Chapter 3

David Starsky continued to dream and to relive his memories. The frightening situation he found himself in made no sense to him. Why would someone want to do this?.....No, scratch that, he knew of countless Bay City flakes who would love to hurt and kill either him or his partner, but not one of them would have access to a room that seemed (from his very small view of it) to be a fully equipped OR. The only person he could think of that had any sort of medical knowledge was Matwick, the insane doctor from Cabrillo State hospital. He'd had enough reason to hate the duo, them having put paid to his "experiments" on the residents of that asylum. But Matwick was firmly behind the bars of a prison facility for the criminally insane across the state, and was likely to remain there for the rest of his natural life.

So if not Matwick, who?

The infuriating slowness of the respirator slowed the brunet's thinking process down. The tube in his throat still left him feeling as though he were choking and the pace of the machine blowing air into his lungs was so slow as to leave him feeling permanently breathless and light headed, as though he'd run down a perp over two miles and then cracked a rib. There was no pain, just the terrible need to breathe faster to get sufficient oxygen into his system.

Panic again rose in Starsky's chest. This was impossible. It was intolerable. How long was this madman going to leave him like this? The brunet tried once again to move. Arms and legs were unresponsive and even if the straps hadn't anchored his head to the table, he doubted the muscles in his neck would have moved any more either.

Ok, arms and legs too big. Try twitching your fingers Davey. Go for it. C'mon finger….move God dammit!

Despite using all his willpower and concentration, still, the fibres of his being refused to answer the call to move. David Starsky was trapped in a prison of flesh and blood and at the mercy of a machine to keep him breathing. He'd been this way before unfortunately, on a couple of occasions, but then he'd been injured, most recently from an injection designed to kill him in 24 hours. The final hour, while Hutch had been searching frantically for the antidote had been pure hell. One by one, his bodily systems were shutting down and finally, unable to breathe on his own, the doctor…. Franklin, was that his name?....had told him he was going to be anaesthetised so that they could put him onto a ventilator.

Then, the brunet's fear had been that he wouldn't wake up, but when he finally opened his eyes again two days later, he looked straight up into crystal blue irises the colour of a sunny sky in midwinter.

Hutch.

Hutch had saved him and had got the antidote.

Hutch.

For God's sake Blondie, make it a double and come get me. Find me Pal, please…..find me?

Silently Starsky sent out his thoughts to his partner. The other guys in the squad room had always laughed and said they were close enough to be telepathic. Maybe Hutch would somehow sense his thoughts and find him quickly.

Hurry buddy, don't know how long I can deal with this shit.

Huuuuuuutch.

In self defence, the brunet's mind closed down for a while, taking the cop away from the intolerable situation and back into his memories, fixing on the last thoughts he'd had.

Hutch. The first time they met.

David lay on the bed listening to his Aunt and Uncle arguing downstairs. Nicky had fallen asleep next to him and very carefully, so as not to disturb his younger brother, he got off the bed and stood at the partly open door, listening. He could make out raised voices, but nothing more and then the door downstairs opened and a familiar voice shouted hello down the hallway. John Blaine.

David sighed. John would know what to do. John was younger than Al and Rosey. He'd made a friend of David after the boy was sent to California by his Mom. They went to ball games together. John taught David how to wrestle, how to hit a home run and even how to fire his gun in the safety of a public firing range. Contentedly, David knew John would look after him.

The big cop's voice could be heard talking for a long time to Al and Rosey. Once or twice, the door to the living room would open and Rosey would go to the kitchen to make coffee. After an hour or so, he heard his Aunt coming up the stairs. David got back onto the bed and as the door to his bedroom opened, he feigned sleep as the older woman came into the room and perched on the edge of his bed.

Rosey ran her fingers gently through his curls. 'Oh Davey! What're we gonna do with you huh?' she whispered. 'Al didn't mean to hurt you. He was angry. It hurt him almost as much as it hurt you, you know. And now….. I love you boy, you know that don't you? I'll always love you just as much as your Mom does. Remember that….always. Wherever you are, I love you.'

Rosey bent down and kissed David gently on his forehead, her lips barely grazing his skin and for an uncomfortable moment, David thought he felt a tear land on his cheek. Was Aunt Rosey crying? Why?

Softly, the woman left the room, closing the door behind her and leaving the 16 year old wondering exactly what was going on. He hated upsetting Rosey. She was no substitute for his Mom, but she was a homely, comforting woman, the sort that he could go to when life was rough. She'd sit him down, feed him comfort food and listen. She never made comment, never forced her opinions onto him and never judged him. Instead, she was a rock – someone to whom he could cling when the seas of life became too rough for a 16 year old in a strange town and away from his one surviving parent. He'd have preferred to cut off his left arm rather than upset her.

Dammit! Damn his stupid pride. Damn him for trying to fit in with the gang from the wrong side of town. Damn him for upsetting Rosey!

Gradually however, sleep overcame the exhausted boy. David hurt both physically and mentally and finally his body told him enough was enough and he closed his eyes, dreaming of the beach, his bike and the old days in New York, safe in the knowledge that John Blaine would smooth things over with his angry Uncle.

Early the next morning, David awoke to small noises coming from the cupboard in his room. He sat up stiffly on the bed, grimacing at the pull on the welts across his back and legs and watched as Aunt Rosey came out of the cupboard carrying a pair of his jeans and two tee shirts. She put them quietly into a holdall and looked up sheepishly.

'Davey! I didn't know you were awake.'

'What're ya doin' with my clothes? Are we taking a trip?' he asked her, a feeling of dread inexplicably starting up in the pit of his stomach.

'Trip? Ah…yes. Yes, you're going on a trip with John. This morning.'

David got off the bed and helped his Aunt complete his packing. There were few clothes in the holdall and he looked up questioningly. 'Where are we going? Is Uncle Al still mad? Does the trip have sumthin to do with that?'

In answer, Rosey flung her arms around the boy's waist. At 16 he was already head and shoulders taller than the woman and she could feel his muscles through his tee shirt. When he grew fully into a man, she knew he's be strong, brave and if he could keep his temper under control, his dark, Latin good looks would break a girls heart. 'Davey, you know I love you, don't you?' she asked, her voice muffled with her head buried in his chest.

David cuddled her and planted a kiss on top of her springy curls, uncertain what to say. He hated it when his Aunt got emotional, it made him feel uncomfortable and ill at ease. 'Course I do' he said gruffly. 'Where's John taking me? Not another one of his camping trips, I'd rather have Uncle Al walin' on me with the belt again.'

Rosey shook her head and gently pushed herself away from the boy. She dried her eyes and smiled through her tears. 'No Davey. Not a camping trip. Now go downstairs, John's waiting.'

'We settin' off so soon?'

Rosey looked away, making David feel even more uncertain. 'Uh huh. Go. Don't keep him waiting.'

David picked up the holdall. 'See you in a few days then' he said, wondering what all the drama was about, and set off down the stairs. In the hallway, John was talking to Al and he pointed outside as he saw David. 'Wait for me in the car' he said shortly and went back to his conversation.

David sidled past his uncle. Al refused to look him in the eye and for a moment, vindication blossomed in David's chest. Served his uncle right for hurting him…..although he admitted to himself that he deserved the punishment. As he got to the door, the older man called down the hall to him.

'Davey! Be good huh? We um…..well, we'll miss you.'

As the young boy put his holdall into the trunk and sat waiting in the car, he wondered what all the drama was about. He was only going away for a couple of days, so why the melodrama? If he lived to be 40 he'd never understand older people!

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Hutch pounded on the door of Starsky's apartment in Ridgeway until his knuckles turned red.

'Starsk? C'mon Starsky, time to get up!' he yelled through the window. The curtains of his buddy's bedroom were closed, as were those in the living room. Considering it was now almost 11:30, the blond was beginning to have an edge of panic to offset the anger he'd felt earlier.

Giving up with the recalcitrant wood of the door, Hutch took two steps back, muttering under his breath. 'You're gonna hate me for this Bud, but I gotta know….' The flaxen haired cop took a step forward and kicked out at the door, aiming for the lock. The wood surrounding it splintered and the door exploded inwards, cannoning off the wall.

Hutch crouched, his gun at the ready as he peered through the door. The place was in darkness, the midday sun fighting valiantly to light up the curtained interior. Cautiously, Hutch walked into his partner's house and looked around. Silently, he opened the curtains, letting the sunlight flood into the room. Somehow, that made it feel less "wrong", although Hutch's partner senses were on full alert, his mind going back to that fateful night after Bellamy's attack. Starsky's whispered 'Utsssch……help' still haunted his dreams and he hoped this would not be a repeat of that scenario.

The blond opened the door to Starsky's bedroom quietly and let out a sigh. The bed was tidy, the covers pulled up and there was no evidence that the brunet had been to sleep in it the previous night. Neither were Starsky's day clothes anywhere to be seen, nor his gun, or holster or cuffs. It was as though the dark haired cop had never made it home and suddenly panic gripped at Hutch's heart. If Starsky hadn't made it home and wasn't with his girl…..

Rushing out from the bedroom, Hutch reached for the telephone and started to systematically call the ERs of the local hospitals, asking if they had had a curly haired man in his late 20s admitted, maybe as a result of a road traffic accident.

A quarter of an hour later, sweating, but relieved to have come up empty at the hospitals, Hutch lowered himself down onto the sofa and put his head in his hands.

'C'mon Starsk, old man. Where are ya? And why haven't you contacted me?