~ Tag, You’re It! ~
(By: Shawne
til Dawn)
He didn’t
know what woke him, didn’t know if it was the sunlight streaming through the
crack between the drawn curtains or the incessant ringing of the phone on the
small table beside his bed. Whatever the case, Starsky groaned softly and
irritably reached for the handle of the phone, his left hand fumbling blindly
over the nightstand, heavy dark lashes pressed tightly against his cheeks as
his brows drew together morphing his once relaxed features into a scowl, right
before he buried his head under the pillow to block out the offensive light.
“H’lo?” the dark haired detective mumbled groggily; dragging
the receiver under the pillow, nearly toppling the phone from the small
nightstand, his mind barely registering the voice on the other end, as the
residual heaviness of sleep attempted to drag him under once more. God, he
was so tired and his head felt like it was going to explode.
“Starsk? Starsky where the hell have you been?” It was Hutch, and by
the sound of his voice the brunet could tell that he was upset. The blond’s
usually soothing voice was harsh with emotion and it grated on Starsky’s
nerves.
The curly
haired brunet grunted and lifted the edge of the pillow to peek at the digital
clock.
“Starsky?
What the hell is going on? Where were you all this time?” Hutch demanded;
pressing the handle of the phone tightly against his ear as he listened to the
shuffling on the other end, his anxious voice raised a notch as he heard his
partner’s soft grunts, “Starsk?”
“Sleepin’.
. . where else would I be? And you don’t have to yell . . .I
can hear ya jus’ fine!” Starsky grumbled, dragging a
hand tiredly through his tousled sable curls. The weary brunet slowly lifted
his lashes, dark blue peeping out between lids raised at half-mast to stare
dazedly at the wall ahead of him when he heard the blond’s exasperated sigh
through the telephone.
The curly
haired cop sighed heavily too before he finally said, “What’s wrong Hutch huh?
It’s still early . . . we ain’t late, so . . .”
“What’s wrong?”
Hutch reiterated, the harshness in his voice indicating how annoyed he was with
his partner, “You’ve been missing for over a week now and you ask me what’s
wrong? Starsk . . . we’ve been searching the city for you . . . there’s been an
APB out on you this whole time and you ask me what’s wrong?”
“Wha’?” Starsky interjected, leaning forward, a frown
marring his handsome face as he puzzled over what his partner had just
revealed, “Missin’? What are ya talkin’
about Hutch, I was just with ya last night . . . at Huggy’s . . . pizza and
beer . . .‘member?”
The heavy
crease between the blond’s brows deepened as he frowned even more, his mind
racing, “Starsk . . . that was over a week ago . . . we had pizza and beer at
Huggy’s the night before you went missing . . . the night before I found . . .”
The tall blond stopped himself, realizing his partner had no clue whatsoever as
to all the things that had happened since then.
The dark
haired detective heard the pause in his partner’s voice and he shook his head to
clear the residual grogginess he still felt there as he tried to concentrate on
what Hutch was saying. He immediately regretted the motion as the jolting
movement caused punishing pain to flare in the side of his skull. Starsky
winced, gasping softly as he pressed his fingers against his temples to help
alleviate the throbbing pressure that drilled into his head, squinting
his eyes against the glare that came from the window.
“Starsk?” Ever attuned to his partner, Hutch could
sense that his dark haired companion was in pain, “You okay buddy?”
“Yeah . . .
what were you sayin’?” the brunet mumbled, angling
his head away from the window’s light to look down at his fingers which seemed
stiff and swollen, his dark blue eyes widening in horror as he saw the light
blue tee shirt he was wearing, “Oh my god . . .” he whispered, his free hand
reaching out to touch the dark stains that covered the front of his shirt, his
breathing growing short and rapid as he tried to process and understand what it
was that he was seeing. He knew it was blood, he knew it wasn’t fresh for it
was dried and crusty and stiff, and a quick check to his abdomen confirmed that
the blood wasn’t his.
“Starsk?
Talk to me . . . what’s going on?”
Hutch’s
voice coming through the receiver drew Starsky’s attention back to the phone he
still held in his hand and he pressed it tightly to his ear, taking comfort in
knowing that Hutch was on the other end.
“I don’
know . . .” the dark haired detective whispered softly, ignoring the burning
ache in his limbs and the pounding tempo in his head as he slowly stood,
holding onto the edge of the nightstand as he wavered unsteadily, his free hand
unconsciously flicking against the dark patch that stained the front of his
clothes, “Hutch,
I . . . I got blood all over me . . . all over my shirt . . . and it’s not
mine. Hutch . . .what the hell’s goin’ on?” the
brunet queried, echoing the same question Hutch had asked him just minutes ago,
his dark blue eyes drawn once again to the dark, grisly stains that covered the
soft blue fabric.
Hutch could
feel his skin crawl as the visual picture of his partner covered with blood
flashed across his mind’s eye, he could hear the contained panic in his
friend’s voice and the blond immediately lowered his own voice, speaking softly
to soothe his dark haired counterpart, “It’s okay buddy . . .l-look,
stay right there . . . I’ll be right over . . . you ah . . . you haven’t been
out to the living room yet have you?
“No . . .
not ye . . .” Starsky’s stormy blue eyes shifted to the closed door of his
bedroom and he stopped himself in mid-sentence, dark brows bridging together
again as he wracked his brains, not remembering how the door got closed in the
first place.
The brunet
usually made it a point to never shut his door . . . an old childhood habit he
and Nicky both shared. After their dad had been gunned down, there was a time
when both boys suffered nightmares and their ma had just left their bedroom
door open so that she could hear their soft cries and comfort them in the
darkness of their room.
“Stark?”
Hutch’s soft, gentle voice brought the detective back from his unwanted
childhood memories.
“Door’s
closed . . .and ya know it wasn’t me who closed it!”
Starsky quietly said, lifting the phone while supporting the receiver in the
crook between his shoulder and neck as he grabbed his gun from the nightstand’s
top drawer, squinting as he padded softly by the window towards the door, his
detective senses kicking in, his adrenalin picking up as he reached for the
doorknob . . .
“Starsk . .
. hold on,” Hutch said suddenly, the urgency in the blond’s voice stopped the
brunet in his tracks just as Starsky turned the knob and threw back the door
which opened to the living room, cobalt blue eyes widening as he took in the yellow
crime scene tape that ran across the front door and around a large area rug
that had a huge brownish-red stain in the middle of it, the drawn outline of a
body still clearly evident against the threads of the carpet.
The dark
haired detective leaned against the doorframe, a small gasp escaping his lips
as his back slid against the hard wooden surface of the frame, dragging the
phone with him as he sunk slowly to the floor, feeling dizzy and weak all of a
sudden, his eyes taking in the scene of a crime that had obviously taken place
in his own apartment; he could feel his mind racing, trying to make sense of
what it was he was seeing as a strange ringing started up in his ears.
“Starsk? Starsky!” Hutch called out, his heart racing as he heard the
soft gasp that came from his partner, knowing he was seeing the horrific
remnants of what he, himself, had stumbled upon almost a week ago when he drove
over to the brunet’s house after his many phone calls remained unanswered. His
mind drifted back to that day when he first found his partner missing . . .
Seeing
the young woman sprawled out on the floor of his partner’s living room was
something Hutch would never forget. He had raced over after his last call, his
Starsky sense on high alert, worry making him drive recklessly until he reached
his partner’s place, using his copy of the house key to let himself in. There was blood all over, on the white washed
walls, on the curtains, on the sofa, blood covering the dead woman’s body,
staining the carpet beneath her as it leaked out from the multiple stab wounds
that littered her slight form, her sightless green eyes forever locked upon the
ceiling, the look of fear and pain and horror forever frozen like a macabre
mask upon her pretty face; her mouth opened in a silent scream that still made
the blond detective sit up in bed at night, his own mouth opened, as he called
out for his partner in the darkness of his bedroom. It shook him to realize
that Starsky was missing, that his partner and lifetime friend might be
somewhere waiting and hoping for Hutch to rescue him, that he might be hurting
or wounded or worse, that he might be dead and his body never retrieved.
Not
knowing was killing him. The fruitless searching for his partner’s whereabouts
this past week nearly drove the blond detective insane with worry and fear. The
desperation and despair, the running on false leads, the sleepless nights, the
knife with Starsky’s fingerprints all over the handle; evidence that pointed to
his partner’s involvement with the murder of the young woman found in his
apartment, the frustration of not knowing what had happened to his friend; all
of these made Hutch pointlessly call the brunet’s place once more, like he had
done everyday since Starsky went MIA, hope rising in his heart as he dialed the
number he had committed to memory a long time ago.
In the
back of his mind, Hutch could feel the same niggling fear and doubt that always
accompanied his dialing and he prepared himself for the pain of hearing the
endless ringing on the other end. The tall blond purposely squashed down the
dark anger and dread that had taken over his soul as the days passed into a
week, as the leads grew colder with each day that went by. He was a cop. He
knew that Starsky’s chances of being found grew slimmer as each day melted into
another, and a part of him wanted to scream out in frustration, especially
since the newspapers now had his partner’s face on the front page, allegedly
accusing him of being a cop gone bad. It was all Hutch
could do to keep himself from losing it when the other detectives looked at him
in sympathy and compassion as he walked into the squad room yesterday. His mind
was racing a mile a minute, so the unexpected shock of hearing someone pick up
on the other end of Starsky’s phone this morning nearly did him in.
Hearing
his partner’s muffled, but familiar “H’lo”, shook
Hutch to the core, instantly releasing the frustrated rage and anxiety that he
had kept in check this past week, that red hot emotion that kept him fired up
to continue his search, that made him unable to sleep or eat, that gave him the
strength to carry on even though his heart was broken came surging to the
forefront, and Hutch couldn’t disguise the anxiety as he spoke to his newly
found partner, but hearing the confusion in Starsky’s voice and the soft gasp
he made as he saw the grisly scene that awaited him in his own living room made
the sensitive blond want to reach out and shelter his bewildered friend.
“Starsky?”
Hutch said softly once more, “You okay? Hold on . . . I’ll be right there. Starsk? You with me?”
“Yeah . . .
yeah jus’ . . . jus’ gimme a minute,” Starsky said softly, his mind befuddled
and unclear, trying desperately to fill in the blanks as his head pounded
incessantly. The brunet swallowed down
the bile that rose in his throat, the sight of all that blood smeared over his
familiar belongings made him feel queasy and nauseous, “What happened here
Hutch?” the dark haired detective whispered, “Wha’ .
. . what the hell happened here . . . and why don’t I remember anythin’?”
Hutch bit
his lip in trepidation, “I was hoping you could tell me buddy.” The silence on
the other end of the line was deafening, broken only by the rapid breathing of
the shocked brunet, and that soft sound spurred the blond into action, “Look,
just hang on Starsk okay? It’ll be all
right. Just hang on and once I get there, you and I can figure this whole thing
out like we always do. Me and thee okay?” Hutch said
softly, hoping those three familiar words would hold his partner together until
he got there.
“Yeah . . .
‘kay . . .
jus’ get over here Hutch ‘cuz I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Starsky whispered uneasily before he
quietly hung up the phone.
(By: Karen B.)
(A game within a game)
Hutch drove as fast as he could down the road toward
his partner's apartment, the skin prickling at the back of his neck. After an entire week of worry and fear he had
finally found Starsky. He told himself that this wasn't another dream, he really had talked to Starsky.
For over a week Hutch had been searching for clues.
Searching for his missing friend, high and low, worried sick Starsky would show
up dead. Over the course of the week, Hutch had nightmare after nightmare.
Starsky, with a knife in his chest lying in a shallow mud filled ditch.
Starsky, his body bent out of shape smashed beneath a pile of scrap metal.
Starsky, waterlogged and tinged blue, tangled within the stringy strands of
slimy seaweed. Worse, what if he never found his best friend's body, and Starsky
was just gone forever? Hutch shook his head, annoyed and disgusted by his
daydreams.
How was it that they had gone from lighthearted
laughter, hot pizza, and cold beer, to a dead woman lying in a puddle of blood
in his partner's home? How had Starsky's
prints shown up all over the murder weapon? Where had his partner disappeared
to? Seemingly skipped town without a trace?
Now Starsky had shown back up, very much alive, and
answering his telephone with a simplistic, 'hello.' Completely blind to it all,
awakened from sleep, as if it were any other day. Hutch shivered, feeling as
though he were trapped in an icebox, as though somehow he was to blame for this
mess. The whole thing was eerie, like a monstrous fairytale, like some sort of
sick baited game, and all Hutch had done for over a
week was nibble around a hook.
What was going on here? It was all so absurd.
"Damn it! I don't get it!!" Hutch punched
the steering wheel, jamming
his thumb. "Ouch!" He popped the injured appendage into
his mouth and sucked on it.
Trying to stay focused on the road, he squinted his
eyes, ahead of him he could see a lump in the middle
of the pavement. Hutch was going way too fast, and he eased his foot off the
accelerator as he weaved around a dead cat, the sight of the blood spattered
animal made the acid in his stomach flare.
The sun shown bright, but the air felt unseasonably
chilly, as it blew through his partially rolled down window. Hutch had a talent
for sensing when things were wrong. And even though he'd heard his partner's voice,
knew it was Starsky, knew this not to be another dream, it was just all too
simple. Starsky showing back up. Sound asleep in his
bed. Not knowing a thing of the woman who'd been brutally murdered in his very
living room. Thinking it just another day. Not
realizing he now was a murder suspect, with his prints on the murder weapon.
How was Hutch going to prove the price of this woman's blood wouldn't and
couldn't be paid by that of his partner's freedom?
This was so screwed up, and Hutch could only imagine
how Starsky had to be feeling right about now. That thought made him press
harder on the accelerator speeding past hedges, water fountains, donut shops,
and delis.
Hutch's gaze swung toward the radio, his body tensed,
torn between being a cop and being a best friend. All the evidence pointed a steady finger at
Starsky. Hutch would never believe his partner was involved in the murder of
that woman. A woman they had yet to identify. Starsky was a good man, with ten
years on the force, the son of a cop, a man with an enlarged heart whose door
was always open. No matter what proof
was found, Hutch would never believe it.
Unshed tears swelled in Hutch's eyes as he reached for
the mike, knowing he had to do his duty. "Zebra Three to control, come in."
"Control, go ahead Zebra Three."
"Patch me through to Captain Dobey."
"Ten-four, Zebra."
Hutch glanced into the rearview mirror, his own sky
blue eyes guiltily skewing his soul.
"
Hutch swallowed the hunk of marble lodged in his
throat, he knew telling Dobey of Starsky's whereabouts would bring an arrest
warrant with his partner's name on it.
"Captain, you can take the APB off of
Starsky." Hutch let his thumb slip off the mike.
"You found him. Where the blazes
has he been? Is he okay? Why hasn't he called in sooner?"
"Sir!" Hutch
yelled, then took a calming breath, he knew Dobey too, didn't believe Starsky
capable of murder. "I called his apartment for the thousandth time, didn't
expect an answer. He's there. Was asleep. He seemed
groggy, out of it, has no idea about any of this. Thinks it's the morning after
I saw him last. Captain--" Hutch's voice was full of sorrow, "he saw
the murder scene." Hutch stopped his transmission.
"How's he doing with it?" Dobey's
concern evident in his tone.
"I think he's in shock. I'm almost there now.
I--I just needed to call it in." A lone tear couldn't resist making its
way down Hutch's cheek.
"Hutch, you're a good man. So is your partner.
We'll clear this up, but we will do it by the book, you copy that?"
'The book.'
It was no ordinary coffee table read. It was the
orderly steel innards of society’s rules and regulations, bound and neatly
typed with its dos and its don'ts. Its rights and its wrongs.
Its loopholes and iron clad laws. Most times 'the book' worked. Most times
Hutch was proud to uphold its contents to the very letter, but this--where the
hell did his partner fit into this?
"
Hutch shook his head, and spoke into the mike,
"Captain, Starsky's been out there all alone, for too long. I don't know
what shape he is in. Mentally or physically. I-I think
he's in some kind of state of shock. I
need to see him first. Talk to him." Hutch paused to drive his point home.
"Alone!"
"Hutch, I can't--"
"Cap, this is Starsky we're talking about,"
Hutch pleaded his case.
The radio was silent a moment, and all Hutch heard was
the smooth hum of the Torino, and the steady beat of his heart, as he sucked in
a breath and held it. Hutch's palms were cold and sweaty, as they gripped
tighter to the steering wheel waiting for the answer he hoped he would get.
"One hour, son. You've got
one hour."
Hutch blew out
his long held breath.
"Hutch, I can't hang my ass out there longer than
that." Even through his anxiety Hutch had to smile, Dobey never swore. It
only went to show how distressed the man was.
He too knew Starsky couldn't be involved with such a brutal act.
"After that, Hutch, I have to send in the boys in
blue," Dobey said, keeping his voice stoic.
"I understand. Zebra Three
out."
Sweat now accumulated in Hutch's armpits and ran cold
down his ribs. His stomach muscles bunched into coils, as he listened to the
lonely sound of the rubber tires gripping the road.
Hutch pressed harder on the gas, bringing the steel
cheetah beneath his butt up to
Hutch usually took his time on this twenty minute
drive to his friend's home. Enjoying the different smells, the shade of the
trees, the newly mowed grass, the fresh roasted coffee
he sipped. The images served to calm his cop's instincts that were scaring the
shit out of him.
"Stay calm, Starsk." Hutch's
words came tumbling out his mouth, filling the silence
of the car. "I'm here, partner. I'm here," he said in a shaky voice,
finally pulling up to the curb of Starsky's apartment.
Hutch dropped the
"Sorry," Hutch mumbled as he shuffled past a
silver haired man with a cane, who was just exiting the building, and shot up
the staircase.
"Hang on, buddy. Hang on."
Hutch took the steps two at a time, but not without
some difficulty, as his legs trembled like thunder rolled through them. He
couldn't move his feet fast enough, feeling as if he were ankle deep in quicksand.
Hutch stopped short as soon as he reached Starsky's
apartment, and took in a couple large gulps of air when he saw the door was
slightly ajar. Alarm bells immediately went off in his head, as he drew out his
weapon, cocked and loaded. With silent grace, and years of training, Hutch
slowly opened the door the rest of the way. In a glance, things looked to be as
they had been left. Dried blood still covered the whitewashed walls, sofa and
carpet. Everything inside seemed the same, everything except for the yellow
crime scene tape that had ran across the front entranceway and around the drawn
outline of the body. The yellow plastic
now lay crumpled in a pile shoved in a corner on the floor.
Looking to Starsky's bedroom door, Hutch noted it was
closed. Starsky had opened it while he was talking with him on the phone. His partner had seen the blood splattered
room, shocked into horror, but now the door was shut once more. Had Starsky
closed it again? Wanting to hide from the horrible scene that had greeted him?
"Starsky!" Hutch
blurted out.
When he got no immediate answer, Hutch felt a deep
sense of danger, and with the same silent grace he used to enter the apartment
he began to clean sweep it.
Finding no one, and nothing else out of order, he
looked to the only room he hadn't checked. Starsky's bedroom.
Why hadn't Starsky come out? He had to have heard him. He would have been
waiting for Hutch on pins and needles. He wouldn't have closed the bedroom
door. He never did that.
Hutch cautiously made his way toward Starsky's
bedroom, now feeling knee deep in the quicksand. Something ugly and bitter rose
up into his throat, but he swallowed it back down, and reached for the doorknob.
He wrapped his fingers around the cold brass knob, and let his hand linger
there only a second before twisting it and wildly thrusting the door open. It
banged on the opposite wall, and in a show of force Hutch stepped in taking an
unshakable stance, feet spread apart, and his gun held steady out in front of
him.
He shot a glance around the room, his eyebrows raised
in bewilderment. The bed was neatly made. Starsky's stonewashed jeans were
draped over a chair in the corner of the room. On the nightstand was a glass
half full of water, the phone in its cradle, the alarm clock properly set. Nothing was out of place. Everything was the same as it
had been the day Hutch had found the woman's body. Even Starsky's watch still
sat where it had been left on the nightstand table. Not a drop of blood or
evidence had been found in here.
"Starsky?" Hutch
wheezed out, stepping further into the room and circling it.
He wasn't dreaming. Starsky had called. Had begged
Hutch in confusion and pain to explain what was going on. To
hurry and get to him. Hutch holstered his weapon and frantically paced
the room. Methodically he, checked the closet, peered up under the bed, pulled
back the curtains and checked the window, hoping to find something, anything
that would explain what the hell was going on.
Nothing added up.
Finding no trace of foul play, Hutch hopelessly stood
still next to the bed, drawing his fingers through his unwashed hair, and
clamping his eyes shut. "Starsk, where the fuck are
you?"
Feeling uneasy, he peered up at the mirror above
Starsky's bed, what he saw there nearly took him under the quicksand. Something was duct taped to the mirror,
wrapped inside a piece of cloth, and soaked in red.
"Jesus--" Hutch held his own gaze, as his
hunted blue eyes reflected back at him. "No." He staggered back a
step, and his heart skipped a beat, as Starsky's words vibrated through his
soul.
What happened here Hutch?” the dark haired detective
whispered, “Wha’ . . . what the hell happened here .
. . and why don’t I remember anythin’?”
Hutch couldn't move, a cold cloud had settled over
him, as he began to shiver. The muscles at the corners of his mouth twitched,
and for a moment he didn’t feel like the tough cop he should have been. He felt
more like a lost little boy. Was this some sort of sick wild fantasy? But who? Why? Starsky had been here. He could feel it in his
chest, could almost reach out and touch him, but now
he was gone again. To where? Hutch had found Starsky. Only to
lose him again?
The phone suddenly rang, and it startled Hutch out of
his petrified state, the strong cop in him came back, as he swiftly nabbed the
receiver.
"Gawdamn
it, Starsky!" Hutch's tone was full of troubled aggression.
"Where the hell are you?"
"
Hutch frowned. this wasn't
Starsky. "You're talking to him," Hutch said, pressing the phone
closer against his ear, trying to recognize who this was, trying to hear any
little key sound in the backdrop.
"Good." The stranger's voice continued,
going straight to the point. "Meet me at the old boat factory. Pier eighty.
"Who--who is this?" Hutch urgently asked,
his brain flooding with figments of what could be wrapped up in that blood-red
cloth tapped against Starsky's bedroom mirror.
"You have one hour! Tag, you're it, pig,"
the man laughed wickedly. "I have what you're looking for."
"What?"
Hutch wanted to lash out at this person. Drag him through the receiver, beat him with his own words. "What have you done to my partner?"
Hutch demanded unconsciously clenching his fist.
"Come alone or--" there was a breathy pause.
"Or?" Hutch
angrily growled, glancing up at the mirror again.
"Or-- you'll find your partner -- dead -- in an
alley."
Then there was nothing more than a dial tone.
Hutch dropped
the phone to the floor as though it had suddenly burst into flames, burning his
hand, his poisonous blue eyes reflecting back at him in the mirror.
(By: Brook)
Hutch
stared at the mirror hoping that it was just something he was seeing that
really wasn’t there – a mirage or a sick joke. He walked over slowly, now
knowing he wasn’t dreaming, and, taking his right hand he gently picked up the
blood soaked cloth taped to the mirror. He looked at it carefully; his heart in
his mouth and started to open it with trembling fingers
.
”Oh my god,” was all he could say, as he stared transfixed at the contents. In
the cloth were Starsky’s 2 silver rings, now unrecognizable as that white metal
was now covered in a red patina of blood.
Hutch
walked silently over to the bed and sat on the edge, his knees weak and his
heart racing faster and faster in his chest, threatening to cut off his
breathing. He felt dizzy and sick to his stomach and he leaned forward,
lowering his head and taking deep breaths until he could get himself more
tightly under control. Hutch put the cloth down not knowing what to do. Should
he call Dobey? Tell him about the phone call or should he just leave the
apartment now without making any contact?
Hutch
struggled with the answers, wanting someone to tell him what to do, someone to
shout out the answer so that he could follow blindly. But it wasn’t happening.
He struggled with the reality of the situation and finally decided to leave and
meet this other person whoever it was, hoping for the best. All he wanted to do
is get Starsky back.
He
figured that when he didn’t show up with Starsky that Dobey would have a car
sent there and find the rings and get them tested to see if it was Starsky’s
blood on them. He had been there before, waiting for
the results of blood tests as Marcus and his clan had taken his partner and
written his name STARSKY in huge, trickily red letters on the mirror of the
washroom in the courthouse. Hutch made his final decision and acted on it,
going into full gear, slamming the door to Starsky’s apartment and running to
his car.
****************************************************************************
Starsky
woke up in a dimly lit room lying on a bed of sorts. As he looked down he
realized it wasn’t so much a bed, as a filthy mattress lying on the bare
floorboards of a small room, which was empty of other furniture.
The
first thing he noticed was that there were 2 other people in the room with him
and not knowing who they were he decided to lay still and pretend he was still
sleeping as he tried to figure out what happened. Hutch was coming for him. He
thought he knew that. He was waiting for him, waiting for his partner to take
him home.
His
next thought as he surreptitiously lifted his head from the dirty mattress was
that, ‘God his head hurt’. It hurt so
bad it felt like it could just crack in half. Then the memories started to come
back to him. He was waiting for Hutch when he heard the door creak and two
masked men came into his bedroom. He tried to get out of the bed where he gone
to after he’d spoken to Hutch. Seeing the blood and mess in his living room had
shocked him to the core and he needed to lie down.
The
men had entered quietly and surprised him wrestling him to the ground. He tried
to struggle with them, but he felt so damned weak and as he tried to land a
blow. They punched him in the mouth and stomach, making the breath whistle
through his teeth as he tried to draw oxygen into his tortured lungs. He knew
he was out numbered and he remembered the voices now. They sounded so familiar
to him. Names he thought? Did he hear a name? No he didn’t hear anything.
He
looked around the room again through half open eyes seeing the emptied coffee
cups lying on the ground and the wrappers of what looked to be a week’s
worth of candy strewn across the floor. He knew he was somewhere on the docks
because he was able to hear the sounds of boats going up and down the shipping
channel. There was a window high up on
the wall that was shining light through the room, making him blink. For a brief
second he panicked thinking Hutch was on his way to his place, wherever it was.
What if they took him? What if they hurt him? He needed to know. He began to
move, feeling the ropes tearing at the flesh of his wrists and his ankles as he
discovered they were tied tightly together. A heavy chain was also fastened
around his waist, the links digging into his muscles and making it
uncomfortable to lie on the bed.
”Hey looks like he’s waking up. Think you better call
the boss and let him know?” With that one of the guys walked over to the far
end of the room and made a very quick phone call.
”He’s up boss, what do you want us to do now?”
”Okay we wait gotcha”.
Starsky heard the phone clicking down he saw the guy walking towards him. He
felt big hands yanking his head back and stared at the cold eyes looking into
his.
”You better just shut up and do as your told you got that?”
Starsky
just nodded his head not wanting any more pain in that particular region. Just
as the guy let Starsky’s head go a gray haired man walked purposefully into the
room.
“Good evening, Mr. Coyle,” came a voice from behind. Starsky recognized him immediately. He
backtracked to the last time he and Hutch saw him and Coyle telling him he
would be back.
“Well let’s see here. How have you been feeling Mr. Starsky? Coyle walked up to
him staring down at the bound brunet.
“What the fuck do you think your doing, Coyle” Starsky said, trying to
sound as cocky as he could, considering the situation
he was in.
“Well, now Mr. Starsky…or may I call you
David? You know, David you have been a guest with us for the last week and
if I do say so myself we have treated you with the
utmost kindness and respect. Well of course my boys got a little carried away
today. I must apologize. Have you figured any of this out yet David’? I mean do
you realize why you’re here? Well let’s just say that incident that we had
earlier? Well we won’t let that happen again. I mean how you escaped. Well with the new chain, lets see to it that
it doesn’t happen then we won’t have to resort to the measure we did earlier,
ok? Coyle walked passed Starsky towards the window.
”Where’s Hutch” Starsky asked. “So help me Coyle when I get out of here I will
personally kill you if you laid one finger on him”. Starsky struggled against
the bonds holding him down, determined to get at the evil man and make him
understand that messing with his partner was one step too far
‘Well now David, you shouldn’t worry about that, we’re gonna let you do all the
work this time, and with that Coyle walked out and into another room.
(By: Kirsty
Welsh)
Starsky
tried to force himself up off the mattress, the chain jingling against the hot
water pipe he’d been attached to and the padlock weighing down the links. With
his wrists tied together in front of him and fastened to the chain at his waist
and his ankles also bound together he didn’t get very far and the movements
caused his head to hurt so that he felt a pile driver was being driven into his
temples. Matt Coyle! So the rat was finally out of prison and back on the
streets. After he and Hutch had ruined his little empire building scheme. Coyle
had told them he’d do time and come out rested and ready to start again, while
Starsky and the blond would be older more tired and probably non the wiser.
They’d expected him to come out and relocate, perhaps up north towards
The two men
still in the room with him laughed at his pitiful struggles and calmly one of
them walked over and knocked him back against the dirty bedding as he yelled
out a string of curse words, tailing off into a gasp and a sob. He had no idea
where he was, no idea how he’d gotten there and no idea why Coyle should be on
the scene, although the idea of him wanting retribution against the cops rang
true enough. His memories of his bedroom seemed far away now and Coyle’s
admission of his escape made the chains, bonds and headache make sense. Somehow
he must have escaped and gotten back to his place. But if he had, how had he
done it and why hadn’t he called Hutch right away? Shit! His head was so
screwed!
The two men
went back to their card game, satisfied their captive
was going no further then the end of the chain. They’d laughed when they’d
gotten his limp, unconscious body back to the warehouse, but the grins had left
their faces when their boss had told them another mistake would cost them their
lives. That was one thing about Mr. Coyle. He kept his word and his word was
law. He kept his men on their toes and no-one ever knew who’d be the next to be
sold down the river to the heat. So they’d bought the length of chain and lock
from the chandler’s yard and had chained their captive to the pipes, making
sure the links were good and tight and ensuring the rest of his bonds were
secure. Now, Starsky’s body carried several link shaped bruises around his back
and sides and his writs and ankles were swollen and raw. And now they waited
for Coyle to carry out the next part of his heinous plan – the death of the
blond one.
That was
what was so clever. No-one would ever be able to pin the death on them. Coyle
had had Starsky taken early enough to start his conditioning well in advance
and he’d been trained on a couple of unsuspecting and helpless victims until
Coyle was sure the brainwashing and the drug had worked. And now he’d summoned
the curly haired detective’s partner to the boat shed and was expecting
fireworks.
Starsky
stared up at the ceiling trying desperately to remember anything. Facts; faces; names. Nothing came to him, the last week
being a mere blur and it scared him almost more that the crisping and discolored
blood on the front of his tee shirt. He closed his eyes and prayed that the
blond would be clever enough to bring backup. If he had truly been gone a week,
surely Dobey would have had a search started for him.
************************************************************
Hutch
floored the gas pedal as he neared the boathouse, needing to get there to check
his curly haired hellion of a partner was ok, although he still couldn’t
understand the brunet’s connection to the dead body in his apartment. As the
shed came into view, he lifted his foot off the pedal and braked sharply,
finally swinging the powerful red car to a halt at the side of the open and
inviting door. Slowly he checked out the building from the confines of the
vehicle, taking his cannon of a gun out of its holster and checking each
chamber carried its deadly load of lead and there was one in the pipe. He
thumbed on the safety. Cocked and locked they called it and the split second it
saved in bringing the weapon up to shoot had saved his life more than once. He
pushed the gun down the waistband of his jeans and slowly and quietly got out
of the car. As he walked towards the boathouse door he saw a movement to his
left and a man dressed in black tee shirt and black pants approached him. Hutch
started to reach for his gun, but the man was faster and showed him the Beretta
in his hand. Slowly, Hutch brought both hands into the open and up to shoulder
height, seeing another man approaching him from the other side. They flanked the
flaxen haired cop as they directed him into the dark shed and over to a small
room in the corner. As they got to the door an alarmingly familiar voice rang
out.
‘To be sure
it’s good to be seeing your face, Detective Hutchinson’.
Hutch
whirled around at the Irish brogue and glared at Coyle as the white haired man
smiled an irritating smile at him. ‘Coyle!’
The man
gave a small bow. ‘I’m flattered that you remember a poor lowly two bit
criminal like myself’ he muttered sarcastically.
‘Perhaps you remember our last meeting too?’
‘Only too
well’ the blond ground out, berating himself for now following Dobey’s advice
and getting back up. The two men in black pushed him towards the door of the
small room and he walked cautiously through it, Coyle bringing up the rear,
wanting to see the Nordic cop’s reaction at the occupant.
Hutch took
in the room with one sweep of his ice blue eyes and they settled in shocked
horror on the chained, bound and filthy man on the dirty mattress. Starsky was
curled on his side, facing away from the door and as he heard noises, he turned
his indigo eyes stormy as he saw his partner.
‘Oh God, Hutch….no!’ his voice full of despair. Why the hell had the blond not just
followed procedure and gotten himself some reinforcements?
‘Good to
see you too partner’ Hutch said, keeping his voice level. He was shocked at the
condition Starsky was in and angry at seeing the brunette tied and chained like
a wild animal.
‘Now that
we’ve had the fond introductions, perhaps we can get down to business’ Coyle
said strutting into the middle of the room. He looked from one detective to the
other, but Hutch ignored him and crossed the room to kneel by the bed, ignoring
the sounds of weapons cocking behind him. He reached down and put his hand on
his partner’s arm.
‘You OK Gordo. What the hell’s happened?’
Starsky
tried to smile back, but it was a shadow of the usual lop sided grin. He was
scared and he knew he couldn’t hide it from the blond. ‘Dunno’ he said softly.
‘Hoping you could tell me?’
Rough hands
pulled Hutch away from the bed and to the middle of the room.
‘That’s
what I always liked about you two. The sickening brotherhood you shared. It
makes me want to puke’.
‘Jealousy
won’t get ya far’ the brunet said softly and braced himself as one of Coyle’s
goons kicked out at him, catching him on the side above the chain. He gasped,
but bit back the yelp.
His
assailant looked down at him in disgust. ‘Mr. Coyle wasn’t speaking to you’.
Hutch tried
to get to his partner, but the men held him back and he struggled in their
grip. Coyle laughed.
‘What would
be the worst thing to happen to two such close guys?’ he said conversationally.
‘What could possibly drive a wedge between the Metro’s finest huh? Maybe, the ultimate?’
Hutch
glared at him. ‘Don’t waste our time, Coyle. Just spit it out and forget the
dramatics’.
‘Why the rush? Don’t you want to enjoy your last few minutes with him?’ he pointed at
Starsky who was struggling to sit up on the mattress.
‘You lay a
finger on him again and so help me I’ll kill every last one of ya’,” the angry
Viking spat out, seeing Coyle’s face crumple into a grin.
‘How can
you be so wrong so many times?’ he said. ‘He’s not going to die, rest assured.
But you on the other hand, well that’s a different kettle of fish, as my
grandmother used to say. You, Detective, are not going to see another sunrise
and there’s nothing you can do about it’.
Hutch put
his hand up. ‘Fine. OK. Do
what you want with me, but for Gods sake let him go’ he pleaded. He so wanted
to knock that grin right off Coyle’s open, flushed face. But the man was
laughing again.
‘Oh believe
me, we will do what we want with you, and you will die. But I won’t lift a
finger. Neither will my men. Your sweet, curly haired, kind, compassionate
partner, on the other hand, will be your executioner’. He looked at the two men
by the bedside. ‘Prepare him’.
As the two
men descended on Starsky, the two others took a firm hold of the blond, holding
him still as he was forced to watch.
Chained and
bound as he was, Starsky had little chance to retaliate and Hutch watched as
his usually hot-headed partner cowered back as the rough hands reached down to
him. As one man opened the padlock and released the chain from around the
brunette’s waist the other reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a well
used and tattered leather bound case. He opened is slowly and Hutch saw with
horror that it contained a syringe, a vial of colorless liquid and a set of
needles. As Starsky continued to try to push himself back into the wall, his
eyes wide and transfixed on the hypo, Hutch felt the bile rise in his throat.
‘For God’s sake Coyle. What is this? Some sort of sick game?
Ya gonna string him out? Why?’
Coyle put
his hand up, silencing the distracted blond. ‘We wouldn’t dream of getting him
hooked. Heroin is illegal Detective. I’m sure you know that. No this is a
special little concoction that your friend has been getting used to. One dose
and his training will kick in. The man you know as your partner will be
replaced by the man who killed that girl in his apartment and the man down by
the docks on Monday. Good little practice targets, and now, I think, he’s ready
for the big time’.
In horror
Hutch watched as the two men knelt by the struggling, terrified brunette. The
memories of that needle came flooding back to Starsky now and his mind rebelled
at the horror of all he’d done. Angry at himself, but unable to stop, he
started to plead with his captors, the sweat beading on his forehead.
‘No, please
don’t…not again….no, please….nooooo’.
One man
pushed the brunet back until he was lying on his back while the other knelt on
the outstretched arm and flicked at the veins, finding one to stand proud and
turgid. Hutch tried to close his ears to the strangled cry that forced itself
pitifully from his partner’s throat as the needle plunged into its target and
the man depressed the plunger, sending the drug to course through Starsky’s
sweating and trembling body. As he removed the needle, the men got up, leaving
the curly haired detective shaking and convulsing on the ground.
Very
slowly, the shudders ceased and Starsky’s cramping muscled relaxed. He opened
his eyes again and looked around as if for the first time. Sitting up, he shook
his head as if to try and rid himself of a dream and
with a grunt, got to his feet. The brunet looked uncertainly around the room,
his eyes finally resting on Hutch.
‘Do you
know this man?’ Coyle asked. Seeing the curly head nod, he continued. ‘You know
what to do. He’s your enemy. He killed your family. He needs to die and you
need to avenge them.
Hutch
watched horrified as he saw the hate on the familiar indigo eyes and his
partner walked towards him with predator like grace as the four men left the
room, leaving behind a knife on the floor.
(By: Starskysgal)
Starsky’s
gaze never wavered from the blonde’s glare as he took a few steps forward, and
knelt down, picking the knife up in his left hand, holding the handle and
spinning it comfortably in his hand.
“Hey Starsk, whatcha doin’ buddy?” Hutch heard his voice quiver as much as he fought against
it.
Starsky
didn’t answer, he merely stared at his best friend, his eyes glazed over, not
even recognizing the tall blond holding the knife out in front of him as he
took another step towards his partner.
“Starsk,
I don’t know what they gave you, or what they’ve done to you,” Hutch stammered
as he backed up slightly, feeling the wall behind him as he looked towards the
door, spotting Coyle peering in through a small window in the portal, his eyes
darted back at his friend as one hand shakily came up in front of him, palm
out, fingers splayed. “L…listen Starsk, this isn’t you…it’s them…they did this
to you…c..come on buddy, you
gotta listen to…”
His
voice was cut off as Starsky lunged forward, grabbing
Hutch’s wrist and swinging him around, twisting his arm behind him, as his left
arm came around his chest, his hand with the knife, under his chin, the cold
steel metal resting on Hutch’s moist skin, right at the side of his throat.
Hutch was shocked, taken by surprise by his partner’s actions and strength as
he was momentarily caught off guard.
The
sweat glistened off his fair skin as he held as still as possible, swallowing
hard, feeling the sharp edge against his skin and the sting as the razor
sharpness of the steal, created a thin slice in his skin, much like a paper
cut, and just as uncomfortable. Hutch fought to keep from moving too quickly,
wincing in pain as a slight trickle of blood began to flow from the small
incision.
“Listen
Starsk, come on buddy, you gotta fight this. It’s me, Hutch…you don’t wanna do
this.” Hutch spoke fast as if each word could be his last.
He
could feel Starsky’s body trembling as the brunet briefly laid his forehead on
the blond’s shoulder, in an apparent struggle with himself.
“That’s
it buddy, listen to my voice, remember me and thee…you can fight this, I know
you can. You’re the strongest man I know…don’t let ‘em win.”
Hutch continued to allow the soft soothing tone of his voice flow as he felt
his friend’s body start to relax somewhat.
Suddenly
the brunet’s body tensed back up, his grip on the blond tightening as Starsky
pursed his lips together, whispering in Hutch’s ear. “Shuddup. Just shuddup!
You’re the enemy, they told me all about you and how you would try an’ trick
me!”
Hutch’s
eyes fixed on Coyle’s through the window, the hatred that he felt,
he needed to push way far down, deep with in himself.
“Listen
buddy, hear my voice.”
Starsky
tightened his grip, causing Hutch to wince in pain, his body tensing in fear
that he could not let Coyle or Starsky see.
“Remember
that time, it was you and me, in the barn…against those jerks that thought I
killed their brother…it was you and me against all of them…you got shot…but you
still had my back, and I had yours…do you remember that?”
Starsky’s
body began once again to relax and Hutch knew he had to keep pressing the
issue.
“What
about the time, Forrest pumped me so full of drugs, you locked me in the room
above Huggy’s place for three days…you helped me fight off those demons pal, I want to help you fight these…”
The
brunet relaxed even more. Hutch could see the look of concern on Coyle’s face
as he heard the lock on the door being worked. He closed his eyes, said a small
prayer that what he was about to do would not hurt his partner, but he had to
try.
As
the door flew open, Hutch grabbed Starsky’s left hand, letting out a yelp as he
felt the blade dig into his neck, jerking it away and using his height and
reflexes to his advantage, taking Starsky’s left arm, bending himself and
lifting his partner’s body onto his back and flipping him onto the ground in
front him, tripping the goon that was rushing at him. One more move and Hutch
had the knife in his hand, leapt over his partner and grabbed Coyle around the
neck with one arm, the knife at his back with the other. Hutch bent forward,
looking at his friend on the ground who was struggling to get up, relieved that
he was okay. The brunet turned and looked at the tall Nordic with pure hatred
as he took a step towards him, Hutch dug the knife
deeper into Coyle’s back, piercing his clothes, and slightly into his skin. The
gray haired man arched forward trying to avoid the infliction of pain that
Hutch was providing.
“Call
him off,” Hutch spewed in Coyle’s ear, as his eyes kept darting from Starsky,
to the other man, still picking himself up off the ground. Starsky had now
become his nemesis, his enemy, even if temporarily.
Starsky
took one step towards him, causing Hutch to tighten his grip, nearly chocking
Coyle, “I mean it Coyle, call ‘im off!” He growled
into the man’s ear.
Coyle
struggled momentarily to speak before finally finding his voice, “Stop!” The
gray haired man demanded as Starsky looked at him curiously. “Wait!” His voice
was deep and authoritative and stopped Starsky in his tracks.
The
sight of watching his partner taking commands from someone else, with the
intention of harming the blond, tore at Hutch’s heartstrings. It pained him to
know and to watch the internal struggle that was taking place with in the brunet’s
soul. He saw it in his partner’s indigo eyes as Starsky’s glance traveled
between the two men there, glimpsing at Hutch, then back at Coyle, wrought with
confusion.
Starsky
stood still as he was instructed to do, Hutch sighed a breath of relief as he
felt the warm flow of a sticky thick fluid seeping down his neck. Shrugging his
shoulder and then looking at the red stain on his shirt, he suddenly felt the
sting of the slice in his neck. Looking at his partner, he saw Starsky furrow
his brow at the sight, and then shuddered as he watched a smile spread across
the curly haired man’s face. To think that his best friend, a man closer to him
then a brother would be, found joy in seeing him injured. His stomach knotted
in anger and sadness as he wondered what Coyle had done to the man he once knew
so well.
“You!” Hutch directed his voice towards the third man in the room
that had come in with Coyle, “Get the door.” He flipped his head.
The
man looked at Coyle as the older man gave a subtle nod of his head, feeling the
blade against his skin, poking through his shirt, a small trickle of blood
starting to flow from the puncture wound, as a chill ran down his spine. Hutch
leaned closer to Coyle, once again, concentrating his words, directing them
into the man’s ear.
“Now
you listen, and you listen good! I’m only gonna say
this once. I don’t know what in the hell you did to my partner, but you are
going to direct him to lead the way outta here, we’re gonna go outside, and
you’re gonna arrange to get me a car, and me AND my partner are gonna get the hell out of here.” He tightened
his hold, “You got me?”
“You
have no idea what you are asking me to do Detective, he’s not you’re partner
anymore, he’s a killer.” Coyle responded quietly. “He’s just like a shark that
circles the waters at the scent of blood, you can’t
control him, only I do that.”
“Just
do as I say Coyle, or so help me God, I spill your blood right here, every last
drop of it.” Hutch pressed the knife harder against his back, causing the man
to wince in pain.
Hutch
looked over at the door, “Gimme your piece.” Hutch demanded as he saw the butt
of the weapon sticking up through his waistband. The man again looked at his
boss for directions as Coyle reluctantly nodded in agreement.
“Detective,
I assure you, this is a great mistake, this man you once knew will kill you the
minute you turn your back on him, and you have no idea how deep the
conditioning goes.” The evil man attempted to convince the blond.
Hutch
kept his arm around Coyle’s body as he accepted the weapon being handed to him,
in his left hand, taking it and awkwardly placing it under Coyle’s chin as he
dropped the knife and switched the pistol to his right hand carefully, making
sure not to lose hold of his hostage.
“I
want my car, waiting outside, keys in the ignition!” Hutch ordered as Coyle
flipped his head at his henchman who dug in his pocket and retrieved a set of
keys. “Okay, we all go out together, you first,” he pointed at the man with the
keys, using the barrel of the gun, “Then Starsky follows him, and we’ll bring
up the rear, all nice and calm here. When we get outside Coyle, I want you to
instruct my partner to get inside the car, passenger front seat. No quick moves, or I know at least two of the four in this room will
wind up dead.” The blond threatened as Coyle tipped his head and the first man
headed out the door, Starsky reluctantly following him, and Hutch attached to
Coyle, following them.
They
walked slowly and purposefully down the hallway, Hutch was surprised, and a
little nervous to see the place empty. Where had the others gone so fast, where
were the rest? They continued out side, and to the car, Coyle’s man walked
around to the driver’s side of Hutch’s car, putting the keys in the ignition
and starting it up, he then climbed out slowly. With the weapon, he flipped it
to the side, “You, over there by the tree.” Hutch instructed him and then lent
forward to whisper in Coyle’s ear. “Tell Starsky to get in the car, nice and
easy, make sure he doesn’t start any trouble.”
Coyle
cleared his throat. “David, I want you to stay calm, and just do as I say, you
need to get in the car, and listen to what I tell you, do you understand?”
Coyle asked.
Starsky
nodded his head, but also seemed a bit confused about his directions,
he walked over to the car, opened the door and sat in the front seat, his legs
still hanging out of the car.
“Put
your legs inside David, and wait there.” Coyle instructed him as Starsky
silently obliged.
Hutch
walked over to the car, looking at his partner, getting within arms reach, his
gaze darting between Coyle’s man by the tree and the house, making sure the
coast was still clear. With a mighty shove, he pushed Coyle, sending him
spiraling to the ground with a heavy thud. He turned quickly, looking Starsky in
the eyes, and very quietly spoke, “M’sorry buddy.” He
whispered as he drew back his arm, letting it fly forward, connecting with his
partner’s chin, knocking him out instantly. Quickly he ran back around the car,
keeping the weapon trained on Coyle, occasionally moving towards the other man
and then back. Jumping in the vehicle, he dropped it into gear, squealing the
tires and speeding away. As they sped down the road, Hutch managed to pull out
his cuffs, clicking one on Starsky’s left hand, and leaning over the other was
clanked around the door handle of the passenger side.
Hutch
drove for miles and miles, continuously checking his rearview mirror, taking
turns and back tracking, then going another direction all together, making sure
they were not being followed. Once he felt comfortable, he looked for, and
found a hotel, a run down, sleazy dive, that had covered parking around the
back. Checking his partner, making sure he was still out, even though he was
showing signs of coming around, stirring from time to time, Hutch felt
comfortable leaving him for a few moments to go inside and secure a room.
Once
he received the keys, he drove around back, Starsky was stirring slightly as he
parked the car, going and opening the door to the room first, he came around to
the passenger car to get his partner out of the vehicle. He wasn’t sure if it
was the punch he gave his friends or the drugs, what ever they were, that were
keeping the brunet so sedated. Nearly carrying him, he took him into the small,
moldy smelling room, dropping him onto the bed, and rushing back to close the
door.
He
stared at the resting man, sighing a heavy breath of relief and sadness as he
moved back to his partner and reattached the cuffs to the headboard
regretfully, not knowing what kind of mental state his friend would be in when
he woke.
Chapter 6
(By: Starsky’s Strut)
‘Tag… you’re it, pig.’
The words rang in Hutch’s ears as he stared at his unconscious, drugged up and currently homicidal friend handcuffed to the crappy bed. Yeah, I’m it alright. Only right now I’m running from everyone instead of trying to tag someone else. This is some sick game you’ve started, Coyle. Only I plan on