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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
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I’m back! Happy 2018 to you all. Now, on with the story…

The first thing that hit Booker was the smell. The pungent aroma of urine and feces permeated the stale air inside the unlit bathroom, the contents of the upturned bucket polluting the tiled floor. The mess was so out of place in the pristine apartment, the officer immediately assumed the toilet had overflowed. Curious, he covered his nose and mouth with his hand and pushed the door back on its hinges, revealing the entire room. At first, his brain refused to register what he was seeing, but as his shock gave way to gut-churning panic, he jumped into action.
“CALL AN AMBULANCE!” he yelled at the super and dashing into the bathroom, he dropped to his knees beside Tom. “HANSON! HANSON, CAN YOU HEAR ME? WAKE UP, TOMMY! WAKE UP!”
Tom’s eyes fluttered open. “W-Will?”
“No, baby, it’s Dennis,” Booker murmured, the affectionate pet name tumbling unchecked from between his lips. “Try not to move, okay? An ambulance is on its way.”
“Imma...freak,” Tom mumbled, his eyelids drifting closed.
Tears pricked at Booker’s eyes and reaching out a hand, he lightly stroked Tom’s matted hair. “No, Tommy, you're not. I didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“M’kay,” Tom managed to murmur before his mind, once again, returned to the Elysium Fields of his past.
Booker gently shook Tom’s shoulder, and when he didn’t get a response, he quickly checked the unconscious officer's pulse. Satisfied his friend was in no immediate danger, he started to rise, and it was then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadowy figure approach the door. But before he could speak out, the building supervisor walked in. “The ambulance is on its way. Is he—JESUS CHRIST!”
Instinctively using his body to protect Tom from view, Booker’s head snapped around. “GET OUT!” he shouted at the frightened man. “GET THE HELL OUT, NOW!”
The man staggered out of the room, leaving Booker alone with Tom. Grabbing a discarded towel, the dark-haired officer started to cover Tom’s naked body, but as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he noticed the blood encrusting the woven cotton pile. His breath caught painfully in his throat, and with a cry, he threw the towel across the room. Fear sent a shiver vibrating through his body, and rising to his feet, he walked over to the door and flicked on the light switch.
Nothing could have prepared Booker for the sight laid out before him. Pinkish-red streaks coated Tom’s thighs, his pale flesh providing a human canvas for the gory artwork. Beneath his body, dried rivers of blood caked the floor, the crimson stains seeping deep into the grouted edges of the tiles. The injured officer’s right hand hung from the pipes beneath the sink, suspended in space, his fingers swollen to nearly twice their normal size, the skin around his wrist rubbed raw from the compression of the tight metal ring. A yellow puddle of urine pooled around Tom’s lower body, the sharp, acerbic smell adding to the stench from the upturned pail. Booker’s mouth thickened with bile, and closing his eyes, he forced the vomit back down his throat. Never had he witnessed anything so brutal, so dehumanizing. It was a scene straight out of a horror movie...except it wasn’t. The sickening display was not a deranged mind’s work of fiction, it was, in all its grotesque realism, Tom’s life.
Opening his eyes, the dark-haired officer suddenly became aware of a dampness around his knees, and looking down, he stared at his wet jeans. It took him a moment to realize he’d knelt in a puddle of Tom’s urine, and his heart skipped a beat. But he felt no disgust, just an overwhelming sadness at the indignity his friend had endured. Feeling the need to comfort his unconscious partner, he started to move when he caught sight of something lying next to the toilet. Being careful to avoid the human waste covering the floor, he walked across the room and picked up the parcel. His gaze widened, and he stood staring at the packet of menstrual pads in his hand, his brain stubbornly refusing to believe his eyes. The feminine hygiene product added a whole other nightmarish dimension to the disturbing scene, and it was then he knew he could no longer ignore what was staring him right in the face. Will had raped Tom, and it was all his fault. He should have known something was wrong...he should have known, and he should have acted sooner.
The sound of sirens reached Booker’s ears, the distinct eeeoooeeeooo high/low wail splitting through the still night air. Throwing down the offending package, he moved back across the room and squatted down next to Tom. “Help’s coming, baby,” he whispered, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from the comatose officer’s forehead. “I just need you to hang in there, okay?”
Tom remained silent, his mind too deeply entrenched within his fantasy world to hear the reassuring words or feel the comforting touch. But if he’d known he would eventually have to face the reality that his secret had finally been exposed, he probably would not have wanted to wake up at all.
**
The astringent scent of antiseptic stung the air of the E.R., the strong aroma barely masking the smell of sickness and death. Booker paced the floor of the waiting room, one eye on the clock, his need for a cigarette intensifying with every step. Three hours had passed since the paramedics had cut Tom free from the bathroom pipe and transported him to St. Mary’s. In that time, the young officer had remained unresponsive, his mind locked in the memories of his past, oblivious to what was going on around him. For Booker, however, escaping the horror of the situation was not an option. He’d waited for the detectives to arrive, and like a scene from a movie the director had decelerated for dramatic effect, he’d watched the two men bag and tag the evidence with detached professionalism. Time had passed in a slow kaleidoscope of color, the surrealism of the graphic scene giving it a dreamlike quality. Unable to help in the capacity he was used to, he’d felt hopeless...impotent...useless to the point of thinking he might actually be in the way. Patience had never been his strong point, and he’d paced the hallway, smoking one cigarette after the other until he was finally called upon to give his statement. Although desperate to get to the hospital, he’d taken his time, carefully recounting every aspect of Tom and Will’s relationship before hurrying from the building and driving at breakneck speed to the hospital. Upon his arrival, he’d inquired about Tom’s condition, but a po-faced nurse had told him she couldn’t pass on any information and to take a seat. Frustrated, he’d made a call to Fuller, explaining the situation as best he could. When his superior assured him he was on his way, he’d felt some of the pressure lift from his shoulders. But that didn’t stop his ritualistic pacing. He needed to do something to take his mind off the horrific image burned into his brain, and as smoking wasn’t permitted in the hospital, pacing was the next best thing.
Another ten minutes passed, and desperate for information, Booker approached the po-faced nurse for the second time. “Um, can you give me an update on Officer Hanson’s condition?”
Without looking up, the nurse spoke in a bored voice. “Are you family?”
The lack of compassion was the straw that finally broke Booker’s patience. “FAMILY?” he yelled. “HIS SO-CALLED FUCKING FAMILY IS THE REASON HE’S HERE!”
The nurse pursed her thin lips together, the disapproving expression accentuating the wrinkles around her mouth. “Sir, please take a seat, or I will call security.”
About to give the authoritarian caregiver a piece of his mind, Dennis started to speak, but a gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him before he could utter a word. “That’s enough, Booker.”
Turning to meet his superior’s steely gaze, Booker started to protest. “But, Coach, Tom’s been here for hours, and they won’t tell me—”
“Let’s sit down,” Fuller interrupted, his expression softening slightly.
It was an instruction not a suggestion and reining in his anger, Dennis followed his captain to an empty row of plastic chairs. He paused, his urge to pace back and forth far outweighing his urge to sit and do nothing. But when he caught a glimpse of the strained look on Fuller’s face, he gave in. His captain was under an enormous amount of pressure, and behaving like a brat wasn’t helping anyone, least of all Tom.
Dropping down onto the nearest chair, he waited for Fuller to take a seat beside him before asking the obvious question. “Are there patrols out looking for Will?”
Fuller passed a shaky hand over his mouth. “Are you certain Will Hanson attacked Tom? Because it seems unlikely given their relationship.”
Unable to contain his growing agitation, Booker leaped from his chair, his face twisting in anger. “OF COURSE HE DID IT! HE’S A FUCKING OPPRESSIVE ASSHOLE WHO MAKES TOM’S LIFE A FUCKING MISERY! WHY CAN’T ANYONE ELSE SEE IT? ARE YOU ALL FUCKING BLIND?”
The disrespectful tirade earned Booker a stern look of disapproval, and he quickly lowered his eyes to the floor. “Sorry, Cap’n,” he apologized in a quiet voice. “It’s just...I know I’m right. I’ve seen how afraid Hanson is of his brother. Will rules his life and...shit, I just remembered something. The other day Tom and I had a fight about him wanting another partner. I asked him why he didn’t want to work with me anymore and he screamed at me that I was going to get him killed. At the time, I thought he meant on the job, but now...what if he meant Will would hurt him if he kept working with me?”
The hard lines trenching Fuller’s brow softened into a thoughtful frown. “Do you really think Will Hanson is capable of such a horrendous crime against his brother.”
Relieved his captain was finally taking him seriously, Booker gave a quick nod of his head. “Yeah, Coach, I do. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Fuller mulled over the information in his mind for several minutes before replying. “It’s been a stressful night for you, Booker. Go home, get some sleep and we’ll talk in the morning. In the meantime, I’ll put out an APB for Will’s arrest.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather stay here.”
The statement took Fuller by surprise. But when he saw the genuine worry etched on the dark-haired officer’s face, it didn’t take him long to make his decision. “Okay, I’ll speak to the nursing staff. It’s probably a good idea to have someone guarding Tom’s room just in case Will finds out he’s here and decides to pay him a visit.”
“Thanks, Coach,” Booker replied, his lips twitching into a half smile. But his relaxed expression didn’t last long, and reaching out, he grabbed Fuller by the arm. “Um, Coach? Would it be okay if you didn’t tell the others about what happened to Tom?”
It was an odd suggestion, and it took Fuller a moment to understand the reason behind the request. But as much as he agreed with the logic, he had no choice but to deny the officer’s demand. “I’m sorry, Booker, I know you want to protect Tom’s privacy, but Will might reach out to one of the team, and they need to know he’s a wanted fugitive. He could be armed, and as of now, he’s also considered dangerous.”
Disappointment sagged Booker’s shoulders, but he didn’t argue the point. “Yeah, okay. I guess you’re right.”
A strained smile stretched over Fuller’s teeth. “I am,” he replied, and getting to his feet, he walked over to the nurses’ station.
A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over Booker, and flopping back down onto a chair, he watched as his captain spoke to the po-faced nurse in charge. The two faced off for several minutes before Fuller turned and walked back over to the row of seats. “They’ve moved Tom to a private room. As of now, you’re his security. I’ll get Penhall to relieve you in the morning.”
Relief shone in Booker’s dark eyes. “Thanks, Cap’n.”
“Stay vigilant,” Fuller instructed, and with a final glance at the nurses’ station, he turned and walked away.
Desperate to see Tom, Booker went in search of a vending machine. If he were to stay awake all night, he needed coffee, lots and lots of coffee. He may have let Tom down in the past, but he’d learned his lesson, and there was no way in hell he would let Will Hanson hurt his friend ever again.
**
Thirty minutes later
Parking at the end of his street, Will stared through the Toyota’s windscreen at the strobing blue and red lights. He watched as two uniformed officers entered his building, and his hands tightened around the steering wheel. He’d lost his Tom-Tom, and there was only one person to blame...the meddling and loathsome, sonofafuckingbitch Dennis Booker.
With nothing left to see, Will turned the key in the ignition, and calmly performing a U-turn, he drove back up the road. Booker might have won the first round, but he’d be damned if he’d lose the fight. It might take him a week, a month or even a year, but with God as his witness, he’d get his Tom-Tom back. And when he did, he’d make sure his brother never had contact with anyone ever again.
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Cries of a Shadow