Sorry to those reading for the delay in posting-- had some computer/internet problems-- and just mentally exhausted. This chapter is a bit longer-- I hope that makes things ok- 'tween us...lol
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Dr. Benjamin had not seen or heard from Sergeant Ken Hutchinson for several days. She didn't want to have to call IA on him. The woman doctor had even thought about asking Captain Dobey to intervene but had decided against it.
She was troubled about the officer and the case and the way he had expressed his frustration about her not finding any help for him in her medical books.
What really troubled her though, was the fact that she actually was more than familiar with those things that moved under the cloak of darkness.
She knew maybe too much about them.
Her family had more than a few stories, repeated in hushed voices about her Great Aunt Tia and the man she married 30 years ago. The man was famous. Royalty to some folks. In Haiti he was a man most feared and revered because of the powers some claimed he possessed. The story went that the marriage distressed Angeline's great grandfather so much, that the he tried to stop it. Only, the night before the old man had planned to kidnap his daughter Tiamaria—he had oddly committed suicide. Died by his own hand.
That was only the beginning of the long list of stories--history--of folks who had the misfortune of getting on the bad side of the newly married couple. Eventually the Haitian man disappeared from her great auntie's life but not before Tia took up the practice of the old-world rituals of voodoo. Became a priestess—and was still one.
Auntie, as Tia was called after she reached her forties, visited them regularly when Angeline was young.
The future psychiatrist never liked the woman. There was something about her that gave little Angeline the creeps and also made her physically ill. Whenever the woman, always dressed in rich-looking fabrics and elaborate pieces of gold jewelry, surprised them with a visit, the little girl would suffer. Upon her arrival--It was like the very house got cold- everyone wore their heaviest sweaters—and their thickest socks. There were always furtive frighten glances between the adults in the family—who made sure Auntie Tia was well attended to. Honored her with expensive gifts of the strange woman's most favorite things—clothes, food, flowers, perfumes, jewelry, and small exotic animals.
But each and every time Tia showed up—Angeline became deathly ill. She'd vomit, have awful body aches, and spike a fever. And then, have terrifying nightmares to boot. She'd experience the unexplained bouts of illness on every visit until one day her grandma took the young girl to a priest, who prayed for God's protection over her. Oddly enough after that, Auntie never visited them again.
Dr. Benjamin had deliberately chosen not to include those kinds of stories in her personal bio. But all of it was coming back to haunt her—now since the case of the two Bay City cops and the incident on Playboy Island had ended up on her desk.
It was unfair for her, of all people, to dismiss both detectives' tales about a Bokor—and the power of such a man to make horrible things happen to good people Still, even if there was some real voodoo in the mix—it didn't dismiss the fact that there was fear, hurt, and pain there, too –
Those were the things the doctor knew for a fact she could help to heal.
That was why she had been sitting in the car in front of Sergeant Ken Hutchinson's Venice Place apartment for nearly half an hour. It was clear now what she had had to do.
-ooo-
"I told you doc—I was finished talking," he said angrily as he proceeded to close his apartment door in the face of the woman who had just rung the bell.
She poked her head into the slight opening.
"My people are from Haiti!" Angeline shouted through it.
The action to shut her out stopped and Hutch positioned his whole body in the doorway, towering over her.
"I wasn't completely honest with you." The doctor admitted. "I know there's…. there's things that go bump in the night." She repeated the words he had spoken to her several days ago before storming out of her office. "I believe --something unexplainable could have happened between you and David—that doesn't mean for a fact it was voodoo or bad magic—I'm not saying that. And I'm not sure how all that factors in…" She told the cop who hadn't showed up for his appointments or returned any of her phone calls.
"Doc…" He shook a head of castigation at her. She shrunk under his hard stare.
"Well now, this is an unexpected turn—all of sudden you believe. Why now? After all…all you…put…us…"
She cut off his chastisement, "Look, my great aunt—supposedly was a priestess of some kind. A deep dark family secret—you know. Nobody talks about it. Please. I'm – I'm sorry…and I-I want to help you." She said with enough sincerity to make him move to let her in the apartment.
"So… will you let me treat you?"
"I don't know if I can trust you-- keeping secrets from me like that." He sternly scolded her.
"You can trust me." She gave him a smile of apology, and he gave her a deliberate inspection as he thought about her proposal.
"I'm almost disappointed. Maybe it would be better to hear me and my partner are just nuts," he finally replied.
"I'm not ruling out you're both nuts just yet," she humored.
"I can't believe you put me—and Starsky—through all that psycho-babble analysis." He shook his head at her as he guided her into the living room.
"I'm really sorry about that. I just want to be a good doctor. Allowing your patient to put forth a-voodoo-priest-made-me-do-it-defense for some outrageous behavior—is really frowned on."
Hutch arched sympathetic eyebrows to express his understanding. "Yeah—it's all pretty crazy. So what now, Dr. Benjamin?" He offered his couch for her to sit and plopped down next to her.
Angeline asked, "Can you honestly tell me – there was no malice on David's part in this whole thing? I mean – don't you have some feelings of uncertainty about it? "
He clammed up.
She pressed on, "Because I think--- that is what is fueling your panic attacks. But if you aren't willing to tell yourself the truth about that--they just aren't going to go away… not until you deal with it".
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
"What I'm saying--is that I want to help. But no matter what it was that caused David to try and strangle you…"
Hutch gave her a harsh look. "You just can't stop goin' down the same road, can you?"
"Well, that's what happened, Ken. He tried to strangle you—that is exactly my point. It is-- what it is. I'm willing to admit that I believe—voodoo – something evil is at the root of this—but you have to be willing to make a few admissions, too. No matter what initiated the attack –your feelings about it are very much real—take my word for it. Ken that's why I'm here--to help you with those—your feelings."
The doctor looked at his hands. He had nice hands Angeline thought—and recognized once again, one of the partners was making her have an unprofessional thought. His doctor shouldn't be thinking about how nice it might be to take one of his in hers…. and before she realized it she was slipping her much smaller hand into his.
He turned to face her. Giving her a slight appreciative smile he squeezed her hand affectionately, and let out a breath. "I guess I…I guess—I have trouble dealing with it. OK?" he told her.
The cop's expression turned serious. A few quiet moments passed.
His eyes were closed. But she knew he was ready to talk to someone.
"So… tell me," she said.
"Sorry, I was an ass the other day," he softened to apologize.
"That's alright. I wasn't much of a help to you."
"No you weren't," he tried to joke before he looked in her eyes to tell her, "I'm not afraid of him… it's not like that."
"I know," she said.
He sighed heavily. "It's what he became—that's not him. Starsky's the best guy I know. Best friend-- I've ever had. Closer to me than my own family. I won't hurt him. You understand?" He spat the words out with fire.
"I understand." The doctor was agreeing to honor that relationship—so that the detective sitting next to her could trust her.
"No I mean it, Doc--do you really get this…"
"Yes Ken, I get it. I really do," she promised. "I do. I'm not trying to make your best friend the bad guy here. He's important to you. I can see that."
Confident he had made his point, the blond-haired man dragged a hand through golden hair and let out a calming breath so he could continue. "Maybe it's like waiting for the boogey man-- like when you were a kid hiding under the covers. I- I can't get a handle on what it is exactly that transports me right back to that island. The sounds… the smells…But I know Starsky isn't the cause of this."
"Let's just say, for sake of argument, you were back on that island—was there anything you would change?"
"Are you serious?" he asked sardonically.
"Outside of the whole event—I mean--while it was happening. Was there anything you think you said or did that escalated the attack? Or did you have any feelings like guilt, remorse—or--- anger?" She spoke the last word with emphasis –carefully directing him to disclose his hidden thoughts.
He sat up, taking back his hand to rub self-consciously on the jean material covering his legs. "You've got a one track mind, doc."
"Well, I'm just painting--re-painting the picture for you. Huggy said he found you lying on your back and that David was straddling you—his hands were…"
"I know!"
"So, do you remember anything before you blacked out?"
There was the smell… the sea salted air and fragrant flowers…a beauty of a day
Angeline kept up with her questions, "You must have some memory of the assault—"
She watched him close his eyes and could almost see the tension rising from him as he listened to her. She also felt the slight shudder from his thigh that butted against hers.
"You were both there on the beach together- - just you and him. Am I right?" She kept her voice even in the hopes he wouldn't get upset and end their conversation.
"Yeah."
"And the night before?"
"Hmmm?"
"What happened the evening before the assault?"
He bought his hands together nervously twisting them as he reflected back. "Night before--pretty strange…we had a run-in with this local ---Papa Theodore and his people. His followers --is more like it. I don't remember a whole lot about the 'party'—but there was this strange ceremony going on and me and Starsk-- were the—ahh-- expected guest. I don't think we ended up faring too well--cuz we started the next morning washed up on the sand-- like crabs the tide left behind. Very weird." He hesitated. "For just a minute--I was scared he was dead…"
"David?"
"Yeah." He paused as if to honor the mere mention of such a disaster occurring. "You know we were trying to get to Thorne-- William Thorne, you heard of him?"
"Who hasn't-- the man's got more money than some small countries," she stated.
"Yeah… so the story goes. That's why we were there—to get him off the Island. We got briefed about the fact a lot of folks connected to the man were dying-- under mysterious circumstances. There were quite a few rumors about why that was-- and then there was Thorne and his money in the middle of it all.We were trying to get to him, his nurse---umm- Sheryl. No – it was---Charlotte. Yeah—Charlotte-- she was working with us when that damn voodoo priest made his surprise appearance."
She noticed his voice, affected from injury, still sounded gruff, but her patient was finally talking to her, so she went on with her questions. "You guys made it back to the hotel, though?" Angeline remembered that detail from the somewhat sketchy statement David Starsky had given IA investigators.
"We did," he confirmed.
"What do you remember after that?"
"Just waking up the next day and Starsky said he had a dream Papa Theodore had closed – umm-- Starsky's thumb-- in a box." He raised one of his own thumbs as a visual.
Hutch stared straight ahead and Angeline tipped her head to study his far off expression. "Ken?"
"He had a—a…" The cop's focus was lost on his thoughts of what had happened on the island.
"Ken?"
"Huh? Oh. Sorry—he had a—Starsky had a pretty bad headache and complained about this pain---in his thumb. I was worried about him--- he was acting strange. Kept saying how much it was bothering him. And ahh-- he was in a bad mood…because of his headache and the thumb. But…we-- we were working the case…yeah…we were...working…"
Angeline watched his demeanor-- gradually morphing from 'relaxed' to 'man under duress', but she continued questioning him. "When did it change from working the case to an attack on your life?"
The detective didn't answer.
"Ken?"
"Don't ask me—can't tell you. Papa Theodore could give you the answer to that one," he retorted snappily.
"Ok," she said calmly. "Just go back to what you remember."
"He…just jumped me…that's all. It's not that complicated."
"Your partner jumped you. There was some physical stuff. A fight --I would imagine. Wouldn't you?"
"Fight?" Hutch's voice sounded distant and uncertain.
"Yes. Protect yourself--you didn't try to?"
"What?"
"Did—you—try – to—protect yourself?"
The doctor watched it build.
Her patient swallowed hard, drawing in a huge amount of air through his nose and blowing it back out of his mouth just as quickly. She heard him take another deep breath and he was on his feet.
"Shit!" Hutch grunted as he started backing away from her. "Oh…shit."
"Oh no—you're having one? Right now?" She reached for him and he shook his head ferociously for her to stop coming toward him.
"N—noo," Hutch warned her.
He lost his battle to stop the attack and Angeline witnessed his near complete breakdown. He was hyperventilating. The strong-willed man who stood just a few minutes earlier blocking her entry to his apartment was gone. Her patient looked lost and terrified. All his coloring had taken flight and his bleary eyes frantically searched the room for whatever doom he must have felt was so near.
"Hutch," she said in a quiet, firm voice.
There was a gentle knock at the door and the doctor whipped her head around at the sound.
"Don't move," she cautiously instructed with an outstretched arm. "Don't go anywhere." Dr. Benjamin kept an eye on the anguished officer while answering the door.
The worst scenario…
The person at the door would be David Starsky. She held her breath and opened up to find the curly-haired jean-clad detective.
He looked stunned to find her receiving him.
"He's ahh—having one of those attacks," she told him. The words sent the alarmed intruder flying into the room.
The panic-stricken cop's eyes widened at the sight of his partner and Hutch nearly tripped over his feet to get away from his concerned friend.
""Go—g-go there," Hutch told him, pointing to the kitchen. "T-t-there."
But Starsky, overwhelmed with worry wasn't having it… "Nope," he answered as he stood his ground but stopped moving.
Angeline came to stand next to the curly-haired cop… both of them completely entranced by the man before them.
Hutch tried to maintain his control, but wasn't able to hold back a wave of burgeoning terror.
Both of the watcher's were pained to see the look of helpless horror that took over the blond-haired man's features. It was more than obvious Hutch was just as terrified that these two people would be witness to what he had tried so unsuccessfully to hide from everyone. The flustered detective was unraveling before them.
"It-It--will p—pass," he stuttered as he felt for the wall behind him.
"Hutch." Starsk made a careful step forward
"NOOOO – stay – stay there," Hutch demanded as he kept a palm out to protect himself from being approached.
"Stop – stop—stop this," Hutch muttered angrily, scolding himself.
"Hutch?" Starsky tried again.
"Damn it, S-Starsk. No—can't you –just—just stay there…please…stay..." He dropped his head downwards --slowly lifted it—tears sprinkled his lashesand he asked them, "W-why ..why is this happening…can't breath—can't…"
Starsky attempted a smile," Sure you can, partner. You're talkin'-- you're breathin', Blintz. You just need to try and be calm and let us…"
Starsky took another step and Hutch scrambled-- moving quickly to get further away from him.
"Ok—Ok." Starsky announced as he got down low, supporting that position by sitting on his heels—and motioned for Angeline to do the same. She quickly adhered to his direction and knelt next to him. The doctor really couldn't argue, it was good thinking to take a less intimidating posture.
"We'll just wait right here, partner," Starsky assured him with a soft-spoken promise.
Hutch stiffly nodded his agreement to that proposition and tightly closed his eyes as tried to stop his hyperventilating.
"Ken—are you dizzy?"
Another abrupt nod was his reply.
"Listen to me..," Dr. Benjamin offered. "…you should sit. Put your head in between your legs and – I'll talk you through getting your breath under control."
He gasped repeatedly…walking blindly into another corner.
"Ken," she said with an authoritative tone.
"What--w- what!" The distressed man was not able to follow her instruction
"Sit."
He pulled at his shirt--drawing a hand up to his throat. "C—c—can't breathe," he insisted.
Starsky, unable to continue to watch his friend suffer, made a move to get him.
Angeline's hand moved to stop him. "No… she said." That's the worst thing you could do right now."
She didn't have to offer further explanation.
Hutch's eyes searched the room for the unseen terror. He groaned loudly.
Starsky grabbed her arm and sadly told the doctor, "I'm goin."
"You don't have to," she replied.
"You see 'im—it ain't' helpin' me being here." He dropped his head in defeat. Starsky gave her hand a gentle pat. "You stay." It was both a request and an order. Slowly rising to his feet, he gave Hutch a long look before leaving the place he'd always been welcomed in the past.
Hutch watched the objects around him lose their shape, blending into a swirl of nauseating color. Each beat of his heart pulsated in his ears and sounding like a dull drum shut out the words of logic that Angeline was speaking to him. It didn't matter what they were—the words couldn't get through the cloud of terror that separated him from her. His head felt weighted as it was drifting backwards- destabilizing his legs, which sought something solid under them. He tried to blink away the blurring world as he reached for wall or chair – anything to keep him upright and the little dignity he had left intact.
He didn't want to continue to give in to the urges to cringe in a corner like a pitiful frightened stray dog—whimpering for a place of mercy.
"I'm m-man…s-shouldn't let this happen…" he said shakily.
"It's not about you being a man," she told him. "Your mind is trying to find a place of healing. All these attacks are just alarms to let you know that there's a problem going on inside you. Feelings that you're not dealing with. Your psyche won't let you try and bury it."
He growled, and kicked over a small table in frustration.
"Ken… you have to let it surface."
"There's nothing there! I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not scared of him! How many times…" Losing the furor, he closed his eyes and shook his head-- unconsciously showing his refusal to dig deeper into his well-hidden fears.
"I shouldn't have done that to him," he said woefully.
"What about what you're doing to yourself?'"
"Spoken like a real shrink." He sniffed as the attack slowly began releasing its grip on him.
"Well I am certified," she joked lightly
"Certifiable," he told her, trying for levity.
The doctor waited a few minutes and then retrieved a glass of water for the recovering man. She watched the shaky officer regain his composure.
"Well…"he said, "So…am I gonna live, doc?" He gave her a sad smile.
"What you have isn't terminal—probably feels like it though." Showing her empathy she saddled up next to him. "There are just some things you have to face—deal with. Ken, you can't run from it anymore, You understand?"
"Yeah. But—what else can I do? I don't know how to do what you're asking." He searched her face for the answer.
"I know how--- we can get to it—since you won't let it out," Dr. Benjamin stated.
He squinted suspiciously.
Angeline still saw fear underneath his attempt to maintain his stability. She smiled warmly, silently assuring him she would be there to help.
-ooo-
He wasn't surprised Hutch was at his door at 5 am-- had expected it.
'Hey," Hutch said nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he searched his partners face for any hurt. Hurt-- he'd put there.
"Hey," Starsky answered, curls still flat on one side from his slumber. Ushering, Hutch into his apartment, the dark-haired man rubbed the sleep from his face. He wanted to be alert for what Hutch had come there delete to tell him
"Hey, ya Blintz sit down will ya?" he told the early morning visitor.
"I'm sorry…" Hutch blurted out holding out his apology with open hands, seeking forgiveness.
"Sorry? You got nothin' to be sorry about, buddy." Starsky told him. "C'mon,' he offered the seat next to him on the couch and Hutch readily took it--elbows on his knees he peered sideways at the friend he'd just rousted out of bed.
"I can still see the bruising," Starsky told him
"Starsk…"
"No – I can. Don't know when I won't see it," he added sadly.
"M-me acting like a scared eight-year-old isn't doing much to get us through this." He sounded disgusted with himself.
'Hey- don't do that. You had good enough reason to feel that way---"
"Angeline says—I'm blocking something…" Hutch revealed to his best friend.
Starsky was surprised to hear affection in Hutch's voice and immediately slipped into teasing mode. "Hmm—she's kinda cute, huh?"
"Gordo—she's my doctor."
"Yeah—one who makes house calls." He nudged his blond friend. "Our sessions don't go that long," he joked lightly.
"Starsk…" Hutch tried unsuccessfully to admonish his partner.
"You guys'd make an interesting couple. All kiddin' aside—I think she likes ya."
"You think?" Hutch asked.
"Uh—hhmm."
Hutch sighed, "I just want things to be normal again—with me and you--more than anything."
Starksy nodded he understood and said, "Well, we got take it one day—you know—at a time. You're still my best friend in the whole world."
"I know that," Hutch said, water rushed to fill his blue eyes.
Starsky's resolve broke. "I'd never—I'd rather cut my arm off, Hutch I swear…"
Hutch shushed him, "I know—I know."
"We'll work it out partner—trust me?" Starsky was asking a profound question and they both knew it.
"With my life." Hutch said. The solemn sincerity in the few words made Starsky choke up.
They sat for while not talking. Not too long after that Hutch fell asleep, his head rolling over to rest on his partner's shoulder.
Out the side of an eye—Starsky closely examined his friend. Hutch seemed untroubled enough—his slightly opened mouth a sure sign he was getting some good sleep. Starsky didn't want to wake him, so he remained still. Following his friend's example, the dark-haired man nodded off too.
-oo-
It had to be at least 8 a.m. from the amount of light outside spilling through his curtains. Starsky thought about going back to sleep but there wasn't enough cooperation from any part of his body. Not even his eyes would follow his instruction to stay closed. The left one kept a critical side glance on Hutch's relaxed body and monitored his partner's face for signs of stress…anxiety…panic.
Hutch showing up and spending a few hours napping on his shoulder was a good thing. But was it a signal of the end of the era of terror they were currently co-existing in? Starsky didn't think so. The look on Hutch's face the night before was one Starsky just knew he'd see again. What was the private hell that Hutch was keeping so closed mouth about? It was hard for Starsky to help him when he was the one responsible for sending a panicky out-of-control freight train through Ken Hutchinson.
Last night Hutch had run from him like a kid with a deathly fear of circus clowns. Now his blond-haired partner was sleeping, quite comfortably in fact, on his shoulder. Wouldn't IA love to see the two detectives camped out on the couch together.
Starsky thought about how Hutch; a two-fisted-hard core cop—crusader of street justice who could terrorize even the hardest criminal on any given day--- had been blessed--more than most guys---in the looks department. They both had--at least that's what the ladies told them. But up close—sleeping like this—no trappings of manliness to hide it-- the pure essence of Hutch was laid bare. The tough guy part of him tucked away for the night. This was the look that Hutch's women got all moon-eyed over, Starsky guessed. It wasn't the first time Starsky had seen the completely vulnerable sensitivity of his partner up close—
On this morning though, Starsky felt particularly in good fortune to see it. After all that had happened on Playboy Island. Hutch was still Hutch. Still Hutch with him…still his partner…his best friend…
Starsky felt an urgent need to protect him somehow—ready to give whatever demon had followed them back to the mainland, a get-out-of-town-by-sundown-exit-visa back to Playboy Island. Uproot it with his bare hands if he had to. But the dark-haired man also felt reassured. There was still something solid – a foundation under them—even though the house around them had suffered some damage from the tsunami the Bokor had unleashed on them. They were--repairable.
Hutch stirred sleepily.
"Hey buddy… you wake?" Starsky couldn't help but ask.
Hutch half mumbled a word and nestled closer, content to use Starsky for a pillow. The smaller man's arm was getting a little tingly—but even if it went numb—it was a small price to pay for the quiet peace of the moment.
Ten minutes later Hutch peered through a partially opened eye…and told him "I'm too tired to be embarrassed."
Starsky chuckled lightly. "Well, I did take a few pictures for the squadroom bulletin board." Then getting serious, he made a request, "Hutch, tell me about the nightmares."
"Why?" Hutch said tersely.
"Cuz I'm askin'" Starsky stated.
Covering up a yawn, Hutch said, "Don't you have your own?" Creating some distance by sitting up, he stretched out his long legs.
"Hutch," Starsky persisted.
"Fine--they're scary. OK?"
"Details."
"You and Huggy been talkin". I shoulda known he'd …"
"Look—he ain't the topic," Starsky butted in. "C'mon, buddy--I wanna know about your nightmares."
"Why?" Hutch balked once more, attempting to block his friend's interrogation.
"Cuz I'm askin'" Starsky said again, slightly annoyed that Hutch wouldn't share with him.
Hutch sighed. "Creepy voices and … things I don't wanna talk about," he said while massaging fingers into the muscles of his right shoulder.
"Will you tell her… if you won't tell me?"
"Her?"
"Doctor Benjamin-- dummy"
"Starsk—I…"
"I mean it, Hutch." Starsky got up. "I'm gonna ask her--if you told her. It's important you tell somebody. Promise me."
Starsky was actually relieved –
He would hardly be able to take hearing Hutch tell him about dreaming of Starskys hands around his neck-- trying to kill him.
About Hutch thinking he was dying…
"Yeah sure," Hutch said without commitment. "You hitting the shower first—I'll make coffee or-- you want coffee duty?"
"You know you hate my coffee," Starsky told him as headed for the bathroom.
-ooo-
The dreams…
Hutch had tried to dismiss
Everybody had dreams--.good ones --
bad ones…
Having night terrors—was too cliché. For drama queens—attention seekers. He was tired of attention. He craved the return to the "simple" life of a street cop
Anyway, it made him feel silly to admit that the darn things were starting to get to him…
The idea that a nightmare could boldly chase after him during the daylight and make him afraid to fall asleep at night—was just another one of the those things a man— wouldn't---shouldn't admit to. Not one who could flip a 200 lb. felon on his stomach and handcuff the man's hands behind his back. The thought of his mother or father seeing him in his current condition made him actually wince. He could see his father's face—a mix of scowl and worry.
His dad had been been clear on showing Hutch what a man was made of – hunter /gatherer/protector/ breadwinner /disciplined / committed to principle / a solid foundation for those weaker ones in the tribe to depend on. Nature designed it that way. So it was pure science—he was born a male and that meant all those characteristics were part of his genetic profile---unless….
--he was defective.
How could he even attempt to explain to his father that Dr. Hutchinson's son was afraid of invisible demons and would let a dream—for goodness sake— a dream bring him down?
But in reality …the replaying of bad things when he slept –might just be the thing that kept him pacing his bedroom at night. Causing him to fiddle with the familiar things in the room --to keep himself grounded. Seeking escape from them--the nightmares--sent him on a mission to re-read passages from his favorite books. It had caused him to take a lamp apart--which he wasn't able to put back together. Was the inspiration for hours spent practicing chords on his guitar. Anything—anything that would his keep his mind busy and his body from asking for bed rest.
Because…
once Hutch crawled into bed and lay his head on the pillow—he would lose control of his life.
Delivered back into the hands of Papa Theodore…and the tropical hell of his "vacation" on Playboy Island.
Huggy, in the beginning – when he'd come home from the hospital—had mentioned to him that he was concerned that Hutch wasn't sleeping restfully.
He hadn't even been aware of the nightmares. Only that he was tired—a lot.
Once he woke up to find Huggy fretfully calling him as the skinny man forcibly shook him into wakefulness.
Huggy made claims that Hutch had been screaming …and crying…
How much more could his ego take, Hutch had thought.
Crying!
Crying?
He waited a day or so before dismissing Huggy from his new part-time job as mother hen to one of BCPD's finest and was hoping that would be end of the conversation of Hutch and his bad dreams.
He didn't remember them when he woke—but still their vividness stayed with him during the day…
Nothing he couldn't live with, Hutch had decided. So what if snapshots from the nightmares flashed pictures in his head throughout the day?
Certainly at some point that would stop and life would go back to normal.
No one had to know anything about them…
But apparently Huggy wasn't just a snitch about … the criminal underworld. Obviously spilled his guts to Hutch's dark-haired partner---dishing out details about Hutch's private pain--probably for free, Hutch thought smugly.
One thing about his friendship with Starsky—there was no keeping secrets…none for him and none for Starsky – who kept watch over him like a bulldog. It would have only been a matter a time before Starsky would have been putting the pieces together. Hutch's paleness exponentially multiplying to match the dug in black circles under his eyes--the shuffle in the his walk showing the weariness in his spirit--- after all Starsky knew him better than anyone ever had. It was just a matter of time before the dark-haired man would demand some explanation.
How could you not love a guy like David Starsky? Hutch was trying to protect Starsky, too. That was another reason why he hadn't discussed the problems he was having sleeping to his best friend. Starsky was still coming to terms – living his own kind of nightmare—as he tried to deal with what he'd done on that island. Hutch didn't want his best friend to feel anymore guilt.
He wanted to forget about the whole sordid mess and move on.
But still, he was tired-- very tired. And quite sure in the dreams--- the Bokor and his followers…were still having a party in his slumber. A twisted celebration of unimaginable wickedness.
Maybe he would tell Angeline about them.
(tbc)