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Cries of a Shadow	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2757 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- 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
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Tom stood at his bedroom window, his eyes fixed on the hypnotic stream of early morning traffic. Exhaust fumes snaked and vanished in the beams of the street lights, choking the air in its noxious haze. He found the sight strangely comforting, the muffled rumbling of the vehicles below helping to calm his nerves. It was a form of escapism, allowing his mind to focus on the everyday monotony of human existence rather than what had occurred just hours before. Cocooned in a fantasy bubble of his own making, he was finally free from his shame, if only for a short while.
Behind him, the coils of the mattress squeaked, but his gaze did not falter, and when a warm hand lightly caressed his bare buttocks, he allowed his abuser to lead him back to his bed.
**
When Tom failed to show up at the warehouse the following morning, Booker made the executive decision to go it alone. Disappointment weighed heavily on his mind as he drove the short distance to Westview High. He’d thought he’d made significant inroads with Hanson the night before, their conversation flowing without too many awkward silences. They’d discussed their case at length, each giving their own opinion on how far the drug cartel had managed to extend its tentacles of power and violence. It had made for a pleasant and entertaining evening, the few beers they’d downed, and the tasty meal of Kung Pao chicken, and sweet and sour pork helping banish the memories of Tom’s ordeal to the back of their minds. But it appeared it had only been a remedy, not a cure and Booker wondered if Tom’s absence had anything to do with his dunking in the pool. While he hoped the officer was professional enough to shrug off the humiliation and jump back into the fray with his game face on, the echo of Penhall’s warning continued to reverberate inside his head. “I’m tellin’ you, man, he’s fuckin’ crazy...crazy...crazy...”
Arriving at the school, the dark-haired officer parked his Cadillac and sauntered into the brown-brick building, unaware his well-practiced cavalier swagger had many raising an amused eyebrow. He stopped in front of his locker, his eyes scanning the crowded hallway for any sign of Tom’s familiar bandanna. But he found it impossible to distinguish one person from the next in the sea of faces, and pushing down his growing feelings of animosity, he dialed the locker combination and yanked open the door.
Inside, scattered throughout the small space, lay half a dozen plastic bags of white powder. Booker stared at the cache, his heart hammering in his chest. He estimated each bag held a gram, giving a total street value of roughly seven hundred dollars. If Tom’s locker contained the same amount, they were looking at some serious money for a high school drug ring, and a tingle of excitement ran down his spine. If they could trace the drugs back to the source, they might even bring the cartel to its knees, making the streets of L.A. a little safer. But first, he needed to get in Tyrell’s good graces by pretending to sell the six baggies of coke. The only problem was, the teen had omitted to tell him how much he expected for each gram, leaving him in a bit of a quandary. He briefly wondered if Tom’s locker held further instructions, and he mentally cursed the young officer for his dereliction of duty. Maybe Penhall was right, maybe Tom really was unhinged.
When the class bell rang, the cacophony of teenage voices moderated ever so slightly. Locker doors slammed, and the horde of students scurried to their classes, leaving Booker alone in the hallway. He continued to stare at the stash, the suffocating quiet closing in on him. Without Tom’s guidance, he was unsure how to proceed. Should he leave the drugs where they were, hidden from sight in the safety of his locker or should he pocket the seven-hundred-dollar hoard and take it directly to Fuller? Indecision creased his brow. If he returned to the chapel, Fuller would know Tom was a no-show, which might get the young officer in trouble. But being in possession of such a large quantity of drugs made him nervous, especially when he didn’t have any backup. His teeth worried at his lower lip as he struggled to internalize his situation. But whatever his decision, he knew he needed to make it in a hurry or risk getting caught.
Eventually, it was the sound of approaching footsteps echoing throughout the deserted hallway that made up his mind and closing his locker door with a bang, he walked with adrenaline-induced speed toward his first-period classroom.
**
The irregular clickety-clack of a typewriter echoed throughout the chapel’s central hub, the staccato rhythm bouncing off the walls as Ioki typed up a report using the clumsy, two-finger method most cops seemed to favor. Several officers stood around the water cooler, chatting casually, while others sat at their desks, their heads bowed, their eyes skimming over paperwork. The atmosphere was far less frenetic than the last time Booker had requested an audience with Fuller, and the dark-haired officer hoped he would find his superior in a good mood. While he didn’t like the idea of snitching on Tom, he felt he had a responsibility to keep his captain informed.
After pausing to chat with Harry, he strode toward Fuller’s office. Raising a hand, he knocked twice on the closed door and waited for an invite to enter. His foot tapped impatiently, his mind acutely aware of the drugs burning a figurative hole in his jacket pocket. He longed to rid himself of the illegal contraband, to make the seven hundred dollar stash someone else's responsibility. Drugs always made him nervous, and the longer he held onto them, the more aggravated he felt. There was no greater pain than watching someone you loved, love their drugs more than they loved you. Relationships failed, families split apart, there were no winners, just a path of destruction that left everyone involved battered and broken. As a teenager, he’d witnessed the emotional carnage from the sidelines. His cousin was an addict, and when he became a cop, he’d vowed to do everything he could to get the pushers off the street and into prison where they belonged. His career had taken an unexpected turn when he was assigned to I.A.D., but his mission was back on track, and he was eager to find out more about the cartel that recruited high school students to do their dirty work.
Just as he was about to knock for the second time, Fuller’s voice shouted out from behind the door. “ENTER!”
Pushing down his feelings of guilt about Tom, Booker turned the door handle and walked inside.
**
Standing outside apartment 222, Booker took a moment to study his surroundings. While not new, the decor was certainly a step up from the Art Deco building he lived in. Contemporary light fixtures cast a soft luminance throughout the wide hallway, the yellow glow creating shadows on the cream-colored walls. Beneath his feet, the tiled floor gleamed, as yet unscuffed by the ongoing foot traffic. Although not a jealous man, Booker wished he could afford to live somewhere equally as nice. But unless he got a roommate, all he could do was dream about the day when he had enough money saved to move to a more affluent part of town.
As he stared at the door, a frisson of excitement rippled through the dark-haired officer’s body, awakening his innermost desires. He was about to see inside his friend’s home for the first time, and the intrigue had him guessing. Would it mirror his own disorganized bachelor pad or would it reflect Tom’s methodical, high-strung attitude toward life? The buildup of suspense helped suppress the annoyance he felt toward his partner. He’d expected more from Tom, and he hoped the young officer had an adequate explanation for leaving him high and dry.
Canned laughter filtered through the closed door, the muffled sound of the Hansons' television competing with the tinny echo of the neighbor's radio. After taking a calming breath, Booker announced his presence by rapping his knuckles against the cream-painted paneling. Time passed slowly before footsteps sounded from within and the door was yanked open, revealing an unsmiling Will Hanson.
“Hey, Will,” Booker greeted amicably. “Remember me? I’m Tom’s partner, Dennis Booker. We met at the mayor’s party.”
Will Hanson stared at the dark-haired officer, his hazel eyes cold and unblinking. “I remember. Whaddya want?”
The corners of Booker’s lips turned down, his demeanor visibly hardening under the older man’s unrelenting stare. “I came to see Tom. Is he home?”
Will’s gaze flitted behind him before settling back on Booker, his expression wary. “He is, but he's not feeling well, so—”
“It’s okay, Will, I’ll speak to him.”
Tom’s interruption did little to alleviate his brother’s displeasure. A disapproving scowl etched deep lines in Will’s furrowed brow, hardening his features into a stony mask of resentment. But it was the furious clenching and unclenching of his hands that had Booker on high alert, and the dark-haired officer took a step back, his muscles flexing, his body and mind primed for an attack.
“Five minutes,” Will eventually muttered, his narrowed eyes focused firmly on Booker. “I’ve gotta be up early tomorrow.”
While the fear of losing a friend was stronger than his fear of reprisal, Tom knew it was in both his and Booker’s best interest to heed his brother’s words. “Okay, five minutes. We’ll talk out in the hallway, that way we won’t disturb you.”
It was then Will realized his plan had backfired. With Tom and Dennis outside the apartment, he had no chance of eavesdropping on their conversation. Furious with himself for being such an idiot, he pushed past Tom, leaving the two undercover officers alone.
Tom stepped out into the hallway and closed the door. “Sorry about that. Will gets kinda angry when people turn up unannounced.”
“No shit,” Booker remarked. “He acts like a possessive boyfriend. What’s up with that?”
The analogy had Tom shifting uncomfortably. “I dunno,” he mumbled, unable to meet Booker’s curious gaze. “He’s just protective. We’ve been through a lot together.”
“I guess,” Booker finally conceded. He found the elder Hanson’s behavior somewhat troubling, but having never lost both his parents, he figured he wasn’t one to judge the brothers’ odd relationship. However, what he did understand was the differences in their personalities. Will lacked the subtlety and nuance of his younger sibling, his blatant rudeness leaving Booker cold. The dark-haired officer wondered if jealousy played a part in Will’s shameless attempts to try to undermine his brother in public. Although awkward around people, Tom possessed traits many envied. Intelligent and highly intuitive, the young officer’s capabilities far outweighed his social incompetence. Then there were his physical attributes. The classical symmetry of his features put him in a league of his own, his slender yet lithe physique unmatched by many his age. But for Booker, it was the soulful depths of Tom’s dark eyes that left him physically wanting. His vulnerability begged attention, yet he shied away from contact. It was these conflicting signals that confused Booker to the point of distraction. He’d only known Tom for a week, but in that short space of time, the young officer had managed to infect his heart like no other person he knew.
Fading beneath Booker’s watchful gaze, Tom changed the conversation by offering up an apology. “Sorry about today. I tried to call you, but I got the machine. I left a message.”
Not quite ready to forgive and forget, Booker pressed for an explanation. “Yeah, Fuller told me, he said you’d called him. But you kinda left me hangin’, Tom. Tyrell’s a smart one. He knows better than to leave all the incriminating evidence in one place, so he deposited six baggies of cocaine in my locker, and I’m pretty sure he put some kind of instructions in yours. But without you there, I was flying blind. So, I’ve handed the drugs over to Fuller so he can get them tested and we’ll see what’s in your locker when we get to school tomorrow.”
Humbled into silence, Tom stared at the floor. Working with Booker was proving more of a challenge than he’d expected. While his sexual abuse wasn’t new, being in close contact with someone whom he considered more than just a colleague was causing him a great amount of personal distress. He could barely look Booker in the eye knowing what he allowed his brother to do to him in the bed they shared, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep the shame buried beneath the surface of his consciousness. His guilt hung like a millstone around his neck, and he would rather drown beneath the white-capped waves of the ocean than have his partner know his shocking secret. But while he hated himself for allowing the violation to continue, he had no idea how to make it stop, and therefore, he remained trapped within a never-ending cycle of abuse.
“Tom, did you hear what I said?”
Startled back to reality, Tom looked up, his dark eyes full of contrition. “Yeah...um...that sounds great. But can we talk about it tomorrow? I’m kinda beat.”
“Or you could invite me in, and we could talk about it now,” Booker responded with a cheeky smile. “It’s not that late.”
Fear clouded Tom’s eyes, the very suggestion turning his face a chalky-white. “M-Maybe another time. I don’t think Will’s in the mood for visitors.”
Tom’s consternation immediately raised Booker’s suspicions, but he kept his thoughts to himself. “Okay, well, I guess there’s no need to meet up at the warehouse, so I’ll see you at school.”
“I’ll be there,” Tom murmured, and with a twitch of his lips, he walked back inside his apartment and closed the door. Immediately, the sound of running water accosted his ears, and looking around, he spied Will standing in the bathroom doorway. The firm set of his brother’s lips told him he was in trouble, and a shiver of fear ran down his spine. But he was too tired to put up a fight, and with slouched shoulders, he accepted his fate and walked toward the tub.
**
When Booker pushed open the door to his home, he immediately noticed the answering machine's light blinking red. Curious, he hurried forward and hit the play button. Tom’s voice filled the apartment, his initial words spoken with a cautious hesitancy. “Um...hey, Dennis, it's me...I mean, it's Tom. I...um...I guess you’ve already left, but I could really use your...um...I…”
A moment of silence followed the disjointed message before the young officer continued in a rush of words. “I’m sick so I guess I’m gonna stay home see you tomorrow.”
Booker replayed the strange message, his brow furrowed in concentration. It appeared Tom was about to ask for help before changing his mind and hurriedly revealing his reason for taking the day off. The half-spoken narrative sent a chill down the dark-haired officer’s spine. Something was definitely wrong, but until Tom found the courage to confide in him, there was nothing he could do to help.
Overcome with an unexplained weariness, his finger moved toward the delete button. But before it made contact, a little voice inside his head told him to keep the message. He had no idea why it was important, but he trusted his gut and dropping his hand to his side, he turned and walked toward his bedroom.
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Cries of a Shadow