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To Chase a Feather in the Wind	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 1696 -:- 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
- 14
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- 16
Three weeks later
Sunday night was league night at Tom’s local bowling alley but instead of playing, he now worked there part-time. A week after leaving the force he had sat and passed the Los Angeles Private Investigator’s Exam and he was now working from home as a P.I. Being new to the business, the work was slow coming in, and so he had taken a job at the bowling alley to tide him over until he built up his reputation in the world of private investigating. He did not mind, he still had plenty of money in the bank and not working every day meant he could devote more time looking for Booker. Not that he had managed to gather much information but it felt good knowing that he was actively doing something to find the man he loved.
Placing a pair of rented shoes back on the rack, he turned around and saw Penhall standing at the counter. His friend had not taken his resignation well, in fact, he had been furious about it and he had made his feelings perfectly clear. Just minutes after Tom had walked out of Fuller’s office, the two men had become embroiled in a loud and heated argument and Doug had told him that his infatuation with Booker had gone too far and that he was becoming obsessed. Furious at Doug’s lack of understanding, Tom had thrown a punch that had landed square on his jaw, knocking him to the floor. There had been no apologies, just stony silence and when Doug eventually scrambled to his feet, Harry had quickly intervened and ushered Tom from the Chapel. That had been three weeks ago and the two men had not spoken since.
Now, as he stared into Doug's expressionless face, Tom was unsure whether he was there to settle the score or offer the olive branch, and taking a step backwards, he gave him a wary look. “What are you doing here?”
Sadness filled Penhall’s eyes and he held out his hand. “I came to apologize.”
Tom stared silently at the proffered hand suspended above the counter. He missed their friendship and he wanted things to be right again but Doug’s lack of understanding about his feelings for Booker still hurt. However, when he saw the genuine remorse in the dark eyes staring at him, he knew he could not stay mad and stepping forward, he gave the hand a shake. “Apology accepted,” he muttered.
When Penhall continued to stare silently back at him, Tom raised his eyebrows in question. “What?”
A scowl darkened Doug’s face. “Aren’t you going to apologize to me?” he asked petulantly.
Tom’s face mirrored Doug’s sulky expression. “For what? You’re the one who started it.”
Feeling his anger rising, Doug opened his mouth to retort, but instead of telling Tom exactly why he should apologize, he closed it again and stared at his friend. He had come down to the bowling alley to repair their friendship, not make things worse. He could not deny it, he missed Tom more than he would ever let on and if forgoing an apology meant their friendship went back to the way it had been then he was happy to do it. “You’re right,” he stated in a soft voice. “I started it and now I’m ending it. Friends?”
The words were not what Tom expected to hear and his expression softened. “Of course,” he sighed, “but you’re right, it was my fault too. I shouldn’t have hit you.”
Penhall’s mouth curled up on one side. “Hardly felt it,” he joked quietly. “You punch like a girl.”
Tom grinned back. “Yeah right,” he chuckled. “You hit the floor pretty hard if I remember rightly.”
Doug’s smile widened. “In your dreams.”
Relieved that everything had returned to normal, Tom started to relax. “So, how’ve you been?” he asked as he placed a bowl of salted peanuts down on the counter.
Pulling up a stool, Penhall sat down and grabbed a handful of nuts. “Busy,” he mumbled through a mouthful of salty goodness. “You know how it is.”
Tom felt a pang of guilt. He had left so suddenly, Fuller had not had a chance to find someone to replace him. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I guess I should have waited until you had a new officer assigned.”
Not wanting Tom to feel uncomfortable, Penhall waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, it’s fine. But I’m gonna miss being a McQuaid. We had some fun times together.”
A smile played over Tom’s lips. “Yeah, we did,” he replied quietly before adding mischievously, “but, you know what? I always thought the McQuaid’s were pretty stupid.”
Doug eyes widened in shock and just as he opened his mouth to retort, he saw the playful glint in Tom’s eyes. “Asshole,” he laughed as he crammed the last of the nuts into his mouth. “So, now we’ve got all the bullshit out the way, I came here to see if you needed any help finding Booker.”
Tom could not help himself and narrowing his eyes, he gave Doug a skeptical look. "Why? So you can put him on trial for rape? No thanks Doug, I'll do this by myself."
Doug stopped chewing and gave Tom a wounded look. “Do you really think that’s why I want to help you,” he asked.
Sighing heavily, Tom picked up the empty bowl and put it behind the counter. “I don’t know,” he replied truthfully. “Everyone seems to think he deserves it but no one’s looking at it from my point of view.”
Gazing back at his friend, Doug’s expression softened. “You love him,” he stated simply.
A pinkish glow colored Tom’s cheeks and he lowered his gaze for a moment before looking Doug directly in the eye. “Yeah I do,” he admitted in a soft voice. “But it’s not that Doug. Booker’s straight, he could never love me back, I know that. I’m doing this because he’s not in his right mind and he needs someone to rescue him from that psychopath.”
After thinking over Tom's words, Doug let out a barely audible sigh. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” An uncomfortable silence hung in the air between them before he spoke again. “So, can I help?”
This time, Tom’s lips twitched into a grateful smile. “Yeah Doug, I guess you can."
**
Four weeks later
As the lit cigarette sizzled against the tender flesh of his inner thigh, Dennis’ eyes bulged and he screamed against the ball gag in his mouth. Leroy Tanner had been torturing him for hours and he was rapidly losing the will to live. Even with all the drugs circulating through his veins, the pain was unlike anything he had ever felt before. His body was a bloody canvas of jagged cuts and deep burns and he knew that his once perfect skin was damaged beyond repair and that he would be scarred for life. Not that he cared about that, the scars would forever remind him of what he was and what he had done, and he needed that, it was all part of his atonement. But this torture was unlike any other he had endured before and as the cigarette burned him again, this time so close to his genitals that he could feel the heat against his testicles, his fight response automatically kicked in and he struggled violently against the leather straps that bound his wrists and ankles to the bedposts. “NOOO!” he choked against the gag and snot bubbled from his nostrils as he struggle to breathe. “STOP! STOP!”
Leroy lifted the cigarette to his lips and calmly drew in a deep lungful of smoke before exhaling it directly into Booker’s face. “I paid double to have you tonight, Denny boy,” he murmured in a menacing tone, “and I ain’t even close to being finished.” Flicking the used butt onto the floor, he grabbed the discarded bed sheet and forcefully wiped at the mucus streaming from Booker’s nose. “I don’t want you looking like a two-bit junkie whore, so stop your sniveling, understood?”
Tears streamed down Dennis’ face and he nodded his head. He deserved to feel pain, humiliation and fear because that was exactly what Tom had felt when he had raped him a lifetime ago. It was his justice.
**
The following night - Christmas Eve
Lifting his battered body from his mat, Booker moaned in pain as he crawled slowly across the hardwood floor. Almost twenty-four hours had passed since Leroy had finally released him from his shackles and walked silently from the room. But since then, he had been left on his own, bereft of the drugs his body craved and the comfort his Daddy usually afforded him after the ordeal of a Friday night auction.
Sweat slicked his trembling body and watery bile rose in his throat as his need for a fix steadily intensified. He had not eaten for thirty-six hours and his stomach rumbled in protest as his confused mind struggled to understand why his Daddy had not come to him. After a night spent with one of the elite, it was usual for Daddy to shower him, clean his wounds and tuck him into a freshly made bed. He would then climb in beside him and hold him protectively in his arms whilst telling him what a good boy he was. But everything was different this time. Never before had Dennis gone so long without seeing his Daddy and his heart hammered in his chest at the thought of being alone. What if Daddy was angry with him and had walked out? What if Daddy had found someone he liked more and he had been discarded like a piece of trash on the highway? What if? What if? What if?
Using the hand basin as support, he hauled himself upright and relieved his aching bladder. Blood and semen coated his thighs but the sight no longer revolted him, the ongoing abuse had conditioned him and he was almost blind to it. Even so, he still longed to take a hot shower and wash the sticky mess from his body. However, as he swayed unsteadily on his feet, he knew he was incapable of doing it alone.
Looking down into the toilet, he saw blood mixed in with his urine and he knew it was a result of the continuous blows he had received to his kidneys since Leroy had joined the elite auction club. Various sized contusions covered his lower back, ranging in color from bright red to a dull yellowy-brown. His body was slowly succumbing to the abuse and although he wanted to repent, he knew that if he continued to do so, there was a distinct possibility he could die. However, when he lay wrapped in his Daddy’s warm embrace, listening to the steady sound of his breathing, he realized he did not fear death because that would be his ultimate reparation to Tom; it would be the proverbial eye for an eye and he would finally be able to rest in peace.
Without bothering to flush the toilet, he turned and staggered towards the bedroom door. Although Daddy had strictly forbidden him to leave the room, he was desperate for his medication and after weighing up the options, he figured it was worth a beating to get what his body and mind so desperately needed. Comfortable in the knowledge that his slave would not try to escape, Conan had stopped locking the door months ago and so when Dennis tried the knob, it turned easily in his hand. Pushing the door slowly ajar, he peered through the gap and into the cabin’s dimly lit main living area. It took a moment for his pain-addled brain to register what he was seeing and then, his world imploded.
Conan lay slumped on the couch with a hypodermic needle sticking out of his arm. His bloodshot eyes stared sightlessly up at the wooden-beamed ceiling, the surprised expression on his ashen face forever frozen in time.
Maurice Keppler was dead of a heroin overdose at the age of thirty-three.
Booker let out a strangled cry and stumbling forward, he fell to his knees next to the man who had been both his tormentor and savior. “NOOO!” he screamed hysterically and laying his head on his Daddy’s cold chest, he gathered him into his arms and hugged him close. “Don’t leave me,” he sobbed, “oh please Daddy don’t leave me.”
Minutes slowly turned into hours and Booker remained kneeling on the floor with his Daddy held tightly in his arms. The pain in his body was a distant memory; it was the pain in his mind that now tormented him.
His Daddy was dead and he was alone.
When the clock struck midnight, he lifted his head and gazed around the dark room. Slowly, his mind began to register the pain in his body and letting out a loud moan, he released his Daddy from his arms. Stretching out his cramped legs, he held onto the couch for support and pulled himself upright. As he gazed down into his Daddy’s unseeing eyes, a single tear trickled down his face… this was their final goodbye.
Turning away, he limped towards the door. The fact that he was naked and bloody did not even register in his mind. He was focused on one thing and one thing only; he needed to get help because he would not leave Daddy to rot in a secluded cabin alone.
He deserved better than that.
Stepping out into the cool night air, adrenaline coursed through his body and the pain from his injuries disappeared as though by magic. Although battered and hungry, he began to run down the narrow road that led from the cabin, his mind barely registering the stones and twigs that scraped at the soles of his feet. Having spent months in a bedroom, he was unused to exercise and his chest heaved painfully as he struggled to catch his breath. But it did not hold him back, he sprinted like a wild animal freed from captivity and as the fresh air filled his lungs, he felt invigorated and alive. He was doing something purposeful; he was helping his Daddy.
The narrow track began to widen and in the distance, he saw an asphalt road and without slowing his pace, he ran out onto the bitumen. A car’s headlights immediately blinded him and throwing an arm over his sensitive eyes, he dropped to his knees and cried out in distress. The loud squealing of tires rent the cold night air and the smell of burning rubber assaulted his nostrils as the car screeched to a halt just meters from his cowering body. Moments later, he heard feet pounding on the tarmac and when a hand rested on his shoulder, he shrank away from the contact. “Geez buddy, are you okay?” a man’s anxious voice queried.
Lifting his head, the car’s headlights illuminated Booker’s bloody face and the man took a step backwards. “Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed loudly.
Unconcerned by the man’s reaction, Booker gazed up with beseeching eyes. “Please help my Daddy.”
**
6 a.m. Christmas morning
The loud incessant ringing of the telephone woke Tom from a deep, dream-filled sleep. His hand thrashed around wildly until it finally connected with the receiver and he lifted it to his ear. “Hanson,” he muttered sleepily.
Doug’s excited voice yelled down the phone. “Tommy! You’re never gonna believe it! He’s been found! Booker’s been found!”
The receiver slipped from Tom’s fingers and fell with a clatter to the floor. He could still hear Penhall’s frantic voice calling to him, “Tommy? Tommy? Are you there? Tommy!” but he was unable to move, unable to answer him. Time stood still and as his mind processed the information, tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision.
He had received the ultimate Christmas present; Booker was alive and he naïvely thought that meant everything would be all right.
But little did he know, it was just the beginning of a very long journey.
- 14
- 15
- 16
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To Chase a Feather in the Wind