Chapter 8

Ethan Quade sat in his small room awaiting the arrival of Dr Isaac. He'd had a shower, a light lunch and a nap on his bed, but his mind was not at rest. Today it seemed he was going to learn who he was and the truth was scary. Someone had once told him it was better to travel hopefully than to arrive. For the past month, Quade had been travelling hopefully down the road of his recovery. He had endured the fevers, the pain, the aches and pains without comment. He'd spent the deep dark nights of his recovery laying alone in his bed trying the piece together the tatters of his memory without success. The nurses had told him that the car they'd found him in had been so badly damaged that it was lucky he'd escaped with his life. A concussion and the resulting total amnesia seemed a small price to pay for his memories and yet he'd never appreciated until now just what his past life meant to him and yet without an identity he felt like a no-one. The only difficulty was that knowing he was a no-one was one thing. Longing for an identity and then finding out that he didn't like himself was something else altogether.

What would he do then? What would he do if he found that he was unable to live with a past he knew nothing about? Quade sighed and steepled his fingers. A noise at the door made him jump and Isaac but his smiling face around the corner.

'Hey Doc' Quade said softly, his heart beating just a little faster.

'You're looking much better today. Helga tells me you had a good work out in the gym this morning.'

The curly haired man grunted. 'I should be able to do more.'

'Measured against whose standards?'

'Dunno. Mine? Oh hell Doc, I have no clue. If you say I'm doin' ok then I'll take your word for it.'

Isaac smiled. 'Yes, you're doing fine. Let me check your wounds, and then we can talk.' The doctor strode to the bed and as Quade lay back and stared at the ceiling, the doctor probed the surgical scars with practiced fingers. Once or twice he drew a hiss of discomfort as his fingers pressed too hard. Quade drew up his knees in surprise as Isaac pressed against the fourth rib on the left and grunted softly.

'Sorry. That rib is almost healed but you've been doing too much. I told you you need to be careful. This has been no walk in the park for your body you know. You can only heal so many times.'

'And it looks like I've done a whole bunch of healin' before.'

Isaac sat back on the bed and watched as Quade pulled his pyjama shirt back down. 'How are you feeling?' he asked.

'You asked me that already.'

The doctor shook his head. 'I know how your body is feeling. I want to know what's up here' he said, patting the side of his head with his finger.

Quade closed his eyes and let out a sigh. 'I don't know how I'm feelin'. Confused? Empty; scared; screwed. You said you had information for me.'

'Are you ready for it?'

The man on the bed shrugged his shoulders. 'Sumthin about your voice says maybe I won't be. What're ya gonna tell me Doc?'

'Ethan some things are better left until you're completely well. I mean some things you need time to come to terms with. I have to make sure that you're strong enough for all this.'

'Well we aren't gonna know that until you tell me now are we?' Ethan's voice rose and there was a touch of anger coloured by more than a little fear. The suspense, as they said in all good books, was killing him and he eyed the buff coloured folder with some trepidation. 'Is that it? Is that my life story?'

'It is. Do you want me to stay with you?' Isaac asked.

Quade's eyes were fastened on the folder. 'Huh? Oh um….no, I'd um….I need to do this on my own.'

The doctor stood and handed the folder to his patient. 'Take it easy Ethan. Take it easy and try not to get too excited, huh?'

Piercing blue eyes stared back almost defiantly. 'I'll be fine. And Doc?'

'Huh?'

'Thanks.'

The doctor paused with his hand on the door. 'Don't thank me till you've read it through. I'll be down the hall if you need me, ok?'

The door closed and suddenly Quade was alone in the quiet of the small room. For an age he stared at the folder, his thumb running across the single string fastener. It was almost as though his body had frozen; frozen in denial. With a huge mental shrug, he slipped his thumb nail under the seal and flipped open the folder so that a host of papers spilled out onto the bed. For a moment he stared down at the first slip.

Ethan Daniel Quade born Boston Mass 11th March 1943, mother Martha Quade nee Freerstein. Religion – Jewish. There was no father named and the blue and white birth certificate with its original seal looked back up at him. Ok, so he hadn't been knitted by the American Women's Voluntary Service! He was real and had a certificate to prove it. And Boston! The doctor had told he'd been from Jacksonville Florida. Boston huh? He was a helluva way from home.

Fumbling further through the documents, Quade felt like a child at Christmas. The presents were his memories and as he looked at each document it seemed he sparked some remembered event.

Isaac and his friends had certainly been thorough. Not only was there a record card from his first grade school, there was also a 25 meter swimming certificate, a certificate of competency from a Boston based shooting club dated 10 years ago and a newly renewed shotgun and handgun licence from the State of California.

There was also certificate of honourable discharge from the United States Army dated two years ago where it seemed Quade had spent his time in Vietnam as a sniper and then as a bomb disposal tech. The discharge certificate said he'd been involved in a bomb blast and badly wounded. That would explain the scarring over his body.

Hmm. Soldier. He could live with being a soldier boy! And a good thing about the amnesia – at least he didn't need to remember any shit that went on in Vietnam.

The past two years though seemed to have been less well documented. There didn't seem to be any indication of what he'd done with himself for those two years after the Army although by the look of the state of his body before this accident, recovering would have been a good guess.

There was one more document that Quade had still to look at. This wasn't so much an official document as a newspaper cutting dated around eight months ago. It was a cutting from the Boston Herald and it showed a picture of a young man who looked staggeringly like Quade. The young man was being led away from a court room in handcuffs by a police officer and the headline above the picture read: DRUG ADDICT KILLED IN SLAMMER FOR HANDFUL OF DOPE.

With some sort of sick fascination the man on the bed started to read the article below the picture and as he did so a tide of alarm and then anger ran through his body.

Christopher Quade, a 21 year old addict from Boston's south side was found dead in the county lockup this morning.

Quade, jailed for possession and distribution of cocaine and amphetamine was found strangled to death in the cell he shared with Ray Hunt a well known dealer originally from Seattle. Authorities say there had been tension between the two inmates for some time although they had not suspected it would go as far as death.

A spokesman for the jail said Quade had been a difficult man to deal with but he had been trying hard to kick his addiction. Quade's mother, Martha was being comforted at home by friends. She has one other older son whose location is unknown at this time.

Hunt, Quade's murderer was this morning on the run having skipped custody whilst being transferred to another facility. The public are warned not to approach Hunt who is likely to be armed and dangerous.

Ethan sat staring at the newspaper cutting for what seemed like an eternity. Emotions ran unchecked through his head. He had a Mom. He also had a little brother. No, scrap that. He used to have a little brother.

His baby brother Chris.

Quade closed his eyes and tried to visualise the younger man. Somewhere, lurking in the dim recesses of his mind he did seem to remember a younger brother. One with hair as curly as his own and a cheeky smile, cocky walk and a mouth that was just big enough to get him into trouble. Yet try as he might, Quade was unable to get a clear picture of the younger man in his head. All that he saw was that stark, grainy, black and white picture of Chris being lead away in handcuffs. Lead away to his death.

Leaning back on his pillows, the euphoria of his memories was forgotten as Quade thought about how it must have been for the younger man. Locked in a cell with a monster whose only device in the world was to get more drugs. This Ray Hunt sounded older than Chris. Was he bigger? Did he fight dirty? Had Chris screamed and shouted for help? Or had he tried to fight back silently? What were the guards doing, or did they just ignore the commotion and continue joking amongst themselves?

The more Quade thought about the scene, the more he felt sick to his stomach. He'd been newly introduced to his family only to have one family member torn away from him. He hated drugs (he had that feeling deep down in his bones) and he hated bullies. Ray Hunt sounded like a bully and suddenly there was purpose in Quade's life again.

There's nothing like cold, icy revenge to revitalise tired muscles and a jaded palate. Something boiled up from deep inside the injured man's chest and welled out in a scream of fury. His hands tore at the newspaper article and the print mixed with the tears he realised that were flowing freely down his cheeks.

Quade sprang fro the bed, his whole frame trembling as he went to the door to open it and shout for Isaac. The door was locked and that small thing was enough to sent the curly haired man over the edge.

The month of pain, fever, recovery and emptiness flowed up from his toes and cascaded out in an attack against the door. Quade kicked at the wood with his bare feet. He pounded on the door with his fists until dark, bloody smudges appeared on the white painted wood. He yelled and screamed for someone to come and let him out until his voice was hoarse and he had barely enough strength to keep himself upright. His chest was on fire, his ribs smarting with the effort and yet he couldn't let go of the anger that had been bottled up inside him for those weeks.

Outside, Isaac and Mr Lake listened to the commotion and watched as the hard wooden door rattled on its hinges. After maybe three or four minutes Lake grinned and turned to the doctor.

'I think we stirred his pot enough, don't you?'

'Wouldn't do to put him back in his recovery too much.'

'Let me get the orderlies. I think I need backup' Isaac said and motioned for two of the beefiest of his men to accompany him. As they opened the door Quade swung for the closest man, his rage blinding him to who was trying to help him. The orderly ducked and the second man tackled Quade low down, grabbing his knees and bearing the patient to the ground so that the two man could pin the struggling man down while Isaac took the cover off his syringe with his teeth and sunk the needle into Quade's upper arm. The doctor stood back and watched as slowly Quade's struggles slowed and finally the orderlies pulled the sleepy man to his feet and manoeuvred him back onto the bed. Quade lay panting and fighting the soporific effects of the drug.

'I told you it was too early for you to read the dossier' Isaac said gently, perching on the edge of the bed by the side of his patient.

Quade blinked. 'I need t'get outa here Doc.'

'Why? You aren't fully healed yet.'

'There's a man….gotta find him……gotta kill him.'

'Ethan you aren't fit for that yet. Listen to yourself.'

Quade tossed his head on the pillow, fighting the sedative. 'I gotta….don't understand. I gotta…..kid brother……dead. Need t'find……'

'Who? Who do you need to find? Maybe I can help?' Isaac sat forwards slightly looking every inch the confidente.

Ethan was almost out of time. The sedative had been strong as the doctor had intended, With his last reserve of energy, he licked dry lips and breathed two words. 'Ray Hunt.'

Isaac smiled sadly and patted his patient on the shoulder. The hours of work with the pictures and the headphones whilst Starsky had been "asleep" and recevering had paid off. The month of conditioning had worked and now the trigger had been given. Ray Hunt, alias Ken Hutchinson was now once again the most important person in Starsky's life. But now friend had turned into enemy and the Corproration and Mr Da Luca could sit back and enjoy the show.

'I'll do everything I can possibly do to help, but now you should rest. Tomorrow is a whole other day.' Isaac got up and left his patient to his dreams of revenge, closed the door and gave Mr Lake the thumbs up.

'When do we move to Hutchinson? And how?' the doctor asked.

Lake smiled again, a wolfish smile that did not light up his eyes. 'No time like the present' he said. 'Suddenly Mr Hutchinson alias Hunt is going to have a visitor – shall we call him a blast from his past? By the end of the week, we should be ready to move to phase two.'