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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
- 17
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- 19
Three hours later
A dull throb radiated through Tom’s hip, the cold tiled floor providing no relief for his aching joints. He shifted slightly, searching for a more comfortable position, but the subtle movement did little except exacerbate the pain radiating through the base of his thumb. Opening his eyes, he stared out into the gloom. He had no idea how long he’d slept, but judging by the location of the waning gibbous moon shimmering through the small bathroom window, it was past midnight. As his mind slowly reawakened, he became more aware of his physical discomfort, and a low moan trembled over his lips. He knew enough about Handcuff Neuropathy to surmise the pain around his thumb was because the metal shackle had bruised his superficial radial nerve. It was a worrying sign, and flexing his fingers, he winced as the cold metal bit deeper into his swollen flesh. The cuff was too tight, and unless Will released him, he was facing some serious nerve damage.
A dull ache in his bladder had him rethinking his priorities, and pushing himself upright, he stared at the toilet. Even in his drowsy semiconscious state, he knew he had no hope of reaching the bowl, and cold panic gripped his heart. If he didn’t act quickly, he’d end up humiliating himself by pissing all over the floor. He desperately tried to formulate a plan, but his mind came up blank, and with his need to urinate fast becoming an issue, he used the only option open to him...his voice.
“WILL! I NEED TO USE THE BATHROOM! WILL! UNCUFF ME NOW, YOU SONOFABITCH! UNCUFF MEEE!”
Several long, agonizing minutes passed before the door opened, revealing a groggy Will. “Whatcha yellin’ about?” he asked, his hand rubbing his sleep-blurred eyes.
Surprised his brother hadn’t torn him a new one for calling him a sonofabitch, Tom decided not to push his luck by repeating the insult. Instead, he addressed his captor in a non-confrontational voice, hoping against hope his subservient manner would placate his sibling enough so he’d agree to uncuff him. “I need to pee.”
Will appeared to consider the request before disappearing out the door. The minutes ticked down, leaving Tom squirming uncomfortably. If his brother didn’t hurry up, he’d find himself sitting in a puddle of his own waste.
“WILL!” he cried, his free hand grabbing at his crotch. “HURRY THE FUCK UP!”
Eventually, Will strolled casually back into the bathroom, a blue bucket swinging from one hand. “Geez, Tom-Tom,” he admonished in an unsympathetic tone. “Settle down. There’s no need to raise your voice at—”
‘UNCUFF ME!” Tom screamed hysterically, his tethered arm frantically pulling at the restraint. “UNCUFF ME YOU CRAZY MOTHERFU—OH FUUCK!”
Warm urine flowed over his fingers, the yellow stream trickling down between his naked thighs and onto the black and white tiled floor below. Shocked into silence, he stared down at the waste pooling beneath him, his mind barely able to comprehend what it was his eyes were seeing. But when the flow eventually stemmed, a convulsion of pure anguish shuddered through his body, and unable to bottle up his emotions any longer, he burst into tears.
The young officer’s tortured sobs echoed throughout the bathroom, each wretched howl telling a story of helplessness and despair. “Wh-why?” he cried, his tears rolling unchecked down his pale cheeks. “Wh-why would you d-do that to m-me?
Will stood in the doorway, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the handle of the bucket, his expression grim. Any compassion he might have felt for his brother had disappeared the moment the scent of ammonia hit his nostrils. He wore his disgust openly, his pursed lips and wrinkled brow leaving nothing to the imagination. He was pissed off, but rather than berate his brother, he positioned the bucket under the tub’s spout and turned on the faucet.
The sound of running water soon reached Tom’s ears, and his sobs slowly subsided. Lifting his head, he drew his bare arm under his streaming nose and wiped away the mucus. From his position on the floor, he watched his brother fill the bucket, all the while thinking he was going to clean up his mess. But when the pail was almost full, Will turned off the faucet and lifting the bucket from the tub, he spun around and threw the contents over his brother.
Cold water splashed over the young officer’s groin, numbing his extremities. With a cry, his body lurched backward, the motion slamming the back of his head against the side of the sink. “OW!”
Oblivious to his brother’s pain, Will threw the remaining water over Tom’s legs. “Disgusting little pig,” he muttered, and tossing the pail to the floor, he turned and walked away.
“DON’T LEAVE ME!” Tom screamed, his hysterical outburst cording the muscles in his neck. “COME BACK, YOU MOTHERFUCKER! COME BACK!”
But the only reply the young officer received was the slam of the bathroom door.
**
Fifteen hours later
As Booker pushed open the discolored metal door, the familiarity of the empty warehouse brought back a flood of memories, and a heavy knot of regret settled in his chest. Thirty-three hours had passed since he’d verbally attacked Tom, and the weight of his remorse was beginning to affect his ability to perform his job. While he’d given a stellar performance bullying Ioki the previous day, his mind was no longer focused on the task at hand. He’d spent a restless night tossing and turning, the image of Tom’s distressed face haunting him through the long hours until dawn. He felt lousy, and as he’d stood under the shower, his mind disillusioned and his spirit at an all-time low, he’d almost considered giving up completely and phoning in sick. However, the thought of disappointing his captain soon had him reevaluating his thinking. Fuller had chosen him over Tom, and he wanted to prove to his superior he’d made the right choice. But when he’d pulled into Westview High’s parking lot, his mood had once again darkened, and he’d spent the day carefully avoiding contact with both Harry and Tyrell. While he knew his behavior would cause Ioki to question his motive, he doubted Tyrell would bat an eye. After all, mood swings were a common occurrence for the average teenager, and he figured he could get away with keeping to himself for at least one day without drawing too much suspicion.
The screech of the warehouse door’s rusty hinges alerted Booker to Ioki’s presence, and turning around, he offered him a twitch of a smile. “Hey, Harry.”
“Hey, yourself,” Harry replied in an offhand manner, his dark eyes carefully studying his partner’s face. “So, what’s up with you? The whole point of being at Westview is to bust this drug ring. You’re treating it like a vacation.”
Embarrassment heated Booker’s cheeks, and he shuffled uncomfortably. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’m just having a bad day. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
“A bad day because of Tom?”
The question took Booker by surprise, and he stood in silence for several moments before his dazed expression transformed into one of sneering derision. “Why would you think that?”
A knowing smile curled the corner of Harry’s lips. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’ve got feelings for him. It was obvious yesterday when you tore into him for requesting a new partner. The disappointment I understand, but you really lashed out at him. You wanted to hurt him in the same way he hurt you, and people only go to that extreme when someone they love lets them down.”
Booker’s cleverly constructed facade faltered before crumbling completely, and unable to meet Harry’s discerning gaze, he lowered his eyes to the floor. He wasn’t comfortable discussing his affection for another man with a coworker, and under ordinary circumstances, he would have told Harry to mind his own business. But there was nothing ordinary about his and Tom’s bizarre relationship, and for the first time in years, he made the decision to let his guard down. “Jesus,” he muttered, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “What is it with you and Penhall? You’ve known me for less than two weeks, and somehow, you’ve got me all figured out. It’s kinda scary.”
Smiling, Harry gave a small shrug. “I don't know, but I'm right, aren't I?”
Several seconds passed before Booker answered. “Yeah, okay, I do have feelings for him. But you’ve got to believe me, Harry, I didn’t mean to react the way I did. He just frustrates the hell out of me, and I lost my temper.”
“You called him a freak,” Ioki pointed out in a quiet voice. “That’s some pretty hefty frustration. Are you in love with him?”
Guilt sent a stab of pain through Booker’s heart, and his shoulders sagged from the weight of his contrition. “I don’t know, maybe,” he muttered. “I mean, he’s gorgeous and all, but he’s really not my type. He’s so damn timid and insecure, it’s hard work just getting to know him. Anyway, none of that's really the point. I’m gonna apologize to him for being such a prick, and hopefully, we can salvage what’s left of our friendship. Judy reckons I should wait a few days, but I dunno. What do you think I should do? Should I give him time to lick his wounds or should I talk to him today?”
After careful consideration, Harry answered the question. “I think Jude’s right, I think you should wait a while. Tom’s...complicated. If you crowd him, he’ll panic, and you'll only make it worse. But you shouldn’t leave it too long either. Hanson's his own worst critic, and once he starts to overthink what happened, he’ll blame himself, and the self-condemnation will eat him up inside.”
Booker considered the advice before slowly nodding his head in agreement. “Yeah, I think you’re right. I’ll wait until tomorrow before I say anything. Thanks, Harry.”
“Happy to help,” Harry laughed. “Man, I can’t believe out of everyone at the chapel, you picked the weirdest person to fall in love with. You must really like difficult relationships.”
“Yeah,” Booker replied absently, his mind already planning what he would say to Tom. “I guess I do.”
Harry slapped his partner on the back. “Good luck with that. Just try not to break his heart.”
“Yeah,” Booker murmured again, his mind deep in thought. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to have Tom in his life, but he had a feeling if he ignored his gut, he’d live to regret it.
**
Five hours later (Twenty-three hours since Tom’s incarceration)
Trapped within the horror of his living nightmare, time had no meaning for Tom. His exhausted mind faded in and out of sleep, the black and white images of his dreams a cruel reminder of how his life used to be. The incessant throb of his muscles tortured his aching limbs, the cramps flowing and ebbing in a progressive tide of pain. But despite his suffering, somewhere, deep in the subconscious part of his brain, he knew that to keep his blood circulating, he needed to remember to wiggle the fingers of his tethered hand. He had no idea how long Will intended to keep him captive, and he needed to do whatever he could to keep himself in good shape. He’d tried to make a game out of it, to move each finger in rhythm to the beat of a song he sang in his head. But his mind soon began to play tricks on him. With each passing hour, the line between reality and fantasy blurred, confusing his thought process. The sanctuary of his dreams gave him the peace he craved, and so, little by little, his mind slipped into a fugue-like state, leaving his body motionless. His memories became the present and his nightmare the past, and while the time switch helped protect his sanity, his unconscious mind left him vulnerable and exposed to his brother’s continued abuse.
**
Four hours later
Lying in bed, Booker found sleep elusive. He stared up at the ceiling, the luminous dial of his clock radio mocking him with each passing minute. Even after two days, his fight with Tom still weighed heavily on his mind, and his abusive behavior gnawed at his conscience. It was difficult for him to admit he was wrong, but in his heart, he knew he’d treated his friend badly. Not that he didn’t attribute some of the blame squarely on Tom’s shoulders, he did, but after careful reflection, he knew he could have handled things better. Verbally attacking a shy, nervous man in front of his colleagues was a low act, and he wished he hadn’t lost his temper in such a public manner. At twenty-four years of age, he knew he should have more self-control, but he’d always been a hothead, and he rarely thought before he spoke. It was, according to his mother, the Booker curse. His father was the same, and so was his grandfather. He was, by all accounts, a chip off the old block.
Closing his eyes, he willed his mind to relax. It was 1 a.m., and there was nothing he could do to repair his friendship with Tom until after school. That gave him fifteen hours to find the right words so he could prove to his friend he was sorry and set their relationship back on the right path.
As his mind slowly faded toward sleep, content in the knowledge he would soon make peace with Tom, he had no idea of the abuse occurring in the Hansons’ bathroom. If he did, he wouldn’t have waited so long to check up on his friend.
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- 19
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Cries of a Shadow