Nightmare

Is Starsky dreaming with his eyes closed or open, now that it’s been three weeks since Hutch rescued him from Marcus’ cult?

Author’s Note: Dedication: For my karmic sister, Maria

Moonlight spilled through a crack in the heavy green drapes and sliced through the darkness in the bedroom. Not daring to breath, Starsky sat up rigidly in the center of the bed, straining to identify the sound that had awakened him. Silence rang in his ears.

Musta been dreamin’ again, he thought, letting out the breath he had been holding. Willing himself to relax, he leaned back onto his pillow. It was cold and damp with sweat. He screwed up his face in disgust, then reached behind his head with both hands and flipped the pillow over to the dry side. As he did, he thought he heard something scamper across the carpet at the foot of the bed. His mouth went dry.

The sound, partially masked by the movement of his pillow, still eluded identification. His chest tightened with fear and he bolted upright. He scanned the shadows with his eyes opened as wide as possible to drink in every drop of available light. His breaths were coming in short pants now. Something was in the room with him. He could feel it.

Slowly, he loosened his right hand’s grip on the blanket then reached out toward the night stand next to the bed. Shaking fingers made contact with the cold plastic of the phone and curled around the receiver. His left hand still had a death’s grip on the blanket, and he pulled the cover closer to himself for comfort.

Something pulled back.

Starsky dropped the phone with a clatter. He brought his right hand back to help grip the blanket, now in a tug of war with the unseen force at the bottom of his bed.

An evil laugh pierced the darkness.

I’ve heard that laugh before, Starsky realized, losing his grip on the cover. Marcus!

The blanket sailed off the bottom of the bed with one fierce tug.

Starsky rolled to the right and grappled with the light on the night stand, almost knocking it over. Frantic fingers finally found the knob and clicked it, over and over… but the room remained dark.

It laughed at him.

Panic seized his muscles and he had to concentrate to make every move. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he shimmied over to the left side of the bed. The bedroom door was open a crack, and moonlight spilled in from the living room’s unshaded windows. He forced himself toward the light. Toward salvation. Escape.

He planted his bare feet on the floor, and his toes dug into the soft carpeting as he propelled himself toward the door. It slammed shut before he could reach it.

Laughter filled the room.

With his back up against the door, the terrified man turned to face the wall of darkness. Hope against hope, his right hand inched up the wall toward the light switch.

Something cold and furry touched his foot and he yelped. His hand darted the rest of the way to the switch and he slapped it on.

Blinking against the sudden light, Starsky willed his eyes to adjust so he could make out the dark blur that stood before him. It was about two feet tall and covered with dark fur from head to toe. He blinked a few more times and his vision cleared.

The thing tilted its head back to look the detective in the eyes. It blinked yellow eyes, then smiled at him with tiny, pointed teeth.

Starsky screamed and screamed…

…and was still screaming when he awakened on his bedroom floor next to the bed, tangled in the sheets. He scrambled to the table lamp, switched it on, then jumped up onto the bed. Turning from side to side, he stood there for a few minutes before he convinced himself that it had all been a dream.

Shaken close to tears, he dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed and grabbed the phone. The clock read 10:45. Hutch should still be awake. With trembling fingers, he punched in the number and waited. It rang three times.

“Hello?”

“Hutch?” It sounded more like a plea than a greeting.

“Starsk, is everything okay?”

The curly haired detective took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. “Um, I just… it was a bad one, Hutch.”

“Another nightmare?” It had only been three weeks since he had found Starsky after his kidnaping by Marcus’ goons. Since then, his partner had been having bad dreams almost every night, reliving the terror imposed by the cult. “Hey, it’s not that late. How about if I come over for a bit?”

It was what Starsky had been hoping to hear. “‘Kay.”

“Be there in a few minutes. Put on some coffee.”

Starsky replaced the phone and rubbed away the goose bumps on his arms. He hurried out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, turning on every light in the apartment along the way.

There was a knock at the door just as he plugged in the coffee maker.

“Hey, pal.” Starsky avoided eye contact with his friend when he answered the door. “Sorry to drag you out this late for somethin’ stupid.”

“Starsk, it’s not stupid,” Hutch assured him, stepping inside. “Let’s have a cup of java and talk it out, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” He ran a hand through his disheveled curls then down over his face, trying to rub away the look of fear that he knew was etched there.

Hutch took off his leather jacket and laid it across the arm of the sofa. “So, wanna talk about it?”

Starsky faced the coffee maker on the counter and kept his back to his partner. “It was pretty bad. Seemed so real,” he mumbled.

“Start at the beginning. You know the only way to get over the fear is to face it,” Hutch said gently.

Starsky took a deep breath. He turned around and leaned back against the counter. “There was a thing in my bedroom,” he said just above a whisper.

“A thing?” Hutch straddled the other arm of the couch. “Could you be a bit more specif….”

The slamming of the bedroom door stopped him in mid sentence.

Starsky managed to push himself away from the counter, but his feet rooted to the spot on the kitchen linoleum.

Hutch was on his feet in an instant, heading for the bedroom.

“Hutch, no! Don’t!” Starsky could barely squeeze the words out as fear closed off his throat.

Holding up one finger to his partner, Hutch continued his approach in a slight crouch. He reached the bedroom door and gripped the cold doorknob.

Barely able to breathe, Starsky tried to convince his feet to move. He took a few faltering steps until he was out of the kitchen, in full view of his partner who was preparing to throw open the bedroom door.

“Hutch, please! Don’t!” he pleaded.

Hutch gave the door a push and stepped inside, ready for anything. A quick scan of the room revealed a bed with crumpled sheets, a blanket on the floor, and the drapes moving in a gentle breeze from the open window. He allowed himself a sigh of relief before turning toward his terrified friend.

“Starsk, it’s okay. You left the window open. The breeze must have blown the door shut.”

Far from being pacified, Starsky’s body went cold. “I never leave my window open.”

Hutch laughed through his nose. “Well, buddy, you did tonight.” He walked over to his friend and placed a warm hand on the other man’s frigid shoulder. “It was just a dream, Starsk. You can relax. Now go fix us some coffee and I’ll get you a shirt before you freeze to death.”

Starsky reluctantly returned to the kitchen as Hutch headed for the bedroom.

“Felt so real,” the dark haired man muttered as he spooned sugar into the cups. He closed his eyes, trying to rid himself of the smothering dread that had settled over him like a wet blanket.

There was a loud crash from the bedroom. A scream.

Starsky let the sugar bowl slip through his fingers. It crashed to the floor, splintering in glistening shards. “Hutch!”

He was at the bedroom door in a heartbeat. The sight that met him there froze him to the spot.

A small, furry creature was tearing his partner to shreds on his bedroom floor.

Hutch turned his head toward Starsky and reached out a bloodied hand. Then the thing was tearing at his neck. Hutch’s eyes rolled in their sockets as he slipped away.

“HUTCH!” Starsky sat up in bed and threw the covers off. Gasping for air, he twisted toward the table lamp and turned it on. His room stared back at him, empty, mocking. “What the hell is going ON?” He pushed his fingers through his soaked curls. Tears filled his eyes and he let them come. I’m losing my mind, he thought. Marcus, you’ve won.

He got shakily to his feet and left the bedroom. He went into the living room, turned on all the lights, and curled up into the corner of the couch, hugging his knees to his chest. Without thinking, he picked up the phone on the coffee table and dialed Hutch’s number. It was what he always did when he needed help.

“Hello?”

The sound of Hutch’s voice in his ear snapped realization into Starsky’s mind. I’m doing it all over, he thought frantically, just like in the dream.

“Hello? Starsk, is that you?”

“Uh….”

That was all Hutch needed as identification. “What’s wrong, buddy?”

Starsky squeezed his eyes shut, cursing himself for picking up the phone. “N… nothin’. Never mind.” He cradled the phone.

Oh great. Stupid! Now he’ll really be worried. Hanging up on Hutch was like waiving a red flag. The phone rang immediately.

Reluctantly, Starsky picked up the phone. Steadying his voice, he said, “Hello?”

“What?”

That one word spoke volumes. He could hear it in Hutch’s voice; concern, worry, frustration… anger?

“Hutch, sorry, I was gonna tell you something, then I forgot.”

“That is so lame,” the blonde breathed into the phone. He could hear the slight quiver in his partner’s voice and softened. “Starsk, what is it? Did you have a bad dream?”

That wasn’t such a hard guess, considering my track record these past three weeks since you rescued me from the cult. “Yeah.”

“I’ll be right over.”

Panic pierced his chest like a dagger. “No! Hutch, it’s nothin’….” But it was too late. Starsky held the receiver away from his ear, the dial tone humming in the silence.

“Shit!” he shouted, slamming the phone down. It was replaying again, just like the dream. Or was he still asleep? He grabbed a handful of his dark hair and pulled. He could feel the pain. Did that mean he was awake?

When Hutch arrived twenty minutes later, he let himself in with his key. He found his friend scrunched up in a corner of the couch, head on his knees, rocking back and forth.

“Starsk?” he called gently as he approached.

Starsky lifted his tear stained face at the sound of his friend’s voice. “Hutch, go home. Please! You can’t stay. It’ll get ya!”

“What?” Hutch sat down next to him. “What will get me?”

The terrified man before him opened his mouth, but no words would come.

“Hey. Just relax, buddy. I’m here now. Everything is okay.”

Starsky was shaking his head, sobbing. “No,” he squeaked out. “How do I know I’m awake?” He looked pleadingly at his partner for an answer.

Hutch furrowed his brow in confusion. “How do you know you’re awake? Starsk, what’s this all about?”

Falteringly, Starsky related the dream within a dream that had put him in this awful state.

Hutch closed his eyes afterward and tried to control the rage he felt inside. That bastard Marcus! How long will it be before the nightmares end? Or will they ever? He placed a comforting hand on his friend’s arm. “Starsk, you’re awake, okay? Trust me.”

“But how do I know?” he whined.

Hutch unceremoniously pinched Starsky’s arm. Hard.

“Ow! Hey!”

“There. Ever hear someone say, ‘Pinch me, I must be dreaming’? Well, you felt that, so you must be awake.” Hutch rubbed at the red spot he had caused on his friend’s arm.

Hutch went to the kitchen and brought back a glass of cold water. “Here,” he said, placing the glass in Starsky’s trembling hand. “Take a sip, then come with me.”

Starsky sipped at the water. It washed away the desert in his mouth. “Where we goin’?”

In response, Hutch just held out his hand. Starsky took it, and Hutch lead him toward the bedroom. Halfway there, he balked and tried to pull away.

“C’mon, Starsk. You’re exhausted. You gotta get some sleep.”

“I may never sleep again,” he said, pulling away harder.

Hutch kept a firm grip. “Hey, it’s me. Trust me, okay?”

Starsky swallowed the fear that threatened to choke him and allowed his best friend to lead him into his bedroom. A room he had never wanted to enter again in a million years.

Hutch closed the door behind them and locked it. “Go put on some dry pajamas,” he instructed as he crossed to the window. He inspected it carefully to be sure it was closed and locked. Then he bent down at the bed to examine underneath. The closet was next. He opened the door and searched it thoroughly.

Starsky watched every move as he pulled on a dry pair of light blue pajama bottoms.

“There,” Hutch announced with his hands on his hips. “I’ve searched the room, and there’s nothing here. The door and window are locked. Now, get into bed.” He reached down and retrieved the blanket from the floor, then tossed it back onto the bed.

Starsky sulked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “Thanks, Hutch, but I’ll never be able to sleep.”

Hutch started to unbutton his shirt.

The dark haired man’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

Smiling, Hutch stripped down to his boxers and crawled into the bed. “Shut off the light, will ya?” he said, rolling onto his right side.

Starsky allowed himself a smile of relief. He crossed to the door and switched off the overhead light. Returning to his side of the bed, he reached for the table lamp to switch it off. He hesitated.

“Hutch?”

“Yeah, Starsk?”

“D’ya mind if we leave the light on?” he asked in a small voice.

“Okay, buddy. Now get some sleep.”

The End