December 8th: A Michael’s Miracle Part 1 by April Valentine

Author Note:  For Gale Lorden

Hutch didn’t actually open his eyes, he could just suddenly see. One minute, he’d been at a weird Christmas party that Starsky had dragged him to and the next… no, that wasn’t quite right.

Yes, Starsky had dragged him to a Christmas party full of weird people neither of them knew, with smoke in the air and macabre decorations, like trees that were black and ornaments that looked like they were dripping blood…

Hutch shuddered. Or he tried to. What was this? He felt like he couldn’t move. Anyway, one minute, Starsky had been teasing him about the mistletoe, pulling Hutch to stand under it, about to plant a kiss on his lips, and the next there was just nothingness — dead silence, blackness, chilling cold and then the whistle of a high wind —

and then this — this wherever he was. It was no longer dark and thank goodness the wind had stopped, but Hutch was slowly realizing that he literally couldn’t move.

He hadn’t opened his eyes, hadn’t exactly been unconscious, he could just see again. And what he saw was a totally different place from the strange party’s location. The lights were bright. People were walking around, pushing little red carts that had stuff in them. And Hutch couldn’t blink his eyes. When he’d shuddered thinking about the party, his body hadn’t shifted either. He tried to move purposely — but he couldn’t. It was like he was frozen, or made of stone or… plastic?

He had no idea where that thought had come from. But strangely enough, it felt more right than the idea that he had been turned to stone or frozen in place.

He looked around as much as he could. In front of him were rows of Christmas trees, and just beyond them, there were sparkling ornaments in boxes on shelves. To the left of the trees were more shelves, these containing the figures of snowmen, angels and Santas. They caught his attention. There were a lot of them. One Santa was dressed as a fisherman, complete with pole and woven container for fish he might catch, and next to him was a golf playing Santa, dressed in old fashioned knee pants with a plaid cap upon his head. The angels were different colors, white, blue, pink…

It was all very confusing.

The moving people added to his bewilderment. There were so many of them, and they seemed to be whizzing past him at alarming speeds. He wasn’t sure if they were really moving that fast or if he was just imagining they were. Maybe it was just that his heart was pounding really fast, really hard.

He attempted to take a steadying breath and while his body didn’t seem to move, he could at least somehow get air into himself, which was a relief, and he used it to center himself. He found one lady pushing a little red cart of her own to concentrate on and yes, she wasn’t whooshing along at the speed of a car on the freeway, though she wasn’t exactly strolling slowly either. He kept his eyes on her as she approached, coming toward him in the aisle where he found himself standing. She wasn’t looking at him though, her head was turned to her left as she scanned the items on the shelves she was passing and she was getting closer and closer and Hutch wanted to yell out, to warn her but he couldn’t make his mouth work, or his voice, and then suddenly she was just there, right on top of him, her cart slamming into his body.

He felt that! Felt the pressure at least. She hit him pretty hard and he nearly lost his balance and his gaze was drawn down to the contents of her cart.

Oh, no. What? WHAT?

There was a mirror in the cart, right on top of a couple of holiday wreaths and Hutch could see himself.

But, it wasn’t himself.

What he saw reflected in the round mirror wasn’t his own familiar face, but that of what looked like a doll of some kind. No, not a doll but the face was expressionless, flat. The skin looked pink, kind of, and the cheeks were two circles of red. And instead of his own facial hair, there was a white goatee and a black curly mustache that looked painted on. His eyes were black circles with black eyebrows painted above them and it looked like he was wearing some kind of hat.

“Oops! Sorry,” the cart woman said. For a second, Hutch was glad she at least was apologizing for running into him, but then she let out a half chuckle and added, “Oh, I thought you were a person!” Her hand flew to her mouth as if to stop her speech, but as she turned and headed away from him, Hutch could just make out the words, “Now I’m talking to wooden soldiers, sheesh.”

Hutch was stunned into silence. Or he would have been if he were able to speak in the first place. A wooden soldier? Yes, that’s what she’d said and reflecting on the brief glimpse he’d had of his “face” that must indeed have been what had happened, unbelievable as it seemed.

One minute he’d been about to lock lips with his partner under some mistletoe at the weirdest Christmas party he’d ever attended and the next, he had been turned into a wooden soldier, or plastic one, in some Christmas store.

Hutch was trying to wrap his mind around the concept when he heard another voice. It sounded muffled, far away, and yet achingly familiar.

“Huuuuuuuuuuutch!”

He’d know that plaintive cry anywhere, in any universe, in any reality including this warped science fiction, horror zone or wherever he was.

Starsky.

The cry came again, louder this time.

“HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTCCCCCCHHHHH!”

He desperately wanted to answer his partner, to let him know he heard him. To take the fear and hopelessness out of his voice, but Hutch couldn’t talk, couldn’t make a sound. But he had to try.

Starsky! I hear you! I’m here! he yelled inside his head. It seemed silly, saying he was ‘here’ when he didn’t know where ‘here’ even was, but he had to reassure Starsky somehow. It’s okay, partner!

“Hutch? Is that you?”

“Starsky?” Hutch frantically thought, attempting to send his voice outward mentally. “Yeah, Starsk. It’s me.”

“Oh, thank God.” The rush of relief that Hutch could hear in his head was the first real thing he’d been aware of since whatever was happening had happened. “I thought I’d lost ya.”

“I’m here. Not sure where we are, but I can hear you.” Hutch thought in return. “It’s great to hear your voice.”

“Do you know what happened?” Starsky asked, his voice not quite as plaintive as before, though still confused.

“No. I don’t. I was hoping you did.”

“We were at that party,” Starsky offered.

“That very strange party,” Hutch corrected. “What was with all those bizarre decorations?”

“I wouldn’t call unicorns and rainbows bizarre exactly.”

“What? No, I mean the black Christmas tree and the bloody ornaments.”

“What? I didn’t see anything like that,” Starsky said.

“Well, I did.” Hutch knew he was sounding disgruntled but he’d had about enough weird stuff for one night. “Unicorns and rainbows would have been less scary.”

“Just more silly,” Starsky chuckled. “I think it would be cool to decorate for Christmas like some horror film. Heh, how about Bela Lugosi — hey, I pronounced it right! — dressed up as Santa Claus?”

“No thanks! Don’t you realize we already are in some kind of horror film?”

“More like the Twilight Zone.”

“No, worse. The Outer Limits,” Hutch groused. Still, the banter was soothing. They might have been transported to some supernatural realm, but he had his partner with him. Starsky was still his Starsky.

But they did need answers. “So, where do you think we are, Starsk? Can you see anything?”

“Uh… it’s hard to look around. I mean, I can see but I can’t turn my head in any other direction.”

“Neither can I. I think this is some kind of store. I see lots of Christmas decorations.”

“Same here. Damn, I can’t move at all. This sucks, Hutch.”

“It’s not my fault,” Hutch informed him. Or was it? Had he done something to… upset the ether, change reality, sweep them into wherever this was? His mind began to swirl, needing reasons, answers.

“Hutch? Hey, Hutch.” Starsky’s voice caught his attention. “I know you. You’re thinkin’ somehow maybe it is your fault. But how could it be? Last I checked you didn’t have magical powers.”

“Well… karma? Past misdeeds?” Hutch didn’t want to let himself spiral out of control but the longer this went on, the more he couldn’t keep his thoughts steady.

Starsky was chuckling. That low, sexy chuckle he used when he was teasing Hutch. “Unless you count the magical powers you have in the bedroom.”

The warm tone helped Hutch. Something was definitely weird and wrong but if he was with Starsky, things would work out. And maybe it wasn’t his fault. At least Hutch hoped so.

“Too bad we aren’t in a bedroom now,” Hutch said, his voice a bit wistful.

“Don’t worry,” Starsky’s voice was soothing. “This can’t last forever.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because. I believe there ain’t nothin’ we can’t do if we put our minds to it, babe.”

Hutch was about to respond when suddenly, it got slightly darker in the place they were.

“Starsk? Did you see that? The lights went down.”

“Must be closing time.”

“Yeah. I don’t see so many people with those little red shopping carts.”

“So we’re in a store and it’s about to close. That’s a fact we know. Right?”

“Right.” Hutch wasn’t sure, but if Starsky claimed it was a fact, he’d go along with it. “Hey, Starsk, do you know where you are?”

“I see Christmas trees,” came the reply.

“So do I. In front of me, but sort of far.”

“They’re close to me. Like I’m standing right by them.”

“And you… you’re…” Hutch wasn’t even sure he knew how to ask. “And you’re… some kind of figure?”

“I guess. I feel… big, like my usual height and sorta my size. But I can’t move.”

“Yeah, me either. But I feel tall and skinny.”

“I might be fatter than normal.” Starsky didn’t sound as though he cared for that. “And like I’m… sort of… posed.”

“Posed?”

“Yeah. One arm is up. The other is down and bent in front of me. I think I’m holding something.”

“That’s strange. I’m just standing straight up. I can’t even feel my arms and legs.” Hutch mentally took a deep breath. “But a lady went by and hit me with her cart. She had a mirror and I caught a glimpse — I th-think I’m a wooden soldier.”

“Really, Hutch? That’s kind of cool.” Starsky began humming the music to March of the Wooden Soldiers. “Did ya ever see that old Laurel and Hardy movie?”

“No, it’s not cool. I’m all stiff and plastic and I’ve got a painted on beard and mustache.”

“I’ll bet you’re cute anyway.” Starsky was trying to cheer him up and Hutch appreciated the effort. “I wish I could see you.”

“Wish I could see you too,” Hutch said softly. If he could just see his partner, maybe he wouldn’t feel so awful.

Just then, he heard a voice close to him. “Oh will you look at this.” It was a woman’s voice.

“What’s the matter?” another voice called from farther away. That was a woman too.

“Looks like somebody bumped this nutcracker. He’s way out of place and turned half way around.”

Wait, what? Had she called him a nutcracker?

“Stupid customers,” the other woman answered. “Just move him to where he’s supposed to be.”

Hutch felt a presence and suddenly hands were grasping him, tilting him to the side and shifting his position.

“Lady, who are you? What’s going on?” he tried to ask her. But as before, he couldn’t actually talk out loud. She didn’t know he was trapped inside this immovable piece of plastic. He felt dizzy, like she was spinning him around or something.

“Damn, he’s so heavy!” the woman said. “Hey, Louise, come over here and give me a hand, will you?”

“Just a sec, I’m almost finished with the t-shirts,” the answer came back.

“Okay, but hurry up. I want to get home sometime tonight,” the first woman called out.

“What’s goin’ on?” Starsky‘s voice was asking Hutch.

“I don’t know. I think this woman is trying to move me.” Hutch was glad to be able to respond to his partner. “Can you hear them?”

“Sort of. But it’s confusing.”

Hutch agreed. It was terrible to be so close to a person, another human being, without them being able to tell he was real.

“Okay, here I am.” The one called Louise rushed up, a little out of breath. “Those shirts were a mess tonight. Why can’t people just read the size labels instead of taking them off the shelf and opening them up? They aren’t bride gowns, they’re t-shirts!”

The first woman made a commiserating sound.

“Where do you want to move him to, Sasha?” Louise asked.

“Well, he’s kind of in the way here,” the first one, whose name was apparently Sasha, answered. “Let’s move him down closer to the trees.”

“Good idea,” Louise agreed. “What’s the best way?”

“You grab him and I’ll tilt him toward you. Then we’ll sort of rock him back and forth.”

She pushed on Hutch and he felt the world tilt crazily, then more hands grabbed him. Both women were touching him, shifting and rocking him to get him to move.

“Damn, you’re right. He weighs a ton!” Louise groaned.

“I’d help you if I could,” Hutch thought at them, wishing they could hear him. But only Starsky seemed to be able to hear him. And his body was stiff and heavy, as if a really big weight was holding him down.

“You know, I never noticed before,” Sasha said, panting as they struggled with Hutch, “but this one has blond hair.”

“What? I thought they were all the same.”

“Put him down and look.” Hutch felt himself being tilted again and he stopped moving. Both of the women moved up close to peer at him. “See,” Sasha went on, “Most of them have totally white hair, but his has a yellow-ish cast.”

“Hmmm,” was Louise’s response. “I guess whoever does the painting changes them up once in a while.”

“Check the others out tomorrow,” Sasha suggested. “Now let’s just get this one situated. I want to get home.”

Hutch’s mind was such a swirl of confusion he barely registered that they were once again moving his stiff body to another place.

Blond? Well, I do have blond hair, so I guess that’s something. To prove who I am? That this is me in here? But they also mentioned ‘others’ — are they talking about Starsky? Or other figures like me — and am I not a wooden soldier? I’m a nutcracker? Are other people trapped like me? Like both Starsky and I?

Suddenly, both women let go of him and he wobbled a bit before settling in place. Hutch looked around as best he could. He was now standing in an aisle closer to the front of the store. He could see cash registers, wreaths high on the front wall and outside, a dark parking lot.

“There you go, buddy,” Sasha told him, patting the area where Hutch felt his shoulder should be. “Now you can see what’s going on better.” She gave a little chuckle. “And Santa’s right over there — you can keep each other company.”

Santa?

He looked to his right and there was another figure. Santa Claus!

“Starsk?”

“Yeah?”

“Is that you? You’re Santa Claus!”

“What? How can I be Santa? I’m Jewish!”

“Well, how can I be a wooden soldier — er, nutcracker? Damn, can you see me? What exactly am I?”

“I can’t tell — you do look like a wooden soldier, standing all stiff and straight with a big tall hat…”

“Is his head straight?” came the voice of the woman called Louise.

“Oh, yeah, it shifted a bit while we were moving him,” Sasha answered. And then, the strangest thing of all, she put one hand on each side of Hutch’s head and tilted it back so that his plastic mouth was open and then she shut it again with a decided clunk.

From his partner, Hutch heard a stifled laugh. “Yeah, you’re a nutcracker in the shape of a wooden soldier.”

“There you go, buddy.” Sasha’s voice.

“Stop talking to it like it’s a person or something,” Louise scoffed. “Go clock out so we can get out of here.”

“But I am a person,” Hutch thought to them, feeling cut off from the world.

“Don’t worry about them,” Starsky told him. “Now we can see each other. This is better, right?”

“Better? Better than what?” Hutch felt angry. He didn’t like this, not one bit. Yes, he could see his partner now, but what good would it do? They were trapped with no imaginable way out of this situation. “Those women are our only chance! If we can let them know we’re real, maybe…”

“Maybe what, babe? They don’t look like they have the power to release us. What do you expect? It’d give them a heart attack if they could hear us talkin’ or if we suddenly moved.” Starsky’s voice was kind, patient.

“I don’t know.” Hutch felt morose, hopeless. He ached with the need to move, to be himself, to be real again. The weird reality made him feel glum, hopeless.

After a few moments, Starsky spoke again. “Hutch? You there? I wanted to ask you somethin’.”

“I’m here.” Hutch dragged his mind back to the here and now. “What can I tell you?” Starsky needed him. He couldn’t dwell on his own emotions. Besides, thinking too much was making him feel worse.

“What do I look like? You said I’m Santa, but… tell me, exactly.”

Hutch mentally blinked and looked over at his partner. Starsky was no longer the svelte man he had been picturing in his head. But he couldn’t tell him that.

“Oh, you look great, Starsk,” he said. “You’re big and tall and you’re wearing a beautiful velvet suit, with fluffy white fur around your collar and cuffs. You’ve got on black gloves and little round reading glasses.”

“Does my face look at all like me?”

Hutch wasn’t sure how to put it. “Well, you’ve got rosy cheeks and sort of twinkling eyes,” he said, attempting to focus on the positive. And you’ve got white bushy eyebrows, and white hair — ”

“White hair?” Starsky sounded offended. “I’m not old enough for that!”

“Starsky, you’re Santa. Have you ever seen him with anything other than white hair?”

“Well, the Black Santas have…”

“They have mostly white hair too,” Hutch reminded him.

“But my curls…” Starsky nearly whined.

“Your beard,” Hutch jumped in. “Your beard reminds me most of the real you. Your beard is long and white but super curly.”

“Oh.” Starsky appeared to think that over. “Well, that’s something at least.”

“You have on a big hat that’s velvet too. It’s at a jaunty angle with a gold ball at the pointy tip. You’re holding up a long piece of paper, like a scroll or something. It looks like there are kids’ names written on it — oh, it’s Santa’s list! And your face is actually sculpted, not a flat plane with paint for features, like mine. You’re smiling too.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, you look real happy. And,” Hutch took a mental deep breath, “your lips look almost real. You’re smiling just how you were when you were pulling me to stand under that mistletoe with you.”

“Awww, Hutch…”

“Wish I could kiss you,” Hutch said softly. “I was waiting for that, back at the party. We don’t usually get to kiss in public.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t know those people and everybody seemed strange but okay with bein’ different. I felt like it would be okay.”

“I did too.”

They stared into each other’s’ eyes, and even though the eyes they could see weren’t their real eyes, Hutch felt like he was also seeing those blue eyes of Starsky’s that he loved so much. A rush of warmth seemed to flow between them.

“Did you feel that, Hutch?” Starsky asked, his voice soft, honeyed.

“Y-yeah, kinda.”

“What do you think it means?”

“Maybe,” Hutch searched for what the feeling could mean. It felt like when they’d come through some fire-fight and they were back at the station but couldn’t reach for each other with all the other cops around, and yet some force, some measure of their love still connected them. It was so real, so true that it transcended the empty space and joined them, almost without a need for actual touch. Hutch drew in a breath of part amazement, part peace, and he knew the answer. “Me and thee. That’s what it is.”

Starsky sent his own feelings through their connection. “Yeah, babe. And I think it also means we’re still alive. We may be inside these figures, but we aren’t just what we look like, what we seem. We’re real. And it maybe means we can, somehow, escape.”

“Damn.” Hutch sighed. “I sure hope you’re right, Starsky.”

“So what I’m sayin’ is, if we are still real, we can somehow break this spell, or whatever it is, and get out of this.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, of course I do. And we can figure it out. We’re detectives, aren’t we?”

Hutch found himself suppressing a laugh. “Well, when you put it like that….”

“Right!” Starsky was using all his considerable charm to keep Hutch feeling positive. “So, whaddya say, baby blue? The store is closed. We’re alone. We’ve got the whole night to work on this problem.”

“I just wish we were closer to each other,” Hutch mused.

“Me, too. But at least we can see each other now.”

“Yeah, there’s that. I just… don’t like feeling so frozen.”

“Hmmm,” Starsky said, as if thinking about the problem. “Maybe we aren’t really so frozen. You can breathe, right?”

“I guess so. I mean, it feels like I’m breathing.”

“And we can both talk.”

“Or is it telepathy?”

“Do you always have to be such a downer?” Starsky complained. “Who cares if it’s telepathy or if we are really talkin’? We can do it, that’s the point.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Besides, I think telepathy between us is cool. Imagine how we could put that to use on the streets.”

“Don’t we sort of do that now?” Hutch asked.

“Hey, you’re right. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to think-talk to each other now.” Starsky sounded really happy. “And that’s probably why we can feel each other even though we can’t touch like this.”

“Yeah.” Hutch thought back to the way their feelings for each other seemed to flow back and forth between them, the ‘me and thee’ symbiosis they shared. “So what do you suggest?”

“Well, maybe we can somehow… move closer together.”

“Move? Physically, you mean?”

“Yeah. I saw them moving you, Hutch. It should be possible.”

“Starsky, you know I love you but we can’t move!”

“But…”

“No! We can’t use our arms and legs, we can’t turn our heads — I couldn’t even move out of the way when that woman hit me with her cart. How can you expect us to just casually walk over to each other?”

“No. We’d sort of rock back and forth — ”

“But how? We can’t move a muscle!”

“But we’re talking! Just because we can’t move our jaws and lips and tongues hasn’t stopped us from talking. We just think the words in our heads and they come out. At least that’s what I’m doing.”

“That’s how I’m doing it too,” Hutch admitted, though he was still confused.

“So, just think moving!” Starsky said it as if it was completely obvious.

“What?”

“Use the power of your mind, Hutch!”

Hutch was still skeptical. He knew how much his partner loved his science fiction films and supernatural books and he was likely imagining that he could somehow defy the laws of physics and reality and actually move.

When the store clerks had moved him, they had tilted him so that they could rock him back and forth, using the edge of the base on which he stood to move and slide him along the floor.

“Those women had trouble moving me and you are probably a lot heavier than I am,” he said. “They tilted me — I can’t be sure of the angle — but it was at least 30 degrees. Then they were able to rock my form back and forth. But how we could get the angle right by ourselves is a problem. Even if we could manage to tilt ourselves, who’s to say we could get the angle right. We could even go too far and fall over completely. Let me think it through, do the math, Starsk.”

“You’re thinkin’ too much,” Starsky argued. “Don’t think! Just do!”

“Sure, it’s just that simple,” Hutch said sarcastically.

Starsky let out a frustrated sigh. “Hutch! Just watch me!”

There was a pause and Hutch heard a grunt and then — yes, the Santa figure that was Starsky did actually move!

He tilted back and forth from side to side, edging closer with every wobble. Starsky was moving through the sheer will of his mind.

“Do I have feet? Am I using them to move?” he asked Hutch excitedly.

“No. You’re attached to a base but that’s moving!” Hutch told him, proud of his partner’s efforts. Starsky never failed to surprise him.

“Now you try,” Starsky told him.

Hutch was never one to let his partner out-do him, so he took a figurative deep breath and thought really hard and concentrated and — he moved too!

“That’s it, Blintz! You got it now, c’mon!” Starsky praised him enthusiastically.

Hutch continued rocking his stiff figure back and forth, slowly moving across the floor toward the Santa figure that Starsky inhabited. He didn’t know how he was doing it, but he was. It was like how he’d walk normally, his brain sending signals to his muscles to move his feet and legs. He didn’t have to think about those details when he walked and he didn’t have to think about tipping his body or leaning or sliding along the floor now. It just happened.

But Hutch got tired quickly. He’d only moved part way across the aisle, still farther away from Starsky than he wanted to be.

“That’s it for me,” he finally gasped out. I feel like I’m carrying three hundred pounds here.”

“Yeah, me too. I got worn out pretty quickly,” Starsky admitted sheepishly. “But we did move closer,” he went on, looking on the bright side. “And I can see you better now.”

“Yeah? Tell me.”

“Well, your jacket is red and your pants are blue,” Starsky began. “You’ve got high black boots with gold trim. There’s gold on your jacket too and you have big gold epaulets on your shoulders. Makes you look all military and official.”

“Hmmm,” Hutch acknowledged.

“You’ve got this really tall soldier hat too,” Starsky continued. With more gold trim and a gold star. Did you know you’re holding a long, I don’t know, spear type thing?”

“No! I thought both my arms were down at my sides. Am I holding the spear like a weapon?”

“Nah, it’s more like a standard or something. Like maybe a drum major would hold up. It’s got a cone type top.”

“Okay.” Hutch couldn’t quite picture what Starsky meant, but at least he had a new concept of what he must look like. “Thanks,” he added as an afterthought.

“You look pretty handsome,” Starsky told him. “All tall and regal and proud.”

“Proud?”

“Well, you’re not exactly the white knight in that get up, but pretty close to it. Like you’d defend Santa on his rounds delivering toys.”

“I would, Starsk,” Hutch said sincerely. “Even if this baton isn’t a spear, I’d still use it if any evil elves tried to steal your bag of gifts.”

“You’re a real pal, Hutch.” Starsky’s voice was soft, tender. It almost felt to Hutch that his partner had his arm around his shoulders, even though he knew they were still at least two feet apart.

For a little while, they just stood as they were, Hutch sending waves of affection toward his love with every breath he took, and he felt the same comfort and protection emanating from Starsky toward him.

“Hutch, I’m really tired.”

“So am I.”

“You got any idea of what time it is?”

“None. I can’t see a clock but it feels like a long time since those clerks left and closed up the store. But we can’t be sure if the passage of time is slower or faster for us is the same as if we were… still in reality.” He struggled to express the state they were in. But there’d been no need to worry.

As usual, Starsky was on the same wavelength. “Yeah, we sure aren’t in the real world. Time passes slow on a stake out but fast when we’re,” he stifled a chuckle, “you know, havin’ fun. But here? Who knows?”

“As usual, that’s what’s on your mind,” Hutch told him, though the comment was without heat. “What if we never get out of here? Will we ever ‘have fun’ again? Or are we stuck here, like this –”

“Don’t say it!” Starsky cut in. “Don’t go thinkin’ like that! Or sayin’ it out loud.”

“You afraid it’ll jinx us?”

“Well sure, aren’t you?” Starsky huffed in annoyance. “Look Hutch, maybe it’s silly but I am not gonna take any chances. We gotta believe we’ll break free of this… this whatever it is. Whether it’s a curse or a spell or some kinda magic that has sent us here, we can’t even think it will last forever!” He paused his impassioned plea. “Please, Hutch? I gotta know you’re with me in this.”

“I’m with you,” Hutch was quick to reassure. “On the streets, in the bedroom. In the real world, or this one or any other world they throw at us. I got you, partner.”

“That sounds good,” Starsky responded. “But like I said, I’m out of steam. I think I need some shut eye.”

“Me too,” Hutch agreed. “I guess we can sleep like this, just standing here.”

“Maybe we’ll wake up and find out this has all been a bad dream.”

“That would be great,” Hutch said, putting a smile in his voice. Oh, how he wished this was all some weird dream, that they’d wake up tomorrow and everything would be the way it was supposed to be. Hutch decided drifting off to sleep might be a really good idea.

But his treacherous mind wouldn’t let him rest. Too many what-ifs were niggling at him. What if they’d wake up right where they were, standing around some store like macabre decorations tomorrow and the day after that and the next day and… what if what they called “the real world” wasn’t actually real, what if this was their reality and the world of Bay City, their beat, their jobs and all they knew, Huggy, Dobey, everyone they cared about, what if that was the dream?

He almost said something to Starsky about it, but he could tell by the other man’s breathing that he had fallen asleep. Hutch didn’t want to disturb him, tell him about the insane fear that was even now threatening to drive him crazy with foreboding.

Let Starsky rest, Hutch told himself. Putting his fears into words would only upset his partner and, perhaps, as Starsky had said earlier, somehow prevent them from escaping to get home.

He didn’t know how long he was kept awake by the disturbing possibilities, but eventually, Hutch drifted off to sleep. Fortunately, he did not dream.

To be continued….