Warning: Angst, and Hutch hurt alert. (Hey, what can I say, I am a Hutch girl, after all).
Thanks to the usual suspects, especially BLG.
These chapters will raise some questions, but rest assured that they will be answered as the story continues.
Chapter 18
Get out…
So that was what he did, running. Running to get out of town, running to make sure this pain he started to feel did not catch up with him.
It worked. A strange numbness settled over him. The brunet could feel its soothing power working its way through him, tenderly smoothing the rough edges of the broken bond. He didn't realize that this was the drug's only virtue, bringing peace where pain should have been. He cradled the feeling, nurtured it, his mind gladly letting go of the terrifying emptiness it faced.
The stupor caused by the drug enabled him to keep his body going, to keep running.
It wasn't until he caught a lift from a friendly truck driver that he managed to catch his breath a bit. Tired beyond words, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out why, since he hadn't done all that much today, the brunet closed his eyes in the relative safety of the truck's cabin.
God, where did this headache come from? Now if only he could get some shut eye in this cramped space. Maybe then this hammering going on inside my skull will cease.
With a sigh Starsky drifted away into a deep sleep, one that would rid his mind of the last of the confusion, leaving a blissfully, peaceful blackness in its wake.
However, unbeknownst to him, the cruel breaking of their bond worked of course… both ways.
Hutch was screaming.
He had known pain before. He had survived a car crash, lying pinned beneath it for hours on end, his leg crushed underneath. He had survived the plague. He had taken a bullet or two in his younger years, and he had even survived the pains of withdrawal.
But it was nothing like this.
He had dropped the Magnum as he curled in on himself in shock. He didn't even feel the wounds caused by the bullets which had hit him, one in the left shoulder and one in his left upper arm. The agonizing pain resonating from within the depth of his soul radiated outward like a solar flare, the flaming, searing fire, ripping him apart.
He didn't understand what was happening. He hadn't even known a depth like that existed within him. All he knew was that he felt ripped… torn apart from the inside. And he had no idea how to quell the overwhelming agony of the ruptured bond which had existed between them.
So all he could do was scream.
"SHUT HIM UP!" Karl ordered, slightly panicked at seeing the blond rolling over the floor, effectively awakening the whole neighbourhood. Thank God this factory was located in a somewhat remote area with no one around for miles.
"How? We already shot him twice!" Michaels replied.
"Jesus," Donalds whispered, staring in shock at Hutch. "What did you do to him?"
"I shot him!" Michaels answered exasperatedly.
"Yes, but…"
"It's not the gunshots, you idiots!" Karl walked forwards. "It's something else."
Mercifully he knocked Hutch out cold with the butt of his own gun, the following silence almost hurting the ears.
"Interesting," he mused. "It looks like the drug is having some side effects."
Donalds tore his eyes away from the blond and looked up. "But we gave it to the other one!"
Karl didn't laugh. "That's what's so interesting about it."
One of the Sumos came running in from outside. "He's gone," he heaved. "Boy, can that man run."
"Let him," Karl ordered, it's obvious the drug did its job.
The Sumo frowned. "Won't he run straight for the cops?"
This time, Karl did smile. "He won't remember a thing, not us, not his past, nor his life or his partner over here."
Donalds stared at him and all he could say was, "Jesus."
"Right," Karl motioned to the blond. "Pick him up. We got what we need. And Donalds?"
Donalds looked up from the still body on the floor. "Yes?"
"Make sure the Feds keep their eyes on Starsky. I don't care what he does as long as he remains oblivious of his past. It's highly unlikely, but if he starts remembering, let me know at once, it'll mean we'll have to pack up and leave."
The agent nodded. "Don't worry, a deals a deal, we'll take care of it."
Starsky didn't know why he was going north. He only knew the truck driver was heading that way. He'd woken up still feeling immeasurably tired. With drooping eyelids he stared out of the large passenger window, watching the scenery slowly fade in the dimming light of the setting sun.
Who knows where this truck is taking me. I might even stay there for a while. Yes, that would be nice for a change. No more travelling… get a job at a local store or something… maybe even meet a nice girl. Yeah, this truck will take me… home.
He closed his eyes again, drifting away in a peaceful slumber, certain that when he would wake up again, he would be home.
The bullets were removed by some shady doctor; the injuries were treated and cleaned, but the fever stayed, originating from deep within him.
"You know, Detective, this connection you had with your partner is quite eerie and, I think you'll agree with me on this by now, most unhealthy.
Hutch heard him, saw him, but didn't acknowledge Karl's presence. Lying on the old cot in the room in the basement once more, he stared at the ceiling as feverish, hot drops of sweat were trickling down his face. Pain kept coursing through his system.
There were no dreams, just the frightening reality of not knowing what was wrong with him as he suffered the experience of nausea, dizziness and the sense of free fall. Emptiness was what he felt, feeding high temperatures, dehydration and desperation as his soul kept searching for something that was no longer there.
Unable to cope with the loss his body was shutting down on him.
Hutch blinked a couple of times as finally, after three confusing, terrifying days, he began to understand what was going on. Karl's words started to make sense.
"No," he shook his head in desperation. At least he's gotten away, the blond thought frantically, that's all that counts. "He… will… remember," he spoke hoarsely. "He can't …" He gasped, trying to get the words out of his dry mouth.
The determination obviously angered Karl, who leaned in a bit closer. "He won't. Not you, not anything… it's gone, destroyed. Can't you feel that?" He fell silent for a while, letting the words sink in. "There's nothing left for you now. No cops, no friends, no family, no life…."
Hutch shook his head again in denial.
Karl squatted in front of the cot, his face now mere inches from the blond's. "You know, I didn't like it much at first, but now I think that giving the stuff to your partner was a stroke of genius. Because watching you slowly die here is immensely more satisfying this way."
Hutch eyes flashed with a surge of fierce resistance, before they widened in sudden pain. When his cramped muscles unwind a bit, he whispered, "You're a fool Karl. Why not just kill me now, and get it over with?"
"Oh, this is just the beginning, detective. That's why I had your injuries treated. Your life is mine."
The blond turned his head away. "No."
"Let go of your partner, he's not coming back."
"No."
"Suit yourself, detective. You just keep fighting. It makes your eventual destruction that much sweeter. Too bad the Feds took the drugs with them when they left. Oh well, I never liked Ben's methods anyway. I much rather use my own means. It takes a bit longer perhaps, but we'll get there all the same. You'll see, in the end, you'll want to die."
Hutch closed his eyes to shut out reality, trying to find the one feeling that would tell him if there was any hope left.
There was nothing.
Chapter 19
"You know, Belinda? You've got the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."
"Flatterer."
"Do you want to have diner with me? My treat."
"But I own this restaurant!"
"So? Have you ever sat down quietly in your own restaurant, enjoying a candlelight dinner for two?"
"I think someone's fishing for information here."
"Have ya?"
She smiled. "No."
"You oughta."
"Careful Mister Starsky. I could easily fall in love with you."
"Call me David. Tonight? Seven?"
"All right, seven."
Despite the fact that Hutch was given food on a regular basis, and was even allowed to make guarded trips to a filthy bathroom on the ground floor every morning, gradually the blond's fight lessened with his fading strength. Still, over the course of the next two months the wounds started to heal, and much to Karl's frustration the fever, which had never completely left him, finally did brake.
"You're still hanging on to hope, aren't you?" Karl angrily grabbed the blond's wrist. His patience obviously having run out, he clearly planned to get on with business.
Hutch tried to yank his arm back, but the man had placed it in an iron grip. The blond just looked at him in defiance, not giving a sound as with an evil grin, Karl purposefully closed his hand even tighter around it, causing pain to shoot up the wounded arm and shoulder. The blond bit back a cry, clenching his lips together in stubbornness
Karl's smile died on his face. "I think it's time we did something about that feisty nature of yours, Hutchinson," he spoke, angry, "Especially since you're all well again." He motioned for the Sumos, who hauled him ruthlessly off the cot. "Take him outside."
They dragged him over to the back of the factory where a large water-filled basin covered the desolated area. Although Hutch tried to plant his feet, he was no match for the two men throwing him in.
The Sumos jumped in after him to stand on the bottom of the basin which turned out to be only chest deep. They ruthlessly pushed the fighting detective under. He struggled, his splashing drenching the Sumos, the noise translating as a low underwater roar as the dead lock around his arms and shoulders mercilessly stayed in place.
They pulled him up again.
"There's no Starsky here to save you!" Karl yelled, standing on the concrete edge of the basin.
"Stuff it!" He spluttered, after having taking in a few gulps of air, his heart beating like crazy.
The Sumos coldly pushed him down again, and again, and again, until they kept him there a little too long. In the brown murky water his movements quieted down.
They hauled him up.
Hutch had started to drift away into unconsciousness. He woke up with a start, panicking, forgetting everything but the will to survive. In his despair he reached out frantically, grabbing hold with both hands onto one of the Sumos to keep them from drowning him again.
Karl smiled, motioning for his men to halt their actions. "No more the tough cop everybody thinks you are, huh? Who owns your life now, Hutchinson?"
Coughing up the stale dirty water, Hutch didn't dare answering. Water trickled down his face as the Sumos held him steady.
Karl's posture was victorious as he obviously realized he gained some footing. "Good, you're learning. That's enough for now, boys."
They dragged him back to the cot. Soaking wet and shivering from head to toe, he was freezing in the damp cellar's chilling temperatures, the cold numbing the pain originating from the barely healed gun shot wounds.
"Now, don't you die on me yet," Karl mocked the trembling detective. "Tie him to the bed. Let's see if a couple of days of fasting will quench that stubborn streak of yours."
The blond placidly let the Sumos restrain him. "Y…You're that af…f…fraid of me, Karl?" He whispered as his bonds were tightened around the iron frame.
Karl, who was about to walk out the door hesitated, his posture relaying to Hutch that he had hit bull's eye. The man turned around, his calm voice iced with unhidden hatred. "My brother underestimated you, and your partner. I won't make that same mistake." His tone grew nasty. "Maybe in a few weeks, when you come to realize your whole life has dwindled down to a pitiful existence in this basement, when you'll accept I own your life, your existence, and your soul, maybe then… I will untie you."
Silence descended as Hutch had trouble replying to the pure loathing he felt coming from the man. Normally words such as these didn't bother him that much. It came with a cop's territory. But recent events had done its job. Karl was beginning to get to him. Hutch knew he was loosing. The near drowning having sucked away all his strength… there just wasn't much left anymore.
Karl understood. Without saying another word, he proceeded to follow his man out into the dark corridor.
A loud click and the lights went out.
Hutch clenched his fists, wishing he could be sure Starsky wouldn't just forget about him, wouldn't just abandon him. No matter what drug Karl had pumped into the brunet. However, the unexpected, terrifying lost feeling, against which Hutch had no defence whatsoever, kept winning terrain. The fear that his captor had destroyed him at his core by literally taking Starsky out of the picture, kept winning ground with every breath he took.
As he had done so many times in the past few weeks he tried to squash the emptiness inside him as it only served to hasten his downfall. And just as so many times before, he didn't succeed.
Hope began to fade, slowly, relentlessly as it lost ground to the timeless void Hutch seemed to find himself in. With a last gasp, he released his clenched fists, having struggled in vain to free himself from his bonds. Tired, he relented to the ropes which Karl had placed on both his wrists and his soul.
Shivering, all he could was drift away in the safety of the darkness.
Stepping into the bedroom, a concerned look crossed Belinda's deep brown eyes when she caught her fiancée nearly choking on a nasty cough.
"I dink I cadched a cold or someding," he mumbled.
Belinda tried to suppress a grin at the puppy eyed look he shot her.
"Men," she said, feeling truly sorry for him. "You, sneeze once, and you think you're gonna die."
"I feel horrible," he whined.
"You better stay in for today and rest up a bit." She sat down on the bed, "We don't want you to be sick at your own wedding in a few months, now do we?"
"Wid a preddy girl as you for a nurse, dis ding will pass in no dime."
Belinda smiled, "try to get some sleep."
Nodding in agreement, Starsky crawled back underneath the blankets.
She kissed him on the cheek, decided to fix him up some soup, and silently left the room.
Tbc
