Shadows

By M. Willow

Chapter Three

Starsky got up at the ungodly hour of seven o’clock, eager and ready to start the day.  He knocked soundly on Hutch’s door and was greeted by the bedraggled appearance of his partner. 

“Rise and shine, blondie, the day is at hand,” he said, breezing into the room.

“Starsk, you are more cheerful than anyone has a right to be.”

“Of course,” Starsky said, plopping down on the bed as Hutch grabbed his shirt from the poster.  Hutch’s room was almost identical to his, only he had a bookcase.  It’s a beautiful day for a treasure hunt.”

Hutch smiled as he buttoned his shirt.  “It’s raining which can lead to power failures.  That’s the problem with old houses, one flash of lightning and the lights go out.”

As if on cue thunder sounded in the distance and Starsky winced.  The house was dark enough as it was, but a blackout would leave them totally dependent on candles; an idea he wasn’t too fond of.

Hutch went to the fireplace and grabbed two lanterns.  He came back to the bed and handed one to Starsky.

“What’s this for?” Starsky asked.

“Well, seeing that the rest of the house is dark, I suspect the east wing might not even have lights.  I want to get this over with before we go into town for the flashlights.  Let’s go.”

00000

The lanterns were indeed needed because thick, black draperies hung at each window.  Even if it had been a sunny day, no light would have been able to enter.  The place was cold too, making Starsky feel like he was the unfortunate victim of a time travel experiment that had dropped him off in a century where indoor heat had yet to be invented.  It actually felt colder than it did outside.

Now they were standing in a room filled with furniture covered in thick plastic.  Hutch was looking at a portrait of a beautiful woman that hung over the fireplace. 

“This is my aunt,” he said, causing Starsky to blink in surprise.  Whenever he thought of his partner’s aunt, he imagined a matronly woman, a little plump, certainly not beautiful.  The woman in the portrait, however, was breathtaking with full lips, blond hair pulled high on her head, and eyes a startling color of blue.  She smiled as if she had a secret no one else was privy too.  Still, it was a portrait, painted when she’d been in the full bloom of youth. 

“She was very beautiful,” Starsky said, coming up to stand next to his partner. 

“She was nearly fifty when that portrait was done,” Hutch said, his voice almost a whisper.  She never looked her age.” 

Starsky was shocked to learn she had been that old.  She didn’t look a day over thirty.

Hutch continued.   “I hadn’t seen her in years, but Kelly told me she never lost her looks, they just mellowed with age, but she was still beautiful.  In my mind she still looks the way she did in that portrait.”

Starsky noticed the blond looked like he was in a trance.  He placed his hand on Hutch’s shoulder, causing him to jump.

“Why did you stop comin’ here, Hutch?”  There, he’d finally asked the question that needed to be answered. He had a sixth sense regarding his partner, and that sixth sense was on overdrive now.  Whatever was bothering Hutch had something do with this house and why he’d stopped coming to visit an aunt he obviously still cared about.

Hutch looked at Starsky, his pain palpable.  “I don’t know.  I guess because my uncle died.”

“Hutch, there’s got to be more to it.  You seem, I don’t know.  You seem…”

“Scared shitless?” Hutch finished.  “Scared and I don’t know why.”

“You mean you can’t remember.” Starsky asked and watched as Hutch’s eyes became cloudy.  He could almost feel the distance lengthening between them.

“Let’s drop it,” Hutch said slowly, turning and treading out of the room.

The storm brewed intensely as the detectives slowly climbed the stairs, their candles lit.  Hutch was quiet, too quiet.  Starsky knew he was partly to blame.  He should never have asked Hutch why he hadn’t been to see his aunt.  He should have waited until Hutch brought the subject up himself.  Instead, he had plowed in, unthinking.  Now he was paying the price with his partner’s silence.   

He cleared his throat.  He had to do something to make the blond talk.

“Hey, Hutch, what was this place like when you lived here?”  He waited for a reply, but the only sound he heard was thunder and wind.  It was like the wind was actually trying to get into the house.  Starsky shivered when he heard the ghost like voice of his partner.  Hutch still seemed far away, as if he was imagining him there.

“You should have seen it Starsky.  This whole wing was done in art deco style.  My aunt and uncle had parties here that had a who’s who of just about anybody with money.  I met movie stars, politicians.  It was great.  I thought it would never end.”

“How long did you live here?”

“Not long enough.  I use to come here in the summer mostly and some weekends, but when I was fourteen I came to live here permanently.  I had only been here a few months when my uncle died.” 

Starsky watched Hutch climb the stairs shoulders hunched, hands grazing the handrails, a study in despair.  He could feel Hutch distancing himself, locking some part of himself away from him.  It both disturbed and hurt him at the same time.  They’d always been close, sharing the deepest part of themselves.  Yet Hutch had kept this part of his life a secret, not telling him he even had an aunt and uncle, not telling him how much those two people meant to the boy who had no one else.

Starsky wanted to reach out, and pull the blond into his arms, tell him everything was going to be okay, but this time Hutch had cut himself off.  He didn’t want the comfort and Starsky couldn’t understand why.

The staircase opened into a long hall.  “The room is on the end,” Hutch said as they proceeded down the hall.   Again Starsky felt like something was going to jump out at him.  The lanterns provided adequate light, but only where they walked. 

He focused his attention on his partner who was beside him.  Hutch walked like a man going to his execution, his eyes focused on the door ahead of him, his movements slow and celebrate.  He paused as they reached the door.  It was like he didn’t want to go in.  Starsky half expected to see him turn and run.  Instead, he opened the door and just stood there.

“Hutch, you okay?” he asked, but Hutch didn’t answer.  He walked inside, the light from the lantern illuminating the room.  Starsky moved his lantern to get a better view of Hutch and was shocked to see the stark, white face and eyes that seemed almost glazed.

“Hutch?” 

Starsky’s heart was beating so loudly he could almost hear it.  He was on full alert now, his fierce protectiveness of the blond consuming all his thoughts.  Something was wrong.

Hutch eyed the room, memories floating back like the rush of an evening tide.  He closed his eyes and could almost hear his aunt’s voice when she’d first shown him the room.   He’d been impressed by the sheer size of it, how it was filled with things that were hundreds of years old.   He was so excited that he was going to spend the entire summer at Lamb House exploring its treasures.   He’d walked through the room, his hand gliding over the ancient furnishings.  Everything was so beautiful, untarnished by the years.  And then he came to the chest.  It was old and reminded him of a coffin with its dark coloring and brass hand pulls.  It frightened him.  He recalled the tale of Pandora’s Box, how all the ugliness of the world had been released because of her curiosity.  To him, the chest looked like it could hold the ugliness of the world.  His aunt seemed to sense his fear and told him of the chest’s history.

“My great-grandmother received this the day of her wedding.  Her father made it with his own hands.  They were a poor family you see.  She married Charles Lamb when she was only sixteen making her rich beyond her imagination, but she always kept this chest.  It was her legacy.” 

His aunt paused as a tear escaped the sky blue eyes.  “Her wedding dress is still there.  I had hoped to have a girl who would wear it on her wedding day, but I am too old now.  My time has passed.”

Hutch shared the sadness his aunt felt.  She was so beautiful that he couldn’t imagine she would ever be old.  

Hutch felt a lump form in his throat as he recalled those times and walked solemnly to the trunk.   It was almost like he was back there.  It was 1953 and he was ten years old.  His uncle had been alive then, alive and loving him.  Nearly identical in appearance to his father, Hutch had fantasized that he was indeed his father and his aunt his mother.  He finally had a family even if it was only for the summer.  Then one day, in 1957, his dream came true and he came to live with the two most important people in his life.

Now, Hutch eyed the trunk as sadness made him want to weep for the woman who’d died alone.  Died that way because he couldn’t bring himself to come back.  Hadn’t even bothered to call but once a year and then the conversation had been short, terse, almost angry.

He was about to tell Starsky that he had seen enough when he saw the shadow.  It was near, just behind the trunk, tall, with a presence that made it seem alive.  Hutch couldn’t understand why Starsky who was standing right next to him hadn’t reacted.  It was standing right in front of them.  It didn’t move and for an instant he thought he was imagining it.  Shadows didn’t just appear out of nowhere, they were a reflection of something.  Yet no item in the room could have caused it.

”Starsk, do you see anything?” he asked in a tight voice, his eyes riveted on the thing.

Starsky moved in front of him, but he could still see the shadow. He looked at his partner and saw fear in his eyes.   “I don’t see nothin’ Hutch.  What do you see?”

Hutch felt the rise of panic threatening to overcome him.  He wanted to remain calm, but how could he with the shadow just standing there, ready to attack.  Hutch could see that it looked like an outline of a man, its fists clenched.  He looked into the confused eyes of Starsky.  Heard him say there was nothing in the room except old furniture.  He wanted to laugh at his friends attempt at humor, but right now he needed to watch the shadow. 

He reasoned with himself.   If Starsky didn’t see the thing it couldn’t be there.  It had to be a figment of his imagination.  But it hardly looked like his imagination.  He closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness came over him.  He felt Starsky grab his arms.  Hutch opened his eyes to stare into the concerned blue eyes of his partner and something moving behind him.  It was coming.

”Oh, god,” he said, not sure he’d said it aloud, his heart pounding frantically. 

He had to get out, had to get away.  He turned breaking his contact with Starsky.  He saw the door looming in front of him.  It was so far away, he wasn’t sure he could make it, but then he felt the shadow coming and knew he had to try.  He ran with everything he had.  He was vaguely aware of someone shouting his name, but he couldn’t put a name to the voice. 

He was in a hall, the darkness making it difficult to see.  He looked behind him for an instant.  He had to know if it was still there.  He saw it, just to the side, almost imperceptible, but it was moving.  It would be there soon, if he didn’t move fast enough.  He turned and ran faster, the hall a blur as he passed, the voice still shouting his name.

He nearly fell when he reached the stairs, but righted himself just in time.   He ran in the direction of the west wing.  He knew that if he could reach that part of the house, he would be safe.  Now, he saw the light spilling in from the window.  So near.  He knew if he could reach that light, he might just make it.  Shadows couldn’t cross into light.  But then he felt the hand and his blood froze. 

It was too late. 

TBC