Chapter 1

Hutch lay back on his bed panting, after an exhausting morning with his personal torturer. He’d lifted weights, bench pressed 125lbs and run on the treadmill for 45 minutes at a steady rate. Sweat had trickled down his face and into the towel wrapped around his neck, and his right leg still felt heavy and slow, but he felt generally good and glad to be back in the land of the living. His “torturer” was 5’9” tall with long blond hair, piercing blue eyes, which matched his partner’s and a disarming and playful smile. She also had an iron will and steely resolve and went. And she went by the name Anna. Perfect for a physiotherapist.

It was two days since he’d woken from what others called a two-week coma and he called another few days at the business end. While the doctors and nurses had looked after his body as it lay on the hospital bed hooked up to tubes, wires and monitors, he’d been flying on a whole different plane of existence as he battled to save the lives of his partner, Starsky and his friend, Thomas (Traff) Trafford.

He hadn’t yet had the courage to speak to anyone about his experiences with the purple eyed, white haired “conductor” who’d called himself Amaram. He wasn’t quite sure that he fully understood what had gone on and he didn’t want others thinking he was crazy. He’d been shot in the head with a .22 calibre bullet, yet was up and around walking and talking. That in itself was enough of a miracle to have the whole medical fraternity prodding, poking and questioning him. If he was to add that a dead “conductor” had zoomed him around in a maelstrom of colour from one spot to another, he knew he’d be destined for Cabrillo State before he could mutter “Dobey”. So he kept the snippet quiet and answered the medics’ questions in as non-committal way as possible.

The whole thing had started with an undercover operation with a group called the Northern Stars. He’d infiltrated the group as a new member, but one of the other members had discovered he was a cop. When it went sour, he’d been bound and made to face his “punishment”. He’d caught the assassination bullet, but his partner had crashed into the old factory the group used as their headquarters, arresting one of the group and getting the paramedics to him. As Hutch was taken to the hospital, the remaining group members had captured Starsky and Traff, who’d just happened to be in the wrong place and the wrong time with the intention of making them tell where their group member was being held. The forms of “encouragement” they’d used on both men had resulted in both the brunette and the soldier now occupying the other two beds in Hutch’s room.

Hutch had remembered nothing else of the incident until he arrived in a pink-fogged world with the tall conductor. After only 500 or so years on the job, Amaram was still a bit of a rookie and in order to avoid working overtime, he’d ‘reaped’ Hutch before he was strictly dead. Hutch had pleaded his case successfully before the high council and had been given another chance at life if he could save both Starsky and Traff.

After he’d “visited” Huggy and told him to tell Dobey to have men standing by at the Pits to arrest Quinn and Ryan, the two men who’d captured his partner and his friend, he’d gone back to the disused church. Desperate to make sure Starsky would survive, he’d tried his best to look after the two injured men there, although being unable to touch or speak with them was a big hindrance.

His only method of communication had been when his partner was close to death. Only then had he been able to reach into the brunette’s mind and join him in his freakish nightmares, offering just a little protection and support, although the maltreatment had taken its toll on the brunette’s body and his mind. Hutch wondered just how well he would recover.

Once Dobey and the paramedics had arrived at the church, he’d felt an odd pulling sensation and he’d known that he fulfilled the councils desire to save Starsky and Traff. He was allowed to go back to his own body and had woken up in the hospital bed, amazing the staff with his powers of recuperation.

Oh sure, he’d had the mother and father of all headaches and his speech had been, and still was a little slurred. He’d lost some strength down the right side of his body, but his doctor, Mark, had said that that was to be expected and hence the physiotherapy. This morning he had managed to walk all the way down to the physiotherapy suite on his own and had spent most of the morning there, anxious to get back to normal as quickly as possible.

He looked over at the still, pale forms on the other two beds. Both Traff and Starsky had been unconscious since their admittance, almost two days ago. Traff was in slightly better shape that the curly haired cop. He’d had almost two weeks without food. Their captors had ensured there was just enough water for both men to survive, although it was brackish and warm. Towards the end, as Starsky’s health had deteriorated, Traff had used most of his own ration to bathe his friend’s injures and force some of the fluid down the brunette’s throat. Hence he was both malnourished and dehydrated. He’d had three broken ribs, caused by a vicious kicking he’d received on his last day of captivity, and the breaks had caused a pneumohaemothorax.

As the soldier lay quietly in bed he had drips going into the back of each hand. One with Ringers Lactate used because he required a large-volume fluid replacement, another with a concentrated antibiotic to counteract the infection of the surgery he’d undergone to reinflate his left lung and to evacuate the blood in his chest cavity. A tube drain exited his chest, draining the blood into a sealed bottle hanging from the side of his bed. Alongside it was a bag to collect the products from the catheter. A blood pressure cuff around his right arm completed his ensemble and the nurses came every two hours to check on his progress. So far, the doctors were happy with his condition and thought it only a matter of time until he awoke.

On the other bed, Starsky’s body lay swathed in bandages and backlit by a soothing blue neon light. He’d been burned badly down the right hand side of his body when Quinn had repeatedly used the Dry Taser on him and the doctors had had to debride and deal with the blisters on his skin. Now they were covered with gel dressings which glinted in the defuse light over the bed as the cop’s chest was artificially inflated by the respirator. Starsky too had a battery of drips. The doctors had inserted a central line into his superior vena cava at the top of his chest, in order to try to get as large a volume of fluid into him as his damaged body could tolerate and bag after bag of Ringers Lactate flowed down the clear plastic tube into the fuzz covered chest.

He’d had an emergency operation to deal with a ruptured spleen and the stitches on the wound stood out in a prickly row across the swollen, bruised abdomen. He had another drip of antibiotics flowing into his left arm to counteract the infection from his abdominal injury and also from the pneumonia that had set in when he’d been forced to take in a lungful of filthy water as part of his torture. Because of the damage to his lungs, the doctors had him on a respirator and the steady hiss and whoosh of the machine both soothed and irritated the flaxen haired cop as he kept his vigil at his partner’s bedside.

Hutch desperately wanted the brunette to wake, if only to check that his partner was still with him on a fundamental level. He’d had to watch helpless as Quinn had tied Starsky down time after time to ask him where Ade Ryan was. The murderous hit man had added to the physical pain the curly haired cop had had to endure by a little psychological torture. Over and over, Quinn would force Starsky to look at the three lights hanging from the ceiling above him, asking how many there were. Each time the bound detective had answered “three” the evil man had punished him either with a beating or with the Taser, telling him there were four. Hutch had managed to get into his partner’s dreams, but far from comforting his friend, he’d seen a glimpse of a mind on the edge of madness, driven there by the incessant questions and the pain. He’d tried urgently to help the hurting detective, trying to assure him that everything would be alright and that he’d get them out of there, but Starsky had last seen Hutch n the hospital and saw Hutch’s presence as an indication that he too was dying. As Hutch looked down now at his partner’s damaged body, he worried too about the state of mind Starsky would be in when he finally awoke. He knew the dark haired hellion was tough, but some things could be too much even for Starsky to endure.

Some time during the afternoon of that day, Hutch was roused from his nap by a noise from the bed on the far side of the room. He eased his sore legs over the side of the bed and padded over to Traff’s bedside, seeing the confused unfocussed green eyes opening for the first time. He smiled down at the soldier.

‘Welcome back’ he said softly as Traff gazed up at him.

He saw the confusion in the bright green eyes and wondered how the hell he could explain what had happened. Deciding to leave that for another time, he pulled up a chair and sat by the bedside.

Traff was blinking and Hutch saw him swallow painfully. ‘How long?’ the soldier rasped.

‘Two days’ Hutch said. ‘You’re in Memorial. Starsky’s over there’ he pointed at the other occupied bed.

‘Thought you were dead’ Traff looked warily at the big blond. The last time he’d seen Hutch, the flaxen haired cop had been on life support and at death’s door. That was the reason he had been in Bay City with Starsky – to be a support to his friend as he waited for news of his partner. Now it would seem, the tables had been turned.

‘It’s a long story’ Hutch muttered, hoping the man in the bed wouldn’t press the issue. It was too early for Hutch to talk about his experiences and Traff to hear it. Instead he reached out and patted on of the soldier’s hands gently. ‘Thanks’ he said.

Traff looked confused. ‘What for?’

‘Looking after Starsky’.

Traff turned his head on the pillow and looked at the lifeless form. He snorted. ‘Didn’t do much of a job, did I?’ he asked, clutching at his side as pain flashed through his broken ribs.

‘Hey, without you, he wouldn’t have gotten this far’ Hutch insisted. ‘I know you were there for him. You gave him your water when you needed it yourself. I couldn’t bear the thought of him having to go through all that shit on his own’

Traff rested his curly head back against the pillow, then a look of confusion appeared in his eyes. ‘How did you know that? That I gave him my water ration? How could you have known that?’ he asked, staring fixedly at the blond.

Hutch looked away. Yes, how indeed. He decided that a change of subject was in order.

‘You need any pain meds, pal?’ he asked, seeing the look in the green eyes. He reached for the call button and pushed it, moving to one side as the nurse came bustling in.

‘Well look whose awake’ she said, putting her hand on the warm brow and inserting the thermometer under his tongue. Traff smiled back as much as he could with a mouth full of glass instrument and the nurse melted under the gaze of the green eyes. Hutch went back to his bed for a while, glad that at least one of his friends was back in the land of the living.

Chapter 2

It was another five days before the doctors decided that Starsky’s lungs had recovered well enough to take away the dreaded respirator. During that time, they’d kept him unconscious in the hope that his body and his mind would have some time to start to heal. Traff had been able to tell the doctors of the treatment the brunette had received at the hands of Quinn and Ryan and they were frankly amazed that he’d been able to withstand so much, but they were also pessimistic as to the outcome of the curly haired cop’s treatment. While the burns and surgical interventions were healing well, they had yet to find out what his mental state would be.

Hutch had amazed everyone by his recovery. Since his initial talk with Mark, the men’s doctor, where he could hardly string two words together without slurring his speech as though he’d had a skin full, he’d come on in leaps and bounds, to the extent where he had been formally discharged from the hospital. That didn’t stop the flaxen haired cop from being back at this partner’s bedside each day though, and the nurses had wryly observed that he was getting more attention since his discharge than he’d had when he was their patient. He’d refused on a couple of occasions to go home at night and so he’d been given his bed back and Mark had told him he could stay as long as he wanted just so long as he managed to get some rest.

He was there as the nurse held the curly head gently so that Mark could remove the respirator hose from Starsky’s throat. It represented the last of the tubes and drains to be removed, only the drips remaining to give some nourishment. He’d seen the nurse take hold of either side of the head on the pillow. Although Starsky’s eyes hadn’t opened, he’d seen the fingers twitch as though they wanted to ball his hands into fists, and Hutch remembered how Ryan had held the brunette’s head in a vice like grip, making him stare up at the lights above him. On some core level, his partner was reliving those moments and the blonde’s heart bled for his friend.

The nurse was talking softly to her patient, soothing the brow with her cool hands.

‘S’ok Dave. We’re just taking the tube away. You might feel as though you need to cough. That’s ok. You can do that. Just try to keep as still as you can….. Good…. That’s good Dave’.

The doctor pulled the tube carefully out and the body on the bed twitched, a reflexive cough being wrung from the healing man, but there was no other evidence that David Starsky was at home. The nurse let go of his head, and Starsky’s fingers stopped their convulsive twitching on the bed. Gently Hutch took hold of the nearest hand, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of his partner’s hand.

‘S’ok partner. It’s all done now. You’re safe. Just relax and sleep huh? I’m here…not going anywhere’ he whispered, feeling small tremors running through the otherwise limp form. The blips on the monitor by the bedside, which had started to race, quietened again and went back to their steady, hypnotic rhythm. He rested his chin on his hand, wishing he could see those indigo eyes again, if only for a moment, as much for his own comfort as for his partner’s.

As the injured detective settled down again, Hutch left him and went back to talking to Traff. The soldier was making a good recovery although he was still confined to his bed. The doctor had explained to him about a syndrome called Refeeding. As Traff had been starved for 12 days, he wasn’t able to start eating normally again all at once, otherwise his body would react to the amounts of carbohydrates and glucose in his blood and shut down. At the moment, he was still on a drip feed and special drinks and until he could tolerate solid food without problems, he had to stay put. Although the usually active soldier didn’t like the idea, he was still doing as he was told. His CO had been to see him to say that once out of hospital he could have two weeks compassionate leave and he looked forward to his freedom, but needed to know that his long term friend would be ok first.

The green eyes had been watching the respirator procedure from a distance and he’d noticed how the brunette had twitched as the nurse had held Starsky’s head.

‘He’s not gonna have an easy time, is he?’ he asked Hutch as the blond eased his weary body into the padded chair.

‘No, he isn’t. I just hope he’ll be strong enough to fight it’ Hutch said softly. He was so worried for his partner that he hadn’t been sleeping, even with the aid of the pills the hospital had given him and the weariness was beginning to take its toll. Traff saw the dark circles beneath the ice blue eyes and the extra hole the blond had had to put in his belt to accommodate his weight loss.

‘You need to look after yourself. We’ve been through a lot, but you haven’t exactly had it easy yourself’ he said, concern shining from his eyes. ‘You’ll need to be fit for when he goes home’.

Hutch sighed. ‘I know, and I will be. And I know he’s tough enough to heal his wounds. But its what’s on the inside that concerns me. They fucked with his head so badly with all the lights crap’. He put his head in his hands.

‘That’s twice now’ Traff said slowly.

‘Huh?’

‘Twice you’ve talked as though you know what went on in there’.

Ok, Hutch thought. Do I tell him? This is it, now or never. He knew he couldn’t fool the perceptive man forever and truth to tell, he needed to tell someone, just to get it out of his head. He gazed levelly at the soldier in the bed.

‘Ya wanna go with me on a leap of faith?’ he asked, seeing the slight nod of the head.

The blond took a deep breath wondering exactly how to start. How did you tell someone that you had an out of body experience and managed to save your two best friends from certain death?

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. ‘OK. It’s a long story and please…..its difficult enough for me to take in, so I don’t expect you to believe a word. Just keep your questions to the end huh?’

‘Whatever you say pal’ Traff said gently. He’d seen the big blond struggling with his partner’s condition and had known there was something Hutch was hiding from him. He settled back against the pillow and waited expectantly.

Hutch sat back in his chair and closed his eyes taking a deep breath. For the next hour he explained exactly where he’d been while his body was in that hospital bed, what he’d done, the arguments he’d had with the council and the antics of the bumbling but loveable Amaram, and Traff listened. At the end of the tale, Hutch was exhausted and Traff’s eyes had widened to the size of soup plates.

‘Jeez buddy! All that and we thought you were at deaths door?’

Hutch smiled a wry smile. ‘I guess I was at death’s door. Leilani told me that if I couldn’t save the two of you my life would be forfeit. Apparently once they have you up there, they don’t usually let go’.

‘And what about Huggy?’ Traff asked. The black barman had been Hutch’s chosen contact when he’d had the opportunity to speak to someone to get the flakes who’d taken his two friends.

‘Dunno. I haven’t seen hide or hair of him since. He’s probably in an alcoholic stupour somewhere thinking he dreamed it all!’

‘And all that time you couldn’t talk to any of us?’ Traff sounded horrified as he thought about how he would feel having to witness Starsky being tortured without being able to do anything about it.

‘Towards the end, I could talk to Starsk, when he was so sick’ Hutch explained. ‘But by then he was pretty far gone. He was just lost in a nightmare world and all I could do was try to reason with him and let him know to hang in there’. He paused. ‘You aren’t questioning any of this. I thought you’d have had a hard job believing me’ he said truthfully. He'd worried himself sick thinking that most of his friends would think he’d lost it completely, and yet here was Traff, talking as though it was the most normal thing in the world to have a friend who’d visited the “other side”.

‘Hey, normally I’d have carted you off to the funny farm in a straight jacket. But the things your described……that’s how it was. How could you have known that any other way? And…. there was something else too’.

Traff smiled sadly at the memory. ‘When Curly was so sick, towards the end, I didn’t think he’d m…..didn’t think he’d survive. But he seemed happier somehow. He’d been in so much pain and there was sweet F.A. I could do about it, ‘cept give him some water, and then he smiled. He wasn’t really awake, but he smiled and mumbled your name. I thought he was just delirious, but maybe not’.

Hutch winced at the memory. At the end of the ordeal he’d entered a rainy, stormy dreamscape to find his partner sitting atop a cliff looking out to sea. Starsky had said he was waiting for Hutch to take him home and Hutch had tried desperately to convince his buddy that he was real, and that there was a way out of the whole sorry mess. But through it all, Starsky kept repeating over and again that he’d seen three lights. Just the three lights, not four, and no matter what Hutch said or did, he couldn’t penetrate that part of the tortured mind.

‘Oh he was delirious alright. They’d screwed with his head so badly that even in is dreams he was counting the damned lights’ Hutch spat out, angry all over again at the assailants. He looked over at his sleeping friend. ‘I just hope he can find his own way home’ he said quietly.

Chapter 3

It took another three days for Starsky to begin to wake up. During that long time, Hutch sat by his bedside all day and for most of the nights, his back aching on the chair. He was afraid to move away, even the relatively short distance to the bed, in case he missed a small movement or twitch. Traff too kept his vigil since he’d finally been allowed to get out of bed and move around slowly, although the doctor had told him not to expect miracles. His body had taken a battering and he needed to give it time to heal.

The nurses had been and removed the stitches from the wound on Starsky’s abdomen, leaving a tramline pattern of red dots against the still tanned skin. The brunette had moaned slightly at the process, but had shown no other signs of life. All the burns down his side had been left uncovered to aid recovery and although not pretty, Mark, the doctor assured Hutch that in time they would fade and leave no lasting scars. For that, the blond as grateful. Starsky had collected too many scars in his relatively brief life and the shiny red areas down his flank looked angry and sore, marring the otherwise tanned skin. All that remained of the apparatus which had surrounded the sick detective was the drip still inserted into the back of his left hand. The respirator, blood pressure cuff and heart monitor had been taken away and for the first time, the brunette looked relatively peaceful in his bed.

Hutch of course was the first to notice the slight movement of the eyes beneath the almost translucent eyelids and knew from bitter experience that before long he’d get to see the familiar indigo again. He took a hold of the hand lying still on the bed sheet by his side and waited patiently. Traff too had seen the signs, but had padded quietly back to his bed, not wanting to intrude on the moment Hutch had been longing for for so long. Slowly, the eye movement became more persistent and the hand held in the big blond grip started to twitch.

It wasn’t for another couple of hours, however, that Starsky decided that he really aught to put an appearance into the big wide world again. During his coma he’d dreamed a lot. He’d gone back to his favourite haunt at Martha’s Vineyard; the spot that Hutch had found him on so long ago. The brunette had spent long hours there, with the dog for company as he’d looked out to sea and waited in vain for Hutch to turn up again, so that he could talk to his partner. Starsky had felt safe in his little haven and when Hutch was there he felt more at peace than he had done for a long time. Even when the pain had become unbearable, he’d been able to retreat to his private spot and be with his friend and partner, taking a little solace from the interaction and the peace and quiet.

And then the torture had stopped.

After that there had still been pain, but it was different. This pain was dulled by drugs and he knew on a basic level that he was no longer in the church and that people were beginning to look after him. But he didn’t wish to join them in their real world any longer. He felt their hands on his body; gentle hands that were cool and soothed him. He felt warm and safe in his haven and hugged it to him like a safety blanket, wrapping it round his body to protect himself from further hurt. The only thing that was missing from the peace and tranquillity was his flaxen haired partner. He felt oddly incomplete without the Nordic presence, needing the comfort of the velvet soft voice.

Starsky had sat on the headland waiting for Hutch to come back for him and take him to somewhere he wouldn’t hurt again, but the blond never came back and he was beginning to feel lonely and abandoned. And so he made a conscious decision that he would try to make his way back into the land of the living and see if he could find Hutch another way. It took a great effort and cost him dearly. The closer to consciousness he came the more pain he felt and several times he retreated a little back into the mist until he could cope with the new sensations. Then he advanced a tiny way further, always careful and more than a little apprehensive.

What if he was really still at the church? What if Quinn and Ryan still had him and this was an elaborate trick? What if they were going to start all over again? Worse still, what if there really were four lights? He shivered at the thought, but something made him press on, knowing he couldn’t hide for ever. He needed to find Hutch again.

Very slowly the indigo eyes cracked open a little and Starsky took his first cautious look at his surroundings. He closed them again quickly, seeing bright white light around him and feeling nauseous and unfocussed. He paused, then opened them again, just a bit wider.

There was no more pain! No Taser being pushed into his burning side and no wicked face above him asking awkward and painful questions. His body felt stiff and sore, but there were no more sudden spikes of agony. He relaxed marginally

Hutch saw the glimmer of deep misty blue and leaned forward, taking hold of the cool hand and feeling the tremors once again coursing through the gaunt frame.

‘Hey there buddy. Welcome back’ he said softly, watching the eyes slowly focus and come to rest on him. He saw disorientation in them and something else?...fear? He pressed on. ‘I missed ya Gordo’.

The eyes danced around the room, then came to settle back on his face. Slowly the brunette ran his tongue over his dry cracked lips. They moved as he tried to form the words, but he hadn’t used his voice in a while and at first he managed nothing but a rasp and a cough. He gasped and put his hand up to his healing stomach, clutching at the healing injury. Carefully he tried again to speak.

‘…..Dead’ he managed.

Hutch shook his head, smiling. ‘No buddy, I’m right here’.

The curly head rocked weakly on the white pillow. ‘I’m….dead’.

Hutch fought down the panic he felt rising up inside him. This wasn’t how it was meant to play out. His partner was meant to wake up, greet him and get on with his life. Starsky seemed scared to death and Hutch wanted to take him and hug him, taking away the fear and hurt. Instead he took a steadying breath.

‘No buddy. Neither of us is dead. You’re in the hospital. You’re gonna be ok’ he said, although a small part of him was uncertain.

Starsky seemed to pause, his mind working through the information. His eyebrows knitted in concentration.

‘Waited….for ya…’ he rasped. ‘Never came….back’. His face looked sad and lost.

‘You waited for me? Where? Where did ya wait Starsk?’ Hutch pressed, trying to grasp what was going on inside the curly head.

‘Cliff…..don’t matter……here now’.

‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m here now’ Hutch assured him, rubbing his thumb up and down the back of his partner’s hand. His memory went back to the last time he’d spoken to Starsky on the stormy cliff top in the brunette’s nightmare. My God he thinks I’m dead and I’ve come for him!

‘Take me home?’

Hutch’s heart broke, but he kept his voice level and even. ‘I’ll take ya home when you’re better pal. But ya need to rest and get your strength back’.

‘Wanna see Dad’.

Hutch was at desperation point. He leaned over the bed and took hold of the gaunt face gently between his hands. The brunette closed his eyes, stiffening. He whimpered, but the big blond held on, willing his friend to understand

‘Starsk. you can’t see your Dad. He died, remember? You’re in the hospital. Hospital Starsky. D’ya understand? You’re not dead. I’m not dead’. He needed the brunette to understand and tightened his grip ‘LOOK at me!’

Slowly the troubled eyes opened again and locked on to the ice blue ones above. Starsky seemed to see Hutch for the first time and the blond saw now some recognition.

‘Utch?’

He let go, running his fingers through the curls as though soothing a small child, trailing his fingers down the emaciated cheek.

‘Yeah, it’s me. You with me now Gordo?’

The eyes cleared and Hutch sat down carefully, seeing his friend follow his movements. He asked again.

‘You with me now buddy?’ He saw the weak nod.

‘Utch?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Where are we?’

‘Memorial pal. The hospital. D’ya remember now?’

‘Yeah…..hospital’ the voice was small and lost. ‘Hurts…..sore’.

‘I know. The nurse will get you something. Just rest huh? We were scared there for a while’.

The shadow of a smile passed over the rugged, thin face. ‘Was scared too’ he mumbled. ‘Utch?’

‘Huh?’

‘How long?’

‘Since we rescued you? Almost two weeks’.

The indigo eyes closed again. ‘…..tired’.

Hutch rubbed absently on the pale arm. ‘I know buddy. Just rest. Go back to sleep’.

Starsky nestled his head back into the fluffy pillow. He looked up at his partner. ‘Knew you’d come’ he said.

‘Wouldn’t leave ya partner. You know that’.

‘Yeah….too bright…..Switch the lights off huh? Three?’ he said as he drifted back to sleep.

Hutch almost missed it. What had his partner said? Oh God, no buddy, no no no. Not counting. Not the lights. Thought that had finished now. He wiped his hands over his face. Maybe he’d just imagined it.

He stayed by the bedside until the nurse came in, injecting the painkiller into the port on the drip. She smiled at him, then departed. Hutch stood, easing the kinks from his back and padded over to Traff’s bed.

‘How was he?’ the soldier asked, seeing the pained expression on the nordic face.

‘Dunno. First of all he didn’t seem to recognise me. Then he seemed to come round a bit he even smiled, and he didn’t seem in too much pain. It was just at the end he….’ He tailed off, not wanting to acknowledge what he thought he’d heard the brunette say. To say it would make it real and Hutch couldn’t face the possibility of his friend being sent insane.

‘He what?’

‘Nothing’

‘Something! He what?’ Traff persisted.

‘He told me things were too bight and to switch off the light’.

Traff looked at the ceiling. ‘He always said he could never sleep in the hospital. Even in ‘Nam he used to put his head under the blanket to shut out the light. That’s ok – its normal Curly’.

But Hutch shook his head. 'Wasn’t that. It was afterwards. He mentioned the light, then asked if there were three’. He sat down heavily on the side of the bed, discouraged and tired.

Traff sighed and put his reassuring hand on the blonde’s shoulder. ‘Hey, its early days yet. He was probably just disorientated, ya know? He’s been unconscious for nearly two weeks. Its just the drugs talking’.

‘Yeah, probably’ Hutch nodded, but didn’t sound convinced. He rubbed his hand over his face and tried to block out the memory of his partner, bound and terrified staring up at the lights in the church.

Chapter 4

During the next two days, Hutch sat by the bedside as Starsky drifted in and out of his confused dreams. For most of the time the brunette was calm and lucid, talking to both Traff and Hutch about the old days in the army and at the police academy. They spent a lot of time just talking as though nothing had happened, glad of the opportunity for some normal time and savouring some of the stories they told against each other. Traff had spoken to the doctor about how he should approach the subject of their captivity and treatment. He’d seen enough men come back from ‘Nam, Guatemala and Cambodia with post traumatic stress disorder, hearing their cries in the night and helping to cope with their erratic and often bizarre behaviour. He knew that if he didn’t handle the next few weeks correctly, his friend would be damaged for life.

Mark had said that he should ignore the traumatic episode and only talk about it if Starsky broached the subject. To force the issue would be to impose the memories and the brunette was in far too fragile a state to be able to deal with them just yet. And so when Hutch went home that morning, exhausted, for a shower and a change of clothes, Traff had sat with Starsky chatting about old times. The detective had stunned everyone by being well enough to be out of bed. He’d even managed to pad albeit in a wobbly fashion to the bathroom on his own and now he was sitting on an easy chair dressed only in pyjama pants to allow the air to get to his burns.

‘Ya remember that little nurse we met in Na Am? She was wonderful. D’ya remember that cute little uniform she wore?’

Starsky grinned. ‘Oh man do I? She was so sweet’. He smiled at the memory. ‘Eight buttons down the front of that tunic’ he said, the memories flooding back.

Traff narrowed his eyes in surprise. What would his friend remember the eight buttons and not the ample breasts or tiny waist? Or that amazing thing she could do with her….He didn’t press the matter, but salted the snippet away. His heart sank, but he pressed on anyhow.

‘How long were you in that hospital?’ he asked, knowing the answer, but checking out his buddy’s memory.

‘Ah, almost two months. Two long months. God I was a mess!’ He looked down at his hands, running his fingers lightly over his nails. ’But they grew back. Don’t suppose my lungs liked the dirty water this time round any more ‘n’ they did last, huh? Maybe I should be a fish’

Traff nodded. ‘You were one helluva mess’ Traff agreed. ‘But you got over it. Just remember that Curly. You’re tough and you got over that an’ you’ll get over this, ok?’

Starsky looked up sharply. ‘Nothin’ to get over. I’m fine. Burns are healing. Got another nice scar to add to my collection’, he looked down at the nine inch scar standing out a livid red on his abdomen. Just need to get out of this place. It gives me the creeps, ya know. Nurses are cute and Mark is ok, its just…..’ he stopped himself from saying anything further, clamping his lips closed.

‘Just what? What were you going to say?’

‘Nothing’ a cloud descended over the handsome face and the eyes dulled, but Traff wasn’t ready to leave the subject.

‘You were gonna say something’ he pressed. ‘What?’

Starsky rounded on his friend. ‘JUST LEAVE IT’ he yelled, sitting forward on his seat. ‘Just leave me alone. I’m fine. Or at least I would be if EVERYONE WOULD JUST LEAVE ME ALONE. Just let me be quiet then I can think. There were three an’ I know there were, but no-one’ll let me think about it. You’re all just yammering away with your platitudes. “It’ll be ok buddy” and ’Just rest pal”. Course it’d be ok if you’d all just LEAVE ME ALONE’.

Starsky tried to get up off the chair, but the motion caused him stomach and side to hurt and he fell back, grasping his middle.

‘Ungh…shit. Can’t even stand up any more’ he groaned, putting his head in his hands, exhausted by his outburst, panting with exertion.

Throughout the tirade, Traff sat stony faced, watching his army buddy struggling with his inner demons and now he watched the sweating, panting figure of his friend. The soldier knew the outburst wasn’t directed at him and he didn’t for one minute take it personally, but it did confirm that the damage done by Quinn and Ryan to David Starsky was more than just the wounds he saw on the recovering body. He got a glimpse of the tortured mind and what he saw left him with a feeling of dread.

Carefully he leaned forward taking his friends hands from his face and looked into the stormy indigo eyes.

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ he asked gently.

Starsky refused to look him in the face. ‘Nothing to tell’ he mumbled. ‘M’sorry. Just tired. Need to go back to bed now’ he shuffled off the chair and levered himself into the bed, pulling the sheets up around his chin. Lying on his back, he stared up at the ceiling before looking back at Traff. ‘Turn the bloody lights off will ya? All three goddamned lights’.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Later that morning Hutch arrived back at the hospital. He’d been speaking with Dobey on the telephone and the Captain had said he’d be sending officers along later that afternoon to take statements from both Starsky and himself. A photographer would be with them. Hutch had argued that it was too early and that the brunette was still too sick to cope with the trauma, but Dobey had pointed out that they could only hold Quinn and the two Ryan brothers for a little longer without the statements being taken. Seeing the truth in that, the blond had reluctantly agreed. He made his way back into the room with a heavy heart, seeing Starsky apparently asleep in bed and Traff packing his few belongings into his kit bag.

The soldier looked up as Hutch walked in.

‘Where are you of to?’ Hutch asked.

Traff looked distinctly unhappy. ‘I’ve been ordered back to the base. I’m supposed to continue my recuperation at their medical facility. I couldn’t argue over the phone, so I'll go back and speak to my CO. He’ll understand, he’s been there himself. I should be back maybe tomorrow. Erm….d’ya think I could kip at your place?’ he asked.

The blond nodded. ‘Sure. But you don’t need to do that. Just go get yourself right pal. You’ve done enough already’.

Traff straightened and took Hutch by the arm, drawing him out of the room and a little way down the corridor. It’s not me I’m concerned about. ‘Hutch, have you noticed anything…..odd…..about Curly? About his reaction to all this?’

Hutch thought a moment and then nodded slowly. ‘He’s not himself, but I thought he just needed time to get over it. He’s been through a hell of a lot and he was hurt pretty badly. You know how sick he’s been. Why?’

‘Don’t take this the wrong way, chum, but I don’t think he’s firing on all thrusters. He’s erm…..’ Traff stopped wondering how he could tell the blond that he thought his partner and best buddy was going mad. ‘Look. I’ve seen so many men come back to the unit shell shocked or having survived treatment like he had. Some of ‘em handle it no problem. For some, it drives ‘em just plain nuts. And for some it kinda festers under the surface’ Traff looked into the ice blue eyes, seeking confirmation that his words were hitting home.

Hutch was staring back, unsure what he was hearing. ‘What are you trying to say? He survived ‘Nam. I know he still has nightmares about it, but if he can survive that in tact, he can cope with this, surely’

Traff sighed. ‘Yeah, he got over the war, and God knows that was tough enough on him. But there’s only so much even a strong mind like his can take. This morning we were just chatting about the old days. Nothing confrontational, just general chit chat and suddenly he changed. He blew his top and I swear if he’d have had the strength he’d have decked me…… Hutch, what I’m trying to say is that you need to be careful. Just give him time and space, but be careful, huh?’

The blond leaned back heavily against the wall, his heart hammering in his chest. ‘You mean he’s violent? This is Starsky we’re talking about! He’d never hurt me. He’d never hurt anyone that wasn’t committing a crime’.

But Hutch too had seen the look in his partner’s eyes. The man who went into the church and the man who emerged on the ambulance stretcher were not the same. Something was very wrong with the brunette. It was something, however, that Hutch wasn’t ready to fully admit. He put his hand on Traff’s shoulder and squeezed it. ‘I’ll be fine. Thanks for your concern, but he’ll be ok’.

Traff didn’t push it. ‘Can I still stay at your place?’ he asked uncertainly.

Hutch smiled. ‘Hey, if your back can cope with the couch, it’s all yours’.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Starsky woke in time for Traff to leave, if he’d actually been sleeping at all. He’d felt stupid and embarrassed at his outburst, but on a different level, he longed once again for the peace and quiet the drugs brought him. When awake his mind was never still, never quiet and he needed some silence. Just to have the opportunity to get his thoughts into some sort of order.

As Traff sat down in the hospital wheelchair to be taken to the front door, Starsky pushed the sheet back and got himself slowly and stiffly out of the bed. Straightening painfully, he walked with the soldier a little way down the corridor, his hand on the handle of the chair for support. As they got to the elevator, the nurse stepped back and left the two men for a moment.

‘Thanks pal’ Starsky said awkwardly.

Traff looked up at the damaged detective. ‘Nothing to thank me for Curly. Just look after yourself. I’ll be back before you know it’.

‘I know, it’s just……a lot went on’.

Traff took hold of his friend’s hand. ‘There’s a lot still going on’ he said, looking deep into the troubled eyes above him. ‘Take your time and talk huh? Don’t keep it all bottled up, you need to talk to someone. Someone who knows what you’ve been through and understands it. Talk to Hutch, but get some professional help too. Maybe I could get someone from the base? I know you’re a tough guy, but sometimes you’ve got to accept a bit of help’.

Starsky smiled, but it was a bright, brittle smile and Traff saw the troubled mind behind it. ‘I will, but honest, I’m fine. Not going wacko yet’ He crossed his eyes in an attempt at humour and Traff smiled back.

Starsky sighed. ‘I just need some peace and quiet, I might go back up north. There was this place Mom and Dad took us to once. I kinda liked it there, it was wild and quiet. That’s all I need; somewhere to think and get my head in gear’.

‘Whatever you say Chief’ Traff said softly. ‘Just get back to being Curly huh?’

The elevator door opened and the nurse pushed the soldier in. As the wheelchair turned round, Traff waved at the brunette and watched as Starsky turned and limped back to his room.

Chapter 5

That afternoon, as Dobey had said, the two detectives from the metro turned up. It had been something of a problem choosing who was going to be on the case as all the team knew what had happened to the two popular cops and Dobey had had a steady stream of men volunteering. As it was he picked Swanson and Meredith with the usual photographer from forensics. Swanson was a friend of Hutch and Starsky, in fact he’d been with them at the academy, but he had a reputation for keeping his emotions out of the equation and Dobey trusted him to take the statement fair and square. He was a big bear of a man, looking more like a back woodsman than a Bay City cop. He habitually dressed in faded corduroy pants, worn at the knees and a lumberjack type tartan shirt, open at the neck to reveal a forest of hair on his chest that rivalled Starsky’s. His hair was thick and black, cut short at the front and longer at the back and his bushy sideburns joined together with a thick beard to give him a look somewhere between Bluto from the Popeye cartoon and Grizzly Adams. His honest green eyes shone out of a ruddy face and he was never without a smile.

Joan Meredith had worked once with Starsky before, when Hutch had been shot by a girl running burglaries for a guy in the east quarter of the town. Although they’d gotten off to a rocky start, they’d both soon appreciated the other’s finer qualities, especially when Meredith took Starsky into the park, wrestled him to the ground and pinned him there. She was maybe 5’5” with a shock of black curly hair cut short to emphasise her delicate bone structure and twinkling brown eyes. She too was a tough cookie and she and Swanson had hit it off right from the start.

They arrived at the hospital with Grogan the photographer shortly after 13:00 and Hutch met them in the reception hall. He greeted them and Meredith tried hard not to stare at the gaunt expression, the black circles under the ice blue eyes and the large red scar on the blonde’s left forehead.

‘Before we go up there, erm…….you will take it gently? Hutch said, kicking himself for sounding like a nervous civilian witness. What Traff had told him had left him feeling fragile and he wanted to make this process as easy and painless as possible for his partner. Meredith smiled.

‘Just the basics Hutch honey’ she said. ‘You wanna go first?’

Hutch nodded. There was very little he could tell them about the actual shooting, although he gave them as much information as he could about the Northern Stars’ membership and activities. What he couldn’t and wouldn’t tell them, of course, was what he did and saw whilst he was, to all intents and purposes, dead. The procedure left him feeling weak, cold and shaken and as if he was back reliving the whole ordeal. If that was the effect on his, how would his fragile partner take it?

After an hour, they made their way up to the brunette’s room on the fourth floor. Once again, as they got to the start of the corridor Hutch asked the three detectives to be careful. ‘He’s been through a helluva lot and he …..he may not be the guy you thought you knew, ok?’

Meredith braced herself. She’d gotten on famously with the brunette after a shaky start and she even secretly had the hots for him. She really didn’t want to see him sick in bed, but Dobey had given her very little information, preferring that his two officers had no preconceived ideas. As she walked into the room she let out a gasp.

When she’d worked with Starsky he’d been a six foot bundle of energy and charm topped by a curly wayward shock of mahogany hair, twinkling dark blue eyes and the most disarming smile she’d ever seen. The man before her now, clad only in navy blue pyjama pants was a shadow of his former self.

Starsky had managed to take a shower and wash his hair, although the water had stung fiercely at his wounds and so now his curls were once more their exuberant self. Nothing however could disguise the gaunt frame, the plough furrow ribs or the myriad of wounds across his chest and abdomen. He’d been sitting leaning back in the chair, eyes closed and fingers twitching against the bed, but as the party walked in he opened his eyes and looked towards the door.

He sat straighter in the chair forcing a smile onto his face as he saw Swanson, Grogan and Meredith.

‘Hey beautiful’ he said. ‘Hutch didn’t tell me Dobey was sending beauty and the beast’.

Meredith smiled and knelt down next to the chair, taking his hand in hers. ‘Bet you say that to all the cops’ she laughed.

‘Don’t get me wrong Shweetheart. He’s the beauty. Ya proved that day in the park that you’re the beast’. She reached up and gave his hair a playful tug.

‘Ok, well now we’ve found the level of the conversation, shall we get down to work?’

The brunette braced himself, tying hard not to show just how anxious he was about the process. Since he’d woken up in the hospital, he’d tried so hard to block out the memories of the fortnight in the disused church. He’d almost convinced himself that if he ignored it long enough, the whole episode would just fade away. But now here they were to rake it all up again. He took a deep breath, looking towards the door at Hutch for reassurance.

‘Ya gonna stay buddy? He asked softly.

‘Only if ya want me to’ the blond replied, both wanting and not wanting to know exactly what had gone on. He saw the almost desperate nod. For Gods sake please don’t leave me now Blondie.

He settled himself down into the chair in the corner and waited as Swanson took out a portable tape recorder and inserted a fresh tape.

‘Witness David Michael Starsky. Date 11th March 1975. Time recording started’ he looked at his watch ’14:07’

Meredith cleared her throat. ‘So, David. Tell me in your own words what happened to you from 24th February onwards’.

Hutch saw his partner’s hands ball into fists as Starsky tried to settle back in his chair.

Starsky closed his eyes, suddenly embarrassed at having to tell everything that happened to him. ‘Hutch had been under cover in a group called the Northern Stars. I was running back up and I heard shots in the old factory. I went in, saw Hutch had been shot, made an arrest – One Aidan Ryan – and went with Hutch to the hospital. After a while when he wasn’t getting any better, the Doc sent me home and my Army pal Thomas Trafford came by to keep me company. We visited Hutch again, came home from the hospital and went back to my apartment. We went in, two guys jumped us. Quinn and Podraig (Pat) Ryan, Ade’s brother’.

‘They held a gun at my head while they forced Traff to inject both of us with a sedative and next thing we knew we were tied to pillars in some kind of disused church.

After God knows how many days, you guys showed up and now I’m here’.

Meredith leaned forward. ‘You said you were there almost two weeks. Did they hurt you during that time?’

Starsky snorted and looked down involuntarily at his body. ‘Yeah, you could say that’.

She pressed on, seeing the sweat breaking out on the brunette’s brow. ‘Dave, I know this is difficult for you. But the court will need to know. How did they hurt you?’

Indigo eyes turned pleadingly to Hutch. He nodded his head in encouragement.

‘Where do ya wanna start? They tied me to a table and asked me a shit load of questions and when I didn’t answer as they wanted me to, Quinn dug his elbow into my stomach a few times’.

He heard Swanson talking into the microphone in a low tone. ‘Subject had multiple bruises across abdomen resulting in ruptured spleen’.

‘Go on’ Meredith urged, seeing how difficult for Starsky to tell everyone of his experiences.

‘When that didn’t work, they took me into a cell with a sink in the corner. They dunked my head under the water a few times, then the last time, they punched me in the kidneys and I took a lungful of water. I kinda passed out then’ he said ruefully. He glanced over at Hutch. It was the blonde’s turn now to ball his hands into fists. Hard as it was for Starsky to relate, it was equally hard for his partner to have to hear about all the mistreatment he’d not been there to see.

Starsky was continuing, just needing to get to the end of the statement.

‘After that, they went back to tying me to the table. They used a Tazer on me each time I answered their questions, but they wouldn’t let up. they went on and on, asking the same thing time after time. Just like a broken record, same thing all the time. And I tried to answer ‘em. I tried, but they just kept sticking that fuckin’ Tazer against me till I couldn’t think any more. Then I’d pass out, but when I woke up, they were still there…..still there…..still asking the same damned thing….same damned question.’ his voice tailed off into hopelessness.

Hutch braced himself. Don’t ask Joan. Please don’t ask. He’s done enough. There’s enough on the tape. Please don’t push it.

But the woman was nothing if not thorough.

‘What did they ask?’ she said gently, her hand on the brunette’s arm feeling the tremors as they shook the man she’d known as one of the bravest on the force.

He looked at his lap, then closed his eyes against the memories. ‘Don’t…I can’t…..don’t want…..’

Hutch rushed forward, pulling Meredith away. ‘Can’t you see he’s done enough? You’ve got enough on your tape now to nail those suckers and throw away the key. Just leave him alone now huh?’ he pleaded with the woman cop.

Meredith saw the look in the blonde’s eyes, but tried one last time.

‘Dave? What did they ask you?’ she ducked down till she could see the weary face, smiling encouragingly.

Starsky was lost in his thoughts and refused to look at her. She stood up stiffly. ‘Ok. That’s fine. We just need the photos now. Can you lie on the bed honey?’

Starsky didn’t seem to have heard her and Hutch put his hand on his friend’s arm, pulling gently. ‘Starsk, just lie down a while and they can get their photos huh? C’mon buddy, that’s it’.

The injured cop levered himself out of the chair and lay down mechanically on the bed, arms above his head as he stared at the ceiling, giving Grogan a good view of the burns and surgical scars. He lay stock still as the photographer pushed and pulled him around, getting the lighting right and the best angles. He never said a word, just stared at the ceiling, but Hutch could see the hands twitching again and knew the warning signs.

Roughly he pushed Grogan away. ‘Ok, ya got your evidence. Just leave him alone now huh?’ he said as he stood by the bedside, longing to give his partner some comfort. Meredith stood at the other side, her hand resting on the bed.

‘That’s it Starsky’ she said quietly. ‘Just a final thing’.

Hutch braced himself. No Meredith Don’t. Please don’t do this. Please?

But the cop wasn’t privy to Hutch’s thoughts and pressed on. ‘Tapes not running now, Starsky. But I’m curious. Ya want to tell me what they kept asking.

Oh god lady. Ya had to ask.

Hutch saw his partner’s hands contract into fists, grabbing handfuls of the pillow close to his head. He started to mumble, quietly at first but getting louder.

‘Three lights……two hundred and seventy five tiles on the ceiling……fifteen bars on the bedhead…….three lights, or was it four?...no three lights……saw three lights….’

The curly head was thrashing from side to side on the pillow as Hutch roughly pushed the woman away from the bed and took hold of his partner’s shoulders.

‘Starsk? Starsky, c’mon buddy, stay with me here huh? Starsky, don’t…ssh….don’t count….’ He looked at the three cops in the room.

‘GET OUT’ he yelled at them as they made for the door, shock on their faces. He saw a look of panic in Meredith’s eyes and concern on Swanson’s face. ‘Get the nurse….NOW’ he yelled, going back to his partner.

‘Three lights……seven button on shirt……..one clock, but three……three lights’ the mumbling became more feverish and Hutch picked his partner up in his arms, clutching the body to him.

‘Sssh partner….s’ok….don’t count. Please stop. Don’t do this babe, please don’t. It’ll be ok……Ssh’

He felt the brunette’s body pull away from him and looked around desperately for the doctor, fighting with his partner on the bed, trying to hold him down as Starsky’s ramblings became more violent.

‘I saw three….mother fuckers….three. There were three and you know it……three damned lights and you know it….’ Starsky was panting now as though he’d run a marathon and nothing Hutch could say seemed to penetrate the nightmare world he was suddenly trapped in. Hutch tried to hug him again, but Starsky pushed the blonde away, fear in his stormy eyes.

‘No….get away from me…..you left me, never came back…..I told you there were three, but you wouldn’t believe me’ he sobbed, hands fighting the blond away.

The doctor rushed in hearing the shouts from down the corridor. He took one look at the state of his patient and rushed out again, returning moments later with a loaded syringe. Hutch looked on in horror.

‘Don’t give him that Doc. For Gods sake don’t drug him. Just help me calm him down’ he pleaded still struggling with the brunette on the bed.

But Mark ignored the blonde’s cries and plunged the needle into the vein standing proud on the injured cop’s neck. Hutch put his arms around Starsky rocking him as slowly the drug took effect and he felt the body sag against him, the ranting finally ceasing. He laid the body gently down on the bed, and stroked the sweat slick hair back from his partner’s face. Starsky looked peaceful now, but Hutch turned on Mark

‘What did ya have to do that for? You didn’t need to drug him. That’s you doctors answer to everything isn’t it? Just stick a needle in and everything will be ok? But it won’t will it? Ya could have just helped me while I talked to him….’ He slumped onto the chair in despair.

Mark knelt by Hutch’s side. ‘Dave’s had a bad time. This was always going to be tough on him. Right now he needs complete rest and the only way to ensure that is to sedate him. And you need rest too. I’m ordering you to go home and get a full nights sleep. He won’t wake for a while now and when he does, I’m going to give him another dose. Now go’.

Hutch was spent. He had no fight left in him to reason or bargain with the doctor. He got up and stroked Starsky’s brow.

‘Just sleep Starsk huh? Be back tomorrow. Just rest babe’. And he turned and staggered from the room.

Chapter 6

‘Nurse, could you go and check on the patient in 402? He’s had a bad day and Mark gave him a sedative earlier. Just check his vitals and tell me if he looks like he’ll be needing another dose soon’.

The young nurse relished the task and smiled. Her usual workload did not include tanned, muscular extremely handsome men in the prime of their lives. She compared her patient against her other main man in 403, the overweight, sweating and pale Mr Ledgard. Hm….which should she check on first? No argument really. She’d been looking after Detective David Starsky since he’d been admitted and although usually extremely professional, the sight of a normally vital and virile man in a vulnerable condition made her feel distinctly hot under her collar

‘Is his friend still in there?’ she asked, thinking she may as well get a two for one. Although she had a preference for dark curly types, she wasn’t averse to blondes and this Hutch guy was cute in his own way too.

‘Mark sent him home. He needs his rest too. How the hell he ever recovered so quickly from that bullet! It’s a miracle!’

The nurse set off down the corridor from the nurses’ station, stopping outside the door of 402 to straighten her apron and tweak her hair. He may be sedated, but there was no point in taking chances! She opened the door and went in.

Starsky was laid as Hutch had left him, his ruggedly handsome face almost buried in the pillow and his hands still up by the sides of his head as if in surrender. The nurse took a moment just to admire her patient as she straightened his bed sheets. She reached out and took hold of the right hand feeling for the radial pulse, checking the beats against the second finger of her watch. 15 seconds later, she placed the hand back on the bed, mentally multiplying the beats by 4 to calculate his pulse rate. She reached for the chart and wrote 64.

As she watched she saw the eyes beneath the lids moving randomly and the lips moving as thought Starsky was talking to himself in his sleep. Leaning over the bed, she put a soothing hand on the brunette’s slightly damp brow and used her thumb to lift the left eyelid, shining her penlight onto the staggeringly dark blue iris.

The light galvanised her patient into action. Although Starsky had been sedated he’d been dreaming. They were painful dreams where once again he was tied brutally to the hard wooden table as Quinn beat him mercilessly, asking time and time again how many lights there were. But it went further than that. The evil man morphed into Dobey’s face asking how many arrests he’d made. Each time he tried to add them up, someone would stop him and both Dobey and Hutch laughed at his increasingly frantic attempts to calculate the sum. Then he was back with Quinn, the gangster holding the Tazer to his side again and again as he saw a sparkling bright light. He tried to shy away from it, but the light got brighter and brighter and he felt a hand on his head, stopping him from moving away.

As the nurse lifted his eyelid, she felt the body on the bed buck away from her and suddenly the brunette brought up his left fist, slamming it into the young woman’s chin, knocking her backwards and to the floor. As his assailant was knocked away. Starsky sprang from the bed, staggering in his confusion and leaning weakly against the bedframe. Frantically looking left and right for somewhere to hide, he saw the door, but also saw a shadow fall across it as the other nurses on the ward came to see what all the commotion was about.

The nurse in charge peaked into the room, seeing her nurse on the floor. As she was about to go in, Mark appeared, pulling her back by the shoulder. ‘Let me’ he said, knowing the state his patient had been in earlier. ‘And get me two male orderlies, I think I’m gonna need reinforcements’.

Stopping only to load a syringe with 100mg Thorazine, which he pushed into the pocket of his white coat, he stepped into the room.

Mark saw the body of the nurse on the floor by the now vacant bed and knelt down slowly to check on her. She blinked her eyes at him and he whispered to her to get out of the room. He watched as she crawled towards the door, then stood glancing around the room to find his patient.

Starsky was huddled in a corner, hunkered down on the ground, his arms held protectively around his body as his eyes stared wildly at the approaching doctor. He panted heavily; sweat trickling down the sides of his face as he fought his inner demons. Mark held out his hand in a friendly manner.

‘David? Are you alright?’ he asked.

Starsky stared at him, fear in his stormy blue eyes, his fingers twitching convulsively against his side. ‘Stay away from me Quinn’ he growled, levering himself up to a standing position with his back against the wall, hands flat on the smooth surface.

Mark realised what was going on in the curly head and kept his voice non confrontational and low. ‘It’s me, David. It’s Mark, the doctor. Remember?’

But the brunette was lost in his own world of pain and misery. ‘You’re not gonna get me again. I can’t go back to that. I’ll kill ya, you son of a bitch. Stay back or I swear I’ll kill ya’ the cop’s voice was getting louder as his fear and anger vied with each other.

The doctor took a step forward, his hand still outstretched and his voice low and level as he tried to penetrate Starsky’s tortured ramblings.

‘David, try to concentrate on my voice. That’s right. You’re in the hospital. Remember the hospital? You’ve been sick and you need to rest. I’m only going to help you. Nothing more. No-one here is going to hurt you, we just want to help you get well again. Will you let me help you?’ he asked.

There was indecision in the suffering eyes now and Starsky stared hard at the doctor as if trying to decide if he knew him or not. Mark felt as though he may be making some headway with the tormented cop and took another measured step forward, seeing Starsky press himself harder into the wall behind him as if wanting the wall to swallow him up and protect him.

‘It’s OK David. No problems, it’s just me; just Mark. Will you come with…’

He saw the eyes glance over his shoulder and knew he’d lost the momentum as Starsky braced himself against the wall again, panting harder now as the two orderlies came into the room and towards the doctor and his patient. Desperately Mark tried again as he saw the sweat glinting on the bare chest in front of him and leaving trails down the wall.

‘David….Dave. Fight this. You’re in the hospital. Remember the hospital? You’re with friends. Hutch was here. He’ll be back soon. Remember your partner? Quinn is gone. All the bad guys are gone, its just us’ Mark pressed, his voice a little louder and more insistent.

‘GET AWAY FROM ME’ Starsky yelled, looking left and right for some means of escape. He was scared of the three men coming towards him. He’d had two weeks of brutality and he couldn’t face more of the same treatment. They wanted him to tell them how many lights there were. He’d counted them time after time. There were three. He was sure of that, but they kept insisting there were four and his tired mind was just too confused to argue any more. He wanted to get out of the room. He needed to get out to stop these men from brutalising him again, but the men were coming closer to him.

Starsky let out a forlorn sob, unable to see any means of escape. The man in the centre of the group reached towards him and he punched out with all his strength. If he couldn’t escape, he’d go down fighting.

Mark and the orderlies cornered the sick detective and Mark reached out a friendly hand.

‘S’ok Detective. Just take some deep breaths and everything will be fine. Just concentrate on my voice ok?’

He saw the fear in his patient’s eyes and Starsky yelled at him

‘There are three fuckin’ lights and you won’t make me change my mind’.

Mark stopped. ‘That’s fine David. Three lights, that’s right, there are three. Now lets get you back to the bed huh?’ he motioned to the hospital bed, but all Starsky’s deranged mind saw was the hard wooden Altar table again, remembering his painful experiences while tied to it.

As Mark watched he let out a strangled yell and lunged at the doctor, almost knocking Mark off his feet. Immediately the two orderlies were upon the brunette holding him pinned against the wall. Starsky fought with all his strength and at one point looked as though he stood a remarkable chance of fighting off the two burly men, madness adding strength to his muscles, but inexorable, they drew him down onto the floor, and pinned him beneath their bodes

As the two men straddled the still fighting cop on the ground, Mark brought the syringe from his pocket and tried to get himself into a position to inject it into the appropriate part of Starsky’s anatomy. Sadly he looked at the still struggling, sobbing form on the ground. He’d been anxious that the cops mind would be damaged by his experiences, but he’d never imagined that it would be quite this bad. He knelt down near Starsky’s head, trying to see into the indigo eyes.

‘Dave stop this. Stop it now and they’ll let you up’ he pleaded as the two orderlies struggled.

‘Leave me alone…..just leave……please?...no more……..no more, please?’ the brunette pleaded, his words tugging at the doctors heart. Reluctantly, Mark drew out the syringe, knocking the air bubbles out of the barrel with his knuckle. He reached into the tangle of limbs and found the struggling cop’s arm, drawing it towards him.

Starsky felt the hand on his arm and saw the syringe. ‘Noo……please don’t…..be good…..don’t give me that…..……lights?...three lights…..three……three’ the voice tailed off as the plunger of the syringe forced the Thorazine into the muscle.

Gradually the struggling ceased and the mumbles tailed of into a final exhausted sob and the brunette’s body lay limply on the ground. The orderlies got up and gently moved Starsky back to the bed, laying him on his back. As Mark looked sadly on, they fastened the brown leather, sheepskin lined medical restraints around the cops wrists, ankles and chest and left their patient immobilised and defenceless.

The nurse who Starsky had hit came back into the room, a huge bruise blossoming on her chin. She smiled wanly at Mark and moved to the bed.

‘Will he be ok?’ she asked, stroking the wet curl away from the brunette’s brow. His face was still wet with the sweat from his struggles and she wiped it tenderly with a clean cloth.

‘I don’t know’ Mark said in a troubled voice. ‘It’s out of our hands now. He can’t stay here. I’ll go and make the necessary arrangements’.

He left the room leaving the nurse alone with her patient. Although she’s been scared, she understood the hurt this man was enduring. She leant down low by the unconscious man’s ear and whispered.

‘Just sleep, its ok. I forgive you’.

Chapter 7

Hutch awoke rested after the first decent nights sleep he had had in weeks. He’d been so angry at Joan Meredith for the insensitive way she’d treated his partner that he’d wanted to hit out and punch something or someone. As it was he’d gotten himself home and had taken it out on his bedroom wall, hitting out at the dumb plaster time and again, yelling at the injustice of it all until his hand was too sore to continue and his tears had run dry. This morning he saw the bloody trails down the wall and looked ruefully at the bleeding raw and swollen knuckles of his right hand. Not the brightest thing you’ve ever done Hutchinson.

But at least after his outburst he felt better; almost cleansed and he’d finally taken a shower and heaved himself wearily into bed to fall into a deep and for once dreamless sleep.

This morning he lay on his back staring up at the ceiling wondering how he could help his partner. How do you convince someone who’d been through what he had that it was all over and no-one was going to hurt him again? He had a nagging feeling at the back of his mind and as he thought about it more the feeling intensified. After five minutes or so he was so uncomfortable that he prised himself out of bed and padded into the living room. Picking up the telephone he dialled Memorial and asked to be put through to the fourth floor nurses station.

‘Nurse Genaro’

‘Hi Rosa, its Hutch. How’s Starsky today?’ he asked. There was a pause and then he heard Rosa asking where Mark was. She came back on the line.

‘Hi Hutch. I ...erm...I think you’ll need to speak to Mark. He’s around here somewhere’.

‘S’ok Don’t bother. I’m on my way’ Hutch said, more than ever aware that his feelings had been correct and that something had happened to his friend. He slammed the phone down and raced back into his bedroom, hastily climbing into his old jeans and a fresh green tee shirt. Picking up his car keys he headed for the door.

The drive to the hospital seemed to take for ever and every scenario imaginable went through the blond head as he drove, finally parking up in Memorial’s parking lot. Without waiting to lock the car, his long legs powered him into the building and up to the fourth floor, racing along the long, sterile looking corridor. Mark was waiting at the nurses’ station and saw the big blond heading into 402. He followed and reached the door just as Hutch came thundering out, questions in his ice blue eyes.

‘Where is he?’ he yelled at the doctor. ‘What have you done with him? Is he OK?’

Mark put a steadying hand on Hutch’s shoulder and steered him back into the room, sitting him down on the edge of the newly made bad.

‘He’s not here’ he said gently.

‘What d’ya mean he isn’t here? He was ok last night when I….when you ordered me to leave’.

‘I know’ Mark looked upset. ‘After you went, he was sleeping peacefully. The drug I gave him seemed to have quietened him down, but when one of my nurses checked on him he…erm….he became violent again’.

‘What d’ya mean violent?’ Hutch asked in a hushed tone.

Mark looked into the troubled eyes. ‘He hit her, then tried to escape’ he explained bluntly.

Hutch put his head in his hands, staggering back against the wall. ‘Oh God Starsk! Is he….Is she ok?’

Mark nodded. ‘She’s fine and she doesn’t want to press charges. She knows what he’s been through. But Hutch…..Ken….I can’t have him on the ward like that. He was just too dangerous. It took three of us to calm him down and an enormous dose of Thorazine to keep him quiet’.

Hutch looked up, accusation in his eyes. ‘You drugged him again? Just what else do I need to know?’

‘We….erm….we had to restrain him too’.

‘My God. I thought this was a hospital. Aren’t you supposed to treat sick people, not tie ‘em up and drug ‘em just because you think you can’t handle ‘em. I need to see my partner NOW’ Hutch yelled, on his feet and pacing the familiar room.

Mark sat quietly through the outburst. He’d seen and admired the closeness these two men shared and it had pained him greatly to have to drug and tie his patient like some sort of laboratory animal. He understood Hutch’s anxiety, and knew his next utterance would in no way calm the angry blond.

‘We had him committed to Cabrillo’ he said softly.

Hutch turned angry eyes on the doctor. ‘So help me Doc, if I ever lay eyes on you again, I’ll…..’ he left the threat hanging as he walked towards the door, slamming it behind him as Mark watched him go sighing.

Hutch raced back to his car, his heart hammering in his chest. He remembered the last time his partner had been a guest of Cabrillo State Facility and the helplessness in those dark blue eyes as the nurses had whacked him up on so many drugs he could hardly think straight. Then he’d been an undercover cop with Hutch as backup. That was bad enough, but this time, he’d be experiencing the real thing with no blond presence to ease the way and Hutch shivered.

As he drove over to the other side of the city, his mind was in turmoil. Not only was he angry at the way the system had dealt with Starsky, he was at a loss to know how he could help his friend. He only knew that he had to get him out of the mental hospital and get him home. Once there he’d treat him as he thought he should and hopefully the brunette would respond.

He drew up outside the huge iron gates leading up to the mental hospital and pushed the buzzer on the lintel. There was a delay and then a disembodied voice said ‘How can I help?’

‘Detective Ken Hutchinson to see a patient’ he said carefully and watched the gates swing open, He drove slowly up the sweeping drive and pulled up outside the facility’s front door. Getting out he bounced up the steps and rang the door bell. He heard footsteps echoing down the corridor and within seconds the doors opened and he went in. The orderly showed Hutch into a small interview room and a moment later a short, fat, balding doctor bustled in, mopping at his brow with a scarlet handkerchief. He held his hand out to shake Hutch’s.

‘Detective? How may we help?’ he asked. He had the sort of voice that calmed anyone within 100 metres and Hutch felt himself instantly warm to the small man.

‘My partner has recently been admitted. I need to see him and get him out of here. There’s been a big mistake’ he blurted out, realising belatedly how lame it all sounded.

The doctor, to his credit didn’t treat it that way, instead reading the need in the ice blue eyes staring back at him. ‘My name is Paul McGrail. And your partner would be David Starsky?’

Hutch nodded. ‘I need to see him. Have you any idea what he’s been through?’

McGrail nodded. ‘Yes, I read the file about David’s unfortunate treatment. He’s suffering from a classic episode of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. We’ve had to sedate him of course’.

‘What do you mean, sedate? He’s not a criminal, he’s just sick’ Hutch could feel his voice getting louder.

McGrail nodded. ‘I know. But he did knock out a nurse at Memorial out and the Thorazine he was given there was wearing off by the time we received him. For his own safety and the safety of my staff we had to give him more. He’s quiet now’.

Hutch heaved a steadying breath, trying to ignore the fact that his friend was once more subject to drugs and needles. ‘Doc, I need to see him now’.

The doctor saw the need in the blonde’s face and rose. ‘Come with me’ he said and set off down the endless white tiled corridors Hutch knew so well. The blonde’s heart sank as they turned toward the maximum security wing, hearing doors unlock then clang shut behind them and eventually stopped outside one of the locked doors

‘You can see him through the window’ McGrail said, pointing to a small observation hatch in the room’s door. ‘But prepare yourself. He’s been quite violent and we’ve had to take certain steps to maintain our and his safety.

With trepidation Hutch looked through the 10” x 10” square observation window, hitching a breath at the sight.

The room was a white padded cell perhaps 15’ x 15’ square. Soft white material padded the floor, walls and ceiling, the bright white light in the ceiling embedded into the padding so that there were no prospective ligature points in the room. There was no respite from the bright light and it cast stark shadows in the room.

Hutch turned away, his lips white with anger. ‘Let me in there now’ he ground out, angry beyond words.

McGrail was shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry Detective. He’s far too dangerous for anyone to go in there with him at the moment. He has an obsession to count, perhaps the beginnings of obsessive compulsive disorder. Perhaps in another few weeks when we’ve had a chance to observe and treat him, he can begin to…..’

‘Few weeks. FEW WEEKS?’ Hutch yelled. He balled his hands into fists to stop himself from hitting the doctor, feeling the wounds on his own knuckles open and begin to bleed again. ‘So help me Doc, you’ve got to let me in there’ he pleaded.

But McGrail was implacable. ‘He’s too dangerous’ he repeated, seeing the blond shaking his head.

‘That’s my partner you’re talking about, not some wild animal. He needs treatment not taming! We’ve worked together seven years. We’ve been through more tough times than most people have in a lifetime. There is no way Starsky would hurt me. Now for Gods sake, please…..Doc…..just let me in huh?’

Realising this blond hellcat would never take no for an answer. McGrail reluctantly took a key from his pocket and inserted it in the lock.

‘Just be careful and ring the bell if you need help’ he said gently.

‘What I need is to get him out of here’ Hutch said through gritted teeth, seeing the expression on the doctor’s face.

‘I’m sorry detective. He was sent to us as criminally insane. We have a duty to keep him at east 24 hours. I couldn’t even begin to contemplate release until tomorrow’. He opened the door and Hutch walked into the white hell.

Sound in the room was deadened and Starsky didn’t notice his appearance. Hutch’s heart went out to his partner, never having seen him so defeated, defenceless and vulnerable.

Because of his behaviour, Starsky had been placed directly into the padded cell. To further “protect” him, he had been strapped into a bright white canvass straight jacket, his arms pulled cruelly around him and anchored by leather straps at the back. A further strap went between his legs, fixing the jacket in place. His pyjama pants had been replaced by white scrubs pants and his feet were bare

Starsky was sitting where he’d been placed, on the ground, his legs outstretched in front of him and his head hanging down in exhaustion. What made the brunette’s incarceration worse was the method the hospital had used to stop the tormented man from counting items in his surroundings. As Hutch walked carefully over to his partner, he saw Starsky’s eyes had been taped shut.

Very cautiously he eased himself down next to the restrained man and put his arm around his partner’s shoulders.

‘Starsky?’ he whispered.

The hanging head raised a fraction and Hutch heard a muffled ‘huh?’

‘Starsk, its me, Hutch. Jeez babe, what have they done to you?’ he pulled his friend to him and Starsky blindly turned his weary head.

‘Utch?’ he mumbled ‘S’that you?’

‘Yeah it’s me Gordo. C’m’ere’ Hutch gently took hold of his partner’s chin, bracing himself as the brunette flinched back from his touch.

‘S’ok Starsk. I’m just gonna get rid of your eye patches’ he said gently, easing the tape from the damp brow and dark lashes. As each eye uncovered, Starsky blinked and looked blearily around him, finally resting his dilated pupils on Hutch.

‘Utch…..take me home?...please’