Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

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
- 18
- 19
- 20
This will be the final chapter for a while as I'm taking some time off over the holiday period. But rest assured, I will resume posting in January.
Blessed Yule!
In peace,
OpenPage x

Ten hours later
Hidden from view by the thick copse of trees bordering the east side of Westview High’s running track, Tyrell Carson watched with interest as Dennis approached Harry. The two males exchanged a few words before Dennis turned and walked away. Although out of earshot, Tyrell could see well enough to know the meeting was not a drug deal, and his eyebrows drew together into a frown. Something was off, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was that had his spider-sense tingling. He’d started to sense it after Dennis had bullied Harry into buying a baggie of cocaine. The deal had gone off without a hitch, but in Tyrell’s experience, the transaction was a little too easy, a little too clean. He’d played the scenario frame by frame in his mind, but when he couldn’t shake off his suspicions, he’d decided to do some investigating. Arriving at school early, he’d attempted to bribe a student office aide into stealing Brady and McQuaid’s files so he could read up on the two misfits. But despite offering money and threatening violence, he’d failed to coerce the student into fulfilling his request. To say he was disappointed was an understatement. Failure did not sit well with the arrogant teen, and he took his displeasure out on those closest to him. Both Seth Madison and Joel Sanders had found themselves on the receiving end of his ire, their matching black eyes a sad testimonial of the brutality they encountered in their everyday lives. Not that they complained. At the age of seventeen, their view on life was already jaded. After all, if your best friend, parent or sibling had no qualms beating the living hell out of you, it made sense the rest of the world was against you too. Right? It was the tragic conditioning of the tough, lower socioeconomic youths of the Westview school district, and one that was unlikely to change without outside intervention and understanding. But those caught in the web of abuse didn't give a rat’s ass about their community or their fellow battlers. All they cared about were themselves, and if anyone was foolish enough to get in their way, then God help them because as in any war, there would be innocent casualties.
Tyrell’s eyes narrowed as he watched Harry wander over to the bleachers, sit down, and open a book. With Tom suspiciously absent and Dennis and Harry meeting in secret, Tyrell knew he had every reason to doubt their motives. There was something not quite right about the relationship between Brady, McQuaid, and Nguyen and he wouldn’t rest until he found out what it was that had him questioning his own judgment.
**
Seven hours later
The numbers on the Hansons’ door sparkled under the luminance of the overhead light, the brightly polished digits warning all callers of the ordered regime that lay within. For the second time in less than a week, a tingle of déjà vu raised the fine hairs on the back of Booker’s neck, the weird sensation sending a tingle of apprehension down his spine. He was nervous, more so than previously, and he wiped his sweaty palms on the legs of his jeans. His attempt to recast his bond with Tom hinged on his ability to articulate his genuine remorse, which was something he wasn’t always successful at accomplishing. But despite his anxiety, he would give it his best shot. Then, if Tom were receptive to his apology, he would do his best to rekindle their relationship so they could continue working and socializing together as friends.
Lifting his hand, the dark-haired officer rapped his knuckles on the door. There was no sound of life from within the apartment, even the television remained suspiciously silent. Surprise etched two deep lines between his brows. When he’d gone to the chapel in search of Tom, Judy had informed him he was still sick. With no option but to go to his friend’s apartment, Booker had taken the time to go home and shower before driving back across town. However, although Tom’s Mustang was parked outside the apartment building and a telltale strip of light shone from underneath the door, no one answered his knock. Unsure whether to risk disturbing his sick friend, Booker pondered the benefit of knocking a second time. If he woke Tom, the young officer would probably be in a bad mood, but if he turned around and went home, another twenty-four hours would pass before he could offer up his apology. It was a catch-22 situation, and indecision deepened the dark-haired officer’s frown. He mentally worked through the pros and cons in his mind, his teeth absently chewing at a dry piece of skin on his lip. But it didn’t take long for him to make a decision. He was a man of action and having made an effort to track Tom down, he was determined to follow through with his initial plan.
Taking a deep breath, he lifted his hand and knocked again, louder this time. Ten seconds passed...twenty...and then, out of nowhere, the sound of muttering filtered through the walls, the disgruntled grumbling growing louder as the occupant moved toward the door. Mentally preparing himself, the dark-haired officer took a step back and waited, his smile wavering somewhere between apologetic and persuasive. If he could win Tom over then maybe, if he were up to it, they could go out for a drink and work on putting their differences behind them.
The door opened, revealing a damp-haired Will. Upon seeing Booker, the elder Hanson’s expression immediately soured, the veins in his temples bulging and knotting in displeasure. “What the hell are you doing here?”
In an almost comical representation, Booker’s countenance mirrored the furious officer’s. Anger tightened his smile into a scowl, his brittle, thin-lipped glower challenging his nemesis to a battle of wills. “What do you think, asshole? I’m here to see Tom.”
The muscles in Will’s jaw flexed in annoyance. “Are you deaf or just plain stupid? He told you he doesn’t want you coming around here anymore. So, why don’t you respect his wishes and fuck off!”
The slam of the door abruptly ended the brief conversation. Furious at himself, Booker cursed loudly. As he continued to stare at the door, a surge of anger worked its way through his body, the urge to slam his fist into the offending wooden paneling almost too titanic to control. But as it was his temper that had landed him in trouble in the first place, he eventually decided against it. If Tom didn’t want to see him, there was nothing he could do except wait until their paths crossed at the chapel. Hopefully, once they were both on mutual territory, he could take his friend to one side and apologize for his appalling behavior. If not, then he could console himself with the thought that at least he’d tried.
Deflated, the dark-haired officer turned and walked back toward the stairs. Having convinced himself he would have the opportunity to make amends, he was bitterly disappointed with the outcome. He took his time descending the two flights of steps, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of Tom. Once outside, he stood on the pavement for a moment and breathed in the scented spring air. April was his favorite month. Partly because it was the only time the aroma of the flowering plants blocked out the acrid stench of car fumes in the city, and partly because the gentle breeze held a seductive hint of summer in its midst. It was the season of new life, the increased growth and strength of nature. But it was also the time to shake off the old and move forward with the new, and he hoped it wasn’t an indication his relationship with Tom was well and truly over.
In need of a drink, he walked the short distance to his Cadillac and climbed in. Inserting the key in the ignition, he was about to start the engine when he caught a glimpse of a figure descending the building’s steps. Instinct had him crouching down in his seat, and peeping out through the window, he watched with interest as Will Hanson crossed the street and got into a battered green Toyota sedan. Curious, he stared up at Tom’s building. The Hansons’ apartment window was unlit, the snaking steps of the fire escape steeped in shadow. Turning his attention back to the road, he watched Will’s vehicle disappear in the slanting copper light of evening. In a twist of fate, the Gods of opportunity had given him a fighting chance, and stepping back out of his car, he slammed the Caddy’s door closed. With renewed determination, he hurried across the street and entered the apartment building. Taking the steps two at a time, he raced up the stairs, his heart hammering from the unexpected exercise. When he reached the second floor, he took a moment to compose himself before striding up to Tom’s apartment and pounding loudly on the door. “Tommy, it’s Dennis. Open the door!”
No sound emanated from the apartment, the eerie silence unsettling Booker’s stomach. While he had no evidence to back up his theory, his gut told him something wasn't right. A shudder of foreboding coiled down his spine, the ghostly chill trembling through his entire body. He wasn’t always the most intuitive person on the planet, but his hunches were rarely wrong. Taking a step back, he stared at the polished numbers on the door, his mind carefully weighing up his options. A minute passed, then two, but eventually, his inner cop voice convinced him to launch a plan of action. After all, what was the worst that could happen? If he barged into Tom’s apartment and found him sleeping peacefully, he’d add it to the apology he already owed his friend and move on. But if he ignored his sixth sense and something really was wrong, then he might have to live with the consequences forever, and that wasn’t something he was prepared to deal with. There was something about Will Hanson he didn’t trust, and if he had to embarrass himself to check on Tom’s welfare, then embarrass himself he would.
Springing into action, he ran back down the stairs. When he reached the ground floor, his eyes darted left to right in search of the superintendent’s residence. It took him a moment, but he eventually saw a small sign located on the door of an apartment and sprinting forward, he rapped his knuckles on the door. “Police! Open up!”
Several seconds passed before the chained door edged open and a suspicious eye surveyed him through the crack. “What’s going on?”
Booker showed the man his badge. “I’m Officer Dennis Booker, a colleague of Officer Tom Hanson. I think he’s in trouble and I need the key to his apartment.”
The superintendent rubbed a nervous hand over his mouth. “I dunno. I’m not supposed to just—”
“Hey, man, are you deliberately obstructing a police investigation?” Booker challenged, his annoyance raising the timbre of his voice. “Because if you are, I'll arrest you now.”
The door closed, followed by the rattle of the chain sliding back. When the door opened again, the super stepped out, a ring of keys held in his hand. “Show me your identification again.”
Swallowing down his irritation, Booker held up his badge. “Okay,” the man eventually acquiesced. “But I’m coming with you. Those are the rules.”
Not wanting to waste any more time arguing, Booker grudgingly agreed. “Fine. Let’s go.”
The two men hastened up the stairs, the clink of keys an ominous audio backdrop to the heavy stomp of their footfalls. When they reached Tom and Will’s apartment, the super held up a hand, preventing Booker from moving any closer. “I’ll unlock the door, but I’m not leaving until I know one of the Hanson brothers is home and they’re okay with you being there. Got it?”
“Got it,” Booker replied, a restless anticipation tensing his muscles. If Tom was okay, he was in for one hell of a tongue-lashing. But if he wasn’t, he had no idea what he would find.
The click of the super’s key turning in the lock had Booker’s hands clenching in readiness. As the door creaked on its hinges, he pushed his way past the older man. “Wait here.”
The super nodded, his lined face pinched with concern. He had a soft spot for the younger Hanson, his shy, awkward manner reminding him of his younger self. Not that he really knew Tom, the brothers pretty much kept to themselves, but he hoped he was okay and not lying on the floor dead from an accidental gunshot wound.
Nudging the door open, Booker entered the gloomy apartment, his senses on high alert. To his right, a light breeze wafted in through the partially open window, the gentle air movement rattling the Venetian blinds. The soft vibration mixed with the traffic noise filtering up from the street below, the everyday sounds helping to calm his nerves. He took a moment to familiarize himself with his surroundings, absorbing every feature and storing it in his memory. It was all part of his police training; know your environment or run the risk of an ambush.
Unlike his previous visit, he had time to observe the little things. As he stared around the room, he noticed the open-plan living/kitchen area was meticulously tidy, the sink and countertops devoid of dishes and clutter. There were no knick-knacks or personal items except two photos encased in metal frames, both of which took pride of place on top of a retro coffee table. Stepping forward, he picked up the nearest picture. Two smiling faces stared back at him, the happy, carefree expressions of the young Hanson brothers causing his heart to skip a beat. Will stood a head taller than Tom, his arm draped casually around his sibling’s shoulders, a proud older brother taking care of his kin. Tom wore the goofy visage of a typical fourth grader, his crinkled nose and wide-mouthed grin bringing a smile to Booker’s lips. There was a hint of mischief sparkling in the younger Hanson’s brown eyes, a clear indication that the now twenty-three-year-old man was a shadow of his childhood self. Losing both parents had obviously impacted on Tom’s personality, and for the first time since meeting both Hansons, Booker began to wonder if he’d unfairly vilified Will’s character. Everyone else seemed to think he was an okay guy, and maybe his own affection for the shy yet endearing officer had clouded his judgment. The two brothers were obviously close. They lived together, socialized together, and worked in the same profession, all of which pointed to an amicable relationship. Therefore, maybe the problem didn’t lie with Will, but did, in fact, lie with him. What if he were subconsciously jealous of the brothers’ bond? It was a reasonable enough assumption, and at that moment, Booker considered abandoning his mission. He suddenly felt foolish for ever doubting the elder Hanson’s motives, and placing the photo frame back on the table, he moved toward the door. But as he passed by the two closed doors adorning the eastern wall of the apartment, a strange feeling settled over him. Stopping midstep, he turned and stared at the innocuous white paneling. A two-bedroom apartment would have three extra rooms, not two, and a tingle of awareness shot down his spine. Something was wrong with the picture-perfect home...something was very, VERY wrong.
“Is everything okay in there?”
Startled by the unexpected interruption, Booker spun around. “Stay outside,” he instructed in an authoritative voice. “Don’t come in unless I tell you to.”
Disgruntled mutterings reached his ears, but he ignored the man’s grumblings. He edged closer to the nearest door, his chest heaving and nostrils flaring under the strain of his heavy breathing. When he was close enough, he reached out a hand and grasped the doorknob. Fear and uncertainty had him pausing for a moment, but with no choice but to proceed, he turned the handle and pushed open the door.
Pale moonlight filtered in through a large window, illuminating the room in its ethereal glow. In the middle of the room, a double bed dominated the floor space, the aqua-colored quilt unwrinkled, the pillows plumped to perfection. On either side of the bed stood a chest of drawers, their wooden surfaces conspicuously vacant except for a single photo frame placed in the middle of the bureau closest to the window. Moving slowly across the room, Booker stopped beside the built-in closet. The heavy tempo of his heartbeat sent adrenaline-induced tremors through his body, and with an unsteady hand, he slid open the door.
It was immediately apparent two different individuals utilized the closet space. Shirts of varying sizes hung from wire hangers, each one pressed to within an inch of its life. Rows of shoes lined the floor, the larger of the pairs all black patent leather, the smaller, a variety of sneakers and boots. Hot bile rose in Booker’s throat, and he stumbled backward, a trembling hand covering his mouth. He could no longer deny the indisputable evidence...Tom and Will not only shared an apartment, they also shared a bed.
Keen to put some distance between himself and the heart of the unorthodox living arrangement, Booker turned to leave. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of an assortment of clothes shoved into the darkest corner of the closet. The disorganized heap was out of place in the meticulously coordinated cupboard, and bending down, he pulled out the nearest item. As he turned the familiar brown hoodie over in his hands, a thousand thoughts raced through his mind. For some inexplicable reason, Tom kept his McQuaid clothes segregated from his everyday clothes, almost as if he wanted to keep his work life separate. The word, ‘uncontaminated’ popped into Booker’s mind, and he shuddered, the involuntary spasm bringing goosebumps to the surface of his arms. Tom’s home life was more than just abnormal, it was downright screwy, and the sooner he found the young officer, the happier he would feel.
Exiting the bedroom, he approached what he assumed was the bathroom. This time, there was no hesitation, and grasping the handle, he took a deep breath and opened the door.
- 18
- 19
- 20
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Cries of a Shadow