Into the Darkness

A blind Hutch story told from his POV.

Huge thanks to Kimberly for beta reading.

Four days. I could swear more days have passed. It’s hard to judge time when your entire world is dark. The sun rises and sets, but it doesn’t matter when your world is eternal night. When you can’t see things change, how can you judge the passage of time? It’s one of the things that scares me during the long nights. I’m afraid that years will go by, things will change, and I’ll stay the same because I don’t know any better. I’m afraid people will change; their clothes, their hair, even their eyes. Bright eyes turning to haunted shadows, dull orbs finding a spark. The eyes can convey more emotions and feelings than words can and without the ability to see them…words are all I’ll have left.

It’s hard to imagine one simple case having such a life-altering effect. It’s always the mundane things that change the way of life. A big case can result in a bust and the arrest of someone important in the criminal world, but one false step while crossing the road can result in the end of a life.

With me, it all happened so fast. One minute Starsky and I were cruising the streets, just like we do on any normal day, and the next minute we’re called to some disturbance at the high school. One of the kids had barricaded himself in the science classroom. According to the teacher, the kid was high on drugs and made some threatening comments before locking himself in. Starsky and I tried talking the kid out, but when that didn’t work we busted in.

The only thing I remember is pain; stinging, burning pain and the inability to open my eyes. Pain was all I could register at first until I felt cold water run into my eyes, which were forced open. Throughout it all, I heard reassuring comments from my partner and with his help I managed not to panic. That was all saved up for when the doctors told me that I may never see again. They believe the substance was sodium hydroxide and it had injured my corneas. I faded out on the medical facts after that, but I have it on good authority that my partner took note. His version was simply we have to wait and see; the latter word being the most significant.

I don’t know what time it is; sometime in the morning. This is only an assumption since I doubt I could sleep through until afternoon, even in my current state.

I don’t move at first. I need a little time to adjust, get my bearings so to speak. Without the ability to see, every other sense becomes more vital.

I can hear loud breathing on my right side; Starsky’s still asleep. The guy has barely left my side since it happened.

I can smell food, something that might be bacon, but with the way hospital food is, it could be something completely different. I wouldn’t be surprised if I smell the remains of breakfast. Starsky’s probably assumed I wouldn’t want greasy food in the morning and taken it upon himself to take the artery-blocking bullet for me.

There’s not much more to figure out; the normal, everyday sounds of a functioning hospital aren’t important to me. Over the years and the number of hospital visits, I’ve learned to block them out.

Since turning on the television or getting up are two hassles I don’t want to deal with, I decide to just lie still and wait for Starsky to wake up.

Starsky’s breathing changes and I take it as a sign that he’s waking up. He’s not good in the mornings, usually hates the thought of getting up, but the recliner he’s in is great for sitting in, but unpractical to sleep in. With any luck, he’ll be awake soon and can help me with…

Dependency; not something I like to think about. Needing help with the simplest tasks makes my pride diminish. I might not be the proudest of people, but I just can’t handle being helpless.

“Hey, Hutch.” Starsky’s voice is drowsy, but rather loud.

“Good morning,” I say, trying to convince myself that it will be. “What’s for breakfast?” There’s a pause. I know exactly what’s coming.

“Oh, uh, they haven’t brought it yet.”

Just as I thought, he’s eaten it all ready.

“Shame. I’m kinda in the mood for bacon.”

“How did you…” he’s busted and he knows it. “Okay, I confess to the crime, but trust me you wouldn’t have wanted it; all that grease and fat. You’re better off with just orange juice.”

“Which I’m hoping you’ve left me.”

“Of course.”

I feel something solid and cold touch my hand and I take the glass. Guiding it up to my lips is easy. After a few sips, I gesture for Starsky to take it back, which he does. With breakfast out of the way, we both fall into silence. Usually the two of us can sit in comfortable silence for quite a while, at least until Starsky finds something to drone on about, but since the ‘accident’ the silence between us has felt a little awkward. When the silence is usually broken, Starsky’s voice adopts this tone that implies he’s been sitting around trying to think of something to say and can only come up with something trivial, like what the weather’s like outside.

“A nurse was by a little while ago,” he says in that same tone. I nod. “She thought you might be up for a walk. She’ll be back in an hour.”

“Sounds good,” I say with little enthusiasm.

“Well, they got a nice garden out the back, got a really nice view…” He trails off and I bet he looks embarrassed. I give him a smile to let him know it’s all right.

“I hope it’s got some nice smelling flowers, too.”

I hear him sigh.

“This time of year, I’m sure it does.”

The silence is back and it’s even more uncomfortable. I can hear him shifting around in his chair. The damn thing is squeaking.

It’s gonna be a long hour.

“Good morning, Mr. Hutchinson.” That must be the nurse. Her voice is too chirpy for my liking, which doesn’t make a good first impression, but she does have an interesting scent that I can’t quite place. Fruity, with a hint of something totally foreign to me.

“My name is Jill and I’m here to get you up and walking around today.”

As annoying as her voice is, her proposition gives me new enthusiasm. Over the last hour the silence between Starsky and me has been so uncomfortable I nearly faked sleep, just to get away from it.

“I’m more than ready,” I said, giving her a pasted on smile.

“I don’t have to leave, do I?”

His voice is bordering on begging, which surprises me a little. I would have thought he’d use the time to get out of here, away from the silence and his depressed, useless partner.

“You can stay. In fact, it’s good to have someone around that he trusts.”

That’s another thing I don’t think I’ll ever get used to; being referred to in the third person.

“Okay, first we’re gonna need to get you sitting up. Just feel for the end of the bed and swing your legs over.”

A task I’ve been doing since the day I crawled out of my crib and one I’ve done in the middle of the night with no lights on more times than I care to count.

Regardless, I do what she asks. I feel for the edge of the bed and carefully swing my legs over the side to bring my body up. The sensation isn’t pleasant. I get a mild head rush; the price I pay for lying in bed for so long.

I hear soft footsteps coming around to my left and the nurse’s hand takes hold of my left arm.

“We’re going to keep it light this morning,” she says. “Just a nice walk down the hall and back; help you gain a little confidence and get some needed exercise.” I nod. She tugs a little on my arm to get me to stand up. When I’m on my feet, I’m hit with a dizzy spell so powerful I nearly take a nosedive, but someone grabs my right arm and I know it’s Starsky’s. Between the two of them they pull me away from the bed. I nearly stumble over my own feet, but remain standing with the help of their hands and my pride.

“While we’re out it’ll be good to keep your other senses on alert, especially your hearing.” Again, I just nod. I really wish I could see the look on her face. Being a detective for so many years, I’ve learned to read faces better than voices. Jill’s voice has lost its earlier chirpiness and I release she has a Canadian accent.

“Let’s get going,”

As I take my first step, I feel Starsky’s grip tighten and it makes me wonder if he thinks I can do this, or if he’s just being overprotective.

“You’re doing good, Mr. Hutchinson,” Jill says, her own grip loosening. “Now, I’m going to let go in a minute and let David guide you out of the room. Think of this as a trust exercise.” One that’s pointless, I almost say. I trust Starsky with my life and I think that gives him the right to guide me to the door.

Approaching the door, I can hear the noises from the hall clearer than usual and there is a new smell; one that reminds me of any normal business building only layered with the usual smells of a hospital. I haven’t noticed the smell in my room before; although the window has been open since the day I came in. The scent of other people possess this hallway, other patients who, like me, are forced out of their beds at certain times so they can walk around showing everyone that they are lucky enough to be recovering. For the first time since the accident, I’m glad I can’t see their faces. I don’t want to see any sympathy looks from people who were lucky enough to be leaving or from patients who have the ability to make it around on their own. If I was in the ICU my feelings would be different, but on this ward I’m seen as the poor, disabled man.

I push my bitterness back to join the rest of my feelings as Starsky leads me to the door and through the threshold.

My first second of freedom and I already want to go back inside. I may not be able to see the people walking by, but I can sense them. A woman with very strong perfume and high heels brushes past me without so much as an apology. A female voice to my left is talking to someone about a patient’s vitals. To my right I can hear wheels squeaking, either from a laundry cart or a gurney.

“You ready?”

The question I’ve been asking myself all morning. The only answer I can give him is a slight nod. I take my first step down the corridor and I’m stuck with a sudden overwhelming urge to run back into my room. I can hear voices coming towards us and can tell one’s female and other’s male. I hope they aren’t looking in our direction.

Their voices get louder as they pass and then slowly fade away as they depart. I take a deep breath and continue on my own journey. I feel Starsky’s grip tighten after I let out my sigh.

“You okay there, Blintz?” Starsky sounds concerned. I give him the best smile I can improvise. Once again, I curse the fact I can’t see my partner’s face.

“I’m fine.” Whether he’s convinced or not, I can’t tell, but unless there is someone else nearby I can swear I hear him sigh a little.

“You’re doing great, partner,” he says, “Not much further and we’re at the elevator where there’s a lovely looking nurse waiting to take you back.” I assume he’s talking about Jill. She must have passed us at some point, probably being quiet so I wouldn’t notice. That’s all I need, people tiptoeing around me.

“You’re doing very well, Mr. Hutchinson,” Jill says from in front of me. “I hope you’ve been reaching out with all your senses, taking note of which seem to be the most important.”

“Is there going to be a short quiz after lunch?” I try to sound jovial, but to my ears I sound bitter. Jill’s little chuckle and my partner’s amused grunt tell me all I need to know.

“If you manage to get back to your room without knocking into anything, I might see if I can get you some good food.” Starsky’s bribe makes me smile, one that only he could put there.

“Does this mean you plan on running me into a wall or something?” This time I get a laugh out of him.

“And look like a heartless animal in front of this gorgeous lady?”

That answers one of my questions. Jill is obviously a beautiful woman and my partner is going to be all over her during the next couple of days. Trust my luck. Of all the nurses out there, I end up with one who’s physically attractive and I might never discover if she’s visually my type.

I feel Jill’s hand on my elbow and she helps Starsky turn me around so we can head back to my room. I have to admit I’m proud of making it all the way down the hall without knocking into anything. As we make our way back, I keep my ears on alert in case I jinx myself.

My nose detects an aroma that I can’t seem to name. It reminds me of this restaurant I once had dinner in back when I was still married. I had a roast beef dinner that was so awful I nearly asked the waiter if they hadn’t cooked the contents of the trashcan instead.

“You better make good on your bribe, Starsky,” I whisper. “Because there’s no way I’m eating what’s coming towards us.”

The big day is here and although I have been looking forward to breaking out of this joint, I’m too apprehensive to really enjoy it. Over the last week I have been going through all the basic training I’ll need to cope with my ‘condition’. Starsky’s been helping me every day; in fact I don’t think he’s been home for longer than a few hours.

It’s been arranged that Starsky will be staying with me for the next week or so. The doctors have threatened me with having to return every other day to change the bandages, but Starsky has volunteered to take on the task.

There have been times when I’ve been tempted to rip the damn things off, but a combination of fear and reason keep me from doing it. By removing the bandages, I’m forced to face the nightmare. Every time they change the bandages, they shine a light in my eyes and I can’t see anything. There’s nothingness and pain. The burns are very tender. But I’m told that it’s still ‘early days’. The doctors need to come up with some new material.

I hear someone enter the room and with them the squeak of wheels. My getaway vehicle, I presume. Without the help of any sensory information, I manage to work out that it’s Starsky at the wheel. Some things you just know, especially when it comes to hospitals and routines.

“I hope ya got everything packed because your one-way ticket has been booked and this train is leaving now.” Starsky sounds more cheerful than he has since this whole thing happened. I guess I’m not the only one relieved about getting out of here. He has been locked away in here as much as I have; only he gets the pleasure of ogling the nurses. If my wish comes true and I get my sight back, I might have to visit just to see what I’ve been missing.

“Do you have my release papers with you?”

“Nope. Doc’s coming down with them in a second. Wants to give you some instructions first.”

There’s something about that line that makes me feel like a make-your-own detective kit. The streets give the doctors the pieces, and they put you together. Only, sometimes, they’re given faulty parts and in the worst cases, the batteries aren’t included.

I sometimes wonder if my brain wasn’t damaged in some way; I seem to be thinking such odd things recently.

I recognize the doctor the moment he steps into the doorway. He has this scent that reminds me of my uncle when I was a kid. My uncle used to go fishing a lot, but he never managed to wash off the smell completely, so there was always this lingering lake and fish smell. The doctor smells a little fishier and tries to cover it up with strong cologne, but it’s obviously the kind that weakens fast.

“Good morning, Ken,” the doctor said, “I just want to go through a few things with you before I let you out of here. Most of it you know, but I’ll go over it again just to be safe.”

I hear the rustling of paper and hope not all the sheets are for me.

“As you already know, because of the bandages you can’t take a shower, but it should be all right to take a bath.” I chose to tune out the rest of the instructions. Most of them I already know about and he’s written them down anyway, so it seems pointless to go over them. He’s probably only doing it because he knows I can’t read the instructions and he possibly doesn’t trust Starsky to remember or read them. He’s wrong there. My partner’s choice of reading material may come in magazine form, but when it comes to doctors’ instructions we’re both scholars.

Already know my medications. They’ve given me a few different eye drops, antibiotics, and because of the chemical burns around my eyes I’m on pain meds also.

“I won’t keep you any longer. I’ll see you again in a week where hopefully we can get rid of those bandages for good.”

I can’t wait.

“And what happens if I still can’t see by then?” The question is spoken before I can catch my tongue. I can picture the look on the doctor’s face as I hear him sigh.

“It’s still early days. Just keep taking the medication. In a week we’ll run some tests and we’ll…have a clearer picture.”

I nearly laugh at his hesitation and choice of words.

“Thanks doc,” I hear Starsky say. I picture them shaking hands and then I hear the doctor’s footfalls.

“I’ll see you in a week.” I hear the doctor’s departing words.

I give him a small wave before getting to my feet. Starsky taps my shoulder. I feel for his arm and get a grip on it. The transfer between my bed and the chair is an easy one since Starsky’s had the decency to park the thing right by the bed.

“Comfy?” Starsky asks.

“Yeah, let’s get outta here.” I try to sound more excited and less desperate. Despite how I sound, I feel the wheelchair shoot off down the corridor and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from reminding my partner that he’s steering a chair, not the Torino. If I ever thought walking down the hallways was daunting, it can’t compare to being pushed along a corridor I can’t see, having no control and no knowledge of where I’m going.

The chair stops, and judging by a familiar ting, I guess we’re at the elevator. I can hear a lot of people get out, but it’s hard to tell how many get in, all the footsteps overlap and it’s confusing. But, in a way, it doesn’t matter. It’s odd, the things that goes through my mind now that I can’t see. I start trying to work things out that I would never think about when I had my vision. Its irrelevant how many people get into the elevator, but with no visual stimuli to keep me entertained I have to turn to something and I have always considered hearing one of the most vital senses.

The elevator lets us off at the ground floor and Starsky wheels me to freedom. It must be a nice day; I can feel the warm sun already. The only clue I have that we made it outside is when I hear the doors open. There is a gentle breeze and a smell I haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing for a while. Fresh, unfiltered air. I mourn the fact I can’t see what a lovely day it is, but my other senses make up for it. I can hear the birds chirping, smell a hint of freshly cut grass, and feel the sun on my skin.

“I knew all you needed was some fresh air,” Starsky says as he helps me out of the chair. I aim my head in the direction of his voice and smile.

“You were right, but that doesn’t mean I’m not in a hurry to get home.”

It is mostly the truth, although I don’t look forward to having to navigate my apartment in the dark.

“Just hop in and I’ll have you there in a jiffy.”

“Thanks, but don’t forget I’m still a policeman. If you run anyone over, I’ll have to take you in.”

My smile grows as I hear Starsky laugh, a real laugh; the kind I haven’t heard since before the accident.

The fresh air is doing me good, but I’m struck by a sudden gut-twisting sense of dread as Starsky opens the door and helps me lower myself inside; where he snaps the seatbelt across me. If I hated the feeling of helplessness in the wheelchair, it’s tripled now that I’m in the car. Being in the passenger seat is nothing new to me. In fact, Starsky ends up driving more than me, but on each occasion I could see what was coming and where Starsky was going. There could be an accident and I wouldn’t see it coming.

The look on my face must convey some of what I’m feeling because I feel Starsky’s hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze that I have come to know as reassurance.

“I’ll take it slow, buddy. No bumps, no speeding. I promise.”

I trust him and my body must feel the same because my muscles relax and the sense of dread relinquishes its hold on my guts. I hear the door slam shut and there is silence until his door opens and Starsky gets in. He gives my shoulder one last quick pat just as back-up reassurance before starting the car and taking me further into my darkened world.

He hasn’t watered my plants. I don’t know how relevant it is, but that doesn’t stop it being true. He’s been with me at the hospital a lot and whenever he left it was only to do essential stuff like shower, change clothes, and maybe pick up the mail. It’s possible I’m wrong, but I can do the math. I know; they’re probably all brown and shriveled.

The journey home is quiet. Starsky mentions Huggy’s planning to stop by in the evening with some food. I’m looking forward to a nice, fresh salad after a week of hospital food, but it looks like I’ll be dining on burgers and fries instead.

At least I won’t be able to see the grease.

“I have a confession to make,” Starsky says a few seconds after parking.

“Is it about my plants?” I ask with a knowing smile.

“Yeah. They might be a little thirsty.”

Completely dehydrated more likely.

“I guess that’ll teach me for getting hurt.” It’s meant to be a joke, but I can’t hear Starsky laughing. All I hear is the car door opening and slamming shut.

It’s hard telling jokes when you’re the injured one. People either laugh nervously or don’t appear to react at all. Starsky seems to be opting for the latter, at least as far as I can tell.

My door opens and I feel Starsky’s arm on my shoulder. He helps me out of the car and towards my apartment. Between the two of us, we manage to get up the stairs to my apartment. I never realized how far it is from the street to my apartment, but I make a mental note of how many steps there are.

The smell is the first thing that hits me when the door opens. It’s that old musty smell that only seems to inhabit a place when the owner has been away for a while. Or at least, that’s the only time you notice it.

I let go of Starsky’s arm the moment we’re through the door. It’s one thing to be blind in an unfamiliar environment, but it’s quite another to be blind in your own home. The old saying ‘I can do this with my eyes closed’ comes mind and I believe it’s time to test out that theory. Using my memory as a guide, I make my way over to the couch, but I misjudge where it is and bang my hip against the armrest. I bite my tongue and silence the curse that wants to jump from my mouth.

“You okay there?” Starsky asks.

I shoo him away as I feel my way across the couch and sit down. I’m not back to full strength and all the morning activities have drained me. All I want to do is take a nap. My stomach doesn’t agree with my plan.

“I hear ya,” Starsky says, giving my stomach a gentle pat as he sits down beside me. “But there’s nothing much to eat. We’ll have to wait for Huggy to come with the food.”

That gives me a few hours and as much I would like to spend them wandering around my apartment, hoping it’s in the same state I left it in, I need a nap. When I’m asleep, I don’t have to worry about the darkness; it feels more natural when I close my eyes. I could make it over to my bed, but I really don’t feel like getting up, so I lay down on the couch and drift off.

The fact I can’t see the food in front of me is a blessing because despite how good it tastes, I know it can’t be good for me. At the moment, I don’t care because I’m too hungry. Burgers are easy to eat. There’s no need for utensils and that makes putting food in my mouth less of a challenge. Although I have no doubt I’m getting ketchup all over my mouth and possibly down my shirt.

“This I have to make a note of,” Starsky says, his voice muffled by food. “Blondie here getting more food down his throat faster than I ever could.” I continue eating, but it’s around a smile. If not for the darkness and lack of music, I could believe we’re at The Pits enjoying a meal on our lunch break.

“So, Hutch, ya got any plans?” Huggy asks in a conversational type tone. “I know ya just got outta the hospital and all.”

I haven’t really thought about it. I know I have a week until the big unveiling, but I haven’t really considered how I plan to spend the time. I can’t go back to work, but I can’t just sit around the house feeling sorry for myself. There has to be a suitable medium.

“I don’t know. What do blind people do all day?” I hear neither of them laugh. My attempts at humor are wasted once again. I don’t quite know what brings on the anger, but when it jumps out of my mouth I do nothing to stop it.

“I’m sick of this!” I yell, jumping to my feet. “Everybody walking on egg shells, being discreet about everything.”

“I guess you never were very good at telling jokes,” I hear Starsky say flatly. This doesn’t help.

“Then you come up with one. I may have lost my sight, but I haven’t lost my sense of humor. So I had an accident, so I might be blind for the rest of my life, I can laugh at that.” The laugh I gave sounds more like a bitter grunt. “I’ll never be a cop again.” My grunts start to build into actual laughter.

“Shut up, Hutch,” Starsky said.

“I’ll never be your partner again.” That does it. The thing that has been hovering in my mind since the accident has finally been spoken and I think it makes something snap inside Starsky and myself. I can hear a glass shatter against the wall just seconds before the one I hurl impacts with the floor.

I hope to God that someone had just splashed water on my face because the image of myself standing before my friends with tears running down my face is one I’m glad I can’t see. Of course, the bandages help to block that image from their view. I search the edge of the table and lean against it. The anger comes from a week of going through the motions, bottling everything up and not giving myself the time to just shout myself blue in the face. I’ve been too focused on hoping this is all temporary that I haven’t dealt with the possible reality that it might be permanent, that I could be blind forever. Never get to go camping again just to enjoy the beauty of the great outdoors or read new sheet music or be a cop again.

I have to cover my eyes. I’m crying harder now, my tears are soaking through the bandages.

Arms wrap around my shoulders and all my feeble attempts at pushing them away fail. They pull me into a strong embrace. My legs give up and drag us both to the floor; my head is placed on what I presume is his shoulder. I don’t think about the image the two of us are creating for Huggy. I don’t think about the soaked bandages. I don’t think about the cooling food on the table. I don’t think.

I wake to find myself on the sofa with a blanket draped over me. The bandages around my eyes are dry now and it’s a little annoying that I can’t remember any of the events preceding my breakdown. I’m glad, in a way. Being awake when Huggy left would have been too embarrassing, especially considering the scene I made.

I hear Starsky in the kitchen and I can smell the delightful aroma of fresh coffee. Real coffee, made with actual ground beans. I never really thought of myself as a coffee addict, but that smell is making me yearn for a good, strong mug.

Deep down, considering the mood I’m in, I’d prefer a bottle of beer, but I’m still on medication and the two have issues.

The noise from the kitchen stop, but the coffee scent grows stronger. I can’t hear Starsky approach, but I can sense a presence in front of me and I can just about hear the creaking of a table being forced to bear weight.

“I hope that’s laced with strychnine.” Starsky snorts with amusement.

“Huggy understood. He said he’d call later to check up on ya.”

If I can trust Huggy not to blabber about my heroin addiction, I can trust him to keep quiet about this. They may not be in the same league, but I don’t want common snitches to know about either of them.

“You’re scared.” The statement takes me by surprise and I almost drop the coffee cup I’m holding.

“Is this your way of starting the talk we both knew was coming?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

“This is me making a statement.”

I take a sip of my coffee first, taking it slow to give my mind a little time to think things over. Swallowing gives me an extra few seconds and I use them wisely.

“Yeah, I’m scared and if you want the bare bones truth, I’m petrified.” I put the coffee down, satisfied when I place it on the table. “My whole life might change in a week and there’s not a damn thing I can do about. There’s no punk I can pound on for information and no sleaze ball I can throw in jail. My body’s the enemy and…that’s what hurts the most.”

He places a hand on my knee and gives it a little squeeze.

“I know you’ve had enough of people telling you to be positive and think of this as only temporary, but if you trust me as much as you say you do, trust me when I say it will be temporary if you believe it.”

Even if I did know what to say to that, I don’t think I can get the words out. I know he’s right. All I need is a little faith, but at the moment I hope he’s holding enough for both of us.

I smile and give the hand on my knee a pat.

“Is there any food left?”

I can picture Starsky smiling back at me and I hear the table creak under him as he gets up.

I know he has a point, I know they all have a point. All I need is to be positive, but even though I trust my partner with my life, I’m afraid that my optimism has been taken away along with my eyesight.

The days that follow are uneventful. I apologize to Huggy for my outburst. We agree to put it behind us and Starsky and I settle down for a proper breakfast. No fatty burgers, no left over pizza. Starsky helps me put together one of my morning shakes and a bowl of granola. It’s the first breakfast I’m able to enjoy since before the accident. Afterwards, Starsky insists we get out for a walk. I have my doubts at first as to whether I’m ready for the neighbors to see me in my vulnerable state.

It turns out the walk takes all of ten seconds. We step outside only to have it rain so hard we’re nearly soaked by the time we get from the curb to the building. We spend the rest of the day watching TV and playing the sort of inane word games we used to play on stakeouts.

It’s been raining for the past two days and I don’t know if it’s a blessing or not. On the plus side, it keeps me indoors and away from staring people, but it’s also turning me into a hermit. Apart from Starsky and Huggy, I haven’t seen anybody else. Dobey’s called a few times, but Rosie’s sick, so he’s spending all his spare time with her.

After the rain finally stops, Starsky suggests we go down to The Pits for a drink. It’s inevitable, I suppose. Sooner or later I knew he’d got bored of just hanging around the apartment. I may not have been able to see his agitation, but I’ve heard him fidget restlessly and pacing.

I reluctantly agree to the trip out to Huggy’s, but I insist on wearing a pair of dark glasses. They cover up the bandages more or less and hopefully no one will care since people in The Pits don’t tend to pay much attention to other patrons.

The drive over is much like the ride home from the hospital; quiet, except this time it isn’t uncomfortable. The roads are wet from two days of rain and Starsky’s giving it his undivided attention.

We park around the corner from the bar and Starsky helps me out. I take hold of his elbow and between the two of us we make our way towards the bar.

In an attempt to hide my anxiety from showing on my face, I look down and focus on all the sounds that hit my ears like a full-on assault. There’s music, some kind of light background jazz. There are people talking, but their voices overlap too much for me to understand any single conversation. The usual smell of cigarette smoke hangs in the air, joined by Starsky’s cologne.

I really wanna go home.

Starsky leads me over to bar and I pull up a stool. Within seconds of sitting down, Huggy’s in front of me.

“Hey, what can I get you, Blondie?” he asks cheerfully.

“Just some water.”

He asks the same to Starsky, who goes for a beer.

“So, what’s been happening at the Hutchinson residence recently?”

If this is his attempt at small talk it won’t be hard to get him to stop.

“Not a lot, Hug,” Starsky answers for me. “With the rain and all we’ve been cooped up inside.”

My water arrives and I sip it in silence. Solid drinking is the only way to block out my fear that people are staring at me. Getting drunk can help with that, but thanks to the medication alcohol is far from making my list of drinks tonight.

Starsky chats with Huggy, mainly over mundane things; how the bar looks and how the game went last night. I zone out, turning all my attention on to my drink. The next thing I hear is Starsky asking for another beer.

“Gotta go to the john,” he says, his stool creaking as he gets up. “Won’t be long.”

I give a wave in his general direction. I keep my head down, hoping to blend in with the other patrons. This is the biggest crowd I’ve been in since I left the hospital and it isn’t the kind I feel comfortable around without my vision. Who knows what kind of people are at the other tables, enjoying a drink and plotting? What if someone with a grudge against Starsky or me is here and sees me in this state? I would be easy picking and even though I have Starsky to watch my back, I’m not in the right condition to watch his.

I grip my glass tightly, taking another swig and not for the first time wishing it was beer or something stronger that would bring on inebriation.

“Hey, how you doing?” I hear a voice to my left. It belongs to a female and is very close to my ear. I keep my head down, but acknowledge her with a small smile.

“I’m fine.”

“You look kinda lonely,” she says closer to my ear. “Don’t suppose you’d be up for some company.”

I’m trying to work out whether she’s a prostitute or just very forward. I keep my head down and draw my shoulders up, hoping to look meek.

“I’m waiting for someone,” I say, trying to stay polite when all I want is for this woman to go away.

“I hope they haven’t stood you up. It would be mean of anyone to stand up such a handsome man.”

Her hand is around my neck and I fear for a moment it’s going to slip on the sweat running down from my head.

“They shouldn’t be long. I’m fine.” Her hand doesn’t move. It’s massaging my neck in a way that makes my muscles loosen and I fear my head will drop to my chest and never move again. I can tell she’s done this a lot before. Maybe I was right and she is a prostitute.

Her hand works its way down my back, massaging each tense muscles as it goes, leaving me feeling more relaxed then I have in ages. If I’m not careful my whole body will cave in and I’ll be a soft lump on the floor.

“Hey!” The cry nearly causes me to jump off my stool. “Get away from him.” The voice clearly belongs to Starsky, but whom he’s yelling at I can’t tell. Someone in my vicinity, that much I know.

The hand pulls away from my back and I can hear heavy breathing by my side.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” the lady says.

“I saw you, sweetheart, and unless you want me to drag you down the police station faster than your hands can reach into my partner’s pocket, you’ll get out of here right now.”

I barely hear her heavy shoes beating a track out of The Pits. My attention is on what has just been said.

I was the target of a pickpocket. Was I just a random victim or did she see the bandages? Am I an easy target for thieves now?

One of my fears has been confirmed and it has a suffocating effect on me. I need to get out. This bar is not safe; I’m surrounded by enemies here, all looking for an unsuspecting chump.

A hand touches my shoulder and my first impulse is to swat it away.

“You okay, Hutch?” His voice is full of concern, sympathy for someone who needs protecting.

I try to move away, but my knee hits the neighboring bar stool and with my momentum I have to grab on to the side of the bar to keep myself upright. Starsky’s hand moves down to grip my bicep and although my pride tells me to shrug it off, I let it remain so I don’t damage my dignity when I try to find the door.

“I want to go home.” Although the words sound petulant, my tone holds none of that. If he’s learned to interpret my tones as well as I’ve learned his, he’ll know I’m serious.

“Sure,” he says as he leads me over to the door. He gives Huggy a farewell. My voice refuses to let a simple departing word cross my lips.

Our journey home is much like all the others we’ve endured recently; quiet, but even more uncomfortable than the others. I know Starsky wants to talk, I can tell by the way he’s sighing, but I can’t. Not right now.

When we arrive home, I let him help me up to my apartment, but once inside I navigate my own way to the kitchen and fumble around in the fridge looking for a beer.

“You shouldn’t be drinking that,” I hear Starsky say, but I ignore him and go about the difficult task of finding a bottle opener.

“I’ll pay for it later, but right now I just don’t care.”

My hand searches the drawer, running into various sharp things, but I continue my quest. I find my desired object, but before I can open the bottle it’s snatched from my hands.

“Hey, I was opening that,” I snap.

I hear the fridge opening and the click of the bottle going back in its place.

“Well, now you’re not.”

I stumble over to the couch, kicking the coffee table when my knee runs into it. I throw myself down, not caring if I end up on my ass or my stomach.

“You ready to talk about what happened now?”

He sits down beside me, not touching, just waiting for me to start talking. I sit up properly and turn my head away from his voice.

“I had no idea,” I say softly. “I thought she was a prostitute or something. Just interested in screwing me.” I give a snort. “I guess my wallet’s more desirable than me.”

“You didn’t know…”

“That’s just it!” I yell, “I’ll never know. Anybody comes near me and what am I supposed to do? Assume the worst; that everyone is going to target me? The poor, blind, ex-cop who can’t even sit for five minutes and have a drink without getting robbed.”

I need to pace, but I refuse to embarrass myself. Instead, I smack my fist into the couch and collapse backwards, facing the ceiling.

“She could have fooled anyone,” Starsky says softly. I wait for him to elaborate before I open my mouth.

“If she had come up to me and started doing the things she’d done to you, I probably wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Stop patronizing me!” I snap.

“You think it’s only blind people who are victims of robbery? You know as well as I do that professional pick pockets are skilled people who can take your wallet and your underwear without you even feeling it.”

He has a point. I’m reluctant to admit it, but he’s right. The anger I feel doesn’t want to quit and I satisfy it a little by slamming my hand into the couch again.

“It just feels like too much of a coincidence. My first time out after…the accident and the first woman to come on to me happens to be a thief.”

“Hey, I can see you’re upset about this and I don’t blame you, but regardless of whether it was a coincidence or not, you know I’ve always got your back.

His words touch me, but they also hit a nerve that has been taking a pounding all evening.

“But I can’t watch your back,” I say, my voice controlled, but it leaks a little more emotion than I mean it to.

“Not right now, but I’m still holding out hope that this is temporary. I have enough hope for both of us if you’re having trouble believing.”

Hope. There’s something I’m lacking. I guess this whole incident has stirred in me a great desire for this all to be temporary, but the negativity keeps pushing its way in.

If Starsky says he has enough hope for both of us, I pray that it’s true, because right now I barely have enough to fake a reassuring smile.

“Well, now that we have the rest of the evening to ourselves how about I turn on the radio?”

Either he’s bored of the silence or he’s trying to cheer me up. Television bores me, but I like the radio. Tune it to the right channel and you can guarantee some good music for the rest of the night.

He finds a good country channel, playing a classic Willie Nelson number. I lean my head back and shut the lyrics out, listening only to the music. Country music isn’t always the best to listen to when you’re angry. Sometimes it can slowly melt the anger and turn it into depression. And other times the cheerfulness of it can get on your nerves, leaving you with an urge to smash the radio against the wall.

More music follows and I just sit listening to it with no plans to move from the couch. I guess I should be thinking, but I really don’t want to. I’ve done too much thinking recently and I know the incident at Huggy’s should fill my head with enough thoughts to last me ’til dawn, but I just don’t have the energy to let them in.

Starsky’s holding on to hope for me that I’ll recover and, at the moment, that’s the only thought I want in my head. The rest can wait until after the unveiling.

I’m at Huggy’s. Starsky and I are sharing a drink, laughing about nothing in particular Starsky heads for the bathroom leaving me alone, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. They close in on me and there’s nowhere for me to go. They all take their turns mugging me while I swing blindly at them, not a single punch connecting. Starsky comes back, but he doesn’t try to help. He only stands there and shakes his head at my pitiful form. Lying on the floor, hands in all my pockets, and trying to fight but I know that without Starsky’s help it’s useless. I submit.

I awake gasping for breathing, my arms flailing around to fight off my attackers, but there’s no one there. It was only a dream.

I fumble for the clock beside my bed and run my fingers over the hands. Starsky took the plastic front off the day I got home so I wouldn’t have to get rid of it in case…

It’s half past eight.

It’s sunny today. I can feel the warm sun on my face. It’s a nice change from all the rain, but it can’t erase the dream I’ve just awoken from.

I listen for Starsky, but I can tell by the light snoring that he’s still asleep.

A thought occurs in my head and it doesn’t let my depression hold it back.

I can’t let Starsky do everything for me. I can’t just lie in bed waiting for him to wake up before I can do anything. This is my apartment, I’ve lived here for a few years, and I should know my way around good enough to at least make myself a simple bowl of cereal for breakfast.

Getting out of bed is the easiest part. From the edge of my bed, I can work out which direction the couch is. I stand up and walk very slowly forwards. My big toe hits the back of the couch. I hear a grunt for my partner but no other indications that I’ve awoken him. I feel my hand over it and find the armrest. The kitchen is to my right. I try to remember if there is anything in my way. I know there’s a plant, but if I’m careful I won’t run into it.

I turn and walk slowly, finding nothing in my way. I have to smile. I’ve managed to make it this far; it’s nothing impressive, but it’s something to me.

I make it into the kitchen and around the table, careful not to run into the chairs. The next task is remembering where the granola is kept. I know I keep it in one of the cupboards above the breakfast bar. Searching each cupboard is going to take too long, but I have little choice. No luck with the first one and the second one is only filled with glasses and bowls, which I take one of each. The next one over is the jackpot. I taste the contents first to make sure I’m right and I am.

The milk is in the fridge and I know that’s opposite the breakfast bar. As I stretch over to open up the fridge, I try not to get my hopes up too high and jinx my current progress.

The light snoring is still coming from the living room, so I assume Starsky is still asleep. He isn’t a quiet person when he wakes up, so I’m sure to get a good, loud warning.

The milk is on the door; easy to find and even easier to extract without making too much noise. I give it a little shake, satisfied that there is enough for the two of us; although Starsky will probably feast on leftovers.

I make my way back to the breakfast bar and position all the things I need in the order I’ll need them. I use my finger as a measure to make sure the granola doesn’t overflow the bowl. I don’t need a lot of milk, just enough to soak the oats. The last little thing I need is a spoon. I open the drawer nearest to me and run my hand around, carefully. The last thing I need is a bleeding finger to ruin my current success.

I find a tablespoon and drop it quietly into the bowl.

I can leave the granola and the milk out until I finish my breakfast. Besides, there is always a slim to nil chance that Starsky will want some. I settle down at the kitchen table and enjoy my granola. It isn’t just the taste I’m savoring, but the fact I put it together myself. No help, no hovering individuals, and best of all no mistakes.

It is a small victory; making breakfast is just one of the many things I have to adjust to now, but I can’t wait to hear the surprise in my partner’s voice when he sees me. That is if he ever wakes up.

I’m almost done with my breakfast by the time I hear Starsky’s snore turn into grunts. It’s a clear sign that he’s waking up.

“Morning,” I say nonchalantly. I can almost picture him searching for me while squinting and rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Hutch?” He spots me and I can hear him scrambling up from the couch. My partner’s speechless; at least I assumed he was. I can hear him right beside me now and I believe he’s trying to think of something to say that won’t make him sound like an idiot.

“I knew you were faking it,” he says finally, his voice a mixture of awe and humor, sounding a little croaky from just waking up.

“Are you joining me for breakfast?” I ask, gesturing to where I believe there is a chair.

“I don’t know; are you going to make it for me?”

“Depends what you want,” I say, finishing off my bowl.

“Something that’s not sold in pet stores would be nice.” The insult brings a goofy grin to my face. It’s been so long since we had a normal conversation and if it wasn’t for the darkness I could believe this was any normal morning.

I hear Starsky get up and open the fridge, possibly going to the left over pizza from last night or maybe something else he’s sneaked in there. I wouldn’t be surprised if my fridge was filled with fatty junk.

“You want any jerky?” Starsky asks, his voice muffled by the fridge.

“I’ve just started the day the right way. I don’t want to ruin things.” I hear a snort followed by the refrigerator door closing.

“Jerky’s high in protein. It’ll start me off right.”

“If it doesn’t kill you by noon.” I can’t help the dig. This feels so normal I half expect to hear Starsky say we’re going to be late for work.

I carefully stand up with my bowl and feel my way over to the sink where I leave it. I turn to my partner, lean back against the sideboard, and cross my arms. I know that this current mood is not going to last long, but I just want to savor the moment, take pleasure from the normality of the situation before worrying about the uncertain future.

The phone rings. I make a move towards the sound, but I hear Starsky moving also.

“Hutchinson residence,” he says. I roll my eyes while trying to hide my smile.

“Is that all you need me to do, Cap?” A pause. “I really shouldn’t leave Hutch alone.”

What? I’m not a child. I don’t need a babysitter.

“I understand. Yeah, okay, I’ll be there in half an hour.” He hangs up. I barely have time to open my mouth before he answers my question.

“Dobey needs me at the station,” he says, while moving around the apartment. “There’s a bug going around at the station, two people have already called in sick this morning. They’re up to their knees in paper work and reports. Dobey didn’t think my excuse was valid enough.”

“And he’s right.” I snap. “I’ll be fine on my own. I’m not a small child.” I try not to sound too angry, but this morning has shown me that I can do things for myself and if I can make breakfast for myself I’m sure I can mange sitting on my ass listening to the radio.

“All right, but make sure you keep the phone near in case anything happens.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I will.” I understand his concern, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

“Okay.” I hear him fumbling around, “I’m just going to take a quick shower first.”

His definition of quick needs some redefining. Within the time it takes him to have a shower I manage to make my way back to my room and get myself dressed. I’ve managed to get pretty good at it and with all my clothes sorted into different draws makes it easier and quicker.

Fully dressed I sit myself down in the living room and at the same time hear the bathroom door open.

“I’ll try not to be too long.” Starsky says, his voice muffled by what I believe is clothing. “Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll cook us something later. Just get a sandwich for lunch.”

“Starsky!” I say firmly. “Get out of here already.”

His body slumps down next to me and I recognize the sounds of him tying his shoes

“Just remember to keep the phone nearby.”

He stands up and I hear his feet shuffling, then the door opening and closing.

I’m alone. It feels like so long since I’ve had any time to myself. I mean, I love Starsky, but everyone needs to be alone sometimes. And there’s a chance I might have to get used to this.

I enjoy the silence for a moment more before heading back to the kitchen.

After putting away all the breakfast stuff and washing the dishes, which takes me a while because I take my time, I make my way slowly to my bedroom. Now that I’m alone I think about picking up my guitar. I’ve seen guitarists play with their eyes closed and I remember someone telling me about a blind blues guitarist back in the 20’s.

I make my way back to my bedroom to get dressed, running my hands along the wall slowly so I don’t knock it over when I find it.

It’s just where I left it, near the greenhouse doors. I pick it up and make my way back to the bed, testing each string to make sure it’s in tune before giving it a strum. This really is a test of memory, touch, and hearing. Without seeing the strings it’s harder to know if I have the note right, but I have to remember that I’m alone and it doesn’t matter how it sounds right now. I’m not playing for anyone and if it’s terrible, I have all afternoon to practice.

I try a few easy chords, smiling when they sound right. I strum a little, trying my best to play a simple song I’ve been working on recently, but I miss the right string a few times and the song is ruined. I take it from the top, going slower than previously.

Halfway through the first section I hear a scream. I stop playing, but everything’s gone quiet. I wait a few seconds before starting again from the start.

That’s when I hear it again and it continues even after I’ve stopped. I put my guitar down and listen to the direction the screams are coming from. They’re below me.

My first instinct is to run down the stairs to check out the problem, but as I stumble in to the living room it occurs to me how dangerous that can be. I have to do this slower. After all, I live above a restaurant so it could be a customer screaming after seeing a mouse. Although my gut tells me that scream was not the kind you hear when a rodent is spotted, no matter how afraid you are.

I make my way slowly over to the door and open it. Now that the screaming has died away I can just make out another voice. I don’t recognize it, but the tone is familiar.

It’s a male voice and he’s not quite shouting, but he’s angry.

Leaving the door open may not be a smart idea, but I don’t plan to go far. I make my way slowly and carefully down the stairs.

The voices have stopped, but I can hear footsteps. Someone’s coming up the stairs. I turn around and try to make it back to my apartment, but I trip on the top step.

“Don’t move.” I hear the voice behind me and I do what it says. There’s a whimpering coming from the same direction. I hear the man approach me from behind and he grabs me by the back of my shirt. “Get up.” His tone is urgent, so I do what he says. He pushes me into my apartment. I land on the floor and a second later a weight lands on my arm.

“Shut up, Bitch,” he yells to the whimpering female. It’s hard to tell if she’s a woman or just a girl, especially now she’s gone silent.

“I have a gun, so don’t even think about moving to the door.” He’s probably seen the bandages over my eyes.

I hear the man roaming around the room, either looking for others or just being nosy. I inch slowly towards the soft muttering that’s coming from beside me. “Are you all right?”

“He’s a mad man.” Not the response I was hoping for, but not unexpected, however it does allow me to recognize the voice.

Carla, the woman who moved in a few months ago.

“Are you hurt?” I ask a little more forcefully.

“I’m…I’m okay.”

The man’s footfalls come closer and the woman lets out a short shriek.

He laughs. “I certainly picked the perfect hostages. A blind man and a lying bitch.”

I’ve obviously been thrust into the middle of this story, which is not where I’m comfortable being.

“Would you mind explaining what’s going on?” I ask, adding a slight quiver into my voice so I don’t come off as a negotiator.

“Shut up! You don’t need to know nothing.”

So much for negotiating. I hear him moving around, his footfalls moving further away from us.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” I whisper to the frightened woman.

“I’m his doctor,” she whispers. “He has a brain tumor; we discovered it yesterday. At the time he was upset…” She stops when we both hear something smash against a hard surface.

“You talking about me, Carla?” he yells. “I’m dying, but I ain’t deaf.”

“I told you earlier, Dean, we don’t know if it’s malignant. There are treatments for both scenarios…”

“Oh, yeah right. You can slice up my head and scoop my whole brain out cause that’s the only cure. There’s nothing more you can do.” I think he’s sobbing. He’s definitely upset.

“Hey, maybe you should listen to your lady.” I say in a neutral tone.

“Shut up!” he screams. “You don’t know anything about this.”

“I know having a tumor is a scary thing, but you should listen to her…”

“There’s no point. Tumor means cancer, which means I’m a goner.”

It’s obvious I’m not dealing with a stable person, but I have to calm him down. With all the practice I’ve had over the years this shouldn’t be too hard, but not being able to see the guy I’m talking to makes it more of a challenge.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask softly. “Taking us hostage, what’s the point?”

“You think I planned this? I just came here to have a nice little chat with the doctor, to thank her for ruining my life. And yeah, okay, I got a little angry and I pulled a gun on her. Why does it matter anyway? I’m going to die, so I might as well go out with a bang, right?”

His footfalls move away from us, perhaps to the window. I can just make out the sound of sirens in the distance.

“Do you know if he’s on any medication for a mental disorder?” I ask Carla.

“Not that I know of, but he has a family history.” Which means he has plenty of reasons to be paranoid.

The Calvary’s on its way, but a man who believes he has nothing left to lose is the hardest man to negotiate with; especially when you don’t know all the facts.

“Dean,” I call out. “I know you’re scared, but you have to listen to the doctor.” He’s moving closer, but he’s not saying anything. “You’re too scared to know for certain if you have cancer and I know what it’s like to be afraid of the unknown. I mean, I don’t know what you look like or…” He grabs me by the front of my shirt and pushes me backwards. Fortunately I land on the couch.

“You’re a cop, aren’t you? You’re trying to trick me into letting you go.”

I can tell his face is close to mine by the smell of his cigarette-scented breath.

“I just want you to listen to Carla. She knows more about what’s going on…” He strikes me and my teeth chomp down on the inside of my cheek.

Carla shrieks. “Please listen to me, Dean. You’re not dying. And I can prove it to you if you just let me take you to the hospital.”

“No!” He moves away from me. “There’s no point.”

“That’s not true,” I say calmly. “You have to have faith that it’s not as bad as you think.” He falls silent and I take this as a sign he’s starting to doubt his actions, although he may have just stopped listening.

“I don’t want to die,” he whimpers. It’s a start.

“Then let the doctor help you.”

The sirens are growing louder and then they just stopped.

This can’t be good.

I hear Dean open a window and I hold my breathing, praying he doesn’t do something stupid. The window closes.

“If you surrender now things will go easier,” I say softly. “You haven’t hurt anyone. You can end this swiftly if you just put down the gun and talk to them.”

He stays silent. I can hear him pacing. It’s a good sign that he’s thinking, but I can’t deal with the suspense.

“This is the BCPD!” A voice amplified by a megaphone reaches my ears. It’s Starsky.

“We have the building surrounded.”

I hear a sound that tightens my muscles: the cocking of a gun.

“Dean, listen to me.” I keep my voice steady. “I’m a cop, let me talk to them and I’ll try to get them to go easy on you and I’ll even go with you and the doctor to get this tumor evaluated. I give you my word.”

The silence is getting to me, but I hope that what I’m saying is getting through to him. I use my last shot.

“You’re scared, and scared people make mistakes.”

His silence turns into whimpers and that escalates into choking sobs. I crawl slowly in the direction of the crying, banging into the sofa and a chair, but I find him curled up in the kitchen. One hand finds his shoulder while the other finds the hand he’s holding the gun in. I slip it out of his lax fingers and empty the chamber of bullets, an action I’ve done enough times to make it instinctive.

“We know you have at least two hostages.”

I’d forgotten about the police outside. Starsky must be pacing a like an aggravated tiger.

“Carla, go the window and tell them everything’s under control and to only send up Detective Starsky.”

Her footsteps are hesitant and I don’t blame her, but she relays my message to the people below.

Dean is still in tears and there’s nothing I can do for him until he’s done with his grief. I feel for him, he’s been giving this horrible news and there’s so much uncertainty in his head which is driving him crazy. I know how he feels; the only difference is he’s facing death, while I’m only facing career death.

The door opens and I’m relived to only hear one set of footfalls.

“Hutch?”

“Over here.” I wave an arm to give him a marker.

“Looks like you have the situation in hand.” The metallic tinkling of handcuffs joins his voice.

“We’re not taking him in.” I say firmly.

“You’re right, I am.” His voice is at my level.

“You don’t understand. We’re taking him to the hospital before anything happens.”

“He’s hurt?” His voice sounds skeptical. I can’t really blame him.

“No, but we need some answers, I’ll explain everything when we get there.”

Any other officer might demand an explanation right away, but this was Starsky. If I can’t trust him, there’s no one else.

“All right, but he’ll have to be brought out in handcuffs. There’s a lot of police out there including the Captain. We’ll take him to the hospital in the Torino.”

I turn my attention back to Dean, whose sobs have almost stopped.

“We’re going to take you to the hospital, but…”

“I understand, I’ll go quietly,”

I help him to his feet, neither one of us is very stable, but Starsky takes hold of my elbow and keeps me stead.

The cuffs jingle around.

“Carla,” I forgot about her, although I can tell she’s still in the room. She’s breathing quiet heavily. “Are you able to come with us?”

“Yeah, sure.” Her voice isn’t shaking so bad now, which comes as a comfort.

I hear the distinct sound of handcuffs being tightened, but Dean’s sobs have quieted.

I wish we didn’t have to do it this way, I mean, sure the guy threatened his doctor and me with a gun, but considering what he’s going through, you can’t blame him.

I can’t blame him.

“You coming, partner?” Starsky asks. Under the current circumstances that invitation is enough to make me smile like an idiot; at least I can assume that’s how I’m looking right now.

“I’m coming.”

The word echoes over in my head, even now three days after the discovery. I can still remember the joy and relief in Dean’s voice. He’d been so happy no one had the heart to press charges, so we gave him an alternative. Get some counseling. He agreed and Carla’s going to make sure he goes.

It all worked out well for the guy and it’s got me thinking about my own future. If things were different, would I have reacted in the same way to my current blindness?

Would I have lost my mind and assumed the worst before I had all the fact? Of course it would have been harder for me to take any one hostage, unless I’d gone completely mad.

It’s not something I want to delve too deeply into. Not right now anyway, because today’s the day.

The big unveiling.

To say I’m nervous would be an understatement too large to comprehend, but now I need to re-evaluate why I feel this way. Am I assuming the worst, are my nerves a representation for my lack of confidence?

Or is this just normal?

The outcome has the potential to being life-altering and that’s not something to just shrug at.

At this moment, however, I really don’t want to think about it anymore. Whatever the outcome, whether it’s clear blue skies or pitch-black nights, I won’t find out until the bandages fall and before then I just have to relax.

Not easy when your partner is driving over the speed limit. He denies this of course.

I’ll bet he’s as nervous as me. This outcome isn’t just going to change my life, but also his.

It takes us a little while to find a parking space.

Starsky comes around to help me out of the car and I hesitate. A part of me wants to slam the door and lock myself away in this car, the outcome be damned, but that’s just my fear talking. I can’t assume the worst yet; I’ve spent so much time over the last three days trying to be optimistic. Now would not be a good time to stop.

There’s pressure on my shoulder and the simple action offered to me by my friend is enough to silence my fears so I can get myself out of the car.

We walk at a neutral pace, trying to act as if this is just a simple, routine check-up. The only difference is the butterflies in my stomach and my heart is bruising my chest cavity with its relentless pounding.

The waiting room is noisy; I can hear children playing and adults telling them to be quiet. The overhead speaker calls for a Dr. Baker.

Starsky leads me over to a free chair, which thankfully has padding. I try to imagine what the place might look like. There’ll be magazines on a table and a few toys in a box in the corner. I can already hear a child playing with a truck of some kind. He’s making the engine sound and bashing it against something hard.

Impatience serves no purpose here. I can’t even pick up a magazine to quell my fears with the pointless dribble they print.

“You know what I’ve always hated about waiting rooms?” Starsky asks causally.

“The waiting?” I venture.

“Apart from that.”

I shrug. “What?”

“I swear they all have the same issue of Motor Sport.” It’s hard to tell if this is his attempt at breaking the silence or if he’s genuinely annoyed. Either way, it’s a good distraction.

“Where else have you seen it?”

“The dentist, when you forced me to go last month, and the Emergency Room at Memorial last year when you hurt your hand.”

I can tell by his tone that he’s not just making this up. His attention to detail can be vital during an investigation, but at the same time annoying when it comes to trivial matters.

“There are only so many times I can read this article about the 1970 Pontiac Firebird.”

I must have tuned out for a moment because the next thing I know Starsky’s tugging on my arm telling me Dr. Anderson’s ready to see us.

The ophthalmologist’s office smells of oranges, which is either air freshener or his lunch. He leads me over to an examining table, which I have to jump onto.

No point dragging this out.

“Nervous?” he asks. What a dumb question.

But instead of voicing my annoyance, I simply nod

“Have you been taking the medication as instructed?” Again I just nod.

“Excellent. Now, if you could just turn the lights down a little, please.” This is directed at Starsky, who does as he’s told.

“All right, Mr. Hutchinson, I want you to close your eyes first and then I’m going to unwrap the bandages. Don’t open them again until I say so, okay?”

This is it. I feel Starsky stand beside me and place a hand on my shoulder.

“Think good thoughts,” he whispers. Easier said than done, but I do my best.

I close my eyes; pretend I’m on the beach watching the waves wash up to my feet, tickling the soles with bits of seaweed.

I feel hands on the side of my face.

I’m at The Pits with Starsky, listening to Huggy tell us about his new waitress. She’s a tall, fair-haired lady with legs that don’t know where to end.

The bandages start to come off and Starsky’s grip tightens.

I’m at Starsky’s place, watching one of those old B-movies, but we’re both too drunk on beer to pay attention to the creature attacking the small village.

The last layer comes off and the doctor touches my face. The last good thought I have is of Starsky, standing in front of me, giving me one of those smiles that show off all his teeth.

“Open your eyes slowly.”

I take a deep breath and slowly open my eyes. It’s dark, but not like before. It’s hard to describe, but I can make out an outline in front of me. It must be the doctor. He’s holding something up to my eye.

“Try not to close your eyes,” he says, right before a burst of light shines into my left eye. It hurts and I squint.

“Good.” He shines the light into my right eye, all the while making noises as if he likes what he sees.

“You can turn the lights up now, but slowly.”

The figure before me starts to form, but the edges are mostly a blur. His features come slightly into focus and I can make out his mustache and glasses.

“Can you tell me what you see?” he asks.

I look past the doctor to Starsky, his expression a little fuzzy, but I can tell he’s frowning as he waits for an answer. I give nothing away until I find his eyes.

“A sight for sore eyes,” I say with a smile. His frown turns into the smile I imagined just a few seconds ago and it’s the most perfect thing in the world.

We both start to laugh. I haven’t heard either noise in so long.

The doctor brings me back down with his pen light.

“Is there any blurriness, or distortion of any kind?”

I nod once my emotions are under control. “There’s some blurriness, but it’s not so bad. It actually makes my partner here look better.”

I can hear and see Starsky’s mock annoyance at that comment.

“The lady at the reception had no complaints,” he sighs. “Some people just don’t have an eye for good things.” I laugh.

“She was probably the doctor’s next patient.”

The banter feels good. We can both laugh at this and everything else now because I can see.

I went through it all, the mixed emotions, the fear, the uncertainty and even the acceptance that things could turn out bad, but I’ve conquered it all and have been rewarded with my sight.

The End