Shot in the Dark
Chapter 2
Consciousness hurts, thought Starsky as he woke up to the worst headache he'd ever had. At first he thought he'd gone blind, but quickly realised the room was dark. I didn't drink that much, did I?
Reaching up to his head and finding what felt like dried blood in his curls, he realised that he was in more trouble than he thought. This headache wasn't just alcohol-induced; he remembered now how he was hit outside his apartment after saying goodnight to Hutch. However, he stayed calm and tried to assess the situation, using his cop's instincts to find out as much as he could about where he was, which wasn't easy in the dark. He was in an apparently windowless room, but he couldn't tell how large it was due to the darkness, or whether anyone else was in there. Someone had obviously hit him over the head and brought him here. But why? And they knew where he lived, they must have waited for him to come back before attacking him. What for?
A door suddenly opened, and Starsky heard the sound, but still couldn't see a thing. It was then that his mind registered the feeling of cloth on his face, and he realised he was blindfolded. His hands were also tied in front of him.
"Hello Dave", called a mean voice that he didn't recognise, "here's the plan. You stay here in the dark. Every hour I fire a bullet in, in any direction I feel like. Maybe more often, if I feel like that. It's time someone taught you a lesson."
"Yeah? Why do I get the feeling there's more you're not telling me? And who are ya anyway?" asked Starsky with a bravado he didn't feel, knowing that the way out of these things usually involved doing something he would never do, and wondering who this guy was that called him by his name.
"If you get hit you lose."
"Lose? What the hell does that mean, lose what? Answer my damn questions!" he yelled, getting angrier.
"If you want Hutchinson dead, you'll find out."
"I'll kill Hutch myself, him leaving me like that, not waiting to make sure I got inside the apartment before he went home." Starsky rambled, needing to hide any fear he felt, and unable to stop himself wisecracking, although he didn't feel particularly like laughing.
The man strode over and grabbed his hair roughly, silencing him with a kick to the ribs that left him gasping for air. "I mean it. You get hit, and I go get Hutchinson, bring him here, and do what I should have done a long time ago." And have a lot of fun with both of you in the meantime, he silently added, so that Starsky almost heard his cruel thought. The man gave him one more kick for good measure, then left him alone with his thoughts.
***
With no perception of time due to the darkness, things seemed to drag on forever. He'd never realised how much he depended on sight to function, and the enforced darkness was making him increasingly claustrophobic. Also, the only thing he had to occupy his mind was his thoughts, and he didn't much like them. The only way he had of telling how much time had passed was when he heard shots, followed by the guy's laughter, and he couldn't even be sure how regular they were. It scared him more than he thought it would, not knowing where the shots were coming from or where they were going. The first few times he was lucky, leading him to believe that the room he was in was fairly big. The shots echoed, and he could hear the sound of them striking walls that felt as though they weren't that near to him.
It was some hours later that he noticed the ropes on his wrists were not as tight as they could have been. After some considerable effort, and the use of his teeth, he managed to loosen them enough to force them off. He then reached up and dragged off the blindfold, only to nearly cry with despair when he realised the room was still dark. He also felt even more anger towards the man who'd trapped him here: why blindfold a man in the dark? Then it occurred to him that it had been so that he wouldn't see the man's face when he came into the room all those hours ago.
When he tried to move around to find out more about the room where he was being held, he stumbled over something very nearby on his first attempt, and feeling around in the darkness, he discovered more objects that would likely trip him up if he tried again. They felt like assorted junk: chairs, buckets, a mop, and some unrecognisable stuff. Some kind of storeroom or basement?
***
He thought that he'd been in there all night and most of a day, when his luck ran out. The darkness had made his hearing extra sensitive, and he knew the guy with the gun was coming back. He'd been trying to feel his way around the room again, looking for any possible means of escape, but found nothing he could use. As on the previous occasions, he tried to predict where the bullet would go, so he could try to dodge. This time, his guess was wrong. He knew this as he felt a feeling like fire invade his chest.
He tried desperately not to cry out, though it was getting hard to breathe through the pain. Maybe the guy wouldn't realise he was hit, and this thing could go on long enough for Hutch to find him without getting caught by this guy, although he knew that he didn't want Hutch to come here if it meant that would put him in danger. However, the sound of a bullet hitting walls or floor was different to the sound it made when hitting flesh.
"You still alive, Dave?" asked the cruel voice, managing to use his first name in the most unfriendly way possible.
"Yeah...I'm just fine", Starsky told him, trying not to show pain in his voice.
"Sure you are. I gotcha, didn't I?"
"No" he gritted out, although he didn't know how much longer he could keep up the act. Finally he involuntarily moaned, and that was all the guy needed to hear: Starsky could hear his footsteps retreating outside the door. Starsky knew that Hutch was now in trouble, and it was his fault. "Sorry Hutch" he mumbled. Unfortunately, his mind wouldn't allow him the luxury of unconsciousness, and so he was left alone, in the dark, and hurt, with nothing but his thoughts for company. The first person to come to his thoughts, was, of course, Hutch. He really hoped that whatever this mess was that he was in, Hutch wasn't in too much trouble.
Memories of his partner filled his mind, and he let them distract him from the hurt. Hutch lifting him off the floor in the Italian restaurant. Holding his hand across the desk when he thought he was going to die from the poison. Arriving just in time to save him from being knifed by Simon Marcus' followers. And then lighter memories. Playing chess late one night and distracting his friend by talking, long enough to win the game. Numerous games of pool and table tennis. He could almost hear his partner's velvety voice saying "I'm here babe. Right here." He tried desperately to remember what that felt like, having his partner right there holding on to him, reassuring him with those words.
And then he heard a door slam, and he knew the guy had gone out.
