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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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Seven days later
Tom stood at the edge of his brother’s gravesite, his eyes fixed on the mahogany-colored casket lying at the bottom of the six-foot hole. The graveside service had taken less than ten minutes, the only mourners himself, Booker, and Captain Fuller. The officiating celebrant had spoken fondly of a man he didn’t know, respectfully acknowledging Will’s service to the community while blissfully unaware of his lewd, criminal behavior. For Tom, it was an unfitting send off for the brother he’d adored, but for Booker, it was an appropriate ending for the cruel, sadistic officer who had made his friend's life a misery. In death, Will was friendless and alone, which was somewhat apt, considering he’d forced Tom to live in social isolation all his adult life. However, for Booker, it still wasn’t enough, and he was mindful of keeping his hatred toward the deceased in check. He’d managed to hide his contempt during the short eulogy, but it was a struggle. Police officer or not, Will did not deserve the accolades bestowed upon him, and he’d wanted to scream about the hypocrisy of it all. But he’d remained silent, his jaw set, his face an unreadable mask, while inside his head, he’d thanked whichever God was listening for giving Tom a second chance at life.
As the celebrant approached Tom and offered him some well-worn platitudes, Fuller motioned for Booker to follow him. The two men took a short walk across the perfectly manicured lawn and stopped beneath a large white oak, the thick overhanging canopy of leaves shielding them from the afternoon sun. Perspiration slicked Booker’s skin, the damp patches under his arms staining his navy-blue shirt. But his discomfort was more a testament of his pent-up tension rather than a reaction to the mild spring weather. He’d taken the burden of worry to new dizzying heights, his concern for his friend physically churning his stomach. Tom was unpredictable, calm one moment, anxiety-ridden the next, and he’d had no idea how he would react during the burial service. The young officer, however, had surprised him. It appeared his friend had managed to diffuse the ticking time bomb of emotion inside him, making for an uneventful interment. But the uneasy feeling in Booker’s gut remained. He had no way of knowing if Tom were really okay or if it were the proverbial calm before the storm. Only time would tell, but he knew if it all turned to shit, he would be there to pick up the pieces.
“How are you holding up?”
Booker turned and faced his superior, his dark eyes blinking against the harsh sunlight filtering in through the thick-veined leaves. “I'm fine, Cap’n,” he replied in a terse voice. “But Tom could have really used some support today.”
Exhaling a weighty sigh, Fuller cast a glance in Tom’s direction before addressing the dark-haired officer. “Don’t be too hard on them, Booker. They’re still coming to terms with Tom’s rape. Will was one of their own, it’s a lot to process.”
Fuller sounded tired, the strained pitch of his voice matching the pained look in his eyes. But his captain’s weary countenance didn’t deter Booker from making his point. He was pissed off, and he didn’t care who knew it. “This isn’t about Will, Coach. It’s about Tom. You can make excuses for them, but the way I see it, they failed him, just like they always have.”
Once again, Fuller’s gaze drifted toward Tom, lingering longer this time before settling back on the angry officer. “Maybe,” he replied cautiously. “Or maybe they did Hanson a favor. Will wasn’t just his brother, he was also his rapist, and if Penhall and the others had turned up, they would have watched his every move, waiting to see how he reacted. Do you really think that’s what Tom would have wanted? Being the center of attention would have probably brought on a panic attack, and I think he's suffered enough, don't you?”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Booker shot back, his voice dripping with rancor. “This isn’t about sparing Tom’s feelings. They didn’t come because they’re nothing more than a bunch of cowards.”
Although his young subordinate made a valid point, Fuller remained impartial. The past was no longer his priority. He needed all his officers back in the game, including Booker, and the only way to achieve his goal was to push the friendship part of their relationship to one side and assert his authority. “It doesn’t matter now. The funeral’s over, and we need to look to the future. I want you back at the chapel first thing tomorrow. You and Penhall have a new case.”
The information took Booker by surprise. “I thought Penhall was undercover at Westview with Ioki?”
Fuller’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t happy the commissioner had shut down the assignment before his officers could get a lead on who was behind the operation, but his loyalty to his superior prevented him from revealing his disappointment to Booker. “The Westview case is closed. Penhall and Ioki busted Carson and his friends last week. They’ll spend time in juvie, and the D.E.A. will continue the investigation.”
“But—”
“It’s over, Booker,” Fuller stated in a no-nonsense voice. “As of tomorrow, you and Penhall are assigned to an arson case involving two schools. I’ll brief you both in the morning.”
A moody pout formed on Booker’s lower lip. “And Tom? Who’s going to look out for him.”
In the distance, the disruptive sound of a lawnmower cut through the stillness. Moments later, the invigorating scent of freshly cut grass wafted through the air, the earthy aroma stimulating both men’s senses. Booker waited, his impatience mounting, his hands clenching into tight fists. But when Fuller did eventually speak, they were not the words the dark-haired officer wanted to hear. “As of now, he’s no longer your responsibility. I’ve arranged a meeting with the departmental psychologist. Once I’m satisfied Hanson’s fit for work, he can return to the chapel.”
Fearing he might say something he later regretted, Booker looked away. His eyes immediately found Tom, and he watched as the celebrant laid a comforting hand on his shoulder before walking away, leaving the young officer alone by his brother’s graveside. A glimmer of sadness shone from Booker’s dark eyes, and it was then he knew his relationship with Tom was no longer bound by the burden of responsibility assigned to him by his superior. It was all about friendship, and whatever happened next, he would stand by the young officer’s side, for however long he needed him.
**
As the two officers entered Booker’s apartment, Tom felt the stress of the day crushing down on him. All his pent-up emotion was brimming to the surface, threatening to spill at any moment. He was a powder keg of anxiety, and all he wanted to do was go to sleep and bury his grief beneath the comforting dreams of his past. But as he’d given up the luxury of Booker’s bed in exchange for the couch, he had no option but to tough it out. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he owed his friend a debt of gratitude, and the last thing he wanted to do was offend the one person who had stood by his side through the worst moments of his life. And so, with thoughts of Booker’s friendship spurring him on, he flopped down on the couch and prepared himself for the inevitable awkward small talk that always seemed to follow a funeral service. In need of a distraction, he switched on the television and flipped through the channels, his mind barely registering the flickering images. All he could think about was his brother’s decaying corpse rotting in its taffeta-lined coffin, the flesh sloughing off until all that remained were two-hundred and six bones, and thirty-two teeth. Then, as time wore on, Will’s skeleton would reunite with the earth from which it was created. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, it was the cycle of life, the ultimate ending for every living being, and yet, for Tom, it was still too painful to accept. The brother he had loved with all his heart and hated with every fiber of his soul was destined to become nothing more than fertilizer. But the more he thought about it, the more he felt a desire to join him. He couldn’t help but wonder if lying in a box six feet underground was the key to finding peace. And if it were, then maybe death wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
“Are you okay?”
Tom’s head whipped around, his look one of confusion. “Huh?”
Compassion softened Booker’s features. “I asked if you were okay, which was a stupid question because of course you’re not. How could you be?”
Tom’s profound sense of gratitude had him digging deep, and taking a calming breath, he managed to gift his friend a small smile. “I’m fine. Honestly. Just a little tired, you know?”
Booker did know, and it wasn’t even his sibling lying in a six-foot hole. His back ached, the muscles across his shoulders bunched so stiffly, he felt like a tightly wound spring ready to uncoil at the slightest provocation. Somehow, Tom had managed to keep his emotions in check during the funeral, but how long would it take before he once again spun out of control? An hour? A day? A week? A month? It was the unpredictability of Tom’s mental state that was playing on Booker’s mind, especially knowing he was going back to work the following morning, leaving his friend alone in the apartment. Despite making a last-ditch effort to convince Fuller to allow him to stay home for another week, his captain had stood firm, leaving him frustrated and more than a little angry. He was to report to the chapel first thing Tuesday morning, and if he failed to do so, then it would be his neck in a noose...proverbially speaking of course. Not that he was a novice when it came to bucking against authority, he wasn’t. But unlike his previous captain, he had great respect for Fuller, and deliberately disobeying his order was, in his mind, tantamount to mutiny. Like it or not, he had a job to do, and that job was to investigate an arsonist, not babysit an emotionally disturbed officer who just happened to now be his friend.
Such was life.
Taking a seat beside Tom, Booker laid a hand on his knee. “Is there anything you need? I could make us a snack if you want?”
As the warmth of Booker’s touch heated his chilled flesh, Tom knew he was losing his inner battle. He could no longer pretend he was okay because he wasn’t. The stench of freshly dug earth remained trapped inside his nostrils, suffocating him with the finality of his brother’s interment. It was too much, and in need of some quiet time, he rose to his feet and attempted to explain his desire for solitude. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry. I think I’ll take a bath. You know, to try and relax. That’s if it’s okay with you?”
It seemed an odd question to ask, but Booker let the comment pass without interrogation. “Sure. Maybe you’ll feel like pizza later?”
“Maybe,” Tom murmured, and turning away, he headed toward the bathroom. But before he’d even reached the middle of the room, he stopped and turned back to face his friend. “Um, I never really thanked you.”
Booker’s right eyebrow arched in surprise. “For what?”
“Everything,” Tom mouthed, and without further explanation, he walked into the bathroom and closed the door.
**
The water flowing from the faucet slowed to a trickle, the steady drip, drip, echoing around the bathroom. Stepping onto the bathmat, Tom stripped off his clothes and neatly stacked them in a pile on top of the laundry hamper. Naked, he moved over to the bath and stared down into its rippling depths. A strange feeling settled over him. He’d spent most of his adult life terrified of water, but at that moment, he found himself inexplicably drawn to the calming pool. Mesmerized by its stillness, he dropped to his knees and grasped the edge of the cold porcelain, a shiver of anticipation raising goose-bumps over his exposed flesh. A desire too strong to ignore had him leaning closer, and closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to wander. It wasn’t long before the visions of his past infiltrated his present, the two worlds colliding until they became one cohesive whole. As his mind succumbed to the hypnotic trance-like state, ghostly fingers grasped his hair, the invisible hand coaxing his head forward. An inner peace washed over him and inhaling a deep breath, he submerged his face beneath the warmth of the bathwater. This time, there was no fear. He wanted it...needed it, and as the familiarity of watery tendrils lapping at his skin slowly warped all conscious thought from his mind, a phantom voice whispered to him from beyond the grave. “You don't need friends, Tom-Tom. You’ve got me, and that’s all you’ll ever need.”
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Cries of a Shadow