It had been three hours since the nightmare. Hutch had called Dobey and told him what had happened. The captain gave both of them time off and Hutch was grateful. He didn’t like the haunted look in his partner’s eyes. Now both men sat in the living room talking. Starsky was visibly shaken. It had taken everything the blond knew about psychology to calm his hysterical friend after the nightmare. Starsky had refused to go back to sleep and so they had spent the time talking. The spoke of everything but the nightmare or the accident. Hutch remembered the doctor telling him not to push Starsky so he let his friend lead the conversation.

“Starsky, I love talking to you, but you need rest. Come on. How about I help you to the bedroom.”

“No, Hutch, I ain’t goin’ to sleep. I’m not tired.”

“I know, but you still need to get some rest.”

Starsky looked at Hutch intently. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“Look, it was just a dream. That’s all.” Hutch added, sensing the dream Starsky had had was about the accident.

Starsky visibly relaxed. “Yeah, and dreams can’t hurt you, can they?” He said sarcastically, locking eyes with Hutch. He got up and headed for the bedroom. He slept peacefully the rest of the night.

The weeks went by slowly. They were unable to discover the reason a young, healthy woman would suddenly drive a car off a bridge. Her death haunted Starsky in many ways. Her family blamed him. Morgan’s mother had verbally attacked him when he attempted to pay his respects at Morgan’s funeral. It was ugly, with the old woman threatening to destroy him. He was an officer of the law—sworn to protect and serve, she’d shouted. Yet, he had sat idly while her child had died.

Morgan’s family was rich and had connections in high places. It appeared that Morgan had committed suicide but the family was not willing to accept the verdict. A coroner’s inquest was ordered and private detectives were hired by the Morgan family. Starsky had been suspended during the investigation in spite of Dobey’s protest. Still, in the end, it was determined that Morgan had ended her own life. The family continued to deny the suicidal intentions of Morgan, refusing to provide information that may have yielded answers. Starsky’s suspension ended and he returned to work.

Now, Hutch eyed his friend sitting across from him at the station. Starsky was quiet, a fact that was becoming all too familiar.

“Starsky, would you like to get something to eat. Maybe go to that favorite Mexican place you like.”

The dark-haired detective didn’t look up and didn’t seem surprised that his health nut friend had suggested a place that hardly had a healthy item on the menu.

“Naw, Hutch. Why don’t you go ahead,” Starsky said absently, pretending to read a report.

“Listen, Starsk, You’ve gotta pull out of this. We may never discover why she killed herself, or tried to kill you.”

Starsky rubbed his eyes then looked at Hutch. “Don’t you see, Hutch. I’ve gotta find the answer. Everything depends on it.”

Hutch met his partners worried eyes. “Buddy, talk to me. You know I want to…”

Starsky rose from his chair. “Not this time,” and he left, the door closing softly behind him.

It was late and Starsky was tired. More tired than he had been in a long time. He had been avoiding sleep, drinking tons of coffee, anything to avoid the recurring nightmare about Morgan. He’d been having the same nightmare for weeks. He would meet Morgan at the party and then she would ask him why had he let her die.

Starsky got undressed and got into bed. Tonight he planned to sleep. He couldn’t keep going indefinitely without sleep. Hutch was starting to get worried, and honestly, so was he. He was becoming short tempered, striking at anyone who came near him. He’d refused help, even from Hutch.

Now he stretched out on the bed, his body relaxing into the mattress. Within minutes he was asleep. He slept well until he heard the faint sounds of someone entering his apartment. Hutch, Starsky thought. Probably worried about my abrupt departure from the squad room. He attempted to call out to his friend, only to discover that his voice failed. He attempted to get up, but discovered, to his horror, that he couldn’t move.

Fear gripped Starsky. He couldn’t move and someone was in his apartment. He tried to move his hands and then his feet. His breathing quickened as he realized that he couldn’t. He could hear the sounds of footsteps moving closer to his room. They were slow and deliberate—almost as if the person were toying with him. He felt indescribable terror at the prospect of helplessly lying in bed—paralyzed for all intents and purposes, while an intruder entered his room.

It wasn’t Hutch, he could sense only malevolence in the presence of the person walking towards him. He thought of his gun hanging uselessly by the door. He struggled to open his eyes to no avail and then he heard someone enter his room and approach the bed. Would they poison him? Must he relive that nightmare, he thought. He thought of Hutch and called to him in a silent whisper. And then he felt a cold hand on his arm and smelled the putrid scent of decay. He struggled, struggled to move anything, any part of his body. Still, he couldn’t move. He just laid there while the cold hand caressed his face. And then he heard a husky voice. “Why did you let me die?” Starsky screamed in his mind, but his voice was silent.