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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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Sorry for the delay in posting.
In peace,
OpenPage x

“NOOOOOOO!”

Booker’s blood-curdling scream ricocheted around the room, the painful cry drowning out the residual vibration of the gunshot. He stood paralyzed, unable to breathe, unable to move, unable to do anything but watch in horror as the two men collapsed to the floor. The scent of blood assaulted his nostrils, the coppery aroma of death fighting for dominance over the acrid tang of burnt cordite tainting the air. But as much as he wanted to flee the brutality of the scene, he remained in position, his arms outstretched, his gun trained on the wall beside the bed. He didn’t need to see the body to confirm his worst fears, the blood and brain matter staining the paintwork told him everything he needed to know. Tom was dead, and at that precise moment, he knew he would do everything in his power to make sure the perpetrator fried.

Widening his stance, he fought to control the quaver in his voice as he issued his command. “Get up, you sonofabitch.”

From behind the bed came the sound of movement, but when a bloodied face peered out from behind the mattress, Booker did a double take. “T-Tom?”

Two frightened eyes stared out of a gory mask of sanguine fluid, their focus on Booker before flitting down toward the floor. “Will?”

“TOM, NO!” Booker yelled, and rushing forward, he vaulted over the bed and pulled Tom from his dead brother’s arms. Acting on instinct, he used one hand to shield his friend’s eyes, while dragging his body across the room.

As his senses returned, Tom’s shock turned into panic, and kicking out his legs, he started to struggle. “LET ME GO!” he screamed. “WILL! WILL! LET ME GO, I WANT TO SEE WILL! LET ME GO LET ME GO LET ME GO!”

Booker hugged the distressed officer close to his chest as he fought to get him through the door. “He’s gone, Tommy. He’s—”

“NOOOOOOO!”
The agonized wail shredded the thick blood-scented air, the animalistic howl bouncing off the walls of the small room. Distressed to the point of madness, Tom’s legs gave way, and the two men collapsed to the floor in a tangle of limbs. “WHY?” the young officer screamed hysterically. “WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY?”
Pain ripped through Booker’s heart, and gathering Tom in his arms, he pulled him onto his lap. “Shh, baby,” he whispered into his friend’s blood-soaked hair. “It's okay. It’s gonna be okay.”
But as he continued to rock Tom’s trembling body, Booker knew the empty platitudes were a lie. Will Hanson was dead, and Tom’s life would never be the same again.
**
The sound of sirens split through the still April night. Booker had no recollection of dialing 9-1-1, and his brow furrowed in confusion as he stared at the phone in his hand, the incessant beep of the off-hook tone reminding him he hadn’t hung up after making the call. Lowering the receiver into its cradle, his eyes scanned the room, searching for Tom. For one terrifying moment, he thought his friend had returned to the bedroom, and his heart skipped a noticeable beat. But on closer inspection, he spied a figure huddled on the floor next to the bookcase. As he started to cross the room, he felt weirdly exposed, and it was then he realized he was naked. He had no idea what had happened to his towel, but he quickly concluded it must have come off during the scuffle to get Tom out of the bedroom and away from the sight of his dead brother. Not that he cared. His focus was on the distressed man cowering in the corner, not his own dignity, and sitting down next to his friend, he wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders and waited for the police to arrive.
**
A steady stream of emergency services personnel moved in and out of the apartment, their faces set in grim masks of professionalism while they carried out their designated duties. On the sofa, Booker sat stiffly, one hand clutching Tom’s cold, lifeless fingers, the other gripping the armrest. Time had no meaning, his only focus the recollections filling the void inside his mind...a gunshot...blood...screaming...a gunshot...blood...screaming...a gunshot...blood...screaming...over and over like a 1940s Avant-garde movie stuck in a perpetual loop of flickering imagery. Death had invaded their lives in the most brutal way imaginable, the hand of darkness leaving a bloody imprint on both their souls. One man’s iniquities had destroyed whatever remained of their innocence, and they were forever tainted by the blood spilled inside the bedroom. Losing a loved one to suicide was one of life's most painful experiences, and the hurt left a lasting scar. Friends and family were often swamped with feelings of guilt, confusion, shame, anger, and trauma, and Booker knew it would take years before Tom came to terms with the senseless death...if ever. By ending his own life, Will had condemned his brother to a lifetime of therapy, and with it, a lifetime of survivor’s regret.
Out of the corner of his eye, the dark-haired officer saw a familiar figure approach, and releasing Tom’s hand, he stood up. “Coach.”
Observing Booker’s state of undress, Adam Fuller’s eyes bulged ever so slightly before his expression settled back into one of grave sobriety. “Are you both okay?”
Booker glanced down at Tom’s bloodstained face before addressing his captain. “I’m fine,” he murmured. “But Hanson...I think he’s in shock.”
The lines around Fuller’s eyes softened with understanding. “I’ve arranged for an ambulance to take him to St. Mary’s for observation.”
With a nod of acknowledgment, Booker turned away. “I’ll go with him.”
Fuller placed a hand on the officer’s arm, halting him midstep. “You might want to put some clothes on, son,” he advised in a quiet voice.
Looking down, Booker’s eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly cupped his hands over his exposed genitals. “Oh...I, uh, I had a towel, but I guess…”
His voice trailed off, the memory of Tom’s impassioned screams creating a lump in his throat. He could feel an emotional wave rising inside him, the surge of sentiment reaching a dizzying peak before crashing through his body in a tidal monsoon of sorrow and despair. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, and covering his face with his hands, he started to cry, quietly at first, but then with great, racking sobs he couldn’t control. His shoulders shook under the strain, and he barely felt the comforting arm circling his quivering body. But as his grief slowly ebbed away, he became aware of his captain’s close presence, and wiping a hand over his eyes, he sniffed loudly and took a step back. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Fuller replied in a soft fatherly tone. “Maybe you should take a break. I can go with Tom to the hospital and—”
“No,” Booker interrupted. “I think he’d feel more comfortable if I went with him.”
Fuller stared down at Tom before exhaling a weighty sigh. “Okay, get dressed while I retrieve Tom’s clothes from the bedroom. The crime scene investigators have left, and as you’ve already given your statement, you don’t need to wait for the coroner to arrive.”
It was a relief for Booker to have something to do, and turning away, he picked his bag up from its position next to the couch and pulled out a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. Once dressed, Fuller handed him Tom’s clothing. “Help him change, and I’ll let the paramedics know he’s ready for transportation.”
With a nod of his head, Booker took the jeans and shirt from his captain, and squatting down next to Tom, he laid a hand on his knee. “Hey, Tommy. I’ve got your clothes. Let’s get you dressed then we can get you checked out at the hospital.”
Tom’s blank stare came into focus and looking up, he spoke in a barely audible voice. “I want to see him.”
Booker’s expression sobered. “Tom, I don’t think that’s a good—”
“I SAID, I WANT TO SEE HIM!”
A dozen heads turned in Tom’s direction, their eyes focused on the bloody face of the distraught officer. In a gesture of protectiveness, Booker attempted to use his body to shield his friend from view. “Okay,” he murmured. “But first you have to get dressed.”
“Booker,” Fuller warned.
“Cap’n,” Booker interrupted over his shoulder. “If he wants to see him, I think we should let him see him.”
A deep frown furrowed Fuller’s brow, and with a flick of his head, he gestured for the dark-haired officer to follow him.
Turning his attention back to Tom, Booker handed him his clothes. “Get dressed. I’ll be back in a minute,” and standing up, he followed his captain across the room. “What?”
Given the circumstances, Fuller decided to ignore the dark-haired officer’s impertinent tone and instead, he addressed the matter at hand. “Will Hanson took a bullet to the head,” he advised in a quiet voice. “That’s not something Tom needs to see and trust me, if he does see it, the memory will stay with him forever. Let him keep the recollections of his brother free from the violence that occurred inside that bedroom. He’s been through enough, let’s at least protect him from the brutal image of Will’s death.”
Booker’s jaw tightened. “Free from the violence?” he questioned through gritted teeth. “Tom’s lived with that sonofabitch’s violence for most of his life. Maybe he needs closure. Maybe seeing his brother’s lifeless body will finally give him the peace he’s been searching for since he was twelve fucking years old.”
The shocking statement had Fuller’s mouth dropping open in horror. “Since he was twelve?” he hissed. “Will was sexually abusing Tom since he was twelve?”
Realizing his mistake, Booker attempted to back-pedal. “Th-that’s not what I meant,” he stammered, his eyes flitting nervously from his captain to Tom and back again. “Wh-what I m-meant was—”
“Don’t lie to me, Booker.”
There was an edge to Fuller’s voice, a not so subtle warning for Booker to think carefully before he spoke again. Wiping a shaky hand over his mouth, the dark-haired officer glanced at Tom. As he watched his friend struggle to button his jeans, he thought his heart would break. He was about to betray Tom’s trust, and while snitching on a friend sent his moral compass into a spin, there was part of him that longed to offload the Hansons’ horrific secret. He felt bad, but not bad enough to prevent him from talking, and all he could do was hope if the young officer ever found out, he would find it in his heart to forgive him.
Turning back to face his captain, Booker expelled a weary sigh. “Okay, yeah, it’s true,” he finally admitted in a quiet voice. “Will did abuse Tom from an early age. It started after their father died. But it’s more complicated than that, Coach. Tom didn’t stop him, and I’m having a really hard time accepting he allowed it to happen. Why didn’t he fight back? Why did he let Will keep doing those things to him for all those years and not speak up, especially once he was old enough to say no? It doesn’t make any sense. It’s almost like he wanted it to happen...which is stupid, but it’s difficult not to think that way.”
Fuller’s gaze rested on Tom’s bowed head, but when he spoke, he addressed his question to Dennis. “Do you have an older brother, Booker?”
Taken aback, Booker quickly shook his head. “No, Cap’n, I have a sister.”
“Young boys look up to their older brothers,” Fuller continued in a soft voice, his gaze never leaving Tom’s blood-matted hair. “They idolize them, they want to be them. When Will first...when he approached Tom, seeking comfort from the emotional upheaval they were experiencing, Tom wanted to ease his brother’s pain, and so he didn’t protest. As the days turned into weeks, then months, and finally, years, he probably figured it was too late to speak out, and it almost became part of the norm. In a twisted way, he probably thought he owed Will a debt of gratitude for taking care of him after their mother died. So, don’t judge him because you don’t understand the reasons behind his loyalty. Tom was too immature to know how to deal with such a monumental change to his life. He lost one parent, then another. Will was all he had left, and I guess he figured it was his duty to keep him happy.”
It was a heartfelt speech, and one of the longest Booker had ever heard his captain utter. He mulled over every word in his mind, assessing the validity of each phrase before concluding his superior was one hundred percent right. Tom was a casualty of his brother’s clever manipulation, and to think otherwise, only reinforced the misguided concept of victim blaming.
Casting his gaze back in Tom’s direction, Booker locked eyes with the young officer, and his heart plummeted. But it wasn’t the dried blood coating his friend’s face that had his heart ripping in two. It was the little boy lost look in his eyes and the deflated hunch of his shoulders that made him want to gather him in his arms and hug away his pain. Tom wasn’t just damaged, he was broken, and Booker wasn’t sure he would ever recover from the shock of losing his brother in such a violent and brutal manner.
“Booker?”
Turning his head, Booker offered his captain a small apologetic smile. “You’re right, Coach. None of this is Tom’s fault. Which is why I think he needs to see Will one last time. He needs to know he’s finally free from the pain his brother inflicted on him, but he also needs to say goodbye.”
It was on the tip of Fuller’s tongue to say, “Be it on your head,” but he refrained from uttering the words. If anyone knew Tom’s state of mind, it was Booker, and he made the decision to trust the brash, yet insightful officer’s instincts. Tom needed closure, and if seeing his dead brother’s body lying on the floor helped him on the long path toward healing, then who was he to argue? And so, with a reluctant sigh, he gave his permission. “Make it brief, I want Hanson checked by a doctor as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Cap’n,” Booker murmured, and taking a deep breath, he walked over to Tom and placed an arm around his sagging shoulders. “The coroner’s ready to take Will. Do you still want to see him?”
Drawing comfort from the warm embrace, Tom looked up, his eyes huge in his pale, drawn face. “I need to see him,” he whispered, his voice choking with emotion. “I know you don’t understand, but I have to tell him I’m sorry and I forgive him.”
Tom was right, Booker didn't understand, especially the part where his friend was sorry. But he kept his thoughts to himself, and taking Tom by the hand, he gently squeezed his fingers. “Take your time. I’ll be right beside you if you need me.”
Hand in hand, the two officers walked into the bedroom. Tom stopped at the foot of the bed, his muscles tensing in preparation. From his vantage point, he could see the toe of Will’s shoe peeking out from beneath a white sheet, and his heart started to race. He could no longer deny what he knew to be true. Will was dead, and he was, for all intents and purposes, alone.
Releasing Booker’s hand, Tom walked to the side of the bed and slowly dropped to his knees. His hand hovered over Will’s shrouded body before coming to rest on the top of the bloody sheet covering his brother’s head. A single tear trickled down his cheek, and sniffing loudly, he made his peace. “I love you, Will,” he whispered. “And I know you loved me. None of this was your fault. I let you believe it was okay for you to do those things to me when I should have told you to stop. Maybe if I had, none of this would have happened. Anyway, give Mom and Dad my love. Tell them I miss them, and I’ll see you all someday soon.”
The final sentence sent a shiver of foreboding down Booker’s spine. Grief after any loss was to be expected, but when someone took their own life, the bereavement process for those left behind was particularly complicated, leaving some at a higher risk of suicide themselves. It was a sobering thought, and one Booker didn’t take lightly. And while he wasn’t sure Tom’s statement implied anything sinister, he made a silent vow to keep a close eye on his friend, just in case. Will’s death was sad, but he knew in his heart, if he lost Tom, his world would implode.
When cold fingers entwined in his own, he realized Tom was standing next to him. “Ready to go?” he asked in a gentle voice.
“No,” Tom replied truthfully, “But I think Will is,” and without looking back, he led Booker from the room.
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Cries of a Shadow