Chapter 11
Starsky stared, mesmerised by the two bright, unblinking eyes. As he watched, he seemed to see a body behind the eyes – a black body that called to him.
The voice in his head became louder. Come to me Mon Cher. If I can't have you, then neither can the blond one you call friend.
Starsky took a step forwards. Papa Noir was in front of him! Papa had found them and despite what he'd done to Hutch, he might be the one person who could stop this nightmare. Starsky's tortured mind was torn between asking for help and turning tail to put as much distance as possible between him and Hutch and the shaman. The brunet looked down at his partner. Hutch was slumped in the water, leaning heavily on a half submerged tree trunk. The blond man was soaked to the skin and was nursing his injured arm against his body, but Hutch's eyes were closed and his body shook uncontrollably.
'Hutch?'
There was no answer from the blond, but the voice in his head called louder to Starsky. Come to me Mon Cher. You know how I can help. Just a few steps more...
Starsky found his body moving towards the eyes. Better the devil he knew... The eyes watched him impassively as the brunet took another step, and then another faltering step and oddly the eyes didn't blink and no arms appeared to welcome him. Instead Starsky paused, unsure and as he started to move again and strong hand caught him by the wrist.
'What the fuck?'
Starsky turned to see Hutch hanging on to his arm and pulling him away towards the far bank of the stream.
'Back up nice and slow. No sudden moves huh? They're attracted to splashing and thrashing in the water.'
The brunet frowned. 'They?' he whispered.
'Gators. Back up slow and when we get to solid ground, run like hell' Hutch hissed, his voice thin and raw.
The brunet did a double take. Gators? What on earth was Hutch babbling about? Was he delirious? Papa was right there, ready to help. Starsky started to argue. At least with Papa they would be safe for a while, until they could escape again. At least they would be back in the warm, dry barn. He turned to look at the witch doctor... and stared into the eyes of a six foot alligator maybe 10 yards away. The cop froze mid stride, undecided which was the most creepy – the fact that he'd been about to walk right into the jaws of the huge reptile, or the fact that Papa Noir was so much inside his head that the witch doctor could make him do it.
'Hutch, it's a gator. It's a fuckin' alligator!'
'And if we don't get out, we're gonna be supper. C'mon buddy. Nice and slow. No sudden moves huh?' Hutch pulled gently on Starsky's arm and the brunet allowed himself to be guided slowly back to the bank of the stream. The two men scrambled up the slippery, muddy bank, grabbing at Cypress roots and hanging moss to help them. They reached solid ground just as the gator made its move with explosive speed and the two cops turned tail and ran. Bushes and small trees grabbed at them as they plunged through the swamp. Roots tripped them and low hanging branches whipped at their faces but it wasn't until they'd put a half a mile between them and the gator that Hutch's strength finally gave up and he sank to his knees on the soft earth, his breath sobbing in his throat.
The speed of their escape had done nothing to help the blond cop's blood loss. The bandages around his arm were sodden and black in the moonlight and blood seeped down his hand and stained his finger tips. Hutch's vision had narrowed as he'd plunged onwards through the undergrowth until now he saw the world through a red haze, speckled with black dots. His breath had almost given out so that he had to fight for every gram of oxygen and his limbs were as heavy as lead. It didn't take his medical training to tell him he'd lost a dangerous amount of blood. His own body was telling the story all too clearly. His heart pounded in his chest, he felt breathless and light headed and he found it so tough to think straight. Added to his worries was his partner's utter silence.
A couple of times during their flight. Hutch had paused and looked behind him to see Starsky way back, looking over his shoulder. At first, Hutch had thought that Starsky was merely watching his partner's back, but as they continued to run, it became clear that the brunet was sick, and getting sicker. Starsky continually looked over his shoulder as though he expected to see someone or something coming up behind him. A couple of times, Hutch had seen him clutch at his belly and double over and once he'd seen Starsky throw up by the side of the narrow path. Now, the brunet sank to his knees beside Hutch, his head hanging low.
'Starsk...'
'I'm here buddy.'
'You ok?'
'Sure.'
'Liar.'
'You don't look so hot.'
'I'm fine.'
'Now who's a liar?'
Starsky managed to smile past the gnawing pains in his gut. He'd thrown up so many times he'd lost count and he still couldn't shake the feeling that Papa Noir was following him through the swamp. It was as though the witch doctor was inside his head and the further Starsky got from the barn and the shaman, the more he had a compulsion to turn and head back towards Papa. The more he tried to fight the feeling, the stronger it became...and the sicker the brunet felt.
Hutch saw the troubled look on his partner's face and hated to add to Starsky's burdens. He knew how creaped out he had felt in the barn and could only imagine how Starsky must feel, having been the centre of the black magic ceremony. But he needed to talk because Hutch knew that he had little time left before he blacked out from blood loss, and he needed to make the curly haired cop understand that Papa Noir was not their saviour.
The blond cop collapsed back against the trunk of the closest tree. God how good it felt just to close his eyes. Maybe a little doze and he'd feel better? Hutch closed his eyes, feeling the world receding from him like a fade out in a movie. So calm...so peaceful...so...
Wake up Hutchinson! The stern voice inside Hutch's own head yelled at him. Hutch opened his eyes slowly and looked up into Starsky's. The indigo blue pools seemed to swim before his eyes and cloud so that, with growing horror, Hutch watched a body form inside those eyes and Papa Noir looked out at him from behind Starsky's own eyes. The shaman seemed to be looking straight at Hutch and finally Papa Noir pointed and started to laugh. Hutch closed his own eyes and shuddered.
'Noooo' he whispered.
'Huh? Hutch? Talk to me buddy.' Starsky's voice sounded distant and for the first time ever Hutch didn't want to look into his fiends face again. They say the eyes are the window to the soul. For both Hutch and Starsky, it was a given that if either of them were hurt, they could derive at least some comfort from the other man, often by nothing more than a look. It was as though Papa Noir seemed instinctively to know how to cut off Hutch's line of comfort and the blond felt so alone and vulnerable that for a second he even distrusted Starsky.
'Hutch...talk to me' Starsky whispered again, his hand reaching up to smooth away a sweat soaked flaxen bang from his buddy's forehead.
Hutch gathered his thoughts. He was dying, he knew that, but there were things that needed to be said – things Starsky might be able to do for him once he'd... the blond shut himself up.
'Starsk...listen t'me. I haven't...got long before...pass out.'
'You'll be fine.'
Hutch managed a weak grin. 'There's more've my blood in the damned swamp than in my body. Listen t'me. Talkin's tough.' Hutch passed to gather his breath. Shit, even talking tired him out.
'Then shut up and rest huh?' Starsky's voice sounded desperate and that hurt Hutch more than his own impending demise.
'S up t'you. You gotta get help...not him...not Noir huh? Understand?'
'Sure. Why the hell would I go back there?' Starsky asked, although even as he said the words, he felt a yearning to be back with the witch doctor again.
'Don't know what he did...he's dangerous...need help from...' Hutch's eyes closed and his arm fell to the ground, limply.
'Hutch? Hutchinson, don't you fuckin' leave me now, d'ya hear me?' Starsky said softly, his hand brushing Hutch's forehead gently. The skin felt cool, almost cold in the oppressive heat of the swamp and there was a fine sheen of sweat across Hutch's forehead.
Hutch's eyes fluttered open and with a titanic effort, the blond managed to smile up at his partner. 'Get help huh?'
'Does it hurt? Are you in pain? What can I... Hutch? HUTCH!' Starsky backed away for a moment as the blond's body seemed to sag, boneless against the tree. In the dark, Hutch's face was ghostly pale and reflexively Starsky took Hutch's wrist and felt for a pulse. It took a while, but it was there. Fast – too fast and staccato like a bird trapped in a cage, its wings hammering against the bars.
The brunet sat back on his heels and wiped a grimy hand over his face and through his curls. He hadn't even thought much about Hutch until now. In all the time they'd been thrashing through this godforsaken swamp, he'd been so preoccupied with Papa Noir that he'd almost ignored Hutch and his injuries. Now Starsky raked his mind for scraps of first aid knowledge to come to him. They'd all done it – all the cops, even basic life support, and they continued to have refresher courses, but here, in the swamp with the shaman still yelling at him inside his head Starsky found he could hardly think.
In cases of severe bleeding, don't unwrap the wound, just put another layer of bandage over the top and if its a limb, try to raise it above the level of the heart. Sergeant Gutterman's voice penetrated Starsky's head.
'Fine, wrap another layer of bandage. Sure. Everyone has an endless supply of bandages in the back of beyond' Starsky muttered to himself. The only thing he could think to use was Hutch's own shirt, Starsky having cut his own into ribbons to bandage Hutch to begin with. Carefully and with difficulty. Starsky managed to get the shirt from Hutch's limp body. Once or twice the blond moaned softly, but his eyes remained closed and his body heat seemed to leach away into the surrounding boggy ground.
Talking to his friend all the time, Starsky ripped the shirt into strips and bound that too around Hutch's arm. At the end of the process, he took his own belt from his jeans, slipped a loop around Hutch's wrist and fastened the other end of the belt around a branch above the blond's head. It looked too much like he'd restrained Hutch for Starsky to be pleased by the arrangement, but it was the only way Starsky could think of to keep his partner's arm higher than his heart. Maybe, just maybe the bleeding would slow.
In the meantime, Starsky needed to find help, and soon. The brunet could feel his will being sapped away. Without Hutch to ground him, Papa Noir's voice was sounding louder and louder in his head.
'Revenu à moi, mon cher. Come back to me.'
Starsky shook his head, clutching at his temples. 'Shuddup' he muttered. 'Get the hell away from me. Leave me alone.'
'But you are mine, mon cher. We could be happy together. I could make you happy. Do not fight this, you belong to me.'
'No. Nooo' Starsky yelled, lurching to his feet. 'I belong to...to...I belong to no-one' the brunet moaned into the dark. 'Not listening. Not listening. Thinking of sumthin else. Escape. Need to find help...need to...Oh Christ!' the pains in Starsky's stomach redoubled their efforts and the brunet crashed to his knees, clawing at his guts. Slowly he toppled onto his side and rolled onto his back, his knees drawn up to his chest as Starsky fought the searing burning pains in his stomach.
'You won't win...won't win' he gasped into the darkness.
'No? I can go on forever, mon cher. Can you?' Papa Noir's voice shrieked into his ear. 'Rest. Let me take care of you.'
The voice turned from threatening to seductive and Starsky fought hard not to listen. 'No, noooo' he moaned again and struggled to his feet. With a backwards glace at Hutch's unconscious body, Starsky started to run, one hand still clutching at his head whilst the other fended off the branches that whipped at his face.
The going was tough and the first pearly light of dawn was staining the sky when the brunet collapsed by the side of the small path, unable to push himself another yard. He'd run and run although whether it was running for help or running away from the voice in his head Starsky no longer knew. He was exhausted and he'd fought the pains on his gut for so long that the last time he'd thrown up, the product had been blood stained and coppery against his tongue. The voice in his head was still as loud, but in Starsky's weakened state, he could no longer drown it out and now he fell to his knees, his head hanging almost to the ground.
'Not goin' back...not goin'...not listening' the brunet muttered over and again. 'Not...'
Starsky stopped suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he looked sideways...at the two feet on the path at the side of him.
