One Dark Night

A “Sweet Revenge” missing scene.

The pain intruded upon his drug-induced slumber, bringing him closer to consciousness but not quite releasing him from the darkness. He hovered in that twilight world, with hybrid images of dream and reality swirling through his mind.

Curled in a ball on a cold, hard floor. Agony in his gut. Hutch’s arms around him.

“Oh God, Hutch, it hurts.”

The image was a memory, but the pain was real, existing in the here and now. It brought him even further toward the light, but the drugs held on tenaciously, keeping him just below the surface of consciousness.

White all around. Terry laying in a hospital bed. An angel’s face. Clear, gentle eyes. A child’s smile. White walls. White sheets. White floor.

The drugs tired in their efforts. The pain surged forward, so intense it stole his breath. Bile touched the back of his throat and tears sprung behind closed eyelids.

He became more aware of his body. Beneath the pain lay coldness. Something soft rested beneath his skull. The faint smell of antiseptic tickled his nose. Somewhere to his left a slow, regular beeping interrupted the silence.

A hospital. Memory returned sluggishly. The screech of metal. Reaching for his gun. A black-and-white cruiser. Bullets. Pain. Hutch yelling.

It was so cold, and he hurt so much. Lately, his existence had been reduced to three simple states — drug-induced euphoria, sleep, or pain. Sometimes, after they’d given him a fresh dose of morphine, he’d start to drift off, and the nurses would talk. He’d listen to their conversations even as sleep tugged at him.

They said he was lucky to be alive. That he’d been dead for several minutes. That it was lucky he didn’t sustain brain damage.

That it would be a miracle if he ever made it as a cop again.

Tears swelled against his lids, but he couldn’t open his eyes yet. The drug hadn’t quite released its hold, and he flirted with the edge of sleep. He tried to reclaim it, to lose himself in that blissful oblivion where he could dream things the way he wanted them.

Sleep, however, remained elusive, hovering just out of reach. He lay there feeling cold, alone, and hurting.

The pain rose from his gut, making his chest tight. His heart pumped steadily, and he focused on its reassuring rhythm. It had stopped at one point, and they had shocked it back to life.

But at what cost? Would his heart ever be the same again? Would it be as strong?

Would he be able to stay Hutch’s partner?

What would he do if he couldn’t be a cop? What will happen to me now? Will they put me out to pasture? Give me a disability check every month?

He couldn’t live like that. Broken. Useless to Hutch. Useless to everyone. Alone.

Oh God, please let me stay a cop. You got me this far. How ’bout just a little farther please?

The room seemed to grow colder, and he trembled, wishing someone would bring him another blanket. What time was it, anyway? He knew there was a small clock hanging on the wall, but he didn’t even have the strength to open his eyelids.

A pang twisted in his chest. God, he missed Terry so much. How is it that someone as good and kind as she had been killed while a bum like him managed to keep on living despite the bullets and the bombs and the scum all around? It just wasn’t fair.

He remembered those last few minutes with her. She’d faced death bravely and with a dignity so remarkable he’d wanted to scream and curse whatever God existed for letting such a bad thing happen to such a beautiful person.

She’d spent her last breaths trying to comfort him. Imagine that. She was the one dying, but she seemed more worried about him.

“I’ll always be there when you need me. If you’re scared or if your world seems like it’s falling apart, or just some dark night when you’re all alone, you just close your eyes and try to remember me. I’ll always be there.”

A sob rose in his throat, and he swallowed it quickly, but the tears slipped from beneath his eyelids and slid quietly down his temples toward the pillow.

Oh, Terry.

He tried to do as she’d asked. He pictured her face… her mischievous eyes… her gentle, endearing smile. How adorable she’d looked hugging that old teddy bear, Ollie.

He tried to feel her now. He needed to feel her. Oh, Terry, I’m scared and the world’s fallin’ apart and I’m all alone.

“Hey, hey.” A familiar voice broke through his grief.

Starsky stopped breathing. Hutch?

Fingers brushed against his cheek, wiping the tears away. “What’s wrong, partner? You wanna open your eyes for me? You hurting? You want me to get the nurse?”

Starsky’s cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment. He’d thought he’d been alone. He didn’t like anybody seeing him cry, not even Hutch.

“Starsky?” Hutch’s palm came to rest lightly on top of Starsky’s head. “You awake?”

Not really. Starsky was tempted to just remain still and quiet, but the genuine concern he heard in Hutch’s voice urged his heavy eyelids open.

A blurry whiteness filled his vision. His eyes drifted until they found the hazy, angelic face of his fair-skinned partner.

Starsky forced a weak, subtle smile. He swallowed, trying to wet his throat, and managed a faint croak. “Hey.”

Hutch grinned, his eyes bright and shimmering with unshed tears. “How you doing, buddy?”

“So-so.”

“You in pain?”

“It ain’t too bad.”

Hutch’s smile faded, and his eyes grew more somber. “Anything I can do for you? You cold? I can get another blanket.”

Starsky’s smile widened. You read minds now, Hutch? “Yeah. That’d be nice. Thanks.”

“Okay. Be right back.”

Hutch pulled back and hurried into the hall. Starsky took the moment of solitude to compose himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep, somewhat painful breath. Moment’s later, a warm weight settled over him. The blanket had obviously just come from the dryer, and the heat soaked into his chest as hands tucked the cottony material around his shoulders.

“Thanks.” He opened his eyes to see his friend smiling down at him.

“Anytime.” Hutch patted Starsky’s arm. “So you wanna tell me what you were thinking or dreaming about a few minutes ago?”

Starsky let his eyelids close. He didn’t have the strength to lie. “Terry.”

This time Hutch gave him a gentle squeeze. “Yeah. Me too.”

Starsky cracked one eye open. “When?”

“Just lately. She entrusted me with you and Ollie. Told me to love you both. Not to let either one of you change.”

Starsky nodded slowly. “I remember.” He swallowed hard. “Guess Gunther took care of that.”

“No, he tried. You beat him.”

“I ain’t the same, Hutch.” He closed his eyes again. “They don’t think I hear ’em, but I know what they’ve been saying. I stand a good chance of being an invalid for the rest of my life. I ain’t the same as I used to be.”

“Hey!”

The sudden vehemence in Hutch’s voice made Starsky open his eyes. He pulled back a bit from the anger he saw in his friend’s face.

“Don’t you listen to them, Starsk. They said you wouldn’t make it. They said a lot of things they were wrong about. But the doctor thinks you’ll make a complete recovery. I talked to him yesterday. He says you’re a miracle. You hear that? A miracle.” His eyes softened. “Terry’s watching over you. So am I. Whatever happens, buddy, it’s you and me all the way. You got that?”

Starsky’s eyes stung, and he looked quickly away. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “Yeah, partner, I hear ya.” He managed a smile and looked back at his friend. “So how’s Ollie?”

Hutch smiled and shrugged. “Getting to be an adolescent, I guess. He wants to dye his hair purple and get a tattoo.”

“Oh yeah? How’d you handle that?”

“I threatened to beat the stuffing out of him.”

Laughter bubbled from Starsky’s chest, leaving spasms of pain behind, but still it felt good. “Oh man, Hutch, don’t make me laugh.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Hutch chuckled. “Bad pun, I know.”

“Terrible.”

“The worst.”

“Absolutely awful.”

“Hey, Starsk?”

“Yeah?” His laughter faded at the renewed seriousness in Hutch’s tone.

“I’m really glad you didn’t leave me.”

Awww, Hutch…. “Me, too, partner. Me too.”