Disclaimer: This story was written for entertainment
only. No money is being made from
it. No infringement on any copyright(s)
is intended.
©
6/2001
Catherine
parked the car by the side of the road and walked onto the bridge. It was quiet
this time of night. No traffic to speak of. She went to the rail and looked
down. The water was shallow at this end of the bridge, and the rocks at the
water's edge far below looked ominous in the light of the full moon.
Her
heart pounded in her chest and her breath came quickly. The wind stirred her
hair, but she didn't notice, even when it flopped over her face. She wondered
if it would hurt much, or if it would just be a moment's sharp agony and the
pain would finally stop. Not the physical pain. That didn't worry her much, not
if it would stop the pain inside.
A
plane passing overhead made her look up and broke the spell. Now was not the
time. Not today. But soon, she thought, looking down again and watching the
water flow over the rocks. Soon.
Hutch
had never known why Starsky objected so strongly to working on Sunday. Somebody
had to, and it wasn't like he was missing church. Starsky rarely went to temple services and then only on big
holidays like Yom Kippur. Jews didn't even attend church services on
Sundays. Their service was Friday
night, so if this was a religious thing, why didn't Starsky seem to mind
working on Saturdays instead? Why was
working Sunday such a big deal?
Right
now, Starsky was muttering and complaining as he always did when they drew a
Sunday shift, waving his hands at people they passed who apparently weren't
working and listing all the things he could be doing if he weren't working. And
he'd lost his favorite pair of jeans.
He moaned and groaned about that between bouts of complaining about
working.
"I
know I had 'em last time I done laundry," he said for the third or fourth
time. "I've looked everywhere. I remember puttin' 'em away in the closet
where I keep all my jeans and now they're just not there!" Starsky slapped
his leg for emphasis. "Losin' my favorite jeans AND having to work on
Sunday. It just ain't fair,
Hutch!"
Hutch
bore it in silence as long as he could, but when Starsky continued to grouse
and mentioned "fishing" as one of the activities he could be
participating in on a sunny summer Sunday, Hutch snapped.
"Oh,
come on, Starsk," he groaned, glancing over at his partner, slumped in the
passenger seat dejectedly. "You hate fishing. It's just an excuse for you
to hang around by the water and watch the bikinis go by."
"Not
true!" Starsky protested, unaware that Hutch had been tuning out most of
his whining. "I like fishing."
"Oh,
yeah?" Hutch challenged. "You wouldn't go with me and Kiko last
Sunday when we were off work."
"I
figured you and him needed some time alone," Starsky said.
"That's
crap and you know it," Hutch said. "You didn't think we needed to be
alone
when we went to Disneyland two weeks ago, did you?"
"I
figured you needed help watching him there," Starsky said, a little
feebly.
Hutch
rolled his eyes. "He's a teenager, Starsk, not three!"
"There's
all kinds of crazies out there that might snatch a teenager -- "
Hutch
made a sound deep in his throat and Starsky halted.
"All
units," the radio interrupted. "Man with a gun, possible hostage
situation, Grant Park. All units in the vicinity. Use extreme caution. Possible
5150."
A
5150 was a mental case. And this one was armed. Hutch hit the siren and Starsky
threw the light on top of the car as they sped away.
They
arrived with several other cars, and across the park, by the picnic tables,
they could see an older man and a teenage girl. The girl didn't seem to be a
hostage; the man was six or eight feet away from her, the gun dangling loosely
from one hand.
"What's
going on?" Hutch asked of the nearest uniformed officer.
"The
girl called in," the officer said. "That's her granddad and he's threatening
to kill himself."
"Has
anybody tried talking to him?"
The
officer shook his head. "Not yet."
Hutch
glanced at Starsky and the two of them walked toward the man, slowly. But
first, both took their guns out of the holsters and slid them into their belts
at their backs.
When
they were almost within earshot, the man saw them and started backing away.
"Leave me be!" he cried, his voice trembling. "Don't try to stop
me!"
"Easy,
man," Hutch soothed. "We just want to talk to you."
"Grandpa,
please," the girl begged, tears running down her face. "Please don't,
Grandpa!"
"What's
his name, honey?" Hutch asked the girl, lowering his voice.
"Harry,"
she said. "Harry Douglas."
Hutch
nodded. "Okay. What's yours?"
"Krista."
"Okay,
Krista, get behind my partner there," Hutch said, holding out his hand for
her to take. "Just for safety's sake, please?"
"But
Grandpa..."
"Let
me try talking to your grandpa. Please."
Krista,
her lips trembling, finally nodded and backed toward Starsky. He took her hand
from Hutch and put her behind him.
"Kneel
down, Krista," Starsky whispered to her. "And stay down, okay?"
She
nodded, and Starsky reached behind him for his gun. Hutch motioned for Starsky
to stay back and be ready, while he moved forward another couple of steps.
"Harry,
let's talk about this," Hutch said. "Think about it. You don't want
Krista to see this, do you? Take it easy. Maybe we can help you. Why do you
want to die?"
"You
can't help me," Harry said, shaking his head. Every time Hutch took a step
toward him, he took a couple more steps away, keeping a distance between them.
"Krista,
is there anything you can tell me that might help Hutch talk to him?"
Starsky whispered to the girl.
"I
think it's 'cause of Grandma," Krista whispered back, her voice still
trembling from her tears. "Ever since she died, he's been depressed, but
we kept thinking he'd be all right eventually."
Starsky
nodded and pitched his voice low so Hutch would hear him, but maybe Harry
wouldn't. There were about ten yards between Hutch and the man now.
"Hutch, it's his wife," Starsky called softly. "She died."
Hutch
inclined his head once to show he'd heard, and took another step toward Harry.
"Look," he said, going for a friendly, casual tone, "maybe I can
help. Tell me what's wrong. Is it your wife?"
Harry's
face seemed to collapse, and tears started to fall. "No! Don't you mention
her!" He raised the gun and laid it under his chin. Hutch could see his
finger twitching on the trigger. Krista gasped, and Starsky reached behind him
to grab her arm just before she rose.
"Stay
down, Krista!" he ordered sharply. "Let us handle this."
Hutch
put both hands out in front of him in a conciliatory gesture. "Harry, come
on. Give me the gun."
"No!"
Harry backed up again. He was almost in the thick trees that lined the park on
one side. If he went much further, the other cops waiting a distance away
wouldn't be able to see what was going on. "You don't understand!"
Harry said, his voice breaking. "You don't know what it's like."
"I
might," Hutch said. "She's gone, Harry. I know it hurts. I lost
someone, too. You feel like your guts are hanging out. But it gets easier,
Harry. It does. And she wouldn't want you to do this. I know she
wouldn't."
Harry
shook his head, and just as he seemed to be bringing the gun down, away
from
himself, he glanced toward Krista and very deliberately pulled the trigger. She
shrieked and ran toward him, but Hutch caught her and held her back. His face
was drained of all color.
"No,
sweetheart. Don't. You don't want to see it. You don't want to remember him
that way."
"Grandpa!
Grandpa!" she sobbed and fought Hutch, but he held on grimly. He glanced
toward Starsky and the other cops, behind him, who were running toward them
now.
Starsky
turned and motioned to the other cops. "Get an ambulance down here!"
He yelled. The one who had spoken to them went back to call, and Starsky went
to Hutch. He laid his hand on his partner's shoulder, feeling the tension and
the trembling there, and looked toward Harry. It wasn't pretty. The bullet, a
large caliber, had made a mess of him. His whole head and face were covered
with blood. Just to make sure, Starsky felt for a pulse. There was none. Harry's eyes were open and staring at the
sky. Starsky pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and laid it over Harry's
face. He turned back around, and Hutch was still standing there, holding the
sobbing girl. Starsky went back to him. "You okay, buddy?"
Hutch
nodded, but the pallor of his face and the rapid pulse beating in his throat
belied the gesture. Starsky squeezed his shoulder again as they heard the sound
of approaching sirens.
Starsky
gave a gentle tug on Hutch's arm and steered him and Krista to a picnic table
to sit down. She was crying so hard she couldn't speak, and Hutch just held
onto her, his arms around her, one hand absently stroking her back. But Hutch's
eyes held the blank, dazed expression of someone in shock. Starsky didn't like
that look at all. The attendants rushed past them with a stretcher, and Hutch
gently turned the girl so she couldn't watch as they loaded her grandfather
onto it and covered him with a sheet. The blood on his face and head soaked
through the sheet.
The
other cops started back to their cars, leaving Starsky and Hutch alone with the
girl to await the crime scene team. She was still crying, but her tears had
slowed to a trickle.
"Can
I call your parents for you, sweetheart?" Starsky asked when it appeared
she'd be able to answer.
She
sniffled and wiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands. "Yeah.
555-0122."
Starsky
nodded and jogged back to the car to ask the dispatcher to call. When he
returned, Hutch was still holding the girl, who clung to him as if she couldn't
bear to let go. By the time the crime scene team arrived and started to collect
evidence, her parents had arrived. They listened in stunned silence as Starsky
explained as gently as possible what had happened, and they finally took Krista
away.
Hutch
continued to sit on the picnic table in silence, watching the crime scene team
as they took photos, measured, and collected leaves and grass with bloodstains
on them.
For
several minutes, Starsky sat down beside him and watched them, too. Finally, he nudged him. "Hutch? We're
done. Let's go."
Hutch
blinked a couple of times as if to bring himself back to reality. "He shot
himself, Starsk. Right in front of me. And that poor kid!"
"I
know."
He
shook his head and wearily rubbed his eyes. "I couldn't stop him."
"You
tried."
"It
wasn't enough."
"It's
not your fault," Starsky said. "He wanted to die. Maybe he's at peace
now."
"But
what about that poor kid?" Hutch turned his eyes to Starsky and while the
dazed look was gone, a deep pain had replaced it. "Can you imagine
watching your grandfather shoot himself? She can't be more than 14 or 15!"
"You
did everything you could, babe," Starsky said, sliding an arm around Hutch
and gripping his arm with the other hand.
Hutch
shook his head. "It wasn't enough," he repeated. "It just wasn't
enough."
Starsky
looked at him, concerned about the guilt trip on which the blond man was just
embarking. He knew Hutch had a tendency
to blame himself for things - even things completely out of his control. Giving Hutch's shoulder a reassuring
squeeze, he said, "Look at me."
Hutch
had dropped his face into one large hand and he didn't respond to Starsky's
order to look up at him. Instead, he
sat disconsolately with his eyes covered, as if masking them could somehow keep
Starsky outside the circle of his pain.
Starsky
let go of him and knelt on the ground in front of Hutch, looking up into his
face. He gently pulled Hutch's hand
away and his heart lurched at the sight.
"I
said look at me, buddy. This ain't your
fault. You're a good negotiator. You're so calm and collected in situations
like this. But, Hutch, that man was
beyond your help. He wanted to die --
wanted it more than anything. He'd gone
past caring what happened to anyone else.
As long as it was over for him."
Hutch
stared at him, almost blankly for a few moments. Then, he wearily nodded his comprehension, if not his
agreement. Starsky stood up and held
out a hand to him.
"Come
on, buddy. Let's get out of
here." Hutch gripped his hand as
if it were a lifeline. He allowed
Starsky to pull him to his feet and he followed him back to the car. One look at the slumped shoulders and pained
expression told Starsky this trip was only beginning.
Though
his first instinct was to clock them out and take Hutch home, he decided
instead that maybe moving through the motions of wrapping up this incident
might help him snap Hutch out of his funk before it became too serious. Starsky drove them to Metro and led the way
inside where they would file a report.
Hutch numbly followed him into the building and up to the squad room. He sat down at the typewriter and put a
report form in the platen.
"Hutch,
why don't you let me type it?"
Starsky asked.
The
blond shook his head. "I'll do
it."
He
started to type, but he kept stopping and looking at the paper in
confusion. Starsky was becoming
increasingly concerned as his friend moved like an automaton through the
motions of typing up their report.
Occasionally,
he asked Starsky a question.
"What
was his name, Starsk?"
"Harry
Douglas."
"Right."
Hutch
continued to type for a few minutes then paused again. "How old would you say he was?"
"Oh,
maybe sixty-five. You sure you don't
want me to type that?" Starsky was
beginning to think this was not such a good idea. He got up and poured Hutch a cup of the squad room's strong coffee. This particular batch looked like more like
used motor oil than coffee. During Hutch's
next typing pause, Starsky put the cup of semi-liquid stimulant into Hutch's
hand and said, "Drink it."
Hutch
looked at him and said, "Huh?"
"The
coffee in your hand, buddy. Drink
it."
"Oh,
okay." Hutch took a sip, making a
face, but no comment. He put the cup
down on the desk and continued to type.
"Be
right back, Hutch."
"Mmm."
Starsky
went down the hall to find a place to make a phone call. Being a Sunday, the station was quiet and it
didn't take him long. He dialed Captain
Dobey's home number from memory.
"Dobey."
"Cap,
it's Starsky." He knew his voice
had an edge to it and Captain Dobey noticed.
"Starsky? You all right?"
"Yeah,
I'm fine. Sorry to call you at home on
a Sunday, but I need to talk to you about something that happened today."
"Go
ahead."
"We
responded to an attempted suicide today, Cap.
Hutch tried to talk the guy down, but he had a gun and his mind was made
up before we even got there. Happened
at Grant Park. Guy just blew his head
off right in front of Hutch and his own grandchild."
"Oh,
boy." Dobey said. "How's the kid?"
"Messed
up. Cap, Hutch did everything he
could. You know how good he is at
that. This guy was done. No way anyone was talkin' him out of
it."
"He
taking it bad?"
"Bad
ain't the half of if. I can't remember
when I've seen him so shook. He's
sittin' in the squad room typing our report.
Reason I called is to ask for a coupla days off. He's not in any shape to be on the
streets. I just want to take him home
and try to get his mind off of it."
Dobey
sighed into the phone. "Sure. Plan on taking a couple of days. I'll see you on Wednesday morning."
"Thanks,
Cap."
"Call
me."
"Yeah." He hung up the phone and headed for the
candy machine. Maybe a little chocolate
fortification would help. Just as he
was yanking on the handle that would deliver his selection, he heard his name.
"Uh,
Starsky?" When he looked up, candy
bar safely in hand, Starsky saw Officer Gavin, a uniformed officer about ten
years Starsky's junior. The look on his
face was one of both worry and confusion.
"Somethin'
wrong, Gavin?" Starsky hoped it
didn't have anything to do with his partner, but his gut instinct was telling
him it did.
"I
think you'd better go check on your partner."
"Why?"
"I
went into the squad room after some paperwork and well, he's not lookin' too
good. He's kinda pale and sweaty and he
just spilled a whole cup of coffee all over the desk and his lap. He's just sort of staring. I tried to talk to him, but he won't answer
me."
"Thanks." Starsky stuffed the unopened candy bar in
his pocket and rushed down the hall toward the squad room.
When
he skidded into the room, he took in the exact sight Gavin had just
described. Hutch looked shocky and he
was sitting at the typewriter with his hands in his lap. Staring. The coffee cup was on its side and
its contents still dripped off the edge of the desk. Starsky carefully approached his partner.
"Hutch? You all right?" Starsky grabbed some napkins and started to mop
up the mess, sopping up the liquid that was threatening to ruin the report
Hutch had just finished typing. Hutch
didn't answer him.
"Hey,
Hutch." He shook Hutch's shoulder
gently and the blond looked up at him.
Gavin wasn't kidding. Hutch
looked terrible.
His
voice laced with concern, Starsky quietly said, "Talk to me."
Hutch
blinked a few times and said, "It wasn't enough."
Starsky
put a few napkins into Hutch's hands and said, "You got coffee all over
yourself, buddy. Clean that up and I'll
get the rest."
"Oh,
guess I musta knocked over the cup. Sorry." Hutch's hands were trembling as he obeyed his partner and
attempted to clean up his lap. As soon
as Starsky got the desk squared away, he took his wet napkins and Hutch's and
tossed them into the wastebasket. Then
he put one hand under Hutch's elbow and said, "Come on, Blondie. I'm taking you home."
"Home? What time is it?" Hutch looked confused and Starsky was
increasingly uncomfortable with his demeanor.
He convinced himself that Hutch needed some sleep. He'd be all right in a few hours.
"Time
for home. Come on." Hutch moved to stand, but he stumbled a
little and wound up back in his chair.
He looked embarrassed, but he stood up again and let Starsky steer him
toward the door. "Starsk, I b-blew it.
He's dead 'cause I didn't say the right things."
The
torment on Hutch's face was heartbreaking.
Starsky had seen him in a fit of guilt before, but the disturbing image
of Harry pulling that trigger while Hutch reached for him had obviously seared
itself into his partner's psyche. The
added element of the granddaughter watching what Hutch saw as a major league
failure did nothing to help the situation.
"I
shouldn't have said anything. Oh,
God. What was I thinking, Starsk?" Hutch had stopped in the middle of the hall.
"Hutch,
stop it."
Hutch
closed his mouth on his next self-deprecating thought.
Starsky
escorted the dazed man out to the car and they drove to Venice Place in
silence. Hutch sat with his eyes
closed, slumped in the passenger seat.
The incident in the park had charged him up with adrenaline and the time
he spent at the station had led to his current crash. He needed to be in bed.
After
pulling up to the curb outside Hutch's place, Starsky reached over and touched
his arm, trying to gently wake him for the trip up the stairs. Hutch opened his
eyes and said, "Where are we?"
"Your
place. Let's go."
"Yeah." Hutch nodded as he climbed somewhat
unsteadily out of the car. Starsky went
up the stairs behind him in case he fell, but they arrived in the apartment
without incident. Hutch stood in the
living room for a moment, as if he was unsure of what to do next. Starsky couldn't decide if he should plop
him into bed or stuff him under the cold water in the shower. He went back and forth in his thinking on
that as he took off Hutch's jacket, holster, and gun. In the end, he decided sleeping was a better choice than risking
having Hutch collapse in the shower.
"Come
on, buddy. You're goin' to sleep for a
while." He guided Hutch to his bed
and got him to lie down with one gentle push.
He pulled Hutch's shoes off and covered him with a quilt from the closet. Though the day was warm, Hutch was still
shivering. Starsky made the room as
dark as he could and unplugged the phone before he went back to the living
room. As he walked out, he heard Hutch
quietly say, "Thanks, Starsk."
Starsky
went into the kitchen and fetched himself a beer. Then he sat on the couch with
the Sunday paper and tried to unwind.
His worry for his partner had him feeling tightly wound and he wanted to
be relaxed and ready for whatever he would find when Hutch was awake again.
Unable
to concentrate on the newspaper, Starsky quietly wandered around the apartment. He admired Hutch's plants and looked through
his albums. Then he headed for the
bookshelves, smiling at the eclectic collection. Hutch was a man of many interests. His book collection included everything from a King James Bible
to a copy of Arthur C. Clarke's 2001: A Space Odyssey. His parents were fond of sending him
detective novels, though Hutch rarely read them. Starsky chuckled at the well-worn copies of James Bond novels
sent by Hutch's sister, Karen. He
frowned at the law books Hutch had tossed into the corner. Mr. Hutchinson never
seemed to lose the hope that his son would someday give up police work and
become an attorney.
Suddenly
feeling tired, Starsky decided to crash on the couch for a while. First he peeked in on Hutch. His friend was deeply asleep. Hutch's sleep was often restless and
disturbed by nightmares. This time he
was lying perfectly still. The
trembling seemed to have left him and Starsky pulled the quilt back a little so
Hutch wouldn't get overheated.
When
he lay down on the couch, Starsky noticed how quiet the apartment was on a
Sunday afternoon. Traffic was light
outside and the sound of cars didn't mar the silence. From somewhere, probably a street or two back off the main drag
where the houses had lawns, Starsky could hear the sound of a lawn mower. The only other sound was the ticking of
Hutch's wind-up clock. Between the
gentle breeze drifting through the open windows, the warm air, and the hypnotic
lull of the clock and lawn mower, Starsky was asleep inside of five
minutes.
It
was full dark by the time Starsky woke up, starving. He got up and peeked into
Hutch's bedroom, but though the covers were mussed, Hutch wasn't there. He
wasn't in the bathroom, in the greenhouse, or the kitchen. Alarmed, Starsky ran
down the stairs and looked out the door. Both the Squash and the Tomato were
still there, so Hutch hadn't gone far.
Just
when he was turning to go try the beach, he heard sneakered feet slapping
against pavement and saw Hutch turning the corner. He'd gone for a run. Starsky
sighed in relief and waited. Hutch slowed as he approached and stopped next to
Starsky, winded, but with the color back in his cheeks and looking much better
than he had a few hours ago.
"Looking
for me?" Hutch asked between pants.
Starsky
shook his head. "Nope. Hoping to meet a beautiful redhead."
"Idiot,"
Hutch said fondly, squeezing past him to head upstairs. Starsky followed.
"Hungry?" Hutch asked as he went to the sink for a glass of water,
which he downed without stopping.
"Starved."
"Chinese
or pizza?"
"Chinese,"
Starsky said instantly. The Chinese take-out was less than a block away, and
he'd smelled the food from the sidewalk.
"Okay.
Will you go while I shower?"
"Damn,"
Starsky said, pretending great dismay. "I shoulda known I'd get to play
delivery boy."
"I
want an egg roll," Hutch said. "No, make that two. And sweet and sour
pork."
"Okay,
okay." Starsky shook his head and headed out the door.
By
the time he got back, Hutch had showered and dressed. Starsky dumped the food
on the table and went to the kitchen for a beer. They ate in comfortable
silence for several minutes, until Starsky's hunger was somewhat assuaged.
Finally, he said, "Wanna talk about it?"
Hutch
froze in the middle of a bite and looked up at him. "I don't know what
else to say," he answered when he'd finished chewing.
"You
were freakin' pretty bad earlier," Starsky commented, pretending great
interest in his lo mein.
"Yeah."
Hutch was silent for a moment. "Still am, in a way."
"There
wasn't anything else you coulda done," Starsky argued. "You didn't
dare jump him, not while he had that damn gun, and shootin' him woulda defeated
the purpose."
A
slight quirk at the corner of Hutch's mouth rewarded him. "I know. I just
feel so damned helpless!" He sighed and took another bite. "We're
supposed to be the good guys," he went on at last. "We're supposed to
be able to fix things. That poor kid, standing there watching her granddad blow
his head off. And not a damned thing I could do about it."
"You
had to watch him blow his head off, too."
Hutch
winced. "Yeah." He shook his head, sighed, and took another bite. At
least he was eating, Starsky thought. "Do you think I made it worse?
Trying to talk to him? Maybe I should've let you do it. Or Krista."
"Krista
had already tried," Starsky said. "They'd been driving around for a
couple of hours with him threatenin' to do it and her tryin' to talk him out of
it."
"How
do you know that?"
"I
called to see how she was doin'," Starsky said. "While I was out
gettin' the food."
"How
is she doing?"
"As
well as can be expected," Starsky answered. "Her mom said she's
pretty freaked out, too, but she's young. She'll be okay. Her best girlfriend came
over to spend the night and the two of them are locked in Krista's room
listening to Shaun Cassidy records."
Hutch's
mouth quirked again. "Shaun Cassidy?"
Starsky
gave a ghost of a grin. "You go for a run. I go take photos. Krista
apparently listens to Shaun Cassidy."
"And
talks to her best friend," Hutch added.
"Yeah."
Starsky gave a one-shouldered shrug. "You did better than I could've done,
buddy. I was panicked. I would've said something really stupid. You were
perfect for that situation. You're reasonable, you care. You really do care.
And people can tell. But that guy -- he was too far gone, Hutch. It wouldn't've
mattered what you said. He'd made up his mind already. If he hadn't, maybe he'd
have listened to you."
"Guess
so." Hutch seemed more accepting
of the idea, though Starsky knew he wasn't about to let it go completely. If he did, he wouldn't be Hutch.
"They
teach us how to handle these situations, but they never really talk about what
it's like. You know, what it FEELS like
inside," Hutch said as he placed one hand on his chest. "I think maybe they should."
Starsky
smiled at his best friend. Hutch was a
great cop, but Starsky knew he could have done anything he wanted in life. He was glad Hutch decided on police work.
"What
are you smiling about?" Hutch
asked, his eyebrows arched with curiosity.
"Just
you. You're too much, buddy. You should talk to Dobey. Bet they'd love it if you'd come and talk to
the class at the academy when they cover how to handle suicides."
"You
think?"
"I
know. Talk to him."
Hutch
nodded and looked reflective. Starsky
had already decided he would talk to Dobey if Hutch didn't.
"I'll
do the dishes." Hutch started
gathering the empty containers to throw in the trash.
"Tough
assignment, think you can handle it?
Wouldn't want you to get dishpan hands or anything."
"No
problem, partner. I've got
Palmolive." Hutch laughed, just
like he usually did at his own awful jokes.
After
Hutch finished with the food trash, they moved out to the greenhouse to sit and
enjoy a beer. Though Starsky was glad
Hutch was feeling so much better, he still worried. Failure was not something Ken Hutchinson accepted well. He usually tore himself up with self-imposed
harsh judgment when anything he did went awry.
Though Starsky was a man of strong emotions, he tended to let them out,
not allowing them to simmer inside without release. When Starsky was upset, he never hid it well. Hutch was more reflective and when he
crashed, he crashed hard.
"You
driving tomorrow?" Hutch asked.
"Nope. We're off the roster."
Hutch
turned a suspicious eye on his partner.
"Why? You talk to
Dobey?"
"Yep. I told him we needed a couple of days."
"What'd
you do that for? I'm okay. Really."
Starsky
put a hand on Hutch's arm and looked at him with every bit of concern he could
convey in his eyes. "I know you
too well to believe everything is just fine now. You had me pretty worried this afternoon. We're taking a day off to decompress and
that's it. You convince me you're all
right by tomorrow night and I'll tell Dobey to put us back on for Tuesday. Otherwise, we don't go in 'til
Wednesday."
Hutch
started to protest, but then thought better of it. "All right. What are
we going to do with the day off that I don't need?" His eyes were grateful, even if his words
didn't sound that way.
"Thought
we'd drive up the coast road to Las Gaviotas.
Bigelow told me they've built a fishing dock up there where that little
bay forms on the other side of the overpass.
Feel like fishin?"
"Bigelow? You're kidding, and since when do you want
to go fishing?" Hutch was
surprised on both counts. "Didn't we just talk about fishing this
morning?"
"First
off, this ain't about me. You need to
relax and fishing will do it. Second,
I've been trying to make up to Biggie. He's not such a bad guy and I figured
it'd be better to have him on our side.
Got him talking about stuff he likes to do off hours one day when I went
down for some supplies. Haven't you
noticed he's been a little nicer lately?"
Hutch
laughed. "Thought you said I was the negotiator. Yeah, I did notice. Way to go."
"Guess
your smooth style is rubbing off on me.
What do you say? We could run up
there in the morning, get in some fishing, then come home and cook what you
catch. We can always run over to
Huggy's if you come up empty."
"Okay,
you win. I won't need two days though,
I'm telling you. Get here early,
okay? Maybe seven. I don't want to get caught in the commute
traffic."
"Your
wish is my command."
"You
just remember that the next time I want to eat vegetarian."
The
two men enjoyed a long game of chess and then Starsky headed home. Though getting up at the crack of dawn on a
day off was not his idea of fun, if that's what Hutch needed to make his day,
he'd do it. His best friend did seem
better; maybe one day would do it.
Hutch
lay awake for a long time, worried about what happened with Douglas. When someone died because of a failure he
perceived to be his, the guilt was, at times, almost unbearable. Hutch wished he had the ability to feel his
emotions strongly and then put them aside like Starsky did. Worrying his best friend was not on his list
of fun things to do. Starsky had enough
to worry about just watching out for his physical safety. While lying in the dark second-guessing his
actions, he also considered Starsky's suggestion and decided he would talk to
Dobey. Their training was thorough, but
the academy didn't spend much time on things like how it feels to shoot someone
and how it feels when you are unsuccessful in a situation. That kind of pain was hard won in the field,
but he wished someone had told them that it hurts like hell. The good guys just don't always win. He finally fell asleep around two in the
morning.
++++++++++
As
dawn was breaking over the eastern mountains, Catherine Loomis pulled her car
into the lookout parking lot. From
where she sat, she could see both the ocean and the lagoon. This was a peaceful place to die.
Catherine
sat in the car, writing a suicide note.
She wasn't sure how to say what was in her heart. For the past year, Catherine had been
engaged to the man she believed was the love of her life. A week ago, Chris told her the engagement
was off, he was in love with someone else.
That other person was named Bill.
Catherine was devastated by the loss and embarrassed that she was being
thrown over for a man. How could Chris
be almost thirty and never have known he was gay? They had been a steady item for almost five years. How could this
happen? To add to her dismay, this was the second time she had been dumped
while engaged. The first time was when
she was only twenty. At least that
time, she had been rejected for another woman.
Writing
her note took a long time. How do you
explain to your family and friends that you are not worthy of love? How can you sum up your angst and anger into
one note that will help those you leave behind to understand that you did the
right thing?
Around
seven thirty, Catherine finished writing.
With a heavy heart, she set the note on the dashboard of her car
underneath her keys. She slipped her
engagement ring off and laid it next to the keys. Then she got out and walked
over to the bridge. The small bay
behind her narrowed into an inlet, which flowed back and forth with the tide
under the overpass. The tide had just
come in and she knew the water would be deep so she positioned herself nearer
to the side over the rocks. The bridge
was part of the coast road and it was only about fifty feet high in the
center. She wanted to be sure the leap
would kill her.
The
bay was used mostly by water skiers, but it had a new fishing dock in it
now. Being a workday, no one was around
yet. She stood for a while in the
early morning breeze contemplating what she was about to do. Catherine had made her peace with her
decision over the past few days, having come here on several occasions to think
about it. She didn't notice the red and
white car that passed her a few minutes later.
Starsky
saw the young woman standing on the other side of the bridge as he passed, but
he didn't think much of it. People
often stopped here to take pictures of the ocean or the lagoon and it was a
beautiful morning. The sun had just
risen over the mountains and the bay behind them was only slightly choppy from
the light breeze. He guessed she was a
tourist.
The
road leading up to the lookout was not busy yet, though lots of people used it
as an alternate route to the freeway if it was too congested. This time of day,
the only way down to the fishing dock was to park in the lot and take a long
set of stairs down the cliff side to a foot path that led back under the
bridge. A fence of pipes painted yellow
barred the entrance to the road leading to the boat ramp, but Starsky couldn't
have parked the car there anyway. The
boat ramp had no parking space and was only big enough to turn a vehicle with a
trailer around and back a boat down into the water. The steps would do.
Starsky
turned into the dirt parking lot and backed into a space next to a white
Volkswagen bug that he guessed belonged to the woman on the bridge. He noticed that the car had the old style yellow-on-black
California plates and was definitely not a rental.
While
Hutch climbed into the back seat to gather some things he had put there for
their day, Starsky went back to the trunk to get a blanket and the ice
chest. Something shiny caught his eye
and he looked up at it. That's when he
saw the piece of paper on the dashboard of the VW, sitting underneath the shiny
object and a large collection of keys.
His
cop alert mechanism ringing in his head, Starsky looked around first and then
he walked to the driver's door and tried it.
When the door opened, he reached inside, saw that the shiny object was a
diamond ring and decided he'd better take a look at the paper.
After
reading the note, his heart sank. // Dammit. Another suicide attempt? // Hutch stood
up with the fishing gear in hand and saw what Starsky was doing. Before he could say anything, Starsky said,
"Hutch," and he instantly knew something was wrong. Hutch had also seen the young woman when
they passed. He looked back toward the
bridge and saw her leaning on her hands, with both feet on the bottom
railing.
"Dammit!"
he exclaimed, dropping the gear.
"Call it in!" He
turned and walked toward her as quickly as he dared, not wanting to spook her.
"Her
name's Catherine!" Starsky called
after Hutch, who waved to indicate he heard.
Starsky
grabbed the radio mike and said, "Zebra 3 to Control."
The
dispatcher answered, "Morning,
Starsky. Thought you boys were off today."
"Me
too, Control. Listen, we've just run
across a jumper out here on the Las Gaviotas Bridge. Hutch is goin' in to try and talk her down. Get us some backup. Code one, huh? We don't want to scare her over the railing."
"Roger,
Zebra 3. Good luck."
"Thanks." Starsky dropped the mike and headed after his
partner.
When
Hutch got closer to her, the young woman saw him and was startled. Her first thought was that he couldn't know
what she was planning, but she stepped back down anyway and turned toward him,
not taking her hands off the railing.
"Hi,"
the handsome blond said, stopping several feet away from her. The look in his eyes told her that he knew
what was really happening.
"Don't
come any closer," she said as she took a step or two backward.
"Are
you Catherine?" He asked gently.
Her
eyes darted first to his face, then to the parking lot where she could see
Starsky approaching. She nodded and
took another step away from the blond.
"I'm
Ken."
Hutch
looked over the bridge rail and could see that if she jumped here, the impact
would maim her if it didn't kill her.
The water was shallow and rocks and boulders spilled down the embankment
and under the water. He decided he'd
try walking a little closer, edging her farther out along the bridge where if
she did jump, rocks wouldn't break the fall.
The inlet dropped off sharply to deep water fairly close to the edge.
"I
said, don't come any closer," she warned him again, so he stopped. "I'm gonna jump no matter what you say,
so you might as well just get back in your car and leave me alone."
Hutch
put his hands up, palms angled toward the ground. "Let's talk about it, huh?"
Catherine
shook her head and backed up again. // Good. Just a little farther and you'll be over
deep water. // "Nothing to
say," she said in a quiet, desperate voice.
Starsky
stayed back at the end of the bridge.
Not only was he afraid of heights -- and this bridge was high enough to
make his stomach do back flips -- he didn't want to risk breaking the spell he
hoped his partner was weaving on Catherine.
He saw a black-and-white coming toward them and was glad backup had
arrived. Then, he heard the
unmistakable sound of a helicopter approaching. After spending time in the jungles of Vietnam, the sound of a
helicopter overhead still had the power to make Starsky nervous. Having been pinned down under enemy fire
many times, that sound often meant trouble.
He was glad Hutch had his back to him as he cringed a little and felt
the color drain from his face.
Immediately feeling a bit foolish, he looked up to see if he could
identify the chopper.
High
above the bridge, Sam "Surf's Up" Taylor was riding shotgun in a
traffic helicopter from one of the local radio stations. Sam was a surfer, and after he made his run
up and down the local freeways reporting on the commute traffic, he liked to
have the pilot swing past the coast for an impromptu surf report. That was part of his shtick.
Sam
glanced down at what looked like an interesting development. He saw the two cars in the parking lot, and
the people on the bridge. One was
backing away from the other and a third person was standing still at the end of
the bridge. That one looked up at the
chopper. When he saw the squad car stop
on the opposite side of the bridge, he knew he had scooped a jumper. Scanning up and down the coast road, he
noticed other squad cars had blocked off the road in both directions so no
other cars could approach.
"Take
us down a little so I can see better," he told the pilot. When the helicopter descended close enough
for him to see the people clearly, he could tell it was a woman who was
threatening to jump and she was climbing up to sit on the railing near the
center of the bridge.
"She
looks serious. I'm calling it in to the
station." The radio station was
affiliated with a local television channel.
After he reported the situation, they sent a news chopper and camera
crews to join him. Within minutes, the
quiet scene of an attempted suicide had become a media circus.
The
traffic chopper was painted in a zebra striped motif. Starsky smiled at the irony, but he recognized it
immediately. The traffic reporter from
Z-106.8 was a friendly, but aggressive man.
He had a reputation for being a bit of a news hound. His fears were realized as another chopper
approached and he could see the camera crew hanging out the side.
Hearing
a noise on the pavement behind him, Starsky looked back and saw a paramedic
unit and fire truck being let through a roadblock. One of the firemen approached him and he reluctantly took his
eyes off his partner.
"We
scrambled Search and Rescue. They're
coming in through the channel," the man said as he walked toward
Starsky.
Starsky
looked down the waterway and saw a boat approaching. "Good, I've got a feeling this one's not gonna end
well." He handed the note to the
fireman.
As
time passed, Starsky's concern for what would happen to Hutch if she jumped
increased. They weren't close enough to
hear what Hutch was saying, but he was keeping up a steady stream of
encouraging words for Catherine.
"I
know everything seems hopeless now, Catherine, but you don't want to do
this." Hutch was running out of
things to say to the desperate woman and she had climbed up to sit on the
railing. He tried for almost an hour
and he feared she was getting closer to jumping, instead of closer to coming in
from the cold of depression and despair.
By
the time she was standing on the other side of the railing, clinging to it
lightly, still demanding that Hutch stay out of reach, he was convinced he had
lost. Starsky was starting to move
closer to them from the end of the bridge.
He knew she would jump and wanted to be next to Hutch when it
happened. What happened next might only
have been shown to Starsky in his worst nightmare.
Hutch
put his hand out to Catherine. He had
almost gotten close enough to touch her.
His fingers almost brushed her hand on the top of the railing. When he edged a little closer to her, she
quietly said, "I'm sorry, Ken."
Then she let go and stepped back into the abyss.
Without
hesitation, Hutch lunged forward over the railing just in time to catch
Catherine by the arm. Starsky ran
toward him as her falling weight pulled Hutch completely over the rail.
"Hutch!" Starsky yelled at him as he reached the
side. Hutch had managed to grab onto
one of the railing supports near the base of the bridge. He was dangling off the edge by his left
hand and holding onto Catherine with his right. Starsky looked down at him, alarmed by many things in one hellish
moment. The height of the impending
drop, the fact that he couldn't quite reach Hutch, and the blood on the side of
Hutch's forehead. He had smacked his
head on the bottom of the bridge when he went over the side.
Shaking
his head a little to clear it, and trying to decide what to do next, Hutch
realized in a rush that he couldn't possibly haul Catherine up in time. His grip was slipping and she was wriggling
in his grasp, begging him to let go. In
a flash of inspiration, he called down to her, "I'm going to swing you out
over the deeper water. Hold your breath
and please don't die, Catherine."
Using
whatever strength he could muster, he swung the squirming woman back toward the
bridge and then out closer to the middle of the drop. That's when he lost his grip on her and he watched her fall into
the water. He could hear Starsky
yelling at him from the bridge and a look up toward his partner revealed he was
preparing to climb over the railing to get to Hutch, ignoring his fear of
heights in favor of saving his friend.
Hutch looked back at the water and he didn't see Catherine surface. His head was pounding and he knew he was in
danger of blacking out, but he had only one thing on his mind. He had to save Catherine.
Hutch
looked back up at Starsky as he stepped out over the railing and their eyes
met. He didn't say anything, but
Starsky understood what he was transmitting.
"I can't let her die."
Starsky was horrified when Hutch looked back at the water and let go,
plummeting in a straight, feet first plunge into the drink.
Hitting
the water hard, Hutch went down a long way.
The cold seawater cleared his head a little. As he kicked and fought his way to the surface, he knew he'd been
snagged by something. Whatever it was
dragged at him. Looking up, he saw
Catherine slowly sinking in the water a few feet away. Hutch changed his angle and headed toward
her, unable to take the time to figure out what had ensnared him. He managed to reach her and surfaced with
her near the approaching rescue boat.
His strength was ebbing and he fought to keep both their heads above
water until the rescue team took her out of his hands. While they lifted her onto the boat deck and
had their backs to the man in the water, he slid under without notice.
Up
on the bridge, Starsky was frantic.
Some of the uniforms had rushed forward and pulled him back over the
railing. Now those same men were
holding him back from diving over the side when he saw Hutch sink.
"Let
go of me!" He screamed at
them. "Nobody saw! Hutch went down!"
Starsky
was wrong though. Someone noticed
within moments. After they began CPR on
Catherine, one of the men turned back to give Hutch a hand into the boat and
realized what must have happened. He
dove over the side to search for Hutch.
One
of the firefighters saw it and he put a hand on Starsky's shoulder and yelled
back at him. "They know! Someone went in after him."
Starsky
relaxed a little and they let him return to the railing, though the fireman was
not about to let the dark haired man get far enough away from him to jump in
after Hutch. He put his hand on
Starsky's arm and said, "Come with me down to the boat launch. We're taking the ambulance down
there." One of the firemen had
snapped the chain locking the fence to the boat ramp in anticipation of taking
the paramedic unit down to it.
Starsky
shook his head and said, "Not until I see them pull him onto that
boat." He knew the situation was
hopeless from his position. Even if he
dove in, assuming the fall didn't hurt him, he could never get to Hutch faster
than the men on the boat. That didn't
mean he was willing to leave where he could watch the action. He would stay on the bridge until Hutch was
safe. // Please God, help him. Please
don't die, Hutch. // All he could do was wait and pray.
Hutch
realized after he let the rescuers take Catherine that he couldn't stay afloat
any longer. His vision was turning
orange and black around the edges, signaling the end of consciousness and
whatever was wrapped around his left leg weighed too much. He took a breath and then slid under the
surface.
When
he looked down with fading awareness, he saw a school of terrified Garibaldi as
they swam away from him as fast as they could.
Reaching down, he saw that a floating ball of kelp had captured him
around the leg. The heavy mass was
sinking and it was taking him with it -- the weight too much for him to
fight. He reached for his pocketknife,
praying he could stay conscious long enough to cut himself free, but that was
not to be. As he sank to oblivion, he
had the satisfaction of believing he had given his all to save Catherine. That thought gave him peace.
Carlos
Hernandez was a long-term member of the Search and Rescue Team. He had seen people snagged by free-floating
seaweed many times. He could see Hutch
trying to unwind the kelp from his leg without success. Carlos knew he'd need a knife to free the
man. He fought back to the surface as
fast as he could, seeing that Hutch was about to lose consciousness.
When
Starsky saw Hernandez surface without Hutch he went ballistic, yelling his
partner's name and hurling obscenities at the man in the water who had returned
to the boat for some reason. He
demanded that one of the uniforms give him a pair of field glasses he had been
using to watch the rescue. As he
focused the lenses, he saw one of the men on the boat hand a long, unsheathed
knife to Carlos, who immediately took a deep breath and dove again. As he stood on the bridge, trembling with fear
for his partner, all Starsky could do was mumble, "Oh, my God. Please,
Hutch."
Time
seemed to have stopped passing. In
Starsky's estimation, an eternity of anguish took place over the next minute as
the stunned men watched the rescue attempt from the bridge.
Hernandez
was a surfer and a strong ocean swimmer.
He quickly swam back to Hutch, who was now completely out and floating
limply approximately eight feet below the surface. Fortunately, the water was
only about fifteen feet deep, and the large, slimy ball of kelp was now resting
on the channel floor.
Hernandez
quickly cut the ropy mass free from Hutch's leg; he grabbed him around the
chest and surfaced with him as fast as he could. Starsky saw him come up again, this time with Hutch in tow. One look through his binoculars at the pale,
bluish tint to Hutch's face told him in one terrifying instant that it was a
real possibility that Hutch had drowned. Starsky continued to watch in grim
fascination as Hernandez handed Hutch's limp body up to the men on the
boat. They hauled him out and laid him
on the deck, out of Starsky's line of sight.
When the rescue boat revved its engine and headed for the launching
ramp, he turned to the fireman and said, "Let's go."
Starsky
reached the ramp far ahead of the fireman, driven by the haunting sight of
Hutch's still face. The boat was just pulling in, and Hernandez was doing CPR
on Hutch. Everyone nearby fell silent, watching, as Hernandez pumped and
breathed and pumped and breathed for long, agonizing minutes with no response
from the blond detective. Starsky held his own breath when he saw flecks of
white foam on Hutch's lips. He'd never seen that before and the sight terrified
him.
Hernandez
was sweating freely and gasping for air himself by the time Hutch gave a
gagging cough.
Hernandez
hurriedly turned him on his side and Hutch retched, bringing up a great gush of
dirty water.
// Thank, God // Starsky thought, rushing
forward.
"Get
him to the hospital!" Hernandez ordered the nearest paramedics, who
dragged the stretcher to the river's edge. The rescue boat personnel lifted
Hutch and carried him, still unconscious, through the shallow water and handed
him to the attendants.
"Hutch?
H-hutch, you okay?" Starsky asked, trembling. But the attendants brushed
him off and hurried toward the waiting ambulance.
"We're
taking him to Receiving, it's nearest," one of them said to Starsky.
"I
wanna come with you - "
"No.
Meet us there." They loaded the stretcher and slammed the doors. In
moments, they were speeding away, leaving Starsky alone and terrified on the
boat
ramp.
He
turned to run to the Torino but froze in his tracks at the sight of more rescue
personnel loading Catherine onto a second stretcher. She was shivering and wet
and had a nasty bruise on her forehead, but otherwise seemed undamaged.
"Memorial,"
one of the rescue team said to the nearest paramedic in a low voice.
"Fifth floor."
The
fifth floor was the mental ward. Starsky saw the remark register on Catherine's
pale face and her eyes turned to him with a plea in them. Knowing
what
Hutch would want him to do, Starsky said to her, "Don't worry. Standard
procedure. We'll - " he had to pause. It was so natural to say
"we", but what if...? He swallowed. "We'll come and see you
soon," he finished.
As
the second ambulance sped away, Starsky became aware of the horde of media that
surrounded the area. Television cameras, news photographers and reporters had
recorded every moment of the rescue. Several rushed toward him, shouting
questions and waving tape recorders and notebooks at him.
Unfortunately,
he and Hutch were no strangers to a few of the reporters, and they knew their
names.
"Starsky!
Sergeant Starsky! Will Hutchinson be all right? How is he? What did they
say?"
All
he wanted right now was to be in the Torino, breaking speed limits and getting
to his partner, but he knew they'd only follow him. "I don't know,"
he said. "He was breathing but unconscious when they left. I don't have
any information to tell you."
"Why
did he do that?" One reporter shouted.
Starsky
stared at the young woman, who couldn't have been long out of college. What
kind of a stupid question was that? Then he sighed. "It's his job,"
he said, turning away and heading for his car.
When
he reached the hospital, he ran straight to the admitting desk in Emergency and
gave Hutch's name.
The
nurse at the desk sifted through a few files. "He's still being
treated," she said. "Have a seat in the waiting area."
"How
IS he?" Starsky demanded.
"I
don't know," she said, more or less patiently. "He's still being
treated."
Starsky
went to the waiting area, but he didn't "have a seat." He paced. He
fumed. He worried. He snarled when some of the more intrepid reporters tracked
him down there and tried to get some quotes from him.
"Is
he going to make it?" one asked.
"I
don't KNOW," Starsky growled. "Get the hell away from me!"
They
retreated, but didn't leave. They only moved out of his reach and sat down in a
little group on the other side of the room. Starsky pointedly ignored them,
even when the one who had asked if Hutch was going to make it got on the pay
phone and held a hurried conference with his editor.
"Better
hold the front page," the reporter said, one eye watching Starsky, who
continued to ignore his existence. "We don't know if the cop's gonna make
it or not." There was a pause, and the reporter said, "Nah. SHE's
okay. They put her in the psych ward, and they won't tell me anything else.
It's the cop that damned near drowned." Another pause. "Him?"
The reporter lowered his voice. "He's half crazy, that's how he is, but he
didn't go in the water, so he's not hurt. He's right here, but he won't talk to
us...YOU wanna try it? I don't...Okay. Yeah, I'll let you know soon's I
know." The reporter hung up and sat back down and started scribbling in
his notebook, no doubt working on his story.
Starsky
took two long steps and stopped in front of the reporter, glaring at him. The
others shifted uneasily in their seats, making the one look up at the steely
blue eyes boring into him. "Believe me," Starsky said, ice dripping
from every syllable, "you don't WANT me to talk to you right now."
The
reporter blanched a little, but held his ground. "I'm just doing my
job."
For
some reason, the words reminded Starsky of a call he and Hutch had answered a
couple of weeks earlier. There'd been no other cars available or they wouldn't
have had to. Suspected child abuse. They'd walked in and found a little boy,
maybe four or five years old, so beaten up and bruised he looked like he'd gone
a few rounds with a wildcat. They had to take him away, and the child had been
terrified and angry, in spite of the abuse he'd suffered. They'd just been
doing their jobs, too.
Starsky
sighed. "You're right. Sorry. I'm just worried."
The
reporter nodded. "It's okay. I'm pullin' for him, too."
At
long last, several hours later, the doctor came in looking for Starsky. As soon
as he saw him, Starsky was on his feet.
"David,
whoa, slow down," said the doctor, startling Starsky, who hadn't even
looked at him. It was Dr. Franklin, who had treated Starsky when Vic Bellamy
had poisoned him.
"How
is he?" Starsky asked breathlessly. "Straight, please, Doc. No
medical calisthenics."
"He's
going to be okay," Franklin said. "He swallowed a lot of water, and
he got some into his lungs, too. He also bumped his head, but he doesn't have a
concussion, just a bump and a headache. I'm keeping him here, at least
overnight. There's always the chance of respiratory distress when a person
comes as close to drowning as he did. Now will you calm down and not go
charging in there upsetting him?"
Starsky
relaxed. He trusted Franklin completely. The man had put in a damned near
24-hour day when Bellamy had poisoned him, and had driven himself to the point
of exhaustion trying to figure out alternatives in case Starsky and Hutch
couldn't find out what was in the poisonous compound. If Franklin said Hutch
would be okay, that was good enough for Starsky. Except for one thing.
"I
gotta see him," Starsky said.
"Of
course you do," Franklin said with a smile twitching the corner of his
mouth. "You can have 15 minutes, tops. Then get the hell out of here and
let him rest. He's had a busy day. Room 714."
"Anything
you say," Starsky said, ducking around him and heading for the elevator.
Hutch's
hair was tousled, dried into the waves and loose curls he got when his hair
dried naturally. They had cleaned the
blood off his face. He was too pale and his eyes had taken on a bruised, sunken
look. "Hey," he said weakly as Starsky came in. "What took you
so long?"
"Reporters,"
Starsky said. "I ditched 'em though."
"They
won't stay ditched," Hutch said. "You're going to have to talk to
'em."
"I
know. Later. They can damned well wait. How ya feel?"
"Like
hell," Hutch said. He looked it, too. If Starsky hadn't been standing
right next to him, he'd never have been able to hear him talking, his voice was
so thin and weak. Starsky had intended to demand what the hell Hutch was
thinking when he went over that railing, but he decided he'd better let that
wait. Hutch wasn't up to a scolding right now.
"Listen,
you get some sleep, okay, partner? I'll be back tomorrow."
Hutch
nodded, his eyes already going a little hazy, and Starsky gave his arm a gentle
squeeze before he left.
Downstairs
in the lobby, the media horde was swarming like killer bees, several of the
reporters hogging the pay phones. As the elevator doors opened, Starsky could
hear a few of them arguing with their editors.
"We
don't know how he's doing yet!" One of them was shouting into the phone.
"I
can't even find his damn doctor and the partner managed to get away from us and
the woman at the desk down here says he's not even here!"
Starsky
froze in the act of walking out of the elevator and was going to duck back in
and find another way out of the hospital, but some of the reporters saw him. It
was too late, and the ones who had been in the waiting room with Starsky had
joined them. He surrendered. There was nothing else he could do.
"I'll
give you a statement, but that's it, okay?"
The
reporters crammed closer, extending tape recorders and microphones. Starsky
hated this kind of circus, and preferred to let Dobey or someone else cope with
the media, but he was going to have to do it this time.
"Sergeant
Hutchinson will recover," he said. "He's going to be here for a day
or two, but he'll be all right. He's too weak to talk to you himself, though,
so you'd better not go slithering around trying to find out what room he's in.
I'm going to order an armed guard."
"Sergeant,"
asked the reporter who'd been on the phone in the waiting room, "why did
he go in after that girl? Wasn't that taking a terrible risk?"
Starsky
wanted to roll his eyes, but the TV cameras were on him, so he didn't. Did they
teach reporters to ask stupid questions in journalism college or something?
"That's his job," he said, repeating the answer he'd given the young
reporter at the bridge. "And my partner takes his job very seriously. If
he thinks there's a chance to save someone, he'll try it, even at risk to
himself. That's the kind of man he is."
He
pushed his way through the throng, refusing to answer any more questions, and
finally got outside to the relative peace of the Torino. He called in and gave
Dobey a verbal report.
"We'll
turn in a written one tomorrow or the next day, Cap," he finished.
"See
that you do," Dobey growled, but it was his growl of relief, not of anger.
"Now get your tail home and get some rest. That's an order."
"Yes,
sir," Starsky said, only too glad to obey.
Starsky
started the car, but when he looked up, he saw the man who had rescued Hutch
walking across the parking lot toward the emergency entrance. He pulled the Torino toward him, waving him
over as he approached. The man
recognized him.
He
stopped next to the man, put his hand out for him to shake it, and said,
"Hi, Dave Starsky."
"Carlos
Hernandez." He shook Starsky's
hand and added, "How's your buddy?"
Starsky
looked nervously behind him, wanting to ensure no reporters had spotted the
interchange. "He's gonna make
it. Hey, you mind coming for a short
ride? I'd like to talk to you and I'm
afraid the reporters will spot us if we stay around here too long."
"Sure." The man walked in front of the Torino and
then climbed into the passenger seat.
"Thanks. I hate reporters. Already had to deal with 'em and I don't want to be
followed." Starsky pulled the
Torino out into traffic and drove a short distance from the hospital. When he was sure no one was following, he
pulled into a small neighborhood park and found a shady spot for them to sit
and talk. He shut off the engine and turned
to face his passenger.
Hernandez
said, "I got here as fast as I could.
After we finished the rescue, we had to get the boat back to base,
square away the equipment, etc. As soon
as my shift ended, I came."
Starsky
smiled at him. "Thanks, that'll
mean a lot to Hutch." Hernandez
nodded, his face registering the name of the man whose life he had saved.
"Listen,
I wanna thank you for my partner's life.
You were incredible."
Hernandez
waved a hand at him in dismissal.
"My job, man."
Starsky
shook his head and snuffed a quiet laugh.
"I gotta tell you, when I saw you come up without him, I was
swearing at you in two or three languages." His passenger laughed at that.
"Tell me what happened. Why
did he go down like that and what was with the knife?"
"When
he went into the water, he must have sunk into a big ball of seaweed. He was tangled in it. That stuff's really heavy. I've seen it before and it's ugly. Drags the victim until he can't keep his
head out of the water. When I went back
with the knife, he was already out cold.
You sure he's gonna be okay?"
"Thanks
to you. They're gonna keep him a day or
two."
Hernandez
smiled. "Great. Can I go see
him?"
"How
'bout tomorrow? He's out now."
Starsky
drove him back to his car and turned the Torino toward home.
The
next day he showed up at the hospital with a smuggled breakfast from Huggy and
a smile on his face. Hutch was already
awake, but still on oxygen and coughing when Starsky walked into the room.
"Hey,
buddy." Starsky crossed to Hutch's
side and helped him sit up a little straighter. "You okay?"
Hutch
stopped coughing and said, "Yeah, I'm okay."
Starsky
took the keep-warm lid off of the hospital's breakfast offering and immediately
replaced it in disgust. He produced the
rescue food from inside his jacket and handed it to his partner. "Brought you some real food. I see you didn't eat the gray mush they call
oatmeal."
"More
gruel, sir?" Hutch quipped. "Thanks." He opened the bag and
eyed the contents appreciatively.
"How's Catherine?"
"I
called Memorial. Physically, she's
fine, better'n you I might add. They've
got her on a 10-day paper. You want to
go see her when they spring you?"
"That'd
be great."
Pulling
up a chair, Starsky sat down and faced his friend. "Ready to talk about it?"
Hutch
shrugged and suddenly became fascinated with his egg-white and spinach
burrito. Starsky put a hand on his arm
and conveyed his 'look at me' message through that touch.
The
blond looked up at him, his eyes tensed for the coming explosion. Starsky was doing his best to keep his
temper in check, but it was a losing battle and Hutch could tell.
"Go
ahead and yell at me," he said in resignation.
"I
don't wanna yell at you," Starsky denied.
The flash in his eyes spoke volumes, though. Hutch waited patiently, saying nothing. Within a minute or two, Starsky was up and pacing around the
room, closing and opening his fists in a futile attempt to keep his anger under
control. The tension and fright of the
past two days overcame him and he lost his battle. When he spoke again, his tone had a hard edge.
"What
the HELL were you thinking?"
Starsky demanded.
"I...."
Hutch started to speak, but was cut off immediately.
"Do
you have ANY idea how I felt watching you let go of that bridge? What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Starsk,
I...." Hutch tried again, unsuccessfully.
"Dammit,
Hutch! You almost drowned. You scared the crap outta me!"
Just
as Starsky finished that statement, a nurse came in to check on Hutch. She frowned at the dark haired detective and
said, "What are you doing in here?
Did I hear you yelling at my patient?"
"Yelling? Me?"
Starsky looked as innocent as he could.
She
put a thermometer under Hutch's tongue and shook her head disapprovingly at the
contraband food. "That's what I
thought." Still shaking her head
and "tsking" them, she took Hutch's vital signs, and noted them in
his chart. Before she left the room,
she told Hutch someone would be coming to take him for an x-ray within the
hour. As she passed the silent,
brooding man leaning on the wall by the door, she quietly said, "I know
all about you, tough guy. Give me any
lip, or yell at my patient again and I'm gonna kick your butt." She smiled and patted him on the check as
she walked out the door.
Hutch
smiled sheepishly. "Guess your
reputation proceeds you at every hospital in Bay City."
Starsky
laughed at that, his anger now dissipated.
"I'm sorry I yelled, buddy.
I really do need you to tell me what happened though." He returned to his seat by the bed.
"I'm
sorry, Starsk. I just couldn't let her
die. If I hadn't gone after her, she
might have drowned. After what happened
with Douglas, I just couldn't stand it."
His eyes were pleading for Starsky to understand him.
After
a long pause, Starsky asked, "What am I gonna do with you?"
"Help
me brush up on my negotiation skills so I don't have to play hero
again?" Hutch smiled up at him.
"How
about we stay the hell away from all suicide attempts instead?"
"That
works for me, partner."
They
enjoyed each other's company for another half-hour until an orderly came with a
wheelchair to take Hutch to radiology.
Starsky accompanied him to the elevator and then promised to come back
after lunch. He headed for the precinct
to file their report on the incident.
He still needed to deal with his feelings about what happened and he
knew a couple of hours of typing should take care of any remaining anger he had
by redirecting it toward inanimate machinery.
Starsky wanted all traces of it to be gone when he returned to the hospital
that afternoon.
TAG
Three
weeks after Catherine's suicide attempt, Starsky and Hutch were sitting in the
precinct cafeteria having coffee and discussing a case when Hutch suddenly
stopped talking and set his coffee mug down with a thunk. Starsky looked around to see what had
stymied his partner and he saw Catherine walking toward them. They both stood and invited her to sit with
them.
Hutch
started the conversation, "Are you
doing all right?"
"I'm
fine now, thanks to you. How are you? I know you spent a couple of days in the
hospital before you came to see me."
Hutch
blushed. Starsky and he had told her
they were not allowed to see her for the first couple of days. They didn't want her to know that Hutch was
hurt.
Starsky
asked, "He's fine now. How'd you
know?"
"My
mom saved the articles from the newspapers.
She wanted me to thank you for her also." She reached across the table and patted Hutch on the hand.
"You're
both welcome." Hutch took her hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry what I said wasn't enough to
keep you from jumping that day."
"What? Oh, you're so wrong. You said all the right things. I hope you haven't been thinking it was
something you said wrong or didn't do."
Starsky
said, "He has." Hutch glared
at him.
"You
were terrific. I've been thinking about
all the things you said to me that day.
I was just out of my head. You
know, at the end of my rope. Wouldn't
have mattered what you said. But after,
that's when I really thought about it.
You saved my life in every way a person could." Her words sank into Hutch and acted as a
healing salve to his soul. Although he
had put the incident behind him, he still felt a sense of failure over it. Her words removed his lingering doubts.
Catherine
told them she was attending therapy and getting better every day. She no longer had suicidal thoughts and she
was sorry to have put them through what she did. Knowing that Hutch nearly died trying to save her weighed heavily
on her conscience and talking to him helped her put those feelings into
perspective. When she left half an hour
later, she gave each of them a tearful hug and her promise that she was never
going to try to kill herself again.
Hutch
sat shaking his head and said, "I never expected that."
"So,
you feel better now?"
"Lots. I know you've been trying to tell me the
same thing for weeks now. Thanks. Sure did help to hear it from her, though."
"Maybe
you'll listen to me sooner next time, Blondie."
As
they walked out the door of the cafeteria, Starsky added, "I'm really glad
you're feelin' better, Hutch. Don't go
getting cocky on me, though. You ever
pull a stunt like that again and I'm still gonna kick your butt."
"Noted."
The
End
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