Chapter 13

Hutch drifted in and out of consciousness. For the most part, he willed himself to remain awake, knowing that the smell of blood would bring critters of all kinds to his side. He dimly remembered Starsky talking to him. He thought he remembered the brunet bandaging his arm again and now it hung above him, suspended by his wrist. Hutch snorted softly, unsurprised at his partner's ingenuity. If only it had stopped the bleeding it would have been a perfect solution. The flow had slowed, for sure, but the bright red gore still trickled down Hutch's bare chest and side where it was feasted on by what seemed like the whole Louisiana population of flies and bugs. Had Hutch had the energy, he would have twitched or shuddered or done something to make them leave him alone. As it was, the blond was so weak that even that one small movement was too much to contemplate, his entire energy focused on the need to keep his eyes open.

How long had it been since Starsky had taken off? And in which direction had the brunet gone. Hutch had tried to get through to his friend that returning to Papa Noir was not the best idea in the world, but as the witch doctor and his motley crew were the only human beings Hutch had Starsky had seen for a while, it seemed inevitable that Starsky would once more fall under Papa's spell – which left Hutch where exactly?

The blond cop's mind wandered. A while ago he'd been in a similar situation. Not dicing with black magic and voodoo, of course, but sick and injured and alone. That time, his beloved battered LTD had been forced off the road and had plunged down a ravine, trapping him by the leg beneath the tangled metal. On that occasion Hutch had at least had a radio in his car to listen to, even if listening to Minnie's voice, so close and yet so far away had been like torture. Then, Hutch had been trapped in the hot, dry Californian hills, at the mercy of the sun and dehydration. He'd spent two long days trapped there with only Colonel Sonny for company. The shell shocked veteran had eventually helped Starsky locate Hutch, and the brunet discovered his injured buddy in the nick of time. At the hospital the doctors told the brunet that another three or four hours out there beneath the car would have finished Hutch off and that the toxic shock from the build up of toxins behind the injury still could. For almost a week Hutch had battled his way back to consciousness. He had fluid forced back into his body, his broken leg was set and his internal injuries dealt with and when he finally emerged from his hellish ordeal, Starsky was right by his side. The physical scars healed well. Hutch was fit and healthy before the accident and looked after his body and so recovery was fairly straight forward. The mental scars however, remained with him to this day.

Hutch had always felt ambiguous towards human company. He could take it or leave it, enjoying both sociable parties on the beach, or taking himself off into the hills for peace and quiet. That was until the accident. Since then, the blond had never once elected to be alone for any length of time. Sure, he went back to Venice Place at night, locked his front door and spent time with his plants, but he'd never gone off on one of his retreats. Nights were the worst for Hutch. There were times when he awoke in a cold sweat after dreaming of being trapped again only to find the bedclothes wrapped around his legs, or the pillow over his head. On those occasions going back to sleep was impossible, the chance of returning to the nightmare too terrible to contemplate. On those occasions, Hutch would get up, pace the living room and finally settle himself on the sofa in his greenhouse, surrounded by his beloved plants, waiting for the sun to rise. Several times he'd thought of phoning Starsky and yet each time his hand reached for the phone, a small voice inside his head told him that this was his secret, as though mentioning his fears to someone, even his best friend would somehow make the terrors even more real. So Hutch remained silent about his dreams and his phobia, but sought out company whenever he could. So far, since that accident 26 months ago, Hutch had never once been on his own for any length of time.

Until now.

The small noises of the swamp made him jump and the added pain brought a groan to the blond's lips. His body trembled with weakness and at the tremors, the flies lapping at his blood took off in a mass, swarmed around him and then settled again, seething over the blond's tanned skin.

Slowly Hutch's eyes closed, his strength failing him.

Starsk, c'mon buddy. Help me, please? Hurts...it hurts. This aint no fun...Hutch is dyin' He'd said it before. In a hospital bed in Bay City waiting for a flake with a cure in his blood to show up. The blond snickered to himself. They could make a movie out of what he and Starsky had been through in their lives as cops and yet this wasn't a movie. It was real and at 30 it was unfair that Hutch should have faced down death twice before. Was this going to be third time lucky for the grim reaper?

The world was fading out of existence, the sounds around him becoming muted. Even the annoying tickle of the flies on his body seemed to recede until there was nothing but an odd comfort and a growing cold starting at his toes and moving rapidly up his body. And suddenly Hutch wasn't scared of being alone any more. Suddenly he felt relaxed as he embraced the inevitable. His only disappointment was that he wouldn't see Starsky again and yet...

Hutch rested his head back against the rough bark of the cypress tree. Was death really so bad? It was... hey, hoof beats! Was this it? Was he in heaven and if so, were there really horses? Hutch had always had an affinity with the big animals. Maybe this was his childhood pony Crunchie, come back for him. A small smile played over Hutch's lips. Would he see his Granddaddy Wilbur again? Would heaven be all it was billed to be? And did angels still have wings, or had they modernised and gone for jet engines now?

The sounds of the hooves came closer and Hutch felt a large body next to him. 'Hey boy...' he whispered as the pony leaned down and blew hay scented breath at him. Hutch would have reached up and caressed the velvety nose if he'd had enough strength. As it was, he lay back and allowed the animal to nudge him gently.

'Move back Maestro. Let me see.'

A woman's voice? Now that was weird and a surprise. And now soft and gentle hands on his chest and travelling up to cup his face. Hutch gathered all his remaining energy and opened his eyes to look up into the moss green eyes of the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. With the early morning sun behind her, the deep chestnut hair seemed to have a halo surrounding it.

'Beautiful' the injured blond murmured feeling it was only right to compliment the angel on her appearance. The woman gently brushed a flaxen bang from his forehead and traced the gash across his eyebrow with her finger.

'You must be Hutch.'

Hey! She knew his name! 'S me.'

'My name is Michelle.' The name almost sounded angelic and Hutch allowed the tones of the name to echo around his head. Michelle. It was as beautiful as the woman herself. Were all the women in heaven this gorgeous? If so, he was gonna be in for a real good time.

The voice continued to talk. 'I have your friend at my home. I saw you in his...well, he cried out for you.'

The mention of his partner brought Hutch back down to earth with a bump. With reality also came the pain and Hutch stifled a groan. 'Starsk? He's ok?' he managed to mumble

Michelle smiled. 'You care about him more than yourself?'

Hutch was so tired that talking took his strength. Instead of answering he nodded slowly. It was the truth. He did care more about Starsky. Somehow it was easier to worry about his partner than to worry about himself, as though if he truly contemplated his own position it would make it more real – and even more painful. Hutch opened his eyes again to try to reply and groaned at the movement. Michelle stroked his face.

'I need to get you back to my home. You're bleeding too much, but maybe I can fix that. But not here. Can you stand?' The woman busied herself untying Hutch's arm from the branch. The flies buzzed angrily now that their meal was on the move and the woman swatted them away as she gently lowered Hutch's wounded arm. With the return of circulation came more pain as though the blond's hand had been dipped in boiling water. Another groan escaped him and Hutch hated the fact that he felt so weak and helpless. He was the man. He was the one who was supposed to fix things and watch his partner's back and yet here he was, weak as a kitten and being helped by a woman. If he'd been fully aware, Hutch would have been angry at himself for the sexist thought and yet right at that moment, he felt only gratitude. Hutch did all he could to help the woman lever him upright but it cost and a cold sweat broke out across his body. Hutch felt cold, despite the heat of the swamp and as Michelle put Hutch's good arm around her shoulders and helped the blond to his feet Hutch hissed at the fire consuming his hand and arm and the way the world spun alarmingly around him.

Being vertical was a challenge. Los of blood left the cop disorientated, dizzy and with the feeling that his legs were like rubber and would give way at any time. Michelle whistled for the big dark bay horse who'd been calmly grazing a little way away. It lifted its head and walked over to stand by the woman.

'Can you get on board?' she asked.

Hutch looked up at the gentle beast. It wasn't he biggest horse in the world, but climbing up onto its back was going to be as tough as climbing Mount Everest. Michelle felt the tremors of weakness run through the man's body.

'Here, let me help' she said and almost propped Hutch against the flanks of the horse. 'Stand Maestro' she said softly and the animal snickered and looked around. Michelle dropped to her knees and made a step out of her clasped hands. 'Use this' she said and Hutch reluctantly put his foot onto the home made step and felt Michelle boost him up.

Maestro's back was warm, solid and comforting but the effort of getting onto it was just too much for the blond to make. Hutch hung over the animal's back, his head on one side and his legs on the other, like a sack of wheat. He had no energy left to sit astride the horse and if he had, he would have had no strength left to ride for there was no saddle. Instead, Hutch hung there for a moment staring down at the ground and then, as the horse took a step forwards, the inevitable occurred and Hutch blacked out, allowing the blackness to consume him totally and giving himself up willingly to peaceful oblivion.