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Beneath a Heart of Darkness	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 4657 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own 21JS or the characters. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
My apologies for taking so long to write this chapter. After Tom's rape scene, I needed some time out so I wrote "Have a Little Faith in Me" and "Crime and Punishment". But I'm back on track now, so hopefully I will continue to post weekly.
In Peace,
OpenPage x

When the last Pi Tau exited the basement, the door slammed closed, and the room plunged into darkness. With his arms outstretched, Booker stumbled blindly across the room, his breath rasping painfully in his throat. “TOM!” he yelled. “TOM, WHERE ARE YOU?”
Stony silence greeted his question, and stopping next to the staircase, he closed his eyes and inhaled several deep, calming breaths. He had trained for this type of situation, and he knew the best way to help Tom was to put his emotions to one side and start behaving like an experienced police officer.
Opening his eyes, he stood still for several minutes until his vision had adjusted to the gloom. He could make out the outline of the large workbench where their first hazing ritual had taken place, and moving forward, he stopped next to the counter. Now that he had his bearings, his eyes scanned the dimly lit room. Outside, the sun peeked out from behind the heavy rain clouds, its rays casting a small amount of light through the narrow basement window. With the gift of sunlight, Booker’s gaze immediately fell on Tom’s semi-naked body, and his heart leaped into his throat. The young officer sat crouched in a corner, his arms wrapped protectively around his head. Even from a distance, Booker could detect the violent tremors racking his friend’s slender frame, and he wondered if Tom had gone into shock.
“Hey, Tommy,” he murmured, his voice belying the heaviness in his heart. “It’s okay, it’s only me, you’re safe now.”
When he received no answer, he slowly inched forward, making sure to keep his movements non-threatening. As he stepped closer, he could hear the sound of soft whimpering, and his heart began to hammer painfully in his chest. He had no idea how to calm a victim of rape—that was certainly not part of the Academy’s curriculum—and therefore, he decided to revert to friend mode, at least until he could give his partner the reassurance he needed.
When he finally stood next to Tom’s quivering body, he squatted down and reached out a comforting hand. But as his fingertips made contact with his friend’s sweat-matted hair, Tom jerked violently away, an anguished cry sounding from between his lips. Startled by the reaction, Booker toppled backward, his backside hitting the cold cement floor with a thud. His eyes grew wide, and he watched with growing horror as Tom—his arms now crossed over his chest, his hands gripping his shoulders—began rocking back and forth, the back of his head slamming into the brick wall behind him.
Afraid that Tom might seriously hurt himself, Booker lunged forward and pulled him into his arms. “Tommy, no!”
But Tom was too traumatized to hear Booker’s desperate plea and believing he was once again under attack, he lashed out; his arms and legs flailing in panic. His fingernails ripped down the flesh of Booker’s cheek, drawing blood to the surface of the tanned skin, but he was unaware of the damage he was causing his friend. His mind had shut down, and he was acting on instinct alone.
Booker's fight to restrain Tom’s thrashing body became a battle of wills. Droplets of blood seeped from the wound on his cheek, and his aching muscles screamed in protest. But he ignored the pain and eventually, Tom’s body went limp in his arms. An eerie silence settled over the basement, but it was the calm before the storm. Moments later, a loud, racking sob split through the peacefulness, and Tom broke down in a flood of tears.
“Shhh, baby,” Booker whispered, and clumsily pulling Tom into his lap, he rocked him like a small child. “It’s okay. No one can hurt you now.”
Tom’s distressed sobs filled the air, his hot tears soaking through the cotton of Booker’s tee shirt. Shame smoldered in his soul, burning a hole in his humanity. But nothing compared to the fiery pain exploding deep inside his damaged anus. Torn muscles and ripped flesh wept bloody rivulets, coating his thighs in the sticky sanguine fluid. Seven men had robbed him of his innocence. Seven men had violently taken from him what should only be given in love, and in doing so, those seven men had destroyed his trust, changing his life forever.
The Tom Hanson of old no longer existed, all that remained was a broken shadow of his former self.
Ten minutes passed before Tom’s sobs slowly transformed into soft hiccups. Suddenly aware of his semi-nakedness, he jerked free from Booker’s hold and shuffling backward, he pulled the front of his tee shirt over his thighs, covering his shame. When his friend attempted to reach out to him, he shrank away, his knees drawing up to his chest. “Don’t.”
“Sorry,” Booker murmured, his eyes focused on the smears of blood staining the cement floor. There was no doubt his friend was in need of urgent medical attention, and he knew he must quickly formulate a plan, or Tom could face serious medical consequences.
Following Booker’s line of vision, Tom’s cheeks flamed red when he saw the blood, and he lowered his eyes to the floor. “I’m okay,” he mumbled in a small voice, stretching his tee shirt over his knees. “I just want to go home.”
Booker recognized the need to tread warily, and he spoke in a soft, compassionate voice. “Tom, you’re hurt. We need to find a way out so you can go to the hospital. Then the doctors can check you over and get DNA evidence so we can take these bastards down.”
Once again, a tremulous wave of emotion broke across Tom’s face, and his eyes grew wide with alarm before once again clouding into a blank stare. “No,” he muttered with an adamant shake of his head, his eyes refusing to meet Dennis’ earnest stare. “I don't want anyone to know.”
Surprised by Tom's proclamation, Booker’s face registered his shock. “Tom, you have to report it! You need to file charges because if you don’t they’ll do it to somebody else.”
“THEN LET SOMEBODY ELSE STAND UP IN A COURTROOM AND HUMILIATE THEMSELVES,” Tom yelled, his anger bubbling forth in a torrent of emotion. “BECAUSE I'M NOT FUCKING DOING IT! GOT IT?”
Confused by Tom’s reasoning, Booker attempted to convince him by using cop logic. “Look, you know better than anyone how it works; we explain it to victims all the—”
“I'm not a fucking victim!”
“Okay, okay, I'm sorry,” Booker quickly placated. “It's just... Jesus, Tommy, you can't let them get away with it.”
“They already have,” Tom whispered, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “No matter what happens, nothing can change what they did to me... what you did to me.”
Booker held Tom's gaze for a moment before lowering his eyes, a light flush creeping up his neck. “They had a gun, Tommy,” he explained quietly. "I didn't have a choice.”
“You got off on it… I saw you.”
“Tom... I—”
“You had an erection!” Tom cried out, pain and anguish filling his dark eyes. “Sucking me off gave you a fucking erection, and that makes you no different to them!”
Disturbed by Tom’s accusation, Booker’s face paled. “I told you! Stevenson had a gun and—”
It was then that Tom dropped the bombshell. “I didn’t see a gun,” he informed Booker in a cool voice. “How do I know you’re not making it up?”
Booker’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he exclaimed in disbelief. “Why the fuck would I do that?”
Tom’s left eye twitched nervously, but he stubbornly held Booker’s gaze. “Maybe ‘cause you wanted to do it,” he challenged, and before Booker could retort, he hastily added, “Or maybe you were in on it all along.”
A look of revulsion passed over Booker’s face, and he jerked backward, his body physically recoiling from Tom’s accusatory stare. “That’s what you think?” he choked, his eyes widening in horror. “After everything we’ve been through, how the hell could you even consider a thing like that?”
With his emotions in turmoil, Tom’s mind snapped. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO THINK!” he screamed hysterically, his fingers ripping at his hair. “I DON’T KNOW I DON’T KNOW I DON’T KNOW…”
Frightened by Hanson’s wild outburst, Booker held out his hands and standing up, he slowly backed away, giving his friend some space. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothed in a trembling voice. “I’m sorry, I know—”
“You don’t know shit,” Tom murmured, tears clinging to the long, dark lashes of his now deadpan eyes, and lowering his head to his knees, he wrapped his arms around his legs and resumed his rocking.
**
Five hours later
To Booker’s relief, after hours of silent rocking, Tom had finally fallen asleep. With his back to the wall, the young officer lay on his side, his knees drawn up to his chest. The faint sunlight filtering in through the window highlighted the paleness of his face, and he looked much younger than his twenty-three years. But what disturbed Booker the most was the blood and semen coating his friend’s thighs, and as he watched Tom fall into a fitful sleep, he gave himself permission to grieve. Tears rolled unchecked down his drawn face; all the pain and misery in his heart flowing free in a silent display of sorrow and regret. He had screwed up big time, and he had paid the ultimate price; his Tommy lay battered and bleeding, and it was doubtful he would ever be forgiven for not saving his friend from the horrors of a gang rape.
Once certain that Tom was asleep, Booker ventured into the bathroom and taking a towel from the railing, he went over to his friend and draped it over the lower-half of his body. He tried to convince himself that the reason he had waited for Tom to fall asleep before going to the retrieve the towel was because he did not want to alert his friend to the presence of a shower. But that was only part of the reason. While he was legitimately trying to preserve the evidence on Tom’s body, he had also waited until the young officer was asleep before covering him because he could not face the accusatory look in his eyes a second time. Tom viewed him in the same light as he viewed his rapists; he was scum, he had sexually abused the man he loved, and he was certain the young officer would never forgive him.
After satisfying himself that Tom was not in any imminent danger, he began looking for a way out of the basement. There were only two exits, the locked door leading into the Pi Tau kitchen, and the narrow window set just below the ceiling. He knew there was no point banging on the door, and after studying the window, he came to the conclusion that even if he could reach it, it was too narrow for him to crawl through. Like it or not, they were trapped. The only way out was if Tom took a shower, and Booker was not about to let all the DNA evidence wash down the drain into the Los Angeles sewerage system; he would find another way out.
Turning around, he was surprised to see Tom sitting with his back to the wall, his drawn-up knees covered by the blood-stained towel. The young officer stared straight ahead, his deadpan visage fixed in an unmovable, ghost-like mask. Booker had enough experience on the job to know Tom was now exhibiting symptoms of flat affect, a severe reduction in emotional expressiveness and a common reaction following trauma. It was not a good sign, and a chill of concern ran down his spine. Things were heading from bad to worse with every passing hour, and his sense of helplessness left him with feelings of impotence and self-loathing.
Being careful not to startle Tom, he moved slowly forward, his hands held out in front of him. “Hey, Tommy,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’m gonna sit down next to you so we can talk, okay?”
There was no acknowledgment in Tom’s dark eyes, and for Booker, he found his friend’s silence and detachment far more disturbing than the emotional outburst hours before. Hanson’s regression was a sure sign that he was withdrawing from the world, and that meant he was either in shock or heading toward a breakdown.
Making sure to keep a few feet between them, Booker sat down in the cross-legged position next to Tom. Even though his mind was in turmoil, he took his time and chose his words with measured care. “We need to find a way out, Tommy, but I’m out of ideas. I need your help.”
Silence met his quiet request and he sighed in frustration. “Shit,” he muttered to himself, his long fingers raking through his tousled hair. “Now what am I s’posed to do?”
At that moment, divine intervention stepped forth and waved her magic wand. The screech of metal on metal signaled the drawing back of a door bolt, and scrambling to his feet, Booker ran to the bottom of the staircase. The basement door swung open, flooding the room with light and shielding his eyes, Booker peered up at the figure standing at the top of the stairs. “Please,” he begged in a loud voice. “Tom’s hurt, he needs to go to the hospital.”
“Shhh,” a panicked voice shushed. “Keep your voice down.”
Booker’s eyes widened in surprise. “Harold?” he whispered. “Is that you?”
Harold Horshack hurriedly descended the stairs, his pale face etched with fear. “We have to hurry,” he advised in a hushed tone. “They’ve gone to the pub to celebrate, but who knows when they’ll be back.”
Relief surged through Booker’s body and throwing his arms around the startled freshman, he squeezed him tight. “You’re a fucking hero, Harold,” he praised, his voice filling with emotion.
Embarrassment heated Harold’s face and reseating his glasses, he smiled broadly. “Fuck the Pi Taus,” he said, his chest swelling with a newfound confidence. “If the three of us stick together, we can take those bastards down.”
Booker’s mouth split into a broad grin, and he clapped Harold forcefully on the back. “You’ve gotta lot of balls, Harold Horshack. But first things first. We need to get Tom to a hospital.”
Concern clouded Horshack’s face. “Is he… is he okay?”
“No,” Booker replied truthfully. “But thanks to you, he now has a chance of recovery.”
Horshack nodded solemnly. “Lead the way.”
- 11
- 12
- 13
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness