GASLIGHT
By M. Willow
PART 3
They sat next to each other on the floor, their backs against the sofa. They'd enjoyed a pizza, but Starsky had put off talking about what had happened to him over the past year. He'd just come back from hell. He needed a moment to catch his breath, to feel the presence of the most important person in his life.
He pulled in a deep breath, preparing himself. In a perfect world, he would have suggested going off somewhere, maybe to the beach, maybe even get out of town. He was shaky, scared. He knew Hutch was really there, but his heart felt like any second reality would come crashing in, striking like a cobra.
"Are you ready to talk," Hutch murmured.
Outside a storm brewed, lighting flashed, the rain falling in waves against the window. Why did they have to discuss it? He was so ashamed of how he'd been. How could he explain it to Hutch, or to himself, for that matter? But he had to.
"I thought you were a figment of my imagination."
Hutch didn't say anything, letting his words settle in the silence.
Starsky needed to reassure the blond, that he was strong, whole. But that was far from the truth. "I need to talk about it now. Then I need to let it go. Okay?" He looked at his partner.
Hutch nodded his head.
"Because if I don't there's someone out there waitin' for us. I feel it. I know you do too, partner. We don't have a lot of time."
Starsky enjoyed the sound of the word partner, the way it rolled off his tongue. So natural. He'd had a year of living—the me without the thee- but now they were again an immovable force. Separately they were broken men, but together they were whole.
Starsky took a breath, inhaling the scent of soap mingled with the woodsy scent of Hutch. Starsky couldn't believe how close he'd come to losing him. But his partner was here now.
"When I thought you had died, I didn't think I could go on. It was like I forgot how to breath. Half of me was gone. I didn't know how to live that way."
Hutch linked his hand through his. He went on. "At first, I tried to just stay drunk. That didn't work. Then I thought about eating my gun, but I couldn't. I still felt like you were still here."
Hutch held his hand tighter.
"You started appearing right around that time. Grocery store was the first time it happened. I saw you walking by the window, but by the time I got outside, you were gone." Starsky paused. "It kept happening." He leaned his head on Hutch's shoulder, still clutching his hand like it was a lifeline.
"I didn't know you were real, because it had happened before. You showed up here, stayed a few hours, then disappeared. The phone calls came after that. You asked me to find you. By that time, I couldn't hide the fact that I was losing my mind. Dobey got the shrink to give me some pills that would stop the hallucinations. Then I stopped seeing you. Starsky felt the blond tense beside him.
"If I hadn't been so weak, I would have seen what they were doin' to us. But I didn't. And someone had you for a whole year."
Hutch touched Starsky's face, turning his head to face him. "You are one of the strongest people I know. Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault, Starsk. You have to know that."
Thunder sounded. Starsky desperately wanted to believe the words. But it wasn't true. Someone had held Hutch for an entire year while he sat on his ass crying. They didn't know what had happened to the blond in that time. He couldn't let it go. It had been his job to make sure Hutch was safe. His job. And he failed. He didn't know he was crying until Hutch wiped a tear from his face. Starsky dropped his head to Hutch's chest, letting the pain rip through him, his cries mingling with the sound of thunder, the reassuring rise and fall of Hutch's chest. He was alive and maybe nothing else mattered.
"I thought you were a ghost when I saw you that day. I thought it was my lucky day. Of course, my logical mind knew you weren't a ghost. So, I started thinking you were a figment of my imagination. And that I could keep you here if I stopped taking the pills. So, I did."
Starsky recalled the desperate thoughts. How he wanted his partner back so much that it had been worth his sanity. His weak mind had made up a world where he could have Hutch back if he believed. If he stopped taking the pills that made him sane.
Starsky pulled in a breath. "I didn't want to lose you. I was scared to even leave the room. Scared that you wouldn't be there when I came back. You can't imagine how sick I was at that point. But I was desperate. I had gone to a dark place. I'd started to believe you were really dead. I couldn't handle it and still draw breath."
Hutch pulled him closer.
Starsky let his body go limp in his friend's arms. He could feel love, acceptance, everything he needed and had missed in the past year.
The essence of their relationship puzzled others. They had a connection that went beyond friendship. Closer than brothers. Rumors had started at work and neither of them cared. But someone had known them well enough to find a way to destroy them. It had worked. Starsky was still pulling the pieces together. He knew Hutch was real, but his heart, even now, felt like he would suddenly dissolve before his eyes, and he would once again be alone.
Hutch held on to him. He wouldn't let go.
"We'll figure this out." Hutch whispered, "Find out who did this to us."
Again, they were on the same accord, silently communicating without words. They'd never discussed how unusual it was when it first started happening. Both had just accepted it, toning it down in the presence of others. It had made them the best damn detectives the department had ever seen. Now, it quieted his soul.
Starsky pulled back and looked at Hutch, seeing the absolute power of the man who'd become so much a part of his life. Inseparable. "I couldn't let go of you, Hutch," he whispered. "I never felt you die, and yet, I'd started to believe you were dead. Dear, God, I thought…"
"Starsk, I'm right here," Hutch murmured, touching his face. "Not going anywhere."
Starsky pulled in a breath, keeping his eyes on the blond, holding on to the moment. "I knew I couldn't keep it up, especially with the lies I was telling." Starsky said slowly. "It was strange. I didn't think you were real, but it still didn't feel good lying to you. I knew you thought I'd been raped, and I felt guilty."
He leaned forward and felt Hutch's hand massaging his neck again. He craved the physical touch. "I thought somehow you would go away if I started doubting you were real. I was so messed up in the head. I finally realized I couldn't go on. How long could I keep lying to myself? I took the anti-psychotic pills to end the hallucination. I thought you'd disappear after I took them. But you didn't and I knew I needed help."
"I want to find the bastards who did this," Hutch said tightly. "But I need to make sure you're okay first."
Starsky looked up at him. He spoke with his eyes. No, he wasn't strong enough. He'd been to hell and had only just now come back. He wanted time to heal. Time to enjoy just being in his partner's presence. But time was something they didn't have.
Their enemy was about to strike.
Early morning brought Captain Dobey and Huggy to their door. Now they sat in the kitchen, steaming mugs of coffee in front of them, the sun slanting across the floor.
Dobey and Huggy sat opposite the detectives and both men were bobbing their heads between them as if they were watching a tennis match.
"So," Hutch said. "This girl shows up at the club, obviously your type,"
"Knowing that I…"
"Exactly," Hutch said.
"You're tired and just wanted to…" Starsky concluded.
"And it was easy to figure out…" Hutch said. "Because I usually stay to the end."
"Yep," Starsky said. "Plus, they knew I…"
Suddenly Dobey slammed his hand on the table, his eyes darting from Starsky to Hutch. "You haven't said a full sentence in at least twenty minutes," he barked.
Hutch laughed. Everything seemed so normal. They were back, communicating as they always had. And maybe just having a little fun doing it in front of others. "Sorry, Cap, Forgot there for a minute." He met Starsky's eyes and saw the mischief there. It warmed his heart. They both needed this.
Dobey smiled. "Always heard about you two and that no-talk thing. Silent communication. Never saw it." He glared, but Hutch could see the softness in his eyes.
"After a while you get used to it," Huggy said, smiling. "Wait for the translation. He waved his hands in the air. "Like magic."
"Which is?" Dobey asked.
"They set us up from the start," Starsky said. "They knew I was going to go for the girl. She approached me and she was gorgeous. They knew Hutch was known for staying to the end of the show. The band had at least thirty minutes left, and Paula was anxious to leave"
Paula was the girls name, but Starsky never got her last name.
"Then Paula kept Starsky in the car," Hutch added and watched hi
"Didn't see him leave," Starsky said. "But that's when she suggested going back to her place which happened to be the same route Hutch would take."
"So," Huggy said. "You think the girl was in on it? Kept Curly here in the car. Not hard, considering."
Hutch watched Starsky redden even more.
"Hey, we weren't really having…I mean, we were just making out." Starsky murmured.
"Last time I saw my blond brother here, he was still sitting at the table, nursing a drink." Huggy said, looking at Hutch. "Of course, it was supper busy, and I was in and out of the kitchen."
"Easy to switch." Hutch concluded. "Take me out, somehow. Then someone else walks out the door that looks enough like me to pass inspection from a distance."
"Which still leaves us with," Starsky said, meeting his eyes. "Terry Nash."
Hutch sat back. "They could still be operating."
Starsky got up and poured himself another cup of coffee, leaning back against the sink. "Terry killed Durniak. Someone paid for the service and I'm bettin' it's not cheap."
"Someone with very deep pockets," Huggy said, taking a sip of coffee. "How do they say? Revenge is a dish..."
Hutch nodded. "Best served cold."
Dobey took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. "Somebody out there coming after my men for some case in the past."
"And we got plenty of enemies," Hutch said. "Plenty."
"And both of you with no gun," Dobey said.
The department had refused Dobey's request for guns, stating they may be mentally unstable. They'd insisted on a psych evaluation. They would get their guns back if the shrink okayed it. Which meant Doctor Anton, the man Hutch had boldly thrown out of the house. Didn't sound promising. If the doctor held a grudge, he might throw both of them into Cabrillo. And they certainly wouldn't get approval for guns.
Hutch saw his partner looking at him and smiled sheepishly. "I wouldn't depend on us getting a gun any time soon."
"Why not? I mean, maybe not me, considering. But nothing wrong with you, Hutch."
"Other than the missing year," Huggy added.
"Yeah," Hutch shrugged. "And the fact that I so-sort of threw the doctor out and slammed the door in his face."
Starsky's eyes lit up. "That's my partner." He chuckled. "Don't worry, Blondie. We'll see the shrink. He'll see how well I'm doing, forgive you, and give us our guns back."
"Else…" Huggy said, taking a sip of his coffee.
Dobey slammed his hand down on the table, shaking the coffee cups in front of them. "Else nothing, Alexander," He narrowed his eyes, but Hutch could see the smile in them.
"I'm sure he'll give you the guns if you see him. Doc was apologetic about what happened. Said you were right, Hutch. And that he was too hung up in book knowledge and couldn't see past that," Dobey said.
Hutch settled back in his seat. Starsky was looking at him, reading him. He hadn't told Starsky about the doctor wanting to put him in Cabrillo, but he could clearly see that his partner had figured it out.
In the end, it was decided that Huggy put feelers out to find the girl since Starsky didn't recall her address. Dobey would do what he could to find anything in their past cases.
Early morning sunshine had given way to rain by the afternoon. They were in Starsky's stripped tomato since Hutch's car was in police custody being examined. Starsky felt almost normal sitting behind the wheel. It had been at least six months since he'd driven it. He looked at Hutch. After Dobey and Huggy left, he'd waited for the blond to open up about the part he was holding back. Starsky had already figured that the doctor had wanted to commit him, but there was something more. Starsky could see it when he met Hutch's eyes in the kitchen.
Starsky made a left turn. "So, you want to tell me what you're hiding?"
The blond tensed.
"I'm not all the way back, Hutch. Told ya that. But I'm not some fragile flower, either."
Starsky spared a look. The blond was sitting there, his fist balled, knuckles white. "We're going to have to lay everything on the table if we stand a chance at finding out who did this."
Hutch shrugged. "Okay. Nothing big. Not really a secret…bu-but." He stopped talking, dropping his head.
"Hutch, you only stutter when something's bothering you. Talk to me."
"Okay. Don't want to worry you."
"Worry for me is my full-time job. So, tell me."
"Okay. When I was talking to the captain about what happened when I came to pick you up, I sort of passed out.
Starsky pulled the car over to the curb and parked it. Then he looked at the blond. Hutch had his head down, not looking at him.
"Passed out?"
"Yes. Whoever had me did something."
Starsky's stomach flipped. He knew Hutch had been held, but he imagined it was something like Terry. Terry had been messed up in the head. Didn't even know his real name, but other than that, he'd suffered no ill effects. The man just didn't remember who he was. All his memories had been fake.
"So, you not only can't remember, but if you try…"
"I get a bad headache and if I keep forcing it…"
"You pass out…" Starsky lay his head back. He felt his partner's hand on his.
"I'm sure it can be fixed. Or maybe go away, or something." Hutch said. Didn't happen to Terry Nash. And it didn't happen this morning when we were talking about what happened at the club."
And that was the problem. They were dealing with an assumption. Was it the same group that held Terry Nash? Or was it an entirely different group with it a different method?
Starsky felt the lie he'd been telling himself bubble to the surface. He'd really believed that they would treat this as they treated all crimes against them. They'd find the perp, put him in prison and that would be all. For the most part, that's how they operated. Yet, there had been horrible failures. Losing the love of his life was one of them. She had died because of him.
Hutch lay his hand on Starsky's knee. Starsky looked into the sky-blue depths of Hutch's eyes. "My fault. Same as with Terry."
"Don't blame yourself. It's wasn't your fault what happened to her."
Starsky searched his eyes. "How isn't it? Terry died because of me. You end up locked up somewhere for a whole year while I sat around having a pity party. Sounds the same to me."
"But it isn't. Terry died because of Prudholm. And I was locked up because of someone we're looking for now."
"But if…"
"No buts, Starsky. You tried to find me. It almost took you out."
"If I had been stronger."
Hutch touched Starsky's shoulder. "It was your strength that kept you from giving up. You never stopped believing I was alive. Do you know how much that means to me?"
Both men sat there for a few minutes, the patter of rain the only sound. Then Starsky started the car and pulled into traffic.
Doctor Anton had a richly appointed office in the penthouse of a newly built apartment building. Hutch saw first edition books, paintings that looked like originals, the smell of leather mingling in the air. This was a man with money, Hutch figured. The suit he wore was expensive. His watch must have cost about a thousand. Hutch had seen the shrink after the Gunther shooting. Back then he wore moderately priced suits, and his watch had been a Timex.
"I asked you to meet me here," Doctor Anton said, "To make you feel more comfortable. I still practice out of my old location."
That was the one near the headquarters. It was convenient, pleasant, but more in keeping with what a police psychiatrist could afford. No original paintings hanging on the wall and the furniture had been vinyl.
"A step up from that location," Hutch said.
The doctor smiled. "A rich relative died recently and left me a little money."
Hutch sat down in a chair across from the doctor who sat at his desk.
"You have quite a bit of money yourself, Detective Hutchinson."
Hutch hated that this man knew so much about him. But it was police procedure to provide a complete background on the cops who saw the shrink.
"I don't use the money." He shrugged, meeting the doctor's eyes. On a good day he didn't like shrinks. This was a bad day. Hutch didn't like him. He just wished Starsky had been allowed in. Starsky was in the waiting room, the doctor having insisted on seeing them separately. He didn't like leaving Starsky, but they needed their guns. They were sitting ducks without them.
Hutch watched Doctor Anton scribble something on a notepad. "So, detective, tell me what you think happened to you."
Hutch shrugged. "Don't know."
The doctor wrote that down. Then looked at him with steely grey eyes. "I don't hold grudges, Detective. "It turns out you were right about Detective Starsky. You were what he needed. Not Cabrillo." He settled back in his chair. You know your partner well, don't you?"
"Most partners do. We rely on each other. Keeps us alive."
The doctor smiled wolfishly. "But with you two it goes even further, doesn't it?"
Hutch met his eyes, caught the insinuation. The doctor had seen the two men holding hands in the waiting room. Touch had always come naturally for them. It was used to heal, to support, but the doctor had obviously misread it. Hutch decided to let it go. The doctor was holding all the cards and he knew it. "We're partners. Best friends. Nothing more," he said smoothly.
Hutch wanted to add and if there was something more it would be nobody's business. A person should have the right to choose who they wanted to be with. Hutch managed to keep his mouth shut.
Anton wrote that down. Then the wolf smile was back. "What do you think happened to you over the past year?"
Hutch shrugged. "Don't know."
The doctor regarded him. "But something must have happened. Look at you. You're in great shape. No muscle mass decrease, so you weren't just laying tied to some bed somewhere."
Hutch shivered. "Maybe once we find who did this, we can ask them, but that's not the priority now."
The doctor narrowed his eyes. "You must consider that certainly you were brainwashed. But to what end?"
It was a question that nagged Hutch. Terry Nash had been sent to murder Durniak in revenge for his wife's death. So, was he a ticking time-bomb, waiting for his assignment?
"I've reviewed the case of Mr. Nash, Detective. His case was quite different from yours." He opened a file. "For one, he didn't recall his real name or anything about his identity. He simply believed that Joe Durniak killed his wife and wanted revenge."
"True." Hutch said.
"But he did have a mission. The question remains, what is your mission?"
"Maybe it was nothing but to let Starsky see me." Hutch said, but even as the words left his mouth, he didn't believe it. No one would go through the trouble of kidnapping a cop, having a dead ringer killed in his place, then keep him for a full year so that he could terrify his partner, letting him go at the end of it. It just didn't make sense.
"Can you recall anything?" the doctor asked, twirling his pen in his hand.
"Nothing."
"So, you don't really know what they did to you?"
Hutch shook his head.
The doctor sat down his pen, leaning forward. "Do you dream, detective Hutchinson? I mean recently."
"None that I recall."
"Sometimes our dreams give us hints. Consider that." He leaned back in his chair. "Consider your part in torturing Starsky may not be at an end."
Hutch stomach rolled at the doctor's stark choice of words. He had tortured Starsky with his presence. It was a hard truth to swallow.
"Perhaps you escaped." He shrugged. "And their plan to brainwash you didn't work."
Hutch leaned forward, rubbing a hand through his hair. "But what if you're right?"
"Then your partner is still in danger. It could be a simple trigger word that could turn you into a killer. You could very well Kill Detective Starsky."
"What can I do? I mea-mean there's got to be something to deprogram me."
"Science does not have a complete understanding of the brain. Maybe one day, but the technique this group used on Terry Nash is far beyond normal scientific knowledge."
"But what about the people we rescued? They didn't kill anyone."
There had been four guests at the compound who were being brainwashed. Two of them had returned to their life, remembering their entire background. But the other two would probably be permanent guest at Cabrillo. They'd never found the blond woman who tried to kill them, either. And there were most likely other victims still out there. Waiting to be triggered.
"What If I end up killing Starsky? What if someone calls on the phone or figures out some other way to trigger me?" Hutch's heart raced.
"There are no guarantees but consider that you've been with your partner for weeks. You've had ample time to kill him. They've had ample time to trigger you. It could be that you couldn't be programmed to kill Starsky and they simply let you go."
But Hutch wasn't buying that. His sixth sense told him they were coming back for more.
"If I leave…."
"If you're programmed, nothing will stop you from carrying out your orders. It won't matter where you are. You'll find Starsky and kill him."
Hutch closed his eyes, his worst fear becoming a reality.
"You'll have your guns, Detective. Both of you." He stood up. "I'll see your partner now.
They went to Huggy's for lunch. Both men sat across from each other in a booth, juicy burgers with fries and a soda before them. It was still early, the place crowded with customers. Hutch had been quiet since leaving the doctor's office.
"How did your session with the shrink go?" Starsky asked.
Hutch looked at him. "Went okay."
"Want to explain, okay?"
"I'll tell you later." He looked down at his burger.
Hutch had emerged from the doctor's office pale, shaky. Starsky didn't like it. Something had happened with Dr. Anton that had shook the blond. He'd gone in confident, came out looking like a different man.
"Talk to me, Blondie," Starsky said.
For a moment Hutch's eyes met his. He saw remorse, terror, resignation. At that precise moment, Huggy slid in the booth next to Starsky.
"Found the girl." He handed Hutch a piece of paper.
"Name is Paula Long. Address on the paper." He stole a fry from Hutch's plate. "You two be careful. Not the safest neighborhood."
Starsky took the paper from Hutch, looked at it for a second. "She know we're comin'."
Huggy shook his head. "No. scared it will spook her."
Starsky stood up, pushing his food away. "Okay, Blondie. Let's go."
Paula Long lived in a neighborhood that hadn't seen better days for at least thirty years. She resided on the second floor of a three-story grey tenement that had once been a hotel. The area was home to restaurants, bars, vagrants, prostitutes, thieves and other victims of just being alive with no money. They all came here out of desperation. Starsky was grateful that the streets were mostly empty. Only a few people were out, most of them too drunk to even notice them. This was the sort of neighborhood that catered to a night-time crowd.
Starsky parked his beloved car, thinking of all the years of light-hearted banter he'd enjoyed over the years with Hutch since he'd purchased it. None of that was going to happen any time soon. Hutch was visibly shaking, his hands clenched.
"You okay, Hutch?"
His question was met with silence, something that chilled Starsky to the bone. He'd put that look in his eyes. He and his weakness. He'll go over it million times for the rest of his life. How had he been so stupid as to allow someone to manipulate him to the point where he'd lost his damn mind? He'd always thought of himself as a strong. He'd survived many tragedies in his life—Losing his father, Terry, Professor Jennings poisoning him, Gunther-but none was as hard as losing Hutch.
"Hutch."
The blond looked at him as if he were waking from a trance. "I'll be okay. Just thinking."
"About…"
Hutch shook his head, sweeping a hand through blond hair. "I can't. Not now."
"No secrets, Hutch. We're in this together. Me and thee." Starsky put his hand over Hutch's and was shocked to see him pull away.
"What's going on here?" Starsky asked, intending to bring whatever was bothering Hutch to the surface. They'd never pulled away from each other. Touch for them was strengthening and they craved it. They'd once sat in the squad room holding hands when Starsky had been poisoned. They hadn't cared who saw or what they had to say about it.
"Not now. We need to speak with Paula." Hutch opened the door and got out, slamming the door and heading for the building.
Starsky got out of the car quickly, grabbing his partner, and turning him around to face him.
"Not now." Hutch shouted. "We need to get in there…"
"You're not going in." Starsky shouted. "Stay in the car. And when we get home, we're having a discussion."
Hutch's eyes widened. "I'm not letting you go in alone. We don't know who's waiting in there."
"Nobody's waitin'," Starsky countered. "Unless we keep standing out here for everybody to see us."
A drunk man staggered by, making a beeline for the alley that was next to the building. Both men stopped talking until he was well on his way.
"You know Paula is more likely to talk to me if she doesn't have an audience." He smiled reassuringly, his voice soft. "Why don't you stay and guard my car."
Hutch shook his head. "Not safe."
"We got guns, Hutch."
They'd stopped at headquarters to pick them up. Dobey had also told them that the car Hutch was driving was not his. His gun, however, was his original issue. Apparently, his car was the one that blew up.
"You're not going in alone." Hutch said.
Starsky sighed, seeing the resolve in the sky-blue eyes. They would stay out there arguing about who was going in until they were finally spotted. "Okay. You and I go up. You have a looksee then leave. You got me?"
"Starsk…"
"Don't Starsk me." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Last time I checked I was a full-grown man. I don't want a babysitter." Starsky hated the tone in his voice, but he had to get it through his partner's thick skull that he was back. That he would be okay. Okay, so maybe that wasn't entirely true. Maybe he needed looking after, but they didn't have time for it. He had the rest of his life to recover from what was done to them, but the focus had to be on finding out who'd done it and putting a stop to them before they came back to finish them off.
Hutch raised his finger, obviously planning to lay down the law. They looked at each other, then Hutch shrugged, dropping his hand. Starsky knew he'd won the argument before his partner even spoke.
"Okay. You win. I'll stay long enough to make sure you're safe."
Paula had a small room on a floor with ten other tenants. The washroom was a shared one outside the apartment, so Starsky could see they were the only people there in one glance. The bed sat on one side of the room, a tiny seating area with a chair and sofa on the opposite side. Near the door, she'd crammed a small card table with two chairs, the tiny kitchenette to the right. The place was immaculate too and smelled of cleaning products and the woman's on soft scent.
"Would you like to have a seat." She asked, her voice soft and lilting, somewhat like Sweet Alice. But that was where the resemblance stopped. Whereas Alice seemed sweet, natural. This woman was hardened. His cop instincts told him to be on guard. He sat down on the sofa. Hutch took the chair.
"Want some coffee?" she asked.
Both men shook their heads. Then she sat on the sofa.
She was beautiful, even without makeup. She had her hair pulled back in a bun, emphasizing the delicate sweep of her cheeks. She was tall, willowy. His type. Starsky recalled walking into the Satin Doll and seeing her right away. She'd worn a clingy red dress that had accentuated every curve. She'd approached him the moment he was inside. Now she wore a low-cut green blouse and a clingy black skirt that displayed her assets to their best effect.
"As I said, me and my partner are detectives," he said, his voice husky.
Paula dropped her eyes. "It was horrible. You losing your partner like that. It's always hard to lose somebody." She looked at Hutch. "Are you ever ready to lose someone like that. I had a whole year of knowing my mama was dying, but it didn't do me no good to know it. I wasn't ready," she said slowly, never taking her eyes of his partner. "There is just no way to be ready for something like that."
She was pretending not to know Hutch was the man that was supposedly in the car even though it had made all the papers. Surely, she would have seen a picture of him.
Hutch was staring at the woman, his eyes wide, his fist clinched. Starsky could see slight tremors running through his body. He needed to get him out of there. He was prepared to do just that when Hutch looked at him. No words were spoken, but he clearly indicated that Starsky should continue the questioning.
"I wanted to stick around," she said. "I really did, but what with all the confusion…well…I just hailed a cab and left."
Starsky faced the woman just as Hutch stood up. "Looks like you got everything going fine here. Wait for you in the car." Hutch made his way to the door and fumbled with the doorknob before finally getting the door open and leaving. Starsky fought the urge to follow.
Paula relaxed back into the sofa. She'd softened her features, her chest pushed out. Sexy as hell, but he wasn't interested.
"So, how ya been doing, honey?" She moved closer, touched his hand.
"Great. Just investigating, Same as usual."
"Well, I don't know how I can help, but whatever you need." She let the word whatever linger on her lips. Under normal circumstances his body would have reacted. But now he was single minded. He wanted answers. He may not carry a badge, but he was all cop as he narrowed his eyes.
"Did someone pay you to meet me at the club?" he asked.
Starsky watched the play of emotions on her face. No anger or even shock at the question. Just resignation.
She shrugged. "Why would you say something like that?"
"Listen, I don't have time for games." He met her eyes. Gave her the look that made the bad guys confess just seeing it. "Did someone pay you to meet me at that club?"
She chewed her bottom lip. "Yeah, what of it?"
"Names, I need to know who paid you."
She waved her hand dismissively. "I don't know. My pimp called here and told me where to go."
"So, you just went there without knowing who to meet?"
"Got a description of you. Got your name. They said you'd be there with a tall blond and there you were. They were supposed to pay me good money, but I didn't get a dime."
His blood boiled. He grabbed her arm. "So, you picked me up. Kept me in the car with you. All so they could kill my partner?"
She snatched her arm back. "I didn't know nothing about that. I was told it was some kind of joke. I was supposed to get paid big money, but I would have done it for free."
Starsky raised an eyebrow.
"Have you looked in the mirror, honey." She said, her voice soft, velvety. "I mean, I would have paid you to be with me. I'm a working girl. I was told to meet you. I did. I was told to keep you in the car until your partner left. I did. I was told to tell you that I wanted to go back to my place and to tell you how to get there. I'm sorry."
"But your place is nowhere near my partner's apartment. In fact, it's the opposite direction."
"Yeah. Well. What of it? They told me where to go."
"And you never thought that was strange. They tell you where to drive but it's no place you know."
She rubbed her arm. "Yeah, it was strange, but I'm a working girl. Everything about my job is strange. I do what I'm told. It's how you stay alive and get to eat."
Starsky had to force himself not to just reach over and choke it out of her. He wasn't a violent man. Nowhere in this life could he ever hit a woman, but he wasn't himself. He still wasn't sure of how sane he was. Or what he would do. He stood up. It was a bad idea to let Hutch leave. "What is the name of your pimp. We'll need to question him."
"Freddy Lord," she answered,
Starsky knew the man. He was a small-time hoodlum who had a staple of women at his command. People would call him like they were ordering pizza. He'd send a girl out and the girl would collect the money. They would question the man, but Starsky already knew they wouldn't get answers. Freddy never knew who'd hired them. In other words, another dead end.
"Anything else?" he asked.
Paula gave him a sexy pout. "I'm sure I can think of something."
He needed to get out of there. First it had been the horrible smell of Paula's apartment. The place smelled of cheap perfume, cigarettes, and urine. Hutch felt the filth of the place reach him the minute he walked in. He'd stayed only because he was afraid to leave Starsky there by himself. In the end, he'd run out, barely able to open the door, his stomach rolling.
Now, he lay in the hall, having fallen the minute he left the apartment. The walls were closing in on him and something was sucking the air from his body. Panic surged as he leaped up from the floor. He staggered, supporting himself against the graffiti filled wall, his breaths were coming in short bursts. Move, he commanded his feet. Get out of here so you can breathe. Then he was moving, running down the hall as his surroundings solidified into someplace else. Gone was the garbage strewn hallway he'd entered less than a half hour ago. In its place was something cold, antiseptic, the wall clean, white. A different place. He could smell the alcohol, feel a needle as it pricked his skin. Then he was lying flat, his arms and legs unable to move, his head facing the ceiling and the movie that played there.
He saw a blond man from the back. His height, his build. Maybe his walk. The man was heading somewhere, but Hutch didn't want to know where. So, he started moving, running, yet not moving. The movie still playing.
He couldn't see anything now, so he felt along the wall, pitching forward a few times. Then he was in the stairway, somehow. But none of it made sense, he was still on the table. Still in the stairway. Still watching the film.
There was a woman there. She stood to the side. Hutch wasn't sure if the woman was in the stairway or in the room with him. He was in two places at one time. He looked at her. No face. No face. He could see her long hair, but the face had a shadow over it, completely obscuring her features. She leaned towards him, her hair tickling his nose. She was whispering in his ear, but he didn't want to hear. He pushed himself away. But that was impossible in this room of stainless-steel tables and the woman. And yet he was moving, moving. Then pitching forward. It felt like he was tumbling down some stairs. Impossible. He was lying on a table yet falling down the stairs at the same time.
The woman was speaking now. "You're ready. Look at the screen."
Ready, but Hutch could never be ready to see what was on that screen. He felt a hand on his back. Starsky. So cold. Hands on him, pulling him to his feet and away from the woman.
But the woman was powerful. He couldn't stop himself from seeing what was on the screen. There was a blond man walking. The man carried a gun. He was that man. And the blond man pointed the gun at Starsky.
It had taken all the strength that Starsky had to get the big blond home. He was still shaking as he recalled the scene outside of Paula's apartment. Hutch rolled into a ball on the floor. Hutch rising from the floor and running down the hall to the stairway, where he fell downward, hitting the bottom before Starsky could get to him. Luckily, the big blond had only minor scrapes. He hadn't hit his head.
They'd stayed in that stairwell for eternity until the blond had gone boneless in his arms. It had been difficult to get him down the rest of the stairs and into the car. Hutch had barely been conscious. Hutch had begged him not to take him to the hospital when they were in the car. Against Starsky's better judgement, he had agreed. Now they were home, the blond sitting on the sofa, holding onto a cup of coffee, his hands wrapped around the mug like he could transfer the warmth of it to his body. Starsky could see the tremors running through Hutch's body.
"I've got to leave," Hutch said.
The blond had described what he'd seen. It had started at Paula's. Starsky wondered if she'd said something to trigger what had followed. There had been a point where she talked about never being ready to lose someone in death. She'd emphasized the word ready. That's when Hutch had started to change.
Now, they'd been having the same argument since they got home. He wanted to leave to protect Starsky. But no way was he letting his partner out on his own to fend for himself. Me and thee, in Starsky's book meant they stuck together. It was their strength.
"I'm not losing you again," Starsky said slowly. "I ain't got the strength to do it."
Hutch looked at him. He could see the indecision in his partner's eyes. "But I told you about the vision. How I…I killed you."
Starsky shook his head. His partner had told him about seeing a film where he had a gun in his hand and was about to kill him. The blond had been strapped to a table, forced to watch it.
"You know how Terry Nash was brainwashed, Starsk." Hutch said.
That had been the method the group used to brainwash their subjects. They would have them watch a film. Starsky had seen it firsthand when they'd infiltrated the compound. The rooms had been filled with people watching films about their fake lives, looking at wives that weren't theirs. They'd been so out of it that they didn't seem to know where they were.
"You're not going to kill me, Blondie."
"You don't know that." He sat the mug down on the table, the liquid splashing. Then he was up, pacing. "I might kill you at any time. Maybe while you sleep. Maybe when you turn your back on me."
Starsky sat there. He couldn't believe his partner could believe that he would do something like that. "Hutch, you've had weeks to get me."
"So, maybe they just started triggering me now."
"No. Not going to believe it."
"That won't save your life. Don't you see. I'm better somewhere else."
Starsky stood up and walked toward Hutch. Saw the blond back away. He looked like a cornered animal. Starsky hated the look in his eyes and the people who'd put it there. In all their partnership, they'd always depended on each other. Now, Hutch was too afraid to take the chance.
"Hutch, there is no part of me that would ever believe you would hurt me."
Hutch met his eyes. "Yet, I've done it before. Did you forget Kira?"
The words stung. Starsky had forgiven him a lone time ago. Yes, it hurt. He'd thought he was in love. He'd seen a future with the woman. Until Hutch slept with her.
"You were in a different place then."
Hutch laughed ironically. "And this isn't different?"
"It's different," Starsky shouted. "How can you compare the two? And I told you I forgave you a long time ago."
Hutch moved forward, grabbing Starsky's hand "Promise me. If…if I try to kill you. You'll protect yourself. You won't let me do it."
"It's not gonna happen, Blondie. You're not going to…."
"But if I try. You've got to promise me you'll kill me first."
Starsky couldn't believe what Hutch was asking. He trusted the blond completely, but even if he hadn't. Even if the brainwashing was that complete, there was no way he could ever hurt his partner. Not even if his life depended on it. If Hutch was standing there with a gun aimed at him, he would tell him that it wasn't his fault and let him kill him. It was that simple.
"You know I couldn't lay a hand on you, Blondie. I rather die first."
Silence hung between them. Then Hutch went to the sofa and sat down, dropping his head into his hands. Starsky went to him, sat down and put his hand on the Hutch's neck, massaging gently. The blond tensed but didn't break the contact.
"God help me. God help me," Hutch murmured. "I'd rather eat my gun than to lay a hand on you."
This chilled Starsky more than anything his partner could have said. He knew Hutch would do it because he would go that far to protect the blond.
"If you kill yourself, Hutch. I'm comin' right after," he said slowly. His voice steady because he meant every word.
Hutch looked at him. "Then what's the answer? Do we just sit here and wait for me to kill you?"
"We depend on each other. Same as always. No other way around it."
Freddie Lord was questioned by Hutch a few days later. The man had been contacted the same as usual—a call, a woman dispatched who would collect the money once service was rendered. Freddie was still angry he hadn't been paid.
As to Paula. They'd been tailing her for a week. Nothing. She had male visitors to her apartment at night, the men left, she didn't. Repeat the next day. They were dead in the dust, waiting for whatever to happen. Knowing when it happened, it would be big. They were the stars of their very own movie. Someone was watching and enjoying their performance.
A month passed. Then two. They were both having nightmares. Neither wanted to talk about them, but in a night, each would wake up screaming, the other left to comfort the one not having the nightmare. Doctor Anton had given them sleeping pills, but neither really wanted to sleep. Sleep meant bad dreams. So, they were both sleep deprived, looking like walking dead men.
Hutch looked at his partner who was sitting in the living room by the window pretending to read the newspaper. Every now and then the brunet would look up, worry etched on his face. Hutch had dreamed nonstop about the sterile room and the woman. Every night his partner was forced to get up and practically rock him to sleep. The nightmares were the sort that clung to him, even during his waking hours, but he hadn't had a vision like the one at Paula's apartment building since that day.
Stranger still when he'd described his experience at the apartment to Starsky and of the horrible odor of tobacco, Starsky seemed perplexed. For him it was cleaning fluids and Paula had a nice scent, nothing cloying and overwhelming.
No one had made a move on them which made Hutch even more nervous. It was like sitting on a keg of dynamite, waiting for it to blow. Not knowing when it would happen. It was torturous. The visit to Paula had triggered the vision and the nightmares that followed. It had to have been something that she said. Someone was watching them, enjoying the show. They were in Act three of a movie. Act one being his kidnapping, Act two, running Starsky over the edge. And Act three was purely his turn. They'd dealt with Starsky, now it was his turn to go over the edge. He was doing a splendid job of a man losing his mind. He was tired from the lack of sleep. He was scared he would kill Starsky. He was scared to leave his partner at the same time. He couldn't run because all roads led to Starsky. In the end he would find him and kill him. Hutch was cutting the connection to his partner, retreating into himself to save Starsky.
"I think you should sleep in my room," Starsky said, looking up from the newspaper.
Hutch pasted on a fake smile. "Are you asking me to sleep with you, Starsk?" The light-hearted banter felt good even if it was forced.
Starsky smiled. "Funny. But I prefer my bedmates with a few more curves. I've ordered another bed. That sofa gonna kill your back, Hutch."
Hutch looked toward the bedroom "How you going to fit another bed in there?"
"Easy. Today you and I are gonna move the armoire out here. That will leave plenty of room for a bed."
Hutch shook his head. He didn't like the idea of being in the same room with the brunet. What if he woke up and tried to strangle him?
"Stop thinking that." Starsky shouted, putting the newspaper down on the table and coming to stand in front of him.
"What?" Hutch said.
"You know what. I can read you better than this paper. You're not gonna strangle me in my sleep."
"But…"
"No, Buts, Hutch. Now that's an order." Starsky soften his voice, but Hutch could see determination in the indigo eyes. He wasn't going to take no for an answer.
Hutch nodded.
Starsky headed for the bedroom. "Now, help me get this armoire out here."
Hutch followed him. Then they both took an end and lifted the armoire. It was heavy but they managed it. Then Hutch got the broom and headed to the bedroom.
"Hey," Starsky said. "I can do that."
"No problem," Hutch called back. "I need the exercise." He'd stopped jogging in the morning because the brunet was afraid to let him out of his sight. He guessed that Starsky was still afraid that he would do something to himself. Maybe throw himself into the ocean. But that would never happen. Not with the threat of Starsky throwing himself in right after.
Hutch started sweeping, spotting the pill immediately. Must be one of the pills Starsky was prescribed when they thought he was having a psychotic break, Hutch reasoned. He picked it up, turning it in his hands. No markings. Just white. Maybe it was his suspicious nature. Maybe his cop sixth sense. Maybe because he didn't have anything else to do, but he planned to head to the lab and have Cheryl Jennings analyze it first thing tomorrow morning. The woman had been more than helpful when Starsky had been poisoned. It had been her father who'd ordered the poisoning of Starsky by Vic Bellamy. Professor Jennings blamed them for his son's death, even though it was an accident. Jerry Jennings had been spaced out on drugs and had grabbed Hutch's gun. He'd accidentally shot himself with it.
After the poisoning, Professor Jennings had tried to get an insanity plea but had ended up in the state prison, dying recently of cancer. Cheryl was alone, having lost both her father and brother. She'd never blamed Hutch, even though he still blamed himself for Jerry getting his gun. It had been a rookie mistake. Hutch wondered how she found the strength to go on. He hoped he'd never have to find out.
Hutch felt a sting behind his eyes just remembering how close he'd come to losing Starsky. He heard his partner enter the room, felt a warm hand on his back.
"We're gonna be okay, Blondie."
Hutch didn't try to stop the tears that fell suddenly, he slid to the floor, his partner easing him down. Then he leaned back into strong arms until he had calmed himself enough to speak. Both men got to their feet. "I'm going to have Cheryl check on a pill I just found on the floor."
He headed to the kitchen and got a plastic bag, putting the pill in it.
"You're suspecting Dr. Anton?" Starsky asked, coming to stand in front of him.
They were each required to see him twice a week.
"He's the perfect suspect," Hutch said. "You see that office?"
"Yeah. I've been thinking the same thing. Too rich, too soon."
"Penthouse apartment. He told me a relative died and left him money. I'm wondering who died but can't prove anything with no evidence."
Starsky took the bag from Hutch's hand, looking at him speculatively. "I remember that day. I took two pills when I thought I was imagining you. Then I thought seeing you was a good idea and threw the rest across the floor. I didn't want to let you go."
Starsky looked down, his face reddening.
"You stop it now, Starsk. You don't have anything to be ashamed of."
"Yeah, I know. Just hard getting my head to agree." He handed the plastic bag back to Hutch. "Just want this to end. Want us to get our life back."
Hutch looked at the pill. "Maybe this is the start."
Cheryl Jennings was busy in the lab when Hutch entered. She smiled when she saw him, then came over to give him a hug.
"Well, speaking of the news of your death being greatly exaggerated," she said, pulling back and looking at him.
She was a beautiful woman. They had dated for a short time until she'd told him her brother had been dealing drugs on campus. After that had followed the arrest and her brother's death. Cheryl hadn't blamed the blond, not in words, but there was no future for them. He would always be the man who had been careless enough to allow her brother to get his gun. They both knew there was no coming back from that; no matter how promising the relationship had been. Now, they spoke infrequently over the phone.
"So how are you, Cheryl?"
"I'm good. In my home away from home," she waved her hands around her. "Can't bear to leave."
She'd been working for the police department for ten years. Her job was an important one, enabling the detectives to solve many crimes with her spot-on analysis and her heavy knowledge of chemicals.
Hutch reached into his pocket and came out with the plastic bag, the pill inside. He'd told her over the phone that he wanted it analyzed.
"So, this is the pill," she said, taking the proffered bag. "Why do you want this analyzed?"
Hutch preferred not to tell her the whole story, but she wouldn't buy that he was doing it for a case they were working on. Everyone knew he was still on leave.
"Mind if I not tell you?" He asked, looking at her directly.
She smiled. "No problem, Ken. You, okay?"
He nodded. "Considering."
"And Dave?"
"He's good." Hutch hopped she would take the hint and not ask any more questions. The less she knew, the better. He didn't want someone coming after her.
Starsky got up and took the tape out of the VCR. "I'm gonna watch this one again. I just love technology. No more waiting for the late show to repeat it. Now I can just go to the video store and get all the movies I want." He said the last part with a French accent, imitating the actor in the film.
Hutch smiled. "It wasn't that good. Besides, if you don't return the tape, you'll get charged a late fee."
Starsky's eyes grew wide. "You mean like a library?"
Hutch nodded. "Only a lot more expensive."
Starsky smiled broadly. "Might be worth buying this one. I like old movies. I can have a library of old movies. All the greats—Grant, Bogey, Boyer."
Hutch finished the last slice of pizza.
"Hey, you want another beer," Starsky called out as he headed for the kitchen.
"Wouldn't mind if I do," Hutch answered as he got up to get his gun. The woman stood silently in a corner.
Outside the wind hammered the windows like a monster trying to get in and a flash of lightening illuminated the woman in the corner.
Starsky returned with the beer. His eyes grew wide when he saw Hutch aiming a gun at him. Then Hutch fired and watched the brunet fall to the floor. His eyes were open. Unseeing.
Hutch screamed.
Starsky leaped from his bed. It was completely dark, not even moonlight coming through the windows. He turned on his bedside lamp, saw Hutch on the other bed screaming. Starsky wasted no time getting to his partner, but even as he approached, he saw his wide-eyed stare. Hutch was breathing hard.
"I'm sorry, Starsk. So sorry. I should have left. Left."
"It's a nightmare. Just a nightmare," Starsky said. "I'm okay, Hutch. Nothing has happened to me."
Hutch had told him about the nightmares he'd been having, though not in specifics. Starsky only knew that Hutch woke up screaming almost every night since they had visited Paula. Hutch hadn't wanted to tell him the details of the nightmare, only that he'd killed Starsky in them.
Hutch looked at him. "I'm sorry I woke you up."
"It's okay. Want to talk about it?"
Hutch shook his head. "The same. You die at the end."
The blond looked exhausted. They were both having non-stop nightmares. They were both avoiding talking about it. For Starsky it was the graveyard and the woman with no face. He understood the symbolism of it. It was where they'd buried the man they thought was Hutch. He couldn't understand where the woman fit in. Who was she? Did she represent someone in his life? But Starsky hadn't even been with a woman in over a year. Couldn't be his mother, either. His mom had had a heart attack, so Starsky was keeping most of what had been happening to him from her. She was staying with his great-aunt in New York. They spoke once a month.
Hutch yawned, pulling his legs over the bed and standing up. "I don't want to go back to sleep."
Starsky stood up. "So should we play monopoly or Parcheesi?"
They been waking each night unwilling to go back to sleep. They found playing boardgames relaxed them without allowing them to fall asleep.
"Scratch the question. We should play Monopoly. You keep winning at Parcheesi," Starsky said, smiling.
"I keep winning at Monopoly, too."
Starsky went to get the game from the closet. Normally, Hutch's gun and holster would be there. Not now, the blond had insisted on keeping it in a safe. Starsky alone had the combination. The safe was in the bedroom. Starsky had to hide his gun in there too. It was unnerving. More unnerving was the emotional distance between them. They may live in the same house, but Hutch was pushing him away. His body was there, but his soul was somewhere else.
He got the game and came back. Hutch was sitting on the floor, his eyes distant. "I'm scared," he said as Starsky put the game on the table.
"I know. I'm scared too."
The words hung in the air.
"It seems unreal that this would be happening to us at the same time," Hutch said softly. "Usually something happens to one of us and the other one can take care…"
"I know."
Starsky sat down across from Hutch and started sitting up the game.
Hutch met his eyes. "I saw you die again. I've been seeing it every night. Sometimes we're sitting here like this. Playing a game, watching TV, having dinner. Then I get up and get the gun and kill you."
Starsky wanted to reach out to his partner. He knew it wouldn't be welcome.
"I can't handle much more," Hutch said. "I'm losing it more every day." He shook his head like he was trying to wake up from a nightmare. "When I dream it feels real. I'm watching myself kill you over and over."
"Hutch." Starsky said. But there were no words. He didn't know how he could get through to his partner. He still trusted him with his life. But Hutch didn't.
In the morning they received the results from Cheryl. Nothing unusual was found in the pill.
A week later everything changed with the appearance of Huggy.
"I got some interesting news," Huggy said, handing Starsky a bag and coming inside.
Hutch was lying on the sofa, his arm over his eyes. The room was bright with sunshine.
"You two look like hell," Huggy said.
Starsky looked inside the bag and smiled when he saw the display of donuts, bagels and other scrumptious delights. He thanked his friend and took the bag into the kitchen. Starsky grabbed a few plates, sitting them on the table.
"You gonna wake Hutch?" Huggy said. "I know he'll want to hear."
Starsky called out to his partner who didn't answer. He had to be exhausted. Probably an atomic bomb could go off and the blond wouldn't hear it. Starsky called out to him again.
"Probably need to shake him," Huggy said.
"Not a good idea. I go anywhere near him, and he thinks he's gonna kill me." Starsky had told Dobey and Huggy what was happening earlier in the week.
"Makes no sense that these people are getting away with this shit?" Huggy said gruffly.
Hutch stirred, then opened sleepy eyes to his partner. He looked like a child with the blond hair swept over his forehead, the innocence of a good sleep still evident in his eyes. Then reality struck, and Starsky watched the worry return to his eyes.
"Huggy got some news and a great breakfast, Hutch. Want to join us?"
Hutch swung his long legs over the sofa and sat up, rubbing his eyes.
Starsky sat down. Huggy had brought three cups of coffee too. With any luck the coffee would keep him alert enough to follow what Huggy had to say. From the looks of him it was going to be good.
Huggy handed Starsky the folder. Hutch dragged himself into the kitchen and sat down next to Starsky. He leaned in as Starsky opened the folder.
"Three names on there," Huggy said.
"The last will and testament of James Gunther," Hutch said, reading the title line.
"An acquaintance managed to get that for me. But let me start from the beginning. A couple of weeks ago a man named Lou Scobie marched into The Pits throwing money around like it was water. You might recall him, Hutch."
"That old snitch of mine who set me up," Hutch said.
Starsky could never forget him either. He'd worked with Vic Humphries to arrange for Hutch to be ambushed. Hutch had ended up being forced off the road, trapped in the wreckage of his own car. He'd almost died. It had been Lou who'd lured him out there with a fake promise of information. Although Lou Scobie didn't have any idea of what had been planned for the Blond, he'd been instrumental in the attempt on a cop's life. It was enough to get him five years in prison.
"You know Lou," Huggy said. "My old aunt would say he didn't have a pot to piss in and a window to throw it out. Yet, he's got on an expensive suit, women dripping off his arms, and a car that would make that stripped tomato of yours look like something you could buy at Bargain Town."
Hutch took a sip of his coffee, looking pensive.
Huggy went on. "I got to wondering. Where did he get the money? I know the cat don't have any rich uncles. He sure didn't earn it in prison. Yet his new digs is a five room house in one of those ritzy hoods." Huggy looked at Starsky. "Look at the names on the next page."
Starsky did. There were three names—Lou Scobie, Richard Anton, and Cheryl Jennings.
Hutch grabbed the will. "Cheryl! He left her five million dollars." He looked at Huggy. "You sure this is real?"
"Real as rain. My prison sources said that a certain Professor Jennings and Gunther were tight as two bugs in a rug. Seemed strange to me. Why would these two become thick as thieves?"
Starsky noted that the other two had also received five million.
Hutch frowned. "Met in prison. Plotted revenge. Gunther and Jennings both died of cancer. Maybe they had chemotherapy together and came up with the plan to destroy their worst enemies as a parting shot."
Starsky took a sip of coffee, the adrenaline running through him like a tornado. "The woman in my dreams is Cheryl," he said slowly.
Hutch grabbed his hand. "Wait a minute. What woman?"
"My dreams. There's a woman in it. Must be Cheryl."
"A woman with no face?" Hutch asked quickly.
"How did you know?"
"Because the same woman is in my dreams. In all of them she's standing there before I pull the trigger and ki-ki-kill you. And she doesn't have a face." His voice was shaky.
Starsky's blood ran cold. "We're having a dream about the same woman?"
"I bet she paid that brainwashing group to snatch Hutch and added her own personal chemical touch. And doctor Anton worked some magic on you, Starsky," Huggy said.
Starsky slammed his hand on the table, the coffee splashing. "Who would know us better." He looked at Hutch. "When you two were dating, Cheryl mentioned how close we were. I thought she was going down the usual path when people misunderstand our relationship and set her straight. But maybe she wasn't just being a jealous woman. Maybe there was something more brewing and losing her father set her off."
Hutch leaned forward. "I remember her saying one day that nothing could ever separate you and me, Starsk. We were soul mates who really didn't have space for anyone else." He looked at Starsky. "I didn't think anything of it. We'd just started going out. Wasn't like we were serious or anything."
"Maybe she wasn't." Starsky said. "This is about you having someone while she's alone. No friends no family. I couldn't imagine how that would hurt. To be alone. Even when you were gone, I knew I had friends and my mother."
"Maybe, it was something she wished she had. And when she lost her father, it became something else.," Hutch said. "I could see why she would blame me. Her brother got the gun from me and died because of it. She had to hate me, but she never said a word. Things were frosty after that, and we broke up." He dropped his head. "I wanted to call but I thought it would make things worse."
Starsky rubbed Hutch's back. He knew the blond still felt guilty, even though it wasn't his fault. "She loses a father who never forgave her for turning in her brother for selling drugs on campus. And maybe she promises him something before he dies."
"I know she visited him." Hutch said. "Professor Jennings wasn't too happy about it at first. But I guess knowing you're dying makes you change your mind."
"You think losing her father made her lose her mind?" Huggy asked.
Starsky remembered how he felt when he thought Hutch was dead. "Yeah," he said quietly. "It's easy to do when you think you've lost everything." He looked at Hutch and they held each other's eyes, speaking volumes in the silence.
Huggy coughed, bringing their attention back to the tall barkeeper who'd become a great friend to both of them.
"So, Jennings and Gunther are in prison, both dying from cancer." Hutch said. "Imagine how much time they spent in the prison hospital together talking and realizing they had a common enemy."
Starsky ran a hand through his unruly curls. "He leaves Cheryl five million dollars. That's enough to bankroll her plan. Her old man is dying and has a request. Do you deny your father his final wish?"
"But where does Anton come in?" Huggy wanted to know.
"He get's five million to bankroll his lifestyle." Starsky said. "Now he's in a penthouse apartment, rolling in the dough, wearing expensive suits."
"And his knowledge of Starsky and me makes it easy to come at us. But there's something we're forgetting. Anton did his residency at Cabrillo with Dr. Matwick."
Starsky shivered as he recalled his undercover assignment as a mental patient at Cabrillo. Dr. Matwick was the senior doctor there and was doing experiments on human behavior. Had it not been for the nurse who felt Matwick had gone too far, Starsky would have been his next test subject and Hutch would be dead.
"Do ya thing Matwick is involved?" Huggy asked. "Didn't he go to the same prison?"
"Yeah," Hutch said. "But he's not a recipient on the will, so doubtful. "I think Doctor Anton may have been involved in early experiments and figured he would continue with the best test subjects he could possibly get. We were sitting ducks."
Starsky hated the furlong look in his partner's eyes. The blond looked like it took every effort to just breath. And for the first time his touch didn't help. The blond was closed off to him. Starsky had never been so afraid.
Huggy whistled. "Convoluted. Looks like they used Scobey for the final touch."
"It was like they were directing a film. They wanted the pieces to fall just right. Anton probably taped everything,"
Starsky looked at Hutch sharply. The thought of their privacy being invaded like that chilled him. The man had been a trusted shrink for the department. He'd spent a year trusting him, taking the drugs that were meant to help him. Now he knew they probably contributed to his decline. It had never made sense how delusional he had been.
Starsky was about to say something about it when the phone rang. He left his friends in the kitchen while he went to the bedroom to answer it.
Then he walked out the door.
It took a few minutes for Hutch to realize Starsky was gone. At first, he thought he was in the bathroom, but he checked. No Starsky. He came back. Huggy was sitting at the table, eating a doughnut. He looked up at him, his eyebrow raised, then his eyes widened.
"Where's Curly?" Huggy asked.
Hutch ran to the door and looked out. Starsky's car was gone.
He wouldn't leave without telling me. Hutch went back into the kitchen. "He's gone. Car's not there."
"Curly wouldn't just leave," Huggy supplied.
Hutch's heart was beating fast. His legs were so rubbery he thought he would pass out. He closed his eyes, recalling the moments before his partner disappeared. They'd been sitting at the kitchen table, going over the evidence that pointed to Doctor Anton and Cheryl Jennings. Then the phone had rung and Starsky went to answer it. And Hutch had been so busy looking at the will that he hadn't noticed when the brunet had simply walked out the door.
"Ph-phone. Someone called," he stuttered, looking at Huggy who was looking out the window as if the brunet would reappear.
Huggy turned around and looked at him. "Maybe someone called to ask him to meet them somewhere."
Hutch shook his head. "He would have said something, Huggy." Terror ran an icy claw down his spine. There was only one way his partner would just leave like that. He'd been brainwashed too. And the call was to give a trigger word to make him leave.
"Did he take his gun?" Huggy asked, coming to stand in front of him.
"Don't know. I had Starsky put his gun in the safe. I don't know the combination to get in it."
Huggy looked confused, but to his credit he didn't pursue it.
Hutch went over to the phone and called Dobey. He gave his captain a summary of what had happened and requested an APB be put out on the brunet. He hung up the phone and just stood there. He didn't expect anyone would find Starsky.
"All of this was planned," he said. "From the moment I was kidnapped."
Huggy shook his head.
"Think about it. Lou Scobie came into your club, but you hadn't seen him in years. Why now? Why throwing money around? Then this makes you suspicious and you check and find out about Cheryl, Anton, Gunther, Jennings. Everything clicks after that, but why would people so clever suddenly get so dumb?"
"And I like a dummy fell for it." Huggy added.
"Don't blame yourself. You were meant to do exactly what you did do. We've all been given a role. Brainwashing and coercion are just part of their arsenal."
The phone rang and both men looked at it.
"Better let me," Huggy said, picking up the receiver. He held it for a moment. "Yeah, Harold. Hutch is right here."
Hutch's heart was in his chest. His hands were shaking as he took the phone from Huggy. Did they find Starsky? Was he alive? A million hours seemed to have passed before he heard his captain speak.
"Doctor Anton was found dead," Dobey said.
Hutch let out the breath that was threatening to strangle him. "When? Where?"
"About an hour ago. Patient of his went to see him and found him dead in his office. Gunshot to the head. Been dead a couple of days."
Starsky had been with Hutch. They were both in the clear.
Dobey went on to explain that no traces of his partner had been found, but there were people out there looking for him. "We'll find him, son,"
Hutch hung up and felt like he was literally melting away. Huggy stood close by, ready to jump in if Hutch collapsed, but he had to be strong for the final act. For Starsky. Cheryl had him somewhere. Although, Dobey would search her usual locations, Hutch knew they wouldn't find her. There was a part of him that wanted to just jump in the car and look for Starsky on his own. But that would get him nowhere. Cheryl was the writer and producer of this play. So far, she was calling all the shots.
Hutch suddenly knew what was expected of him as if it had been whispered in his ear. And maybe it had. Maybe it was Cheryl who'd told him to stay by the phone and await his orders. Maybe that was why his legs remained strong, his resolve single-minded.
"The phone will ring," he said slowly.
He was aware of Huggy standing next to him, but he was fading, grey edges crowding his features. His mind was releasing, accepting, a locked door opening with nothing inside. And then the phone rang. Huggy made for it. But this time Hutch reached out a hand and struck Huggy across the face. The man fell back, hitting his head on the side of the table. He didn't move and Hutch answered the phone.
"It's time to get ready." A soft feminine voice said. He hung up the phone. He put on a jacket, then went to the closet, finding his gun on top of the safe. Then he walked out the door.
It was dark when Hutch opened his eyes. He was stunned to find himself in the front seat of his car. He looked around. A fog had settled, making it difficult to see, but eventually he saw the tombstones. A cemetery. But how? He didn't recall driving there. The last thing he remembered was talking to Huggy. But where was Huggy now? Had he done something to his friend? He couldn't remember. His heart raced when he thought of Starsky. Hutch figured they had him somewhere in the cemetery. He only hoped his partner was still alive.
Hutch felt the gun in its familiar place against his chest. He took the gun from its holster and quickly checked it for bullets. He had one bullet. Someone had taken the time to remove the other bullets which meant Starsky probably had a gun with one bullet also. Hutch didn't know how he got in the safe to retrieve his gun
Cheryl was playing a game where only one would survive, the other left to grieve. Hutch hoped that he could get both of them out, but if he had a choice, and only one could survive, he prayed it would be Starsky.
He got out of the car. He was facing a mausoleum. It was huge, a Greek revival with white pillars. It felt like it was calling to him, so he started walking towards it, the wind picking up speed, howling, blowing wildly. In the distance a dog barked, his mournful cries felt like a warning for him to turn back. But he couldn't. Starsky was in there.
He kept walking. Then he was at the door of the mausoleum and opened it. Total darkness. He felt like any minute someone would reach out a bony hand and pull him into hell. He held his gun firmly. One bullet. A bullet meant for his partner. Suddenly the room was flooded with light.
Hutch found himself facing a wooden bench and three burial compartments, a huge chandelier hovering over the bench bathed the room in a golden hue. The chandelier was a reproduction of the old gaslight ones of the last century. It made the room seem like it just walked out of the past.
Hutch drew nearer to the center burial compartment. He saw the name of Professor Jennings and his birth and death dates. To the left of that compartment was his son. Hutch stared at the next compartment.
Cheryl Jennings born 1945, Died 1982.
Hutch stepped back. The meaning was clear. She planned to end her life tonight. She would arrange to see the final moments of the detectives lives, then she would give up her own. How could her hatred for him be so great as to come up with such an elaborate plan? Moreover, how had he missed it? True, they'd lost contact, but he did see her at work sometimes and there was the occasional phone call. But he hadn't been paying attention, too hung up in his own life. This whole thing was the result of that.
"Today is a good day to die," he murmured as he considered turning the gun on himself right now. He was walking into a trap. He had a gun. What will happen when he found Starsky. Would he kill his best friend? But he had to save his partner. His death didn't guarantee that Cheryl would let Starsky go. She had too much hate in her. Plus, if she planned to kill herself, maybe she would take Starsky with her. But no. Hutch knew in his heart that all the brainwashing was meant to lead to this moment. She wanted to see Him kill Starsky.
Thoughts flooded his mind like doors opening. Suddenly, he reached out and touched a lever over Cheryl's compartment. Immediately the wall opened to reveal a short hall. Hutch stepped in; the fluorescent illumination made it easy to see everything. But even if there hadn't been any light at all, Hutch knew the layout of the place. He'd been here before. It was all flooding into his mind now.
A head of him were three doors. Hutch knew the two doors on either side of him were rooms he spent a great deal of the day in when he'd been held captive. One room contained exercise equipment, a long examination table and cabinets where medical equipment was kept. It was in that room that he'd been shackled and forced to watch the film where he killed Starsky.
The room opposite had been his bedroom. Hutch walked forward. It was the room in the center that he would find Starsky. He was sure of it. Which meant that the thoughts in his mind had been put there, released by the trigger of just being there. He couldn't trust anything he thought or felt. He was under their control. His stomach rolled and he wanted to just crash to the floor and just sit there. But he stepped forward, his footsteps echoing on the hard, concrete floors. Soon he was reaching out a hand to touch the doorknob that would lead him to his partner. The gun was still in his hand.
He opened it, stepping into a fully lighted room. He saw two things at once. Cheryl on an impossibly large screen television. And Starsky standing in the room, his eyes vacant, holding a gun pointed directly at Hutch. They faced each other.
Hutch wanted to put his gun down. He wasn't going to kill his partner. He loved Starsky more than his own life. But why was the gun still in his hands? It had to be the conditioning. He spared a look at Cheryl on the screen directly behind Starsky. He recognized the room. It was the exercise room. He kicked himself for not checking both rooms before he came here. If he had, he could have had a chance at stopping this whole thing. What was he thinking? But of course, his thoughts were not his own. She'd conditioned him to come here. She'd directed his every move.
He locked eyes with Starsky and felt absolutely nothing. His partner was looking at him in that same dead way he had when Hutch had come back.
"Good evening, Ken," Cheryl said. "Welcome to my movie. It was written and directed by me." She smiled. "Everything, including that wiry little man that got Huggy to discover the will. How nice of him to throw money around like that, don't you think? Of course, Gunther left him enough to do that for the rest of his life."
"Cheryl don't do this," Hutch said.
The woman smiled broadly. "You cost me my brother and my father. You needed a taste of what it's like to suffer as I have. I had to watch my father slowly lose his mind because you killed my brother. I was helpless to do anything about it. Everyday I died a little as he grew to hate me."
"So, all this. Everything you've done was to break Starsky and have me come back and watch?"
She laughed. "Of course, and I've enjoyed every minute of the show. Doctor Anton gave me the tapes of your sessions. The ones with Starsky were by far the best, but you're no slouch."
Anger coursed through him. All of this, just so she could break Starsky and make him watch. She wanted to tear them apart. She wanted to see him suffer as she had. Hutch felt guilt and anger at the same time. Making him suffer was okay. Maybe he deserved it. But nobody messes with a man's partner.
"This was never about getting me to kill Starsky."
"No. I think that would actually be impossible. It's sort of like hypnosis. You can't force a person to do something they wouldn't ordinarily do." She raised an eyebrow. "I would think one would need to hit rock bottom for that to happen. Perhaps if said person was already out of his mind. And a particular shrink came along and gave him drugs and took away all hope. Then maybe that person could be controlled."
Hutch realized that this whole thing had nothing to do with what had happened to Terry Nash. Instead, Doctor Anton was just using behavioral methods to control both men. His time at Cabrillo had been his foundation. Anton had continued his research, honing it when Gunther had left all that money. And Cheryl had used her money to build this mausoleum and develop the perfect drug to control him and Starsky. Hutch was lucky it hadn't been addictive, but he'd lost a year of his life.
Hutch thought of the missing year, the nightmares they were both having, all of that had just been memories of what they'd done to them. Starsky had been brought to this location which caused him to have dreams of a cemetery.
And Hutch had started to remember his time there which had caused him to have nightmares about killing his partner. Everything had been manipulated for this very ending. Nothing had been real. And now it may be too late because Starsky was somewhere the blond couldn't reach. He'd put him there by pushing him away. He'd done it out of fear for his partner's life. Now, they would both pay.
"The film you made me watch where I kill Starsky…"
"All so you would believe you were capable of doing it." She leaned forward. "You see I knew what you would do. You would push him away; you would be so consumed with the thought of killing Starsky that it would break your bond." She laughed. "That incredible bond that sets tongues wagging." She paused. "All I did was trigger the nightmares. I put a thought in your head and watched it grow,"
And Hutch had fallen for it.
"Let him go," he said.
"Why should I?"
Hutch pulled in a breath. He looked at Starsky. Did he see a reaction? Maybe, the brunet seemed to be looking right at him for a moment. But maybe it was his own desperate need to reach him. He needed to buy time.
"How did you brainwash him?" he asked.
She smiled, warming to the subject. "A broken mind is easy to manipulate. Drugs, hypnosis, Doctor Anton's wonderful methods and five million bucks for each of us, courtesy of Gunther who hated you."
Gunther had reached up from the grave to hurt them.
"Give up," he said.
"To what end? You saw my death date. It's today, you know."
"Why, Cheryl? You can get help. Get back to your life."
"No, I can't. You see, I'm dying from that same insidious disease that took my father. My healthy appearance is all smoke and mirrors. I won't see Christmas. Plus I killed to men, your look-alike and that meddlesome Anton. He wanted to give the whole thing up. Couldn't allow that."
Hutch looked at Starsky. He still had the gun in his hand. If he pulled the trigger both their lives would be over. There was no doubt in Hutch's mind that Starsky wouldn't be able to handle killing him. He'd already seen what losing him had done to his partner. How much worse will it be now?
Hutch thought he heard footsteps. He looked at the door. It was solid steel. No way to shoot through it. Someone was there. And the door wasn't locked.
Now, the other piece of the puzzle fell into place. He had one bullet. Starsky most likely had one bullet, too. If Starsky used his bullet to shoot Hutch, and came to his senses immediately after, he would most likely take Hutch's gun and kill himself. Or maybe the person on the other side of the door would come in and shoot whoever survived.
Cheryl had covered all bases.
He met Starsky's eyes. Then the brunet blinked, once, twice. Imperceptible to many, but Hutch understood the intent. He braced himself. They would have to move fast. And he would have to do something he never thought he was capable of doing.
Starsky raised his gun, his intent clear.
Hutch aimed his gun and fired.
Starsky fell to the floor, gasping, his hand coming to his chest, staring at Hutch before he stopped moving, his wide-eye death stare forever etched in Hutch's mind.
Cheryl laughed, enjoying the final act. "I knew you wouldn't let him kill you," she shouted. "You're a fake. A coward. It's easy to love someone when everything is perfect. But let a storm hit and you find out the truth."
Hutch started screaming, cradling Starsky in his arms, cursing Cheryl for leaving him no other choice. The door flew open, and a man ran across the room, gun drawn. Hutch felt the movement and dived to his left as Starsky came up, his gun aimed at the man who looked stunned for just one moment before Starsky's bullet hit home.
One more shot rang out. And both detectives looked up at the screen to see that Cheryl Jennings had taken a gun and blown her brains out.
Starsky holstered his gun.
"Had me scared for a moment, there, partner," Hutch said. "I wasn't sure I got your message."
Without words, Starsky had told him to shoot just a little to the left of him.
"Me too." Starsky said. "I was out of it. Still can't remember how I got here."
"What brought you back?" Hutch asked.
"Same as always, me and thee."
Epilogue
The sun shone brightly over the four men. Hutch was twirling a blade of grass in his hand, while Dobey and Huggy enjoyed their hot dogs fresh off the grill. They were having a picnic in the park, a wonderful end to a hard day at work for both Hutch and Starsky. His partner lay on his back, a smile touching his lips.
They'd officially closed the case with Cheryl and Doctor Anton, so today was a celebration. Most of their intelligence had been gained by the notes the doctor left. In them, he'd revealed the entire plot from start to finish. Turns out Doctor Anton wanted more than money. He wanted fame. Discovering a way to control people would have put a feather in his cap. It would have elevated him to the level of Sigmund Freud. He'd gone overboard, using a mix of hypnosis and drugs to wipe memories and create memories that had never existed.
They hadn't been able to find the drugs.
Hutch and Starsky had both been brought to the mausoleum, although Starsky hadn't remembered much of it.
Anton had ended up dead because he realized Cheryl's end game. His plan was to learn from his treatment of the two detectives and find other patients to apply his methods. Then he would come forward to claim the accolades of the scientific community. Once he found out Cheryl wanted to kill herself and reveal his part in the scheme, he threatened her. And she killed him.
Hutch grabbed a can of beer from the icy cooler and looked around. The park was crowded with children playing, mothers pushing baby carriages, while their husbands held the hand of rumbustious little ones.
It felt good to be there, the sun on his face, Starsky by his side. Their eyes met and Starsky smiled.
"Okay, you two. None of that." Huggy shouted. "All conversations must be had in the open with actual words for the non-psychics among us."
Dobey nodded. "I second that."
Starsky looked at Huggy. "Speaking of which…what's with you two calling each other by your first names?"
Hutch shrugged. "Never thought I'll see that."
Huggy laughed. "Nothing strange about it. I am, after all, a legit businessman now."
Huggy was referring to his very successful night club, Satin Doll. It was the talk of the town.
Dobey looked at Huggy. "I could have called him by his nick name, but he didn't like that idea."
Huggy gave Dobey a sheepish look.
Starsky's eyes lit up. "Nick name. you mean other than Huggy?"
"Yep," Dobey said, looking triumphant.
"Okay, Huggy. What's your nickname?"
Huggy looked like he wasn't going to tell them, but then he smiled. "Okay, but it stops here. Harold only knows because I was in a weakened state."
"He means drunk," Dobey supplied.
Huggy made a show of straightening his shirt. "Every watch Blondie? You know that old movie series?"
Hutch shook his head. He hadn't been much for movie series.
"Where you been Hutch?" Starsky said. "I used to watch it as a kid. Blondie was married to this guy named Dagwood. They had this kid named Alexander. Dagwood used to eat those big sandwiches."
Hutch recalled the movies. "Sandwiches sorta like the ones you eat, Gordo."
Starsky laughed. Then his eyes grew round, and he couldn't stop laughing. Dobey joined in. Huggy looked embarrassed and started laughing too. It seems everyone was in on the joke except for Hutch.
Huggy continued with his story. "Blondie and Dagwood had a kid named Alexander. Anyhow, my mom was pregnant with me at the time and was two weeks overdue."
Dobey coughed, tears forming in his eyes as he doubled over laughing.
Huggy went on. "My mom was watching the show and she started laughing at Dagwoods antics and wouldn't you know it, she went into labor, right there in the theater. Ended up naming me after their kid, Alexander."
Hutch looked between Dobey and Starsky. "So, what's so bad about the name Alexander?"
Huggy took a swig of beer before continuing. "Mom gave me the kid's nickname too."
Dobey and Starsky where practically on their backs with laughter. Starsky pointed at Huggy. "Please don't tell me. Please…I can't take it."
"Yep, my honorable men, who are forever sworn to secrecy. The first five years of my life I was known as Baby Dumpling."
All four men broke into laughter, tears forming in their eyes. A laughter that Hutch knew would reach all the way to heaven.
Fin
Author's note: The idea for this story came to me over ten years ago. One sentence—Hutch walks into a room and Starsky passes out. Then the story took a turn when I heard so many young people talking about gaslighting. I wondered did they even know the term came from an old movie made in 1944 called Gaslight? In it a man convinces his wife that she is losing her mind.
Here's some trivia for you: All my original characters had names from the movie. That's Anton, Paula, and Freddy Lord. The movie is mentioned several times when Starsky is talking about old films and Hutch notices the chandelier in the mausoleum. There are other points in my story too.
Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed my little adventure and please review it. I had a blast!
