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Final Revenge

By

Anne S

   The place was not pleasant, and the area where the messenger had to go was in the nether regions. Even though he was untouchable, being one of the Evil one's minions, he hurried along, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. The beings here were of the lowest order and had caused much pain during their stay on earth. He was in awe of the kind of spirits imprisoned here.

   He reached his destination, a pit from which cries and unearthly, suffering screams floated. He called forth the being he'd come to see, an old, gray-haired, gaunt-looking wreck. He questioned that this man could do what the master wanted done, but who was he to wonder. This spirit had more hatred in him for the two than anyone else they could have found.

   "James Gunther," the minion called. The former human raised his head, revealing eyes filled with evil and hatred. "You've been given a final chance to redeem yourself and raise your station of existence here. You've tried to harm the men we want several times and failed. This is your last chance. This time, you have more power to hurt them. Their love," the minion cringed as he uttered the word. "is a blasphemy and an example that the master wants crushed. Your hatred for them runs deep. This is a chance for you to heap revenge on them. To fail again would be a very bad mistake."

   Gunther nodded. He was more than willing to take that chance. The two were all he'd thought of since he'd been imprisoned. Tormented and raped there, he'd slit his wrists with a kitchen spoon he'd smuggled out and honed to a sharp enough edge so there would be no mistake. If he'd thought that killing himself would end the hatred he felt for the men who placed him in jail, he found it only intensified as time went on. He was more than ready.

   His body was restored to human form and he was ready to be returned to earth like some vile modern-day Lazarus. In a moment of levity, the minion called out, "Give 'em Hell!". Gunther turned briefly and smiled an evil smile that brought chills to even the messenger. "I'll bring them back with me!"

~~~~~~~~~~

   At the time, the men in question, officers Dave Starsky and Ken Hutchinson were in the middle of watching the Vikings beating up on the Giants quite badly. Starsky was pouting, muttering something about a bunch of corn-fed hicks, when he suddenly doubled over and clutched his chest.

   "Starsk! Buddy, what's the matter?" Hutch lost no time getting to his partner, his fear almost palpable in its intensity.

   "Bad pain, just a reminder of the Gunther thing, I think, Hutch. It's better now." He was pale and sweating and feeling nauseous. "Look at all this stuff we...well, mostly I, ate. Probably should'a laid off that last little bit of guacamole."

   "I want you checked," Hutch said firmly. "We're going to the hospital. You don't look good and I don't think you're telling me everything."

   "Geez, Hutch, don't you ever get tired of the mother hen routine? I just got a little heartburn. No problem."

   "This time I insist! Chest pains are nothing to fool with and you know they told you there was some permanent damage. Do you want to go quietly, or kicking and screaming? I could call Dobey to come and get us or there's always the ambulance."

   "This is too much! I spend half my life in hospitals! How'll I watch the Giants come back to win from the emergency room?"

   "Starsk, the score is 17-3, with three minutes left in the fourth quarter. It'd take a real miracle. Why don't you just give up and admit you owe me ten bucks and let's go. Better yet, if you go, I'll forget the ten bucks. Now get your ass in the car!"

   "Did I ever tell you I love it when you're masterful?"

   "Starsky, so help me!"

   "Okay, okay, but I'm feeling better now."

   "You're not playing me with that one again. You used that when you had appendicitis and it almost burst before we got you there. I don't trust you when it comes to this stuff."

   Starsky was quiet on the way to the hospital, letting Hutch know he felt worse than he was letting on. He knew his partner would do anything to keep him from worrying, but it wasn't working.

~~~~~~~~~~

   Hutch insisted on going into the emergency room with his friend and, since it didn't seem to be considered a trauma situation, he was allowed to, much to the dark-haired man's disgust.

   "Ya don't have to hold my hand, blondie, I'm not a second-grader, ya know."

   "Sometimes you act like one, YA KNOW!!"

   They spent some time waiting for the doctor, Starsky grumbling about the indignity of sitting on a cold table wearing only a paper gown. Finally Hutch tuned him out and started reading an article about how to locate a good roommate. Since he and Starsky had been living together for a year, he figured that was a lost cause and found an article more fitting. He noticed that his partner had gotten quiet again and was no longer telling him he was feeling okay now, and pressing him to go home. Once again, Starsky bent in two and grabbed his chest. Panting, he curled up in a fetal position on the examining table. Hutch was out of the cubicle in seconds and practically yanked one of the interns back in with him.

   "Well, what do we have here?" the doctor asked pleasantly.

   "WE have a very sick friend," Hutch answered, angry enough to hurt someone, preferably this condescending intern. "And if WE don't have someone checking him out right away," he let his coat fall open, so his gun could be seen, "WE are going to get extremely annoyed!"

   The intern went to work right away, listening to Starsky's heart and immediately called in a heart specialist. They asked Hutch to step out and he did after a futile protest. He went to the waiting room and called Dobey and Huggy. It had become a ritual, the three of them, waiting, hoping, praying, one that had always gotten his friend through so far and he wasn't going to change anything now. It was kind of like wearing a favorite shirt or carrying a lucky coin. They all had to be there.

   It was a relief to see the doctor who'd brought his friend back to life after the shooting, come to the door of the unit. He waved for them to come over and sit down in an anteroom, usually reserved for giving bad news.

   "What is it, Doc?" Hutch asked immediately, dispensing with the amenities.

   "Well, I really don't know how to tell you this. I don't understand it completely. There are some heart abnormalities...some of the damage seems to be reversing itself. There may have been more muscle damage than we thought at first. It's serious, I'm going to have to put him in ICU and run a whole gamut of tests. He's not a happy camper. Maybe if you went in for a minute, you could calm him down a bit."

   Hutch was on his way. He burst into the cubicle and saw the fear on Starsky's face and did the only thing he could do, put his arms around him and told him it was going to be all right, just like he'd done so many times before. Fleetingly, he wondered who was going to do this for him. They didn't let him stay long, but, by the time he left, they'd given his partner a sedative and he was feeling mellow.

   Gunther stood out of sight, watching the events he'd set in motion. He was determined to accomplish his task just like he'd started it, the death of David Starsky first, then on to Hutchinson. Starsky had proved to be a real irritant, he was a fighter, grasping onto life and holding on no matter what. He'd come through some harrowing experiences and fought his way back. Hutchinson was strong, but didn't have that indomitable spirit. He had been raised differently. Gunther had made a study of both men's backgrounds and knew their strengths and weaknesses all too well. He felt that if the dark-haired detective went first, Hutchinson would be easy to take out. He was going to enjoy this. He had the ability to allow people to see him or not, and he would love to see the expression on Starsky's face right now if he were to show himself to him alone. He decided he'd wait until things settled down a little.

~~~~~~~~~~

   Starsky was put into ICU and was being hustled here and there in the hospital for tests. They let Hutch go along for some of them. The doctor was sympathetic, he knew that his patient would be easier to handle if Hutch was close by. He'd experienced their special relationship first-hand and understood.

   Finally there was a lull in the action and the exhausted patient was nodding in his bed with his partner at his bedside. Both were almost asleep when Hutch was brought back to reality by his partner's scream. Sweat broke out on his face and he jumped up with his gun out before he realized just where he was.

   The monitors they had hooked up to the dark-haired man were going off the wall. Starsky himself was sitting upright, face pale and drawn, eyes wide, looking at something at the end of the bed.

   "Starsk! What's wrong? Should I get the nurse?" He felt so helpless.

   It was totally unnecessary, because the nurses came running into the room, alarmed by the response from the monitors.

   "Hutch, I'm dead. When did I die?" Starsky fought them all, pleading with them to tell him the truth. "Gunther was here, I've got to be dead."

   "Shh, Starsk, Gunther is dead, he died in prison, but you're alive. You fought that battle and won, remember. Settle down, you're in the hospital. I'm with you. Nobody's going to hurt you, okay?"

   "Hutch, he's standing right there. If you don't see him, I've got to be dead."

   They got the man to lie back down and tried to get some sedatives down him, but he refused to take any, saying he wasn't safe. Hutch convinced him to sleep, only by telling him he'd watch him every minute.

   It just about broke his heart to see his normally brave partner gibbering about ghosts and dying.

   Gunther was loving this. His power over these two was incredible. He waited until Hutch had dozed off again and approached the man in the hospital bed.

   "So, you remember me, Detective, I can tell you that you caused me a lot of pain and I'm here to take my pound of flesh, so to speak." He punctuated this with a grin of incredibly evil proportions.

   At some point during the conversation, Starsky's eyes came open and he saw James Gunther leaning over his bed just as plainly as if it had been two years earlier. He looked over at Hutch to see that he was asleep.

   "How can you be here, Gunther, you killed yourself in jail? Am I hallucinating or have you come back to finish the job you started?"

   "You're not hallucinating, Detective, I'm going to get rid of you and then your partner this time. You cause everyone a lot of problems, even the Netherworld, with your "sweetness and light routine". There are those who want you out of the way, enough they're willing to let me have my revenge and reward me for it, too. You see, Detective, I'm made of flesh and blood just like you." He placed his hand on Starsky's for a moment. The flesh was solid, but so cold and clammy, it was all he could do to keep from bolting from the bed, ripping IV's and leads away as he went.

   "Why can't my partner see you?" he asked.

   "I can make myself seen to whomever I wish. Right now I want you to know what's facing you. Later, it'll be his turn."

   "I don't know if I'm believing this, Gunther, but we beat you the first time and, supernatural or not, we'll beat you again."

~~~~~~~~~~

   The nurse injected a sedative into his IV line and Starsky finally succumbed to sleep.

   Hutch dozed on and off through the night and the next ones to come, deeply worried about his friend's condition, both physical and mental. It was like Starsky was crumbling in front of his eyes. He continued to deteriorate, but the doctors could come up with no clear reason for his condition. Starsky also continued to get visits from Gunther, but his mind was becoming so confused , he was unable to grasp what was real. He lived in a semiconscious state and Gunther communed with him in his deepest, darkest hours.

   Hutch spent a lot of time listening to him talk, knew he was seeing and hearing Gunther, understood why this was bringing the incident back to his mind, but couldn't conceive of why he was pleading, begging Gunther to leave them alone, to go back to Hell where he belonged. He tried to comfort Starsky, but didn't seem to be able to get through most of the time. There were occasional lapses when his partner would tell him to leave, run as fast and as far as he could. He still insisted in lucid moments that Gunther was there, with them, waiting to kill them both.

   Gunther was growing impatient. As always, the dark-haired man was stubbornly clinging to life with a tenacity born of years in the streets, fighting for everything he got. The demon-man decided to revise his plan. Perhaps if Hutchinson was killed outright, the other would succumb in his weakened condition. Besides, he hated Starsky, seeing in him the man that he could never have been, and relished watching the pain in his eyes as he saw his friend die. Slipping the blond's gun out of his holster, which was hanging under his jacket on the bathroom door, Gunther crept toward the pair, both seemingly asleep and unaware of their peril. As he aimed the gun at the sleeping Hutch, suddenly Starsky's eyes came wide open and he flung himself at his partner with the last ounce of strength that he had, carrying them both over onto the floor. There was the sound of a shot and the gun fell to the floor.

   "Starsky, are you all right?" Hutch shoved his partner off him and picking himself up, lifted him back into the bed. Starsky had only a short time to look around the room fearfully before doctors and nurses came flooding in to check him out and reconnect all the tubes and leads he'd disconnected in the leap off the bed. In that brief moment, he saw nothing but the gun lying on the floor harmlessly.

   Gunther found himself back where he'd begun, confused at the turn of events that had transpired. He'd evidently failed again, but how? The minion was right there to explain it to him.

   "You see, one of them offered himself up to save the other's life. That's the ultimate sacrifice. We can't fight that kind of force here. That belongs to the higher powers. You should have stuck to your original plan, James Gunther. Now you must face the master."

   Gunther put his head down and followed the messenger. He knew his last chance for revenge was over.

   Almost immediately, Starsky's health improved. He kept to himself what he knew had happened, knowing Hutch wouldn't believe him. Hutch's theory of the gun being on the floor was simply that someone on the hospital staff had been curious and was looking at it when a car outside backfired and scared them. That was shaky at best, because the Magnum sure didn't sound like the backfiring of any car Starsky had ever heard, but Hutch had been asleep and if that made him happy, so be it. When he was able to get out of bed, though, he searched the wall and dug out a shell that was imbedded right in the corner where Hutch had been sleeping. He didn't think Gunther would be back, but would always be on the alert for him.

   Once again they'd come through! Even stormed the gates of Hell and won, although no one else could ever know that.

THE END