Hutch drove the 45 miles to Cabrillo State like a whirlwind, anxious now to get some answers and a lead as to where Prudholm might be. The pieces fit. It had to be Crazy George who had Starsky….but where? And what the hell was the madman doing to his partner? The blond's blood ran cold as he remembered the other times when his friend had been forcibly taken from his house or his work. When Hutch had found Starsky hanging from the aviary at the old civic zoo after Marcus' goons had threatened to cut him to shreds it had taken weeks to nurse him back to full strength. It wasn't just the physical injuries that Hutch had worried about, but the almost constant nightmares the brunet had suffered. And if Crazy George Prudholm did have Starsky, what new nightmare was he inflicting?
It was dark now and the blond peered through the velvety night, aiming the car at the speed he was going rather than actually driving it. The twin headlights pierced the blackness with their lance-like light, carving a way forward for his Mustang and he kept his foot to the metal, despite the twists and turns of the road. As Hutch rounded a particularly sharp bend, he was shocked to see a juggernaut coming in the other direction, way over on his own side of the road. He swerved sharply, tugging the wheel over with all his strength and breakeras the huge vehicle trundled past, bringing his car to a shuddering halt, front wheel hanging over the ditch at the roadside.
He drew a shaky breath. OK Hutchinson. You aren't gonna be able to help your partner if you're dead. Take it easy. Drive to arrive ya dumb ass. Now, get your car back on the road and for Gods sake be careful. Starsky needs you in one piece!
With a trembling hand, he started the engine again, wiping a bead of sweat from his upper lip. Slowly and carefully he reversed his car backwards, nursing the wheels until they bit solid blacktop. He put the stick into drive and accelerated away more gently this time. Keeping his speed to no more than 50, the blond made good and steady progress and within another 10 minutes he saw the gates to the mental hospital looming up out of the dark. At that time of night they were locked and he got out of the car and pushed the speaker button on the radio entry device, waiting till he heard a tinny sounding voice on the other end.
'Yes? Can I help?'
'Yeah. Detective Hutchinson to see the man in charge' he grunted.
'I'm sorry Sir. The administrator is unavailable. Please call back between normal working hours'.
Hutch punched the rough wall beside the speaker box. 'Listen lady. This is a serious - police matter. Now you either open these gates and let me in, or I'll drive the goddamned car through 'em anyway. Your choice'.
'Sir, its 1:00 in the morning. Only the night staff are on duty' the voice protested, trying to get the night time caller to see sense.
'I don't care if its half past a freckle. I want in, now. And I want to speak to the man in charge' Hutch yelled furiously.
'Do you have a prior appointment?'
The blond snorted. 'Would I have a prior appointment for this early in the morning? This is Detective Ken Hutchinson of the Bay City Police. For Gods sake, just open the damned gates' he said, low and intense.
The tinny voice seemed to give up the unequal struggle and Hutch heard a metallic click as the big gates started to open. He got back into his car and waited impatiently until there was sufficient room to drive through then gunned the engine and set off up the drive in a hail of gravel. He pulled up outside the big, stone institution and got out, seeing a figure waiting on the steps. The figure beckoned him and he ran up the steps and followed the young woman inside.
'I've informed Doctor Connor that you wished to see him urgently. He won't be a moment, he's just getting dressed' she informed Hutch as she showed him into a small room furnished with a desk and two chairs. He sat down and the young woman left.
Hutch looked around the room. It was obviously the man's office, certificates and awards framed in tortoiseshell frames lining the walls. Bookcases stood against the lower walls, stuffed with leather bound books and smaller paperbacks, all with titles on psychology, forensic psychology and criminology. Obviously Doctor Connor was an eminent man in his filed. Shame he couldn't keep a tighter rein on his inmates. Hutch jumped as the door opened and the doctor came in,
For someone recently roused from his sleep, the man was remarkably wide awake and to his credit, he didn't seem too angry at the rude interruption. He held out his hand to Hutch, who took it and shook it, noting the firm, dry grip.
'What can I do for you, detective?' Connor asked as he sat down behind his desk.
Hutch sat down again too. 'George Prudholm. I'm told he escaped here a couple of days ago'.
'Mr Prudholm was being transported to another facility upstate. The ambulance transporting him was run off the road – a pure accident. The driver was knocked unconscious and when he and the escort awoke, their patient had vanished. We notified the police in that area and as yet have had no news as to where he is. Why do you ask?'
'Coz me and my partner were the ones who put him in here in the first place. Now it seems, Prudholm is missing and so is Detective Starsky, my partner. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together and come up with a kidnap scenario'.
Connor sat up straighter. 'I'm sorry Detective. Had no idea. Of course, we'll do whatever we can to assist. How can I help?'
Hutch warmed to the doctor, now he realised that Prudholm's escape was no-one's particular fault. He wasn't defensive and didn't seem the usual died in the wool psychiatrist either.
'I need to find out what Prudholm's mental state was before he escaped. Anything to help me find my partner. Can you tell me what he was like? Had he improved any?'
Connor blew out his cheeks. 'He was a strange one all right. I can't say that there was any particular improvement with George over the months that I've been here. He's been unsettled throughout. Doesn't respond to medication much. We've tried cognitive therapy, ECT, the works'.
Hutch's heart was in his boots. 'Is he still um…is he still fixated?'
'With his son, yes. He talks about Gary as if he's still there. He calls the male nurses Gary, the male catering staff. Seems like he gets his son confused with any male who happens to have dark coloured hair. George has many complex problems'.
oOo
Almost 24 hours had gone by since Starsky had woken the first time into the black void of his confinement. During that time he'd been confined to the small metal bed, laying on his back, his wrists secured to the headboard above his head and his ankles to the metal bars at the foot. At first, his mind had been on one thing and one thing only – escape. But after Prudholm had left him again in the dark, other, more pressing matters started to impact on his consciousness.
His limbs had at first started to ache from their enforced position, pains shooting up from his shoulders into his neck and the top of his back. The hollow of his back also ached and he longed to flex his legs and ease out the kinks in his back and hips. But pretty soon the ache had turned into vicious cramping pains which tore at his shoulders, elbows, hips and ankles, spiralling through his joints like fiery serpents. No matter which way he tried to turn he was unable to rid himself of the terrible discomfort and the pains had battered at his mind and body for hours. He pulled ineffectually at the bonds holding him down and yelled out again into the darkness. But the stones of the room and the dirt floor seemed to absorb the sounds and Starsky believed Prudholm when he said that the place was soundproof.
Panic and anger took turns at overwhelming the brunet, panic at being left alone in the pitch black and anger that once again Prudholm had managed to fuck up his life so royally. He longed to be able to wipe that smug smirk off Crazy George's face but settled for allowing the anger to simmer below the surface, fuelling his ability to endure the captivity.
Pretty soon though the pains stopped as gradually his limbs numbed into their enforced positions. He found he could wiggle his head and raise and lower his upper body a little, but he was strung out in such a fashion that there was no play on the bonds around his wrists and ankles, and so he lay, panting into the darkness.
However long it was since his kidnap, he had no idea. But pretty soon a new need arose. Starsky had had a few beers with Hutch before he'd gone back to his apartment. He'd drunk juice and water during the night before he'd come out to look for Mickey and now, a different sort of pain made itself evident. His bladder was full and he needed to pee, urgently. What had started out as a niggling need for the john had, over the intervening hours turned into an all-consuming urge to go. It became insistent, pains roiling through his abdomen as he tried desperately to hold on. But what for?
He hoped that the crazy man would come back and let him up so that he could relieve himself, or at least give him some kind of receptacle to use, but as the minutes and hours wore on, he realised that that was a forlorn hope. Each beat of his heart now seemed to impact on his bladder and he could almost feel the skin of his abdomen stretching taut over the swelling. The need consumed his every waking moment, battering away at his consciousness until he had to do the unthinkable.
Up until then, Starsky was a captive. A man who'd been kidnapped and held against his will. But he was a man nonetheless. But as the muscles of his bladder finally gave out and he felt the hot urine soak into his jeans and burn his skin he descended from his status as a human being to that of an object. Something attached to the bed, but less than human. An animal, to be tied, kicked and beaten. Up until then, the brunet had been able to process everything that was going on. He hated it – hated the feeling of powerlessness, but he felt as though he still had some sort of say in his own destiny. The ability to anger Prudholm if nothing else. But now, as he lost control of his body, his self esteem and control seemed to flow away from him like the hot liquid now flowing down his legs to soak into the dirty mattress below him.
Starsky sobbed once into the darkness then clamped his lips closed. He would remain human. He would. If nothing else he had to hang on to the thoughts that he was still David Starsky and that Hutch would be looking for him. And if anyone could find him, his partner could.
