Chapter Two
“Oh-h-h-” The groan came out involuntarily as I opened my eyes and tried to move. Not a good idea, I thought, as the pounding in my head increased and my stomach turned over and over like I was seated in the front car of a rushing roller coaster. I shut my eyes, hoping to bring the world back to a standstill.
How long have I been here? How’d I get here? Who? Why? The never-ending questions racing through my head make the room spin. Opening my eyes, I keep trying to figure out where here is. The cold dampness of the cement floor offers little comfort to my aching muscles, since I’m lying on my side shivering. The small room I’m in appears to be some kind of shed, with junk filling half the space. It’s obvious they don’t consider me a threat, because they certainly don’t seem worried about me finding something in the stack of leftover rusted tools that might help me escape or overpower them. Of course, it would be extremely hard to even stand up, let alone find something useful in that stack of junk. Not when they have my arms tied tightly behind my back and my legs securely bound. Tightly wound muscles keep sending pain shooting through my shoulder blades, protesting angrily the lengthy hours they’ve been frozen in time. I can’t imagine trying to stand.
Shifting my body a little, I’m hoping I can get a better view of my prison, but the resulting agony takes my breath away, painfully reminding me I need to take it slower. Momentarily closing my eyes, I hold my breath and I listen—listen for clues that can help me figure out what’s happening, where I am and why.
I hear nothing but silence.
I remember nothing.
Needing to figure out where, if
not how badly, I’m injured, I figure it’s best to start at the bottom and work
my way up. Wiggling my toes and then
rotating my ankles, despite the rope chaffing against my raw skin, it appears
my legs have suffered minimal damage.
Moving my legs carefully, I again hold my breath, anticipating
pain—surprised when none comes. Feeling
a little more optimistic, I continue upward.
Tightening my stomach muscles, they scream back in protest. I quickly suck in some air. A bigger mistake! Fighting to hang on to consciousness, the pain in my mid-section
is spreading into my burning lungs. I roll
forward, suddenly welcoming the feel of the cold cement, sucking in air slowly,
trying for small amounts, but obviously unsuccessful, since the room is once
again beginning to spin. Concentrate, Hutchinson, concentrate. You have to stay conscious. You’ll
never get out, if you don’t…
Slowly, the room is coming back into view. Lying still, commanding my muscles to relax, I can feel and hear the pounding in my head. My right eye’s swollen almost shut, and it’s here that the throbbing is the most intense. When I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to ease the pain, I can feel something dry and crusty pulling on my skin. I can't help but wonder if it's blood, and just how severe was the blow I took to the head. My left shoulder keeps protesting my weight. How badly am I injured? Is there internal bleeding? I can’t help wondering again where here is? And more importantly—why?
And where is Starsky?
Suddenly afraid, I frantically struggle to sit up. Is Starsky here as well? Is he injured? And if I’m in this bad of shape, how is he?
“Starsky? Are you here? You okay?” Frantic questions are answered with silence. Forcing myself halfway up, I search the room, the onset of dusk making it hard to see as long shadows begin to appear in the shed. There’s one tiny window. Shortly I’ll be in darkness. How many times has the sun risen and set while I lay unconscious on this floor? How long have I been here? Twenty-four hours? Forty-eight? Longer?
I’m alone and I have to admit feeling a little afraid. I’m alone and hurting, yet at the same time, I can’t help feeling thankful that you’re not here, Starsk—injured—me unable to help—only able to watch you suffer, possibly die.
But if you aren’t here, buddy, where are you? Safe, I hope.
No—I pray.
Running my tongue across my lips, I can feel the cracks. A tall, ice-cold glass of water would sure taste good…. Stop it, Hutchinson! You’re going to drive yourself crazy!
How long have I been here? Without water, without food? My stomach’s still churning, and even the thought of food makes it flip faster, but water…I want…need water….
It’s
getting dark, Starsk. Where are
you? Do you even know I’m gone? I’m lying here shivering, and all I can do
is curl into as tight a ball as the pain will allow. If I close my eyes really tight, I can imagine you here,
Starsk—deep blue eyes wrinkled in concern, voice soft and comforting, hands
gently massaging my shoulders—removing the pain.
˜ ™
At the sound of the door closing, I’m suddenly awake and struggling to open my eyes. My right eye feels like it’s almost entirely closed now. From my perspective on the floor, I can vaguely make out what looks like a plate and cup sitting on the floor directly across from me. Fifteen feet—more like a million. Water. Have they finally brought me water? Licking my lips, I send up a silent prayer of thanks. Sitting up is going to be no easy task, considering every muscle, every bone and every cell protests the slightest movement I make. But I have to get up. I have to get to that water.
Somehow I’ve managed to make it across the room, buddy. I kept hearing you in my head, Starsk. Telling me I could do it. Urging me to go on. It’s taken forever, and I think I might have passed out a couple of times, but somehow I’ve managed to inch my way across the floor. It’s right in front of me and I can’t even begin to describe how good it looks; now I just have to figure out how to drink it with my arms tied behind my back. Are you looking for me yet? I sure hope so, ‘cause I don’t know how much longer I can last. The pain in my gut is getting worse, and I’m guessing that means I’m bleeding inside. Not a good thing. Takin’ a breath takes all the concentration I can muster…and, as if I can’t remember on my own, my ribs take great joy in reminding me that they are either cracked or broken. I know this is a stupid request, because I know you’d move heaven and earth to find me, but…can you make it quick, pal? I need to see that silly grin of yours. Right now, I think you’re the only hope I have.
˜ ™
It’s the beginning of another day, Starsky. I’m feeling dizzy all the time now, and I keep fading in and out. I keep hoping—hoping that you’ll be coming through that door any minute. It’s hard to stay focused when you’re hurting, but you know that already. I’ve never seen anyone hurting as badly as when Vic Bellamy poisoned you, but somehow you managed to stay focused. Focused enough to help me find Bellamy—focused enough to think of me, instead of the life seeping out of you minute by minute. I have to stay focused now—focused on you and hope that you’ll get here. Hope that it will be in time. You are hope, Starsk. My hope. Do you know that? The way you live life, despite what it throws at you, astounds me. You taught me how to hope again.
I’m hoping now….
˜ ™