-oooo-
How long had he been sitting there—it was getting dark outside. Only minutes earlier sunlight was peeking through the closed curtains in Hutch's kitchen.
He had finally got up from bed-- rolling out from under the mountain of blankets that had made him feel 'safe' and hidden. Huggy had been by the apartment earlier that morning—practically force-feeding him a breakfast of oatmeal and scrambled eggs and "get up and greet the day" clichés.
And now it was dark outside?
He had lost track of the day when a cloud of something invisible and ominous had attacked him in his kitchen.
Fear…
It had had backed him into a corner… and Hutch crawled up his body there trying to escape from the smell of sea and the spasmatic tightening of the muscles in his aching throat.
He was home but he just as well could have been back on Playboy Island. Hutch could swear he could hear the roar of waves surrounding him.
This was the second time since he'd been out of the hospital that he had lost control. Allowed some unnamed terror to steal away the air from his lungs.
He was a grown man—this shouldn't be happening. Curling up in a corner -- like a 5-year-old.
A raging heartbeat and paralyzing fear had taken him captive. He tried to concentrate on the coffee that had splashed onto the floor around him – the handle of the cup still in his hand. He had been unable to hold on to it --when he felt the room closing in – leaving him laying in broken pieces like the shattered cup.
-oooo-
Starsky listened to the ladies of the small support group. The flyer, tacked on to a bulletin board at work, about help available to crime victims had caught his eye. Something in his gut compelled the cop to make the call. He was thankful when the woman who now led the conversation, Dr. Harper, invited him to join them that evening. Harper, a psychologist, had already discussed his presence there with the women who had all been victims of violent crime. Several of them strangulation survivors-- didn't know the details of why Sergeant David Starksy needed to hear what they had to say. They only knew someone-- very close to him had been on the receiving end of an act of violence and that the Bay City officer wanted to understand from other first-hand accounts what that person might be going through.
The first ten minutes of the session were spent on introductions.
Soon after, the group members engaged in an open conversation about being survivors of their near death experiences.
"It's the feeling of complete despair-- you're powerless…"
"Yeah, same here—but for me – even when it was happening—my thinking was so clear—every detail of what was going on is still new to me—even though it happened 3 years ago. When I think about it—I see everything. Sometimes…I think I can feel it, too."
"Right...me too," said another woman. She looked up at Starsky shyly and around to the other seven females who sat in a circle facing each other. "I –remember the resentment."
Starsky leaned forward as the woman took a second to fiddle with a button on her sweater.
Dr. Harper picked up Starsky's interest in the newest member of the group's comment, "Go on Marilu. You had a sense of resentment. Can you expand on those feelings for us?"
"Well, I – I think I resented the fact that… my life was ending… just that easily…and I felt like I was losing out on everything…all my dreams…everything gone. Even now I don't feel like I can take it all back—like it doesn't belong to me anymore. Since it can disappear just like that. It's funny...I still feel that loss."
"Do you mind tellin' me what happened to you?" Starsky asked carefully, checking Dr. Harper's face for any objection. There wasn't any and Marilu dipped her head. She looked up at him with shiny eyes and said. "No…I don't mind. I'm getting used to telling it. One night…my… my boyfriend decided he wanted to break up with me—but…" She smiled sadly, "He wanted the breakup up to be a permanent one. He…dragged me into our bedroom…" She paused, bringing up a hand with nails chewed down to the quick to pull the collar of her sweater together protectively around the bare skin there. Her cheeks glistened with tears as she continued. "I trusted him. It was completely out of nowhere and I was confused… I asked him—you're doin this to me… and then I was so angry… I wanted to grab something and smash him in the head—but I couldn't do it. I wouldn't—couldn't protect myself. H-he…had his hands-- on my throat and I was horrified by the thought of ending up in the paper-- my parents and friends reading about some woman strangled to death by her boyfriend in the wee hours of the morning—like it was drug related. People would think that, you know --or that I had cheated on him with his best friend or say he was a mad drunk. Wasn't anything like that. Nothing like that. It came outta nowhere. I mean--how long was it that he was thinking about it? What had I done to deserve that?" She posed the question directly to Starsky and overwhelming guilt forced him to look away.
"He wasn't no good!" A twenty-something group member declared vehemently.
"Well, my man was always flippin' out," someone else in the circle shared angrily. "With me, honey-- It was just a matter of oh yeah --he is gonna kill-me. The only question I had was when and how."
Another woman chimed in, "I didn't even know who my attacker was. Still don't. I can't stop thinking he might just come back and finish what he didn't the first time. I hardly leave the house anymore."
Feeling like the group might permit him another question, Starskywas purposeful not to reveal his own shame, when he asked. "Whattaya feel about your attacker?"
"I hate 'em!" One woman responded immediately. "Who the hell was he to decide my life should be over?"
"I don't know how I feel about Larry." Marilu added, revealing the name of the man whose assault on her came out of nowhere. "I was in love with him one minute and the next I just wanted him gone. Didn't want to smell his cologne--hear his voice. I went to his trial and-- I couldn't even look at him. I shared my life with him and …I don't think I could ever trust myself to do that with anyone else—ever again. I trusted him. You know?"
Starsky gave her an afflicted nod and Marilu kept talking. "I still feel it – sometimes – when he was choking me—h-his hands on me…and I couldn't breath… and then I have these--- these…umm, Dr. Harper says they're panic attacks. Something overtakes me and I'm in that bed again with his knee pressing down on my chest. It's happening all over again. Out of nowhere ... and... I'll get scared to death and I'm powerless again. Can't get any air and…ahhh… I can't make sense of where I am or what's happening… and well it was rough for a while—but coming here I've learned some tools to control 'em. I don't get them much any more."
"That's good." Starsy said sympathetically, giving her a tepid smile.
Marilu stared blankly, speaking her next words almost to herself. "At the trial all he kept saying was he didn't know what came over him. You know, I- I just wished he had been strong enough to fight it. Love me enough to fight it. That's all. Now, he's going to be in jail for the next 15 years of his life and I feel like my sentence ain't that much better."
-oooo-
"Ahh. C'mon, Starsk!" The bartender said dismissively.
"It's a good question."
"A ridiculous one," Huggy insisted.
"Oh, yeah? Well, what I am gonna tell Hutch when he asks me—why I wasn't strong enough, huh? You got an answer for that? " Starsky challenged the bar owner.
"Look, I don't know what it was that made you do it. I can't explain what happened on that island. That wasn't you, man—that's all the answer there is. As soon as you get that through your thick skull…"
Starky shook his head. "It was me that did it!" he replied with volume.
"I mean it brother, there's one thing I know for sure, Starsk-- that wasn't you. Hutch knows it, too. It'll just take him a little while to remember that."
Starsky leaned over the bar to make his point-- anger in his voice masked his desperation. "Ok. Answer me this then, Hug. If, like you said some outside force took over me--and I wasn't able--I was powerless to stop it. What makes you so sure it won't take me over again?"
Huggy's facial features showed shock as he absorbed the truth Starsky had just laid out in front of him.
What if Papa Theodore's voice was still inside his dark-haired friend?
-ooo-
Hutch was blasting the TV, portable radio, and an album on his turntable.
An attempt to chase away the sounds and smells that kept creeping up on him. Visions of living his death over and over again at the hands of his beloved partner.
He had a terrible feeling growing deep inside him--all the noise from the small electric appliances were keeping it from rising up and taking over.
-ooo-
"So will you think about it?"
"Ahhh, Starsk this's -- crazy... don't need it." Hutch protested against the suggestion that they go hash it all out in front of a third party.
"You gonna tell me everything's ok with you-- with us?" Starsky asked him point blank.
"Damn it." Hutch launched himself off the couch and started an impatient pacing-- turning on Starsky, he repeated, "Damn't Stars-- don't n-need this."
Starsky made his friend uncomfortable under his steady gaze and Hutch looked down suddenly-- intrigued by the pair of shoes he had put on that morning.
"It's interesting ...some of the things I heard those women talkin' about—and I'm wondering if that's how he feels. I mean-- if --that's how you feel? But you...you're not talkin to me, partner." Starsky raised a weary look so that Hutch could see how important it was to him – to have Hutch share his true feelings with him.
"Because this," He waved his arms for emphasis, "Not your--FAULT-- I told you -- what a -- hundred - times! Don't blame you..." The gravely condition of Hutch's voice didn't help the statement to sound believable. Hutch couldn't stop the motion of placing a hand over his throat--coughing lightly from the stress he'd put on it by trying to effect some kind of yell back at his friend.
"It was me that did it--- can't get around that. I can't and neither can you, partner." Lowering his voice with gloom, Starsky added. "No matter how much you try and hide it...you're hurtin'-- I'm hurtin' too-- it's like the voodoo doc's got a hold of both of us..."
"You're not listening." Hutch said softly as the volume of distress in Starsky's voice rose while he continued talking.
"It's – it's like he's claimed us or sumpthin... I still smell the seaweed and see your face--- Damn it, Hutch--- I tried to kill you." Starsky stood by-- markedly absorbed by his friend's effort to block the truthful words.
"Not…listening to me...'' Hutch muttered... "Not doing this..." as he grabbed his jacket to leave.
"Hey!" Starksy yelled. The door slammed as Hutch stormed out.
-oooo-
Maybe Starsky was right -- about talking about it. But the whole thing was ridiculous-- sounded like the worst of worst creature feature movie ever. So what was Starsky-- the morphing human to beast and him-- the damsel in distress. It was ridiculous. He wouldn't play that role--no-- he wasn't' afraid of his partner. He subconsciously raised a hand to his throat and winced as it made contact. The bruising there revolted and Hutch quietly moaned at the touch of his own hand to the small banner of brutality he wore as a souvenir. He wanted it to go away-- the pain, the inflamed beet red and black skin and -- the shadow of fingers-- marking their presence- the fingers that had grabbed and pressed-- dug into his skin until it was raw.
He was obsessed by the peculiar necklace that he had brought back from his stay on Playboy Island. Not too many people had one like his -- he thought with cruel humor. Not too many people had their best friend grin down at them will they tried to squeeze the life out of you. Hutch spent hours in front of the mirror gazing at it – reliving how it got to be there.
But it wasn't Starsky's fault.
It was hard to think that – and ignore the facts. He couldn't believe that anything on earth or otherwise would make him try to take Starsky's life His love for him was that deep – that strong and he had been certain his partner would take a bullet for him without a blink of hesitancy. Why had he found him himself in a twisted reality?—that horrible day on the island—Starsky's brotherly love turned into murderous hatred against him?
Somewhere he had heard that people under the influence of hypnosis or an induced state of mind couldn't be made to do something against their will…
Had he hurt Starsky somehow? A joke gone too far? Or harsh words from him could have gotten under his partner's skin? Hutch almost preferred to believe he was the one at fault—the cause—the catalyst…than to think…
Starsky tried to kill him.
That's crazy talk, Hutchinson. Why would Starsky want to kill you?
Why!
Why!
Why?
That was the thought that kept creeping up behind him... If he knew the answer maybe he'd feel better-- safer?
Hutch looked around… he must have been walking in circles because he was only blocks from his house. The old abandoned gazebo near the beach-not open to the general public He often came there to read or think. . The security guard hired to keep out trespassers, well aware Hutch was a cop, never hassled him for hanging out there. He heard voices nearby but saw no one.
What time of day was it? How long had it been since he had run out of his apartment—abandoning Starsky. Time- once again, had played a game of hide seek. He felt sick. He would have hurried back to his Venice Place home but knew his unsteady legs couldn't support him.
The heat started somewhere deep inside his gut - spread rapidly like it had all the times before--seemed to race from various parts of his body to its destination- -his neck. Soon he wouldn't be able to breathe and Hutch jerked his head back to gulp in the air that he so deeply needed to sustain him through the complete and utter loss of control. The tingling fire inside--seeped onto his cheeks and met the sweat that had started to drip down his sideburns.
It was fear.
And it was irrational.
Certainly not the same thing Starsky had accused him of-- rational fear.
His friend had wanted to get him to admit that there was a reason why such a thing existed. Why Hutch should be fearful of him.
Hutch's analytical mind could not accept that.
Starsky wasn't trying to hurt him.
Hutch wasn't afraid of him and wasn't afraid of no voodoo doctor.
He just had to get this fear under control.
Breathe.
But he could not.
He gasped repeatedly, his hands crept up to his chest --pleading with his lungs to have mercy.
"Hutch?"
The hand that touched him made him shudder and he frantically backed into a wall to escape it...
"Hey. It's all right." The words Starsky usually spoke to bring comfort--now they terrified him. Irrational as it was, he couldn't stop from eeking back raspily at him, "Don't touch me! Just...d-don't…" He put up an elbow to halt his partner from moving closer.
"It's a panic attack." Starsky said to him.
"What!" He sounded angry. He didn't want to -- but he did. He just wanted Starsky to keep his distance.
He needed to breathe.
"Listen to me-- Hutch. You gotta sit-- sit down..."
"NOOO!" Hutch told him, "I can do…" as he continued to hyperventilate.
Starsky watched him slide down the wall to a heap on the ground. Keeping some distance, Starsky crouched in front of him.
M'okay. OK." Hutch said, steeling a brave front as he squeezed his eyes shut to the man who was his best friend.
"You're not OK, babe."
Hutch pulled his arms inward… shrinking almost into a ball.
A grown man—the blond-haired man berated himself, trembling from fear of something he needn't be afraid of.
-oo-
Starsky had jumped in the car to look for Hutch—not knowing he'd find his friend within walking distance of the apartment.
But the dark-haired man was just happy to have found him and glad that he had his car.
After the attack--- Hutch had allowed Starsky to help him to wobbly feet. Like he could have made a run for it -- Starksy thought to himself.
He looked a mess-- and the dark-haired man had stopped himself from enfolding his best friend under a guarding arm. He couldn't cross that line of teetering trust Hutch was extending him so instead he kept a conservative purchase of his friend's wrist, splaying a few fingers onto Hutch's palm...steering him back to the car.
Hutch looked red with embarrassment and the remains of the blasting panic that had crumbled him moments earlier.
They sat there.
Finally, Starsky started the car-- but not slipping it into gear. The seconds ticked off as both men were still--petrified as beached driftwood. Absent of any overt signs of life.
Starsky felt more than saw Hutch's hand slip with uncertainty onto the passenger door handle.
"Uh-uh." He ordered. "I'm gonna take you back to your place." Not allowing Hutch a chance to decide otherwise, Starsky shifted into drive and steered the car onto the city street.
-ooo-
After that, Starsky didn't bother Hutch anymore. He didn't have the heart – certain that the sight of him made his partner sick. As it was they weren't supposed to be talking while the investigation was ongoing—it was easier to put that up front as the reason why Starsky kept his distance. He had already hurt Hutch too much.-ooo-
(tbc)