| Fatal Charm revisited: Lonely Nights |
| Hutch's POV Well, it's Saturday night, again. Time to thumb through the little black book and decide which lovely lady I want to spend the evening with. Maybe we'll have dinner at that French restaurant Starsky refuses to go to. After that, we'll stop in at the Jazz club and groove a little. Then, who knows? A little love in the moonlight would be a perfect end to a perfect evening. Yeah, right. Who am I kidding? A Tibetan Monastery has seen more action than that bed lately. What can I say? The scar on my arm reminds me of the last time I shared a bed with a beautiful woman. All I wanted was someone to share my life with, other than Starsky. Don't get me wrong. I love the guy. He's my partner and my best friend. He's pulled my fat out of the fire more times than I can count. But, a man has needs, you know. We all crave a little companionship on a long, dark night. How was I to know that I was taking my life in my own hands? I guess I should have seen the signs. Diana showed up at the bar, right after Starsky and I left the hospital. Starsky wasn't crazy about the place I picked, but I really wasn't up to Huggy's that night. I just wanted a drink and a place to relax. When she came in, I thought, why not? The cut on my hand wasn't that bad. She seemed willing and eager to get to know me better. I found out, too late, that she was a little too willing and too eager. The line she gave me at her apartment should have been a red flag, too. What was it that my mother always said? Nice girls didn't do that on the first date. And finding her in my apartment the next day should have tipped me off, too. I'm a cop, for Christ's sake. Why didn't I see it? Who would have believed it anyway? Diana Harmon was a cute, energetic young woman. Who would have known that the perky little grin and that infectious giggle disguised the obsessed psychotic within? How was I supposed to know that sweet little Diana Harmon made Norman Bates look like an angel? Judging by the way she came at me in the shower, Diana must have watched Psycho a few too many times. She sure gave old Norman a run for the money in the nutcase diaries. The minute she confessed to eavesdropping on us in the ER, I should have turned tail and ran as fast as I could. Any rational man would have thought twice about going out with her again, but not me. Not Ken, the chivalrous cop, Hutchinson. Even when she acted so weird when Kathy and Starsky invited us out, I couldn't see past my ego. The girl was crazy about me. What girl wouldn't be? In the end, I found out how wrong I was. Diana Harmon was just plain crazy. So, is it any wonder that I'm a little gun shy? If Starsky hadn't came in when he did, I'd be pushing up daisies right about now. After my track record, I should know better. I haven't exactly had good luck with the women I've picked. Of all the questions I've asked myself about that night, there's one that keeps coming back to haunt me. It was Diana that asked the question first. "Everybody loves you," she said. "Why can't you love me?" I couldn't answer her then, and I can't answer her now. What makes two people right for each other? Why have I had such lousy luck with love? What made Diana change from a loving woman to a killer? I don't know. All I can say is, I'm sorry. Oh well, I think I'll grab a beer out of the fridge and see what's on the tube. That sounds like a safe way to spend Saturday night. And if Psycho is on again, I'm definitely not watching it. Story by Pat L. Edited by Sonja van Schalm 9/16/2002 |