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Cries of a Shadow	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2758 -:- 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
- 16
- 17
- 18
Later that night
Easing himself into the tub, Tom released a contented sigh. As the warm water washed over his tired body, he felt himself starting to relax, the sensory gratification helping to mute the voices echoing in his head. From its position on the bathroom vanity, a small transistor radio played an innocuous rock ballad, the low-quality tinny sound invoking memories of his childhood. Leaning back against the hard porcelain, he hummed along to the tune, the familiarity of the song releasing a kaleidoscope of images into his head, each one carefully selected for maximum pleasure. It was the tonic he needed, and when the tension in his shoulders finally melted away, he closed his eyes and took a stroll down memory lane.
A small smile tweaked the corners of his lips. He was back in the fourth grade, and he’d just hit the winning run in the final game of the little league playoffs. Coach Edison had taken the team out for pizza, and he’d positioned Tom at the head of the table, in what he’d referred to as the hero’s seat. It was a proud moment for the youngest Hanson, and he’d relished the adoration. But all that was before the death of his parents, back when he was still a normal American boy doing normal American things. Time, however, had proven to be his enemy. He was no longer that starry-eyed kid, full of hopes and dreams for the future. The weight of his abuse had crushed his spirit, and while his mind often returned to the freedom of his childhood, he was realistic enough to know he would never experience that life again.
It didn’t take long for the memories of Booker’s verbal attack to chase away the young officer’s happy thoughts, and his serene smile slowly faded, his bitter recollections returning in a stream of consciousness. When he’d returned to work, he’d found himself facing more ridicule. In his short absence, Sergeant Parry had coined the nickname Take flight Tommy, a moniker that all the other officers readily adopted. The unwanted attention had soon taken its toll, and he’d feigned illness so he could leave the chapel early, the audible sniggers and stage whispers following him out the door. It was another blow to his confidence, a chink in his already battle-scarred armor, and he felt happy to be home, sheltered within the walls of his apartment. Many would have questioned his ideology on what constituted a safe house, but for him, the answer was simple. His dysfunctional relationship with his brother had become the norm, he knew what to expect, and although emotionally and physically damaging, he accepted it for what it was…his life.
When his fingertips started to wrinkle, Tom heaved himself out of the tub and grabbing a towel, he dried his battered flesh. He was looking forward to an early night so he could lose himself in the black and white images of his past. But no sooner had he slipped on his terry cloth robe than a cold draft swirled around his bare legs. He turned, his brow creasing into a worried frown. But when he saw his brother standing in the doorway, his muscles relaxed, and he managed a wan smile. “Hey, Will. Is something wrong?”
Will’s eyes wandered over his sibling’s robe-clad body. “I was going to ask you the same thing. You hardly touched your pizza. Is everything okay, Tom-Tom?”
The question was one Tom was used to, Will often quizzed him about his day, and he’d honed his talent until he was a consummate performer, the well thought out lies slipping easily from his tongue. But the tender concern in his brother’s voice was unexpected, and he found himself struggling to keep his composure. He blinked several times, his Adam's apple bobbing with suppressed emotion. But he knew he was fighting a losing battle. Tired and emotional, he longed to share the burden of his tumultuous day, to release his inner demons so he could vanquish them to the darkest corner of his memory. His lower lip started to quiver, and as his face contorted into a mask of misery, his anguish spilled forth in a whiny torrent of sorrow. “They keep making fun of me! No matter how hard I try to fit in, they keep making fun of me!”
A sympathetic pout formed on Will’s lips, and pulling Tom into a protective embrace, he rubbed a consoling hand over the small of his back. “You don’t need them in your life, Tom-Tom,” he reassured in a soft voice. “They’re all a bunch of assholes. Especially that Booker.”
Comforted by the soothing touch, Tom relaxed against Will’s chest and closed his eyes, the steady beat of his brother’s heart helping to calm his tormented mind. Will’s hand continued its circular motion, his long fingers moving slowly downward until the tips skimmed over the curve of Tom’s buttocks. When the younger officer didn’t protest, he grew bolder. His fingers moved lower, the tips curling under the hem of the soft terry toweling robe, inching it up, the sly action revealing the bath-warmed skin beneath. But when he lightly caressed the exposed flesh, Tom’s eyes flew open, and struggling out of his brother’s hold, the young officer took a step back. “Don’t!”
A look of bewilderment crossed Will’s face. Never had his brother denied him access, but it didn’t take long for his surprise to turn to anger. “What did you say?”
Flustered, Tom’s eyes blinked rapidly. But having finally found the courage to speak up, he was determined to free himself from the abuse that ruled his life. “I s-said don’t. I d-don’t w-want you to d-do that to me anym-more.”
Will’s expression hardened. “Do what, exactly? Has that Booker been filling your head with lies, Tom-Tom? Can’t you see what he’s doing? He’s trying to split us up, he’s trying to steal you away from me and—”
“I’M NOT YOURS TO STEAL, WILL! I’M YOUR BROTHER, AND WHAT YOU’RE DOING TO ME IS WRONG! IT’S FUCKING INCEST!”
If Tom had managed to keep a level head, he probably would have noticed the subtle change in his brother’s expression, forewarning him of the impending attack. But he didn’t. Out of nowhere, a fist slammed into his jaw, the force of the punch buckling his knees. He crumpled to the floor, his temple striking the edge of the tub with a sickening crack. Pain exploded inside his head and moaning loudly, he slumped over onto his side. Blood flowed from the large gash above his eye, the thick amber fluid staining the black and white tiled floor. With a groan, he attempted to crawl away, to protect himself from another assault, but a wave of nausea clouded his vision, instantly disorienting him. Unable to think straight, his arms gave way, and he collapsed back onto the floor, the coolness of the tiles against his cheek helping to keep him conscious. Again, he attempted to drag himself out of harm’s way, but before he could make his escape, cruel fingers grasped a handful of his hair and yanked him backward. He yelped in pain as Will forcefully dragged him toward the tub. His legs kicked weakly in protest, his hands desperately scratching at his brother’s wrists in a vain attempt to make him let go. When Will heaved him into a sitting position, he fought to break free, but his valiant effort was no match for his two hundred and twenty-pound brother. Within seconds, he found himself draped over the edge of the tub, the weight of Will’s body pressing against him, holding him down. The aroma of the soapy bathwater immediately triggered the neurons in his olfactory cortex, the powerful sensory overload prompting an automatic stress response. Knowing what was about to happen, he inhaled a deep breath, his mind preparing for the dunking. But when Will’s unlubricated penis rammed inside him, the much-needed air rushed from his lungs, and he screamed in pain. “DON’T! ST-AHH! STOP! OH, GOD, WILL, STOP! YOU’RE HURTING ME! YOU’RE HURTING ME!”
But his desperate plea went unheeded. Will’s mind had snapped, his rage engulfing all rational thought, leaving behind an unhinged man. “Shut up,” the elder Hanson growled. “Shut up and take it like a man.”
For the first time in years, Tom’s childhood memories failed to protect him, the searing pain burning inside his anus preventing his mind from taking him to his happy place. Unable to move, he was helpless to act, leaving him both mentally and physically vulnerable to the assault. His abused body lurched forward and backward, his torso digging into the edge of the tub, the friction inflaming the large bruise already adorning his flesh. Snot bubbled from his nose, the steady stream mixing with his tears, the slivers of mucus falling into the bathwater below. With a voice hoarse from screaming, he continued to beg his brother to stop, to spare him from the vicious attack that was destroying his sanity. But the rape continued, Will’s frantic movements driving his cock deeper, the blood oozing from the terrified officer’s anus helping to lubricate the unwanted flesh savagely invading his body.
Will’s coital grunts bounced off the tiled walls...low...heavy...a primordial song of control and dominance. The line between forced consent and rape had blurred, and in his world, there was no turning back. Tom had betrayed him...made a fool of him, and he needed to teach him a lesson in respect. He would take what he wanted with or without permission, as was his right...his brother at least owed him that much.
Eventually, Tom’s senses dulled, and his mind went blank. There were no happy childhood images, just an empty void inside his head protecting him from the brutality of the assault. His erection jutted out in front of him, the tip bouncing against the side of the tub. But he remained blissfully unaware of his impending orgasm. He was a hollow shell…unthinking…unfeeling…a mindless automaton, his body’s arousal remotely controlled by his brother’s frantic thrusting.
“Fuck...fuck...fuck,” Will huffed, his warm breath whispering over the strands of damp hair at the nape of Tom’s neck. “I’m close, Tom-Tom, I’m so...fucking...ohhahh.”
Will’s semen filled Tom’s anus, his seed mixing with the blood coating the young officer's anal canal, marking its territory with its unique scent. Still locked in his fugue-like state, Tom’s body eventually betrayed him, his own semen splattering against the side of the tub...ineffectual...wasted...the saliferous fluid clinging to the cold porcelain. With a satisfied grunt, Will withdrew his softening cock, the action releasing a crimson stream of sanguine juices, the bloody droplets running down Tom’s inner thighs. Liberated from his nightmare, the young officer’s consciousness returned, and a pathetic whimper trembled over his lips, the trauma of the rape sending violent tremors through his abused body. It didn’t take long for the screaming inside his head to start, his guilt manifesting in angry words of self-condemnation. He was a whore...a freak, he should have found a way to stop it, he should have fought harder, he should have yelled louder, he should have...he should have…he should have…
Unable to silence the torrent of abuse echoing inside his mind, Tom sought comfort the only way he knew how. Dropping to the bathroom floor, his body curled into the fetal position, and closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to once again, fade into the past.
Rising to his feet, Will turned his attention to the lifeless figure lying next to his feet. He felt no real remorse, just a sense of sadness his brother had taken it so badly. He didn't understand why Tom had decided to reject his affections after so long, but he had a feeling it had something to do with Booker. His brother may have told the pesky officer not to come around anymore, but words didn’t always reflect the desires of the heart. For some inexplicable reason, despite never showing any signs of wanting to pursue a friendship with his other coworkers, Tom appeared to crave an intimate working relationship with the dark-haired officer. It was a baffling development, and one Will was determined to nip in the bud. As far as he was concerned, they didn’t need outsiders prying into their lives. They had each other, and that was all that mattered.
Shifting his gaze, Will noticed the blood and semen coating his now flaccid penis. His nose wrinkled in disgust, and bending down, he used the corner of Tom’s robe to wipe away the offending fluid. Once clean, he pulled up his pants, the metallic clink of the handcuffs attached to his belt an ominous portent to what was to come. He took a moment to tuck in his shirt before he emptied the dirty bathwater and refilled the tub, all the while singing along to the various tunes playing on the radio, his mind oblivious to his brother’s suffering.
Steam swirled throughout the small room, the moist air clinging to the scent of sex that still permeated the atmosphere. When the bath was full, Will turned off the faucets and stared down at his sibling.
Tom remained on his side, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around his torso. Caught between the hypnagogic realm of semi-consciousness and sleep, his eyes remained partially open, his sightless gaze fixed on the tiled floor, a soft pout adorning his full lips. A look of tenderness passed over Will’s face. Tom’s angelic features never ceased to amaze him, and even though his brother’s good looks brought about feelings of animosity, in a twisted way, he was also proud of how beautiful he was. His Tom-Tom was exquisite—even with a blood-smeared face—and he felt lucky to have him in his life.
A tender smile played over Will’s lips, and lowering himself to the floor, he knelt beside his brother. Tom remained oblivious to his presence, his eyes unblinking, his body motionless. Unwilling to disturb the serene vision laid out before him, Will’s hand hovered over Tom’s head for several moments before finally coming into contact with the bloody gash adorning his temple. Startled back to reality, Tom instinctively jerked away, an anguished cry sounding from between his lips. Surprised by the reaction, Will sat back on his heels, two deep lines wrinkling his brow. “Geez, Tom-Tom, chill out. I’m not gonna hurt you. Don't you wanna get cleaned up?”
Will’s matter of fact tone, coupled with his contradictory statement, added an air of surrealism to the already bizarre situation. Blinking several times, Tom remained immobile, his only awareness, the unrelenting throbbing in his head and anus. When he didn’t receive an answer, Will stood up, and without thought for his brother’s fragile state of mind, he lifted him by the armpits and dragged him toward the tub.
Fearing he was once again under attack, Tom’s body lurched into action. Instinct powered his arms and legs into a violent frenzy, his limbs flailing frantically, his panicked protest echoing around the room. “NO! NO! NO! PLEASE DON’T! OH, GOD! PLEASE DON’T!”
“Calm down,” Will huffed. But when Tom continued his distraught objection, the disgruntled officer heaved him to his feet, and taking hold of his shoulders, he shook him violently. “HEY! I SAID, CALM...THE FUCK...DOWN!”
Defeated, Tom’s body went limp, and choking back a sob, he sagged against Will’s muscular frame. Compassion softened Will’s eyes, and placing a reassuring arm around his brother’s waist, he maneuvered him toward the edge of the tub. “Get in, Tom-Tom. You’ll feel better after you soak a while.”
With his brain on autopilot, Tom shrugged out of his robe and stepping into the tub, he sat down. Circling his arms around his bent knees, he lowered his head and stared at the water...detached...broken...a ghost of his former self.
“You’re okay,” Will crooned softly, and taking a clean washcloth from the metal towel rack, he dipped it in the warm water and studiously dabbed at the blood trickling down Tom’s face. “See? No harm done.”
Filmy ribbons of blood swirled around Tom’s legs, the pinkish-red threads seeping from his anus silently confessing their part in the horror story of abuse and humiliation that had played out just minutes before. Devoid of emotion, his mind numb, the young officer seemed immune to his brother’s tender ministrations. But when the water started to cool, his eyes came back into focus and lifting his head, he spoke in a soft, mumbly voice. “I’m cold.”
Will’s hand stilled. “Do you wanna get out?”
Tom nodded. The pounding in his head felt like a jackhammer drilling into his brain, and a wave of nausea rolled over him. But he was clear-headed enough to know he needed to keep it together or risk falling victim to another attack.
Happy to oblige his brother’s request, Will helped him from the tub. Tom stood on the nylon bath mat, his arms wrapped around his trembling body. After pulling the stopper from the drain, Will grabbed a clean bath towel and proceeded to dry his brother’s mottled flesh. When the towel came away bloody, a frown of annoyance destroyed his calm exterior, and throwing the soiled material to the floor, he strode toward the door. “Stay here.”
Too tired to protest, Tom sank to the floor and placing his head on the bloodstained towel, he drew his legs up to his chest and closed his eyes. His breathing quickly fell into rhythm with the throbbing in his anus, and lulled by the familiar tune playing on the radio, he fell into a troubled sleep.
**
Thirty minutes later
A harsh kaleidoscope of color invaded Tom’s dream, the luminous glow violently jerking him back to full consciousness. Groaning, he squinted against the harshness of the overhead light, his muddled mind searching for answers. Gradually, his memories returned. A slow-motion picture show of pain, violence, and unexpected tenderness played inside his head, the background score of Van Halen’s ‘When It’s Love’ adding a touch of surrealism to the recollection. Confused, he struggled to push himself into a sitting position, but his right hand refused to cooperate. Fear crept through his body, bringing goose-bumps to the surface of his skin, and opening his eyes, he turned his head and stared at his hand.
A circle of metal bound his wrist, and Tom immediately recognized it as a standard police issue handcuff. The steel had already left an angry red mark, the manacle biting into his pale flesh. Panicked, he yanked his arm, and shock gave way to disbelief when he discovered he was secured to a pipe under the bathroom sink. Using his left arm as support, he pushed himself into a sitting position. It was then the room went silent, the catchy strains of Van Halen’s ballad cut off mid-vocal, leaving an eerie silence hanging in the air. Suddenly aware he wasn’t alone, a shiver ran down the length of his spine, and turning his head, he gazed up into his brother’s impassive face.
“Sorry,” Will apologized. “I fuckin’ hate that song.”
That his brother found it necessary to apologize for turning off the radio, but not for handcuffing him to a pipe only added to Tom’s confusion. He shook his head in the hopes of vanquishing the bizarre nightmare, but his reality remained unchanged. He was a hostage in his own home.
“Here,” Will offered, his hand holding out a packet of menstrual pads. “I bought you these.”
Tom stared at the feminine hygiene product, his expression mortified. “I d-don’t understand...wh-why are you giving m-me—”
“It’ll contain the bleeding,” Will explained in a matter of fact tone. “We can’t have you leaving a mess everywhere, now can we?”
Sickened by the comment, Tom’s heart thudded heavily in his chest, but he ignored the inappropriate gift, and instead brought up the most obvious issue. “Wh-why am I handcuffed to the sink?”
Squatting down beside his brother, Will exhaled a weighty sigh. “You let me down, Tom-Tom, and now you have to pay.”
With no thought for his safety, Tom grabbed Will’s hand, his dark eyes frantic. “B-But...b-but, I didn’t Will! I did what you asked, I sent Booker away! I even told Fuller I wanted another partner. So, why are you doing this to me? WHY?”
Pulling free from Tom’s hold, Will rose to his feet. “Because I can,” he replied in a flat voice, and tossing the packet of pads to the floor, he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.
- 16
- 17
- 18
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Cries of a Shadow