Thanks to Wuemsel for helping me to keep Hutch in character. Once again, credit for some of the lines written below goes to Strut.
Warning: I'm going to repeat this one more time: if you are sensitive to loss, don't read this! If you do, don't come complaining to me about it. In other words: if you can't stand the heat, vacate the cooking area!
Warning: And this is a serious one! These chapters contain the death of a child! Although I tried to keep it as less graphic as possible, it still is rather disturbing and I had a great deal of trouble writing it.
Warning: These chapters contain a riot scene that may be upsetting.
Okay, I hope I haven't scared off the majority of my readers. For those of you still with me, enjoy!
Chapter 22
The police took both Starsky's and Belinda's statements, but strangely enough left it at that. To Starsky's surprise they had no problem with the fact that he and Belinda would leave for their 'honeymoon' the next day. Luckily, the robber's gunshot wound wasn't life threatening. However, the man would be out of commission for a while.
So, after a restless night, they left to start their trip down south early in the morning, leaving the restaurant in the capable hands of the cook. The small town of Burnaby looked peaceful, and quiet, as most of its inhabitants were still asleep. Only the seagulls were crying their farewells over the empty waters of the bay. They took his pickup truck. He'd much rather had taken Bell's car, the green Ford, for it was far better suited for a trip like this, but that one was currently under repairs, and he didn't want to wait another day for it to be finished.
His wife sat quietly in the passenger's seat as she obviously tried to come to terms with his strange behavior. The look in her eyes, right before she agreed to come was one he would never forget. She hadn't said it, but Starsky knew she was wondering if he'd actually gone crazy.
It wasn't a comforting thought.
To top it all off, the further they got away from home, the more cramped the brunet's insides started to feel, the pain in his stomach increasing steadily over the last one hundred miles, resulting in slight tremors shooting up his spine. He felt awful. The aspirins he'd taken two hours ago didn't seem to help, and seeing as he still had a long drive ahead of him, he didn't dare take anything stronger.
Trying to keep his condition from Belinda, Starsky had withdrawn inwardly, keeping quiet as he tried to keep the pickup on the road with the sweat filled palm of one hand. Silently he tried to keep the truck steady, ignoring the feverish spells by gripping the wheel tightly.
His hand clenched when suddenly his brain decided to launch vicious little knifes at his eyeballs. Nausea, headache and dizziness overwhelmed him, seemingly coming from out of nowhere. He panicked slightly, not understanding what was wrong with him. The intangible feelings sent his anxiety through the roof. What the hell am I doing taking off to the South just like that? For a moment he feared Belinda was right. That he'd gone crazy. God, look at me. Here I am, chasing ghostly images from my dreams, which could turn out to be nothing more but figments of my imagination.
Without a word he took a ramp off Interstate Five leading to a motel. Surprised, Belinda turned to face him. He couldn't look her in the eyes. Instead, he stopped at a parking lot where he angrily yanked the door open and exited the truck.
Belinda stared at him. The brunet saw the tears welling up in her eyes for fear he'd lost it as he was pacing the slab of concrete, trying to catch his breath, using the fresh air to get rid of the nausea and confusion.
If anything it only made matters worse. Not wanting to upset his wife anymore than he'd done already, he made a beeline for the small restaurant, heading straight for the restroom where he immediately lost his entire breakfast.
Fear raced through him as he stood there leaning over the toilet, trembling from head to toe. He coughed, carefully stood up straight, and pushed the lever. Then he went over to the washbasin to wash up. The man in the mirror staring back at him looked ragged. If he didn't know any better he'd say he was going through withdrawal.
What the hell's wrong with me?
The worried voice of his wife sounded from behind the closed door, "David, are you alright?"
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just give me a few minutes, I'll be right there."
"I've booked us a room at the motel. It looks like you're not going anywhere for a while. We'll be staying the night, okay?"
"Yeah, 's okay. Thanks Bell."
Right now he wanted nothing more but to turn around and head home, where it was safe. The thought of having to enter the car to continue his journey almost made him run for the John again. Something inside him objected fiercely to that idea. He hated to admit it, but Bell's decision to stay here for tonight made him sigh with relief.
He closed his eyes, trying to get rid of the headache. The pain had a familiarity to it. With effort he remembered he'd been running at the time. Someone had shouted at him to get out…
Had that really happened? No, it couldn't be real.
The detective within him stirred, urging him to seek some answers, causing him to shake his head in frustration. Angrily he pulled himself together.
Damn, I have to find out what this all means. I can't turn around now. It's just to Bay City and back again, Starsk.
And if it turns out to be a wild goose chase?
Well, you can't blame a man for trying.
Determined now, he headed out to find his wife.
Karl stared down at his pray lying forlornly on the dirt-covered ground in the corner of the cellar. Tying him to the bed hadn't been necessary since that memorable day when the detective had stopped fighting, a few months ago. Ever since then, he had seen the fire slowly extinguish from the blond's eyes.
With satisfaction he now watched his handy work.
Vacant eyes.
Karl had seen this expression for far too many times to not recognize it instantly.
Usually it didn't take six months, though, more like six weeks, maximum. This project had been highly interesting. A most educating experience, teaching him once again, that all men had their breaking points. His fear for the detective vanished as he realized this had just taken a bit longer, that was all.
He sighed, drawing the blond's Magnum from under his jacket. He'd been carrying it ever since he'd first captured the two. Calmly, he took off the safety.
The detective didn't even flinch. Once they reached this state, they never did. He aimed for the head. Too bad it was all over. However, it was best to put the blond out of his misery now.
"NO!"
A small body raced into his firing range. Karl immediately lifted the gun, but realized he'd already pulled the trigger as the sound echoed loudly through the basement. In shock he saw the result lying lifeless on the ground in front of him.
"Oh, no, no, no," he said, the implications of what he'd just done scaring him to bits. "He's never gonna forgive me. Ben's never going to forgive me! SHIT!"
Hutch woke up slowly, dimly recalling Karl's intention to shoot him. He hadn't mind. The memory of his partner, his life outside as a cop had vanished a long time ago. All that was left of his existence belonged to the man leaning over him, and he'd watched with vague disinterest as the muzzle of his own gun was pointed at his head.
Surprised to find that he was still alive he clenched his eyes shut, feeling a rush of fear of what had almost happened. A part of him suddenly recalled the day everything changed. The day he'd stopped fighting and had let Karl take over. He sobbed slightly. He fought it for such a long, long time, but in the end just had to give in. And now he didn't even know who he was anymore.
Opening his eyes and blinking a couple of times, Hutch started to register his surroundings. To his surprise he wasn't in the cellar anymore. He was lying on the floor of a room, which seemed… familiar, somehow.
Then he noticed the body.
With a gasp he crawled over to it, shook it. The boy didn't move. Panicking, Hutch looked at his hands, they were covered in blood. His eyes grew wide as he also noticed the gun lying only inches from where he'd woken up.
Trembling all over, Hutch stood up, stepping back from a scene he didn't understand. Suddenly a door opened behind him. He turned to find Karl staring in shock at the dead kid.
"What did you do?" Karl looked at him, utterly horrified.
"I … I didn't-"
"You killed him!"
"No! I… I didn't-."
"How can you deny it, detective?" The last word was spoken with utter contempt, "I gave you back your gun, and you went and killed the boy!"
"N... No… I could never-" Hutch lowered his head.
"Don't tell me you could never do it, Hutchinson. I know you, and when I'm telling you you're capable of it, trust me, you're capable! That is your gun, isn't it?" He pointed at the floor.
Hutch obediently followed his gaze, "Y... Yes, but-"
"You want me to believe that you let the boy 'play' with your gun and he accidentally killed himself?"
Hutch fell silent, confused. Something inside told him, firmly, unrelenting, almost angry that he wasn't capable of something like this, he wasn't. And that if he was, he didn't deserve to live.
"I'm calling the cops," Karl suddenly decided, walking over to the phone located on a dresser next to a vase containing a bouquet of long dead flowers.
"You should be in jail, where they'll take care nicely of people like you."
"N… No…please… I didn't-"
"You don't deserve to live." The man said in a low voice.
Hutch froze.
Karl stared at him, and Hutch felt as if he was nothing more than a dog, which needed to learn its place. "Okay, I'm giving you one more chance, detective. Either you pick up that gun, and end your miserable life, or you walk out now, and run from justice forever. Take your pick. It's your choice."
The blond shook his head, reeling from the fact that Karl had given him a choice. It'd been a long time since he had one. He stepped back, slowly, as a survival instinct Hutch didn't know he still possessed kicked in. The choice was easy.
He turned… and ran.
Karl watched him leave Helen's apartment. His grey, unemotional grey eyes were cold with revenge. Taking a handkerchief out of his pant pocket he used it to pick up the handle from its cradle.
It took him a full five minutes to alert both the newspapers and television stations. He smiled as he hung up the phone. By the time the police would figure out what was going on, it was already too late.
For a few moments after he'd gotten Tommy killed, Karl had thought he was a dead man. His brother would never forgive him for killing his son, even if it was just a runt born from one of Ben's many flings.
But this way, not only would Hutchinson get the blame, it would destroy the reputation he still had; and it would get him killed. The best part of it being that Karl wouldn't even need to lift a finger to make it happen.
As usual he would walk away free. Just the way he liked it.
He waited just a few moments more to give the detective a head start, and then picked up the phone again. It was time to call Helen.
Chapter 23
Being locked up in that basement for six months had made Hutch sensitive to every outside stimulus his senses were bombarded with right now. The streets looked long and hostile; the open space was almost too overwhelming, the sky above felt frighteningly dangerous, and the noise coming from the ongoing traffic sounded horrendously loud.
People were watching him as they stopped doing whatever it was they were doing when he staggered passed them. He tried to ignore their accusing stares, but it was hard. Their eyes seemed to follow him everywhere.
He didn't know where he was going. A part of his mind recognized the environment, the street he was in, but these memories weren't able to break through the walls of fear and panic Karl had bestowed on him.
His legs ached as the weak muscles protested against their sudden use, so the blond was forced to pause for a while inside a small dead end alley.
Trembling all over, he leaned against the fire escape of a black-bricked building. His broken will had trouble catching up with reality, and wanted nothing more than to pull back into the safety of the darkness again, to let someone else, to let Karl do the thinking.
Hutch sagged onto the iron steps, giving in to his body's demands to rest, if only for a few minutes.
He woke up with a start, having no idea how much time had passed. However, in reality it hadn't been more than a couple of hours. He nearly cried in pain as the unusual sitting position wrecked havoc with his already sore muscles. The blond stood up slowly as his mind told him to push on. Grunting, he forced his legs to move.
The pain in his muscles subsided and Hutch found he was able to think more clearly. He couldn't go home, if people found out what he'd become… No, he couldn't look them in the eye. They would despise him, just as Karl had predicted they would.
And Starsk…
A pain which concurred him long ago reared up sharply, instantly making the small flame that was Kenneth Hutchinson withdraw even more into the dark pit Forest had thrown him into when he'd fallen over the edge. He felt lost, so incredibly lost, and the vague sensation of knowing where he was, only served to make him feel even more disconnected.
And frightened as hell.
If only I could explain to someone that I didn't do it.
With effort he stumbled back onto the main street again, managing to keep himself more erect this time, not drawing too much attention to himself. Unconsciously he headed towards Ridgeway Avenue. It was nearly evening and rush hour had started. As shops were closing their doors, the small bars lining the sidewalk were starting to come to life.
Hutch neared a crossing and turned at the sudden sound of wheels skidding to a halt. A large black Chevrolet had just pulled over. Three tall, red haired, broad shouldered men with grim expression on their faces exited the car, followed by a copper coloured haired woman.
He froze, recognizing Helen instantly.
She marched over, her eyes red rimmed with grief, her features contorted with rage. The look on her face, the one of a grieving mother, shook him to the core. She stopped, confronting him with an icy stare. Her eyes holding nothing but utter contempt as they both stood there, frozen in time while the world rushed on around them.
There were so many things he wanted to say. First and foremost that he didn't do it. Somehow the words wouldn't come. His tired mind could only look at her in shock over what she must feel right now. "Helen, I didn't…"
His words died on his lips as she looked at the blood that was still on Hutch's hands. Her head snapped up. She shook it in a bitter negative, biting her lower lip with tear filled eyes, and obviously rejecting the vermin, which stood in front of her. Her deep inner turmoil as clear to him as if she'd shouted it from the rooftops,
Condemning him with a simple nod, she stepped aside to let the three men take over.
"In case you're wondering, we're her brothers," the left man growled. "And suffice it to say that when you killed Tommy, you signed your death warrant."
Only now did Hutch realize that he'd seen them hanging around Karl before. The one in the middle, was holding a baseball bat and swung it threateningly in his direction, while the brother on the right continued his speech, "You see, in our family we don't wait for the cops to do the dirty work, we do it ourselves."
"It wasn't me…" he spoke hoarse, holding up his hands in surrender. "I never… I couldn't…"
"And who else might have done it then?" Standing slightly off to his side, Helen's bitter words rang through the street. "Karl? You really think he'd kill his own nephew?"
"N…Nephew?"
"Yes," one of the brothers hissed low. "Nephew, Ben's son, and you killed the boy to get back at him, didn't you, cop?"
The men closed in, their intentions clear, they were done talking. Although outnumbered and far from being able physically, or mentally to take on his adversaries, a part of Hutch reacted on instinct alone. He drew the Magnum. They stopped their approach, barely four feet away from him.
The front man carrying the wood spoke dangerously, "What's the matter, one little boy wasn't enough? You're gonna kill us too?" his eyes filled with aggression. Sizing Hutch up, he lowered his voice a few octaves, "You're dead."
Hutch tried to keep calm, but it was hard to do that with Karl's voice sounding in his ears, telling him that that this was what he had coming. Doubt began to work its way inside, gnawing at his conviction that he hadn't done it. After all, he had the blood on his hands, and the gun... the gun which had killed Tommy… was his. He now held it in a shaking grip with both hands, wanting nothing more than to drop the thing altogether.
The front man, the one with the bat sensed his indecision.
Hutch backed off in anticipation, but was too late. He yelled in sudden pain as the wood connected hard with his right wrist, knocking the Magnum out of his hands. The bat swung again. Frantically, the blond ducked out of the way. The middle brother cursed, as Hutch's manoeuvre accidentally made him hit his left brother in his stomach.
The blond didn't wait for them to recover, and headed for the door behind him.
"Get him!" The now hunched over left man whispered between pain-filled breaths.
Clutching his sore wrist the blond burst inside the diner, only to stop short just inside the door at the nightmarish scene that greeted him there.
The crowd of people who're just making a quick stop to grab a bite to eat after work, all fell silent. The television set in the corner was the only thing that went blatantly on broadcasting the local news to whoever wanted to hear it.
"We repeat: a body of a young boy was found this morning in an apartment on Sea View Road. In an interview taken earlier this morning Mrs Helen Anderson, the boy's mother, told us she identified the possible suspect as detective Kenneth Hutchinson."
The scene changed to one showing a sobbing Helen. "He killed my boy! He shot him in cold blood!" Tears overwhelmed her. Between choking breaths she managed to speak a few more bitter words. "He escaped, but rest assured justice will be done. If anyone sees him, call this number." She mentioned a telephone number, and then got cut off by the female reporter.
"At this point the police are unwilling to give a statement regarding the possible suspect."
The scene changed again to that of a picture.
Countless heads turned from the television set, where Hutch's picture was now being displayed in clear black and white, back to him.
Seconds passed without anyone daring to speak up.
Oh God. What was left of his former self instantly realized that any hope of getting someone to listen to him had just been thrown out the window. No one would believe him. He was already convicted, already found guilty by the majority of people. The hunt had already started. And he was nothing more than the prey Karl had made him out to be.
Over at one corner a group of local construction workers noisily stood up in an aggressive gesture. Behind Hutch the brothers had entered.
"Yeah, that's right," one of the three shouted at the crowd. "That's him, and I'll say we give him what he deserves."
Hutch turned to slowly back away from them. The brother's gazes were fixed on the blond as they aggressively moved in for the kill. With a loud crack the bat impacted on a table surface inches away from him, smashing the table in half, making Hutch flinch.
"Come on, Folks." One of them continued, "Are we going to allow scum like this to run loose on our streets?"
More people stood up in active aggression, acting like a shoal of fish as they single-mindedly started to react violently to the angry atmosphere permeating the diner.
Someone spit on him.
That spurred his terrified mind into action. Pushing aside a surprised black suited office employee with a hard shove, Hutch fled for the back door. However, a construction worker tripped him, making him crash land into another construction worker who punched him hard in the stomach.
Despair born out of pure survival, made him let his cop instincts take over. He picked up a chair to swing it with force into the back of the guy's head. Without a sound, the man sank to the ground. Hutch avoided another swing, and violently shrugged himself loose from groping hands to finally reach the relative safety of the backdoor.
He ran out.
His mind went blank when he looked over his shoulder to find the crowd surging out behind him, ruthlessly hunting him down. He could hear their cries of hate and anger growing ever louder, could feel his own terrifying fear pushing his tired muscles beyond their limits.
When he neared the intersection again, he was beyond being able to think straight, and took the first opportunity for escape. He dove inside the back of a passing red pick up truck, which just accelerated from having to stop at the traffic lights.
Lying on his back with his heart throbbing in his throat, and unable to move, the aggressive sounds slowly dispersed. He closed his eyes in fear, losing himself in the absolute horrifying experience.
Karl had been right. He would be running from justice… forever.
Tbc
