Jennifer Lynn
Officer Ken Hutchinson reeled against the pain that seemed to shoot through his entire body. His abrupt movements caused the chair he was tied up in to tilt precariously, hovering, before it finally came crashing sideways onto the hard floor below. His left temple hit the concrete, knocking him out, but giving him a temporary reprieve from his unbearable agony.
Sometime – Minutes? Hours? – Later, a dousing of ice-cold water rudely awakened him, causing him to sputter for breath and to be reminded of the pain.
Two beefy hands reached out to grab him by the knees and shoulder, righting the chair. Hutchinson shook his head slightly to clear the water out of his eyes, which quickly came to rest on those of his tormentor.
They stared at each other. Hutchinson was not about to give into this guy, whoever he may be. He tried to memorize the facial features so that identifying this man later in a mug book would be easier. If there is a later, he grimly thought.
"Think you're tough," the guy muttered under his breath as he turned quickly and, leaving the room, locked the door securely behind him.
Hutchinson let go of the breath he knew he had been holding. A small grunt escaped caused partly by his need to release his pain and partly by the man locking the door when he had left. It was obvious to Hutchinson that he wasn't about to go anywhere soon, let alone escape.
Each of his ankles were tightly bound with rope to either leg of the chair he was captive in. Across his midsection and upper chest more rope held his back securely to the back of the chair. But the odd thing was, at least he had thought it odd when he had first woke up and found himself unable to move, was his arms. They were duct taped, elbow to palm, to the arms of the chair. His left hand was taped up even further, all the way to his fingertips, keeping his wrist flexed at an uncomfortable angle. His right hand…
He didn't notice the discomfort in his left arm now, nor did he notice the bothersome ache in his lower back from having his spine stuck in such an unnaturally straight position, or the tightness in his legs from being seated for so long, or the way he shivered in his cold, wet uniform. Nor did he notice the blood trickling down the side of his head or the headache, both caused from his spill to the floor earlier.
No.
He only noticed his right hand. More specifically, only the fingers of that right hand, which, as he had come to figure out, was the whole point of his being in this tied up, taped up position.
He unwillingly glanced down at his abused appendage.
Already both the pinky and pointer fingers were swollen, bruised and pointing outward in awkward, unnatural positions.
Oh, God, he
thought, turning way, unable to look any longer. My writing hand, my strumming hand, my throwing, my gun, my…
He tried to think of something else. Surely his partner was looking for him right now.
They had gotten separated on a routine check of a burglar
alarm that had gone off. Now he was sure the call had been a set-up. A way to
get to him and bring him to this place so they could… I don't even know what he wants. He hasn't asked me any questions. Who
the hell is he and why would he want to do… do this to me?
Then he heard the sound of the door being unlocked and opened. The same big guy entered the room. And just like before, he didn't say a thing, didn't ask a question, didn't laugh or shout or… anything. He just walked up to Hutchinson and grabbed a finger. The ring finger this time.
The man twisted and bent the digit backwards until the snapping of the bone and the screams of Hutchinson were all that could be heard.
Panting heavily, Hutchinson tried to tilt the chair away again, tried to escape the pain radiating down his hand, through his arm and then all throughout his body. But the man grabbed the blond hair and yanked the chair to its upright position.
Unable to move much, Hutchinson tried to control his gasping breath and accelerated heart rate.
"Not this time, cop. No passing out on me again."
"W-What do you want?" Hutchinson asked between breaths. Sweat rolled down his face.
"Want?" The man asked the question as if it had never occurred to him that he could want something. After thinking a bit he answered, "You can ask your partner. If you're still alive when you see him." And then he left, locking the door once again.
God, his fingers hurt! They throbbed, they pulsed, they stung, and they pinched. He wasn't sure how to describe what they felt like, nor could he even tell which fingers were broken and which ones were whole. He could tell if he looked again, but he didn't want to. His hand felt like one big mass of overwhelming pain. It was too much. He passed out.
And awoke with a start.
"Ah… shit."
And remembered his pain. Close your eyes and try to breath normal. You were dreaming. What the hell was that dream about anyways? Concentrating on deciphering the dream let the pain dim for a moment.
In his dream he and his partner were walking beside a swimming pool. They were looking around, alert, because some bad guys were after them.
Next thing he remembered was that they dove into the pool. His mind reasoned that he was reliving his current situation. After all he and his partner obviously had some bad guys after them and the pool must surely represent the water that was thrown at him earlier.
But here was were the dream got really weird. When he and
his partner emerged form the pool, his partner wasn't Luke anymore, but Dave
Starsky. Sure he and his friend Starsky had talked fleetingly about being
partners someday, but this was the first time the plan had manifested itself
into a dream. Why now of all times?
For the first time in what seemed like days, a small smile crept up upon his face despite the pain, despite the cold and discomfort, despite his current dismal situation. But the pain was insistent and could not be forgotten as a new wave of agony pulsed through his body. Wave after wave rolled from his fingers all the way to his toes, leaving him disoriented.
All to soon he heard his tormentor unlock the door again. He stiffened against his chair.
As he heard the man approach, he glanced down at his hand.
Nausea rose up through him when his eyes found and locked on his on remaining
undamaged finger. The middle one. Already he was bracing himself against the
upcoming attack. Damn, not anymore.
Please!
But before he knew it, a fist came flying through the air and connected hard with his jaw, causing him to see stars and to help send the chair toppling over once again. His head didn't hit the floor this time, so he remained conscious as his tormentor brought the heel of his foot down hard on the broken and mangled fingers.
"Ahhhhh!" Hutchinson screamed.
The man jerked the chair upright. "One more left, pretty boy, then we'll see what you're really made of."
He felt cold, hard fingers grab his one remaining, undamaged finger. Hutchinson fought to stay awake. No! Sleep! He fought to surrender his consciousness. Everything was happening so fast and he was in such pain that he became confused.
He thought he might have felt a stabbing and jarring pain in that middle finger, but he couldn't be sure. He thought he might have screamed again. Then maybe he heard shouting? Gunfire? Something slamming against the wall? He felt sick and his vision was unfocused and clouded by sweat and pain. His name? A hand on his neck? Brow? Luke? His partner?
"Hey there, buddy." A voice said. But Luke doesn't call me buddy, he distantly thought.
Hands were trying to comfort him, to sooth him and ease his
pain. It felt so reassuring after his harsh treatment. My partner? But Luke's touches were always rough. My partner? Starsky?
He didn't know what he was thinking anymore. He only knew that he had finally been found, the bad guy was gone and that he needed these hands that were lessening his pain and anxiety with just their gentle caresses.
"Hey, buddy, I'm gonna cut you out of here now. Just take it easy, listen to my voice. We'll be outta here in no time. Promise."
The words continued to flow as he felt his bonds slowly drop away. Starsky? Did he hear a siren? Drifting, he focused on the hands…
The hands started to gently massage his legs, them arms, relaxing the muscles and restoring blood flow. He felt his left forearm and hand finally become free of the tape. The rush of blood caused him to groan.
"Easy there, boy. I know, I know. Help is comin'. Hold on. I gotch ya."
Hutchinson tried to talk, but his mouth was dry and he could
only groan. Luke? Starsky?
"Oh, man, Hutch, your hand…"
"Starsky." Hutch finally muttered.
"I'm here. Just take it easy."
"What?"
"I'm gonna cut the tape, but hold on to your wrist, you relax, I won't let it drop. Understand? Trust me. I'll keep it nice and still." Starsky's voice was reassuring. "Get me that blanket." But it turned harsh when the words were directed at someone else.
Hutch felt warmth encompass him as he was wrapped up in the blanket.
"Hand me the kit." Starsky demanded, then softly, "you're bleeding pretty good, Hutch, so I'm just gonna wrap your hand lightly around some gauze and secure it, 'kay? I know it might hurt, but I don't want these bones moving around too much."
It did hurt but it seemed more bearable now that he knew the tormenting was at an end.
Next he felt the hands slowly lowering him to the floor. Something soft was placed under his head. The blanket was tucked securely around him. A hand returned to stroke his brow and hold onto his injured hand. Feeling protected and warm, he surrendered into unconsciousness.
********
He awoke to a hand gently squeezing and releasing the back of his neck. It felt good, soothing in its rhythmic motion. Slowly he floated off again, not bothering to open his eyes, not bothering to look at who was sitting there beside him offering quiet comfort. He knew.
********
"Hey, Kenny." A hand shook his shoulder. "You awake yet?" A finger poked his chest. "Come on, boy. You've been laying down on the job long enough."
Luke. Hutch was indeed awake by now. Who wouldn't be with all that pawing and yapping in his ear? He wasn't about to surrender himself to full wakefulness yet, though he knew he would need to soon. Before Luke got even more rough. But first he needed to gauge his situation.
He remembered exactly what had happened. Remembered the call they had gotten, remembered the man who held him captive, remembered his fingers being broken one by one, remembered his dream. It got a little fuzzy after that, but he did remember that it was Starsky who had found him, Starsky who had calmly tended his injuries and Starsky who had been sitting unobtrusively by his bed earlier. Where was Starsky now?
Opening his eyes, he looked at Luke who was standing over him. A big smile broke out on the other mans face. "Ken. How you feeling? Damn, what bad luck. All it was really. Doris agrees. Bad luck." Luke patted Hutch's head none to gently. "It should have been me."
"Why…? Where's--"
"The man who got you was someone I arrested about three years ago." Luke turned and looked out the window. "Just got out of jail. Trying his hand in the revenge game. Got you. Sorry."
"Look, it's not your fault."
"No, it's not. Anyways, I'm glad you're okay now." Luke turned back around. "Everyone was looking for you. Especially that other uniform from across town. He found you. Your friend. What's his name again?"
"Starsky. How did he--"
"Seems he has a friend, a snitch, who might have heard something about you. About my situation. From his info he managed to find you over in a group of condemned apartments near our beat. OUR beat! Didn't tell me nothin'. Anyways, he found you and got the guy cuffed, did a little first aide." Luke shrugged. "Simple really."
"Starsky's gone now?"
"Yeah. I finally had to ask his captain to insist that he go home. He was really stepping in where he didn't belong." Luke squeezed Hutch's shoulder and raised his voice. "Even told the nurse he was YOUR partner so he could get personal information about your condition!" Then more to himself, "hope his captain sets him straight. Causing scenes, workin' others beats. Unruly types…" Looking at Hutch again, "Well, I'll be going now. Got to finish some paperwork and then get on home. Late again."
Hutch nodded and closed his eyes. He started to nod off again until it occurred to him that he still didn't know the prognosis of his hand. He opened his eyes to ask Luke, but found himself staring into Starsky's blue eyes only a couple of inches away.
"Hey there." A hand tenderly brushed through his hair.
"Where's Luke?" was all he could think of to say, though at that moment he really didn't care.
"Oh, well, he's gone." Starsky smiled shyly at Hutch. "He's not too happy with me right now, so I had to wait until he was gone to come in here and see you." He continued to stroke through Hutch's hair. "Visiting hours are over. That's why I'm whisperin'."
"You found me," Hutch whispered back, too weak to use a lot of words.
"Wasn't easy either. I was looking ever since I heard about you being takin'. I had all the snitches I knew onto this." He let go a small laugh. "Even tried to bribe one or two of 'em. Or three. Then I tried… well, it don't matter now."
"My hand?" Hutch could feel that his hand and wrist were in a cast, but he didn't want to look. Tears sprang up in his eyes. He felt he could do that now, with Starsky here.
"Shh… It's okay." Starsky grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and dabbed at the tears. "The Doctor says your hand should be fine with enough rest to let the bones heal, then some physical therapy. Luckily only the bones were affected. No tendons. No surgery."
"Will you stay with me longer?"
'Will you touch me longer?' was what he wanted to ask, but couldn't. Being alone in a place full of strangers, even if they were all trying to help, just didn't sit well him at the moment. Not when you could have a friend as good as Starsky to sit with you and look after you.
"Sure. Sure I will. I won't go until they kick me out again." Starsky smiled and pulled up a chair, settling into it. Grabbing Hutch's good hand, he lightly petted the back of it. "Just you don't worry about a thing now. Rest. If anything needs doin', I'll do it. I am at your service."
Hutch sighed and turned his head away, grateful that Starsky was there. Before he fell back asleep, he remembered what he had wanted to say to Starsky ever since the moment his friend had found him.
Turning back, "I…" Hutch stopped and smiled. Starsky was asleep, out cold, slumped in the hard plastic chair. He squeezed the hand still holding his.
"Thanks, Starsk. Thanks. Partner."