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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.

Chapter List
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Silent and motionless, Harry Ioki waited impatiently for his captain to speak. Called back early from his scheduled two days of R&R, he wondered what was so important it couldn’t wait until the morning. With Tom suspended from duty, and—to the best of his knowledge—Booker still missing, he understood they were short staffed, and so there were no feelings of animosity at losing a few precious hours of relaxation time. But he wished his superior would quit shuffling his paperwork and get to the point. After all, if there was a new case to investigate, time was of the essence.
Pushing the pile of papers to one side, Fuller lifted his head and spoke in a flat, affectless voice. “Hanson, Penhall, and Booker are all in the hospital. Hoffs is there as support.”
Harry’s eyes blinked rapidly for several seconds as he digested the unexpected news. “What happened?” he eventually asked.
With a weary sigh, Fuller motioned for the young officer to take a seat. The burden of regret weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he suddenly looked every one of his forty-five years. By not giving Tom his undivided attention, and gently (but persuasively) pushing him to reveal the reason behind his obvious distress, he had let down a trusted colleague and friend. At the very least, he should have insisted Hanson saw the departmental psychologist. But he had misread the signs by underestimating the severity of Tom’s mood swings and erratic behavior. It was a painful lesson learned, and he hoped his foolhardiness would not have any damaging effect on the younger man’s career. Hanson was an outstanding cop, but Fuller had witnessed many an officer's downfall from the stress of personal tragedy, and none had suffered such a torturous experience as rape. It would take an exceptional man to rise above the gossip and humiliation, and continue with his life, but he hoped Tom was that man. To end a career at such a young age would be a tragedy, and the L.A.P.D. would not only lose a fine young officer, but the Jump Street team would lose a much-loved friend.
“Coach?” Harry pushed softly, Fuller's silence fueling his innermost fears.
The dark eyes staring back at Ioki reflected a level of grief rarely seen on the older man’s face, but as a superior officer, Fuller knew how to contain his emotions, and clearing his throat, he recited the facts in a straightforward manner. When he finished speaking, Harry remained silent for several moments before asking the obvious question. “Are they okay?”
Tension throbbed behind Fuller's bloodshot eyes, and using his thumb and forefinger, he applied pressure where the pain collected along the bridge of his nose. “Apart from a bruised ego, Booker’s got several fractured ribs. Penhall will have a headache for a few days, but there’s no sign of a concussion. They're to report back here with Hoffs in a couple of hours.”
“And Hanson?” Harry whispered, not sure if he really wanted to hear the answer.
The question brought a flash of pain to Fuller’s eyes. “He was committed to the psych ward under a seventy-two-hour observation order.”
“Shit,” Harry muttered. Even though he had witnessed Tom’s gradual withdrawal from his friends and colleagues, the situation seemed eerily surreal. Hanson was one of the most grounded people he knew, and he could not picture him lying on a bed in a psych ward; lost, broken, unaware of his surroundings. But as an image slowly formed in his mind, he suddenly remembered the time Tom was drugged and shipped off to a psychiatric hospital while investigating allegations of mistreatment in an alcohol and drug rehabilitation program, and the chilling memory raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck. Once again, the young officer was vulnerable and alone, but this time, he hadn't been heavily medicated by an unscrupulous doctor, this time, he really was mentally unstable. It was a sobering thought, and he wondered whether or not there would be a happy outcome, or if Hanson was now doomed to a lifetime of depression and anxiety.
With the need to do something proactive growing steadily stronger, Harry stood up. “What can I do? Should I start an investigation into the Pi Taus?”
Fuller pushed back his chair and rose slowly to his feet. “Not yet. Penhall has the tape, and as much as I don’t want to watch it, I need to know what we’re dealing with before I contact the commissioner. For now, keep an eye on Hoffs, she’s pretty upset. And try to keep Penhall and Booker from killing each other. There’s a lot of animosity between them.”
Although playing peacemaker wasn’t exactly Ioki’s idea of productive policing, he nodded his head in agreement. “Sure thing, Coach,” he assured softly, but deep in his heart, he wondered if when push came to shove, whether he really would step in and prevent Penhall from giving Booker the beating he thought the dark-haired officer deserved.
**
A child’s muffled cries sharpened to panicked screams, the gut-wrenching shrieking echoing despairingly throughout the emergency department. The sense of helplessness entwined within the terrified wailing tore at Booker’s heart, reminding him why he hated hospitals. They were places of torment and heartache, their walls forever tarnished with the silent screams of long forgotten souls, their pain rippling through the air in ghostly wakes, chilling those who were now suffering. There was no peace, no tranquility; there was just the toxic fumes of other people’s misery.
Unable to cope with the depressing howling any longer, Booker climbed carefully from the gurney and went in search of a doctor. With his ribs now taped, he wanted to find Tom and give him as much comfort and reassurance as he could, given the circumstances. It was obvious Tom would have reacted to the unexpected turn of events, but how severely it had affected him was anybody’s guess. Despite Booker’s threats, Penhall had remained stubbornly tight-lipped about Tom’s condition, only revealing the young officer required medical treatment. It was another slap in the face for Booker, who constantly found himself left out of the loop. Tom, Doug, Harry, and Judy were friends, whereas he remained on the fringe, an outsider looking in, a stranger denied access to their tight-knit group. But now he and Tom were an item, and that meant everything had changed. He had a right to know about Hanson's condition, and he almost divulged their secret, just to witness the shock on Penhall’s face. However, to do so would also impact on Tom, and he knew his friend wasn’t ready to come clean about their budding relationship. Therefore, despite wanting to stick it to Penhall in the worst way possible, he kept his mouth shut and suffered in silence.
When the attending ER doctor walked past, Booker seized the opportunity and grabbed him by the arm. “Where can I find Officer Hanson.”
“Hanson?” the doctor queried as he continued down the corridor. “I thought his name was Officer Penhall.”
With a shake of his head, Booker ignored the throbbing in his side and falling into step beside the young medic, he followed him down the hallway. “No. Not him. There was another officer brought in by the paramedics, he’s—”
“Booker!”
At the sound of his name, Dennis spun around, the sudden movement jarring his fractured ribs. A sharp breath hissed between his teeth, and clutching his side, he doubled over, tears of pain springing to his eyes.
Within seconds, Judy Hoffs was by his side, her dark eyes filled with concern. “Geez, Dennis, what did Penhall do to you?”
“I’m okay,” Booker muttered, and straightening up, he appealed to Judy’s altruistic side. “But I need to see Hanson. You came in with him, right? Do you know where he is? How is he? Is he okay?”
The memory of Tom’s tortured eyes when he finally came back to reality and found himself strapped to a gurney would remain with Judy forever, and covering her mouth with her hand, she stifled a sob. “No, he’s not okay, Booker!” she cried. “He’s anything but okay!”
Booker’s blood ran cold in his veins, chilling him to the bone. “Wh-what do you mean?” he stammered. “Where is he? I want to see him.”
Judy sniffed loudly, her dark eyes brimming with tears. “You can’t. When Tom realized Penhall saw the tape, he completely lost it. They’ve admitted him to the psych ward.”
An intense look of anguish passed over Booker’s face. “No,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “They can’t send him there, he’ll be—”
"WHY DID YOU DO THAT TO HIM?” Judy suddenly screamed, her fists pounding on Booker’s chest. “YOU WERE HIS PARTNER! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT HIM!”
After striking several painful blows, Booker finally managed to catch hold of Judy’s wrists, preventing her from causing any further damage to his ribs. “I WAS PROTECTING HIM!” he yelled directly into her face before his anger subsided, and pushing her away, he pleaded with her to understand. “They were gonna kill him, Judy. I swear to God, they were gonna kill him.”
All the fight and anger drained from Judy’s body, leaving her emotionally weakened. Tears pricked at her eyes, and her lower lip trembled uncontrollably. “He trusted you,” she whispered. “He trusted you, and you betrayed him.”
The accusation was too much for Booker to bear, and turning away, he walked toward the exit. “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO REPORT TO FULLER!” Judy yelled after him. But when her directive failed to stop the dark-haired officer, she watched on in silence as he slowly disappeared from view.
**
As the effects of the sedative slowly took hold, Tom closed his eyes and relaxed back against the hard mattress. Memories and thoughts swirled erratically through his mind, adding to his disorientation, and he struggled to distinguish the truth from the distorted images of his imagination. Michael McCarter’s sneering face infused with Booker’s, the distorted caricature creating a dark-haired, leather-jacketed monster, and a soft, frightened moan tumbled from between his lips. Penhall’s voice echoed inside his imagination, his friend’s incredulous cries a painful reminder of his disgrace, and his head moved violently from side to side as he tried to banish the distressing recollections from his mind. Beneath the thin, translucent skin of his eyelids, his eyes darted restlessly, the tranquilizing narcotic flowing through his veins pulling him deeper inside his wretched mind. He was fighting a losing battle to stay awake, to not succumb to the depths of sleep that would leave him trapped within a nightmare. But the drugs were too strong, and expelling a heavy breath, he surrendered his will and fell into a deep state of unconsciousness.
**
The suffocating ambience of the tiny, smoke-filled bar did little to dispel Booker’s despondency, and picking up his beer, he drained the glass and signaled to the barman for another. He had walked into the bar with one single thought on his mind; get mind-numbingly, paralytically, blind drunk, and to hell with the consequences. In the space of an hour, he had downed half-a-dozen whiskeys before switching to beer, and the copious amounts of alcohol flowing through his system soothed the dull ache in his ribs. But with his drunkenness came an increasing sense of despondency, and his mind played over the night’s events. By not informing Fuller of his return and directly ignoring the command to go back to the Chapel, he knew he was in deep shit with his superior officer. But with that knowledge came the realization he did not care. Although he loved being a police officer, his job was no longer the primary focus of his life; Tom was, and he planned to support the young officer through the long, arduous journey of emotional healing. Many would view it as a sacrifice, but for Booker, it was a labor of love. Tom was his everything, and he would move heaven and earth to give him the peace of mind he so justly deserved.
Downing the remainder of his beer, he slipped drunkenly from his stool and staggered out of the bar and into the dimly lit street. As he headed toward the direction of his apartment, the fresh air sobered his intoxicated mind, bringing to the fore a sense of clarity. He imagined Tom lying on a hospital bed; bewildered, broken, abandoned by those who professed to love him most. It was a depressing visual, and a single tear leaked from the corner of his eye. He had failed Tom in so many ways, and he could not imagine how their relationship would ever move forward with the poisonous venom of shame and humiliation infecting their hearts.
With his apartment building in sight, Booker quickened his step. If he were to help Tom, he needed to do so with no other distractions, and his biggest distraction was Jorge. While he had arranged to drop the young Latino at his mother’s house so the two of them could become reacquainted after so many years apart, he now felt an urgency to do it now, rather than wait until morning. Although thankful Jorge had intervened and protected him from Penhall’s vicious assault, he did not want the younger man to get the wrong idea about his gratitude. It was time to break ties so Jorge could move on with his life, and he could focus on giving Tom the comfort he deserved.
When he finally arrived at his apartment, he suddenly realized he didn’t have his keys. He knocked on the door and waited, but when Jorge didn’t answer, he figured he was either frightened or had gone to bed. But when he heard noises inside, he stepped closer and yelled loudly. “JORGE, IT’S DENNIS. OPEN THE DOOR.”
Several seconds passed before the door yanked open. Jorge launched himself at Booker and wrapping his arms around his friend’s neck, his warm lips smothered the startled officer’s face in wet kisses. “Are you okay? I’ve been so worried!”
Gently disengaging from the young man’s embrace, Booker closed the door. “I’m fine.”
Hurt by the cool response, Jorge’s expression became pouty. “So, have you been to see him?”
“No,” Booker replied with a weary sigh. “Tom’s in the… he’s not allowed any visitors.”
Surprise widened Jorge’s eyes. “Why?”
Not about to discuss Tom’s mental health with the young Latino, Booker turned away. “It’s not important,” he mumbled.
Warm tendrils of breath tickled the back of Booker’s neck. “Let me make it better,” Jorge whispered, his muscular arms circling the dark-haired officer’s waist. “One night with me and you’ll forget—”
“STOP!” Booker yelled, and twisting out of Jorge’s embrace, he winced as pain erupted in his ribs. “I can’t deal with this. I’m taking you to your mom’s tonight.”
“Dennis, no!” Jorge pleaded, his dark eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“We leave in ten minutes,” Booker muttered, and walking into the bathroom, he slammed the door closed.
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness