Hi All,

So sorry for the lengthy delay in posting a new chapter. Real Life has been kicking me around the curb for the last few weeks.

As always -- special thanks to Kreek and Eli for countless reading and re-reading various incarnations of this chapter. I just couldn't do this with out them.

Chapter 10

Lottridge stared for a long time at the dripping, messy scrawl on the glass. Kenneth had attempted to write –something- on the window. The man was recovering far too quickly despite of what had been done to retard any progress. Thank god that the Hutchinsons' hadn't understood what had just happened. All they had seen was their adult son playing with chewed food on the glass, just like small child might. Agast, they had left immediately. He had hurried down the hall after them, hastily assuring them it was a passing phase and to focus on how well Kenneth was moving.

The word – seen from their side of the glass- was backwards, a mirror reflection and written with the left hand of someone who was mentally compromised and –under normal circumstances- right-handed.

He exited the viewing room and entered the room where his patient had been and looked at the writing from the correct direction. It was a tilted, childish attempt, but the word –while missing the letter 'e'- was clearly damn good attempt to spell 'help'. ' If I had put him back in the solarium and he had written it on the table or if the Hutchinsons' had seen it from this angle'… Lottridge gulped hard.

The worried doctor struggled with his conscience for the longest time on what to do next. He could claim that Kenneth had a sudden and miraculous recovery… but no. Kenneth would – in a fairly short period of time- be able to tell everyone the truth. Meaning the end to the Van Hall Institute and likely jail time for him, Robert clenched his fists. He couldn't have that, not after all the work and sacrifices he'd made to get this far.

He could arrange for young Hutchinson to have a serious or perhaps fatal 'accident'… but that might make the Institute look bad. Lottridge shook his head. That wouldn't work either. After running the different scenarios through his head, Robert knew that there was only one avenue open to him. Stay his course. Of course he'd have to up the young man's medications or even change them. He would have to be careful though. The younger Hutchinson could not appear –at least while his parents were around- that he was being drugged.

So that meant a definite increase in the time Kenneth spent in the isolation float tank. Sensory depravation did wonders for making the most of obstinate of patients quite pliable. That plan in mind, the doctor turned on his heel and left the room.

XXXX

Float tank room, days later

The latch was unclipped from the hasp of the float tank and the lid was lifted, exposing the bound and naked form within.

Doris looked down at the wet, bedraggled patient as she prepared to help Nurse Kevin Ryder lift him from the float tank. Since she was a recently hired nurse, this wasn't her normal duty or station. She'd never been down in the gray room before. But Mark, the young black man who was usually scheduled with big Kevin, was sick today.

The patient's light colored hair was plastered to his head. There was a thin white crust of salt ringing his face where the waterline of the tank would be. She thought it was nearly as strange as the black mask that hid his eyes and bisected his face and the restraints that bound his wrists and ankles. Doris opened her mouth to ask her coworker, but changed her mind. This could be one of those innovative treatments that made this new facility one of the best in the country. There were charity cases here as well as patients whose well-to-do families were paying a great deal of money for the cutting edge therapies for the brain injured that were provided at the Van Hall Institute.

She snaked one hand under the patient's arm, just below his armpit to help in lifting him out of the tank. The man startled weakly –apparently at the unexpected feel of their hands on him as they pulled him to a seated position before easing him out of the tank. She held the shivering figure upright while Ryder moved the gurney closer.

A pang of pity hit her and she was confused by the blindfold, so she reached around to the side and began to remove it.

"Leave it on." Kevin snapped.

"Why does he have one on? It's pitch black in the tank. It doesn't make sense to-"

"Doctor's orders." He cut her off and shot her a pointed look. "Now shut up, we're supposed to be quite around this one. He gets, uh… quite excitable when it comes to voices and sounds." Jerking his chin at her prompted the older woman to clamp her lips in a firm, thin line. Together they lifted and put the patient on the gurney, strapped him down and covered the naked body with some blankets.

As they pushed the patiet down the gray hall to the elevator, Doris again reached for the blindfold.

"I said leave it on." He slapped at her hand.

Affronted, she drew herself up to her full height and made direct eye contact. "Why? I don't think-"

"Look Doris, you ain't been here very long, so I'll fill you in. You ain't bein' paid to think. You're bein' paid to do what you're told and when you're told to do it. I'm in charge around here. Right after the doc, of course." He raised an eyebrow.

The figure on the gurney shivered. Doris briefly patted the trembling shoulder and adjusted the blanket, attempting a little comfort. The man jerked at the slight contact. Even though she was a nurse and had been one for nearly thirty years, she had never been a touchy-feely person. Still, she couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the young man, this was certainly a strange treatment, then again this was a whole new medical field for her, she knew she had a lot to learn.

She did know one thing though; Ryder wasn't done lording his position and seniority over her.

Kevin gave her an evil smile. "Got me? Now zip it." He dragged his index and thumb across his lips like he was pulling a zipper closed.

She bit her lip and mentally bit her tongue. 'Yeah, I got you all right.' While it rankled her to obey the younger man, she kept her piece and did just that. After all, she wasn't getting any younger and she enjoyed living indoors and eating on a regular basis, so she did as Ryder suggested and zipped her lips. This wasn't the first time she'd turned a blind eye to strange things goings on in a care facility.

XXXX

Bay City, weeks later

Starsky staggered out of the bar, his once normal grace was gone. His damn crutches had developed minds of their own. Tomorrow –finally- the much-hated cast would come off. "It'll be cashed off. I'll cashed off the cashed off." The brunet slurred, snickering to himself, only to stop when the rude sidewalk pitched him abruptly into the side of the building. He hadn't meant to get this stinking' drunk though. One drink had led to another and another and… Starsky pushed off the building.

After ten weeks of clomping around and taking sponge baths, he would -at last- be able to take a real bath –scratch that- a shower. He would take a shower, a nice, hot soaking shower. Part of his brain told him not to go out tonight, but he just couldn't take the confinement any longer. He'd been going stir-crazy in his apartment waiting for tomorrow to come. So he took a cab to this bar a few blocks from his apartment. It wasn't one he normally visited. He'd started out with some vague idea of finding some chick to bed but ended up drowning his sorrows instead.

He spotted a cab and flagged it, when he lifted his hand; he dropped his crutch and by the time he'd managed to pick it back up, someone had climbed into the taxi. Starsky attempted this several time and each time, he dropped his crutch and someone always took his cab while he fumbled for it.

"Fuck." He growled as he reached for his wayward crutch for the third time. At this rate it would be dawn by the time he got home. He turned his face to the night sky "Ha, ha… thash real funny God. How 'bout a little help for once, huh?" The last part was half snarled, half laughed. "May ash swell -hiccup- walk home." He slurred. He'd made it one block and was about to swing off the curb into the crosswalk when he felt some thing grab him low around his right leg.

Starsky peered down to see a filth-encrusted bulldog humping his leg. He stared stupidly at it as it grunted and panted in obvious pleasure. The brunet blinked as it sunk into his beer-soaked brain that he should do something about it. "Hey! Shop -hiccup- Stop that!"

He shook his leg to remove the dog and lost his precarious balance in the process. "Whoa! Leggo - hiccup- my leg, dammit!" Starsky landed with a thump on the curb of the sidewalk. He'd barely hit the pavement when a car whizzed by dangerously close to his feet that were still in the gutter. The brunet spun them out of the way as quickly as he could.

"Stupid sonofabish! Try drivin' on th' road inshed of th' shide –hiccup- shidewalk!" He slurred, shaking his fist as the rapidly departing vehicle.

A little worried about the dog, he looked around for it.

The pooch was sitting on its butt just a few feet away. It squinted its eyes and its enormous pink tongue lolled out the side of its mouth as the jaws gaped widely. It looked for all the world like it was smiling at him. It even gave a series of snorting pants that sounded suspiciously close to laughter.

Starsky goggled at the comical looking critter. 'Did that thing just save my life?' He shook his head at the inane thought. Which promptly sent the world spinning around him. "Nah… Ish gotta be th' –hiccup- beer." He grumbled out loud as he contemplated how to stand up again.

He painstakingly made his way to his feet and braced himself with his crutches. As he did that, it got him to thinking that it was hard enough coordinating ones own legs when drunk, but throw two crutches into the mix? Well, that made it nearly impossible to get around.

A snorted grumble-pant from the dog made him look down. The dog stood up and waddled across the crosswalk, stopping mid way to look back at him before continuing on.

"Alright, ya –hiccup- damn Lassie wanna be, I'm comin'." Starsky rolled his eyes at the graceless hind end of the bulldog, with its tightly curled tail and stiff, waddling walk. He swung his crutches and headed across the street, taking extra care to watch for traffic this time.

It took him nearly an hour to get home and by then he was so tired that instead of attempting the steps to his apartment, the curly haired detective simply made his way to the Torino and got in. He stretched out across the front seat and fell asleep.

XXXX

As Huggy drove to pick Starsky up to take him to the doctor to get his cast removed, the bar owner smiled. The sun was shining brightly and there was a fresh breeze blowing in from the distant bay. It was a beautiful morning in Bay City.

Huggy was sure that his friend had finally coming to grips with what had happened that awful nights so many weeks ago. Ever since Starsky had fallen and broken his cast, his white brother seemed to have come to terms with the fact that it had all been a tragic accident and Hutch was never coming back. The obsessive cleaning had stopped, as had the background checks.

Starsky had begun to heal on the inside. And today the plaster cast would come off.

The good feeling he'd had fled as Huggy pulled into the parking lot and noticed that the Torino's driver's side door was wide open. One blue sneaker poked along with the foot portion of the leg cast Starsky had on. The thin black man shook his head; instinctively knowing this didn't bode well.

He pulled up next to the bright red car and got out. Looking into the front seat of the Torino, he saw the detective sprawled across the seat, with a very dirty, smelly and incredibly ugly dog half lying across the sleeping detective's chest. He slowly shook his head back and forth. "Starsky m'man, you're taste in girl's is definitely slippin'. This one's a real dog." He chuckled as he reached out and grabbed his friend's shoe.

XXXX

A hand grabbing his foot woke Starsky. He blinked, only to slam his lids shut once more and the sun's rays stabbed painfully deep into his brain. He fumbled around before remembering he had fallen asleep in his car. He smacked his dry lips and ran an equally dry tongue over his teeth. They felt like they had fur growing on them. He made a sour face as he wrapped his arm around the heavy weight on his chest. A rancid odor hit him square in the face.

"What the-" His head split clean in two at those two words and hot vomit rose in the back of his throat. The weight on his chest moved off with a few grunting snorts. Starsky slammed a hand over his mouth and, with Huggy's help managed to spew outside the Torino.

He puked until nothing more came out. Thinking the worst was over, he lifted his head. "Ohgod." The brunet dry heaved helplessly.

"Steady m'man. You got yourself one grade "A" hangover." The thin man patted Starsky consolingly on the shoulder. "Who's your new girlfriend?"

The ill detective cast a blurry eye on Huggy. "My what?"

"You were sleepin' with a dog. Just wonderin' what her name is." The bar owner joked.

"Dog? What dog?… Oh yeah…don't know, just some stray. Hug, my head's splittin'." Starsky squinted at his watch, but the numbers on the face blurred. "What time is it?"

Huggy checked his timepiece. "You've got an hour before your appointment. That's just enough time for you to get cleaned up. Let me help you." He grabbed an arm and tugged.

The brunet accepted Huggy's help. He didn't want to be late for his date to get the damn plaster cast off. He had places to go and some demons in Minnesota to confront.

XXXX

The next day Starsky called Dobey and told him he was headed out of town for a while. He prepaid his and Hutch's rent and utilities for the next two months. Made Huggy promise to care for Hutch's plants, threw some cloths in a duffle, grabbed his cane – which he would have to use for a few weeks yet until his leg completely healed- and got into the Torino.

The brunet's lips thinned into a grim line. The reoccurring nightmare still plagued him when he slept. In his alcohol-induced sleep the night before, he'd recalled Hutch hollering, "Look out!"

Look out for what? Had his friend seen something? Or was it just a reflex shout? Having exhausted –hell, obsessed over – all other avenues, Starsky knew the accident scene was the only thing left to examine. He had to go to the scene of the accident and look around for himself. Though he knew that searching for any clues would be next to impossible this time of year, if he waited any longer, many remaining clues would be washed away in the spring melt.

Besides, he had to see Hutch again. Even if his friend no longer knew him. The brunet worked hard to swallow past the lump in his throat. He rubbed his aching leg. With the cast off –if necessary- he knew he'd be able to disguise himself and slip onto the Hutchinson estate or Van Hall or wherever he needed to go.

No one and nothing would keep him from Hutch's side. Maybe then the nightmares would stop plaguing him.

He'd thought about flying back to Duluth, but decided against it. A long drive was what he needed. After being confined to his apartment for so long, he couldn't stand the thought of being cooped up in a plane, even for a few hours. Besides it would cost more to fly there and rent a car once he got there. Besides he didn't know where he might need to go once he arrived.

But deep down, he had to admit that he simply felt closer to Hutch in the car, like his friend had stepped out, but would be back shortly. He glanced over at the empty passenger seat and rubbed his chest, right over the spot were the unrelenting pain in his heart was located.

XXXX

Starsky drove for long hours as he motored his way to Minnesota, only resting when he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. A few hours of sleep –usually in the Torino- and he was back on the road again.

A couple days later he'd arrived. He wasn't at all certain where Hutch was being held. And knowing it would be exponentially more difficult to get onto the Hutchinson estate, Starsky prepared to gain entry into the Van Hall Institute. The Institute was located roughly 50 miles south west of Duluth on Interstate 35, near the Town of Moose Lake.

As he stared at the imposing main building of the Van Hall Institute, Starsky thought back to the day after he had fallen out of bed and re-injured his leg. He'd been cleaning up the Lancet magazines he'd tossed about the night before, when he had noticed the ad for help wanted at the Van Hall Institute. An idea crawled into his brain and grew. Orderlies and nurses were needed. That had set his mind to thinking of a way to gain entry into that place. Waiting for his cast to be removed had been the hardest part of his plan and now at long last here he was, standing outside the building.

The Hutchinsons had been incredibly stingy with the information they gave Captain Dobey. This whole trip could be a colossal waste of time since he wasn't even sure if Hutch was even in there. From his motel room, Starsky had called Van Hall to see if there were still job openings. Luck was with him, there was. He made the appointment for the interview and now here he was. He carefully tamped down his excitement and limped his way into the building.

Cane in hand, he followed the directions that the receptionist gave him. He rounded a corner and bumped into a large older woman. "Oh, excuse me, I'm sorry-" Starsky's voice trailed off as he found himself staring at the very familiar face of Nurse Doris Bycroft -the once head nurse from the Cabrillo State Mental institution.

The older woman paled when she recognized him.

"What are you doin' here?" Starsky gasped, startled to see her and here of all places. As a part of her plea agreement –in addition to her testifying against Doctor Matwick- she was not supposed to be working in the health field any more.

"Not here. Not now." She whispered and her eyes darted about, checking to see if anyone else near. Speaking a little louder, she continued. "Nearest gas station? Here, let me draw you a map." Pulling a note pad from her pocket, she jotted something down and handed the paper to him. She then beat a hasty retreat.

After she was gone, Starsky looked down at the paper and read it. Along with a meeting place and time were the words:

Hutch is missing.

TBC