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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
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Although this chapter might seem like a filler, I felt it was important to portray the interaction between Dennis, Tom, and Harold.

I hope it doesn't disappoint.

In peace,
OpenPage x

Afraid Tom would lash out if he made contact, Booker stood back and let Horshack take the lead. He watched as the young freshmen spoke to Tom in a calm, gentle voice, telling him he was there to help and they were going to walk out of the Pi Tau house and get into his car. At first, Tom showed no signs he had heard, but eventually, his eyes came back into focus, and his bottom lip started to tremble uncontrollably. “I just want to go home,” he whispered. “Please, just take me home.”
Much to Booker’s annoyance, Horshack nodded his head. “Okay, Harris. If that’s what you want, I’ll drive you home.”

Wiping a stray tear from his face, Tom shook his head. “It’s not Harris; it’s Hanson.”

Confused by Tom’s confession, Harold turned to Booker. “What’s he talking about?”

“I’ll explain later,” Booker declared in a rush of words, his eyes flitting nervously between Tom and the basement door. “We need to get out of here.”

“Agreed,” Horshack replied and placing an arm around Hanson’s shoulders, he helped him to his feet. Tom clutched the towel around his waist, and it was then Booker remembered their discarded clothing. He hurried over to the pile and gathering up their jeans, boots and socks, he bundled them together and held them in his arms.

“Let’s go,” he muttered, nervous tension building in his neck and shoulders. “I’ll feel much happier once we’re miles away from here.”

Keeping a protective arm around Tom, Horshack helped him up the wooden steps. The Pi Tau house was eerily quiet, the last of the sun’s rays filtering in through the sash windows. They moved quickly but silently through the empty house and exited through the rear door. After seeing Tom safely into the back seat, Harold moved around to the driver’s side, but Booker grabbed his arm. “You are gonna drive him to the hospital, right?”

Horshack rubbed a shaky hand over his mouth. Although not keen to get into an argument with Dennis, in the last few hours he had discovered a confidence he had not known he possessed, and taking a deep breath, he shook his head. “I think we should take him home if that’s what he wants.”

Booker’s grip tightened, his fingers pinching the freckled flesh of Harold’s arm. “No,” he replied through clenched teeth. “This isn’t about what Tom wants; it’s about what Tom needs. Got it?”

Without fear of reprisal, Horshack pulled his arm free from Booker’s hold. “What Tom needs is to go home,” he stated in a don’t fuck with me tone, “and that’s exactly where I’m taking him. If you don’t want to come, you can find your own way.”

Surprised by the forcefulness of Horshack’s character, Booker stared back incredulously. However, needs must when the devil drives, and he knew he had no choice but to go along with the feisty freshman. It was only a temporary setback. He was certain once he had Tom in his apartment, he could talk him into going to the hospital.

“Okay,” he conceded and climbing into the passenger seat, he slammed the door shut with a force that rocked the battered Toyota on its axle. After a quick search through the pockets of Tom’s jeans, he found his keys and twisting around, he peered through the gap in the bucket seats. “Hang tight, Tommy, you’ll be home soon.”

When Tom remained stubbornly silent, Booker wondered if he hadn’t heard or if he was purposely ignoring him. He gazed at the bloody towel wrapped around his friend’s narrow waist, and the sight brought home the enormity of the situation. Now they had escaped, this was just the beginning of a very long journey of recovery for Tom, and he could not help but wonder if his friend would ever be the same man again.

**

Twenty minutes later, Harold parked the Toyota in front of Tom’s apartment building. Shutting down the engine, he started to open his door when a hand gripped his shoulder, preventing him from moving. “Thanks for your help, Harold,” Booker expressed in a flat voice, a determined look darkening his eyes. “But I can take it from here.”

Horshack turned his head and gazed down at Tom’s motionless body. “I dunno. Maybe I should—”

“I said I’ve got it!” Booker snapped, his irritability ripping through his calm exterior. Emotional and physical exhaustion swamped his aching body, and he could feel the beginnings of a headache stabbing behind his right eye. But he knew it was nothing compared to what Tom must be feeling, and he longed to get his friend into the privacy of his apartment so he could sit him down and convince him to go to the hospital. Although certain Hanson’s injuries weren’t life threatening, he did require medical attention. Blood still seeped from his damaged anus, and he needed to undertake a thorough blood screening to rule out any sexually transmitted diseases. None of his rapists had used protection, and that left him vulnerable and at risk. Booker also understood the need to collect DNA evidence quickly before it could become compromised. Even if he had to make it his personal mission, he would find a way to arrest and charge every, single motherfucker who had violated his beloved Tom. He would not rest until they were locked up behind bars, even though he knew there was a strong likelihood they too would become victims of the same crime they had committed. Rape was rife in prison, but if it happened, he would feel no sympathy for Tom’s attackers. Although not a religious man, an eye for an eye seemed an adequate punishment, and he would have no trouble sleeping knowing that once they were convicted, they would live in constant fear, never knowing if a sexual attack was imminent. It was the perfect retribution, and then (and only then), would he feel as though Tom had received the justice he deserved.

Revenge would be honeysuckle sweet.

Without waiting for Horshack’s response, he opened the car door and stepped onto the pavement. Yanking open the back passenger door, he leaned in and addressed Tom in a quiet voice. “C’mon, Tommy, you’re home. Let’s get you inside.”

Tom’s eyelids fluttered open, but his wide-eyed gaze remained blank. Desperate to get his friend inside and out of the view of prying eyes, Booker tried again in a firmer voice. “Tommy. You need to get out of the car.”

A shadow of comprehension passed over Tom’s gaunt face, and his body started to tremble. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this,” he whispered, his fingers picking anxiously at the blood-stained towel wrapped around his waist. “If they see me like this they’ll know.”

Mentally cursing himself for behaving like an inconsiderate fool, Booker rubbed at the flesh just above his right eye. His headache now felt like a jackhammer drilling into his brain, and a wave of nausea rolled over him. But he knew he needed to keep it together for Tom’s sake, and closing his eyes, he took several deep, calming breaths before speaking again. “Okay. Give me a minute, and I’ll go up and get a blanket.”

“No, I’ll go.”

Straightening up, Booker turned to see Horshack standing behind him, a hand outstretched, palm upward, and a small smile twitched briefly at the corners of his lips as he passed over Tom’s keys. “Thanks, Harold. You’ve been a real friend. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t come and rescued us.”

“Yeah, well, if you and Tom hadn’t stepped in, McCarter would have force fed me rotten eggs,” Harold explained with a bitter smile. “I owe you guys.”

“Not any more,” Booker stated softly, his dark eyes twinkling with gratitude. “We owe you, so if there’s anything you need—”

“The apartment number?” Harold suggested quickly, uncomfortable with all the appreciation Dennis was bestowing upon him. Brought up in a household of uncommunicative academics, he had not received much praise growing up, and the new experience made his skin crawl with embarrassment. He felt awkward and duplicitous; none of his actions warranted commendation, he had only done what he thought was right, nothing more. But a small part of him was pleased someone as fearless and confident as Dennis now considered him his friend. It was a step toward a new beginning, and despite all the heartache, he knew he would be eternally grateful the universe had given him the opportunity to meet two men who doggedly stood up for what they believed in. He finally had the confidence to step out of the shadows and into the light, and it was all because of a chance meeting in a fraternity house. Life was a puzzle, but now, more than ever, Harold was glad to be a part of it, and he hoped Tom would eventually come to realize that what happened to him in the basement in no way defined him as a person from that moment forward. He was not a victim, he was a survivor, and the only ones to blame were the seven perpetrators. Not that Harold pretended to know how Tom was feeling; no one could unless they had suffered the same violation. But he did know a thing or two about abuse, and he hoped one day down the track, he would get the chance to speak to Tom again so he could tell him how grateful he was to have met him.

Somewhat surprised by Harold’s obvious discomfort, Booker gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Two-twenty-two, and hurry.”

With a nod of his head, Harold turned and jogged up the path to the building’s entrance. Once he had disappeared into the apartment complex, Booker’s attention focused back on Tom. The young officer was now sitting upright with his back against the door and his legs curled beneath him. Uncontrollable shakes racked his slender frame, and Booker was certain he could hear his teeth chattering. It was obvious Tom was in shock, either from blood loss or the brutality of the rape, and he realized it was time to ditch the softly-softly approach; his friend needed an ambulance, and he needed it now.

Climbing into the back seat, he made sure not to crowd Hanson, but when he spoke, he did so in a decisive tone. “Look, Tom. I know I’m the last person you trust at the moment, but you need to go to the hospital.”

Tom’s head shook violently from side to side, the sweaty strands of his long bangs whipping across his pale face. “I-I d-don’t wa-want t-to,” he stammered, his agitation mounting. “I j-just wa-wanna go h-home!”

The sharp stabbing pain in Booker’s temple grew steadily stronger, and beads of perspiration prickled his armpits. He was rapidly losing patience and for a moment he wondered if it would just be easier to let Tom have his way. But when he thought about Michael McCarter’s smug face, he knew he couldn’t do it. It wasn’t just about doing what was right for Tom; it was about doing what was right period.

Therefore, with McCarter's face firmly ingrained in his mind, Booker decided to lull Tom into thinking they were going up to his apartment so he could take a shower, but really, they were going up to phone the paramedics. If he couldn’t get Tom to the hospital, he would bring the hospital to Tom. Simple.

“Okay,” he placated, a fake smile twisting his lips. “As soon as Harold gets back with the blanket, I’ll take you home.”

Tom’s face visibly relaxed, but his body continued to tremble uncontrollably. However, he could see a bright light at the end of the long, dark, painful tunnel that was now his existence. All he had to do was hold on long enough so he could rid himself of the foulness polluting his ravaged body, and then he could crawl into bed, go to sleep, and hopefully, never wake up.
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- 14
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness