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Shattered Realilty
 

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Reality is not as Hutch knows it. Sweet Revenge story.

Very dark and foreboding story. Consisting of the death of one partner, and the ultimate destruction of the other.
 

As Hutch sat by Starsky’s bedside in the ICU, scanning all the instruments keeping his partner alive, Huggy’s word reverberated over and over in his head. Each tick of the ventilator sounding like a clock on a death watch. Each suction of air released from his partner’s lungs, represented his soul pushing its way out of the mortally injured body. Even the dripping of fluids from the I.V.s into Starsky’s veins, to Hutch echoed as if tears were dropping onto the cold linoleum floor. Trapped within each teardrop was Hutch’s love for his friend, his best friend in the whole wide world.

His vision blurred, his senses reeled, smells of illness and medicine assaulted his being. The sounds combined in Hutch’s mind to become overwhelming and weighty; the blood rushed from his face, bleaching his skin white as dead coral, and he passed out. His forehead thumped down on the cold, thin hand of his prone partner.

He was not aware of the suddenly screeching alarms and tones that came from the machines monitoring Starsky’s condition.

***************

What felt like a lifetime later, his perspective distorted, feeling completely defeated, Hutch found himself over the threshold of pain and odor of death into the screaming white hallways. His face was gaunt, pale; his eyes dulled by sorrow and pain. The mantle of weariness settled on his shoulders heavier than Atlas’ globe.

Sitting down next to his dejected Captain, Hutch propped his head into his left fist and quickly felt a nagging pressure in his forehead. He stroked the area with his left hand, his fingers moving continuously over creases that only an hour ago were not present. The cascading pain in his soul brought his right hand down hard and excruciatingly heavy in frustration against the bench’s armrest, grabbing the Captain’s attention. Dobey knew he needed to distract his blond officer from his all-consuming thoughts, if only for a few moments.

The somber superior sat with arms crossed over his round torso, the heels of his shoes not even touching the tiles, as if he expected he’d have to bolt quickly from the spot. He inhaled deeply, then let out an unfathomable sigh.

Looking over at his angered detective, he had to say something. "There’s not much I can’t do at headquarters that I can’t do here."

"Yep." Hutch agreed, not really sure what he was agreeing to, having barely heard the words as his fingers continued to massage his head and he stared helplessly at the floor.

"I think I’m gonna stay." Dobey paused till he saw a silent nod letting him know Hutch at least had heard him.

"Why don’t you go wash up, get something to eat," Dobey suggested, still feeling the need to distract Hutch from thoughts that were swirling out of control by the look on his face.

"Catch up with Huggy. He just went for some coffee." The words had no meaning until Dobey reached out and touched Hutch’s arm.

Somehow the Captain’s caring touch soothed his pain enough that Hutch found it in himself to raise up slowly off the bench, but it was as if he were scaling the highest of summits, and he looked as if he didn’t even recognize for a moment where he was. Mammoth sorrow twisted through his guts, hunching him over instantaneously.

Hutch’s reserve of strength was sucked dry. His mind questioning his action, in unending circles, that whirled around inside his brain like a worm in a windstorm. What could he have done? There had to have been something. Something else he could have done to protect Starsky. Shouts of warnings, and ducking his own head down using the Torino as a shield for himself, didn’t do a damn thing to help his unsuspecting partner. It just didn’t cut it. He’d failed Starsky. Failed him in the worst way one partner could fail the other. He left Starsky prone and open, unprotected as machine gun fire plowed him down to the ground.

The hospital lights above were bright and dizzying, and the slightest of movements jarred his head; sloshing his brain from one side to the other, making matters worse. Hutch felt unsteady, and confused, as he looked about the bleak corridor he now stood in. Unsure of what to do.

He twirled about, skidding on soft-soled shoes as they made a subtle squeal against the clean floors. People passed that had no faces. They were just nameless and meaningless bees, buzzing around him making no sense. Finally, Hutch snagged a nurse.

The young woman pointed directly to his left, wondering how this man could miss such a large clearly marked icon. She was unaware that in his grief, nothing was acknowledged, not even the simplest signs or symbols.

Stumbling to the doorway, the detective collided with a lab worker exiting the restroom. With a short apology, Hutch entered, the view of the large mirror the first thing he saw. Reflecting back at him was a figure of one, where there should have been two. There was no one to back him up, to stand beside him in the fight. Loneliness filled him, like footprints left in the sand, only to be washed over by the sea, disappearing forever.

Suddenly, something in his mind snapped.

***************

Leaning further into the sink to turn on the water, and cupping my hands to splash my face, I heard a drowning sob echo in my ear. Was that my sob or my partner’s? I kept washing my face as if the water would drain this whole nightmare. God damn it! It all happened so fast. In the blink of an eye our lives transformed. Quick as rain changes to vapor after a summer storm. His blood everywhere. Even under my fingernails. I couldn’t wash it away. I stopped trying and looked up to the mirror again. The reflection was still wrong. All I saw was the impending disaster that befell us only a short time ago. I swiped my tongue over my lips, sucking in a few drops of water, and I swore I tasted blood there. If I were paying more attention to the world around me, instead of yammering about dinner, he’d still be ali--he wouldn’t be in that hospital bed fighting for his life right now.

************

Hutch rejected the invitation to that world. He raced out of the restroom, flinging the door back hard enough to leave an indentation in the wall, and chased down the lab worker he had previously run into. Flinging his arms wide and pulling the startled man down by his legs, Hutch began pummeling him as white heat filled the emptiness of his soul and his mind, pushing out common sense.

Hutch was totally unaware when several uniformed officers, including Dobey pulled him off the stricken man, who scrambled away just as a doctor approached with a needle of Valium to calm the crazed detective.

Placed on a gurney inside the emergency room, half in and out of consciousness, Hutch was aware of little except the booming voice of his superior.

************

************

After a short time Hutch was left alone in the emergency room with his swirling thoughts and befuddled mind. He got up, wandering without realizing his destination was the 2^nd floor intensive care area. His footsteps echoed as hollowly as his heart beat, with every step down the stark hallways.

Stopping before the darkened room where Starsky lie, Hutch stared at the inert figure still on the gurney. The machines had been silenced, yet not removed; the sheet had been adjusted over Starsky’s head, yet the blanket still lay around his torso, wrapping him in warmth. With unnatural rhythm in his step, Hutch went into the room, and pulled the sheets back from the beloved face, in fear that his friend would not be to breathe.

Moments later, Dobey and Huggy found Hutch sitting beside the body of his partner, and pulled the stricken man out of the room, away from death, worried that it would be just a matter of time before the blond went over the edge.

Snapping out of his dreamlike stance, Hutch began to frantically pace the waiting room he now found himself in. Dobey tried to calm him by forcibly standing in the taller man’s way, with Huggy bringing up the rear behind Hutch.

"We do too. We take the offensive!" Hutch laid into his Captain with brute force.

Those words sent a shiver through Dobey’s spine, even though he was heated up by emotions and physical exertion.

A large bellow cut Hutch off, maybe with some authority thrown into his voice, Hutch would listen. "How!?" Dobey’s scream seemed to release all the hot air in his lungs into Hutch’s face.

Another visible shiver racked through the large Police Captain, nearly bringing him to his knees. He‘d lost one good man this day, he wasn‘t about to loose another. "For what, a bullet in the head? Hutch, if you go out there now it’s gonna be like shooting a duck in a barrel. Keep calm. Calm down and wait until I find you a new partner."

If any words could stop Hutch in his tracks, it was those. His eyes were cold and hateful as they bored into Dobey’s sympathetic brown ones. The voice attached to them just as hateful, yet tinged with hurt.

"I already got a partner." Hutch could hardly control the twitching muscles in his right hand. His fingers curled against the spasm of anger he felt toward his superior at that moment in time. His eyelids twitched in pain as well.

With a manic jerk and almost superhuman strength, Hutch broke free of Dobey’s hold, pushed away from Huggy, and stormed erratically down the hallway before he could let his fury fly hard and fast into his Captain’s face. He would always have a partner, and that partner’s name was David Michael Starsky.

Watching his insane-with-grief detective, Dobey waved his arm at Huggy, who was still standing silently behind. Dealing with his own one-two punch of grief for his dark haired friend, and worry for his light haired one.

Huggy gave Dobey a brisk nod, and followed Hutch into the restroom, both friends worried about any other reactions the grief-stricken man might have. After all, he’d already attacked one man in his insanity.

************

************

Huggy found the blond leaning stiffly against the restroom wall, hands behind his back, staring directly in front of him. He wasn’t sure if Hutch really saw him; his eyes gave no recognition. He was startled when Hutch’s spoke softly to him, the voice a gentle whisper of anguish and fading hope.

The words startled Huggy. He didn’t know how to tell Hutch that Starsky already was gone. Or if he should. Should he leave to get some help? Should he stay until Hutch came to the realization that his best friend was gone? Huggy’d lost friends before – and to violence - but never had two friends linked so close been separated so cruelly.

His friend seemed calm enough for the time being, so Huggy stepped to the door and without leaving the faux marbled room, stuck his head out to motion for another officer. There was no way he could handle Hutch if the distraught man flew off the handle. Huggy was wiry strong, but Hutch was all muscle. And grieving, which gave him greater strength.

Behind him, suddenly, there was a heavy thump that echoed in Huggy’s heart. Whipping his head abruptly, Huggy stood stunned as a small pool of blood slowly seeped from the left wrist that lay on top of Hutch’s right arm.

‘What the hell did he do?’ Huggy’s large brown eyes widened in shock and denial. ‘No way, not Mr. America. He wouldn’t do harm to his self.’ But the evidence was undeniable…

Glistening between Hutch’s fingers, Huggy saw a sliver of glass. Beneath the bright light and reflective mirror were shimmering ruby drops of blood on the offending glass.

************

************

"How?" Huggy muttered under his breath, as he reached for the would-be weapon of death, before an officer pulled his arm back. He shockingly wondered how things had gotten so bad. How things had all gone so awry? Both his friends didn’t deserve to get such a bad rap. He was having doubts about Hutch’s mental stability, but this? To make an attempt on his own life? He’d always known Hutch to be steady, grounded, controlled even in the heat of rage. Nothing could keep him down. But the death of his partner knocked the man’s entire disposition into a dark, dusky realm that seemed directly linked to hell.

Huggy knelt down toward Hutch looking to the wound, thinking his wrist looked like a freshly sliced mango. Medics who’d arrived quickly were placing wrappings around the wound in temporary first aid.

"Hutch, what the hell you think you’re doing?" Huggy treaded carefully while he watched a tinge of pink bleed through the gauze that was being applied.

"I’m trying to find out who shot my partner!" Hutch’s voice was loud as he hurriedly looked away.

Huggy was torn between his grief for Starsky and his worry for Hutch. He wanted to say so much to the man before him, but he thought better of it. Hutch would need to talk to doctors and counselors first. Huggy was afraid he would send the grieving man into deeper shock. How could he tell Hutch his partner was dead? Reality 101 was not Huggy’s specialty. He was afraid, but he had to try to break through the wall Hutch was building around himself.

"Hutch, Starsky’s not coming back." A piece of Huggy’s heart broke off as he said the words peering into Hutch’s heartbroken eyes.

"Dobey can stuff it!" Hutch choked out as he began to become distraught struggling against the medics who tried to keep him calm. "I’ll never take on another partner. He’ll come out of that coma. He’ll be back!" A silent tear slid down his face.

"Hutch, please he’s—"

"No!" Hutch convulsed, doubling over and wrenching in the hold he was in. Not wanting to hear the words. Digging himself deeper into his denial.

"Okay, Okay." Huggy soothed his own hurt against the unfairness making him wish he could hide from the fate of this day as well. "I’m sorry, Hutch, just let us help you."

The severity of the situation brought a strange coldness to Huggy; as he longed to wake from this nightmare he was now living in.

Hutch’s mind began its final retreat into a world of its own making. One where the sun always shines, the ocean water is warm, and loved ones never leave him alone and bereft.

************

************

Hutch found himself being wheeled down a long corridor. He hadn’t eaten a thing and the whole ordeal had sapped him dry. He didn’t want medical attention. It was only slowing him down from his true goal.

As his eyes closed in blessed, drugged relief, while the two white-clad interns restrained his limbs, Hutch glimpsed upon the cover of the magazine Huggy was holding. It portrayed a picture of Huggy’s latest crush…Jenny Brown, international model.

He was walking a fine line between reality and his made up world. A fine line between life and death. His mind departed from reality. He couldn’t handle the guilt. Couldn’t handle the pain. In his confused state Jenny Brown wasn’t just a model. She played a major role in the shooting of his partner. Hutch’s eyes took on a far off look as he built his case in his own distorted mind; his dreams remaining strong in their convictions.

************

Dobey was torn. He wanted to grieve for his assassinated detective, he wanted to be with his crazed and obviously suicidal friend and co-worker, and he needed to continue to run the precinct. Dragging a powerfully large paw over his lengthening jowls, the Captain wondered what the hell had happened. Was there a change in the moon’s pull on the tidal currents? Was God angry with them? Who sprang open Pandora’s box and inflicted all this pain?

"Captain Dobey, Captain Dobey!" An excited, hurried voice brought the large man from his reverie and he turned to find a young, slim red-haired officer running down the corridor toward him, ignoring the hushed warnings of stern-faced nurses.

The young man’s black shoes made short dark scuff on the tiled floor where he came to a skidding halt in front of the portly Captain. "We got a witness."

Dobey’s eyebrows scrunched up as the lines in his forehead gathered together in contemplation. "Witness?"

"Concerning Detective Starsky’s shooting."

"Well, don’t just stand there, give it to me!"

"Seems a local architect was surveying the area around the police station because he’s going to erect a new building, and he was taking pictures of the surrounding sight. On one of the pictures he captured the faces of the gunmen in the stolen police cruiser. We can thank the media for their coverage of the shooting. It alerted the man and when he developed the film, he quickly turned it over to the department. We were able to run enlarged pictures through the system, and came up with a match for both men."

Focused and with a purpose now, Dobey quickly ordered other officers to do his bidding. He gave strict orders to locate the suspects, set up a special interrogation room, track down any known associates and pull any prior arrest or conviction information.

Within a matters of hours, Dobey had enough for an arrest warrant for one James Marshall Gunther, for embezzlement, money laundering, predatory lending, bribery of federal and state officials, smuggling, extortion and first-degree murder.

It was rather simple to trace the steps of money filtering from Gunther to his assistant Mr. Bates, then to the lawyer for the organization, finally to the now known gunmen. Easily decoded letters were found on their premises. As an added bonus Mr. Bates caved with little coercion once he was found hurriedly packing.

The arrest warrant was delivered to Captain Dobey during a few down moments while he visited with his ill detective in the psychiatric ward.

Reviewing it with satisfaction, he handed it to Detective Connors. "It’s good. Go bring in James Gunther. I want him alive, but if he gives you a hard time, I wouldn’t mind if he came in shaken up. He’ll talk one way or the other." Dobey cleared his throat gruffly. "Just keep the body warm." He added in a menacing tone.

Conners grinned wolfishly at Dobey’s implication of bringing into play the use of threat and force to apprehend their suspect. "I hear ya, Captain. Good and clear. Mr. Gunther will be begging to tell us all he knows."

With more calm and contentment than he’d felt in several days, Dobey turned and watched his too-calm blond detective still restrained on the gurney. Hutch only stared vacantly at the ceiling, taking in shallow gasps of air.

Assured the wound Hutch inflicted upon himself wasn’t life threatening, the two black men left their friend restrained and sedated in the emergency room. Dobey needed to finish up the paperwork to release Starsky’s body and prepare his preliminary report for the prosecutor on the arrest of James Gunther; while Huggy tried to get the weary and wrought Captain to eat.

"You gotta eat. You just can’t keep going from day to day without putting something in your stomach." Huggy leaned over an elaborate picnic basket, one he usually reserved for his special dates, and pulled out some bananas.

"How about some fruit?" Another grab into the open container brought forth a deli sandwich. "We got some nice sandwiches."

There was little to no reaction from the pensive Captain; he was either lost in his thoughts, or staring into space with no thought to time or place.

Finally, Huggy got a reaction, though slight, little more than a raised hand to scratch his head. "I don’t know, Huggy. Been drinking a lot of coffee."

"Exactly. And all coffee and no solid food makes Captain a very shaky boy." Huggy lifted out a tupperware container and tapped it into the large hand, with little results.

There wasn’t much Huggy felt food couldn’t help make better, but this time his comforting skills were doing no good.

Meanwhile, little did they know that in his insanity, nothing…nothing was going to keep Hutch down or stop him from getting his man.

‘James Marshal Gunther’, that was the name that Dobey referred to that was behind the shooting of his partner. That was his prey. Thanks to some recent cases they’d worked on, Hutch knew where to find the man. Slowly, and calmly, he slipped his arms down to the side of the bed, and began to rub the cloth binding on his wrists against the sharp edge of the metal frame. With the strength of the insane, it wouldn’t take long for him to break free.

Other than removing his shirt, the nurses hadn’t disrobed him entirely, so after making short work of the bindings on his ankles, Hutch jumped off the gurney looking for his shirt. Ignoring the pain and soreness in his wrists, he buttoned the cuffs around the straps and dressings. He didn’t even think of anyone coming in to catch and stop him. Right now, his mindset was focused on one purpose – revenge, however sweet.

Once finished dressing, Hutch patted himself down, feeling for the familiar, comforting weight at his side. Not finding his gun, he realized the nurses probably removed the weapon when they took his shirt and jacket. Scanning the small curtained area brought no results for the misplaced weapon. ‘Damn it. Dobey must’ve confiscated it.’ Telling himself he needed the protection the weapon brought him, Hutch came up with another idea to obtain a gun.

His mind clear in intent, even as it was clouded in reality, Hutch realized that Dobey probably left a guard outside the room. "Hey! Hey, someone!" He hoped his guard would come in alone, rather than send a nurse or worse, Dobey himself.

Luck – as he saw it – was with Hutch, as a young, sandy haired uniformed officer stepped through the curtain divider, looking for the older, supposedly restrained cop. Instead, the young man saw only a rumpled bed with remnants of cloth straps, one with brownish stains. From behind, Hutch clasped both his hands together using them as a weapon, and brought them to land sharply at the base of the officer’s neck, putting him down quickly and quietly.

Hutch took the officer’s pistol and snuck out of the room, hastily looking for his friends. He didn’t even bother trying to hide the prone figure of the officer before he left. There was no compulsion for him to look for his badge. He didn’t need one for what he had planned.

Finding out where Gunther lived was relatively easy; Hutch just called the precinct and asked for Sergeant Wilcox, who – after offering his condolences – looked up the address in their records. Out of respect for Hutchinson, Dobey hadn’t let the precinct know of his mental condition.

The setting sun with its streaming rays glowing behind Gunther’s palatial Georgian-style home, was in conflict with the dark war in Hutch’s heart. Many times in the last year, Hutch had felt weighted down by the clouds looming in his soul. Too many lives lost, too many people overrun by society, too many used by the system. Often only Starsky could force the darkness away. But nothing compared to the battle raging inside him currently on this day.

Inside the opulent home, J.M. Gunther waited for the official visit from the expected Bay City Detective, once he was aware that the details of the hit were out.

"Sir?" A small Hispanic man, dressed in an immaculate white tuxedo jacket roused him from his thoughts.

"Good. Show him in. That’ll be all Thomas." He wanted no witness to his downfall, no pitying looking from his loyal employees.

With but one goal in mind, Hutch opened the door purposely. The calm, collected manner in which he entered at odds with the raging storm inside him.

"James Gunther." The words were quiet, composed. Hutch’s face and manner was determined.

By the terminology of the words, Hutch assumed that the elusive ‘Mr. Bates’ had been disposed of. ‘Was he the means to the killing? The contact?’ Hutch wasn’t sure, but his objective wasn’t the hired hands, but rather the man sitting behind the large oak desk in front of him.

"No. I come with another purpose." It was now obvious that Hutch’s calm demeanor had been a façade. "What do you say we go another route?"

Hutch pulled out the cuffs that he grabbed from the officer he had subdued at the hospital, and flung them across the desk. His intentions did not call for their use. Hutch then reached for the ‘borrowed’ gun.

Simultaneously, Gunther sat up straight and raised his hands slightly.

In Hutch’s mind, he saw a gun in Gunther’s right hand. A gun aimed right at him. "You mean to kill me? Try it." Gunther’s face paled as the pinkness raced from his cheeks, turning them pasty as glue as he stood struggling with the reality of life and death, looking down the long nose of the barrel of a gun.

Gunther’s face flickered with confusion, like a candle’s flame nearing the end of its wick, eating away at the last droplets of wax, but his body remained still.

"You tried to kill my partner how many times? You kill me, he’ll come after you. Kill him, there’ll be somebody else. There’ll always be somebody else." Hutch spat, as his voice traveled around the room leading his own soul into battle.

With a slight curl of his upper lip, Gunther blew caution to the wind. Detective Hutchinson was an official officer of the people. He wouldn’t do anything to harm him. It was his duty to make sure that his prisoner remained safe. "I already killed your partner."

A gun went off, and two lives ended.

With one solid shot. One flare of fire, and with no thought behind his actions, Hutch had pulled the trigger. That’s all it took to stop Gunther’s black lacquer heart from beating, that’s all it took to seal the remaining partner’s fate.

I tossed the warrant down on Gunther’s desk, as if the bleeding corpse was still in this world. "You," the words spoken slowly. "Have the right to remain silent."

Hot on the trail of his runaway, mad detective, Dobey entered James Gunther’s office, warrant held with firm conviction in his right hand. What he witnessed, what sent his heart plummeting to the other end of the world, nearly sent him to the ground.

"Oh my God, Hutch. What have you done?" Dobey’s fingers went lax, releasing what they held so fervently.

The warrant flapped like shadowy wings shot from the sky to the carpet, as if caught in a time warp, fluttering through all the ages.

Hutch sat slouched in a chair in front of Gunther’s desk with his chin touching his chest and his eyes shut. His left hand gripped the armrest on the chair, his right hand dangled toward the floor holding fast to the gun that still released a small swirl of fresh smoke from its barrel.

Dobey looked up across from Hutch, Gunther’s head lay sideways, his right cheek pressed against the expensive mahogany desk. Blood the color of dark red paint slowly crept out from beneath the body. It inched its way over the wood until it slithered under a pair of silver handcuffs, that were chaotically tossed to the desktop.

The blood, which almost seemed living as it flowed, dotted the shiny circlets, tarnishing them forever. The white knight had fallen from his steed into a puddle of death, and a sea of hurling spray, that would forever be tainted red. Tainted red by the blood of his partner, Starsky. By the revenged blood of James Marshall Gunther.

Dobey sighed and looked around the austere room with its heavy curtains and dark wood paneling, as the crime lab team finished their work. How had it all come to this? Ken Hutchinson wasn’t the first to lose a partner to the streets, and unfortunately he wouldn’t be the last. In fact Dobey himself, lost a valued friend and partner.

Nothing could compare to the inner destruction of a valued officer to the point that he committed a first degree felony. Even when they busted Lt. Fargo and his gang of vigilantes wasn’t as bad, and that consisted of many officers’ involvement. Only once in his 28 year career had a scene affected him so. And that was the death of Elmo Jackson.

The image of Hutch before he was wheeled away in an ambulance tightly bound, was one that would stay with the police captain for a long time. Disheveled, pale, eyes blank and clouded, mouth moving with words spoken rapidly. Most of the mumbling was incomprehensible, but Dobey was sure he heard the phrase ‘We got ‘em Cap’n’ once or twice.

This time there was nothing Dobey could do to help his detective. No interference could be run, not that Hutchinson would want any. No covers or excuses to be made. The detective wasn’t just lost to the department, but to his loved ones also.

At least Hutch would be relieved of the shame of a hearing and the horrors of prison. He was in a prison of his own making, one where the bars were images of his dead partner. He’d never get close to those bars, therefore his mind was locked away forever. Any layman could see that.

Once Hutch’s wrist was healed and a formal ‘interview’ with the department psychologist to put an official stamp on Hutch’s illness, off to San Leone Mental Institution for the Criminally Insane he’d go.

Dobey just hoped the same doctor that treated Captain Jim was not on staff. If so, he’d make sure that the man had no access to Hutchinson.

And he would make time to go visit with Hutch once in awhile. Huggy Bear probably would also.

As the crime lab team finished up and left the room, Dobey followed slowly behind. Dreading to make yet another phone call, to another cop’s family. Two in two days. That was more than enough for any man. Maybe it was time for a long vacation; once Starsky and Hutch were settled in their new ‘homes’.

In Hutch’s mind he lay next to Starsky, in a hospital bed. Just being next to his friend kept him warm and happy. He felt punch drunk, like someone had given him four painkillers.

The Captain and Huggy Bear came often and usually brought along food. Hutch didn’t want to eat any of the gray hospital food, and he didn’t want his partner eating it either. After his last visit, Huggy Bear had left his silver tureen. Tonight, Hutch grabbed it from the chest of drawers and set the empty tray on his lap, looking at place where the stuffed veal had sat previously.

Whether he was thinking of the food or the image of his best friend next to him in the bed, Hutch didn’t know.

Just before the ‘lights out’ call, his nurse stopped in, and Hutch – hating to see her blank face and hear her whiny voice – ducked under the covers.

"She’s gone, Blintz. You can come out now." He was sure that was Starsky’s voice.

Peeking out from his cover’s to check, brought the nurse back.

How could the woman be so stupid? Hutch thought as he pulled himself back out from under the blanket. He was lying in a bed with his partner, and there was a tureen of food on their lap. Looking around for something to drink, Hutch leaned over and pulled the plastic cup on his bed and handed it to his friend. If it was a crystal wine glass, it wouldn’t have looked so good in Starsky’s hand.

"There’s nothing there." His partner stated the obvious, but Hutch was unable to answer him as Captain Dobey snuck into the room with all the grace of an elephant running from ivory hunters.

"Cap’n. You could give a guy a heart attack." Hutch cringed at the words as Dobey made himself comfortable in one of the chairs by the bed and proceeded to unwrap a tray of cold cuts.

Behind the captain came Huggy Bear, holding his jacket tight in the middle. "Cheeze it, fellows. There’s a huuuge nurse on my tail."

Needing some light, but not wanting to disturb the night nurses or guards, Huggy hung a camping light from the ceiling; attaching it to a fire sprinkler.

There was something comforting in Hutch’s mind about the four of them being together again. Something ethereal, as if it wasn’t real. Dobey and Huggy sneaking in after work wasn’t unusual, but the atmosphere, the aura was different from most times that they visited. Safer, happier, more relaxed.

Without warning the flame and smoke from the lantern triggered the sprinkler and like a flash, a downpour erupted over the bed. When the lantern was hastily removed and the veil of water faded away, the image of reality opened to Hutch like the sun appearing after a quick rainfall.

The room was blank and pristine, occupied by Huggy and Dobey eating their dinner at the small table next to the bed. There was no wine, no veal, no lantern. An empty tureen and an empty bed.

It was all so stupid and pointless. To be young, only to turn old. To see, only to become blind. To know the sight of a blue sky, and then see it destroyed by gaseous pollutants. To smell the flowers that only wither to the poison we let seep into our dirt. To smell the sweet air, only to cut down forests of life giving oxygen. To crave the splash of fresh water, only to dump our toxins into it, depriving our own survival. To be born, only to die. To fall in love, only to lose it – somehow, someway. To stand up for honor, fighting forthright law that man has deemed to be trust and justice. Only to end up in the ground under an unmarked grave or on some marble wall. To build up, only so that someone else may tear down. What did you get for it all?

THE END

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