The Color Green

Chapter 1 – 9 pm Thursday, August 15

The Torino fishtailed around the corner, chasing a black Corvette. For what seemed like the hundredth time in their shift, Hutch braced his body against the seat and his hands on the dash. “Starsky, will you just slow down,” he shouted. “It’s only a 211, it’s not worth getting killed over.” It had been unbearably hot all day, and Hutch was feeling skittish.

Starsky straightened out the car on the road and pushed his foot down harder on the accelerator. “This one’s not getting away, Hutch. Not this time.”

Before Hutch had time to answer, a truck appeared in their path. Starsky cussed as he threw the car into a sideways skid to avoid hitting it head on.

The car stopped just short of the truck’s massive wheels, and Hutch breathed a sigh of relief. “Starsky,” was all he could manage to say for a while.

The heavy silence in the car was broken by, “Zebra three, come in, Zebra three.”

Hutch grabbed the mike and croaked, “Zebra three.”

Mildred’s voice crackled with static. “Captain Dobey wants you and Starsky back here now, Hutch.”

Starsky groaned.

“On our way, Mildred,” said Hutch.

“Thought the Cap’n would have gone home by now. I bet he wants our reports done before we leave,” Starsky moaned. He restarted the car and turned left into a gas station. He drove across the blacktop and back onto the street going in the opposite direction.

“Probably. I did tell you he wouldn’t be happy that we were late with them again. I can’t remember how many times he’s told us that daily reports mean daily, not weekly. And all because you would rather be out on the street,” Hutch said.

“Me, all because I’d rather be out on the street?” Starsky’s voice rose a few octaves. “It’s always my fault. I came in early to do the reports until Dobey told me to find you and check out those male rape/murder cases. I can’t do both.”

“Yeah, and what a waste of time that was,” Hutch said. “Just because one of them was an old snitch of yours. Still don’t understand why Dobey wanted us to check it out. We spent so much time over there that I’ve been neglecting my plants.”

“Didn’t you hear? Turns out Captain Hesky is an old friend of Dobey’s,” Starsky said, hitting the brake to stop at a stop light. “Man, what a sick case. No wonder Patterson and Benjy needed more help. Six murders is a lot for just two guys to investigate. They got nothing to go on except the green painted genitals, and that’s standard spray paint.” Starsky shuddered, accelerating the car again. “What the hell is the green paint all about anyway?”

“This guy’s obviously has some kind of fetish since he brutally rapes and tortures his victims before, and possibly after, death.” Hutch swallowed, just the memory of the crime photos still far too fresh in his mind’s eye.

“He probably has some special place where he performs his rituals since none of the six men were killed where they were dumped. Apart from Mickey, they were all blond and blue eyed.” Starsky glanced at Hutch.

“We all noticed that, Starsky.” Hutch grimaced. “Patterson seemed to think he was being really funny pointing out that I was just the killer’s type. I’m sure the killer’s not stupid enough to kidnap a cop.” The idea was preposterous and scary at the same time.

Starsky turned down Washington Avenue in the direction of the station.

Hutch scanned both sides of the street for signs of criminal activity while Starsky concentrated on driving. This was more out of habit rather than the expectation that something might happen which needed their intervention.

Starsky parked the car in his usual space at the front of Parker Center, and took the front steps two a time. Hutch followed more slowly, still thinking about the Green Paint Killer. They needed to get into the guy’s head, find out what makes him tick.

“Meet you in the squad room.” Starsky paused just inside the front door. “I’m gonna get me some food first. You want anything, Hutch?”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Starsk, you only ate an hour ago. We both did. No, I don’t want anything. Dobey’s waiting for us.”

“Well, he can wait a little longer, I’m hungry,” Starsky said. He sped off in the direction of the cafeteria.

Hutch muttered, “you are always hungry.”

He walked into the squad room and prayed that Starsky would get there before Dobey saw him.

But luck wasn’t with Hutch. Dobey was at Starsky’s desk waiting for them. “Hutchinson, you decided to honor me with your presence, I see. Where’s Starsky?”

“On his way, Captain.”

“You mean to the cafeteria, I presume?”

Hutch grinned weakly.

Dobey focused on the door and his eyes narrowed to slits when Starsky appeared in the hallway with a tray full of food. He waited until Starsky had turned his back to push open the door with his butt and bellowed, “Starsky, my office now. You too, Hutchinson.”

Starsky jumped at the sound and some of his French fries fell off the tray. “Look what you made me do.”

“Luckily for you, Dobey’s already in his office and can’t hear you.” Hutch grabbed Starsky by the arm and dragged him toward the open door to Dobey’s office.

“Hutch, watch it! You’re gonna make me spill everything. Careful.” Starsky set the tray down on his desk and grabbed a burger. He followed Hutch into Dobey’s office and sat down in a chair to eat.

“Starsky, how many times do I have to tell you that my office is not the cafeteria?” Dobey frowned. “Toss that.”

“But Cap’n…” Starsky’s protest was cut off mid-sentence as Hutch swiped the burger from his hand and dumped it in the trash.

Starsky jumped up in protest. “Hey, I was eating that!”

“Not any more, buddy. I did you a favor. All that fat is bad for you.” Hutch smirked.

“Stop messing around, you two,” Dobey said. “Starsky, did you do as I asked? Where’s my report?”

“Huh, what report, Cap’n?” Starsky slouched in the chair.

“The rape and murder cases I asked you to take a look at for me.” Dobey jabbed a meaty finger at him. “Were you two any help to Captain Hesky?”

“Got no more than they did. One of them was Mickey Kelly. But apart from giving a positive ID on Mickey, we couldn’t tell them anything they don’t already know,” Starsky said.

“And there was I telling Captain Hesky you were my best detectives. I should have sent Delaney.”

“That’s not fair,” spluttered Starsky. “They’d already processed the bodies. All we could do was read the paperwork. The bodies were dumped in different locations. Medical examiner says that the victims were probably killed elsewhere.”

“That’s all you got?” Dobey said.

“Not all, Cap’t.” Hutch tapped his fingers absently on the arm of the chair. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his notepad. Flipping through the pages, he found the list he was looking for and read it aloud to Dobey. “Victim’s were Giles Langston, a realtor from Malibu; Marty Brown, a plumber from Burbank; William Taylor, a cab driver from Culver City; Dean Smith, a hot dog vendor from Santa Monica and Lombard Luther, a banker from San Francisco. He was in LA on an extended business trip. All these men were brutally raped and tortured before they were killed.” He grimaced, shaking his head.

Dobey straightened in his chair. “Raped. Tortured, how?”

Hutch carried on. “They all had whip marks, and ligature marks to their wrists and ankles. Their bodies had been slashed with some sort of big knife, which was done post-mortem. And they were all bludgeoned with a hammer, their skulls caved in at the back of their heads.” He rubbed his head in sympathy. “And strangulation marks around the neck.”

Hutch stopped for breath and Starsky butted in.

“Except for Mickey Kelly, they were all Hutch look-alikes. This appears to be the only connection between the five blond men.” He shrugged and shifted into a more comfortable position.

Hutch looked at Starsky. This whole blond connection thing was starting to bug him. He wished that Patterson had never said it.

Starsky droned on. “Who knows where Mickey fits into all of this? He wasn’t as badly mutilated as the others.” He stopped speaking, and then added as an afterthought, “oh, and the color green must have some special significance for the killer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Starsky? Did he tell you this?” Dobey snapped and wiped his face.

“Sort of.” Starsky grinned. “He painted their genitals green. And no, nothing special about the paint.”

“Any clues as to why he changed his MO with Mickey?” Dobey asked.

“None, but you know Mickey. Always did manage to get into trouble. Maybe he saw something he shouldn’t,” Starsky said.

Hutch smiled, watching the altercation between his partner and superior. He found it funny that Starsky and Dobey seemed to clash all the time. Starsky always managed to upset Dobey without really saying anything very much.

“What you grinning at, Hutchinson?” Dobey asked. “Haven’t you got anything else useful to add?”

“No, no, Captain.” He shook his head. “As Starsky said, not a lot for us to go on.”

“Okay, get out of here. And keep your ears to the street.” Dobey pointed at the door to the squadroom. “I want to know if anybody so much as breathes a word about these murders.”

With a nod in Dobey’s direction, Hutch stood, nudging his partner. Starsky jumped up and preceded Hutch to the door.

A loud growl followed them. “And I want all your outstanding reports on my desk by ten in the morning.”

“Yes, Captain,” Hutch said.

“Yes, Captain,” Starsky said at the same time and laughed. He parked his butt on his desk. “Great, that means we’re gonna have to be in early tomorrow, blondie. I’ll pick you up at eight from Vinnie’s.”

“Not me, partner. Got a dentist appointment, remember?”

Starsky grimaced. “Great, so I gotta do these reports alone. Thanks, buddy. Next time, you do them.”

“Starsky, I always do them. You just pretend.” Hutch leveled a stiff forefinger at him. “How many times have I done all the days’ reports except for one? It takes you the same amount of time to do one that, it does for me to finish the rest.”

“Not true.” Starsky’s indigo eyes flashed dangerously dark.

Hutch laughed. “C’mon buddy. Huggy’s, my treat.”

Starsky’s face lit up.

************************

The Pits was quieter than usual on a Thursday night. The men sitting at the bar looked like they had been there all day, but most of the tables were empty. Starsky and Hutch settled themselves at the table closest to the bar.

Huggy saw them sit down. He appeared at their table almost immediately, holding two beers.

“Huggy, you’re beautiful,” Starsky said, taking one of the glasses and draining half the contents in one gulp. “I needed that.”

“Steady, Starsk. Don’t forget those reports tomorrow,” Hutch said, as he watched Starsky gulp down the beer. “You’ll need a clear head in the morning.”

Starsky scowled at Hutch and drank the rest of the beer. He took the other glass from Huggy and drank some of that,, too.

“Hey, that one was mine!” Hutch said indignantly.

“Well, they’re both mine now,” Starsky shot back, looking defiantly at Hutch.

“Diane, two more beers over here, please,” Huggy shouted to his barmaid.

“And some food, too, Hug, I’m starving,” Starsky said.

Hutch looked at Starsky but said nothing. Starsky was in a funny mood, and Hutch wished he’d just had Starsky drop him off at home. He knew exactly what Starsky was going to say next.

“I’ll have my usual. Just gonna get some candy.” Starsky stood up and headed over to the candy machine.

Hutch scowled at Starsky’s departing back, and said to Huggy. “I’ll have a tuna on rye, thanks.”

“Coming right up, my man.” Huggy writes down Starsky and Hutch’s order, a smirk playing on his lips. He walked back to the vending machine, passed Starsky and continued on into the kitchen to put in the order.

Diane sashays sexily towards Hutch, expertly balancing a tray of full beer glasses. She bends over so that Hutch can see down her cleavage and smiles seductively, before placing two of the glasses on the table. “How you doing, handsome?” she asks, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Good, Diane, good,” laughs Hutch. He admires her pert ass as she walks away. The tight black pants enhancing her cute figure.

Starsky returned with a candy bar in his mouth and one in his hand. He is attempting to eat and hum along to Otis Redding’s ‘Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay’ playing on the jukebox.

“Starsky, really. Do you have to eat candy before every meal?” Hutch said, raising the beer glass to his lips.

“I’m hungry, Hutch. I haven’t eaten for…”

“Two hours, Starsk. Two hours since your last meal, that’s all. You should try fasting with me next week. Clear the rubbish from your body.”

“No way. No way, Hutch.” Sitting opposite him, Starsky waves the half eaten candy bar under Hutch’s nose. “You are not turning me into a health food freak like you. You really are weird sometimes, do you know that?”

“No weirder than you, buddy, no weirder than you,” Hutch shouted over the music playing on the jukebox.

The arrival of their food stopped the banter. Diane put the plates on the table and fluttered her eyelashes at Hutch. Wiggling her butt, she turned and walked back to the bar.

Starsky attacked his burger like a rabid dog.

Hutch picked up his sandwich but stopped short of putting it in his mouth as he watched his partner devour the food. Starsky’s eating habits never failed to amaze him, no matter how many times they ate together.

Starsky finished his meal before Hutch had eaten half of his. Wiping his mouth on a napkin, Starsky beckoned to Huggy to join them.

Huggy straddled a chair with his long thin legs. “What else can I do you for, Starsky, my man?”

“Information, Hug. Dobey asked us to look into the male rape and murders in the last four months around Bay City. Have you heard anything?”

“Nope, nada.” Huggy frowned, tugging on his pierced ear. “Whoever’s doing this ain’t shown up on the radar. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Thanks, Huggy.” Hutch smiled. “Knew we could count on you. You ready, Starsk?” He was up and heading for the door before Starsky had the chance to answer. “See you later, Hug,” he called and waved over his shoulder.

Starsky nodded to Huggy and ran after Hutch.

************************

Hutch sat in the passenger seat of the Torino with his eyes closed.

Starsky drove a few blocks in silence. “Hey, Hutch, you asleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Hutch knew that Starsky must be looking at him, but he kept his eyes closed, his way of saying ‘don’t talk to me’.

Starsky drove the rest of the way to Hutch’s apartment without another word, and pulled up behind his battered car.

Hutch opened the door and uncurled his body out of the seat. Leaning back into the car, with his right hand on the roof, he said, “See you about ten at Metro, okay?”

“Yeah, guess so.” Scowling, Starsky twisted the key in the ignition and drove off with a screech of tires.

Hutch grinned, watching the tail lights disappear into the night. Starsky was so easy to wind up. Hutch had ignored him on the way back because he knew Starsky was upset about having to do the reports alone. Starsky liked to complain when he was unhappy about something, but he always wanted an audience to play to. By pretending to be asleep, Hutch had forced Starsky to either talk to himself or keep silent. Maybe he was being mean, but Hutch ended up doing most of the arrests reports — a majority of the time. Starsky was just going to have do them by himself this time.

He walked over to his building. It had been a long day and he was glad it was over. All he wanted to do was get inside and go to bed.

Hutch had unlocked the front door to Venice Place when he was pushed roughly from behind. Something heavy landed on top of him and pressed him down onto the interior stairs. Gasping for air, Hutch tried to roll away from his attacker, but he was hit in the back of the head. He saw stars behind his eyes, a sharp pain in his head blotting out all thought.

************************

Chapter 2 – Friday, August 16

The sound of groaning roused Hutch from his stupor. He had to listen for a moment before he realized that he was making the noise. His head was pounding. Had he been hit by a truck? He opened his eyes, staring at wooden planks.

What am I doing upside down?

“What the hell is going on? Where am I?” he cried out loud. His voice split the silence.

He twisted his head from side to side, trying to move.

His wrists and his ankles were bound with leather straps to what looked like the wooden legs of a sawhorse. As his fuzzy mind cleared, he realized that he was bent over some sort of frame. His ankles were tied to each leg of one side, and his wrists on the opposite legs. His abdomen rested on a padded bar, with his butt up in the air, and his upper body and head facing downwards at the floor.

His head pounded even more as the pressure mounted. He tried bending his head upward so that it was parallel to the ground, but this just made his neck ache, too. Finally, he gave up and dropped his head back down, staring at the floor again.

This wasn’t good. He felt a knot of panic forming inside. His belly was starting to feel tender. The pad wasn’t enough of a cushion against the force of his own body weight. Who the hell had done this to him? And why?

And more to the point, where were they now? He could cope with being tied up and beaten for information. But this. The way he was tied, the silence, the lack of human presence, was freaking him out. He tried to swallow. His throat was dry with fear, and he felt sick.

To alleviate his fear, Hutch focused on his surroundings. The only light in the room came from a lamp on a small table in front of him. He calculated that he was about three feet from the wall behind the lamp. The dim glow from the bare bulb extended about two feet around him. Beyond that, he couldn’t see anything but blackness.

He shivered as cold, damp air clung to his bare skin. He swivelled his head around as much as he could, and was slightly reassured to find that he wasn’t totally naked. His torso and lower body were clad in black leather that covered about halfway down his thighs. The relief that he was partly clothed was short lived, because that meant someone must have removed his jeans and T-shirt. Hutch shuddered in horror, imagining a stranger redressing his unconscious body. What else had his attacker done?

Tentatively, he moved as much as his bonds allowed. Aside from the ache in his abdomen, nothing else hurt except his head. At least, not yet. If he braced his feet and hands on the floor, he could push himself up off of the bar a little. This helped ease the pain. After a short while, he had to relax because his arms and legs spasmed from the pressure of the unnatural position he was tied in.

He shouted as loudly as he could. “Hey, is there anybody there? Where am I? Why am I here? Somebody help me. Answer me, dammit!”

Nothing but silence. He shouted again and again. Growing hoarse, Hutch gave up. Obviously, whoever was out there wasn’t worried that anybody would hear his shouts. That made him feel even more vulnerable. What if no-one was out there? What if his captor had gone and left him here to starve to death? He gulped and slumped in despair.

Straining his ears, Hutch listened for any sound, anything to reassure himself that someone was out there. That he wasn’t alone.

Nothing.

Either he was in the middle of nowhere, or this place was sound proof. Neither scenario boded well.

His thoughts turned to his partner. He saw Starsky’s scowl when he left Hutch at Venice Place and sped away, leaving a trail of burning rubber.

What I wouldn’t give to be doing reports right now. What time is it? Does Starsky even know I’m missing yet?

************************

At that very moment, Starsky was cussing Hutch as he started in on the arrest reports that should have been done two days ago.

Starsky hated doing paperwork. Hutch was by far the better typist, and he always managed to complete the reports in a quarter of the time it took Starsky.

Hutch was at his dentist appointment. Starsky had known about it for a week, but in his present mood, he’d conveniently forgotten. He grumbled, inserting a form into the typewriter, trying to convince himself that Hutch was using the dentist as an excuse to pay back for all the times Starsky’d left him to do the paperwork alone.

Detectives Jefferson and Avery sat laughing by the coffee cart, munching morning pastries. “What’s the matter, Starsky?” Avery asked. “Hutch got a better offer?”

Starsky glared at them. They weren’t working on witness statements and stupid car theft lists. He grumbled his way through the stack of files on his desk, working doggedly. Gradually, the pile on the right got smaller and the one on the left got bigger as he finished the to do list. Starsky breathed a sigh of relief when he transferred the final file in the done stack.

With a grin, he stood and picked up the unwieldy pile. He went into Dobey’s office and planted it dead center on the large desk. Then he glanced at the clock on the wall. “There you go, Dobey. All done by nine thirty. Time for breakfast.”

He skipped out of the door into the hallway and joyfully made his way down to the cafeteria.

************************

The sound of a key turning roused Hutch from his uncomfortable slumber. His whole body ached. His belly cramped, both from lack of food, and his awkward position on the frame. Hutch stiffly pushed himself up by his hands and feet to look through the gap in his legs as a door opened.

Dim light flooded the dark space behind him. A bulky figure appeared and slowly walked toward him. Hutch blinked, his eyes bleary. A huge, balding man came closer. The man sneered.

“Who are you?” Hutch demanded. “Why am I here? Don’t you know it’s a felony to kidnap a cop? They’ll be looking for me right now.” This latter sentence was said with more conviction than he felt. He didn’t know how long he’d been missing.

The man just laughed, “Well, well, got me a cop, have I? Thought you two sounded like cops.”

The way the man laughed reminded Hutch of Old Woody, his High School Janitor. That’s what he would call him. Hutch somehow felt calmer, having named his captor.

“What do you mean, you thought we sounded like cops?” Hutch rasped. It wasn’t easy talking in this bent position.

“Last night in the bar. I enjoyed your little conversation with your friends.”

“Conversation, what conversa…?” Realization flooded Hutch’s aching brain and he quivered, a feeling of icy cold deep inside.

“You wanted information about the Green Paint Killer. Well, I’m gonna give you all the information you need,” Woody said conversationally. “As soon as you walked into the bar, I just knew I had to have you. I like them blond and pretty, and boy, are you pretty.” He leered.

Hutch shuddered, imagining his captor’s hungry eyes drinking in his bound body.

Hutch pictured the case files that he and Starsky had read with Patterson. He trembled, remembering the Coroner’s reports on the five blonds. Mickey Kelly had been different in more than one way. He hadn’t been attacked as brutally as the others, but the injuries had been the same.

Hutch gasped when his captor ran his cold fingers up and down his legs. He jerked, trying to get away from his captor’s probing. However, the frame was bolted to the floor and didn’t move an inch.

Woody laughed with a disgusting roar. “Won’t help you any, sonny. You’re all mine now, and no-one is gonna find you. We’re underground, and the only way you’re gonna leave here is with my say so.”

Pictures of the other victims flashed through Hutch’s mind. Their bodies abused and mutilated, all of them dead.

“My name is Ken, what’s yours?”

“I know what your name is, Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson. I found your badge and gun when I undressed you.”

Hutch looked up at Woody and swallowed. This man’s hands had been touching his body. Hutch guessed that he was possibly in his fifties. He mentally stored Woody’s features. The rough, weather-beaten skin; bulbous nose; black soulless eyes and dry, cracked lips.

Hutch tried again. “You don’t have to do this. What have I ever done to you? What did the other men ever do to you?”

His questions were met with stony silence.

“Why Mickey Kelly?” Hutch persisted. “He’s not blond like the others. Not like me. Why him?”

“He saw me dumping a toy,” Woody said matter-of-factly.

“Toy? What do you mean, toy?” Hutch asked.

“You, them. You’re all my toys. For me to play with. To do whatever I want with.”

Anger welled up in Hutch. “Toys? We are not your toys. We are people. You can’t just go around doing whatever you want. Murder isn’t a game. It’s people’s lives and..”

His sentence was cut short when Woody swiftly kicked Hutch’s right shoulder. Hutch moaned as pain shot through his body.

“Enough. No more talking.” Woody said, running his hands down Hutch’s inner thighs.

Hutch realized that his own anger wasn’t helping. Getting Woody angry would only make things worse.

“If you let me go now, no-one will ever know,” Hutch said urgently. “All you’ve done is kidnap me. I can live with that. I won’t tell anyone.”

Woody’s voice boomed. “Do you think I’m stupid? You’ll go straight to your station, and by tomorrow, the whole city police force will have my picture.”

“No, I promise. I won’t do anything.” Even as the words left his mouth, Hutch knew begging was pointless, but he had to try.

His captor had stopped caressing his legs, and Hutch felt a hand against his genitals. Woody rubbed harder and harder until Hutch was sure his balls were being pushed up into his body. He tried to raise his butt higher to get his groin away but his captor just pushed Hutch down hard with his other hand. Hutch’s pelvis was tightly sandwiched between two strong hands, squashing his cock against the frame.

Close up, Woody was huge, far taller than Hutch would be standing upright. Hutch could feel Woody’s strength as he squeezed Hutch’s body between his enormous palms. It felt like he was being flattened, and the pain in his genitals was excruciating. The leather garment offered little protection against Woody’s persistent massaging.

Woody groaned and pressed himself up against Hutch’s left thigh like a dog in heat.

Hutch swallowed as bile rose into his mouth. He was sure he was going to be sick, and mentally pleaded with Woody to stop, but he couldn’t get the words out. The more he struggled, the more excited his abuser got.

Then he felt pressure on his lower back. What was he doing?

The thrusting hips moved from his leg to Hutch’s behind. Woody unfastened the butt flap in the leather suit.

“No, please, no,” Hutch pleaded.

This just increased Woody’s arousal, and he barked a grating laugh. “Such a nice, tight little ass you’ve got here, cop. And it’s all mine. Better make sure I’m lubed up well.” Without another word, he thrust his rigid penis into Hutch’s exposed anus.

Hutch let out a blood curdling scream as he felt the hard rod push through, invading his asshole. Agonizing pain shot through his body as the man thrust hard. Hutch’s head spun because of the throbbing that welled from deep in his rectum.

Hutch vomited. Dark, smelly bile splattered the floor, splashing onto his face. He screwed up his eyes and tried to concentrate on anything other than the lancing, burning pain in his butt and the slapping sound as Woody thrust into him with driving force.

He thought about Starsky. Is he missing me yet? Is he looking for me? Please, please, let him be looking for me.

A huge roar startled him, and he felt sticky liquid run down his legs. Hutch opened his eyes. The pain of his captor climaxing made him want to vomit again.

Hutch was vaguely aware of Woody’s fingers jabbing into his lower back.

“There, all decent again. Until next time.”

Woody slapped Hutch’s ass, which didn’t sting as much as Hutch expected it to. The agony in his butt overrode all other pain.

He realized that his backside wasn’t bare any more. The flap had been fastened up. This had allowed easy access through the one-piece suit. His bound position gave the sicko open access to all parts of his lower body.

What did it matter? He was a raped prisoner, about to be murdered. What was going to happen next was more important.

Woody moved to Hutch’s side, knelt on the floor and grabbed his hair. He pulled Hutch’s head parallel to the ground and thrust a plastic straw into his mouth. “Drink,” he commanded. “I think I’ll keep you around a while longer. Such a sweet little fuck for a cop.”

Hutch was so thirsty that he greedily sucked at the straw, almost choking in the process. He coughed and spluttered. “It’s difficult to drink like this.”

“Tough. If you don’t want it, fine.” He took the straw away from Hutch.

“No, please,” Hutch begged, the pain making him a little crazed. “I’ll manage. Can I have another drink?” Hutch hated himself for pleading with the man, but he was so thirsty and all he could taste was bile. This time, he sucked slowly, taking careful gulps to soothe his throat.

When the cup was empty, the man stood up and walked to the door at the other side of the room. “Until later, my little pet.” With one last leer, he was gone.

Hutch struggled to keep the water down. He was sure he could feel it trickling back up his throat. His stomach cramped worse as the liquid hit and the pressure of the bar pushed in further on his abdomen. He no longer had the strength or the inclination to keep lifting himself up to relieve the pain.

His butt burned intensely. The pain inside his rectum was unbearable. The fluid on his legs dried on the skin.

He tried to focus his thoughts. Why did I let Woody do that to me? I should have stopped him. This is all my fault. I must have wanted him. I am weak and useless. Not worth anything. My fault, all my fault. I made him rape me.

He moaned loudly. “Starsky, please hurry up and find me. I need you, buddy.”

************************

Chapter 3 – Later on Friday, August 16

Starsky jogged down to his car. “Where the hell are you, Hutch?” he said loudly. It was after noon, and Dobey had been on his case for the past hour about where his partner was. Starsky kept giving him the same answer, “Dentist, Captain.”

The last time Dobey had asked, he had yelled, “Find him, I want you two out on the streets.”

Starsky found the dentist’s number in Hutch’s drawer, and had been told that the waiting room and exam room were both empty. So where was Hutch?

He mentally listed his route. Hutch’s apartment, Huggy’s, Vinnie’s, No, not Vinnie’s, Hutch wouldn’t go there this late in the day, too crowded. Molly’s? Maybe Hutch had sneaked off for a little loving. Where else? He couldn’t think of any where else Hutch might have gone when he should have been at Metro.

The car slowly threaded through the midday traffic over to Venice Place. Starsky smiled, Hutch’s car was there. He parked behind it and ran up to Hutch’s apartment.

He banged on the door. “Hey, Hutch, what you up to, pal? Dobey’s not happy that you’re playing hokey.” His grin slowly disappeared when he received no response. There was no indication that Hutch was in there. But where else would he be with his car outside?

Starsky reached up and found the key on the lintel. He unlocked the door and replaced the key. The first thing that hit him as he entered the living room was the feeling of total emptiness.

“Hutch, you here?”

Silence. He checked the bathroom and bedroom. He walked over to the kitchen, and turned right into the greenhouse where Hutch kept his big babies, his treasured plants. Starsky thought they looked a little dry. He felt the soil of the fern nearest to him. Absentmindedly, he picked up the nearby watering can and watered the multitude of pots around the small area. It wasn’t like Hutch to neglect his babies.

Going back into the main apartment Starsky looked around. There was no coffee pot on the stove. He found the coffee pot in the sink, but the grounds were old and dried. It obviously hadn’t been used today.

For some reason that he couldn’t explain, he had the feeling that his partner hadn’t been here for a while, not just the past few hours. Hutch’s car is outside, where are his keys? He looked for the keys, but couldn’t find them. He was slightly relieved that he didn’t find Hutch’s gun.

But where was Hutch? He had his gun and his keys, but not his car. That wasn’t right. Hutch would have needed his car to get to the dentist. What the hell was going on?

He picked up the phone and called Huggy.

“Huggy Bear speaking.”

“Hug, Starsky. Have you seen Hutch today?”

“No, my man. Don’t tell me you’ve gone and managed to lose him.”

“Huggy, not funny. He went to the dentist first thing this morning and hasn’t been seen since. I’m at his place and it’s empty, but his car’s outside.”

“Starsky, he’s probably at the station looking for you right now.”

“Maybe.” Now he was even more worried. He had hoped that Huggy had dropped by and given Hutch a ride to Metro. That would have explained his car still being here. “I’ll speak to you later, Hug.”

He hung up and dialed another number.

“Hey, Minnie, has Hutch turned up there yet?”

“No, Starsky,” Minnie Kaplan replied. “He hasn’t called in either. Dobey isn’t happy. I’d get back here right now, if I were you.”

“Thanks, Minnie. Just got a couple of other places to check, then I’m there.”

He put the receiver down. “Hutch, what you playing at, buddy?” But he knew Hutch wasn’t fooling around. He had a bad feeling, a feeling he recognized well, of impending doom. He prayed that Hutch was at Molly’s.

************************

The acrid smell of vomit permeated Hutch’s nostrils. The muscles in his arms and legs spasmed from his forced inactivity. He inched to the left enough to stretch one leg and arm and then back to the right to stretch his other side, but that just made it worse. He was unable to stretch far enough to rid himself of the cramps in his arms and legs. Groaning, Hutch tried to push himself up to take the weight off his abdomen, but his limbs wouldn’t support him.

His mouth and throat were dry, and he could no longer shout abuse at his captor. That was the only thing keeping him sane after the assault on his anus.

Starsky must be looking for him by now. But that didn’t help his fragile state of mind. The truth of his predicament had hit hard. The Green Paint Killer. Hutch knew exactly what was in store — he was going to be brutally slain.

Replaying the gruesome reports and the pictures from the case files in his mind, Hutch could still feel Woody’s penis thrusting inside him. His butt ached, but Hutch’s shame and disgust hurt even more.

He was a cop, he should have been able to protect himself. He should never have let this happen. Now he was helpless, completely unable to stop any further assaults.

Hutch tensed when he heard the key in the lock. This time, he knew exactly who was on the other side. He tried to clench his buttocks, he wasn’t going down so easily.

Woody strode effortlessly across the room and sat down in front of Hutch.

Hutch retched as the man sat in the dried vomit. Mixed with smell already on the floor, Woody’s dirty odor was noxious. Hutch heaved again.

His head was roughly dragged up and forcibly turned sideways. The man bent forward, and Hutch saw his leering face come in closer. He tried to pull away but the big hands held his head firmly as Woody kissed him roughly. Hutch felt a huge tongue push past his teeth and invade his mouth. He could taste stale cigarette smoke, and gagged when Woody used his tongue to probe the inside of Hutch’s mouth.

Hutch struggled but couldn’t free himself from the onslaught of lips and tongue. He could barely breathe. Woody pressed his stubbly cheek against Hutch’s nose. Every time he tried to inhale, the skin sealed his nostrils and the smell nauseated him even more.

Just when Hutch thought he was going to pass out, Woody stopped, and let go of his head.

“Lips of a baby. What a little darling you are,” Woody taunted. “I thought cops were supposed to be big and tough.” He ran his thick fingers through Hutch’s hair. He pushed away the hair on the back of Hutch’s head, exposing his long neck. Bending over, Woody kissed, licked and bit Hutch’s neck. “So sweet.”

Hutch winced and again tried to move out of reach. Even though he knew that this was a pointless waste of energy, he felt revulsion and pulled away from the offending lips.

He heard the sound of a zipper and felt coolness on his back. The leather on his torso was pulled apart to expose his back. Woody traced his fingers down Hutch’s spine from neck to coccyx and back again. Involuntary shivers ran through Hutch’s body.

“I do believe you are enjoying this, officer.”

“Go to hell,” Hutch retorted.,

“You’re already there, of-fi-cer.” Woody resumed his exploration of Hutch’s back, following the line of every defined muscle. “Magnificent, truly magnificent.”

Hutch tried to bite Woody’s calf but only got a mouthful of dirty material. This earned him a kick in the mouth. He moaned and spluttered as the salty taste of blood filled his mouth.

“Now, that’s not very nice is it? Only animals bite.”

Hutch spat blood at the man’s leg. “Stuff it,” he snarled.

“My, we are a little bull dog, aren’t we? I like fight in my men.”

Hutch was surprised when Woody loosened the straps that secured his wrists to the frame. However, before Hutch could take advantage of the situation, Woody quickly pulled both wrists and tied them together. Woody firmly held Hutch’s bound wrists with his left hand, and gripped the back of the leather suit with his right. He used the material to pull Hutch to a stand.

Hutch hissed as his back and stomach muscles protested the movement. Stabs of pain shot through him as the blood circulated freely once more. He was extremely dizzy and tried to adjust to the change in position. He felt nauseous.

Woody raised Hutch’s arms above his head and fastened the wrist strap to a huge clip screwed into the ceiling.

His ankles were still strapped to the frame. The straps chafed as the upright position changed his stance.

Keeping his eyes on his captor, Hutch was grateful that he could watch the evil man closely. Somehow, it felt less threatening when Hutch could see him approach. If he’d had more saliva in his mouth, he would spit at Woody, but he was too dry.

Woody unfastened two small zippers in the front of the leather suit, which exposed Hutch’s nipples.

Hutch bit the inside of his lip as Woody tweaked and caressed his nubs. Woody squeezed and twisted harder, causing pain that shot from Hutch’s nipples to his groin. Hutch flinched at the intense sensation.

Woody squeezed down firmly with his fingernails. Suddenly he let go, his desires apparently sated for now.

Woody re-zipped Hutch’s tight leather vest front and back. Wincing, Hutch breathed out slowly when the hard material flattened his bruised and swollen nipples.

Hutch tensed as Woody walked around him. “Nice, very nice. I see a long future ahead of us.”

No, please no. No more. Kill me now, please. Starsky, where are you?

Woody looked Hutch from head to toe with a possessive grin and walked out.

Hutch breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed and he was left alone. He was thankful that Woody hadn’t penetrated him this time. His energy was spent, and he dropped into an exhausted doze.

************************

Starsky walked slowly down the hallway to Dobey’s office. He was weary and worried. Hutch hadn’t been at Molly’s. In fact, Molly hadn’t seen him all week.

He went into Dobey’s office via the squadroom just in case Hutch was there. His heart sank when there wasn’t a detective in sight. He knocked on the connecting door, and for once waited for Dobey to shout, “Come in.”

Dobey looked up from his paperwork. “Starsky, where in the blazes is that partner of yours?”

“Dunno, Cap’n.”

“Well, you should know, he’s your partner. You should know where he is at all times.”

“That’s the thing, Captain, I haven’t seen him since last night when I left him at his place.”

“What do you mean, you haven’t seen him since last night?” barked Dobey

“Just that. I left him at his place last night around eleven. You know that he had a dentist appointment this morning, and was going meet me here around ten.” Starsky sat down heavily in a chair. He rubbed his eyes and looked at Dobey. “He never showed. I know something’s happened to him. His place is empty but his car is there. Neither Huggy nor Molly have seen him and he didn’t turn up for his usual session with Vinnie. I even called his dentist but they wouldn’t tell me anything, patient confidentiality. Hutch wouldn’t just disappear.”

He shrugged, at a loss to explain his partner’s disappearance. “I’m really scared. I’ve got a really bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.” He thumped the arm of the chair. Why did I just drive off and leave him last night? Where the hell are you, Hutch?

“Give me his dentist’s number,” Dobey said.

Starsky dug into his back pocket for the scrap of paper that he had written the number on and handed it to Dobey.

Dobey picked up the phone and dialed the dentist’s office.

“Hello, this is Captain Dobey of the Bay City Police Department,” Dobey announced gruffly. “I need some information on a patient of yours.” He listened quietly for a short while. “I understand about patient confidentiality, but this patient is one of my detectives, and he didn’t return to work after his appointment with you this morning.” Again, he listened. “Look, missy, all I want to know is if Kenneth Hutchinson got to his appointment this morning. I can get a warrant and go through your complete patient list if I have to.” He scowled at the phone. “A simple yes or no is all I need. Did Kenneth Hutchinson keep his appointment this morning? Thank you.”

He looked solemnly at Starsky. “He didn’t make his appointment, and he didn’t call up to cancel.”

“Damn.” Starsky’s belly clenched into a tight ball. “That means he could have been missing since last night. That’s over fifteen hours ago. I left him outside his place.”

“Did you see him go in?”

“No, we sort of had a disagreement about those reports. I drove off and left him by the curb.”

“Did you notice anything unusual?”

“No.” Starsky paused, trying to picture the dark street. “Wait, I glanced into my rear view and saw someone cross the street, but that’s all.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

Dobey’s phone rang. “Dobey.” He listened quietly, “Thank you, Minnie.” He put the receiver down with a sigh. “Minnie just got a call from Chez Helene. They left a message for Hutch. Someone handed his keys into them earlier today.”

Starsky started in surprise. “How do they know they’re Hutch’s keys?”

“That’s what Minnie asked. Apparently Helene gave Hutch one of their key rings. That’s why they were handed into Chez Helene, because of the key ring. Only staff and Hutch have them. This one doesn’t belong to any of their staff, so it must be Hutch’s.”

Starsky felt himself blanch.

Dobey picked up the phone. “I want an APB put out on Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson. Yes, immediately.”

************************

Hutch jerked nervously when the door opened. He heard footsteps coming closer to him and tried to turn his head.

Woody circled around in front of Hutch. He had a large mug in one hand and he raised the mug up to Hutch’s lips. “Drink.”

Hutch pulled his head back and warm liquid ran down his chin.

“Thought you might be hungry. Guess you’re not,” Woody said.

“Wh-what is it?” Hutch asked, not quite sure why Woody was suddenly being kind to him.

“Soup, chicken. Do you want some?”

“Yes, please.”

Woody slowly tipped the liquid into Hutch’s mouth.

Swallowing hungrily, Hutch felt the pain in his belly ease. Chicken soup has never tasted so good.

When the mug was empty, Woody placed it on the floor and produced a bottle of water.

Hutch drank until the bottle was empty. “Thank you. I could really use the bathroom right now.”

Woody sneered, “Where do you think we are, a bloody hotel? No bathroom here.”

He walked out of the room and returned with a bucket and a bowl of water. He placed both on the floor by Hutch.

Hutch looked up at his wrists. “That’ll be difficult when I’m tied up like this.”

Woody shrugged and produced Hutch’s Magnum from the back of his pants.

Hutch watched as Woody caressed the gun. Is this it? Have I pushed him too far? He struggled against the straps, more out of fear than the thought that he would be able to free himself.

Woody stopped and looked into Hutch’s eyes. “I’m gonna untie your wrists and you can undo your own ankles. Do whatever you have to do. There’s a pair of black shorts by the door. Put them on when you’re finished. I’ll be waiting outside.” He jabbed his finger toward the door. “You have thirty minutes. I’m not afraid to use this.” Woody ran his thumb down the barrel of the gun. “Do you understand?”

Hutch nodded, focused on his gun in another man’s hands.

Woody untied Hutch’s wrists and Hutch slumped to the ground. His legs were weak from inactivity, and he couldn’t stand immediately.

Without turning his back on Hutch, Woody backed toward the door. He kept the gun trained on Hutch the whole time.

Hutch remained on the floor until Woody slammed the door shut and turned the key in the lock. Slowly, stiffly, he leaned over and fumbled with the straps around his ankles. His hands and fingers tingled as the blood rushed back into the released limbs.

His shoulders, back and abdomen ached like hell and his muscles screamed in protest with every move he made.

Finally, Hutch freed his ankles, rubbing the reddened skin. He struggled to stand, but his legs were shaky, the sharp pain of pins and needles engulfing his feet. Steadying himself, he stretched and walked painstakingly around the room. Gradually, more feeling returned to his abused body, and he managed to peel off the disgusting leather suit.

He looked at the bucket and swallowed, disgust welling up inside. But he had no choice. He removed a roll of toilet paper from the bucket, and peed. The concentrated liquid stung coming out. He sighed with the relief after emptying his extremely full bladder.

He fished the wet cloth out of the bowl and wiped his body. The tepid water soothed his tender skin.

When he felt as clean as possible, Hutch put on the thin shorts and walked around the cluttered room searching for a way out. There was none that he could see. He walked the perimeter carefully, examining every wall and corner. Despite the light from the single lamp, the rest of the room was dark and it was hard to make out things like ventilation shafts and heating units. Maybe he could use the lamp on the table as a weapon? He could wrap the electric cord around his captor’s neck and strangle him. The walls were solid and windowless. There was a dirty mattress resting up against a damp wall.

He found spray cans of green paint and shuddered. Flashes of genitals covered in green paint swam before his eyes. He looked down at his cock and imagined that it was green. Closing his eyes, Hutch shook his head to dispel the image.

“Time’s up,” Woody said, his voice muffled by the closed door. “Lie face down on the floor, by the sawhorse and don’t move.”

Hutch did as he was told, waiting for the door to open and his chance to escape.

The door creaked and Woody’s long legs quickly straddled Hutch before he had time to get up. He struggled but Woody pinned Hutch heavily to the floor.

“Get the hell off me,” Hutch spat, flailing his arms and bucking his body in an attempt to unseat his captor.

His arms were grabbed and pulled roughly behind him, his wrists bound tightly.

Woody eased his weight off Hutch, and attached something to the wrist bindings. Without another word, he stood up and left.

Hutch lay for a while, cursing his slowness. Moving cautiously, he got to his knees. His feet were free, and he managed to sit up. Twisting around to look behind, he discovered that his wrists were secured to the sawhorse with a short length of chain, which allowed him limited movement.

He shivered. The thigh length shorts offered less warmth than the leather bodysuit.

However, he did feel a little better, even if his escape attempt had failed. He had been fed, watered, allowed to relieve and clean himself. And now he had a small amount of freedom. Although his predicament hadn’t changed, and he was still going to die, Woody had shown some compassion. For that, Hutch was grateful.

************************

In the late afternoon, Starsky went over to meet with Captain Hesky and Detective Patterson at the Tenth precinct.

Starsky joined Patterson and Benjy in Hesky’s office, sitting down in a padded chair across from the Captain’s desk.

Patterson was older than his partner by a good fifteen years. He was in his early 50s, short, balding and slightly pudgy. Benjy, in comparison, was tall, muscular, had jet black hair and Latino features.

“Say that again, Detective Starsky,” Hesky said, obviously shocked at Starsky’s opening remarks.

“I said Hutch is missing,” Starsky repeated, tamping down his own anger. He needed their help. “Possibly since last night. His bed hasn’t been slept in and he missed an appointment this morning.”

Starsky glared when Patterson opened his mouth to speak.

“And, no,” he said to forestall the question, “he isn’t at his girlfriend’s. His car is outside his place. But no Hutch. Nowhere.”

Patterson closed his mouth.

“And what do you think?” asked Hesky.

“I need to know if you have any specific leads on this Green Paint Killer.” Starsky glanced between the two of them, gauging their reactions. Both looked concerned and understandably baffled.

“You think he may have taken Hutch?” Patterson asked.

“I hope not. But I have to consider the possibility. You said yourself that Hutch was his type.” Starsky grit his teeth, hating the fact that he even had to discuss this with them. The thought of Hutch in that monster’s clutches scared the bejezus out of him. “Hell, we all laughed about it. Well, I’m not laughing now. I am worried as hell.”

“I hope that you are wrong, Detective Starsky.” Hesky frowned. “Patterson will give you all the help you need. We’ll circulate Detective Hutchinson’s picture to all our teams and do our utmost to find him. Be assured of our full co-operation,” he said.

“Thank you, Captain,” Starsky said, gripping the arms of the chair with sweaty palms. “I appreciate all your help. I just want my partner back, safe and well.”

“I know. We all do,” Captain Hesky said sympathetically.

************************

Chapter 4 – Monday, August 19

Hutch’s days were filled with dread, fear and anger. Dread that Woody would come back and subject him to more torture. Dread that Woody wouldn’t come back, wouldn’t bring him any more food or water. The fear of knowing that he would eventually die at the hands of this man. Fear that he would die alone. Anger because he couldn’t do a damn thing about his situation. He had begged, shouted, threatened, obeyed, fought. And he was still here, in the same room.

On his last visit, Woody had suspended Hutch from the ceiling again. Hutch had been too weak to fight him. He had pleaded with his captor, and hated himself for being so weak.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sense that he was no longer alone. Hutch had been so engrossed in the assessment of his predicament that he hadn’t heard the door open or his captor’s excited, dancing footsteps.

He felt the sharp crack of leather on his bare back before he heard the sound. The pain was shocking and he jerked, trying to get away.

Woody drew back the whip for another strike and chuckled when Hutch whimpered. Wracked with pain, Hutch twisted to avoid the blows.

Laughter filled the room. “Are you having fun of-fi-cer? I know I am.”

Hutch tried to tense against the blows, and gritted his teeth. Fighting his restraints just increased the pain. Determined to spoil his captor’s fun, Hutch promised himself that he would not make another sound or movement. He bit his lip until he drew blood, stoically taking the blows raining down on him, and praying for oblivion.

He slowly floated away from the sounds and pain that were his world. The dim light shone brighter as he drifted into his pain free haven. With his wrists supporting his whole body weight, Hutch closed his eyes, his head hanging limply. He saw his guardian angel smiling at him. He leaned forward as she wrapped her wings around him. Hutch felt safe and he smiled.

The blows stopped.

From far off, he heard Woody say, “No, no. I haven’t finished with you yet. Don’t you dare die. I say when you die.”

He kicked Hutch’s legs and the whip clattered to the ground.

Hutch slipped into darkness.

************************

Starsky sat in his car outside Hutch’s apartment. Resting his head in his hands, he sighed. He was running out of ideas. His days, and much of his nights, had been spent searching for Hutch. He’d personally followed up every single lead, no matter how small or insignificant it seemed.

Hutch’s disappearance was not simply miscommunication or a sudden visit to relatives. Something really awful had happened to him. Starsky could feel it in his gut. Something horrible. Something that nightmares were made of. He couldn’t even bear to think about it.

Patterson’s joking comments from that first day filled Starsky’s head. “Hey, Hutch. Any one of these guys could be you. You’d better be careful, you’re just the type this psycho likes.”

The other detectives had laughed.

He’d laughed.

Hutch had laughed and said, “I am sure that he’s not dumb enough to grab a cop. Sure way to get caught, don’t you think?”

But Starsky wasn’t so sure now. Why else would Hutch be missing? It wasn’t a question of who hated them, but who would have the guts?

He shook his head, more to wake himself up than to dispel the thoughts running through his head. “Hutch isn’t dead.” He realized he had said the words out loud. But they offered little comfort. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Hutch’s body. Battered, mutilated and violated. No, I can’t, won’t, accept anything other than Hutch being alive. I’ll keep looking for you, partner. No matter how long it takes, I will find you. I have to find you.

Every police force in Los Angeles county was looking for Hutch. But nothing. It was like he had disappeared into thin air. If anyone knew anything, they weren’t talking.

Starsky had shaken down every low life he could find. He had made it clear he was willing to pay well for any information that led him to Hutch. Greedy eyes had brightened at the sight of the money, but none of Starsky’s snitches had anything to trade for it.

Starsky looked up at the dark façade of Hutch’s apartment. He always came back here, just in case. He had literally torn it apart in his search for clues.

Walking across the road to a payphone, he dug some coins out of his pocket and dialed a number. “Hey, Hug, Starsky. Have you got anything?”

“Sorry, man. No more than I had when you called me one hour ago, or the hour before that. Nobody knows nothin’.”

“Thanks, Hug. I’ll call you later.” He slammed the receiver down with a frown. Huggy’s finger was always on the pulse. He rarely failed in his quest for information.

Starsky was getting more frantic about Hutch’s safety with every day that passed. A yawn surprised him. He slept only when his body forced him to. Forcing himself to move, he walked back across the road and climbed into the driving seat. What next?

************************

Chapter 5 – 11.55 pm, Tuesday, August 20

Hutch lay on his side, on a thin mattress. His wrists were secured behind his back and attached to his bound feet with chain. He had lost count of the number of times Woody had been in to abuse and violate him, and no longer tried to figure out how long he’d been missing. Although his captor had provided food and water, Hutch was too weak to care about anything any more. He turned slightly, agony flaring up. The pain in his body was one raw mass, no longer individual aches and bruises. Hutch was afraid to hope for any future–

This was his only reality. There was no past life beyond Woody’s brutality. It seemed perfectly normal.

He imagined wandering through a field of poppies. Hutch took off his shirt and spread a blanket. He lay back, looking up at the sky, happy in the middle of the dancing red carpet and he smiled.

The sun shone hot on his skin as he listened to the happy chirp of bird son. Eyes closed against the brightness, he sighed. Heaven, sheer bliss.

Woody’s face popped into his head, and he was rapidly transported back to his own private hell. He moaned, trying to get up. His body had seized up and refused to budge an inch. His head felt heavy, and he didn’t have the strength to lift it any more.

I’m going to die here. And no-one’s going to find me. Starsky’s never going to find me.

He didn’t move when the door opened.

Woody walked over to his captive and nudged Hutch hard with his foot.

Hutch offered no resistance. He rolled over, stopping when his bound limbs hit the mattress. He moaned, his arms twisting under his body, jolts of pain zipping across his shoulders.

“Mmm, time to get me a new toy, I think,” Woody said, frowning. “You lasted longer than the others. Such a shame. You are so sweet.”

He untied Hutch and quickly stripped the shorts from the inert man. “I’ll need those for the next one.”

He rolled Hutch onto his back and picked up a can from the floor. Smiling, Woody sprayed Hutch’s groin with the bright green paint.

Hutch groaned as the cold paint hit his tender genitals. He was too weak to take advantage of not being restrained. Oh, God. The paint, not the paint. “No, please, no,” he begged, clawing ineffectively at Woody’s hand. Have to stop him painting me. “Nooooooo.”

Woody laughed, making sure that the paint colored every inch of Hutch’s groin. “Green, my favorite color. Green means go. Go means that I am allowed to carry on. Carry on playing, killing, having fun. Green is my happy color.”

Woody picked up two lengths of rope, fingered the paint on Hutch’s crotch, and roughly rolled Hutch onto his stomach. He secured his prisoner’s wrists behind his back with one rope and tied his ankles together with the other. Pulling Hutch into his arms, he slung his prisoner over his right shoulder and effortlessly carried Hutch up a flight of stairs.

Terror griped Hutch. This was it, this was the beginning of the end. While he was held captive, there was still hope that Starsky would find him alive. Now that small chance of rescue was slipping away. Goodbye, Starsky.

Woody tossed Hutch into the trunk of his car. “Huumph.” Hutch’s abused body screamed at the intense agony inflicted by the action.

Hutch opened his eyes wide, looking at his captor for just a few seconds before the trunk slammed shut and plunged him into darkness. Hearing the engine start up, Hutch feebly struggled against his bonds. Unable to brace himself, he bounced against the lid of the trunk as the car sped up.

This is it. This is my final journey.

************************

Starsky woke up, groaned and held his head. It felt like a thousand feet were tap dancing inside his brain. He had drunk himself into a stupor earlier that evening. Looking over at the clock, he read 11:55pm.

Hutch had been missing for five days, and Starsky was no closer to finding him than he had been on the first day. He had hightailed it to every site where a murder victim was found in the city. Each time, he prayed the dead body wasn’t Hutch.

Dobey had put him exclusively on Hutch’s disappearance. Starsky had called the hospitals every day to check on new male admissions, and had personally checked out any unidentified males.

Exhausted, he’d finally gone to Hutch’s apartment to seek refuge. Just being there made him feel closer to his absent partner. Hopeless and alone, he’d drunk everything he could find in the place. Then he’d crawled into Hutch’s bed, and passed out.

Now his mouth was like sandpaper and his head felt like it had split in half. “Clever, Starsky, real clever.” His stomach growled. When had he last eaten? He couldn’t remember. The only time his appetite ever deserted him was when he was worried about his blond buddy.

He stood up slowly and wandered into the kitchen, looking for food. There was the untouched pizza he had bought on the way over. Starsky ripped off a piece and stuffed it whole into his mouth. Opening the fridge, he looked for something to wash it down with. He cursed Hutch when all he could find was a congealed health shake. Then he remembered that he’d drunk all the beer.

He drank water from the tap while he waited for the coffee pot to heat up. Starsky made the coffee strong to combat the hangover. He should be out there looking for Hutch, not sitting in here drunk with pizza for company. He was sure that wherever Hutch was, he wasn’t enjoying such luxuries.

************************

Rip grinned, driving down Pacific Coast Highway and thinking about his latest toy in the trunk. His cop toy.

His mind wandered back to his last kill. That snitch, Mickey. The fool had seen him dump a used toy, and tried to blackmail him. Said he’d go to cops unless Rip paid him hush money. Mickey wasn’t Rip’s type, but he had never been one to pass up an opportunity. He had taken him hard and quick, and killed him the same night.

This one had made up for his last disappointment.

He would take Detective Hutchinson to his special place. To his private beach where no-one would disturb them.

His captive had moaned when Rip moved him, he wasn’t finished yet.

Rip wanted one last sweet fuck from this beautiful cop, and then he would dump the body somewhere in the city later.

Rip turned into the side road that led to his special place and pulled into the deserted parking lot. Switching off the ignition, he sat for a few moments, admiring the way the moon lit the crest of the waves rolling onto the sand. The only other light in the dark night came from the lamps illuminating the parking lot.

He contemplated his next moves. Savored the thoughts of what he was going to do to the cop. Rip was going to fuck him hard, ruthlessly. He would make the cop beg for his life as the noose slowly tightened around his slender neck. Rip fingered the boning knife in his jacket pocket. He loved slicing into dead meat, the neat slashes pleased him.

He had already decided that his next toy was going to be another cop. They were stronger, lasted longer, tasted sweeter.

Rip climbed out of the car and opened the trunk.

************************

Hutch’s head cleared a little during the car journey. When the car stopped moving, he lay on his back with his feet against the trunk, ready to kick out as soon as it opened.

The moment Hutch saw a glimmer of light around the edge of the trunk as it raised, he kicked out with all the strength he could muster. His bare feet connected with Woody’s stomach.

Woody bent slightly, but the weak kick barely knocked the wind out of him. He laughed. “Sweet. That’s what I like. A fighter to the end. You have been so much fun.” He bent over and reached under Hutch’s armpits.

Hutch spat in his face.

Undeterred, Woody hauled the restrained man out of the trunk and threw him over his shoulder.

Hutch struggled and wriggled, but Woody had a vice-like grip around his waist, and he only managed to tire himself out.

Woody walked along the beach for a short way. He dumped Hutch unceremoniously onto the sand and rolled him onto his belly.

When Woody sat on Hutch’s lower back, Hutch could barely breathe, let alone move. The man was so heavy, Hutch thought his spine was going to poke through his stomach. His bones creaked from the weight of the monster sitting on him.

The sand beneath him scraped his naked skin. He couldn’t bear the sensation of the gritty grains on his face and body. Hutch ‘s head was pulled up from the sand. He spluttered, spitting the sand from his mouth. He saw the rope seconds before it was tied around his neck and pulled tight. He coughed. “No, please, no.”

The rope tightened despite his pleas. Then he felt his butt cheeks pulled apart, and Woody’s penis pushed in. Each time Hutch had been penetrated, the pain was terrible, a vicious burning throb in his rectum. He screamed his anger at what was being done to him.

This was not him! He was not a victim!

Woody only thrust harder as he pulled at the rope around Hutch’s neck.

Hutch’s frail grip on reality slipped away and black spots hovered in his vision . The rope around his neck cut off his air supply, and he dropped into oblivion.

************************

Rip smiled, watching his cock disappear in his toy’s ass. He would be sorry to have to kill this one. He had enjoyed their time together immensely. He tugged at the rope and rammed firmly into his prisoner’s ass.

“Hey, what’s going on over there?” someone shouted from down the beach..

Rip let go of the rope and jumped up, seeing two men headed his way. Shit. Who are they? What the hell are they doing on the beach? No-one is supposed to be here. This is my special place, mine!

Angry, and unwilling to be captured, he tore off up the beach to his car, tucking himself back into his pants as he ran. His erection was still hard and his desire unsatisfied. Damn, he didn’t know if the cop was alive or dead.

************************

Leo Jackman and Maxwell Ford liked to run at night, when the beach was deserted, and they rarely saw anyone other than the occasional lovers. This looked very different, almost sinister.

“Hey, what’s going on over there?” Leo shouted.

Suddenly afraid that he was witnessing something bad, Leo sprinted up the beach. He stopped and stared at the naked, restrained man lying in the sand with a rope around his neck.

“He’s running away!” Maxwell was a fraction of a second behind him.

“Do you think one of us should go after him?” he asked, pointing at the figure disappearing up the beach.

“No, never mind him. This guy’s hurt.” Leo knelt down next to the man. He quickly loosened the noose and checked for a pulse. “Quick, get to a phone. I’ve got a faint pulse.”

Maxwell dashed across the beach to the public phone at the edge of the parking lot..

Leo kept one hand on the injured man to feel his breathing. He untied him and put the man on his right side. The lamps from the parking lot dimly lit the beach and as Leo gently turned him, he spotted the green painted genitals and gasped.

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. Help’s on the way,” Leo said gently to the injured man. Although, he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, himself or the man laying on the sand.

Maxwell returned, panting. “Emergency services are on the way. Is he still alive?” He looked down at the man cradled in Leo’s arms.

“Yep, just. He’s lucky we came along. What sicko does something like this?” Leo asked, shaking his head in disgust. “I’ve read about him in the newspaper. They call him the Green Paint Killer.”

“Damn. Poor guy. And I was gonna chase him. Glad I didn’t now. At least we might save this guy’s life.” Maxwell knelt down beside the injured man and covered him with his jacket.

************************

Captain Hesky arrived first on the scene. With this case going no where, and Hutchinson possibly another victim, he had been staying late every night to co-ordinate the investigation. The press had dealt harshly with the way his department was conducting the case against the Green Paint Killer. The Bay City Chronicle had accused his men of dragging their heels. Six deaths, and no leads.

Hesky was determined to crack this case, which is why he had asked his old pal Harold to send his best detectives over the week before. He had hoped that Starsky and Hutch might find something his men had missed. Instead, in a tragic coincidence, Hutchinson had been kidnapped.

This first officers on the scene reported that this victim had been found alive. Maybe they finally had a lead and the victim could identify his attacker.

Hesky arrived just after the unconscious man was put into the ambulance. He couldn’t see the man’s face clearly. because he wore an oxygen mask. He peered through the windows of the vehicle, but all he could see was the faint glean of blond hair. “Which hospital are you taking him to?”

“Memorial,” the ambulance driver said, closing the doors in the back. He climbed into the front seat and the ambulance screamed off into the night.

Hesky was sure that this was the lead they’d been looking for. He wanted to talk to the eye witnesses immediately but he needed someone at the hospital in case the victim regained consciousness. He walked over to his car and reached for his radio. “Hesky to Control. Radio Detective Patterson and tell him to get over to Memorial now.”

“Message received and understood,” dispatch said. “Control out.”

************************

Dan Patterson and his partner Ron ‘Benjy’ Benjamins were in their unmarked vehicle when Hesky’s message came through on the police band.

“We’re five minutes away from the hospital,” Benjy reported to dispatch. “We’ll probably beat the ambulance.” He leaned back in his seat, watching his partner drive. “You think this could be the case breaker?”

They waited by the Emergency entrance with the medical staff. The group buzzed with the news that the first survivor of the Green Paint Killer was on his way. When the ambulance screeched to a halt, the injured rape victim was pulled out, and the nurses and doctors swarmed around him to rush the gurney into the emergency room.

Patterson managed a quick glimpse of the victim. He grabbed his partner’s arm. “Benjy, we know him.”

“Who?”

“The victim. It’s Hutch. Ken Hutchinson.” Patterson walked faster to get another look. “You know, one of the guys Hesky’s pal Dobey sent over. The one who’s been missing for days.”

“Shit. No!”

“I swear. I’m sure it’s him. Where’s that picture we had?”

Benjy pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and handed to Patterson.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Patterson said grimly. “I’m going to call Hesky.”

He headed for the public phones at the reception desk. They were closer than his car. Calling the station, Patterson asked to be put through to his Captain.

“He’s out at the crime scene still, Dan,” the operator at dispatch said. “Patching you through to Hesky.”

The reception was full of static and had poor sound quality.

“Hesky here.”

“Captain, it’s Patterson. We’re at the hospital. I’ve seen the victim, he’s being attended to now.” Patterson kept an eye on the trauma room the medical staff had steered Hutchinson into. How badly was he hurt? “Captain, it’s Detective Hutchinson from Parker Center. Captain Dobey’s man.”

“Maintain the chain of evidence, Patterson! Make sure you get a statement from him.”

Patterson hung up and walked back to Benjy. “Hesky’s at the scene. He’s going to call Dobey, but we’ve got to stick around.” He leaned against the wall opposite the trauma room. “Need to talk to Hutchinson as soon as we can.” He inclined his head with a gulp. Blood was not his thing. “Come on, let’s see what’s happening in there.”

************************

Chapter 6 – Sanctuary

2 am – Wednesday, August 21

Rip drove back to his lair. He sat outside in his car, and thumped his fist on the steering wheel. “What went wrong? Why were those men there?” he growled. “It’s my special place! They had no business being there. That damn cop could still be alive. Why did I have to like him? I never take them to my special place. Why? Why did I do that?”

He went into the underground chamber and scurried to the small room where he lived when he had a toy in his dungeon. Removing a brick from the wall next to the stove, Rip pulled out a folder. He had done something else with this one that he hadn’t done with the others. He had taken pictures.

“Destroy them, must destroy them.” He took the photographs out of the folder and looked through them. Each one showed Hutch’s body from a series of different angles. Rip had taken them while his toy slept. He stroked the image of the blond cop. “Can’t destroy them. Why did I have to like you?” he whispered. “I kept you too long? Cared for you. Got to find you, find out if you’re still alive. You saw my face.”

Very carefully, he replaced the photographs in the folder and fingered the metal badge he’d taken from the cop. Then he put them all back into his hiding place.

Rip opened the front of the unlit stove and pulled out Hutch’s .357 Magnum, caressing the cold metal. “Why didn’t I take this with me? I could have killed those two men for interrupting my game, and I could have kept playing with my toy.”

He hadn’t taken the gun with him because shooting people wasn’t his style. He liked to feel his victims’ pain. He liked to kill them slowly, methodically, with knives, ropes and a hammer.

No, shooting was too quick to satisfy his desire for suffering. The gun went back into the stove, and he walked over to a wooden trunk

Opening the lid, Rip took out a large plastic bag of clothes. The cop’s clothes. His jeans, shirt, boxers and jacket. Another thing he had done differently. He had burned all the other men’s clothes in the stove, but not these. He wanted to keep the scent, the possessions, and the memory of this one. The cop had gotten under his skin, and for the first time, he had feelings for his toy. Quickly, he threw the clothes back in the trunk.

No, no. He had to get this one out of his mind. He played, they died, and he moved on. Why were you so different? What did I do wrong this time? You’re alive, that’s what I did wrong. Shaking his head in an attempt to shake off the memories, Rip stood up and ran out the door.

Locking up the small room, he climbed out to his car. No need to stay here tonight. He remembered that the two cops had been talking to the black bartender when he first saw them at The Pits. After he got home and cleaned himself up, he would go back to that bar to find out if the cop was still alive. He was so sure that Detective Hutchinson wasn’t dead.

************************

The phone rang just as Starsky was on his way out the door. He walked back and answered, “yeah, Hutchinson’s residence.”

“Starsky?”

“Yes, Captain. I’m just on my way out. Did you know it’s past-four in the morning?”

“I’m well aware what the time is, Starsky,” Dobey said gruffly. “I just had a call from Captain Hesky. Hutch is at Memorial Hospital. He–”

Starsky didn’t wait to hear any more. He hung up the phone and shot out the door.

Dobey sighed when Starsky cut him off.

************************

“Call for Detective Patterson,” a red-haired nurse said loudly.

Dan Patterson walked over to the nearby nurse’s station and picked up the phone. “Patterson here.”

“Captain Dobey,” said the gruff voice. “Starsky’s on his way over to the hospital. He knows Hutch is there.”

“Okay. Does he know what happened to Hutch?” Patterson grimaced.

“No, he hung before I had chance to tell him. I will get there as fast as I can, but he will ask questions. You have to answer them if he does,” Dobey instructed.

“Sure thing,” Dan sighed and put the receiver down. Great, he was going to have tell Starsky that his partner had been raped. He hated this job sometimes.

He paced up and down the hallway, waiting for Starsky to arrive.

************************

Starsky ran full tilt through the hospital. He was focused on one thing, Hutch. Thank God Hutch had been found alive, but after so long, how would he be? Starsky was scared of what he might find.

He skidded to a halt in the ER, blocked by a sturdy body. Starsky vaguely registered the man in front of him as Dan Patterson. He moved sideways, intending to walk around the obstruction.

Patterson gripped Starsky’s upper arms. His mouth moved but Starsky didn’t hear the words. Shaking him slightly, Patterson tried again. “Starsky, it’s Dan. Can you hear me?”

The voice slowly penetrated Starsky’s brain. “Huh, yeah, what you doing here, Dan?” Starsky demanded. “Hutch was found! He’s here, in the hospital. I’ve got to see him.”

“Starsky, we need to talk first.”

“No, I need to see Hutch.” He tried to shrug off the older man’s hands but Dan held on.

“Starsky, we need to talk. Hutch is alive,” Dan said urgently. “He’s been sedated. He won’t know you are here. I need to talk to you about what happened.”

“No, I see Hutch first, then I talk. Got it?” Starsky shouted, anger burning in his chest and his jaw so tight that his head was pounding. If he had to, he’d fight this buffoon keeping him from his buddy. “Let-me-go.”

“Okay, you can see him. But then we talk, okay?” Dan stood back, still holding on. “Starsky, he doesn’t look too good. He was found just over four hours ago, at the beach.”

“I want to see Hutch. Where is he?” He broke away from Dan’s grasp.

“Room 314,” Dan said.

Starsky cannoned through the door of Hutch’s room.

Benjy put his body between Starsky and the bed.

“Let him by, Benjy,” Dan said wearily.

Starsky walked over to the bed. “Hutch. Oh God, Hutch.” The first thing he noticed was the angry red mark around his partner’s neck. The flesh was raw, the skin deeply scored with what might be a ligature mark. Starsky gently touched the red ring on Hutch’s skin. There were IV’s in both arms, on the inside of his elbows.

“I’ve been looking for you, buddy,” he whispered, horrified.

Starsky examined the bandages around his wrists, wondering what the wounds looked like underneath.

Hutch’s pale, gaunt face was etched with pain and he had a deep cut on his right cheek.

Hutch wasn’t wearing a regulation hospital gown. Instead, a sheet was draped over his body, and pulled up under his arms.

Starsky could see bruises on the thin, bare shoulders. The color ranged from angry red and purple to the healing color of yellow and brown. More evidence that his partner had been physically assaulted over the days he had been missing. Starsky clenched his fists, fighting his anger at whoever did this.

“Hutch, I’m here buddy.” Starsky whispered, guilt ridden, afraid to clasp his friend’s hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn’t find you.”

Dobey walked into the room and patted Starsky’s shoulder. “Come on, son, Hutch is going to recover. The doctor had to sedate him to deal with his injuries. He’ll be out of it for a while. We need to talk.”

************************

Chapter 7 – Pain and Tears

Dobey lead Starsky into a nearby waiting room.

Turning around fast, Starsky faced his superior. “What’s going on, Captain? Where’d they find Hutch? What’s happened to him? What…?” Too many questions and he knew it but nothing had sunk in yet. He’d been right all along–Hutch was grabbed by a fiend.

Dobey held up his right hand. “Slow down, son.”

Starsky shouted. “I want to know what’s going on now!”

“Calm down, Dave. Sit down, and I’ll tell you.”

Starsky sat down with a thud on a fake leather couch. “That’s not good, you called me Dave. You only do that when we’re in trouble or it’s bad news. What’s Patterson and Benjy doing here? Spill it, Captain.”

Dobey’s grimaced as he lowered his bulk down next to Starsky. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his wet forehead.

Starsky looked at the older man and swallowed. He had this awful feeling, and he hoped he was so wrong.

“Dave, son. Hutch was found at the beach. Captain Hesky was the responding officer. Patterson is here because it’s his case.”

“No, no.” Starsky raised his hands in an angry defensive motion. “Hutch is no one’s case. He’s my partner, and I’ll be the one dealing with ‘his case,’ as you put it. No one but me.”

Starsky jumped up to pace the small room. “No, Captain. Why should they even be involved? Hutch was kidnapped from his apartment. We look after our own. My investigation, no one else. You got that.”

“Starsky, sit down. This was the work of the Green Paint Killer. Hutch is part of an ongoing investigation. Hesky’s team’s investigation.”

Starsky stared at Dobey. His worst nightmare had come true. He had tried to convince himself that Hutch’s disappearance had nothing to do with that psycho. Now he had to face the reality he had buried deep inside himself. He strode angrily around the room and stopped, facing the wall. Pulling back his left arm, Starsky slugged the sickly yellow painted surface hard enough to draw blood.

Panting, his heart racing, Starsky let his arm drop loosely, leaving a bloody red mark on the wall.

Pictures flashed through his mind, dragging every detail of the other killings to forefront. He remembered the mutilation, the depravation of the attacks, the painted genitals.

Dobey’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Son, are you all right?”

“No, Captain, I’m not all right. You just told me my partner was …” He couldn’t even say the word. All he could see was Hutch’s raw, scraped neck, his thin, bruised shoulders and bandaged wrists. What other injuries lay beneath the sheet? He shuddered.

He had to be strong, Hutch needed him. But right now, he just wanted to get out there and kill the bastard for doing this to his buddy. “Wh…, — what did the doctor say? About Hutch’s, uh, injuries?”

Dobey swallowed again and looked down at the floor. “He said that Hutch has extensive bruising, welts and swelling to his upper body, thighs and genitals. Lacerations to his wrists and ankles, probably caused by struggling against restraints. And some damage to his…rectum.” Dobey stopped and glanced at Starsky.

Starsky struggled to keep his composure. He balled his hands into fists and swayed slightly. “And the mark around his neck?” Starsky didn’t want to think about the other things he had just heard or the injuries the other men had sustained. He preferred to focus on what he had seen with his own eyes.

“A noose. The men who disturbed the attack said Hutch had a rope around his neck, From what they could see…,” Dobey frowned as if composing himself. “It looked like a man sat on Hutch’s back, pulling the rope tight.” He cleared his throat. “Hutch was on his stomach, his ankles and wrists bound, when they found him.”

Starsky groaned and shot from the room.

Dobey followed him.

Starsky dashed through the door of Hutch’s room. He pulled a chair over to the bedside and sat down. Starsky gently placed his left hand on Hutch’s arm. “Oh, Hutch. This is all my fault,” he said quietly. “I should have found you. I should have been there. I should have been there, dammit.” Some detective I turned out to be. Couldn’t even find my own partner. You trusted me to save you. Instead, some civilians had to rescue you. Damn, damn, damn. His stomach clenched from the pain mounting inside him. I failed, Hutch. But it won’t happen again. Never. I promise.

Pushing back the chair, Starsky paced the room restlessly, unable to forgive himself.

************************

Patterson came up behind Dobey in the doorway to Hutch’s room. “Does he know what happened?”

Dobey nodded. “He’s not happy that the investigation is being carried out by someone else.”

“Captain, I’ve spoken to Captain Hesky, and we agree that Starsky should be on the team if he wants to. Hutch is his partner. I’d want to do the same if it were Benjy.”

“Thanks, Patterson,” Dobey said with a brusque nod. “I’ll call Captain Hesky now. Keep an eye on them for me.”

“Sure,” Patterson said. “There’s a guard on his way. I’ll stay until he arrives.”

Patterson looked through the door at Starsky and Hutch. He sat down in the chair he had placed in the third floor hallway when he had been waiting for Starsky to arrive. Not that he’d actually sat unmoving earlier. He had paced the whole time.

Dobey smiled. “Thank you.”

“Benjy went to take the statements of the two men who found Hutch and who, thankfully, stopped him becoming another body on a slab,” Patterson said. “Another statistic in a file, another cop dead.”

************************

8 pm – Wednesday, August 21

Rip walked into The Pits and selected a bar stool at the bar. The black barman was on the phone. Rip strained to hear the conversation.

“Yes, Detective Kenneth Hutchinson. I want to know how he is, and when I can visit.” Huggy Bear paused. “Yes, I’m a relative, his brother.” He listened again. “Room 314, thank you.” Huggy hung up and went to the other end of the bar to serve a few patrons waiting for drinks.

Rip grinned. Huggy Bear had just provided him with Hutchinson’s room number, all he needed to know now was which hospital. He ordered a beer and settled down. He had time, no need to arouse suspicion. He started up a conversation with the pretty barmaid. “Quiet in here tonight.”

She nodded absently.

He pointed in Huggy’s direction. “His brother sick, is he?”

She nodded and continued to wipe the newly washed glasses.

“Is he in the hospital?”

The pretty brunette murmured “yes,” as if she really didn’t want to talk to him.

Jeez, this broad wasn’t the talkative type. “Which hospital? I work at City.”

“Memorial.”

He grinned. That wasn’t so hard. Now he knew the cop was still alive and where he was. Oh well, he wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Tomorrow would be soon enough. Tonight was for planning.

He finished his drink and left. No need to stay any longer.

************************

Starsky sat next to Hutch’s bed all night. The only other person he saw was the nurse, Sandy.

“Your friend should be awake by morning,” she assured Starsky. “Doctor Tanner said to make sure he talks as little as possible. The pressure from the rope has slightly damaged his windpipe and voice box. These will need time to recover.”

She beckoned for Starsky to follow her out of the room. Stopping in the hallway, Sandy said, “I think it is better that we discuss Ken’s injuries away from his bedside. There is a very small chance that some brain damage may have occurred because of low oxygen levels.”

Starsky staggered, bracing himself against the wall, horrified at the news. Hutch can’t be brain damaged, he just can’t.

“This can not be established until he wakes up. We’re also dealing with his dehydration and lack of nourishment by giving him IV fluids. And he will have some degree of muscle strain, torn ligaments, so as little movement as possible to start with. Not that he will feel like moving with the extent of his bruises, swelling and abrasions.”

Starsky stopped her, “But he is going to be okay, right?”

“Another big concern is his state of mind.” Sandy frowned. “The hospital has dealt with many female rape victims, but very few males, and no policemen that I recall, so there was no way of knowing what to expect. Of course, everyone is different, but the general pattern is the same, varying degrees of emotion.” She patted his hand. “Ken’s injuries are very extreme for a rape case, and we don’t know exactly what he endured during his captivity.”

She left Starsky alone with his thoughts. What would he do if Hutch was brain damaged? He couldn’t bear the idea that their friendship might never be the same again. One thing he knew for sure was that whatever happened, he would never abandon Hutch.

Part way through the night, Starsky remembered the autopsy photos of the other victims, and the extensive knife wounds on their bodies. The report said that most of them were post-mortem.

Hutch wasn’t dead, but Starsky had to know if he had been carved up by that maniac. It wasn’t something he’d asked the nurse about. In fact, he hadn’t asked the nurse anything, he had just quietly listened. Not his usual style. But this was not a normal situation.

Swallowing hard, he lifted up the sheet covering Hutch, and closed his eyes. He tentatively opened one, and the other, examining the length of his partner’s body. Starsky gasped at the rainbow of bruising covering Hutch’s skin and his swollen genitals and nipples.

He replaced the sheet quickly, mentally apologizing to his partner for further abusing him. Thank God there were no knife slashes on his buddy.

Starsky shook with relief, his mouth dry as dust. He coughed and leaned back on the chair, taking deep breaths. Why couldn’t the killer have taken me? I would swap places with you in an instant, pal.

He hated seeing Hutch like this — vulnerable and tortured within an inch of his life. He would kill the fuck who did this with his bare hands.

Starsky went over to the window, his reflection staring back at him. His face was dark and his mind even darker. He catalogued the injuries of the dead men, and the injuries that Hutch had suffered with a sigh. Hutch had been lucky in some ways. His body was not mutilated like the others, but the injuries were similar.

Hutch was alive, and he would have to deal with the memories of his ordeal. Was Hutch strong enough? Was Starsky strong enough to support him? He would do anything to get his partner through this.

He lost all concept of time staring out of the window. He didn’t look at his watch once. Time was irrelevant, Hutch was all that mattered. Night turned to dawn, and the outside world started to wake up. So did Hutch.

Starsky saw Hutch’s movement reflected in the window pane. He turned to see Hutch grabbing at his neck. His lips were moving, but the words barely audible.

Starsky went over to comfort Hutch.

“No, please, no. Can’t breathe!” Hutch screamed. It was a gut wrenching, tortured, primeval sound. He repeated the words, and screamed again with his eyes closed.

Starsky grabbed Hutch’s flailing hands to stop him from hurting himself. “It’s Starsky, buddy. Come on, Hutch, wake up. It’s Starsky, wake up.”

A nurse ran in, followed by another nurse and a doctor.

“What’s wrong with him, doc?” Starsky yelled above the noise. “Why is he screaming and grabbing his neck? He’s going to hurt himself.”

Starsky let go of Hutch’s hands so that the doctor could get closer. Hutch cried out, grabbing at the oxygen cannula in his nose, his neck, and anything else he could get his hands on.

The older nurse restrained Hutch gently, while a blond nurse named Suzie checked that the IV’s were still intact.

“He’s hysterical. Possibly recalling the trauma,” Doctor Tanner said with a frown, “Mary, get some Lorazepam to sedate him, and we’ll need light restraints for his hands.”

“Be right back, Suzie.” Mary hurried out to get the drug.

Starsky swallowed, all his fears of Hutch’s ordeal coming back. “Of being strangled?”

“Yes, possibly. He appears to think he is choking.” Tanner bent over and spoke quietly into Hutch’s left ear. “Ken, can you hear me? You are in the hospital. My name is Doctor Tanner. Ken, Ken.”

Hutch shrieked and struggled to free his hands, shoving at Suzie. She held on tight while Doctor Tanner did a quick examination and listened to Hutch’s chest with his stethoscope.

Starsky winced, wondering how the doctor could hear anything with Hutch screaming like that. He grabbed one of Hutch’s hands after Hutch nearly knocked Suzie on her backside.

Mary came back into the room with the Lorazpam and injected it into Hutch’s IV.

Doctor Tanner placed his stethoscope back into his lab coat pocket. “He should be calmer in a few minutes.”

Starsky watched as Hutch’s thrashing slowed, but didn’t stop completely.

“Mary, did you bring the cloth restraints?” Doctor Tanner asked.

She nodded and handed them to him.

“What do you need those for?” asked Starsky.

“He’s still very restive. There’s a danger he may pull one of the tubes out. We’ll use these until he is more rational,” Doctor Tanner explained.

Starsky and the doctor took turns speaking to Hutch in the hope that eventually one of their voices would penetrate the barrier between them, and free Hutch from his nightmare.

Finally, the Lorazepam kicked in and Hutch went quiet and still.

Starsky shot a worried glance at the doctor. He didn’t like the restraints being used on Hutch, even though he understood the reasons for their use. Hutch’s hysteria had ripped Starsky’s heart in two. He couldn’t even start to imagine what Hutch had endured this past week.

Suzie sighed in relief, straightened her cap and began taking Hutch’s vital signs.

Doctor Tanner smiled, looking at his battered patient. “He should be more comfortable, now.”

Hutch’s eyelids flickered and then opened slowly. Inch by inch, Hutch widened his eyes. Starsky couldn’t think of a better sight.

Hutch reached out, and rasped “Starsk?”

“I’m here, buddy. I’m here. Don’t talk now.” He grabbed Hutch’s hand.

Hutch smiled faintly and closed his eyes again.

The doctor smiled at Starsky. “That’s a good sign. He knew your name, recognized you.”

Starsky’s grinned happily for the first time since he had discovered that Hutch was missing.

But the battle was just beginning.

************************

Rip woke early, too early, his body wet with sweat. Fear clutched at his whole being. He had spent a restless night dreaming about his latest toy, the blond cop. This one wasn’t finished. He wasn’t dead.

Even more worrying was that the cop had gotten under Rip’s skin in a way that none of his other toys had. Why was this one so special? He was just like the others. Tall, blond, pretty.

But he was more. He was a cop and he had guts. He had been so much sweeter. In such good physical condition, yet so innocent and pure in body.

Rip could see that tight ass still. Feel the cop’s struggle during penetration. He had resisted far more than the others which made the victory that much more exhilarating. These feelings made the thought of killing him less appealing.

But there was no other way, Rip had to finish what he had started.

Tears ran down his face. He lifted his hand to the dampness on his cheeks. He never felt remorse about what he did. He’d always enjoyed what he did, but not this time. The love making—yes, the killing—no. This time, he admitted to himself, he had fallen in love with his toy. Damn, damn, damn.

Quickly, he jumped out of bed and got dressed. He would forego the niceties of washing and dental hygiene, he had bathed last night. Foremost in his mind was seeing Detective Hutchinson again. What had the barmaid said? Ahh yes, Memorial Hospital, room 314.

Picking up his car keys, he headed for the door.

************************

Chapter 8 – Dungeons and Demons

8 am – Thursday, August 22

Starsky watched as Hutch slept fitfully, battling his inner demons.

He sat on the edge of the bed, not sure whether to wake Hutch or not. He placed his left hand on Hutch’s arm, and was shocked and hurt when the sleeping man pulled away, shrugging off the comforting gesture.

Starsky bent over his best friend. “It’s me, Starsky, come on, buddy, wake up. Wake up, Hutch.” His hand hovered over Hutch’s arm. Starsky knew that he was being irrational and Hutch’s retreat was just an involuntary reaction, — possibly something he was dreaming about. Despite that, he was almost afraid to touch Hutch and set him off. If he woke up screaming again, he could injure himself further. Starsky sat on his hands and kept up a gentle murmur. “I’m here for you, buddy, please wake up.”

Hutch opened his eyes slowly, blinking as he adjusted to the brightness of the hospital room. He turned his head and looked into Starsky’s eyes. “Hey,” he rasped and coughed.

Starsky smiled. “Shush. The doc said no talking for a while. Got to let your throat recover from the…”

“Rope, Starsk. I remember.” Hutch screwed up his face.

“You okay, buddy?” Starsky leaned forward and put his hand on Hutch’s shoulder.

Hutch flinched and pulled away from the touch.

Starsky held his hand up and waggled his fingers as if apologizing, as flash of guilt running through him. Hutch didn’t need more stress right now.

Hutch mouthed, “sorry”. A flush spread across his wan cheeks.

Starsky composed himself and smiled weakly. “Hey buddy, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I startled you, moved too quick, that’s all. How about I get you some ice chips?”

“Yeah,” Hutch croaked.

Starsky ran out of the room and leaned against the far wall, gasping for breath. It wasn’t Hutch’s fault, but when he’d pulled away, a pain had shot through Starsky’s heart. He needed physical contact with Hutch, the comfort that worked both ways.

************************

Hutch lay staring up at the ceiling, his eyes moist.

He had hurt Starsky in a way he never thought possible. He couldn’t stop himself.

The touch had sent a thousand electric shocks through his body. He’d panicked, the need to pull away all consuming, even though he knew that Starsky would never hurt him like Woody had.

The comforting touch he needed so badly had become his nightmare.

Hutch felt Woody everywhere. His very essence polluted Hutch’s mind, body and soul.

************************

Rip stood just inside the doorway of the empty room next to Hutch’s, watching as the dark haired cop from the bar threw himself against the wall. He saw the brown leather jacket part to reveal the butt of a gun.

An armed uniformed officer sat opposite Hutchinson’s hospital room door.

Damn, why hadn’t he expected guards? He should have known they wouldn’t leave the cop alone. Moments later, he couldn’t believe his luck when the dark haired cop walked down the hallway and the uniform went into Hutch’s room.

Rip walked quickly up the corridor, and without slowing down, glanced into Hutchinson’s room. He couldn’t see the uniform, but for a split second, he saw his toy. He leered and licked his lips.

Hutch gasped in disbelief, shouting, “Starsky, Starsk!”

His heart pounding with sudden fear, Rip hurried away as quickly as he could without looking overly suspicious. He stepped to one side as the dark haired cop rushed past him. So the other cop’s name was Starsky?

************************

Starsky shot back into Hutch’s room, ice chips spilling everywhere. “What happened?”

His question was met with coughing and spluttering. Hutch lay back on the pillows, his eyes watering, holding his throat. He was obviously struggling to breathe.

“Hutch? What the hell?” He looked wildly at the uniformed guard, but the other man just shrugged.

Eventually, Hutch managed to say, “Out…there.–Man.”

“What man?” Starsky vaguely remembered pushing past someone in his panic to get to his partner, but hadn’t paid any attention to the person. Shit!

“Out…there. Him.”

“Bates!” Starsky yelled, stabbing a finger at the guard. “Go, find the man who was loitering around out there.”

Bates disappeared out the door in a flash, and returned just as quickly. “Nobody but a couple of nurse4s there, Starsky.”

“Hold on a minute,” Starsky grabbed the phone. “Hutch, what did this man look like?”

Hutch swallowed, “About six foot four.” Approximately two hundred forty pounds, dark hair.” He coughed again, his voice reduced to a hoarse whisper. “Dark eyes, bulbous nose, cracked lips. He’s wearing dark clothing,”

Dialing quickly, Starsky held out the phone to Bates. “Talk to hospital security. Have ’em watch all exits for a man fitting that description.”

“Right away.” Bates grabbed the telephone, giving the pertinent details.

Starsky wanted to search the hospital himself, but there was no way he was leaving Hutch alone with that psycho running around.

Starsky picked up the cup of melting ice and held it out. “You still want some?” He pretended not to notice that his hand was shaking from the adrenaline rush.

Hutch nodded mutely, massaging his throat.

Starsky placed a small sliver of ice into Hutch’s mouth. “When you say him, do you mean the man who kidnapped you?

Hutch nodded and sucked on the ice chip. He opened his mouth for more.

Starsky laughed. “You look just like a little bird waiting for his mommy to feed him.” He placed another sliver into Hutch’s mouth.

Hutch clamped his lips closed and smiled.

Starsky was happy that Hutch wasn’t pulling away from him when he put the ice into his mouth. However, he was careful not to actually touch his partner. He just dropped the ice into the open mouth without making physical contact.

Hutch put his hand out and touched Starsky’s arm. Starsky swallowed the lump in his throat. Aww, Blondie. You don’t know how happy I am right now.

Hutch clenched his jaw, and Starsky could see that Hutch was battling with his instinct to pull away. Starsky stayed still. He smiled, aware of the affect this simple act was having on his partner.

Hutch’s hand fell back to the bed and he lay with his eyes closed, breathing rapidly, as if he’d just run a marathon race.

Starsky waited while Hutch struggled to bring his panic under control. When his buddy’s chest rose and fell steadily, he said softly, “Hutch, we need to catch this guy soon. We need to get a more detailed description out there. How about I call Dobey and get him to bring the Identikit down here?” Starsky would have preferred to bring an artist in, but he didn’t want too many different people coming in and out of Hutch’s room when he was this unstable.

Hutch stiffened but Starsky caught the single nod of his head.

“Oh, and the doc said he would be in to see you soon.” He went around the bed to call Metro. He didn’t talk long, Dobey knew exactly what was needed and promised to come. Hanging up, Starsky said, “Dobey will be here in an hour.”

His words were met by the sound of gentle snoring. “Sleep well, buddy. You’re going to need all your strength.” He was proud of how well Hutch was handling all this. Except for his reluctance to be touched, Hutch was fairly calm, too calm. Starsky was all too aware of his partner’s inability to show his innermost feelings, and he sighed, watching Hutch twitching in his sleep.

************************

Sleep plunged Hutch once again into his captive world. His dreams were filled with hurt and despair. Woody raped and tortured him repeatedly.

He was in the smelly room, he was in the car trunk, he was on the dark beach. Flitting from scene to scene. The room was his prison, he saw bars where there had been none. The trunk was his journey toward death, his stairway to hell. And the beach was his deathbed, his place of passing. Then, finally the peace of blackness.

Suddenly, his world became lighter. He saw his hospital bed, his sanctuary. Starsky, his guardian angel. Starsky, with a look of hurt on his face. “No. I’m sorry. Please.”

Hutch watched as Starsky’s face turned into Woody’s, then back to Starsky, then back to Woody. Suddenly the two merged, and Hutch saw Starsky’s face with cruel, dark eyes and horrible dry, cracked lips. Lips that leered at him, roughly kissed his own soft mouth and sucked his neck.

Hutch screamed and woke himself up, panting and terrified. He quickly looked around the room, focusing on Starsky. His Starsky, not the caricature in his nightmare.

************************

Starsky jumped up when Hutch screamed in a gravely cry of terror, the sound loud in the silent room. He had been dozing while Hutch slept. Starsky bent over the bed, ready to soothe away whatever was bothering Hutch, but Hutch was still asleep. His body twitched, his head thrashing from side to side.

Starsky wanted to scoop his buddy up into his arms, but he was afraid of frightening the sleeping man. He didn’t want to cause more pain, Hutch was so battered, he had already suffered enough.

Starsky hated not being able to make everything better for his best friend.

Hutch let out a noise that sounded like an animal in pain. Waking up, Hutch looked around, panting and wide eyed. He quickly locked eyes with Starsky.

“Hey, buddy,” Starsky said softly, smiling gently at him. “You okay? Did you have a bad dream? I’m here, no-one’s going to hurt you again.”

Hutch tried to smile back, his mouth not quite making it.

Starsky sat quietly, watching Hutch reach for his hand. He gritted his teeth as Hutch stopped short of his target. Starsky kept his expression as emotionless as possible.

A noise by the door startled Hutch. He pulled his hands up to his chest, clutching the sheet, his eyes darting from Starsky to Captain Dobey.

Captain Dobey crossed the room carrying a box, and Hutch visibly shrank into the mattress, pulling the covers up higher.

“Thanks, Cap! Let’s talk outside. I’m sure Hutch doesn’t want to listen to us babbling.” Starsky took the Identikit from Dobey and put it on the bedside table before steering Dobey out of the door.

“Starsky, what in the blazes are you doing?” Dobey spluttered. He stopped just outside the door. “Why are we out here?”

Starsky whispered, “Captain, Hutch is very fragile right now. He can’t take sudden movements, loud voices and physical contact.”

Captain Dobey looked at Starsky as if he was crazy. “What you talking about, man?”

“When I put my hand on Hutch, he pulls away from me,” Starsky said sadly. “He can’t even bear me touching him. We’re waiting for the doctor to do his rounds.” He pointed down the hall at the medical team ducking into another patient’s room. “When you came in, he jumped and tried to hide himself in the bed. We have to be gentle with him.”

Dobey’s face creased with concern. “I wondered what he would be like when he woke up.”

“He’s calm enough as long as we respect his space. That psycho was here earlier,” Starsky growled, the anger and guilt at not catching the suspect still gnawing at him. “I ran past him. He was here and I let him get away.” Starsky punched the wall next to him.

Dobey frowned with concern.

“Hutch gave me a brief description. Bates and hospital security searched for him but he had gone.” Starsky glanced back in the room to make sure Hutch was resting. “I wanted the Identikit so that Hutch can put together a picture. I want everybody looking for this guy. He is not going to get away again.” He took a deep breath to calm his adrenaline rush. “Were the witnesses able to give Benjy a description? Any leads?”

Dobey shook his head. “The men who found Hutch on the beach are Maxwell Ford and Leo Jackman, but they weren’t able to give much of a description. It was dark. According to their statements, they saw what they thought were two people fighting, one on top of the other, and Jackman shouted at them. The man on top jumped up and ran away.”

“Damn,” Starsky muttered vehemently.

“He was very tall, heavyset and surprisingly quick on his feet,” Dobey continued. “He was too far up the beach for them to catch him, so they focused on helping Hutch.”

“This sucks, Cap’n,” Starsky said.

Dobey took Starsky by the elbow. “I know, son, but Hutch needs us to be strong and help him any way we can. I’ll just say hello to him. Let me know what the doctor says.” He walked back into the room and went over to the bed slowly.

Hutch watched Dobey’s progress with wary eyes.

Dobey stood about a foot away from the bed, respecting Hutch’s personal space. “How are you doing, son?” he asked softly.

“Okay, Captain.” Hutch said, his voice cracking.

“I just wanted to see how you were. I’ll come back tomorrow.” Dobey left before either man could say any more.

Starsky passed the Identikit box to Hutch. “Here you go, buddy. I know it’s hard, but we really need that face.”

Hutch opened the box and frowned at the cards crammed inside. His hands shook as he picked his way through the face parts. Piece by piece, he built up a picture on the bedside table. Flashes of fear crossed his face as he studied the image he had created. Selecting various nose and mouth cards, Hutch changed pieces to build up the portrait of the man he had already described. Finally, he leaned back and closed his eyes. “Finished.”

“Hutch. What about where he kept you? Location, sounds, how long it took to get there?” Starsky asked.

Hutch shook his head. “No. He said it was underground. I don’t know.” He screwed his face up. “I was unconscious on the drive there, and it was dark when we left.”

Starsky shuddered, wishing with all his heart that he didn’t have to put Hutch through this. But that man had had the gall to walk right past his room with armed officers around. What would have happened if Hutch had been alone? He didn’t even want to think about it.

“It’s okay, Hutch. I’ll get some paper, and you can write down everything you remember. Then later, when you feel ready, we’ll go through your statement together,” Starsky said.

Hutch nodded bleakly.

************************

Chapter 9 – In Thee We Trust Or Maybe Not

11 am – Thursday, August 22

Since Hutch was still sleeping for long periods of time, Starsky took the opportunity to go over to Captain Hesky’s precinct while Huggy was visiting Hutch. With the guard by Hutch’s door, Starsky hoped there would be no more incidents.

He entered the Tenth Precinct and walked down the hall, holding copies of the Identikit picture that Hutch had constructed. His stride was not so cocky, and his heart was heavy. Every time he looked at the picture, he shuddered at the cruel face that stared back at him. He wouldn’t like to meet this guy on a dark night. Along with the picture, he had Hutch’s physical description of the man. Starsky had asked Hutch to write out as much detail as he could remember, rather than risk hurting his throat further. The full statement could wait until Hutch was stronger.

God, Hutch hadn’t stood a chance against that bear of a man.

Starsky reached Hesky’s office and knocked loudly on the door. He waited, something he wasn’t accustomed to doing with Dobey.

The door opened and Patterson appeared, smiling. “Detective Starsky, come in, please.” He held the door open and Starsky walked in. He was greeted by a room full of somber faces.

“Captain Hesky sends his apologies,” Patterson said. “He was called away unexpectedly. I’ll introduce you to the team.”

Patterson pointed to each man in turn as he said their names. “Benjy you know. That’s Anderson.”

A large black man, Anderson had black curly hair and dark eyes, and was about thirty five. He gave Starsky a nod. “Glad to have you on board.”

“O’Rourke,” Patterson waved a hand at the third man.

The heavyset, bald man held up a friendly hand. Starsky judged him to be in his early fifties.

“And Gant,” Patterson finished by patting the shoulder of a man with a surfer tan. He was slighly shorter than Patterson with long, light brown, wavy, hair and brown eyes. “Guys, this is Detective Sergeant David Starsky.”

Starsky smiled and acknowledged each one with a nod. “Hi there, just call me Starsky. I know that you haven’t had much to go on with this case so far, but now we have a full description of our suspect from the last victim, Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson, my partner.”

He passed each man on the team a copy of the picture and description. “This is the man we are looking for. Do any of you recognize him?”

The men in the room all shook their heads.

“That’s not a face you would forget.” Gant frowned.

“Damn,” Starsky said. “So we know what he looks like, but not his name. Patterson, can this description be circulated to all patrols ASAP?”

“Yes, sure.” Paterson stared at the picture. “Benjy, take this to dispatch. Tell them it’s urgent, and we want an APB out on this guy immediately.”

Starsky grimly patted Benjy on the arm. “Tell them to proceed with caution. He may be armed. He has Hutch’s gun.”

“Sure. I’ll get this circulated right away,” Benjy said as he left the room.

“We didn’t know that detail, Starsky,” Patterson said with a frown.

“No, sorry.” Starsky sighed, tapping his fingers absently on the tabletop. “I couldn’t find his weapon at his apartment or in his car, but I had to know for sure before disclosing the information to the team,” he explained. “I told Captain Dobey, who informed Captain Hesky, and he advised that I wait until Hutch was able to confirm that he had it on him when he was taken. Hutch had a dentist appointment that he missed on the morning we discovered he had disappeared, and he never wore his gun to any civilian appointments.”

Starsky stopped talking. The memory of his and Hutch’s stupid disagreement over the reports popped into his mind. Dammit. What was I thinking? Why the hell was I being so childish? He shook his head. Get on with it, Starsky. You have a job to do. I’ll catch this bastard if it’s the last thing I do.

“He was taken the evening before, just after I had dropped him home, after we got off duty. He never even made it to his front door.” Starsky felt a jolt of pain in his gut remembering the way he had driven away from his partner that night. He couldn’t forgive himself for what had happened to Hutch.

“What else was Detective Hutchinson able to tell you?” Anderson asked.

Starsky didn’t even know the minute detail yet. Hutch was, understandably, been too distressed to give a full statement. “Not much. He has written down what he remembers about his captor and the location.”

Each detective quietly digested the information before them.-

“God, this guy is ugly,” remarked O’Rourke. “Shouldn’t be too hard to spot a guy who looks like this. He’d stand out in a crowd.”

Starsky watched the expressions flitting across the other men’s faces. He could imagine their thoughts. The ‘thank God, it wasn’t me.’ The remorse at being grateful it was someone else. Only this time, he wished it had been him, and not his partner subjected to this horrific ordeal. He would do anything to take the pain away from Hutch.

Benjy slipped quietly back into the room.

“Right, guys, let’s get moving,” Patterson urged. “We need to catch this psycho. His reign of terror stops, right here, right now.”

“We’ll get him,” Gant said confidently. “He’s dead meat. You don’t mess with cops!”

“Right!” Anderson pumped a fist.

“One more thing,” Starsky added. “We have a possible place to start. None of the other victims were found with sand on their bodies. He took Hutch to the beach.” Starsky tapped the map pinned to the board marking the places where each victim was found. “Why? Is this a special place for him?” Starsky’s instinct told him that it was. He longed to discuss the case with Hutch. Bounce his ideas off of his methodical partner. But this time he was on his own. Hutch just wasn’t ready to be pushed too much. “Or just another deserted oasis in the night? I know your guys went over the beach with a fine tooth comb. But I feel it should be staked out for a few days.”

“I agree,” said Patterson. “Gant, you and Anderson will alternate in 8 hour shifts for the next 48 hours.”

“Sure, Patterson,” said Gant.

Anderson nodded.

“O’Rourke, I want you back out on the streets. Take some uniforms with you,” Patterson shook the sketch. “This time we have a face. Show the picture around. Somebody has got to know this guy.”

The room quickly emptied, leaving Starsky, Patterson and Benjy to finish up the meeting.

The older man turned to him. “How is Hutch doing?”

“Fairly good, considering. He’s physically beaten, battered and bruised, but nothing that won’t heal. And mentally he’s holding up pretty well so far.” He wasn’t about to divulge Hutch’s reluctance to be touched to a relative stranger. “I have pushed him as far as I dare for now. We have enough to work with. The details of his ordeal won’t help catch this guy.”

Patterson nodded his agreement.

“I’m going back to the hospital,” Starsky said. “Let me know if you get anything?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

The three men shook hands and Starsky hurried out to the Torino.

************************

Starsky made it back to the hospital in record time. He didn’t want to be away from Hutch for too long. He needed to be near his partner. Maybe in a few days, he would feel differently, but that scumbag turning up at the hospital had jangled his nerves. He had to be more vigilant than ever if they were going to catch this guy.

Plastering a smile on his face, he walked into the room and was met by the sound of snoring. Huggy was slouched on the uncomfortable chair that Starsky had placed by the bed, his feet up on the metal frame, sound asleep.

Starsky wondered what the black man was dreaming about? What little filly had placed a smile like that on the his face? In contrast, Hutch’s face was covered in sweat, his lips moving but no sound coming out. Had he finally lost the little voice he still had? His head moved restlessly from side to side.

Starsky watched as Hutch transitioned from pained sleep to sudden stillness. This worried him until he realized that Hutch was still breathing, and finally seemed to be resting peacefully.

Starsky walked over to Huggy and stood behind him. He put his hand over the sleeping man’s mouth and whispered in his ear. “Huggy, wake up.”

Huggy stirred at the sound, his eyes going wide. “Huummopph.” He almost tipped the chair in shock.

Starsky steadied him with his other hand. “Shush, Hutch’s still asleep. Enjoy your nap did you, pal?” He took the gag away when he was certain that Huggy was alert enough to keep quiet.

“Yeah, sorry man. Blondie’s not much of a conversationalist at the moment. Sorta got bored with my own voice. You dig?”

“I know, Huggy. Sorry I was longer than expected. How’s he been?”

“Hasn’t woken once.” He grinned sheepishly. “As far as I’m aware anyway.”

************************

Hutch stirred as the voices disturbed him.

Huggy walked around the bed and handed Hutch a cup of water. Hutch kept his hand curled around the bottom of the cup, as far away from Huggy’s as possible.

Huggy shrugged and sat down again with a grin. “Good to see you awake, buddy. Was getting very lonely sat here watching you sleep.”

Starsky laughed. “Take no notice of him, you were both sleeping like babies.”

Hutch smiled weakly, listening to the banter between the two men. He sipped the drink slowly. The water was both soothing and painful on his sore throat at the same time. Every time he swallowed, it felt like sandpaper was lodged in his throat. He lay back, wincing as pain shot through his body. The welts on his back were raw and his rectum burned every time he moved. Pain killers had dulled the agony some, but not enough.

“Starsk,” Hutch whispered.

Starsky and Huggy were so intent on their verbal sparring that they didn’t notice Hutch trying to get their attention. He desperately needed to pee. With an IV line in each arm, it was impossible to get out of bed on his own, and he couldn’t find the damn call button. In a flash of temper, he launched the water cup at Starsky, hitting him on the side of his head.

“Ouch. Hutch, what the hell?”

Hutch pointed to his groin and mouthed, “Gotta pee.”

“Huh? Oh, okay. I’ll get a nurse.” Starsky shot from the room and returned a few minutes later with a nurse.

She walked over to Hutch. “If you gentlemen will just wait outside please?”

************************

Chapter 10 – Alone And Palely Loitering – John Keats

10 pm – Monday, August 26

Rip sat in his underground sanctuary. That damn cop had ratted on him and forced him to come here. The police were everywhere. Rip had seen one of them showing his picture around Main Street. It was a good thing he hadn’t shaved for a few day, his beard altered his whole look, which was the only reason he’d managed to make it to safety.

He pulled out a brick in the wall and retrieved the folder inside. Fingering it gently, he opened the flap and took out Hutch’s badge. The metal was cold in his hand, the contours were sensual to touch. He closed his eyes and imagined that he was running his fingers over Detective Hutchinson, and not just his badge.

Rip was aroused as he pictured his cop toy writhing and screaming beneath him. He could feel the softness of the peachy ass, the tightness of the virgin anus around his swollen cock. How sweet it had all been.

And now, the cop had betrayed him.

He threw the folder across the room and the photographs fell out, floating to the floor. He picked one up and spat on it. “You’re dead, cop. I will finish what I started.”

Rip opened the front of the stove, reached in and closed his fingers around Hutch’s Magnum. Pulling his hand out, he examined the large handgun closely. It was fully loaded.

He rubbed the barrel against his groin. What a turn on it would be to kill the cop with his own gun.

Rip pocketed both the gun and the badge. After he had shot Hutchinson, he would pin the badge to Hutchinson’s limp dick. He laughed, thinking about Starsky finding his partner dead with his own gun next to him, and wearing only his badge. He could make it a double and take Starsky for his next toy. He wasn’t Rip’s usual type but he was dark, delicious and feral. For this one, Rip would make an exception.

************************

Hutch lay quietly in his room. It was late evening, and Starsky hadn’t been by to see him all day.

Dobey had entertained him for a couple of hours, and he had told Hutch that Starsky was busy on the case, attending a last minute briefing called by Captain Hesky.

Huggy had also dropped by. He’d brought Hutch a frozen protein shake to help his throat. The thing had tasted almost like a healthy popsicle. Maybe he could persuade Starsky to start his morning with one. Starsky liked popsicles.

Hutch sighed. Now he was alone with his thoughts, except for the guard outside. The hours in between visits seemed to last forever.

Hutch sat up gingerly and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The IVs had been removed, and he could answer the call of nature by himself. He shuffled stiffly to the bathroom. His joints, muscles and body still throbbed from being tied up and the numerous beatings.

He couldn’t believe he’d been missing for only five days. It had seemed so much longer. Five days in that miserable room, five days of…that man. The thought turned his stomach, and he just made it to the basin before vomit exploded from his mouth. Hutch slumped against the wall, his whole body shaking, and his legs gave way. Sliding down to the white tiled floor, Hutch automatically curled up into the fetal position. He wrapped his arms around his legs and hugged his knees to his chest. His body screamed at the tight position, but he was lost once again in his nightmare.

Sandy found him curled up on the bathroom floor when she came in to take vitals. His skin was icy to the touch and he was muttering incoherently.

Very gently, she eased the shaking man to his feet and steered him back to his bed. Once he was safely under the blankets, she asked “Do you want to talk about it, Ken?”

“No,” he managed to say. His voice was still very raspy.

“Do you want to see the doctor?” Sandy quickly took his temperature and checked his pulse.

“No,” he replied curtly, shivering.

“Do you want me to call your partner?”

“No. Yes. No. Oh, just leave me alone, lady,” he snarled, turning his back on her.

Sandy smiled. “That’s better, Ken. It’s good to get angry. You have to fight back.”

************************

Starsky sat outside the hospital in his car. He had been there for the past hour. He knew he should be inside with his partner, but he had needed to put space between he and Hutch. A barrier had come up between them, and he didn’t know how to break it down.

Did he go in gung-ho or did he pretend that it was acceptable that Hutch no longer trusted him? He knew deep down that there was no choice. He couldn’t subject Hutch to a full on assault to satisfy his own hurt ego. He had to let Hutch find his own speed, work through his demons, and hopefully emerge from the other side stronger and whole again.

Starsky opened the heavy door, stepped out into the dusky night and stretched his cramped body. He hadn’t realized how tense his muscles were. He jogged around the small parking lot, to work out the inactivity of the past few days.

This was just prolonging the inevitable. He wanted to be there for his buddy, but he felt like running away. Starsky had never encountered these sorts of reactions to Hutch before. In all their years together, Starsky had never stayed away when Hutch was hurting.

But he had to admit that he didn’t know what to say to make it all better this time. Bullets, beatings, revenge attacks, kidnappings, those he could cope with. Rape, even of women, was something he struggled to understand. He’d never had to deal with a man who was raped. He just didn’t know how to help his partner get through this.

His feet made the decision for him. He walked to the hospital entrance without conscious thought. He would do whatever it took. No matter how hard this was for him, it was so much harder for Hutch. He had to remember that.

A tall, willowy, nurse with blond hair poking out beneath her cap beckoned to him as he neared Hutch’s room. “I’m Sandy, Ken Hutchinson’s nurse this evening. I thought you should know that your friend had a traumatic incident earlier.”

“What sort of incident?” Starsky asked, instantly worried.

“He’s in bed now, but I found him curled up on the bathroom floor shaking. I think he was in shock. He had vomited in the sink and was really distressed. I asked if he wanted me to call you, but he just shouted at me.”

“I’m sorry. He’s not usually rude to people who are trying to help him.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” She laughed. “I’m used to grumpy patients. In fact, I’m glad.” She tucked the errant hair back under her nurse’s cap. “It’s the first time he’s shown anything other than fear and panic. It’s good that he’s still got some fight left in him. He’s going to need all the help he can get.” Sandy sighed, fiddling with the end of her stethoscope. “Rape is hard for a woman, but it must be ten times harder for a man, especially a cop. He needs his friends right now.”

Starsky nodded. “I know. He has friends and we are here for him.” Although, Starsky didn’t feel much like a friend. While he was wallowing in his own self pity, Hutch had been struggling alone. No more. Starsky would be there for him every step of the way. They would find a way. They always did.

“Thanks, Sandy, for all your help. I’m bringing See’s next time I come.” Starsky promised, walking down the hall to room 314.

************************

Hutch heard voices. Starsky.

He watched the door, willing for his partner to walk through. He waited for more than five minutes, but the voices faded. He grimaced in disappointment. He was sure that Starsky was outside. Why didn’t he come in?

Because you are driving him away, Hutchinson. With your stupid ‘do not touch me’ attitude. Pathetic, Hutchinson, pathetic. You know Starsky would never hurt you.

Hutch hated being so weak. He hated hurting Starsky. But he couldn’t help it. Every time a man came near him, he just wanted to vomit. He just wanted to get away. Even Starsky. It wasn’t Hutch, his best friend, pulling away from him, it was Detective Hutchinson, the rape victim.

Hutch was beginning to see himself as two different people. Hutch the cop, who had suffered and bounced back stronger every time. And Detective Hutchinson the rape victim, who was scared of his own shadow and could only let women touch him now. He didn’t like the new Hutchinson. He longed for the old Hutch to beat the newcomer into submission and free the person locked inside.

He swallowed the bile in his mouth. The liquid burned his healing throat as it trickled down his esophagus. He moaned, wishing Woody had finished what he’d started. Hutch didn’t want to live like this. He wouldn’t be able to do his job if he couldn’t tolerate any man who came near him. They didn’t even have to touch him, their presence was enough to send shivers up his spine.

For the second time, he rushed into the small bathroom and vomited. He leaned over the sink, resting his forehead on the wall mirror. Panting fast and hard, Hutch’s breath fogged up the glass. He closed his eyes and fought to control his rising panic. “Starsky, where are you?”

“I’m here, buddy. Are you all right?”

He jumped at the voice behind him.

Spinning round, Hutch backed up against the wall next to the sink, his heart pounding. He hadn’t heard Starsky come into the room. He looked around for a bolt hole and found none. The bathroom was windowless, and Starsky was standing in the doorway, the only exit.

“Hey, Hutch, it’s okay. It’s me, Starsky. Come on.” He held out his hand. “I won’t hurt you. Come on, back to bed.”

Hutch looked from Starsky’s smiling face to his outstretched hand. All he had to do was take it. But he couldn’t.

Starsky stayed very still.

Tentatively, Hutch reached out to his partner. Come on, Hutchinson. Just take it, — dammit. You’re a goddamn coward if you don’t. He attempted a weak smile and quickly thrust his hand into Starsky’s. Then he panicked and tried to pull it back.

“Oh, no, you don’t, pal.” Starsky grabbed Hutch’s hand and held on firmly.

Hutch stood looking into Starsky’s face. With his hand clasped firmly, Hutch couldn’t pull away. He felt a film of sweat on his brow, and swallowed, gulping air. His lungs hurt from hyperventilation, and he felt dizzy. Hutch swayed, but Starsky pulled him in close to steady him. This near Starsky, Hutch’s legs turned to jelly. Starsky hoisted him up from the floor and across the room to the bed.

Starsky gently helped Hutch onto his bed. Hutch clutched at his shirt when Starsky tried to let go.

“No, Starsk, please don’t go. Please don’t leave me alone.”

“Not going anywhere, buddy. Just thought you might want a little space.”

“No, stay, please. Just hold me.”

Starsky smiled. His whole face lit up with pleasure. “Your wish is my command, oh master.”

“Putz,” Hutch groused, tightening his arms around Starsky.

************************

11 am – Tuesday, August 27

Sandy wheeled Hutch down to Dr. Jones’ office in a wheel chair, promising to be back to pick him up in an hour. He glanced around the office, waiting for his shrink to show up. There were two chairs, one either side of a wooden table. Hutch sat in the one nearest the door. It was his first appointment, and he was feeling very nervous.

He stood up as she walked through the door and smiled. Doctor Ellie Jones was petite, pretty and blond. Just what the doctor ordered.

Ellie smiled back. “Morning, Ken. Sit down, please.” She pulled the other chair around the table, and placed it in front of Hutch. “I do hate the unfriendly feeling of a table between people, don’t you?” she said, putting a file down on the table.

Hutch waited until she was seated and then sat down again. Hutch the cop kicked in, and he glanced at the file heading. It read ‘Kenneth Richard Hutchinson.’

Ellie saw Hutch look at the file, but ignored his curiosity. “Let me start by telling you a bit about myself. I run a private practice in Culver City and work one day a week here at the hospital. I prefer to be called Ellie, not Doctor Jones. Everything you tell me will be in the strictest confidence, and seen only by myself.”

Hutch nodded, his hands folded in his lap. He realized he was clenching them together and tried to relax, loosening his grip.

“Tell me a little about you, Ken,” she said

Hutch didn’t like shrinks, but he felt comfortable with her. Her manner was delicate and unthreatening. He cleared his throat. “What do you want to know?” he asked.

“Let’s start with the basics, shall we? Your name, job.”

“Okay. My name is Ken Hutchinson, my friends call me Hutch. I am a cop in Bay City…” he stopped talking. Well, I was a cop before…

“Ken, are you all right?” Ellie leaned forward and touched his knee.

Hutch jumped. “Huh? Yes.”

“You were miles away. Where were you? Tell me what you were thinking,” she said softly.

“I was thinking that I was a cop before, before this happened,” he replied.

“And you are not a cop now?” she questioned.

“Yes, no. Yes, I am still a cop, but I don’t think I can do it any more.”

“Why? Why can’t you be a cop any more?”

“Because I’m scared of men. How can I be a cop now? I let this happen to me. If I can’t protect myself, how can I protect others?” Hutch whispered.

“Ken, you have to understand that none of this was your fault.”

“I let Woody do…” Hutch stopped.

“Do what?” Ellie prompted.

Hutch shook his head.

“Ken, you don’t have to tell me anything you feel uncomfortable talking about. We can deal with things when you are ready and not before. How do you feel now?” she asked

“I, I just feel like I’m going crazy. I think things are getting better, and then the nightmares start again.” Hutch focused on her red high heels.

Gently, she put her finger under his chin and tilted his head up. “Trust me, Ken. You are not going crazy. These feelings are natural, and you will be able to deal with them. I’m here to help you in any way I can.”

Hutch sat quietly, trying to gather his thoughts.

He watched as Ellie made notes and put them in his file.

She looked up and smiled. “Don’t worry. You can read everything I write down if you want. I’ve just noted what we have talked about. I’m going to recommend that we continue our sessions while you are in the hospital, and when you are released, I will continue seeing you once a week, either here or you can come to my practice.”

Hutch thought about it. “I’d rather come here, I think.”

“That’s fine. Now, that’s enough for our first session. I want you to do something for our next one. Every time you have a nightmare, I want you to write down what you remember and how you felt when you woke up. Will you do that for me?” Ellie asked.

Hutch nodded.

“Is there anything you want to talk about, or ask me before we finish?” Ellie said.

Hutch grinned, “Can I take you out sometime?”

Ellie smiled back. “Now, that would be unethical, Detective Hutchinson.”

************************

Chapter 11 – The Homecoming

Monday, September 9 – Venice Place

Starsky parked his car outside Hutch’s apartment. “Home, sweet home. Bet you are finally glad to be out of the hospital.”

Hutch looked around. He had been feeling sleepy, but the sight of his own front door jolted him wide awake. The last time he had seen that door was when Woody tackled him from behind. “Starsk, I would rather go to your place.”

“I thought you’d want be in your own home. All your plants are waiting for your loving care. They don’t like me, but at least they’re still alive.”

“I…don’t…think…” Hutch looked at the door, panic rising.

“It’s okay, Hutch. I’m here. I’ll be here as long as you want me to be,” Starsky said.

Making sure there were no cars, Starsky opened his door and got out. He went around the hood and tugged open the passenger door. Quietly helping Hutch out of the seat, Starsky pointed him toward the door. He dug into the left pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out Hutch’s house keys. “There ya go, key,” he said, holding them out to Hutch.

Hutch looked at the ring, feeling like he’d never seen them before. He couldn’t get the vision of being shoved violently onto the staircase out of his head. “You go first, Starsk,” he whispered.

“Okay, buddy, keep close to me.” He unlocked the front door, stretching his hand out behind him.

Without saying a word, Hutch took Starsky’s hand. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be led up the steps to his apartment. He knew he was being silly, but he still saw Woody every time he went to sleep. Now, he was having the hallucination when he was awake, too. He kept his nightmares to himself because he didn’t want to upset Starsky.

The only person Hutch had admitted his true feelings to was his shrink at the hospital.

Starsky stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs and Hutch bowled into him. Starsky humphed from getting the air knocked out of him.

“Sorry, Starsk, wasn’t paying attention.”

Starsky looked questioningly at Hutch, his face saying what his mouth didn’t. “‘S’okay. Just need to unlock the door.” He shoved the key in the lock and let Hutch inside.

Hutch headed for the nearest plant. “Oh, Starsk. I thought you said they were all right. Are you sure you’ve been watering them properly?”

“Yes. I followed your strict instructions, and I said they were still alive. Which they are.”

“Just, barely. Oh, my poor babies. Daddy’s back.” He spent the next hour wandering from room to room, tending to his babies and talking to them.

Starsky sat on the couch drinking beer. “You okay, Hutch? Do you want me to get someone to look at your head?” He laughed and ducked when Hutch threw the towel he had been using to clean the plant leaves.

“Funny, Starsky, very funny. I’m trying to undo some of the damage you have done.”

“Next time, Huggy can take care of the darned things. You can be so ungrateful sometimes. Do you know that?”

Hutch grinned. “I’m sorry, Starsk. I do appreciate all you are doing. I really do, honest.”

Starsky laughed and got up to get him a beer.

************************

Rip sat in his car outside Hutch’s apartment. He’d followed that red and white carnival float all the way from the hospital. All he had to do now was wait for his toy to be alone. He couldn’t move on to the next one until he had finished this game. No toy ever lived. They were too dangerous alive. And he so wanted to play with the dark haired one.

He hadn’t been able to get near the cop in the hospital. Hutchinson’s gun was nestled in the holster under his arm and he fingered the butt. He had the holster straps as long as possible but they still dug into his flesh. It made him light-headed to wear his toy’s weapon. Rip closed his other hand around the badge in his pocket. He had kept both of them close since the day he discovered that his face was all over the street.

Rip laughed. The cops had no idea that he had been near them the whole time. All he’d needed to do was keep the beard, and bleach his hair white. That had been enough to let him move around freely right under their noses. No-one knew him. He kept to himself, and the only people he let into his life were all dead. Except for that damn cop, and he wouldn’t be around much longer.

He was used to waiting. He picked his toys. Watched their movements, and waited until they were alone. Then they were his. The cop had been no different. And he hadn’t had to wait too long for him. It had been so easy to overpower Hutchinson.

But he had failed to kill his toy. Now he had to wait until the blond one was alone again. He checked the supplies on the back seat. He had enough food and drinks to last him a few days, if necessary. He hunkered down in his seat, ready to begin his watch.

Rip saw a pizza delivery man enter the apartment building. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He could have taken them both together. Forced the dark one watch as he killed the blond one, and then made Starsky his toy. Too late now.

His eyes grew heavy, but he refused to sleep. He had to stay awake. Starsky could leave at any time.

************************

Starsky stretched, testing cramped muscles. He and Hutch had settled in front of the TV, snacking on pizza and watching The Late Show. At some point, Starsky had fallen asleep. He glanced over to find the space next to him empty. Starsky sat up frantically, his heart racing. “Hutch, where are you? Huutcch!”

There was a noise in the greenhouse at the back of the apartment. “Hutch, you out there?” He walked over stiffly and opened the door.

Hutch was sitting on the floor, with his back up against the outside wall, holding Starsky’s gun. He had his elbows resting on his bent knees.

Starsky gulped, terrified. Hutch had his right index finger tight against the trigger and his chin resting on the tip of the barrel. He looked distant, his eyes vacant.

“Hutch, buddy, what ya doing?” Starsky asked quietly, afraid to make a sudden move. “Put the gun down.”

“Can’t do it anymore, Starsk,” Hutch whispered.

“Can’t do what, babe?”

“It. This. Can’t do it anymore.” Hutch’s finger twitched.

“Hutch, no, don’t. Please, Hutch.” He squatted down in front of his partner and held out his hand. “Give me the gun, Hutch.”

Hutch tightened his grip, and Starsky drew in a breath. It was too dark for him to see if the safety catch was on or off.

“Hutch, talk to me buddy. Please. We can work this out, whatever it is.”

“He’s here, Starsk,” Hutch ground out, full of pain and despair. “Won’t leave me alone. Can’t do it anymore.”

“Hutch, there’s no one here except us, pal. Give me the gun.”

“I can see that, Starsky!”

Starsky recoiled at the anger in Hutch’s voice.

“I mean he’s here.” Hutch tapped his temple with the fingers of his left hand. “In my head. Every time I close my eyes. Even when I’m awake sometimes.” Everything he had been keeping from Starsky poured out in a venomous tirade. “I see his face. I can feel his hands all over me. His lips on mine. His fullness ripping me apart. The fluids dripping down my legs. The beatings. The pain. Oh God, Starsk.” He leaned sideways and retched.

Starsky grabbed the gun from Hutch. He threw it out the door so neither of them could reach it in a hurry. Then he gathered Hutch into his arms. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll get him. I promise you, buddy. He’s never going to hurt you again.”

“He already has, Starsk. What if I never get over this? I can’t be a cop who runs away from the male criminals.”

“Not going to happen, Hutch. You will get over this. You won’t be running away from anyone, you’ll be charging straight at them. They’ll be running away from you.”

They sat entwined, taking comfort from each other.

“I couldn’t do it, Starsk,” Hutch whispered in Starsky’s ear.

“Do what?”

“Pull the trigger. I sat here, and I was sure I wanted to end it all. But I couldn’t pull the trigger. I couldn’t do that to you.” He sighed, sounding exhausted. “Not with your gun. Not with you in the other room.”

Starsky vowed never to leave Hutch alone until he was sure that he wouldn’t try this again. “Come on, buddy, let’s get you to bed. It’s late, and you feel cold.” He pushed himself upright and pulled Hutch to his feet.

Hutch allowed Starsky to be steer him into his bedroom.

Without thinking, Starsky started to undress him.

Hutch pulled away. “I can do it myself,” he snapped, turning his back. “You don’t need to stay.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’ll be on the couch if you need me.” Starsky pulled some blankets from the closet and walked around the folding screen that divided the bed from the living area.

Stupid idiot, Starsky. Why did you do that?

He retrieved his gun and put it under the couch cushion where he was going to sleep. No way was he going to leave his gun where Hutch could get it again.

Starsky made up the couch, stripped down to his shorts and turned off the light.

The lamp in Hutch’s room was still on, and he could make out the huddled figure of his partner sat on the edge of the bed.

“You asleep yet, Hutch?”

“Not yet. Working on it.”

Starsky heard movement and then the sound of the bed springs when Hutch lay down. The apartment was plunged into semi-darkness. The only light came from the outside street lamps and the moon. He lay awake until he heard gentle snoring, prayed for a restful night, and closed his eyes.

************************

Hutch sat on the edge of his bed and dropped his head into his hands.

Is it always going to be this hard? I almost killed myself tonight. Would I have pulled the trigger if I had been alone? If Starsky hadn’t been here?

He shivered.

I felt so positive when I left the hospital. I want my old life back. Why me?

“You asleep yet, Hutch?” Starsky shouted.

Starsky voice dragged Hutch out of his reverie. “Not yet. Working on it.”

Hutch slumped sideways, rolled onto his back and pulled the blankets over his clothed body.

He lay staring at the ceiling, his eyes moist, blinking as images of Woody danced around the room. Shaking his head, he rolled over onto his stomach and buried his head in the pillow.

Leave me alone. Please, leave me alone.

************************

Chapter 12 – When Anger Takes Over

7:30 am – Tuesday, September 10

The sound of car doors slamming woke Rip.

He watched as two men entered Hutchinson’s apartment building, and knew instantly that they were cops. He had seen them before. He liked to watch the cops running around, trying to find clues, picking up supposed evidence from where he had dumped his toys. Did they think he was stupid enough to leave something behind? That’s why he always killed them somewhere else. Less chance of leaving a mess and leaving clues.

Damn, now he would have to wait for three people to leave. What was it with this cop and guards? He hunkered down in his seat and waited.

************************

Starsky was awakened by a loud knocking on the door. He rolled off the couch, almost hitting his head on the coffee table, and stumbled to the door. Reaching under his arm, he realized too late that his gun wasn’t there. “Who is it?”

“Benjy and O’Rourke. Patterson sent us.”

Half asleep, Starsky fumbled with the lock. Finally he managed to open the door and the two detectives walked in.

“Sorry, did we wake you?” O’Rourke asked.

Starsky nodded and glanced in the direction of Hutch’s bed. He was still sleeping. Thankfully, the knocking hadn’t disturbed him.

Benjy handed him a piece of paper. “Patterson is at this address. It’s an old abandoned industrial area. The owner has decided to sell it off, and sent in a crew to clear the site. They found that someone had been using the underground storage rooms. There’s…” He glanced over at the sleeping Hutch and pointed at the kitchen.

Starsky led the way to the table and waved them into chairs.

“There are photographs of Detective Hutchinson in one of the rooms, and the other room contains items that match his statement,” Benjy said. “We’re supposed to remain here until you return.”

“Just a minute.” Starsky wasn’t sure how Hutch would feel if he woke up to find two relative strangers in his apartment. Hutch had met Benjy once before, but didn’t know O’Rourke.

Starsky picked up the phone and dialed. He twisted the coiled phone cord in his fingers waiting for the ringing on the other end to stop.

“Huggy Bear,” a sleepy voice said.

“Huggy, Starsky. Can you do me a favor and come over to Hutch’s?”

“Hey, Starsky. What, now?” Huggy asked.

“Yes, now. It’s important, Hug. I’ve got to go out, and I don’t want to leave Hutch alone. There are two detectives here, but Hutch doesn’t know them too well,” Starsky said.

“Sure. Ten minutes, okay?” asked Huggy

“Okay, thanks, Hug. See you in ten.”

Starsky turned around to find two confused faces staring at him.

He smiled apologetically. “Sorry, guys. No disrespect, but Hutch is still a little jumpy around strangers. Huggy is a longtime friend. He and Hutch go way back.”

He walked across the room to Hutch and gently shook the sleeping man.

Hutch jumped violently. He thrust his arm up, ready to ward off any attack.

Starsky caught his wrist. “Hutch, it’s me, Starsk.”

Hutch turned over onto his back and blinked against the light. “Huh? Starsk, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’ve just got to go out. Huggy’s on his way, and…” He stopped. Hutch was staring over his shoulder, obviously not paying attention to anything he said. He turned around, knowing why Hutch was so rattled.

“Starsk, there’s…”

“I know, Hutch. You remember Benjy from Captain Hesky’s precinct? And that’s O’Rourke.” He waved a hand at the bald man. “They’ll be around if you or Huggy need them. I won’t be too long.”

Hutch sat up in bed. “Hi, guys,” he said, uncertainly. He stretched, yawned, and wiped his eyes with his hands. “You got the coffee on yet, Starsk?” he asked.

“What do you think I am, Hutch, the maid? I was sleeping when these guys turned up,” Starsky said.

He walked back into the kitchen and leaned on the table where Benjy and O’Rourke were still sitting. “Is there anything else I should know before I leave?”

Benjy shook his head. “No, Patterson will brief you when you get there.”

************************

Rip kept looking at his watch. Where they ever going to leave?

Another car pulled behind the unmarked cop car, and a skinny black guy got out. He hurried into Hutchinson’s apartment building.

Damn, damn, damn. Were they having a party up there?

Rip considered giving up, but he couldn’t.

************************

The loud knock on Hutch’s apartment door made everyone jump.

“Who is it?” Hutch asked, obviously trying to hide his nerves. He got out of bed, watching Benjy and O’Rourke warily.

Starsky opened the door and Huggy sauntered in.

“Hey, Starsky. Have you got no respect for a sleeping man?”

“Sorry, Huggy, I need to go out and Blondie needs a baby-sitter.”

Coming up behind his partner, Hutch smacked the back of Starsky’s head.

“Ow!” Starsky rubbed his scalp. “Hutch, that hurt.”

“I don’t need a baby-sitter, but it’s good to see you, Hug.” He smiled, patting Huggy on the back.

Huggy smiled back and looked over at Starsky.

Starsky grinned widely, proud of Hutch. It was the first time Hutch had touched anyone else since the kidnapping.

“I’ll put on a pot of coffee.” Hutch went into the kitchen and got out a can of ground coffee to prepare a fresh pot.

Starsky followed him, watching Hutch place the filter in and pour water into the pot. “I won’t be long, okay, buddy?”

“Starsky, I will be fine,” Hutch said with bravado. “I am a big boy. Go do what you have to do.” He turned to Starsky and whispered in his ear. “Hell, Starsk, I’ve got to get my act together. I tried suicide and discovered that I couldn’t kill myself. Now I have to start living.” Hutch glanced down at his hands. “That means being around other people, other men. I have to stop thinking that they all want a piece of me. Go on, get out, be a cop.” He pushed Starsky out of the kitchen.

************************

Rip kept looking at the elaborately carved door to Venice Place. To his surprise, the door opened and Starsky came out.

Rip took only a second to decide his next actions. He pulled out, tailing his prey from two cars behind. He had a plan, but that could change because the blond one wasn’t alone, but the dark one was. He would take him and make him watch while he killed Hutchinson. He grinned.

His good mood didn’t last when he realized where Starsky was headed.

Rip followed the red car through streets that he knew far too well. He thumped the steering wheel and hoped that his assumption was wrong. The cops had found his sanctuary.

************************

Starsky crossed the sidewalk in two strides. He unlocked his car door and slid into the drivers seat, taking a moment to enjoy the feel of the seat beneath his ass before starting up the engine. He quickly checked for approaching cars and pulled smoothly out, joining the flow of early morning traffic.

Luckily, the drive to the industrial district didn’t take long.

Starsky grimaced at the signs of neglect all around him. He hated the decay and grime of abandoned buildings. He drove onto dry, dusty, earth, cursing as fine particles of dirt peppered his car, forming a thin gray film on the bright paint.

Starsky pulled up next to a black and white, scanning the area. Yellow crime tape had been looped around a wide expanse, to keep the lookiloos away. A uniformed cop leaned in the window and pointed him over to an open hatch in the ground about ten feet away.

He got out and walked over to the hatch. A wooden staircase led down into a cement walled chamber. Gingerly, he stepped onto the first step and descended into a well lit tunnel. There were six doors along a corridor, two of which were open. He looked through the first and spotted Patterson squatting on the opposite side of the room with his back to the door.

Starsky went in. “Hey, Patterson. What you got for me?”

Patterson jumped at the sound behind him. He stood up slowly, holding a plastic bag full of photographs.

Starsky swallowed. “Are those the pictures of…of Hutch?” He put out his hand.

Patterson nodded and gave him the bag.

Starsky took the photographs out. He turned his back to Patterson and slowly looked at each one in privacy. Tears pricked his eyes and he felt sick into the pit of his stomach. Some of what Hutch had gone through became clearer, the photos giving graphic verity to his ordeal, bringing the words from his statement to life. A couple of the pictures were just parts of Hutch’s body, bare-skinned and red raw. He was bloodied and bent double, tied to a crude sawhorse. In others, Hutch was suspended from the ceiling by his wrists. Starsky could feel the strain that Hutch must have felt on his own back, shoulders and stomach. He was jolted from his musing by a squeeze on his left shoulder.

“Sick, aren’t they?” Patterson said quietly.

Starsky was shaking. He gulped, trying desperately to keep down the meager contents of his stomach. He just wanted to murder the son of a bitch. “Who, who’s seen these?”

“Just me and Benjy, so far. Well, and O’Rourke knows about them. Kept the others away,” Patterson said. “But the crime lab boys will want to come in soon, and I’m going to have to turn these over to them with the rest of the evidence. I wish I could just make them go away, but I can’t.”

“I know. Thanks.” Starsky put the photographs back in the bag and handed them back to Patterson. “Do what you have to do with them. I’ll deal with Hutch, although, I don’t know how I’m going to tell him.”

“Do you want to see the other room?”

“Yeah.” He followed Patterson into the only other open door. This room was dimly lit by a single bulb.

“This was how we found it. Nothing’s been touched,” Patterson said.

Starsky quickly scanned the room. He froze, seeing the sawhorse from the photograph, and looked down at the dark patches on the floor. “Can you just leave me alone, please?”

“Sure. I’ll be in the other room if you want me.”

Starsky nodded as Patterson left.

He walked over to the sawhorse. There was a black leather bodysuit and shorts draped over the red pad on the top. Hutch had been wearing the leather bodysuit and shorts in the photographs. He reached out to touch the leather, but stopped himself before he got fingerprints on evidence. Starsky could feel his heart beating too fast, the sound of his blood whooshing in his ears. He became aware that he was shaking. The room seemed a million miles away.

He had to stop acting like a grief stricken friend. He was a cop. Don’t touch the evidence. This investigation had to be done by the book. He didn’t want this sicko wiggling out of charges of rape and kidnapping, not to mention torture and sodomy. If they ever caught him.

Starsky squatted down and scrutinized the stains. He could smell the foul odor of vomit, as well as sweat, sex and urine. He gagged, imagining Hutch tied to the frame, scared and hurting, vomiting up stomach acids. He gagged again, this time tasting the bile as it rose up into his mouth.

************************

Rip parked his car at the far side of the site, behind the crowd of workers who were waiting for the cops to leave so they could get back to work. He’d hoped to grab the cop, but now there were too many people around.

He got out of the car and mingled with the other men, hearing snatches of conversation that this was the lair of that guy who raped and killed men. Rip smiled. What would they say if they knew he was here, among them?

Two of the men started arguing. Tempers were fraying fast.

Rip heard more than one of them comment about the money they were losing by standing around. A few even said it was the killer’s fault, which gave him an idea. If he could get the workers fighting, surely the cop on guard would have to do something to stop them.

Rip walked over to the nearest man and punched him. The man staggered back, a look of utter shock on his face. He tripped over and knocked against another man, who roared angrily and began punching anyone in his path. The whole group erupted, shouting and fighting in mindless violence.

Rip sidestepped the battle, standing on the fringe of the fighting mob, waiting until the uniformed cop glanced over to see what was happening.

“Hey there!” the uniformed cop yelled, rushing over. to them, “Order! Stop fighting! This is an ongoing crime scene!”

Then Rip saw a head appear through the hatch to his lair. The older cop he had seen at many of his crime scenes hurried over to see what was going on.

“Clancy? What’s all the ruckus?” Patterson cried.

When the two cops were in the middle of the foray, Rip ran as fast as he could to the cordoned off area. He hoped that he could get inside before the cops managed to gain control of the fight. He reached the hatch and quickly climbed down the wooden staircase.

************************

Starsky heard footprints behind him. “Patterson, I thought I said I wanted to be alone.”

He turned around.

A huge, black figure stood silhouetted in the doorway. The temporary lighting the police had set up in the tunnel made it impossible to make out who was there.

“Who the hell are you? Identify yourself!” Starsky reached for his gun.

A deep, gruff voice said, “I believe you are looking for me. Your friend was very sweet. Are you as sweet as your friend?”

“What? You sick bastard.” Starsky pulled his gun out of the holster.

“I’ve got one of those, too. Your friend let me have his,” the voice mocked. “Wasn’t that kind of him?”

Starsky stepped back as the figure lumbered toward him. “Stop or I’ll shoot.”

Rip stopped his forward momentum, still bragging. “Detective Hutchinson was so sweet, so willing. He loved my little games. Begged me for more. He lived for my cock up his little virgin ass and he screamed so nicely.”

“Shut the fuck up, you arrogant shithead, you’re not going to last long. There are cops ringing this entire place,” snarled Starsky.

“He sucked so well,” Rip continued with a menacing smile. “Swallowed like a good little boy. You should be proud of him.”

“You pervert! -Preying on the weak and attacking from behind. Think you’re such a hot shot? Well, I’m standing right in front of you. What you gonna do about that?” Starsky shook his head, trying to expel the vile words from his brain. He wanted to kill this son of a bitch.

“It would be nice to have just one last fuck. We could have a threesome,” Rip fantasized. “You, me and him. What do you say, copper?”

Patterson appeared in the doorway, gun drawn. “Don’t move. Give it up! You can’t take us both.” He moved further into the room, circling Rip.

Black rage filled Starsky. He blinked, trying to clear the sweat from his eyes and gritted his teeth. How would Hutch be able to face this sick bastard in court?

“You haven’t answered my question, cop. How about it?” Rip took another step, gun raised.

Starsky squeezed the trigger of his pistol. The gunshot was deafening in the underground chamber.

Starsky’s weapon suddenly felt very heavy and he dropped his arm, the gun hanging loosely in his left hand.

Dazed, he watched as the huge body stopped mid-step, shuddered and hit the floor with a thud.

Patterson ran over to the suspect’s jerking body and knelt next to him just as a uniformed cop appeared in the doorway.

Patterson pressed his fingers into the suspect’s neck, obviously searching for a pulse. “Call an ambulance, Fuller.”

“Yes, sir.” The officer sprinted back the way he had come.

The suspect’s convulsions slowed and then stopped.

Patterson shook his head, his fingers against the man’s carotid. “Too late. He’s dead.”

“What? He can’t be. I aimed for his shoulder,” Starsky spluttered, horrified.

“Bullet hit him lower than that. Easy mistake, he’s a tall guy and the light was behind him.” He stood up, brushing off his hands as if the case was done as far as he was concerned.

Patterson’s tone made Starsky draw in a breath. It was almost conspiratorial. Like Patterson was saying that this is what I’m going to say happened. Oh God, he thinks that I shot the suspect deliberately. Starsky squatted down, breathing deeply.

“You don’t think that I…I would never do…,” he muttered. He was fully aware that he wasn’t finishing his sentences, his mind was flitting from thought to thought.

“No, I know. We’re the only two here. He had a gun pointed at you and you had no choice.” Patterson’s words hammered in Starsky’s ears.

Did I really shoot him in cold blood? Did I really kill a man to stop my partner from taking the stand so he wouldn’t have to go through this ordeal all over again? Starsky was beginning to doubt his own actions. He had felt rage. He had wanted to kill the S.O.B.

“Starsky, it’s over,” Patterson said soothingly, pulling him away from the body. “You shot him in self-defense. No other reason. Come on, we need to call this in.”

“The gun. It’s Hutch’s. He said so.” Starsky walked over to the dead man. Hutch’s Magnum was still clasped in the man’s hand.

“Leave it. It’s evidence. I doubt that Hutch will want it back.”

Hutch.

Starsky needed to get back to Hutch and tell him what had gone down. But Hutch would have to wait. He had to report to his superiors first. He had fired his gun in the line of duty, now he would have to justify his actions.

************************

Starsky stood in front of Captain Hesky’s large, wooden desk with his hands clasped behind his back facing Dobey and Hesky. Patterson was right next to Starsky, which felt odd since he was used to–he expected Hutch to be his back-up. He struggled to keep his face expressionless, he’s glad the guy is dead, but will his actions affect Hutch in any way?

Captain Hesky leaned back in his chair behind the desk and looked at Starsky.

“Detective Sergeant David Starsky, I understand that it was you who shot the suspect, Rip Mellor. Is this correct?”

Starsky clears his throat. “Yes, sir.”

“And what provoked you to take this extreme action?” Hesky asked.

“The suspect had Detective Hutchinson’s gun pointing at me, and he was advancing toward me in what I perceived to be a menacing fashion.”

“You were certain that he intended to shoot you?” Hesky wrote Starsky’s reply on a sheet of paper.

Starsky swallowed. Was I? “Yes, I am sure that he was going to pull the trigger.” Of course he was. I would never shoot a suspect in cold blood.

Captain Hesky turned to Patterson. “You witnessed this incident, Detective Patterson?”

“Yes,” replied Patterson.

“Talk me through your movements.” Hesky said setting down his pen to listen.

Captain Dobey shifted in his seat.

Starsky glanced over at Patterson. What was he was going to say? Would he back Starsky actions or imply, as he had at the scene, that Starsky had shot Rip intentionally.

“I entered the room and saw Detective Starsky facing the door, with his weapon drawn. I was behind the suspect.” Patterson raised his arm to illustrate what he was saying. “He had a gun aimed at Detective Starsky’s chest.”

“And you could clearly see his gun from your position?” Hesky asked with a frown.

“Yes. I moved to the left of the suspect, out of Detective Starsky’s firing line. This allowed me a clearer vision of the suspect,” Patterson answered.

Patterson’s answer shocked Starsky. He hadn’t even realized that Patterson had been in his line of fire. What had he been thinking? Rip had screwed with his head, clouded his judgment.

“And what was your assessment of the situation?” Hesky leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk.

“I had no doubt that the suspect intended to kill Detective Starsky.” Patterson added, glancing over at Starsky. “The only reason it was Detective Starsky’s bullet, and not mine, is because he was quicker on the trigger than I was.”

“Internal Affairs will need to speak to you both before you leave. Captain Dobey has to speak to his detective.” Hesky nodded at the other man..

Dobey stood up, with a somber expression. “Starsky, you know I have no choice but to place you on suspension until Internal Affairs has completed their investigations.”

Starsky nodded. Shit, he knew it was standard procedure, but he felt like the criminal here. That bastard had violated Hutch in the worst way imaginable and Starsky was the one being punished. His temper bubbling, Starsky struggled to keep control.

“I need your shield and weapon.” Dobey held out his hand.

Starsky was about to argue with Dobey, when he realized how unprofessional he would look if he challenged his superior in front of other officers, especially another captain.

He pulled his gun out of the holster and placed it on the desk. Looking Dobey straight in the eyes, he reached into his back pocket for his shield and pressed the leather wallet into Dobey’s outstretched palm.

“Starsky, see Internal Affairs before you leave. And I want you in my office at 10 am on Saturday,” Dobey said.

“Yes, Captain.”

************************

Starsky looked at his watch as he drove back to Hutch’s apartment. It had been over two hours since he had left Venice Place. Hutch would be frantic.

He tried to gather his thoughts. He was still doubting his motives for firing his gun. Had he really been in danger? Would the man have shot him with Hutch’s gun? Probably. And the pervert would most likely have gotten off on killing a cop with another cop’s gun. Especially the cop’s own partner.

Starsky pulled in behind Hutch’s beater and climbed slowly from the car. He pushed open the outside door and took the steps two at a time. Benjy was outside the apartment door, on the small landing at the top of the staircase.

“Hey, what you doing out here?” Starsky asked. He hadn’t expected anyone to be on guard duty.

Benjy smiled. “We thought it for the best. He was getting a little antsy with us inside. O’Rourke is out back in the parking lot. We’ll split now that you’re back, if that’s okay?”

Starsky put his hand on the other man’s arm and nodded. “Thanks.”

Benjy inclined his head, stepping aside so that Starsky could get through the door.

The smell of cooking greeted him. He sniffed, suddenly very hungry.

Hutch was asleep with his head lolled over the back of the couch and his mouth open. There was dribble collecting in a puddle under his left cheek.

Starsky grinned and crossed the room to the kitchen. There was a pot bubbling away on the stove but no Huggy Bear. After turning down the heat under the pot, Starsky poked his head through the open greenhouse door.

Huggy was kneeling by the large planter that Hutch had built a few months ago.

“Hey, Hug, what you up to?”

Huggy looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Hey, Starsk, my man. I noticed that Blondie had planted some herbs out here, and thought they would be a nice addition to the chicken dish I’m cooking up.”

Starsky frowned. “Just for him or is there enough for all of us?”

Huggy looked hurt. “Hey, man, you know I would never leave your belly out when there’s food around.” He stood, picked up a handful of green leaves from the floor and headed back to the stove. Huggy tore the leaves into small pieces and sprinkled them on top of the bubbling liquid.

“How much longer will it take, Hug? I need to speak to Hutch, alone. Do you mind?”

“One hour, tops. I was thinking of going down to that nice little deli that Hutch likes. Pick up some of his favorite nibbles. Ya dig?”

“Thanks.” Out of the corner of his eye, Starsky saw movement.

Hutch stretched.

Starsky smiled as he watched Hutch wipe away the saliva from his cheek. He walked slowly over to the couch. “Hey, partner. You have a good nap?”

Hutch pulled backwards slightly. Then he looked up at Starsky and smiled. “Must have dropped off. Was I asleep long?”

“Dunno, I just got back.”

Huggy walked past the two men to the door. “Keep an eye on the food, Starsky. I’ll be back soon. See you two later.” And he was gone.

Hutch combed his fingers through his ruffled hair. “Where did you run off to?”

Starsky wasn’t sure how to approach this, so he just started talking. “Patterson found the killer’s place.”

Hutch asked quietly, “how did they know it was his?”

Starsky swallowed. This was going to be harder than he thought. “Hutch, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Go on.”

“He knew because of the description you gave of the room you were kept in.” Starsky swallowed again. “And there were photographs.”

Hutch’s face blanched. “Photographs, of what?”

Starsky could see that Hutch already suspected what the answer was going to be. “Of you.” .

“Oh.” Hutch jumped up and rushed into the bathroom.

Starsky stayed where he was, listening to the sounds of Hutch retching. He waited until Hutch finally appeared in the bathroom doorway. His face was pale and his hands were shaking as he wiped his face with a cloth.

“And were there any clues to his whereabouts?” Hutch asked, his voice low and shaky.

“He’s dead, Hutch. He was there. I shot him.” The details could wait. Hutch didn’t need to know what had gone down yet.

Hutch sunk to the floor. “Dead. How? Why?”

“He had a gun. It was either me or Patterson. I was quicker.”

“M–my, my gun?” Hutch stammered. His face went even paler that it had been moments ago.

“Yeah. Your gun, your shield, your clothes. All your stuff was there. Had to leave them for evidence.”

“Don’t want them back. Don’t need them any more,” Hutch said in a decisive voice.

“No, we can get you a new shield, another gun.”

“You are not listening, Starsk. I said I don’t need them anymore,” Hutch roared, his face red. He struggled to his feet and shot into the greenhouse.

His speed surprised Starsky. He quickly got up and followed his partner.

Hutch was polishing the leaves of one of his big plants with his back to the door.

Starsky watched as Hutch’s shoulders shook. He knew that his buddy was crying.

“Hutch. You okay, buddy? Come here. You don’t have to make any decisions just yet.” Starsky sat down on the day bed that was pushed up against the far wall.

Hutch turned and stared at him.

Starsky heart wrenched when he saw the stricken expression on Hutch’s face. The watery eyes, and the tear tracks down his cheeks.

Hutch stumbled toward Starsky. He flopped heavily onto the bed and lunged at his partner.

Putting his arms around Hutch, Starsky pulled him closer.

“Starsky. You do realize that I’m going to resign, don’t you? I can’t be a cop anymore. I’m scared of my own shadow.”

Starsky pushed Hutch up just enough so that he could look into his eyes. “Hutch, you can be a cop again. You can beat this. It will take time, and I’m going to help you. Trust me.”

The apartment door slammed.

Hutch jumped at the sound and smiled sheepishly at Starsky.

“Only me,” Huggy shouted from the kitchen.

Starsky smiled at Hutch. “Come on, buddy. Baby steps, one at a time. You trust me, right?”

Hutch smiled back. “With my life, buddy. With my life.”

Starsky knew that whatever his reasons had been for pulling the trigger, he had made the right decision.

 

The End