Starsky & Hutch Fanfiction

"Cabrillo on the Flip Side"

A "Murder Ward" Sequel

by

bluespiritgal

This a multi chap story that takes place about a week and a half after the episode "Murder Ward." In this episode, the detectives went undercover to investigate several deaths at Cabrillo State, a mental institute. Don't own the characters, wish I did. No infringement intended, just for pure entertainment. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter One

"Restrain him!"

Hands suddenly reached out, grabbed him, forcing his arms into the straight jacket that was pulled up and over his shoulders. The sleeves were wrapped around his waist and bound tightly behind him, securing his arms across his chest. He struggled and more hands appeared pushing him down.

"Can't believe Skyler could be capable of this."

"He must have attacked him last night. I should have seen this coming. Skyler's behavior has been growing more and more erratic since he's been here."

A flash of a blond head leaned over, applying leather restraints to his ankles and tightening the buckles, further restricting his movement.

"I think its time to set up a private session with Mr. Skyler."

Sky blue eyes looked at him angrily.

"I don't like it! It's too dangerous."

"Can't stop now. Not when we're this close. Please."

"What am I going to do with you?"

The voice that spoke was trusting, but why were the hands attached to it reaching up, replacing the gag, leaving him bound?

The lights went out and suddenly he was alone in the silence that followed.

Please. Please don't go. Don't leave. I didn't mean it. He wanted to call out, shout, but the gag prevented his plea from being heard.

The darkness encompassed him, its isolating stillness only heightening his fear.

He hated the dark. Hated what lived there, lurking in wait.

Soon he felt more than saw the presence moving close to his side, hovering over him.

"You know why you're here, don't you Rudy? You're sick. Very Sick. But don't worry. After tomorrow all those evil thoughts, all your pain will be gone."

The flash of a needle appeared before him. His eyes widened and he tried to pull away but the bindings made his attempts useless.

The prick of the needle made him flinch and cold laughter followed in a swirling dark fog.

"You got twenty-four hours to live, pig."

He cringed and broke out into an uncontrollable sweat. He felt hot and it was getting difficult to breath, then waves of pain suddenly sliced through his gut, doubling him over.

"It hurts, Hutch. Oh God, it hurts."

A hand suddenly reached out and grabbed him by the hair.

The voice was laughing, amused.

"What's the matter Skyler? Afraid of the dark? You should be. It's what you get when you don't follow the rules."

The gag was tightened around his mouth, cutting painfully into his lips. Fingers slid down his neck, squeezing. Panic rose within him.

The sounds in the darkness suddenly shifted, now loud, chaotic: rapid fire, shouts, screams, an explosion. Then he was being dragged, kicked.

When the voices spoke again he couldn't understand their words but their tone was clipped, demanding, shoving him down hard on the ground.

Another body quivered against him. This one was frightened, the voice young, terrified, whimpering. He wanted to help, tried to move but pain exploded in his head, his sides, back and legs as he was struck repeatedly only ceasing when he stopped resisting. And then his tormentors moved away, leaving him still bound, gagged and bleeding in the dark.

Beside him the raspy voice begged, cried in a childlike plea, "Please, God I don't want to die. Don't let them kill me!"

But he couldn't move, could hardly breathe. His arms, bound tightly to him were constricting the movement of his chest with each ragged intake of air. Hands that had long since lost their circulation were now cold, stiff, numb. The gag forced between his mouth cut into his swollen split lips, so tight he could taste the metallic bitterness of blood mixing with his own sweat, and his tongue felt thick, bruised, raw against the saliva soaked rag making him want to gag. Swallowing was painful, difficult, his throat tight, scratchy, parched. And he was thirsty, so thirsty.

He tried to focus his eyes in the darkness but no light seemed to be able to penetrate the thick veil before him, increasing his sense of isolation and heightening the only senses left under his control yet yielded no comfort. The only sound he had been able to hear for a while now was his own panting and the throbbing pulse of his heart ringing in his ears. The tortured screams of earlier, followed by weak, rattling, high pitched gasps that had seemed to go on forever had finally grown terrifyingly silent to be replaced by the acrid stench of bodily fluids.

And then he felt it, the presence of death close by, hovering just above, breathing down on him, laughing softly.

His hair was pulled, forcing his head painfully back. He tried to fight against it but his bindings prevented his escape.

Metal touched the side of his face. He froze, then felt its coldness run down his cheek over the gag, following the curve of his jaw before sliding down along the side of his neck, pausing over his jugular vein and pressing just enough for its sharp edge to be felt on the sensitive flesh.

His heart accelerated, his teeth bit down hard on the gag, terrified because he knew what was coming but refused to scream, refused to give death the satisfaction.

The voice was close to his ear now and spoke in broken English.

"Ah, we have a brave solider boy here, yes? Don't worry. I no kill you, at least not today."

The blade to his throat was retracted.

"But don't worry. I leave you something the think about."

Searing pain exploded in his thigh as the knife sunk deep into muscle tissue.

With a muffled scream and a jerk, Starsky came up fighting, fighting against the restraints that bound him, fighting the unseen attacker in the dark, twisting, turning until he came to his senses enough to realize he was sitting up in his own bed and entangled in the covers and that it had only been another dream.

He grabbed, clawed at the sheets coiled around his legs and torso until he was free and dropped his feet to the floor, hastily reaching for the lamp nearby and clicking it on, forcing the darkness away.

Sweat dripped down his bare back, his body shaking uncontrollably. He leaned over with his elbows on his knees and ran his fingers through his hair, gripping the curls tightly with both fists as he fought to shake the images from his mind and to push the cold terrifying fear away. His breath came in ragged, jagged pants, his heart still thundering in his chest, still trapped in the lingering effects of the nightmare.

He sat on the edge of the bed for several minutes, mind, nerves and body wired, jumpy.

Eventually his breathing slowed and he released the death grip on his hair. His hands dropped down lying limply between his knees.

Tired glazed eyes looked up to the digital clock sitting on the nightstand.

Two-forty-three.

"Terrific," he mumbled aloud.

He sighed deeply, lifting one hand up and dragging it down his exhausted face, his fingers still quivering, his body still sensitized to the after effects of the same nightmare. The same recurring nightmare he'd had what now…four or five times already?

Wearily he got up, grabbing the spread off the bed and wrapped it around his cold shoulders. He went to the bathroom and relieved himself, and then got a drink of water. But when he came out, the quietness in the apartment, the stillness surrounding him hit him and suddenly the bedroom felt claustrophobic in the middle of the night and irrational fear kicked in again.

He reached for the phone, dialed the number automatically before he could stop himself. At that moment he just needed to hear the familiar, solid, anchoring voice of his partner. But on the third ring his rationality finally caught up with his fears and he hung up, feeling stupid at the idea of waking Hutch up at two-forty-three in the goddamn morning because he was what? Suddenly afraid of the dark, the boogey-man?

He fell back into bed, exhausted and stared at the ceiling, embarrassed and angry at himself. He blinked and his eyes felt like sandpaper.

The phone rang a few minutes later.

He already knew who it was before he picked it up after the fourth ring.

"You okay?" Hutch sleepily asked.

"Yeah, sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"S'okay. Another bad dream?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No," he replied firmly and then sighed. "I'm okay now." And it was true. Just hearing Hutch's voice, its comforting softness, was enough to shake the last lingering threads of his nightmare. "Go back to sleep, Blondie."

There was a pause on the other end. "Sure?"

"Yeah, Blintz."

"Okay."

Starsky could hear the hesitation over the phone before his partner finally hung up.

It took a while, but eventually Starsky was able to get back to sleep, at least for a few hours before the damn alarm woke him up at six-thirty. He flung it on the floor.

TBC...