrated cracked lips, and the battered way Starsky stood against Hutch, with fists clenched at his sides.

“Cap.” Starsky softened.

Dobey Scratched his head in thought. “He’s your partner, Hutchinson,” he surrendered, then turned his attention back to the job at hand. “You men! I want a clean sweep of the area, every rock overturned and every tree uprooted.” Dobey’s form faded back into the whirling activity.

************************************************************

Starsky was barely functional. Not even half way to the Torino, he stumbled over a rough patch of pine needles that bit into his shoeless feet. “Hey, hey, you alright?” Hutch’s expression was grim, as he quickly caught hold of Starsky drawing him up before he could drop like a stone.

“I’m alright.”

“Hold on to me, Starsk,” Hutch smiled faintly, his large hands instantly steadying the shaking man.

Looking into Hutch’s eyes was like watching an approaching storm. Starsky knew Hutch was having his doubts about the hospital, and not even wanting him to be standing on his own two feet right now. But Starsky was thankful that Hutch had allowed him to make his own way down off that stony plate form. The few friendly slaps to his back by his fellow cops and a couple low whistles at the visible war wounds kept him moving, gave him back some of the dignity he felt he’d lost. It took all he had to keep his feet under him. A strength that went beyond explanation, yet, Starsky walked tall past it all. But now he hung limply in Hutch’s arms, standing in the middle of the field, breathing hard, and wondering if he could make it another step.

“Let’s take a breather,” Hutch said, his stormy eyes now soft with concern. “You know something? You look horrible.”

“That ain’t nice,” Starsky moaned.

“Maybe Dobey’s right, Starsky, you’re hurt bad and–”

“Yeah, I’m hurt.” Starsky had that defensive tone again. It was his way of holding himself together. Keeping his self control in check. Hutch knew that. ” How do you think I’m s’posed to be, Hutch? After being whacked over the head and tied up?” Starsky’s heart thumped even faster. “Hanging around waiting for a knife in the chest?”

Starsky wanted to curse but held back. He realized his words contained enough venom to sting. He was just tired, thirsty, hot, and in pain. The universe had upstaged him, and he had nothing leftover to give. It wasn’t something that happened often to him in his life. Being taken off guard, unable to hold his own. There were some dark moments when he didn’t think he’d make it, that he’d be deprived of ever seeing his partner again let alone the light of day. A huge dose of fear was stuffed down his throat, and Starsky was having an awful hard time digesting it. Right now he was souped- up on adrenaline. Everything had come at him fast. Gayle cutting the ropes. Falling to the ground. Fighting off an attacker. Police storming the area. Hutch pulling him into his arms. By the grace of his partner, he made it.

Hutch studied his partner like he was a precious stone. Starsky closed his eyes and shook his head. He didn’t mean to come off sounding so harsh. “I’m sorry, Hutch. I’m feeling okay,” he apologized, turning his head away. “Whatever you think.” Starsky gave in. “You know me.”

“I know you all right, buddy.”

Hutch continued to size up his partner. Starsky looked like hell. His eyes full of terror, afraid to let anyone know he’d found himself way over his head on this one. Starsky fidgeted under Hutch’s scrutiny, adjusting his robe. He gritted his teeth trying to keep the pain inside. Only seconds ago he nearly keeled over. His eyes were heavy lidded, and Hutch could see the purplish glancing blow to Starsky’s temple, that probably started this whole mess. His partner looked all but ready to break, struggling to keep his world from going black.

Hutch reached over and squeezed Starsky’s shoulder. “You sure you’re feeling okay?” Hutch’s brow raised, demanding the truth.

Starsky took a deep breath. “Barely made it out of there.”

A slight breeze lifted Hutch’s hair, and he looked questioningly to Starsky, pressing his lips together. He really didn’t think he’d make it either. He then looked to the summer blue sky, trying to take the edge off his own anger and fear. A few birds flew from limb to limb in a nearby tree. But the normalness of the sights before him didn’t help. So Hutch opted for a more normal tactic, humor. “What do you mean, barely, buddy? I got here in plenty of time.” Hutch gave a small smile then wrapped his arm around Starsky and slowly led him toward the car.

“Was easy, huh?” Starsky played along.

“Sure.”

Hutch didn’t miss the tightly coiled body or the feel of the coldness of Starsky’s skin. “So, Starsk?” Hutch began to try and distract his buddy from the ordeal he’d just been through.

“Yeah?”

“Can I have your car?”

“Nope, ” Starsky said seriously, knowing exactly what Hutch was trying to do. “She’s used to my butt in the driver seat.” Starsky gave a sideways glance to Hutch. “Tell you what though. If you junk that heap of yours, I’ll help you pick out a new one.”

“I’m not that desperate, dummy.”

They fell into silence lumbering toward the car. Hutch wasn’t sure what was keeping Starsky on his feet at all. Even with his help the man in his arms seemed awfully weak. Finally arriving, Hutch walked Starsky between the large logs lined up on the ground, until they came to the Torino. He opened the car door, balancing Starsky against him at the same time.

“We’re here,” he said, then gently as he could he eased Starsky to the seat.

“It’s okay, Hutch. I’m fine.” Starsky tried to reassure, the rays of concern beaming out his partner’s eyes, as he settled exhausted against the seat.

Hutch smiled, not really believing his partner’s words. He clicked the door softly shut, then jogged over to the driver side, making quick work of slipping in behind the wheel. Hutch placed the key into the ignition, but for a moment he just held it in place. The shot of adrenaline that pumped through him half made him want to dance and blare out a happy tune. But the other half of him almost felt sick to the point of wondering if he were able to drive at all. What had his partner been through.? An explosion somewhere deep inside him seemed to rock his very soul. Everything slowed down and the few seconds he sat there seemed to turn into hours.

Shaking, Hutch turned toward Starsky. “What’d they do to you? They hit you?” He could see the battle wounds but needed to hear the story behind each one.

“Let’s just say that was the easy part.” Starsky’s voice was dry and flat. He continued to glare straight ahead out the front window, just wanting to hear the roar of the car engine. He just wanted to get the hell away from there.

“What else?” Hutch’s voice became softer, hearing the despair and fear in his partner’s voice.

Starsky swung his gaze to meet his friend’s. Hutch suddenly had the urge to pull his partner into an embrace. Starsky would allow it. He could see it in his eyes, but he would never ask. “Buddy–” Hutch started to reach out.

“Hutch, don’t.” Starsky’s gaze darted away from him and he leaned his body further toward the passenger door. He was close to breaking down, and the touch would have finished him. “Just- just.” Starsky’s voice lodged in his throat.

“Starsk.” The word only a hint of a whisper.

“Just be glad I’m not bear food,” Starsky said, unemotionally. “Later, okay, Hutch? Just–later. Work to do.”

Starsky looked so determined and Hutch’s heart broke watching his partner gather his pain like egg’s in a basket to hide it from him. Starsky was strong, but his strength was fading fast. Action. That was Starsky’s way of working through things. Hutch understood that about his partner, and he would do what he had to, to pull Starsky through this.

Hutch licked his lips. Suddenly he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. “Okay.” Then he turned to face front and twisted the key.

****************************************************************************

The dark sky above him was clear, lighting the path he ran down. Starsky clutched at the black robe, feeling a cold wind cut right through him. Something was after him. Something in the dark he couldn’t see, or hear, only felt. The path wound past a cluster of boulders. He wanted to call out to Hutch but couldn’t make a sound, so he just kept on running. Whatever it was behind him was closing in.

‘Faster, faster, gotta move faster.’

He willed his legs but they didn’t respond. Instead he tripped over the robe that was dragging in the dirt, ending up on his stomach face down and gasping for breath.

Something told him to lay perfectly still and quiet. He turned his head to the side. He wasn’t alone. There was rustling coming from the shadowy forest around him. He heard a deep grunting growl. Starsky tried to see what it was but all he saw was darkness. A wave of panic came over him as he matched the sounds to an image in his head. Fangs jutting from large jaws dripping with saliva, a massive furry body, and cutting sharp claws. He tried to clear his mind. He knew this wasn’t real. He was dreaming, but he was caught in the grips of the nightmare, at its mercy. Still looking to the forest, he thought he saw something crouching motionless in the shadows.

“Get away. Get away!” Starsky frantically fought to push himself up from the dirt, but a paw to his shoulder pressed him back down. A sharp pain came to his shoulder as teeth sank into him and began to tear at his flesh. A sob left him, the searing pain making its way to his gut.

*************************************************************************************

Starsky had been fading in and out since they had gotten on the road, but now finally drifted into unconsciousness.

Hutch pulled up to the curb and placed the car in park. He had been trying to decide the whole ride where to go. Take his partner home or to the hospital. Starsky had been beaten to the ground by a group of freaks in black robes, and a part of him knew his friend should seek medical attention. But Starsky’s plea kept ringing in his ears. The fact was, he himself didn’t want to put his partner’s life in anyone else’s hands. Laying logic aside Hutch had come to his decision. Take him home.

Hutch noted his partner’s restless sleep. “Starsk.” He laid an arm across the seat and placed a soft hand to Starsky’s shoulder, massaging with his fingers. Hutch’s intention was simply to slowly wake his partner up, but Starsky awakened violently, jerking back in the seat to the slight touch. His body arched and his eyes went wide, darting all about looking to catch sight of something familiar.

“Get away!” He yelled, his right foot kicking outward, and his hands rising to push the creature away.

“Starsk, shh, shh, ” Hutch soothed. Confusion surrounded Starsky, and he refused to settle.

Caught in the panic of his struggle, Starsky called out for the only person he trusted. “Hutch!”

Hutch held tighter to Starsky’s shoulder. “Starsky!” Hutch shouted to get his partner’s attention. “Whoa now!” He pulled his panicked partner toward him. Seeing Starsky’s eyes full of fear, Hutch lightened up on his grip. “Easy, Starsk.” The words echoed through Starsky and he sat paralyzed. “You know where you are?” Hutch said, loosening his grip more. “Look for yourself.”

A few seconds passed. Starsky wasn’t quite sure where he was at first. He looked to the hand on his shoulder, still feeling the grisly teeth that he thought were clamped there, but the dream had faded again. “Hutch, you brought me home?” Hutch could see Starsky’s eyes held question marks in them.

“Didn’t want you stinking up the place, buddy.” Hutch smiled. Starsky sat in his seat quietly; carefully fitting the pieces of the last hour back into his muddled brain. “You okay?” Hutch peered worriedly at him.

“Okay,” Starsky whispered more to himself, then straightened his hunched shoulders. “Thanks. You’re the best, Hutch.”

“You’re lucky.”

Starsky looked away, swallowing with difficulty. “I know,” he said through quivering lips.

Starsky scrunched up his face. His head hurt and he felt dizzy. He wasn’t sure his legs would hold him up, but he was sure going to give it a go. Hutch could tell his friend was tiring. He opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it slowly. He looked straight ahead, then fumbled with the door handle, finally exiting the car. Hutch had just made it over to the passenger side as Starsky was climbing out.

“Here now, buddy. You–” He was about to tell Starsky he couldn’t do it on his own. But the ‘I can do it’ look in his partner’s eye stopped him. “You–uh, you just take it slow.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Starsky said, trying to will himself to stop shaking, still not convinced himself his feet would carry him.

Hutch shook his head sadly as he walked behind his friend. Starsky had put all his energy into making it on his own up the stairs and into the apartment. Without a word he collapsed on the couch, sitting shapeless and shaking. He hardly noticed Hutch darting around the apartment. He was too busy trying to ignore the fire in his gut, the hard lump in his throat, and the way everything in the apartment seemed to rise and fall with each aching breath he took. He wished he could think of some reason to get Hutch to leave him be, but he couldn’t, or rather, he didn’t really want to.

“How ’bout some water, buddy?” Starsky barely heard the words coming from the kitchen. He felt woozy and the black pinpricks were back.

“Sure,” he slurred, closing his eyes.

The aroma of the damp cave-like pit and the smell of sweat swirled around him. Starsky tossed and grunted, his trigger finger impulsively working, even though he knew he had no gun in his hand. His mouth moved, he wanted to scream but nothing would come out. He could see the dirty yellow glow of the torches, felt the soggy ground beneath him as robed men clubbed him over and over again. He could feel his own body become swollen and misshapen from the beatings. Darkness skittered around the fringes of his mind, and he gave up seeing. Every muscle in his body complained, and he heard himself grunt again, this time feeling a long metal stake plunge into his gut. He curled into a ball and tried to wrap his arms tight around himself, but something tugged them away. He fought hard. Injured or not he wasn’t going to die this way. He didn’t want Hutch to have to live with finding his dead decomposed body strung up by its wrists flapping in the breeze.

“Hutch!” He wanted to open his eyes but couldn’t. He felt the tugging increase. He tried to wrestle with the force, but it was stronger then he was. “Hutch. Hutch. Hutch.” His whole body shook. He thought he heard Hutch calling to him. He strained to hear, but his blood was rushing in his ears. Maybe it wasn’t Hutch. Maybe it was Simon’s creeps. Finally the tugging was so hard it pulled until he was sitting up eye to eye and face to face with a dark shadow. A flare of fear filled Starsky, and he tried to escape the clutches.

“Starsky, it’s me,” Hutch said almost sternly, grabbing more tightly to Starsky’s arm.

“Hutch?” Starsky whispered, his eyes cloudy and confused, darting around the room. Some part of him still wasn’t sure where he was, and he half expected a robed figure to come at him with a torch or knife. Starsky turned back to the man before him. “Hutch.” This time knowingly said, and his face flushed with embarrassment.

“Happy to meet you,” Hutch smiled, but it faded seeing the shame on his friend’s face. “Hey, it’s okay, buddy.”

A relaxed awareness encompassed Starsky’s body, calming to Hutch’s natural soothing voice and gentle

fingers absently stroking the side of his face.

“You stayed with me?” Starsky groggily asked.

“Was the least I could do, Starsk. I know you’re scared and hurting. I can see it in your eyes, partner.” Hutch’s fingers moved to massage a tense shoulder. “Am I right?”

Starsky sat up more, slow and stiffly. “I guess.” He knew he felt something deep inside, he wasn’t sure if fear was the word, to be used, but for now it would work.

Hutch cleared his throat needing to know more, yet afraid to push. “Starsky, you want to tell me–”

“Hutch.” Starsky raised a feeble hand stopping him. “I–I–” He didn’t know what to say, wasn’t really feeling up to the talk. He still had that hideous robe on, every inch of his body ached and he still smelled. ‘Smelled?’ “How long was I out?” He put off answering the question and Hutch allowed it.

“Thirty minutes. You were snoring by the time I had gotten you a glass of water. I didn’t have the heart.” Hutch shrugged.

Starsky took in a deep breath and made a face. “I smell.”

“I know.” Hutch couldn’t help but smile. “I held my nose,” he softly chuckled.

Looking at Starsky’s drowsy eyes and shakiness, Hutch wasn’t so sure he should be the one applying aid. Starsky sensed his partner’s doubt and his brow furrowed. “You–you–” he looked away. “You won’t be leavin’ or nothin’?” Hutch right off detected the awkwardness in his partner’s voice.

Starsky felt a squeeze to his shoulder, then heard Hutch shuffling something off to his right. “I’ll be around, Starsk,” he said, in as easy and reassuring voice as he could muster. He would safeguard his partner and do what he could to clean up the wounds.

Hutch turned back to him and began to gingerly wipe away the blood off the side of his face with a moist cloth. Starsky jerked away. “Easy,” Hutch mumbled.

“S’ just a small cut,” Starsky bit down hard, but allowed Hutch to continue.

“Still needs cleaning up. Just try to hold still.” Setting the cloth down, Hutch then spread some salve on his fingers. He looked to the burn on the side of Starsky’s face.

Starsky sat rigidly. “Hey, that’s going to hurt,” he complained.

“Already hurts, Starsky.” Hutch winced, then started to apply the salve.

“Just be quick, Hutch. I want to hit the shower.” Starsky sat shaking.

“You don’t look like you’ll be hitting much of anything, partner,” Hutch matter-of-factly pointed out.

Hutch worked as fast as he could with his first-aid treatments. He rolled up the sleeves of the black robe and cleaned several more cuts on Starsky’s arms, and then legs. Starsky stirred, pain distorting his face with each touch, when his over protective partner began to bandage his wrists. “Hutch, can you hurry up with that?”

Hutch looked up with a smile. “I’m doing my best.”

“I know that,” Starsky sighed. The filthy black robe rubbing against his skin was making him itch and feel ill; all he could think about was shredding it into bits.

Hutch then spread apart the robe to look at Starsky’s chest. He held back a curse as he cleaned up a few scrapes, being careful not to touch the mottled black and blue areas along Starsky’s rib cage. Hutch lowered the robe more over Starsky’s shoulders and moved to his back. He tried to prepare himself but no one is ever really prepared to see the one you care about injured or hurt in anyway. Starsky sat quiet, fists clenched white at his sides, while Hutch counted five large bruises and three smaller ones. Starsky’s entire back was plastered with dirt, red and chaffed like it’d been scraping against rock. Hutch didn’t like the look of it at all; it could get infected. He pulled his lower lip into his mouth, trying not to make a sound as he continued to clean the areas.

Finally uncomfortable with the silence, Starsky spoke. “Hutch, come on, it’s nothing, just some cuts and dirt, let it be.” Starsky pulled away and struggled to his feet, standing shakily. ” I need to shower. You can finish counting my bruises later.”

Hutch followed, also coming to his feet, but years of friendship told him to back off some. He didn’t reach out, as he wanted to, allowing his partner some breathing room.

By the time Starsky reached the end of the couch, he was already thinking of how to tell Hutch he could leave. That he didn’t need his hand held. That he was a big boy. But the fact was, he did need his hand held, and he knew right now he felt more like a scared little boy rather than the grown man he knew he was. Fact was, he relished every second and every touch of comfort Hutch offered. Fact was, he didn’t want to be alone. Starsky suddenly felt dizzy, and he stood rigid and unmoving a few seconds.

Hutch was suddenly there at his side with a hand on his arm. “Hey. Starsk, I don’t think it’d be a good idea to be alone–”

“Look, Hutch, later I’ll let you bring me my shaver, okay?” Starsky smiled. “Just let me wash up first, not much danger in that,” Starsky drawled out. Hutch still held his friend’s arm, not so sure he should agree. He’d already waived the hospital. “You gonna leave me my dignity?” Starsky’s smile faded some.

“That’s up to you.” Hutch was worried. A lingering uncertainty brought back the headache he thought had gone. He rubbed his temple with thumb and forefinger to relieve the pain. He didn’t think his partner could make it through a shower without falling to his knees the way he looked. But it was the slight way Starsky cocked his head and the meek look in his tired blue eyes that made up Hutch’s mind. “You got it, buddy,” he said, giving in. “Just call if you need me,” Hutch said accepting the fact that Starsky wanted his privacy.

*********************************************************

Starsky stood nude, eyes closed, as droplets of water rushed over his upturned face, rolling down his chest, stomach, thighs and feet. He had scrubbed with soap and sponge so hard his skin felt on fire. Now he just let the hot water wash over him, rinsing away the last of the dirt and easing tense muscles.

“How you doing there?” Hutch rapped lightly on the door, peeking his head worriedly into the vapory room. No answer. He pushed lightly, stepping into the steam. Looking to the tiled floor, he bent over to pick up the black robe. Straightening, he ran a finger over the red upturned cross; then angrily tossed it aside out of sight. Hutch reached for a towel; without looking, he slipped his hand behind the vinyl to his partner. “Starsk, how you doin’?” he repeated.

“Better,” Starsky lied, having just shut the water off. He snatched the towel and wrapped it around his hips. Pushing back the curtain, he stepped out of the shower. Water ran off his body in streams to drip onto the floor, and his hair was plastered to the sides of his face. “Got my shaver?” He almost smiled but was too tired to pull it off. Suddenly a wave of nausea surged through him, and his face became red and sweaty.

“You gonna get sick on me, buddy?” Hutch reached over to grab his partner under the arms.

“I’m fine,” Starsky said miserably, swaying like a blade of grass in a windstorm.

“You look like hell, Starsk.” Hutch eased his friend to the closed toilet seat.

“Funny.” Starsky looked up, an uncomfortable smile on his face. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.” He winced, turning his head to the side.

To see his partner in pain made Hutch feel sick. “You just stay right there. Let me help you, pal. Get you dressed and into bed.” Hutch rubbed Starsky’s back gently, waiting for the go-ahead.

“Yeah, okay,” Starsky said in a sulky tone, too beat up and hurting to bother fighting for independence any longer.

Hutch helped Starsky up. “How do I smell?” Starsky asked, feigning comedy.

“Like a million bucks, partner.” Hutch smiled, patting Starsky’s back. It was a small victory.

His partner had been reduced to little more than a handful of empty peanut shells, all measure of strength gone. Yet Starsky managed to dress himself and crawl into bed. Hutch pulled the covers up over his friend, not certain whether it was fear or weariness, when Starksy raised his hand knuckling a few drops of wetness from his eyes.

Hutch started to push again for answers, but reined it in. “I’ll be out here if you need me, Starsk,” he said instead, turning and walking toward the doorway. He had just grasped the door handle when Starsky’s soft voice stopped him.

“Know something, Hutch?” Starsky paused a moment, watching Hutch turn and rest his back against the inside door jam. “I owe you my life.”

Hutch narrowed his eyes. “Aw, Starsk.” He shrugged. “I didn’t do much. I wish I could have gotten to you sooner.”

“Still, I owe you.”

Hutch swallowed. His lips suddenly felt dry and his palm that grasped the door handle started to sweat. He had to avert his eyes, gazing around the room, not wanting to break down in front of Starsky After all his partner was within an inch his life by the time he’d gotten to him. One stroke of that knife would have left Starsky with barely a breath in him. Hutch forced a smile, feeling warm and dizzy at the same time, but back in control. “Yeah, buddy?” His blue eyes now sparkling. “How you plan on paying me back?” Hutch managed to laugh.

Starsky felt his eyes closing, barely able to keep them open another minute. “Settle up with you somehow,” he said, a whoosh of air escaping him as his neck went limp and his head sagged sideways into the pillow.

“Partner, you already did.” Hutch whispered, pulling the door and leaving it open just a crack.

***************************************************************************************

Starsky wasn’t sure what it was at first that awakened him from a deep sleep. All he knew was he felt cold, and he clutched at the sheets, pulling them tighter around himself. The shade was drawn half up and the light of the moon cast strange shadows on the walls. He pushed himself upward off the pillow. Glancing around the room, he suddenly became aware of something there. Watching him through the darkness. He reached out.

“Hutch?” No answer.

Starsky turned his head from side to side, expecting to see Hutch sleeping in a chair near the bed, but all he saw were the growing shadows pitching about on the walls. The coldness he still felt almost numbed him. Starsky suddenly heard someone’s steady breathing, but he knew right off it wasn’t his or his partner’s. Without delay he sat up swinging his legs off the bed. That action made the room close in on him, but he forced himself to remain calm.

He nervously and cautiously moved toward the switch on the wall flicking it several times when the lights didn’t come on. “Hutch?” he called again.

The breathing became louder almost panting like an animal, but the unmistakable sound of humanness was there.

‘His gun.’

Starsky gathered his wits, and turned toward the bureau where he kept it. As he twisted around a robed figure erupted from the darkness to stand before him.

“Marcus!” Starsky froze stiff by the use of the name he never wanted to hear again.

‘I’m still asleep. Still dreaming.’ he thought.

“Welcome, to my dream.” Marcus’s eyes peered through the darkness at him, and Starsky quickly noticed the gleaming metal knife in the man’s hand. “I dreamed Hutchinson’s death.” Marcus’s eyes drifted to the floor and Starsky’s gaze followed. What he saw came as a brutal blow. He almost passed out headlong to the floor himself, but found he couldn’t move an inch. The information his brain was sending him didn’t make sense.

Hutch lay sprawled on the floor at Marcus’s feet. His face was ghost white. “What the-the hell is going on?” Starsky’s throat constricted and he stopped breathing. His heart pounded. Beads of sweat broke out on his face, and he frowned.

‘Nightmare. It was just another nightmare.’

“I dreamed Hutchinson’s death. Now he’s dead.” Marcus’s sinister black eyes fixed ruthlessly on Starsky, and he grinned.

Starsky watched, unable to move as Hutch gulped, denied of air. He looked blankly at Starsky, muttering something, his blood draining fast from a cut on his throat. Hutch tried to lift his head, but couldn’t.

“Starsky.” The single word passed out his lips before his head flopped to the floor. His body twitched a few times then lay still, no breaths, nothing at all.

Starsky wanted to scream, but instead, he willed himself to wake. A growing uncertainty filled him. It spread through his body till the pain of what he saw before him was too much to bear. What was dream? What was real? Starsky wanted to sink to his knees sobbing, but instead he turned his sights to Marcus.

“I’ll kill you, you bastard,” he breathed, then pitched forward, grabbing the blood stained knife and trying to wrestle it from Marcus’s hand.

Fighting with Marcus was like fighting a ghost. There was no warmth in the man’s hands, and his skin was the tone of gray ash. Marcus was strong and his eyes burned steady like a flame. As hard as Starsky fought, he couldn’t budge the man. Marcus moved in almost a hypnotic state, dodging the knife and holding Starsky back at the same time.

“I dreamed my death, Starsky.” Marcus smiled. “And I’m already dead.”

Starsky finally got control of the knife and skillfully drew it across the man’s jugular, and then stepped back to watch. Marcus didn’t shudder. His brow lifted and his expression darkened. Where there should have been a burst of blood, there was nothing. No sign of any damage. Starsky knew he didn’t miss his mark. He had felt the blade drag across the man’s flesh.

“No more dreaming,” Marcus said with an evil smile, then he fell back, striking the floor, eyes open yet unseeing.

Utterly terrified, Starsky took one step toward Hutch then stopped rooted in place. Hutch’s eyes were empty, and he could see even in the shadow lit room the deep gruesome slash across his throat. Starsky reached out a hand, but still couldn’t move or stop his shaking. ‘

Hutch was dead. Marcus? He was in jail. How could this be? It wasn’t possible.’

A powerful chill curled its way through him. Outside his window he saw a flash of lightning, heard the crashing sound of thunder. It caused him to flinch so badly he found his voice.

“No!” he cried out loud. “No! No!” The word slowly turned into a faint plea. “No, no, no.”

“Here, here,” a loud voice called, and Starsky could feel fingers titling his head upward. “Right here.” Starsky erupted forward, his eyes flying open, finding himself face to face with Hutch. “Starsk, just take it easy, it’s okay, just another dream.”

Starsky said nothing, his jaw hanging open as he tried to make sense of what was happening. He took in a deep breath and let it out again. “You wanna tell me?” Hutch asked. Starsky shrugged, seemingly coming around. “That bad, huh?” Hutch’s voice tender with concern.

“Pretty much,” Starsky’s voice was edged with fear and his lungs were heaving.

Hutch’s caring hands held him close, and Starsky quickly fell limp against him, exhausted from the impact of his dream, which had only a short time ago been his reality. He raised a hand, letting it mingle in the air. It shook so badly it was almost crippling. “Look at me. I’m still shaking.” Before he could let it fall to his side, Hutch took it in his.

“Hey, any sane man would be rattled after what you’ve been through, partner. Can you tell me about it now? Huh?”

Starsky looked around the room uneasily, ready to be jerked yet into another nightmare. His heart raced along with his breath. His vision was blurry and a tight feeling settled in his gut. “Starsky.” Hutch called softly. Starsky struggled against the overwhelming feelings and winced when he looked to Hutch, seeing his partner’s pale blue eyes that stung with unshed tears. He looked at his throat. No blood there. Hutch was perfectly normal and breathing. “What happened?” Hutch asked, putting a hand to Starsky’s cheek. He knew the dreams wouldn’t stop until his partner let out what he kept bottled tight inside.

“I didn’t even make it into a stall. Someone whacked me in the side of the head so hard, everything went black.” Starsky struggled to speak. “I-I don’t know where I was when I came to. But, they-they,” Starsky started off, his voice uneven. “They were all around me. Didn’t exactly extend to me the usual human courtesies, either Hutch.” He tilted his head, his expression serious. “No chair to sit in. Only the cold damp dirt I kneeled in. At first I was blindfolded. Couldn’t see what or who was coming at me. They were all around me. Chanting. I could smell them. They were so close.” Starsky was still breathing heavy, and paused to try and collect a mouthful of air.

Hutch quickly moved in closer. “You all right?”

“I tried to get to my feet.” Starsky continued, not responding to the question only because he wasn’t sure of the answer. “For a minute I think I did get to my feet. The chanting stopped. It was so quiet and I still couldn’t see. I almost thought they’d gone, but I sensed them there. So close they were smothering me with their stink.” Starsky’s bushy brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, reliving the event in his mind. “All of a sudden they began to beat me with sticks, feet, hands. I forced myself to stay standing, but there were too many of them. I–I finally dropped to my knees again. Tried to play it tough. Didn’t want them to know how scared I was. Seems they didn’t like that too much.”

Hutch could almost hear his partner’s hard-nosed voice yelling at his abductors. Could almost see his broad shoulders pulled back in a desperate attempt to show the lowlifes that held him captive he wasn’t afraid.

” I ended up face down.”

Hutch tried to keep his expression normal, but he could feel his face flush with anger as he listened.

“They kept slamming my rib’s with-.” Starsky stopped trying to control the quiver in his voice. “I don’t know, but it hurt bad at first. Then nothing. No pain at all. I guess I must ‘ve blacked out.”

Hutch kept a hand on Starsky’s shoulder. He didn’t move or say a word. Part of him wanted to tell Starsky it was okay, he needn’t go on, but the cop part of him knew he had to hear it all. ” When I came to, I was still face down, and for awhile it was so quiet again. I swear I could hear my own heart beating against the wall of my chest like a hammer.” Starsky slowly opened his eyes and looked at Hutch. “They were there though. Watching me. I could feel them as clearly as if I could see. It was like a game to them. They wanted me to be afraid.”

Hutch’s forehead screwed up, and he trembled with rage, but sat quietly.

“I was hoping they’d just walk away if I stated still, played possum, but they didn’t, and the beatings started again. Until–” he paused a beat. Starsky’s eyes grew wide. “Hutch,” he said, sitting up straighter, and cocking his head like an innocent puppy. “I was so afraid. I didn’t want to be. Didn’t show them, but I was.”

“It’s okay, just relax,” Hutch faintly said, looming closer. “What else, buddy?”

Laying back against the headboard, Starsky shrugged, taking in a deep breath trying to relax. “The usual. I woke up crumpled in a corner, my hands tied. I was hungry but I got no food. Gave me water, though it was tainted with something that could make a g-goat s-sick.” Starsky stumbled over his words. “Ended up in my birthday suit swimming in a vat of water. Some sort of purification ritual. Once I almost got away. That’s where the robe came in, but I think they planned that too. All I got for the effort was a lit torch to the side of my face.” Starsky pointed to the heat -seared mark. “Didn’t even have the usual pet you could feed a biscuit too. Damn bear nearly ate me alive.” Starsky looked to Hutch who was gazing at him, eyebrows arched. “They wanted me to believe that freak’s dreams magically became reality.” Starsky groggily shook his head. “The worst thing now–” He stopped. “I don’t know.”

“The worst thing?” Hutch repeated.

Starsky’s eyes flicked back and forth and he seemed to struggle with something. His hands rubbed nervously together and he fidgeted against the pillows. “Starsk, what is it? What’s going on?”

“Stupid.”

“Partner, just tell me.” Hutch’s gentle fingers passed over his friend’s brow.

Starsky turned even more pale, his breathing became shallow, and he shook his head again in refusal.

“Ain’t no use, my friend. You’re going to have to tell me.” Hutch scooted up along side Starsky easing an arm around his shoulder and holding him close. Starsky opened his mouth but couldn’t say anything, couldn’t say the words. Hutch suddenly seemed to understand. “You were alone. I wasn’t with you.” Starsky stiffened. “I didn’t get to you fast enough.” Hutch touched the fumbling hands and they stilled. “That’s it? Isn’t it, Starsk?” Hutch’s guilt kicked in, he was more than a little concerned, and he stood and moved a few steps away from the bed.

“Hutch,” Starsky’s voice peeped weakly. “Glad you weren’t with me. Bad spot to be in, and ‘sides, I trusted you more than anyone to get me out of there. But–I just–I- I can’t stop dreaming. Just dreamt Marcus killed you, cut your throat wide open.” He looked away. “Then I cut his. Killed him.” Starsky looked to Hutch with doubt in his eyes. At that moment to Hutch, Starsky didn’t look like a strong well-trained officer of the law. He looked more like a scared kid who thought every shadow was a ghost, and who was certain there was something lurking behind the closet doors.

Starsky was on the verge of smiling at his own fears, but the smile quickly left his face. “Uh, never mind, Hutch. Can’t ask, it’s foolish.”

“No need to, buddy. I’m right here.” Hutch said. Knowing his partner needed closeness, he lifted the covers and slid in between the sheets. They pressed close together, and Hutch gathered Starsky up into his arms . “I’ll stay close, buddy,” Hutch whispered in his ear.

“Thanks, Hutch.”

The loud ringing of the phone made both men jump badly. Hutch reached over to the nightstand, blindly searching till he had the receiver shoved against his ear.

“Hello.” Hutch gazed down at his partner’s head leaning against his chest. “He’s here with me.” A heartbeat later. “He’s okay, shaking it off,” Hutch replied, giving his friend a squeeze then was silent awhile. “What?” Hutch flinched so badly he nearly dropped the phone. Starsky stiffed to the sudden change in his partner. He knew something was wrong. “How the hell?” Hutch growled back. “Okay, okay,” he injected in a lower voice. “Thanks Captain.” Hutch slowly hung up the phone. He leaned back his eyes gazing to the ceiling, and he took in a deep breath. “Marcus is dead,” he said in as calm a voice as he could.

“What?” Starsky lurched forward. “What are you talking about?”

“They found him in his cell. His locked cell.” Hutch shuddered instinctively, pulling Starsky closer. “No weapons. No prints. Nothing.” Their eyes met, boring into one another. “Starsk, his throat was slit.”