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Chasing a Butterfly	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2592 -:- 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
- 13
- 14
- 15
Wednesday October 18^th 1989 (5.05 p.m.)
The hum of the overhead light lulled Booker’s tired brain into a hypnotic trance and his eyelids grew steadily heavier. He had barely slept in the last three days and his mind felt as though a thick, heavy fog had enveloped it, making him sluggish and emotional. The pain of seeing Tom lying unresponsive on the narrow hospital bed; his eyes staring sightlessly in front of him, his body incapable of eating, drinking, speaking and most terrifyingly of all, feeling, had been difficult to witness. On the second day of Tom's stay, a nurse had inserted a drip into his arm so he would receive life-giving sustenance but there had been no flicker of acknowledgement that he had even felt the needle piercing his vein. Booker hoped it was because he was accustomed to the jab of a needle and not because he had suffered a breakdown, but deep down, he knew he was kidding himself. Since arriving at the hospital, Tom had not displayed any emotion, he did not react to stimulation through touch or sound, he just stared with a fixed gaze in front of him for hours on end until eventually, his mind shut down and he fell asleep. But even in slumber, he appeared cut off from the world. He did not move, snore or give any sign that he was alive; he just lay on his side until morning when his eyes would slowly open and he would begin his ritualistic staring all over again.
When a light hand rested on his shoulder, Booker jerked awake and opening his eyes, he saw Harry standing behind him. “How is he?” the young Asian officer asked in a soft voice.
Fatigue and worry were playing havoc with Booker’s emotions and his dark eyes conveyed his bad mood. “What do you care?” he snapped gruffly.
Ioki pulled up a chair and sat down. “I do care Dennis,” he replied adamantly. “I never wanted to see Hanson suffer like this, I just…” He lowered his eyes and stared morosely at the tiled floor. “I just wish we’d seen the signs before he spiraled out of control.”
Leaning back in his chair, Booker rubbed his hands over his face and sighed wearily. “Yeah, Penhall’s death really rattled him. We should have—”
“I don’t mean that,” Ioki replied quietly. “I mean we should have seen the subtle signs after Amy died.”
Booker slowly lowered his hands and stared at Ioki in surprise. “Who’s Amy?”
It took Harry a moment to remember that Booker had joined the Jump Street program eight months after Amy’s murder and leaning forward, he nodded his head towards Tom. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this here.”
Intrigued by Ioki’s reluctance to speak in front of Tom, Booker got slowly to his feet and stretched out his aching muscles. “Let’s get some caffeine.”
Ioki hesitated for a moment before following Booker from the room. They found a vending machine and with coffees in hand, they entered the visitors’ room and sat down. Booker took a sip of his scalding brew and studied Harry’s face. His partner looked tired and he suddenly realized the young officer was feeling the emotional impact of Tom’s rape just as heavily as he was. Tom had been his friend once upon a time and it was obvious that despite blaming him for his shooting, he was feeling the strain of the recent events.
But for the first time in days, Hanson’s rape was not foremost in Booker’s mind and he asked the burning question. “So, who’s Amy?”
A dark shadow passed over Harry’s face. “Amy was Hanson’s girlfriend,” he replied in a flat voice. “She was murdered by a gunman holding up a convenience store, Tom was there and… well… she died in his arms.”
Booker rubbed a shaky hand over his mouth. “Shit,” he muttered. “How did Tom take it?”
Harry took a mouthful of coffee before answering. “That’s kind of the problem. He coped too well. He barely showed a hint of emotion and I guess at the time we were all relieved. But looking back, I think he changed after the shooting. There were no real obvious signs that he was different but he just seemed a little off, you know?”
As he slowly processed the information, a disturbing thought entered Booker’s mind. “When did she die?”
Ioki thought for a moment before answering. “February twenty-eighth last year. Why?”
Booker did the calculations in his head. “Jesus,” he murmured. “The anniversary of her death was only five days before Penhall was shot.”
Unaware of Tom’s experimentation with cocaine during that time, or the fact that he was high when he shot Doug, Ioki shrugged his shoulders. “So?”
It took a moment for Booker to gather his thoughts so he did not incriminate Tom. “Well… maybe he was preoccupied with thoughts of her death when he accidentally shot Penhall,” he suggested quietly.
Draining the last of his coffee, Harry stood up and threw the paper cup into the small trashcan. “Maybe,” he muttered in a flat voice, “but it doesn’t make him any less culpable. He was a cop, he should have had his mind on the job and however you try and spin it, he’s still responsible for Doug’s death.”
Booker knew he needed to be careful with his words and so he decided to let the matter drop so as not to implicate Tom any further. Getting to his feet, he crumpled his empty cup in his hand and tossed it into the trash. “Maybe,” he parroted Ioki. But as he headed towards the door, another light bulb moment flashed in his mind and turning back, he grabbed his friend by the arm. “Did you say Hanson’s girlfriend was murdered in a convenience store?”
Ioki seemed somewhat surprised by the question. “Yeah, what of it?”
Cocking his head on one side, Booker gave his partner a questioning look. “Doesn’t it seem strange to you that Tom would hold up a convenience store when that’s the exact setting where Amy was killed?” he asked in a rush.
“I suppose,” Ioki replied slowly. “But what does it prove?”
Excitement flashed in Booker’s dark eyes. “It proves there’s a motive behind Tom’s actions and things aren’t what they seem.”
None of what Booker said made any sense to Harry but he did not want to dampen his friend’s mood. It had been a painful experience to see his partner fall apart after Tom’s rape. Whilst he too found it difficult to see Hanson in such a vulnerable state, he did not fully understand Booker’s level of concern. But if believing Tom was not as bad as everyone else knew him to be gave his friend a measure of comfort, then he would not be the one to burst his bubble.
Laying a hand on Booker’s shoulder, he gave him a small smile. “Get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Booker nodded distractedly. He knew he was right. Something about the events leading up to Tom’s arrest did not add up and he was determined to find out what.
****
Wednesday October 18^th 1989 (6.23 p.m.)
A loud rumble of thunder penetrated through the thick fog shrouding Tom’s mind and as though by magic, the protective veil lifted, leaving him once again both physically and emotionally aware. When a bolt of lightning split through the night sky, illuminating his room with a bluish flash, his eyes flew open and his heart began to pound against his ribs. His first awareness was an acute burning sensation rising deep from inside his body and as he became more consciously alert, the pain intensified. He was on fire, the pain steadily increasing with each passing second until he feared he would self-combust. He tried to sit up but his body had not yet woken from its emotional paralysis and he found himself incapable of movement. A raw panic filled his newly awakened mind and a terrified moan escaped through his parched lips…
He was dying all over again.
Within moments, a dark shadowy figure came into his line of vision. He desperately tried to shrink away, but his uncooperative limbs refused to budge, leaving him immobile. When a hand rested on top of his head, his breathing became raspy, the air catching painfully in his throat and as his anxiety heightened, tears spilled from his eyes and he started to sob. “Don’t… don’t... don’t…”
But instead of the anticipated pain, tender fingers lightly stroked his hair and a faint voice sounded from the Elysian Fields of his mind. “Shh, you’re okay Tommy, everything’s going to be okay.”
****
Wednesday October 18^th 1989 (10.12 p.m.)
A heavy rain battered against the windowpane of Booker’s apartment and picking up the TV’s remote, he instinctively increased the volume. A baby-faced Neil Patrick Harris filled the small screen but he had no idea what medical drama Doogie was facing because his mind remained firmly fixed on Tom. It had been a relief to see him finally becoming aware of his surroundings but the terror in his voice suggested that he was still suffering from a deep emotional trauma and Booker knew he would need to tread warily. Although he was desperate to quiz him about the hours leading up to his arrest, he did not want to cause him any unnecessary distress. His Tommy still had a lot of healing to do.
Memories of his conversation with Ioki filtered into his mind and he could not help but wonder what kind of woman Amy had been. Had Tom been madly in love with her, enjoying the magic and excitement of a new affair filled with fun and laughter or was it a more serious, long-term relationship? However, for Booker, the most probing question was why had Hanson bottled up his feelings after his lover’s death? He knew Tom was fiercely private when it came to personal matters but he would have expected him to open up to Penhall about his grief. It pained him to think that after the horror he had experienced at the hands of Leroy Manning, he would not have his best friend by his side, helping him through the emotional pain. However, he did hope that Hanson would feel comfortable enough to speak to him about his ordeal, if only in a general way. He did not want him feeling isolated and alone because no matter what evils the ex-cop had committed, he deserved to feel loved.
His thoughts suddenly returned to the night when Tom had stood in the middle of the room screaming, “I DON’T DESERVE LOVE, I DON’T I DON’T I DON’T I DON’T…” At the time, he had believed Tom’s unhinged emotions were a product of his drug withdrawal, but now he was not so sure. So much of what had happened over the last week had him feeling confused, including the morning Tom had knocked him out cold. Thoughts of their frenzied sexual encounter had the blood flowing to his genitals and his heart rate increasing. It had been an animalistic coupling, a desperate need to explore each other’s bodies through touch and taste, and neither man had shown restraint. Their mutual hunger had been evident throughout but for Booker, it had been more than just a need to fulfill his sexual appetite. Although he had dreamed about Tom for months, imagining him in his bed as he trailed his tongue down his naked, quivering body, tasting, sucking, licking, teasing and eventually bringing him to orgasm with just the power of his mouth, it was also old-fashioned love that had his cock swelling. However, his strong emotional feelings were not something he readily admitted to those who knew him and he only revealed his softer side to his family and lovers. He had a reputation to uphold, he was the leather-clad, sarcastic, over-confident cop who enjoyed a good joke, especially at the expense of his colleagues and most would consider him incapable of real love. But the truth was a slightly different story. Whilst the real Dennis Booker was all those things, he was also extremely passionate and as much as he hated to admit it to himself, he was a hopeless romantic. When he fell in love, he fell hard and Tom had not only knocked him off his feet, he had flattened him with a bulldozer. It was not just the physical need for release that had fueled his desires that day; it had been the belief that it was the start of something beautiful, a new beginning with the man he idolized. But when Tom’s casual words had cruelly snatched his dream away, his world had fallen apart. The ex-cop had been in it for the sex, nothing more. Tom had an itch that had needed scratching and he had been a convenient partner, except… there had been a moment when their eyes locked, and he was certain he had seen a flash of… devotion? Love? Affection? He was not exactly sure what it was but it was an emotion deeper than lust. However, what shone out of Tom’s dark eyes that morning had only lasted a fraction of a second before the shutters went down and he had been left to wonder if he would ever know the truth about his true feelings.
A deep seated weariness suddenly washed over him and unwilling to spend another night with his thoughts going round and round on an emotional merry-go-round, he switched off the TV and walked into his bedroom. With Tom now consciously aware, he needed to be psychologically fit to help him through the devastating aftermath of his assault.
But little did he know, his life was about to get far more complicated than he could ever have imagined.
- 13
- 14
- 15
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Chasing a Butterfly