Broken Doll-Chapter 5

Hutch was sleeping fitfully on the lumpy couch when a piercing cry jolted him awake. Momentarily confused, he rubbed his eyes, trying to gather his bearings.

"Huuuutch!"

He knew then where he was, and quickly ran into Starsky's room.

Starsky was sitting up in bed, sweat running down his pale cheeks, holding his chest, and gasping for breath.

Hutch immediately sat at his side and felt his forehead, "Jeeze, you're burning up!"

"Huh…Hutch," Starsky gasped, "she was here, she was..."

"Shh, shh, buddy. It was just a dream. I'm here now." Hutch went into the bathroom and retrieved a glass of cold water for Starsky.

With shaking hands, Starsky held the glass and drank deeply.

"Okay, let's get you into some dry clothes now."

Hutch unbuttoned Starsky's night shirt, and as he pulled the soaked garment open, he gasped—running across Starsky's stomach were several long, bloody gashes.

"Oh, buddy. What'd ya do?"

"Hum?" a sleepy voice replied—"do what?"

"Nothing. Just go back to sleep." Hutch ran his fingers over the damp curls, lulling his friend to sleep.

When Starsky's breath became deeper, Hutch set about gathering gauze and hydrogen peroxide to treat the painful looking scratches on his partner's chest. He also grabbed the thermometer, regretting having to wake his sleeping friend.

Hutch turned on the bedside lamp and looked more closely at the bare chest. Through the dark hair he saw what he'd missed earlier in his shock. Tiny red bumps covered the clammy skin on Starsky's chest and stomach. Hutch ran his hand down the pale arm and felt the roughness of a rash there, too.

More concerned than ever about his partner's well being, Hutch carefully cleaned and bandaged the scratches; he was sure Starsky had caused the deep gouges in his sleep trying to relieve the itchiness of the rash.

Starsky having not woken while his newest wound was tended, Hutch softly shook his shoulder. "Wake up for me, buddy, come on."

"Ummmm…"

"Come on, Starsk, I need to take your temperature again, buddy." More shaking. "Open your eyes for me, partner."

"Nuuh, go away. Sleep," the groggy and now hoarse voice pleaded.

Hutch reached behind the sick man's shoulders and pulled him up to a sitting position. This gesture mostly woke Starsky, and Hutch was able to get the thermometer under his tongue before he fell asleep in the blond's arms.

After several minutes, as his arm was beginning to numb, Hutch removed the glass tube and laid Starsky's perspiring head softly onto his pillow. 104 buddy. Tomorrow you see the doctor.

O0O

"Yeah, Huggy. The doc says he has a strep infection and needs to take antibiotics for ten days. What? Yeah, he's in bed now. It's down to 103, but it's been going up and down all morning. An hour sounds good. Thanks, Hug. Okay, I will. Bye." Hutch hung up the phone and went into the bedroom to check on Starsky.

Starsky's fever had risen to a dangerous level during the night, so Hutch bundled his weary partner off to see Doctor Ness. It wasn't until questioned by the doctor, though, that Starsky admitted to suffering from a particularly bad sore throat for several days.

Now, Hutch looked at his sleeping friend and smiled affectionately. Starsky had hidden his discomfort so well, Hutch hadn't noticed anything wrong with his companion. But then again, maybe he was too preoccupied talking some sense into his partner's head when the brunet told him about the dreams. Well – whatever. He was here now and would make sure Starsky got what he needed to get well again. Hutch grabbed a photography magazine from Starsky's night stand, and sat in a nearby chair waiting for Huggy's arrival. Hutch had asked their trusted friend to keep an eye on Starsky – he had to work. Besides, a bit of research into whatever it was that haunted his pal was on his to-do-list too.

O0O

Hutch paced Captain Dobey's office while shuffling through black and white photos of the dead woman. The contents of the mysterious file covered Dobey's desk as the large man read the report out loud. "The victim's name was Elizabeth Mallone, twenty-two. Says here she was an aspiring actress."

Hutch frowned. "Aren't they all?"

"The body was discovered by Betty Talbert, a house wife. She and her daughter, Emma, were out doing errands when she spotted the body. Hum, let's see, the officers on scene…"

"Wait… wait a minute." Hutch held up a finger to get the Captain's attention.

"Looking up from the report Dobey asked, "What, Hutchinson?"

"Who found the body?" The tall detective moved quickly to peer over Dobey's shoulder.

"Let's see. Talbert, Betty Talbert."

"And you said her daughter was with her, uh, Emma, right?"

Dobey looked back over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at his detective. "Yeah, so?"

Hutch ran his finger under the name. "Betty Talbert." The tall detective reached past Dobey and picked up the police report. He studied it closely for a moment before speaking, "She'd be about fifty-five now."

"What about it?" Dobey gruffly answered.

"I don't know." Hutch deflated. "Maybe she can give us something that's not in the report. Maybe she saw something she was too scared to tell anyone."

"That's a lot of maybes, Hutchinson. Maybe she doesn't live here anymore? Maybe she's dead?"

Hutch sat down and tiredly put his face in his hands. "I know that, cap." His face wrinkled in deep thought.

Dobey put his papers down and looked at his detective. "Why are you two suddenly so interested in a murder that happened over 30 years ago, anyway? Huh? And don't give me any bull, either."

Hutch debated with himself about telling his boss the whole truth, about Starsky's belief that he is being tormented by the dead woman's ghost, about the scratches, the dreams, the fear. Instead he went with the partial truth. "You know how Starsk likes a good mystery, Captain—and well, he kind of got me involved in it too, I suppose." Hutch looked at his hands, rather than the fatherly figure staring at him.

"Humph." Dobey's snort said as much as a hundred words did. The captain was well aware that Hutch was not telling the complete truth, the blond knew. But Hutch also knew that Dobey often granted them freedom of space, to pursue their own lines of investigation.

"Well, as long as it doesn't take any time away from your current cases, I suppose…."

"Thanks, Captain." Hutch looked up, relieved that he was able to satisfy Dobey's curiosity so easily.

"Now, let's look into exactly who the responding officers were."

Hutch smiled.

O0O

After several failed attempts to get Starsky to eat some of his homemade chicken broth, Huggy reclined on the sick man's couch and nodded off while the sound of afternoon soaps droned on in the background. Huggy fell into an uneasy sleep, ill defined shapes surrounding him. Jazz music played its blue notes. A woman's voice called out softly. Help me, help me, please. Another disembodied voice answering. What do you want? Who are you? Then Huggy moved into what he thought was another dream; darkness, and in it a sudden jumble of noises—knocks and bangs, weeping, choking. The overpowering scent of rose. Huggy, help me. Huggy. Huggy. Huggy. Huggy. He sat up and knew he wasn't dreaming.

"Huggy?" A weak voice called from the other room.

"Oh, shit. Starsky!" He headed quickly towards Starsky's room and peered into the semi-darkness. Huggy stepped in completely when he realized the bed was empty. From the bathroom he could hear unpleasant sounds of dry heaves followed by gagging.

"Huggy…" Starsky's voice was weak and scratchy.

Looking in, Huggy found Starsky sitting on the floor, saturated in sweat, and weekly clinging to the toilet. The tall black man quickly knelt beside his friend. Dark circles encompassed the brunet's listless blue eyes, and his normally tan skin was colorless, except for his cheeks which burned red with fever. Starsky was holding his stomach and moaning between bouts of retching.

"Oh man, Starsky. I'm sorry. I feel asleep out there on your couch. How long you been in here?"

"'S'okay, Hug." More dry heaves into the basin.

Huggy reached around his miserable friend and, when he was sure the worst of the painful heaving was over, leaned him back against the bathroom wall handing him the waste paper basket. He retrieved a damp cloth and the thermometer, placing the thermometer under Starsky's arm and the cloth on his neck. After several minutes Huggy checked the temperature and shook his head. "It's back up, my man. Think you can hold down some aspirin?"

Starsky answered with a shake of his head and retched into the basket. "Bed?" He croaked, once his churning stomach settled slightly.

"Alright. Let me help you up." Huggy grabbed Starsky around the waist and pulled him to his wobbly feet and into the bedroom. They made their shaky way to the bed and Starsky fell into it devoid of energy.

"Did…did you see her?" Starsky managed a whisper.

"See who?" His friend spoke so softly, Huggy leaned closer to hear.

"The…the dead woman. She was h-here."

"No dead lady here, Starsk. Least one that I seen."

Starsky weakly clutched Huggy's arm. "Saw her. I s-saw .." His heavy lids closed and instantly he was asleep. Huggy took Starsky's arm and placed it at the sleeping man's side. Why do you smell like roses…? Huggy silently questioned as he left the room to call Hutch.

To Be Continued