Die A Little, Hutch
(Inspired
by Sonja van Schalm's poem: Die a Little More)
The dispatcher said it was
an OD. That wasn't a surprise, considering the part of town they were called
to. But when Detective Sergeant Ken Hutchinson pulled the sheet back and saw
the familiar face, he couldn't stop the whisper of denial.
"No."
He could feel Starsky's
hand on his shoulder but couldn't take his eyes off the still form. One of the
uniformed officers that had answered the call knelt down beside Hutch.
"Do you know her?"
Starsky nodded. "Her
name is Belinda Williams. We met her while we were working on another
case."
As Hutch looked at slender
body and light brown hair, his mind took him back to another time. They were
searching for Vic Rankin, who was on the run after stealing two thousand
dollars in counterfeit money from Garth White. Belinda once sang for him,
before gambling took over Vic's life, and heroin destroyed hers.
He remembered how she
looked that day, sweating, shaking, and pale. She wouldn't look at them at
first, embarrassed about her state of withdrawal. She was alone with her pain. There
was no one to hold her while the chills wracked her body. There was no one
there to give her coffee and candy bars as cramps sliced her stomach in two.
There was no one to whisper words of comfort and encouragement as she fought
the demons inside. There was no one to help her through it, like Starsky had
helped him.
She hadn't given them
much, but when they left, Hutch had given her a twenty. His words came back to
haunt him.
"Here, Belinda, die a
little."
Hutch gently touched the
cool cheek. "She was doing so well."
The uniformed officer gazed
at the blond detective. "You try to see the best in everybody, Hutch. But
you know how the stuff is. Once it's inside of you, it's hard to let go. Some
people just can't fight it."
His words hit Hutch like a
fist in the stomach. He staggered to his feet and stumbled out of the room,
leaving Starsky to deal with the body.
He covered Belinda's face
again and stood up. "Tell the coroner he can have her now. We'll need the
autopsy report before we can officially declare it an overdose."
George Lambert nodded then
gestured toward the door. "He really bleeds for them, doesn't he? It's
like he knows how they feel."
Starsky stared at the body
under the sheet. "Yeah, he knows."
Shaking his head once,
Starsky went looking for his partner. He found Hutch back in the
"How could this
happen? She had her life back, Starsky. Vic and Evelyn helped her kick it. She
even stayed with them for a while. She was singing with Vic again at the club.
Damn it, she won! How could she just throw it all away?"
"I don't know, Hutch.
We'll talk to Vic, but I don't know if we'll find the answers you need. Maybe
she tried, but she just wasn't strong enough to beat it."
He patted the blond on his
knee then stood up. "Come on; we can't do anything else for her. You want
to go by Huggy's and have a beer and a bite to eat?"
Hutch shook his head.
"I just want to go home."
The brunet studied his
friend. "Are you sure? I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone
right now."
There was an edge to the
blond's voice. "I won't do anything stupid, Starsky. I won't go looking
for a fix."
Starsky flinched at the
words. "I know you won't, Hutch. You didn't go looking the first time. I'm
just worried about you."
"I'll be fine,
Starsk. I just need some time to think."
Starsky sighed. "OK,
I won't push it. I'll take you home. If you need me, all you have to do is call."
Hutch nodded then slumped
against the seat, closing his eyes. He didn't say another word on the way to
Hutch sat on his couch,
the small lamp on the table the only light in his apartment. He stared at the
album in his hands. Vic Rankin was one of his favorite jazz musicians. He'd
bought the albums when he was still in high school, while Vic was at the height
of his career. In his mind, he heard Belinda's voice accompanying Vic on most
of the tracks. She was no Billie Holiday, but her range and style complimented
Vic's magical fingers.
"Why Belinda, why did
you do it? Why did you go back?"
He rubbed the inside of
his elbow as he thought about Forrest. Unlike Belinda, his addiction wasn't by
choice. The heroin was forcibly injected into his bloodstream in an attempt to
learn where he had hidden Jeannie Walden. His cheeks burned with shame as he
remembered blurting out the location, and then begging for another fix as Forrest
walked out of the room. Although the marks on his arm had long since faded
away, he swore that he could still feel them as he ran his fingers up his arm.
As he looked down, he
could see the small, round needle marks as they looked that night. He stared
hatefully at them. They were reminders of a nightmare he wanted to forget, but
would always remember. The tiny punctures grew larger and larger as he glared
at them, taking on a life of their own. Hutch stared in horror as inanimate holes
turned to miniature mouths, with thin lips and perfect tiny white teeth.
"Come on, Hutch. You
know you want it."
"You're a junkie,
Hutch. Admit it."
"Don't you miss
it?"
"Don't you want to
feel that rush again?"
"Do you remember how
good it felt?"
"Once a junkie,
always a junkie, isn't that what they say?"
"Come on; take one
more ride to dream land."
"Wouldn't you just die for another ride?"
Hutch shook his head
without taking his eyes off the disembodied mouths. "No."
A new mouth appeared in
the center of his elbow.
Belinda's voice whispered
to him. "Go on, Hutch, die a little."
"Come on; you know
you want it."
"Junkie."
"Fill that needle
with liquid fire and put that strap around your arm. You know how it's done.
Lie back and take that magic carpet ride just one more time."
"No!"
Hutch threw the album on
the floor and ran into the kitchen. He turned on the water and grabbed a
scouring pad, scrubbing his arm furiously in an attempt to drown the tormenting
voices.
The mouths disappeared
from inside his elbow as the skin turned an angry red. But the voices didn't
stop. As quickly as the orifices vanished from his arm, they reappeared in the
air around his head like animated bubbles.
One by one, the mouths
sneered at him. "If it was legal, you'd do it."
"Junkie."
"If you didn't have
to worry about people talking behind your back, you'd do it."
Belinda's voice mocked
him. "Go on, Hutch, die a little."
"Junkie."
He scrubbed harder. "Shut
up!"
"If those silly laws
didn't exist, you know you'd do it."
"If you didn't have
to worry about your precious career, you know you'd do it."
"Shut up!"
"You'd be the first
one in line, giving your money to the Candy man."
"Die a little, Hutch."
He threw the scouring pad
in the sink and turned around, sliding down the cabinet until he was sitting on
the floor. "Shut up!"
"Give in to it,
Hutch."
"You know you want
it."
"You know where to
find it."
"Go find a street
corner and hide in the alleys."
"Put that needle in
your arm just one more time."
"Junkie."
"Die a little."
Drawing his knees up
against his chest, he clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes
shut. He couldn't see the vile apparitions hanging in the air, but he could
still hear the voices inside his head as they taunted him, tormenting him.
"Go on, Hutch; try it
just one more time."
"Do it, Hutch."
"You know you want
it."
"Junkie."
"Do it, Hutch."
"Go on, Hutch; die a
little more."
"Starsky!"
He didn't hear the door open,
but he felt the arms surrounding him, pulling him close. He slowly let his
hands drop away from his ears and clung to the soft cloth of a worn t-shirt. As
he laid his head on the broad shoulders, he smelled the familiar after shave. A
soft voice whispered words of comfort as fingers gently stroked his hair.
"I'm here. It's okay.
I've got you now."
The sharp creases around
his eyes disappeared as he relaxed. The jackhammer that was his heart gradually
slowed. The steel bands that were clamped around his chest dropped away,
letting him breathe again. The raging storm of pain and fear crashed against a
wall of friendship, trust, and love.
And the voices stopped.
The End
Story by Pat L.
Edited by Sonja van
Schalm