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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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A child’s high-pitched wail echoed throughout the third floor of the hospital, its mother’s soothing mutterings barely audible over the sustained crying. Booker passed the woman as she paced up and down the corridor, the screaming child bouncing in her arms, but he carefully avoided eye contact. It wasn’t that he was an insensitive bastard who didn’t care, he did, more than most people realized. However, offering a smile of solidarity to a stranger wasn’t high on his list of priorities. He didn’t have the energy or the inclination to get involved in anyone else’s problems. Tom was the only blip on his radar, everyone else was nonexistent, and if that made him an asshole, then so be it.
Stopping at the nurses’ station, he pushed down his rising panic. He had no idea what he would say to Tom once he saw him face to face. Blunt to the point of rudeness, he was a ‘call a spade a spade’ kinda guy, and empty platitudes seemed—at least to his mind—pointless and a little insulting. While he’d cut Tom some slack at the beginning of their friendship, their relationship had evolved too far for him to worry about sparing his feelings by taking the softly-softly approach. Honesty was the best policy, and if telling Hanson his brother was a dangerous psychopath lost him his friendship, then so be it. Lying about it wasn’t going to make the problem go away, he wanted Tom to press charges or, at the very least, cut Will out of his life. Because then, and only then, would the young officer find the inner peace he seemed to crave. And then, and only then, would Booker sleep easy at night.
When a young female nurse approached him, the dark-haired officer offered her a shaky smile. “I’m Officer Dennis Booker, I’m here to see Officer Hanson.”
The nurse glanced at a board on the wall, her expression visibly softening when she realized who Booker was referring to. “Ah, yes, they told me you’d be coming. I’ve put a chair outside Officer Hanson’s room. I hope you won’t be too uncomfortable.”
Confusion knitted Booker’s brow. “Why would I sit outside his room? I’m his friend, can’t I sit with him?”
Mirroring Booker’s reaction, the flustered nurse stared back at the board before speaking again. “Um, they told me you were here to guard his room.”
It took all of Booker’s willpower not to lose his cool, and suppressing a frustrated sigh, he did his best to explain himself in a calm and pleasant manner. “I am, but as I said, I’m also his friend and the person who found him. So, if he’s up to having visitors, I’d really like to see him.”
A look of understanding passed over the nurse’s face, but she appeared hesitant to act on the information. For the third time in less than a minute, she glanced up at the whiteboard, her expression uncertain. Eventually, she appeared satisfied with the explanation, and walking out from behind the nurses’ station, she proceeded up the corridor. “Follow me.”
Mentally noting the nearest vending machine, Booker followed the nurse. They passed several rooms before she stopped beside a single chair that looked out of place in the deserted corridor. Staring at the open door, the dark-haired officer’s heart hammered against his chest wall. Room 314 was now Tom’s sanctuary, a sacred space free from Will’s violence, where he would receive round the clock protection from those he worked with. But Booker knew he would continue to monitor his friend’s safety long after he left the hospital. There was nothing like a violent rape to change your thinking. Whatever frustration he had felt about Tom had disappeared the moment he saw the young officer lying on the bathroom floor...bloody...beaten...broken, and now his friend was free from the horror, he would do everything in his power to help make him whole again.
“Are you aware of his condition?”
The question jarred Booker’s mind back to the present with a jolt. His fingers curled into claws, and licking his lips, he worked some much-needed saliva into his mouth. “He was raped, right?”
Compassion shone from the nurse’s eyes. “Yes, he was. We also suspect he has some nerve damage from the handcuffs, but the doctor doesn’t think the injury is permanent. You should also know that when he regained consciousness in the E.R., he was distressed, so the doctors made the decision to sedate him so they could minimize further emotional trauma while they examined him. He’s still asleep and probably won’t wake up until the morning. Do you still want to sit with him?”
Pain flared in Booker’s heart, but he managed to keep his expression professional. “I’d like to be there when he wakes up. We need a statement as soon as possible so we can start our investigation.”
It was a standard police answer, but the nurse knew better. There was an obvious connection between the two men, and she was glad Tom would have a friend by his side when he finally woke up. “Of course,” she smiled. “My name’s Janet. I’ll be doing half-hourly obs, so if you need anything, let me know.”
“Thanks, Janet,” Booker replied, a tense smile pulling at his lips. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
With a nod, Janet left for her rounds. Alone in the corridor with only the sound of the screaming child for company, Booker took a moment to compose himself. With his adrenaline waning and the effects of his caffeine consumption kicking in, he felt jittery and ill-prepared. If he’d learned anything about Tom in the short time he’d known him, it was that the young officer was fiercely private, and he wasn’t sure his friend would welcome his presence, especially after their fight. The observation left him oddly conflicted. Tom’s emotionally fragile state was foremost on his mind, and he didn’t want to cause him any more pain by upsetting him further. But the idea of leaving him to deal with his grief alone was unthinkable. He weighed the pros and cons up in his mind, and it didn’t take long for him to come to a decision. He needed to man up and at least offer to help his friend through his pain because who else was there? The answer was simple. No one. Not a single living, breathing human being had managed to infiltrate the Hansons’ lives except for him, and taking care of Tom was a challenge he took seriously. Will Hanson was still on the loose, and until the local authorities caught, charged, and locked him up, Booker had a plan. Determined to shadow Tom’s every move...or at least try to, he would offer his friend twenty-four-hour protection. Whether his captain agreed to pull him off the Westfield case was something he couldn’t preempt, but that was a problem for another day. The present was all that mattered, and that meant pushing aside all his misgivings and giving Tom the support he needed.
When the sick child’s cries suddenly stopped, Booker took it as a sign, and swallowing down his fear, he walked into Tom’s room.
The low beep-beep of the heart monitor greeted the dark-haired officer, and stopping at the foot of the bed, he stared down at his friend. A white dressing concealed the wound on Tom’s temple, the square fabric stained red with blood. Casting his eyes downward, Booker studied Tom’s face. With his pale complexion and relaxed features, the undercover officer looked much younger than his twenty-three years, and another physical pain stabbed at Booker’s heart. No one should have to suffer such a violent and degrading assault, but when the perpetrator was a relative, it made the exploitation the root of all evil. Will Hanson had forcibly taken from his brother what should only be given in love, a love that should only exist between two consenting, non-related adults. It was a violation of all of society’s laws, a sick and perverted breach of common decency to those unfortunate enough to fall victim to such a depraved act, and as Booker continued to stare at Tom, his stomach lurched. But he managed to keep his emotions under wraps, and moving to the side of the bed, he pulled up a chair and sat down. Feeling the need to express his support through a tactile gesture, he took hold of Tom’s hand and gently squeezed his tapered fingers. As the minutes passed, he stared at the cannula inserted into the back of the injured officer’s hand. Theirs was a strange friendship, but it was a friendship nonetheless, and his undeniable affection for his colleague had him silently vowing to do everything in his power to bring Will Hanson to justice.
A sudden weariness blurred his vision, and stifling a yawn, he settled back in his chair. He wished he’d thought to bring something to read to occupy his mind, but he couldn’t be bothered getting up and going in search of a magazine. Instead, he focused on the sounds of the hospital. The comforting squeak of soft-soled shoes echoed up and down the corridor, the sound intermingling with the sporadic chatter of voices. In the distance, the occasional ring of a call button broke up the repetitive monotony of sound, the harsh buzz a stark reminder there were sick people who needed attention. An hour passed, then two, and as the stress of the evening slowly ebbed away, it didn’t take long for the strangely soothing beep-beep of the monitor to lure the dark-haired officer’s exhausted mind toward slumber. He tried his hardest to stay awake, but the pull was too strong, and eventually, he lost the fight. His eyes fluttered closed, and moments later, his chin dropped to his chest and exhaling a weighty sigh, he drifted into a dreamless sleep.
**
Two hours later
The soft sound of snoring penetrated through the opiate-induced fog shrouding Tom’s mind, and as if by magic, the protective veil lifted, and his brain began to reawaken. Little by little, his nociceptors responded to the burning in his anus, and a moan rumbled in the back of his throat. He was in pain, excruciating pain, but his parched lips refused to form the words he so desperately wanted to scream. He tried again, but the heaviness of his tongue impeded his speech, and all he managed was a low groan. Forcing his eyes open, his gaze flitted wildly from side to side as he struggled to maintain his vision. A wave of nausea rolled over him, and closing his eyes, he waited until his head stopped spinning before trying again. He took it slower this time, allowing his mind time to catch up with the jerky rhythm of his uncoordinated movements. Little by little, the room came into focus, and as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he realized he was in the hospital.
He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths before opening them again. This time, his gaze fell on the shadowy figure sitting next to him, and licking his lips, he tried to speak. “W-Will?”
“Hello, sweetheart,” a voice to the right of him murmured. “Are you in any pain?”
Turning his head, Tom stared into the face of a strange woman. Tears filled his eyes, and clenching the fingers of the warm hand entwined within his own, he nodded. “Yes,” he managed to croak before a welcoming blackness dragged him back into unconsciousness.
**
The low budget motel room smelled of cigarettes and sex. It was a far cry from Will Hanson’s clean and tidy apartment, but with his mind occupied with thoughts of Dennis Booker and how he could seek his revenge, the officer barely noticed the offending odor. Picking up his police issue firearm, he cradled the weapon in his hand, marveling at its simplistic beauty. His skilled fingers released the safety catch, and raising the gun, he stretched out his arm and pointed the muzzle in the direction of the television. Closing one eye, he looked down the barrel, and took aim, his sight lining up the figure on the screen. Then, ever so gently, he squeezed the trigger. There was a muffled click as the gun’s empty chamber pushed through a notch, and an evil grin tilted his lips. “Bang, you’re dead, motherfucker.”
Lowering the gun, he picked up his handkerchief and studiously wiped the muzzle and chamber, whistling as he polished the stainless steel until it gleamed. The dry fire had not given him the satisfaction the discharge of a loaded gun usually did, but he was a patient man, and he was willing to bide his time. Then, when Booker least expected it, he would make his move. And when the interfering sonofabitch drew his last, painful breath, he would step over the officer’s cold dead body and bring his Tom-Tom home.
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Cries of a Shadow