Out of the Depths

Hutch answers a call without Starsky.

When he regained consciousness, he opened his eyes on blackness; blackness so complete his first thought was that he was blind, causing him to rise up in panic.

Further thought was driven from his mind as intense pain hit him and he dropped back gasping and writhing as wave after wave of pain engulfed him. He knew he cried out and continued to sob in an attempt to carry the pain away on his breath; the breath that was creating its own angry of response to the effort.

Very slowly he settled his body and mind into acceptance and fought to bring his thinking, rational mind to the fore. He relaxed into the pain and at last it took a back seat to his trained cops mind.

Where was he? What had happened? Where was Starsky?

The last question took precedence over the others and he weakly called out for his partner. After several attempts produced no result, he reviewed the circumstances of what had gone before and almost panicked again.

Starsky didn’t know where he was! Hadn’t been with him when he had responded to the 2-11 call on his way home.

He then proceeded to call himself all sorts of a fool for not waiting for backup, for following blindly where the perps led and for responding irrationally to the two bodies he had come upon after entering the old building that was four blocks from his home.

He had known the Purcells’, man and wife, casually. They had often greeted him on his morning run and occasionally shared a coffee on his way back. And now they were dead, innocent victims of a crazed, doped up pair of miscreants. He tried to console himself with the fact that they too were now dead, but an attempt to wipe away his tears produced another surge of deep pain that sent him into oblivion.

Starsky heard the phone as he stepped out of the shower and hurriedly grabbed a towel as he moved to answer it.

“Starsky.”

Dobey’s deep hesitant voice put Starsky on alert.

“Starsky. We’ve got a situation involving your partner. I think you should get yourself down here.”

The ton of lead that hit his stomach left Starsky speechless for a moment.

“Where?” was all he could get out.

Dobey had to repeat the address before Starsky could get his addled brain to work. Without replying he slammed the phone down and moved into automatic as he dressed, retrieved his weapon and keys, and was out the door in three minutes flat.

The Torino left tracks as he roared away, and if the tires touched the ground after that he was unaware of it. He locked his brain down, only allowing his reflexes to guide him. His arrival at the scene ended in a screech of brakes and smoke, promptly followed by his body ejecting itself from the car, propelling him towards Dobey’s familiar form.

He stood in solid, tense silence as Dobey explained what they knew, and didn’t know. What they didn’t know was where Hutch was.

Patiently Starsky heard him out, and then strode off into the building without having said one word. Dobey let him go.

Starsky slowly entered the building; his mind engaged in following Hutch’s every step. He took in the two bodies and knew his partner would have checked them out first. He stood for a moment, then moved into the back of the store, unerringly following Hutch until he came to the body of the first perp, blasted away by the Magnums force. Where to now?

Before him stretched a jumble of shelves and scattered merchandise that spoke of years of accumulated goods and junk, the open walkway ending in a tangle of fallen timber, metal and boxes. He paced towards it, his head cocked as if listening for the faintest of sounds. The crew working the area stopped what they were doing and fell silent, as if in the presence of an unholy demon so set and intense was his approach.

No one heard the soft whispered plea: Hutch.

Carefully he began to move the fallen debris away, and after a moment the others broke free of their hypnotic trance and moved in to help. They soon had the area surrounding a gaping hole in the floor clear, and a hastily procured flashlight dimly revealed what lay ten feet below.

Still holding on with steely determination, Starsky lowered himself into the dark cavern that revealed itself as he descended. Fortunately, the larger pieces above had kept most of the debris from falling into the room and on top of Hutch.

Hutch lay like a broken doll, unmoving and unresponsive. Carefully Starsky picked his way to his partner, noting almost innocently the obvious broken bones in his left arm and leg, but paling and sighing desperately at the blood slowly spreading from beneath Hutch’s blond head, and trickling from his mouth.

He heard the descent of another as he carefully felt for a pulse and almost cried hysterically as he felt a faint response. He gave way to the paramedic who had followed him down, quietly murmuring his own private mantra:

“Stay with me Hutch. Hold on buddy. I’m here. I’m here.”

After seeming hours of uselessly standing by while the paramedic examined and prepared Hutch for transport, Starsky cringed as the two of them moved the unconscious body into the basket to be hauled up for the waiting ambulance. Then he began to give in to the trauma he had put on hold. His legs collapsed under him and he sank to the ground cold and trembling uncontrollably as tears cascaded down his cheeks.

Only Dobey’s best bellow brought him out of it, and he hurried to extricate himself from the dark and to once again follow Hutch.