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Beneath a Heart of Darkness	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 4657 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- 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.

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Booker's head wrenched backward, the belt wrapped around his neck tightening alarmingly. The buckle dug painfully into his larynx, and rearing up, his fingers grappled frantically at the strap that was slowly suffocating him. But when a rough hand grabbed his erect cock and squeezed callously, a strangled scream spilled from between his lips, and he obediently dropped back on all fours. With his neck muscles visibly cording from the strain, he stared with panic-stricken eyes at the replica of Dali’s ‘Christ of St John of the Cross’ hanging on the wall in front of him. For the briefest of moments, he could not help but wonder if it had been Holland’s plan all along to asphyxiate him and dump his body in the desert. It wasn’t as far-fetched as it sounded, after all, dead men told no tales, and he had enough information to put seven Pi Taus in prison for a very long time. Holland had good reason to want him gone, and at that moment, as he struggled to pull oxygen into his burning lungs, he almost wished the mogul would cut off his airway completely, and then he would finally be free from the humiliation and torment.
With a grunt, Holland rammed his massive cock deeper inside Booker’s bleeding anus. “Who’s my beautiful stallion?” he mocked, his fingers tightening around the belt strap. When he received no answer, he viciously yanked Booker’s head back further until his neck muscles strained against his taut flesh. “Answer me, boy, or you’re going to live to regret it.”
Tears leaked from the corners of Booker’s terrified eyes, and relinquishing the last shred of his dignity, he spat out the detested words through twisted lips. “I am… sir.”
Holland’s lip curled into a cruel, malignant smile. “That’s right, boy, and don’t you ever forget it.”
**
Three days later
The sound of ringing telephones and excited voices floated down the Chapel’s stairwell, and pausing mid-step, Tom closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten. It was his first day back at work, and after spending the last three days holed up alone in his apartment, the cacophony of noise assaulting his ears grated heavily on his frayed nerves. He longed to turn around and flee to the sanctuary of his home, but he knew if he did, it would raise suspicion among his captain and friends. The last thing he wanted was unwanted visitors turning up on his doorstep and pestering him with awkward questions. Except, he wasn’t being entirely honest with himself. There was one person he wished would knock on his door, but that person appeared to have vanished into thin air. After explaining he had things to do, Booker had not made contact for four days, and during that time, Tom had gone through a full range of emotions. First he had experienced the loneliness of abandonment, and he had wallowed in self-pitying misery for an entire day, staring morosely at the door, waiting for the knock that would signal his friend’s arrival. Next came anger, and he had stomped around his apartment, loudly cursing Booker for being such an inconsiderate prick. But when Sunday morning dawned, worry replaced his ire, and he had spent the day pacing the floor, procrastinating over whether to call his friend or leave him be. However, eventually he had come to the conclusion Booker did not want to be around him, and he had slipped back into a deep depression, spending the rest of his Sunday lounging on the sofa watching reruns of Gilligan’s Island. But as the day drew to an end, his melancholy mood had manifested into gut-churning agitation, and he sought comfort the only way he knew how; by ripping open the scabs that adorned his arms. Only when his blood bubbled to the surface had he begun to feel calm, and he had eventually fallen into a troubled sleep, his bloodied fingers clutching a cushion protectively to his chest.
At the memory, hot tears pricked at Tom’s eyelids. But digging deep, he found an inner determination, and opening his eyes, he inhaled and exhaled several times in quick succession until he felt in control of his emotions. Once calm, he climbed the last few steps and entered Jump Street’s main hub.
Dozens of police officers scurried around the room, their purpose unclear, but their determination evident by the focused look in their eyes. A significant bust had obviously gone down, which as a cop, should have made Tom happy. But instead, his stomach knotted, and the heavy weight of panic constricted his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe. There were too many people, too much noise, and his head snapped rapidly from left to right, his anxious gaze desperately seeking out Booker. But each time his eyes focused on an unfamiliar face, their features morphed into a distorted caricature of Michael McCarter, complete with snarling lips and razor-like fangs. Suddenly, the room became too small, the walls closing in on him, suffocating him in swirling tendrils of darkness, and stumbling backward, the floor disappeared...
“Hanson?”
The familiar voice brought Tom back to reality with a thump, and regaining his footing, he gaped open-mouthed as the McCarter-esque mask in front of him slowly transformed into the welcome face of Judy Hoffs. Tears of relief filled his dark eyes, but he rigidly held them in check and clenching his hands into fists, he offered his friend a strained smile. “Hey, Jude.”
Concern softened Judy’s eyes, and she laid a comforting hand on Tom’s arm. “Are you okay, Hanson? You look… upset.”
The absurdity of how close he had come to falling on his ass in the middle of the operations room became too much for Tom, and covering his mouth with his hand, he stifled a giggle. He knew he was teetering on the edge of hysteria, and his eyes frantically searched the room for the one person he knew could talk him down from the treacherous precipice from which he now found himself dangling. But Booker was nowhere in sight, and once again, he felt himself losing his grip on reality. The room started to spin, and with a moan, his legs gave way, and he crumpled to the floor.
“TOM!” Judy yelled, and dropping to her knees, she cradled her friend’s head in her arms. Within seconds, Doug and Harry were by her side, their expressions serious.
Tom’s long lashes fluttered spasmodically as his mind slowly fought against the blackness that had engulfed him. “Dennis…” he murmured.
Three pairs of eyes widened in surprise, but for Doug, the utterance of Booker’s name was more than just an oddity, it raised serious alarm bells, and he hurriedly addressed Harry. “Get Fuller.”
**
Adam Fuller tented his fingers beneath his chin and studied Tom’s pallid face. The young officer sat slumped in his chair with his arms folded protectively across his chest, his eyes stubbornly focused on the worn linoleum floor. His right leg jiggled nervously, his knee exposed where the denim had ripped away. He reminded Fuller of a coiled spring, winding tighter with each jarring leg movement. It was a disconcerting sight for a captain who cared deeply for his officers, and lowering his hands, the senior officer spoke in a warm, fatherly tone. “Talk to me, Hanson.”
Without making eye contact, Tom continued his one-legged tap dance. “About what?” he mumbled into his chest.
Fuller paused for a moment before dropping the mother of all bombshells. “About you and Booker.”
Tom’s head snapped up in one sharp motion, his startled eyes blinking rapidly with nerves. “Wh-what?” he stammered, perspiration prickling his upper lip. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes you do,” Fuller replied quietly. “Something happened at that fraternity, and I want to know what. Things just don’t add up, Hanson; your hospitalization, Booker’s refusal to write up his report, then taking time off just when he’s due back after his suspension. It’s all—”
“Booker’s taken time off?” Tom interrupted in a higher than normal voice. “Why? What’s happened?”
Fuller sensed a level of hurt disguised beneath the surprise in Tom’s voice, and he narrowed his eyes in question. “Are you upset he didn’t tell you? I didn’t think the two of you were that close.”
Heat flamed Tom’s cheeks, and he quickly lowered his gaze to the scuffed toes of his boots. “We’re not… I mean, we kinda got to know each other better and I thought he would have said something, that’s all. You know, ‘cause we’re partners.”
“Is that so?” Fuller queried, and raising a skeptical eyebrow, he studied Tom’s flushed cheeks. “Because it seems to me you and Booker are thick as thieves. I don’t like secrets, Hanson, they can lead to a whole lot of trouble in our line of work. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m your superior, and I won’t have two of my officers thinking they can keep vital information from me just because they feel the need to protect each other.”
Fuller’s carefully measured scrutiny increased Tom’s level of unease, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “We’re not,” he muttered moodily.
“Not keeping secrets, or not covering for each other?” Fuller pushed, his determination to get a straight answer from his young charge hardening his features.
Tom’s lower lip trembled slightly as he returned a sulky glare. “Both.”
“Both, what?” Fuller commanded, his tone holding a note of authority.
“Both, Captain,” Tom corrected softly.
Although he had not raised his voice, the heavy emphasis and full use of his superior’s title revealed the level of Tom’s irritation, but Fuller decided not to discipline him further. “Go home, Hanson,” he instructed. “Take an extra few days to recuperate. But when Booker gets back, the three of us are going to have a long talk. Got it?”
Unable to meet his captain’s eye, Tom returned his gaze to the floor. “Got it,” he muttered under his breath.
With a sigh, Fuller stood up and approached the young officer. “I’m not the enemy, Tom,” he declared softly. “If something’s troubling you, my door’s always open.”
Overwhelmed by the paternal gesture, Tom swallowed down the giant lump that had formed in his throat. “Thanks, Coach,” he murmured, and getting to his feet, he walked out of the room.
**
Penhall’s gaze followed his friend as he exited Fuller’s office. He watched with growing interest as Tom sat down at his desk and stared wistfully at Booker’s empty chair, before resting his elbows on the worn wooden surface and burying his face in his hands. It was obvious something was troubling the young officer, and being his best friend, Doug felt it was his duty to find out what was causing him to behave so strangely.
Without further hesitation, he hauled himself out of his chair and sauntered over to Tom’s desk. “How ya doin’?” he inquired.
Irritated by the interruption, Tom lowered his hands, his dark eyes narrowing in annoyance. “Fucking peachy,” he replied sarcastically. “You?”
Surprised by Tom’s hostility, Doug’s eyebrows pulled into an affronted frown. “Geez, Hanson, lighten up. So, you and Booker didn’t catch the bad guys. Big deal; it happens.”
When Tom continued to glare at him, he flashed him a knowing smile. “I know what you need, buddy,” he chuckled with a conspiratorial wink. “Get out that little black book of yours and call the first hot blond on your list. Take her out for dinner, then you invite her back to your place, do the cha-cha-cha, and presto! Tommy’s a happy boy.”
Since his rape, Tom had struggled with feelings of inadequacy, and the thought of making love to a woman further solidified the weight of his emasculation. The very idea of having an erection terrified him, and Penhall’s mocking tone stoked the smoldering fire of resentment burning deep within his soul. Humiliation burned his cheeks, and with eyes blazing, he shoved abruptly back from his desk and stood up. “WHAT I NEED IS FOR YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he yelled. “I’M SICK OF YOUR STUPID JOKES! WHY CAN’T YOU LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE?”
With hands raised in front of him, Penhall took a step back. “Sure thing, Hanson,” he placated, unsure how his friendly teasing had escalated into an argument. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Maybe you should take it easy for a day or two, you know, until you’re feeling better.”
“Whatever,” Tom muttered, and deciding to take the advice given by both his captain and friend, he pushed past Penhall and headed toward the stairs.
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness