17
The voices where whispering annoyingly in the background and he wanted to shut them out. He'd never felt so tired in his whole life and the elephant that was sitting on his chest was beginning to annoy him intensely because it was stopping him breathing properly and it was also emitting high pitched bleeps every second or so. He tried to lift his arm to swat it away, but the arm was leaden heavy and he hadn't the strength to do it. His body felt disassociated and sore and he wanted it to stop. If the voices would only just let him sleep, he might feel better, but he had the impression they were there to stay.
Hutch tried to swat the elephant away again and a warm, strong hand took hold of his arm and laid it gently down on the side of the bed.
'Hey there pal' a familiar voice said softly.
Deciding that now was probably a good time to make his entrance back into the world of the living, the blond smiled.
'Starsk' he mumbled through dry lips. Much as he hurt, if he had to wake up in an ER he always liked to wake to those indigo blues looking down fondly at him. Starsky always new what made him feel good and could take away his pain with one blaze of his lop sided smile. He opened his eyes a crack, but was startled. The eyes that should have been the colour of Sri Lankan sapphires were Colombian emeralds instead. It woke him up fully and he opened his eyes wider.
'Wrong buddy, buddy' Traff smiled back at him. 'How d'ya feel?'
Hutch rested his head back on the pillow feeling oddly exhausted and very sore. 'Confused! Where's Starsk? Is he OK? Where is he?' He tried to sit up and look around him, but Traff's strong arm across his chest held him down.
'You aint goin' anywhere chief' he said gently. 'Curly's gonna be ok. They still have him in ER, but they'll bring him up here later, promise. Just lay back and relax huh? You need to rest'
'What's the matter with him? Is he ok? Why is he in the ER? And where the hell am I?' the questions came thick and fast, and Traff could see the beginnings of panic in the ice blue eyes. He laid his hand on the bed by Hutch's hand and wondered how the hell he was going to be able to explain what had gone n.
That subject had troubled the soldier since he'd made it back to Memorial with his two friends. How was he going to explain to the two detectives that they'd been drugged and schooled to beat the crap out of each other? He'd thought about it long and hard and had finally decided on quiet with a leaning towards silence, unless he was asked specifically. Somehow, though, now that the blond had woken up, he didn't think plan A would work and was now busily formulating plan B. Just exactly what that would entail would be as much of a surprise to Traff as it would be the Hutch and Starsky.
'Take it easy buddy. You really need to rest. It was a close call there. How much do you remember? Of the past two weeks?'
'What do you mean, what do I remember? I was…I…Shit! I can't remember! There's nothing there! No memories. What the fuck's happening here? And what do you mean close call?'
He took a minute to take in his surroundings. He was laid in a double hospital room, propped up slightly in the bed. His bare chest had leads from small adhesive pads affixed to his chest and side attached to a heart monitor at the side of the bed and large livid bruises showed across his ribs and abdomen. His left arm was engulfed in a large black BP cuff. His other arm was pierced half way down its length by a cannula attached to a bag of normal saline hanging from a drip stand on the right hand side of the bed, but ominously, his right wrist was attached to the metal cot sides by a single metal handcuff – police issue.
The monitor bleeped annoyingly with every beat of his heart and he thought it was going remarkably quickly as he tried to piece together the past fortnight. He turned pleading eyes on the soldier.
'Ya gonna tell me what this is all about? he said softly, jangling the cuff against the bed frame. His heart was in his mouth, dry tongue rasping over dry lips as his mind jumped through hoops trying to piece together why he should be chained to the bed like a criminal. The beeps became more frequent on the monitor and Traff pushed the nurse call button as he saw the sweat break out, beading on Hutch's cheeks and brow.
'Try to stay calm buddy. You need to take it easy. Just try to concentrate on breathing and I'll get the doctor to tell you everything'.
Hutch heaved a deep breath and fixed his eyes on his friend. Traff was a calming influence, but nothing could come close to the calm his partner poured over him at times like this. He needed Starsky and he longed for the mellow voice telling him that he'd be fine and not to be a baby.
A nurse came bustling into the room. She put her hand on the blonde's forehead, checking the large fresh gash there that peeked out from below a large white dressing and checked his blood pressure and temperature.
'How are your feeling Ken?' she asked as she shone her penlight into his eyes. At her approach he flinched backwards, visions of people in uniforms swimming up through his consciousness, and he threw his left arm up as if to fend her off, a strangled cry being forced from his throat, although he didn't know why he should feel like that. She was a nurse, right?
The nurse continued her examination more slowly, talking low and calm under her breath as if quietening a child or a skittish horse, and finding that there was no pain involved, Hutch relaxed back and let her finish. Just as she was bundling up the tubing from the BP monitor, a tall, black doctor walked into the room and nodded at Traff. The nurse smiled and left and the doctor pulled up a chair and sat at the side of the bed as Traff moved around to the other side.
'I'm Doctor M'Benga. I'll be your doctor while you're here. I know you will have a lot of questions and I'll try and answer as many as I can. Can you remember anything of what has happened to you?'
Hutch shook his head, panic mounting in a fluttery tide in his stomach. 'Why don't you tell me?' he said slowly, bracing himself. With the cuff in place and the leads on his chest, and the single silver manacle on the other wrist he knew it couldn't be good. Oh my God! Had he killed someone?
'You are lucky that you had good men around you back there' M'Benga started. 'Ken, you've been held captive for two weeks. During that time, from what we can deduce from blood tests, you've been given ever increasing doses of an adrenaline derivative. It seems to have been designed to work on your fight response, making you want and indeed need to fight whatever, or whoever you are directed to. You were found in a fight club by your colleagues and it would appear that you have had several fights recently. I take it you don't remember any of them?
Hutch shook his head, too stunned at the information laid at his door to actually speak. He found it incredible that he could lose two whole weeks of his life.
'I think, once the drugs are completely out of your system, there is a good chance that your memories will all return. There seems to have been some element of brainwashing involved. Maybe you were not allowed to remember and were, shall we say "discouraged" by painful stimuli'.
'Tonight you seem to have been given a massive dose of the drug and it overloaded your system. You had an irregular heartbeat, your heart was beating way too fast and stopped for a brief time, although we've dealt with it in time and you should be fine if you can rest over the next few days'.
Hutch stared incredulously. 'A heart problem! My heart stopped? Jeez Doc! And you're telling me I've been made to fight? What? Bare fist fighting? Gun fighting? What? Shit!...I can't remember anything! And what about my partner? Was he…..was he there?'
The doctor nodded. 'Please, try to keep calm. When you were found, you were at the end of a rather dangerous fight.'.
'Fuck!...Is he ok?' the blond asked softly.
'He will be. He has some injuries which we still have to deal with, but he'll be up shortly'.
'What injuries? Did he have to fight? Who did he fight? Did they hurt him?' Hutch was getting anxious again and the doctor stood, preparing to give his patient a shot of a sedative.
'Yes he had to fight. He'd been strangled and had stopped breathing. If it wasn't for your friend there' he paused and pointed at Traff who looked away in embarrassment 'he'd be dead'.
There was a pause as Hutch processed the information and Traff could see the flaxen haired cop putting two and two together and coming up with a big, fat and unpalatable answer.
'Doc. The guy that strangled my partner……the one who "killed" him….it was me?' the voice was small and lost as Hutch tried to come to terms with the hellish existence he'd endured for the past two weeks.
M'Benga nodded again and as Hutch's face crumpled and he hid it behind his left hand, the doctor injected the powerful sedative into the port in the IV.
'He'll sleep for a while now. It may be good for him if you stayed for a while' he told Traff, checked again on the trembling patient and left.
Traff crossed back to the bed and held the devastated blond, pulling the big body to him and rubbing comforting circles on the broad back.
'I killed him…..I killed Starsky' the voice mumbled low and intense as the ice blue eyes stared unfocussed at the bed.
'You didn't kill him. He's gonna be fine. He's gonna be just fine. Just relax big guy. Just rest, it'll be ok' Traff murmured as he continued rubbing his hand down the back.
Hutch pulled away from him, staring into Traff's eyes with so much pain that the soldier thought his heart would break. 'How can it be OK? I fought with my partner. I wasn't strong enough to fight the drug and I hurt Starsky. Just get me out of here. I can't see him. He won't want to see me, I hurt him! I need to get out of this room, now'.
The eyes were beginning to droop as Hutch kept up his fevered ramblings. Traff laid the body back gently on the pillows, smoothing the damp golden hair away from the sweat slick forehead.
'Blondie, you can't blame yourself. Hell you couldn't even remember who you were, let alone what you were doing. You were drugged. Starsky won't blame you, he fought too ya know. Don't shut him out, you need him and he needs you!'
Hutch was fighting the effects of the sedative, trapped in his own hellish nightmare, and couldn't let go of the fact that he'd fought and hurt his partner. As his eyes drooped closed he gasped one last time.
'Starsk….so sorry Starsky…..sorry'.