A Close Call

38

Hutch, a rookie police officer, has a close call. He starts to experience some symptoms of panic. Who can he talk to about it?

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It had been an eventful shift. Not the first eventful one in his rookie year for sure, but something about this one had settled into the pit of his stomach and wasn’t shifting. He watched as the paramedic unit containing the other perp drove away. He felt his pulse quicken.

“You okay, kid?”

The question was from the new sergeant he was riding with. His second training officer to date.

Hutch nodded, not willing to say he was rattled to a superior officer that he was only just getting to know. After just three weeks, they were starting to work well together, but he couldn’t say they knew each other well. Sergeant Harris was a stickler for procedure and a good teacher. Hutch respected him and didn’t want to disappoint him.

“You conducted yourself well, Hutchinson. Now, let’s go get Lewis here booked in.”

Hutch blinked at the unexpected praise, nodded his thanks and then started the engine of the black and white unit.

Once Lewis was booked into holding, Hutch went to the squad room to write up the report. He slipped a sheet of paper into the typewriter and started typing. As he detailed his actions and the point at which the shot had rung out, he felt his heart start to beat faster. He felt a rush of heat run through his frame and had to stop himself from shuddering.

He leapt up and headed towards the washroom to splash some water on his face. His heart beat steadied as he wiped his face dry but he could feel sweat prickling at his neck.

“What on earth is happening here? Pull it together, Hutchinson!” he chided himself. “Nothing happened today that you couldn’t handle. Buck up.”

He headed back to his desk, stopping to collect a glass of water on the way and drinking it down quickly. He still felt a little unsteady but none of his colleagues appeared to have noticed.

He returned to his report and tried to focus. When he finally finished it, he breathed a sigh of relief. Now he could take it to Sergeant Harris for signing. The sergeant read it through, nodded and wished Hutch a good night.

Wearily, Hutch went to the locker room to change out of uniform and into his own clothes. Feeling suddenly lightheaded, he had to sit down on the bench to tie his shoe laces. He wondered why his heart was beating fast again. He could hear it pounding in his ears. He shook his head to try to clear the pulsing. It helped a little. Hutch slammed the locker door shut and headed out, feeling the need to get home as quickly as he could.

As he drove his car out of the lot, unbidden images flashed across his mind: running up an alleyway; feeling the hard stone of the wall rubbing against his shoulder blades as he leant against the wall; the reverberating crash as the back door was flung open; and his own hoarse voice shouting, “Police. Freeze!”

He heard the shot that chipped a stone next to his head, even as he returned fire and hit the perp in the shoulder. Tiny particles of brick had bounced off his face like minute pinpricks. It had been close, too close.

Beads of sweat popped out on his lip. Hutch felt his breathing speed up and he started to get lightheaded again. He pulled the car over and wiped at his face.

“Nothing happened to you. You’re fine.”

He tried to take slower breaths but was only partially successful. He had to get home. He started the car again and drove carefully, anxiety rising. How long was he going to feel like this? Was it normal to have a reaction like this? Who could he talk to who might understand and wouldn’t think he was a coward?

Starsky.

He hadn’t seen his friend from the Academy for a few weeks but he was the only person he could think of to go to. Even if Starsky couldn’t help, he’d at least share a beer and provide a listening ear.

Hutch turned the car towards Starsky’s apartment and prayed that his friend would be home.

With huge relief, he saw Starsky was there. Heart beginning to pound in his ears again, he parked the car and hurried up the stairs. He knocked and held onto the doorframe for support.

The door opened.

“Hey Hutch, buddy! Great to see ya. Come in-What’s wrong?”

“D-dont know. D-dont feel good. C-can’t breathe.”

Starsky helped his friend in and over to the couch. Once Hutch was sitting down, he squeezed his shoulder, saying, “Easy, boy,” before hurrying to his kitchen cupboards and returning with a brown paper bag. He crouched down in front of Hutch and handed him the bag.

“Try breathing into that. Try and breathe slow, okay?”

Hutch nodded. He put the bag to his lips. His breath was coming in short, sharp gasps now and panic filled his sky-blue eyes as he looked at his friend.

Starsky’s deep blue eyes held his gaze and exuded a calm Hutch desperately needed. One hand reached out and came to rest on his friend’s forearm.

“You’re okay, Hutch. You’re safe.”

Hutch tried to nod.

“Keep looking at me, pal. And listen. I think you’re having a panic attack. But you’re gonna be alright. Just keep breathing. Soon as you’re feeling okay, we’re going to kick back with a beer. There’s a game on tonight we can watch. I’ll order a pizza. Pepperoni for me…maybe some veggies on yours if you have to have them…Sound good?”

Hutch could feel his heart beat settling into a steady beat. There was no longer a rushing, pounding noise in his ears. His breathing began to slow.

“Atta boy…Sit still. I’ll get the first beer.”

Hutch lowered the bag and flattened it. He dropped it onto the small table to his right and then wiped his hands over his face.

As Starsky came back and handed him a bottle of beer, Hutch felt his face flush with mortification.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He took a sip of his beer and looked away.

Starsky regarded his friend and nodded to himself. He knew Hutch would be berating himself for an apparent weakness of character. Something big must have happened today to cause what appeared to be a panic attack. He was pretty sure it would be better for Hutch if he talked about it but he also knew timing was everything.

“Hey, why don’t you go get another couple of beers from my fridge while I order the pizzas. Then we can settle down to watch the game. No need to talk about anything right now except baseball.”

Hutch nodded and dragged himself off the couch. As he collected the beers and put them on the table, Starsky placed their food order. Hutch turned the TV on but went to stare out of the window for a moment or two. He ran a hand over his face again and tried to shake his head clear of the cobwebs clouding his thoughts.

“Hutch…it’s starting. Who’s your money on tonight?”

“N-not sure.”

Hutch walked back to the couch, slipped out of his jacket and sat down beside Starsky. He tried to focus his attention solely on the game. During the first innings, the pizza arrived and Hutch realised he was hungry. Gradually, the food, alcohol and gentle companionship calmed his nerves. When the game finally finished, Starsky judged the time was right. He got up to change the channel and turned the volume down low. It didn’t matter what was on, it was just background noise now. He sat back down and faced his friend.

“Talk to me, Hutch. What happened today.”

Hutch sighed but after a moment he began talking. He recounted the call that had led to him being shot at and wounding a perp. As he described the scene, his heart started pounding and his breathing grew faster. Starsky placed a hand on his shoulder but said nothing. He just nodded, urging Hutch to keep going.

When Hutch finished speaking, Starsky asked, “First time?”

Hutch glanced at him. “First time I shot someone? Yes.”

“And first time you had that close a call too,” Starsky observed.

“Yeah.” Hutch sipped at his beer and then snorted at himself in a derisory way. “Guess I’m not as tough as I thought I was. What kind of person has a panic attack over this? It wasn’t like I got hurt.”

“Hey…Hey, enough of that. There’s nothing wrong with being scared. You were almost shot today. It’s normal to have a reaction. Shows you’re human! ”

Hutch turned to look at his friend. “Yeah?”

Starsky nodded then said softly, “I was scared the first time someone shot at me.”

Hutch swallowed. “That’s different. You were in a war zone.”

Starsky shook his head. “In a way, that was easier. In a war, you know you’re going to be shot at every day. Here in Bay City…Well, you kinda hope you won’t be!”

Hutch stared at him for a moment and then his face softened into a smile. “I guess that’s true…Thanks. You’ve made me feel better. I’m glad I decided to drop by.”

“Me too…My door’s always open, you know that.” Starsky’s tone became more serious as he added, “I think we gotta make sure we talk to each other about what we do on the job. It’s important to have someone you can share the difficult stuff with…you agree?”

Hutch nodded. Then suddenly he became aware of the time and stood up to put on his jacket.

“I’d better be going. Early start tomorrow.”

Starsky noticed the slight hesitation in Hutch’s voice. He stood and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“You’ll be fine tomorrow. Now, you’ve talked it out, it won’t be on your mind. You can do the job, Hutch. Better than most.”

“Thanks.”

As they walked over to the door, Starsky said, “I got a date Saturday but Sunday’s clear. Ya wanna do something?”

Hutch nodded.

“Come over about midday.”

Hutch raised an eyebrow. “Midday? Half the day will be gone.”

“It will give my date time to be gone…if you know what I mean.” He winked.

Hutch rolled his eyes but smiled. “Alright, midday it is.”

“‘Night Hutch.”

“‘Night and thank you, Starsk.”

“Anytime, pal.”

As Hutch headed towards his car, his step was lighter and he gave thanks that he had a friend who knew when to listen and when to talk.