Hi All,
Sorry for the long wait between chapters. Real life has been very difficult for my family lately. As some of you know, my mom has cancer. She starts chemotherapy Monday. Thank you for all the kind words, encouragement and support during this very difficult time.
Warning: If you are sensitive, please read no further. Sadness, bad things and a few bad words abound in this story.
As always, thanks to the Usual Suspects, I couldn't do this without you ladies.
Special thanks to Kreek for her awesome story idea near the very end of this chapter. Without her help, I'd STILL be trying to figure out how to wrap this chapter up.
"If you're going through hell… keep going." Winston Churchill
Chapter 9
"What's rest therapy?"
Richard watched as his wife sniffled the words out from behind a wadded up Kleenex tissue. He placed his arm around her shoulders, helping her to regain her composure and thereby giving him a way to maintain his own.
Doctor Lottridge smiled warmly at the woman before gently correcting her. "REST is an acronym for – Restricted Environmental Stimulation Therapy and it has been proven to be very useful for reducing stress, relieving pain and accelerating healing. Furthermore it aids in learning, improving mental and physical performance. It has been in use since the 1950's. Here, I have a book by Dr. John Lilly, founder of the technique."
The elder Hutchinson felt his lips tighten into a tense line as he listened to the doctor. Despite Elizabeth's concerns, Richard noticed a great deal of improvement in Kenneth's ability to move and even stand. The movements were more coordinated and the words --word- he silently amended, had been quite clear. That was something his son hadn't been able to do just two weeks ago. The cussing fit and punch, though unwanted was even more proof that whatever Lottridge was doing for his boy was working.
He gently guided his wife to sit. He still couldn't bring himself to deal with his son's malady and wandered over to the window, allowing Elizabeth to handle the uncomfortable situation for him. Richard felt guilty about the circumstances but couldn't force himself to change his own attitude. A part of him hoped this would all just go away.
With his back to the room and listening with half an ear to what the doctor was telling his wife, Richard threaded his fingers through his thinning stands of hair as he stared out the window. The snow was falling harder now. They would need to leave soon before the roads got too bad. Being in this place, this institute, and put in the position of having to make tough medical decisions for Kenneth was not the high point in his day. He loathed coming here for it somehow made him feel like a failure.
While he watched the mesmerizing action of the falling snow, he could hear the doctor droning on in the background about the benefits of REST therapy. "- and the brain is freed from external stimuli and thus starts to work more efficiently. This in turn accelerates the learning process and can even help with eliminating compulsive behaviors, such as the ones your son exhibited today. I'm working on a study now that-"
Richard cut Lottridge off as he made up his mind. "Do it." In the reflection of the glass, he could see Lottridge lean towards his wife with something in his hand. Richard turned to face them, wanting to know what the object was.
"Beg pardon?" The thin doctor replied as he handed a book to Elizabeth.
"If it'll help my boy, do it." He held up his hand to forestall anything the doctor was about to say.
"Well… ahem…" The doctor nervously coughed. "All right, but there is a small matter of the fee for this extra treatment." The man looked away briefly as he fidgeted and played with a ring on his right index finger.
Richard gently pulled his wife from the chair. "I don't care what it costs. If it will help Kenneth improve, it doesn't matter what the cost is. Just send me the bill."
Lottridge smiled warmly. "Of course. You remember what I said before though, Ken will never recover completely."
"I remember." Richard gritted out as he edged Elizabeth out of the office. He stepped back in for a private word. He shook his index finger warningly at the doctor's nose. "I do not want a repeat of today's behavior. Is that understood? That sort of conduct is unacceptable, even for a two year old. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal."
XXXX
Burly and another caretaker walked up to Hutch where he was still seated by the window. The other male nurse, it was the black man that sometimes assisted Burly. The blond remembered him from his first day here and a few occasions since that first time. That man had given him a shot. Hutch's head pounded after his fit of temper, air hissed through his clenched teeth. He was in for it now.
The blond knew he should have been calmer and try to act his best around his… Mah-mah and Stern-faced, but whatever had been in the push-plunge always set his teeth on edge and everything angered him. He watched the nurses approach and something in their demeanor bothered him more than usual. He couldn't quite figure out why.
Burly seemed a tad giddier than normal as he shoved Hutch into the wheelchair. The blond felt his anger rise, but knew the futility of trying to fight. The end was always the same. He lost. Apprehension began to replace anger as he noticed that he wasn't being taken back to his sterile, white, windowless room, to be strapped down for his behavior. He was instead rolled down several hallways and into a little box-room that traveled up and down. The word for that box was close to the tip of his tongue, he could feel it… an… an… up-down box. One word did come to mind and he spoke it. "Shit!"
Burly gave him a firm cuff to the back of his head. When Hutch craned his head around to glare at the caretaker, the man gave him a toothy grin. Unnerved, the blond turned back around in his chair.
When the up-down stopped, Burly maneuvered him down a long, gray corridor and finally to a medium-sized room. The gray room had a salty smell. In the center of the gray area was a large gray… container. There was nothing on the walls and only a single light overhead. The blond pushed himself back and deeper into the seat of the chair as dread replaced the apprehension and sent it squirming -like a green, hoppy thing- in his belly.
The two nursed pulled Hutch to his feet, the darker caretaker holding and supporting him while Burly moved behind him and started to untie the strings of his hospital issue nightshirt.
"Noo!" The blond pushed away from the dark man. "Noo!" He broke the man's hold and staggered away to the nearest wall, placing his back against it, using it for support. He watched as the two nurses exchanged a look and spread out their arms before moving towards him in a slightly crouched position.
"E-zay… Relx… won urt. Jstlilrest." Burly crooned as the pair moved in.
The words almost made sense. Hutch's legs quivered, his weak one wouldn't lock and his left foot began to slide out from under him. Helpless, he growled deep and low in his throat, knowing he couldn't keep them from doing anything they were going to do. But he had to do something. He couldn't let them just do… whatever… to him. Not without a fight.
Burly made a grab for him and while Hutch's attention was focused on the big man movements, the other caretaker lunged forward and put him in a headlock. The blond's weary legs buckled, but he continued to struggle. He hit, kicked and even gnashed his teeth at the men holding him. But they were prepared and easily countered each of his attempts.
In short order he was subdued. The black male nurse held him down with a forearm across the front of the beleaguered detective's neck in a light chokehold while Burly pulled roughly his clothing off. Each man only moved just enough to aid the other without giving Hutch any room to do more than squirm beneath their firm grip. The men cinched a wide belt around his waist and placed broad, soft cuffs on his wrists and ankles. The ankles were clipped together and his wrists were clipped to the waist strap.
Helpless.
Hutch's dread turned to fear as something soft was squished into each of his ears and a… a… black cloth was tied over his eyes. Sight and sound ripped away from him. His breathing ramped up as panic began to set in. What were they going to do to him now?
Minus sight and sound he was reduced to taste, smell and feel. None of those senses were particularly helpful right now. The men picked him up and carried him a short distance. As he was lowered, his fear increased and he bucked his body, trying desperately to escape their clutches, terrified of what might be about to happen. "Nuh… nuh" The word was mangled and guttural, panted out as he twisted and pitched until their hands slipped from his naked, sweating body.
He landed with a splash and warm water enveloped him. Hutch, completely unnerved, began thrashing about, banging his head and body around. He tried to sit up and whacked his forehead against something solid. It didn't budge. He tried again and again, heedless of any damage he was doing to himself or the box, only wanting out of the strange and frightening watery space.
The liquid splashed and went up his nostrils, in his mouth, causing him to gag and choke. The cloth over his eyes became soaked. Hutch gasped, coughed and bucked harder. His mind screamed and begged, but words refused to form though his jaw worked hard.
Why? Why were they doing this to him? No light, no sound… just a watery death waiting for him the moment he stopped moving. The blond was certain he would die soon.
WHY? His brain screamed as he struggled. Was it because he threw the stupid toy talk-into? Because he hit Burly? Or was it because he had disappointed Mah-mah and Stern-faced? All of those things?
His efforts to stay above the water slowed as his limited strength gave out. Hutch's lungs heaved and ribs strained to contain the rapid pumping of his chest-beating thing. Eventually his struggles lessened until –completely exhausted- he held his breath and wondered how long he could float until he drowned. The water soon stilled.
The blond could -now that he stopped thrashing- very easily push his bound heels a little down and touch the bottom of the container. The water wasn't deep at all. A fearful thought slithered down his spine. It did not take much to drown a person. Not much at all. Hutch thought grimly and his Adam's apple bobbed in response to that worrying thought.
The water was strange… it was warm, -body temperature, silky smooth and thick. Floating required no effort at all. The blond's fear level slowly dropped a few notches as he realized he wasn't going to drown. At least not for a while. He gradually settled, catching his breath and wondering what else they were going to do to him.
A brief 'whoosh' as air ruffled the fine hairs on his face, starling him. He held his breath, awaiting their next move. Another 'whoosh' and the airflow stopped. Hutch realized that they had been checking on him after he stopped struggling. It left him with two questions. Where they checking to see if he were alive? Or if he were dead?
He waited and before long the only thing he could feel was the beating of his chest-thump thing.
XXXX
Lottridge closed the lid on the float tank and secured it. "Did he fight it for long?"
Muscle-bound Nurse Kevin Ryder continued to towel himself off. "He stopped just before you got here." He pulled at his soaked shirt with distain.
"Hmm, he fought longer than I expected." The tall doctor looked thoughtfully at the tank. "Leave him in there for one hour. Check on him frequently. He's no good to anyone dead."
"That's the normal time allotment. Why not leave him in there longer?"
Robert gave the drenched nurse a rebuking look. "This is treatment, not torture. You know what happens if you leave someone in there too long? They'll start hallucinating, their skin will dry out and the Epsom salt in the water will loosen his bowels." He raised a meaningful eyebrow. "So unless you would like to clean out the tank and sanitize it…"
Ryder's upper lip curled. "Gottcha. One hour."
The doctor strode to the door, slowing as he opened it, he spoke over his shoulder. "Besides, we can always increase the time, if it's necessary."
XXXX
Bay City
Starsky woke with a scream clogging his throat. He fell out of bed and said scream was unclogged as his cast hit the floor with a loud cracking sound. Pain hazed his vision as he struggled to locate the break in the plaster. Waves of agony washed over him... what had he just done to his healing leg? He felt along the cast and could feel the freshly broken edges crumble beneath his questing fingertips in the darkness of his room.
"Terrific."
And to top things off, last night was one of the rare times that he had managed to turn the lights out before falling asleep. From his current position on the floor, it meant the switch was now high above his head. He grumbled several foul words and fumbled around for one of his crutches. After a few attempts, he flicked the switch on and snagged the phone off the nightstand by the cord. He gave it a yank, heedlessly dropping it to the floor with a clang.
Starsky punched some numbers and listened to the phone ring a dozen times before realizing he had automatically dialed Hutch's number. He slammed the receiver down and counted quietly for several seconds – to calm himself- before calling Huggy.
After making his request for aid, and as he waited for his bartender friend to arrive, he remembered what his dream -or rather nightmare- had been about. It was the same one he'd had since finding out how badly hurt Hutch was. The curly haired detective scrubbed at his suddenly stinging eyes as he recalled the dream. Bits of the nightmare changed, but the main theme stayed the same –his friend was damaged beyond repair and blaming him for it.
A wave of pain ebbed up from his re-injured leg, momentarily breaking his chain of thought. The injured man gingerly scooted over so he could rest his back against his bed while he waited for Huggy to arrive. Breathing through the pain, he looked over at the carefully stacked pile of medical journals.
What was the point to reading them? He hadn't learned anything of value. He only had his gut telling him that something was wrong. He couldn't put a finger on it, but something just didn't add up. The brunet had checked everything he could think of. Had checked with various courts, records, doctors and patients. Nothing of interest had shown up.
Why wasn't anything coming from his hunch? Why?
Huggy, Dobey and Doctor Franklin had done their best and had been unfailingly staunch supporters, but his obsession was wearing thin on all of them. Starsky glared at the pile of journals and gave them an angry shove. They tumbled and scattered over the floor. He grabbed the nearest one and flung it across the room. It smacked the wall and fluttered like a wounded butterfly to the carpet.
Unsatisfied, he threw another and kept tossing them until none were left. As he progressed through the stack, it slowly dawned on him.
It wasn't some damn doctor's fault that Hutch wouldn't improve. It was his.
Tears burned acid trails down his cheeks. Out of magazines, he grabbed one of his crutches and hurled it.
It hit the doorframe with a satisfyingly loud bang. He reached for the other one.
"Whoa! I come in peace."
Starsky couldn't see his informant friend through the tears and could barely understand the words as his ears roared with white noise. "It's my fault Hug. Mine." His shoulders started to heave. "No one else's. I've been lookin' for someone to blame. Someone… else. There ain't no one else. It's just me. I did it."
The bartender crossed the room and rested a consoling hand on a shaking shoulder. "Naw, Starsky… c'mon, don't say that. Hutch wouldn't blame you-"
The brunet angrily shrugged the hand off. "Don't you get it? Hutch CAN'T blame me! Because of me, his mind is permanently sc-scrambled. That's why I have that same dream every night. Same thing, over and over."
"Nothing changes?"
"No… yes, parts of it change. But in the end, Hutch's always sayin' 'It's your fault, you did this to me.' An' he's right. I've been wastin' my time… and everyone else's. Chasin' shadows, runnin' down useless leads… I'm s-sorry. I'm-- I'm sooo sorry." Starsky knew he wasn't saying he was sorry for making Dobey, the doctor, or Huggy help him in his investigation. He'd do it again in a heartbeat. He was apologizing to Hutch. Something he'd never get to do in person. The brunet totally broke down, but silently. He crumpled to the floor and dug his fingers into the carpeting like worms burrowing into soil. He buried his face thick shag, clutching and pulling at the fibers. The carpet soaked up his tears.
Huggy stood watching for a long moment, uncertain what to do. Finally he gently pulled his grieving friend to his feet and helped him dress warm enough for the trip to the hospital to get the broken cast replaced.
The trip was silent and long. Huggy took a deliberately longer route to give Starsky some time to regain his composure by the time they reached the emergency room.
Huggy pulled into a spot near the entrance and his dark brown eyes pierced the dim interior of the car to the man slouched beside him. "So, in your dream, Hutch blames you. That's all? Does he say anything else?"
Misty dark blue eyes looked back into the bartender's. "He doesn't always say 'It's your fault.' Sometimes he just shakes his finger at me. Remember how he always did… does… did that? Shit! What's the point to this Hug?" He glared at the informant. "Is there a point?"
"Well, I was jus thinkin' back to my great granny. Now she always said that there was a reason fer dreams repeatin' themselves. There's somethin'… some message you ain't gettin'"
"Yeah, the message is that it's MY fault." The curly haired detective opened the car door and reached for his crutches. "I get that now. Thanks." He snapped sarcastically as he struggled to stand.
Huggy, knowing his friend was in no mood to listen, trotted around the back of the car to assist getting Starsky to the ER. There would be plenty of time to discuss this later. A life time, perhaps. Provided Starsky wanted to live that long. But at least he was beginning to deal with his guilt. That was a start.
XXXX
Van Hall Institute
Rest.
Hutch had learned to dread the word. Burly took pleasure in speaking it word slowly, drawing it out each time he said it as he flipped and waved the black cloth. The blond dreaded the sessions in the watery bury-you-in. He hadn't seen Mah-mah or Stern-faced since he had thrown the toy talk-into. He didn't know how long ago it had been either. Time melted into a meaningless thing for him.
There were times Hutch dreamt of Dark Curls and wondered where the man was and why he didn't come and help or free him from this place. It slowly dawned on the blond that perhaps Dark Curls had died on the dark night with the white stuff falling down. That thought made him very sick and sad. It took away much of his will to struggle and resist what they did to him. The only thing that kept him going now was that he didn't know for certain that Dark Curls was dead and until he did know, he would try to figure a way out of this place.
He was slowly learning not to fight them. To do whatever the caretakers wanted or be tied down or given the dreaded 'rest' treatment. If they wanted him to sit somewhere, he sat. He moved when and where they wanted him. The blond gave up attempting to talk altogether. He let them to aid him in walking and moving his arms. Hutch could feel himself getting stronger and he knew he was improving. But he kept that to himself and waited.
Whenever he was alone –which was often- he worked on trying to read and spell. That part was difficult. He had nothing to practice with, no words to copy and nothing to write on. Hutch also worked at walking and moving his right arm and leg on his own. He would show Mah-mah and Stern-faced how good he was, how much he had improved. Maybe then they'd take him out of this horrible place.
Then came the day he had been waiting for. Burly took him to the room with a big glass window that split the room in two. The big nurse held his elbow to steady him as he walked to a table and a sit-on. On the table was a plate with meat, potatoes and beets and a four-pronged eat-with.
Hutch looked down at the meal and snuck a look at Burly, looking for a clue as to what was expected of him. A tap on the glass made him look up. Mah-mah and Stern-faced were behind the window. Mah-mah waved at him and smiled. He felt his chest-thump thing leap to his throat.
This was his chance. The one opportunity that he had been waiting for. Once he made his move, if they didn't get him out of this horrible place today… Burly and White-coat would use the push-plunge on him, tie him down, put him in the watery bury-you-in and make him 'rest'… he knew much more of that treatment and he would go mad. But he hadn't counted on them putting him in this room. He was sure that they would have taken him back to same room they had come to see him in the last time. This changed things. He had to figure out a different way to pull off his plan and he was almost out of time.
Hutch peered up at Burly. The man nodded and smiled, but his eyes warned him to be good. To emphasize his point, the big man pulled out the dreaded black cloth that was always used to blind the blond out of his pocket and let Hutch see it. The meaning was clear -behave or he would be made to 'rest'.
"Eat." The muscle-bound nurse's tone was amiable.
The blond carefully picked up the four-prong eat-with. He still had to use his left hand since his right still did not obey him completely and besides, he didn't want Burly or White-coat to know how much he had improved.
He slowly ate his meal, sneaking looks at Mah-mah and keeping an eye on Burly, who had backed away and now stood by the door. White-coat entered the room where Mah-mah and Stern-faced were. He saved the horrible beets for last and carefully put them in his mouth and chewed. He pretended to swallow and looked over at Burly.
The big nurse smiled and nodded. Hutch slowly stood up and walked to the window that separated him from Mah-mah. She put her hand on the glass and he put his hand over hers. She smiled and water leaked from her eyes. She looked over her shoulder and spoke to Stern-faced, her hand still on the glass that kept them apart. He couldn't hear her words but it didn't matter, he had to act now.
He spit the chewed beets into his weak right hand and began writing on the glass with his left as quickly as he could. The messy red beets ran down the pane. Mah-mah turned back around and saw the mess. Her face collapsed, changing rapidly from happy to sad. She turned away, with shoulders heaving.
Stern-face ran over and pulled her into his arms, shooting Hutch an angry/sad look before hustling his obviously upset Mah-mah out the door.
White-coat stared at him through the beet-stained glass. The thin man's eyes went from his face to the beets smeared on the window, his complexion paled and he darted out of the room.
Hutch rested his forehead on the glass. He had failed. Mah-mah and Stern-faced were gone and White-coat knew the truth. It would be nothing but push-plunges and 'rest' for him from now on. He slid to the floor, uncaring. He had failed and now he was trapped here forever.
TBCAuthor's Notes:
1. The 'writing on the window' scene is the wonderful Kreek's awesome idea.
2. REST therapy is a real therapy. Information concerning REST is as accurate as I could make it. Except blindfolds are NOT needed during sessions and you are not locked in the tank.