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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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Lyrics from ‘Sons of the Silent Age’ and ‘Blackout’ by David Bowie

Two weeks later
Tom’s uniquely textured voice floated through the Hanson apartment, his dulcet tones adding another layer to the melodious strains of David Bowie’s ‘Heroes’ blasting from the stereo. Blissfully unaware he had an audience, the young officer sang with uninhibited gusto, his mind lost in the task of sorting through the various kitchen utensils cluttering the bench top. The two officers had finally found a suitable two-bedroom apartment, and they were spending their Saturday sorting through Tom’s belongings. It was a tedious task, but neither man minded. Life was good, and they were more than ready to move on to greener pastures, and leave the past where it belonged...deep in the annals of their fading memories.
In the bedroom, Booker reached into the bureau drawer and pulled out several of Will’s neatly folded T-shirts. Sitting back on his heels, he paused for a moment, taking pleasure in Tom’s impromptu performance. It was a rare treat to witness his friend free from the anxiety that plagued his life, but what surprised him more was that the young officer knew the words to the Bowie classic. The CD was one of a handful he’d left behind after vacating the apartment and taking Tom home to live with him. Back then, he’d assumed they wouldn’t share the same music tastes. But he was wrong, and not for the first time. There were many hidden facets to Tom’s personality, and while his Jekyll and Hyde persona often gave Booker cause for concern, the dark-haired officer had noticed subtle changes in his roommate’s demeanor. Although still high-strung, there were times the young officer almost managed to exude a calm complacency, and it was these hints of self-possessed assurance that gave Booker hope for a future together. And with Tom’s bi-weekly therapy sessions going well, there was the scent of promise in the air. But that did not mean Booker was about to drop his guard. He was keenly aware of Tom’s not so subtle flirting, and although tempting, he wasn’t about to succumb to his friend's clumsy advances. Hanson needed more than a few sessions with a psychologist to put the horrors of his past behind him, and until Booker received the green light from a trained professional, any type of sexual relationship was strictly out of bounds.
Returning to the task at hand, the dark-haired officer placed Will’s T-shirts in a box marked CHARITY. Rather than put Tom through the emotional ordeal of clearing out his brother’s belongings, he had offered to do it himself. In exchange, he’d delegated the less sentimental task of clearing out the kitchen to Tom, and as he listened to his friend’s enthusiastic singing, he knew he’d made the right choice. Packing up a lifetime of memories was never easy, especially when faced with the indecision of what to keep and what to give away. But Booker hoped by volunteering to sort through Will’s things, he had made the chore a little easier for his roommate. Because the last thing he wanted was for his friend to fall back into a depressive state. Tom deserved so much more than the fate that had befallen him. He was a good man, all he needed was a break from all the pain and misfortune that plagued his life. Then, with a little luck on his side, it was Booker’s hope he would continue to thrive and embrace all the opportunities the world had to offer.
Removing the final garment from the cedar-scented bureau, Booker started to close the drawer when a metallic glint caught his eye. Curious, he reached inside and pulled out a brass key. Small and dainty, with a heart-shaped bow and E-shaped ward, it was unlike any key he’d ever seen. Turning it over in his hand, he wondered what it opened. But just as he was about to call out to Tom, a long-forgotten memory flashed into his mind and slowly rising to his feet, he pocketed the key and walked out into the main living area. Stopping in front of the wall cupboard, he opened the left-hand side door and searched among the neatly stacked towels until he found what he was looking for. Using both hands, he pulled out the mahogany chest he’d discovered weeks earlier. He had a feeling the mystery of the box was finally solved. It belonged to Will, and its contents were only the turn of a key away.
With the gloomy sax-driven tempo of Bowie’s ‘Sons of the Silent Age’ lulling his mind into a hypnotic trance, it didn’t even occur to Booker he might be invading another man’s privacy. He had an investigator’s mind, and his inquisitiveness had him acting on impulse alone. Taking the key out of his pocket, he pushed it in the keyhole and gave it a turn. The tumbler rotated with ease, and with a soft click, the box unlocked. A satisfied smile played over his lips, and giving no thought to the consequences of his actions, he took a deep breath and flipped open the lid.
**
In the kitchen, Tom was studiously checking he had covers for the assortment of Tupperware containers strewn across the countertop when he heard a loud crash. Curious, he stopped what he was doing and tossing the remaining lids to one side, he wandered into the living room.
Booker stood by the open wall cupboard, his body motionless, his eyes focused on the upended chest laying on its side. Dozens of Polaroids littered the surrounding floor space, the patchwork of color eerily out of place in the neutral-toned apartment. Sensing movement, the dark-haired officer looked up, and his eyes immediately filled with panic. “TOM, DON’T!”
Confused by the display of portraits strewn across the floor, Tom ignored his friend’s warning and stepping forward, he bent down and picked up the nearest Polaroid. When his mind registered the disturbing content immortalized in print, he threw the picture to the ground, his distressed cry echoing throughout the apartment. The photo drifted to the ceramic tiles, the image joining the hundreds of other snapshots Will had taken, all of them capturing Tom's naked body asleep on a bed. Many of the pictures were of him as a boy, and the vision was so unexpected, so confronting, the young officer took a step back, his expression one of abject horror. And it was then he knew his brother’s infatuation with him extended far deeper than he’d ever imagined. Will had systematically documented his changing body by photographing him while he slept. It was a sickening insight into the mind of an obsessed psychopath, and choking back a sob, Tom fell to his knees and vomited over the offending photos.
Bowie’s tremulous voice resonated throughout the apartment, his inimitable dirge-like vocals sucking the life from the room. It was a fitting accompaniment and as Booker stared at Tom’s bowed head, his ears tuned into the hypnotic wail vibrating through the speakers.
‘Baby, I'll never let you go.
All I see is all I know.
Let's take another way down (sons of sound and sons of sound).
Baby, baby, I'll never let you down.
I can't stand another sound.
Let's find another way in (sons of sound and sons of sound)...’
The frenzied, schizophrenic dissonance sent an ominous sense of foreboding prickling over Booker’s scalp, and swallowing deeply, he forced his rising unease back down his throat. Even in death, Will had managed to wield his psychological power over his brother, leaving the younger Hanson, once again, cowering and broken on the floor. It was a heart-wrenching sight, but this time, Booker found himself incapable of offering comfort. He felt numb, almost detached from the horror spread out before him. Through stealth and clever manipulation, Will had found yet another way to exploit Tom’s liberties, and the dark-haired officer wasn’t sure he had the emotional strength to keep bringing his friend back from the brink of humiliation. When he’d found Tom battered and bleeding on the bathroom floor, he’d thought he’d witnessed the worst of Will’s crimes. But as his gaze flitted to one of the vomit-splattered photos, he realized he was wrong. Seeing actual pictures of a naked twelve-year-old Tom, his sweet, innocent face relaxed in sleep, made the abuse that much more real. Had Will sedated his brother just so he could pose him on the bed? Were the images taken for his own perverted pleasure or had he shared them among his friends? There were an endless number of possibilities behind the depraved act, none of which excused Will’s behavior. The eldest Hanson’s sick obsession with his brother had crossed every line of decency. He didn’t deserve to rest in peace, he deserved the same level of torment he’d inflicted on his brother. The punishment should fit the crime, and the unlawful act of incest warranted the harshest penalty of them all...eternal damnation. And although not a believer in the afterlife, for Booker, the idea of Will burning in the fiery pits of Hell was uncharacteristically satisfying. He wanted it to be true because without the existence of Purgatory, justice was only an illusion.
A tight band of anxiety constricted the dark-haired officer’s chest and wiping a shaky hand over his mouth, he turned his attention to Tom. Immediately, an image of his friend’s naked prepubescent body popped into his head, and closing his eyes, he fought the urge to vomit. He’d made a mistake, a terrible, life-changing mistake. Common sense should have told him not to pry into the secrets of a known sexual predator, but his curiosity had got the better of him, with devastating consequences. Tom’s dignity hung by a thread, and if he didn’t act quickly, he risked sending his friend spiraling back into the black pit of depression. But despite past experience, he had no idea how to console a man who continued to suffer at the hands of his dead sibling. Their relationship had moved past the stage of empty platitudes, and while he knew he needed to say something, the right words refused to take shape inside his mind. And so, he remained silent, his impotence rendering him speechless, while at his feet, Tom endured the pain of his brother’s sins, alone.
When the dark sonic strains of ‘Blackout’ reached Booker’s ears, his eyes flew open. Drawing in a sharp breath, his gaze flitted anxiously around the room before settling on his friend's motionless body. Crouched on all fours, Tom reminded Booker of a wounded animal. He was beyond pitiful, he was mentally and physically broken, a toxic legacy of his brother’s violence and abuse. The light inside him had died, snuffed out by the click of a shutter button, and the dark-haired officer wasn’t sure he would ever recover from the offensive betrayal.
Seconds passed, the only sound, the hardcore, fast-paced warble of Bowie’s voice crashing through the apartment. Tom remained motionless, his shallow breathing the only signs of life. A silvery thread of saliva hung from between his lips, the fine translucent strand glistening in the overhead lighting. He was back in his happy place, blissfully unaware of his surroundings. But for Booker, there was no escaping the horror. He was trapped within the realms of a corporeal nightmare, complete with soundtrack, the haunting lyrics an eerie prophecy of doom.
‘(Your fearful hands) get me to a doctor's, I've been told.
Someone's back in town the chips are down.
I just cut and blackout.’
Cold tendrils of fear gripped at Booker’s heart. He needed to do something, anything, to bring life back into the room because if he didn’t, he feared he might actually suffocate on the invisible darkness. It was a struggle, but by mustering all his inner strength, he forced his limbs to move. Taking a step forward, he bent over and placed a trembling hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Tom?”
Startled by the contact, Tom instinctively jerked away, his dark panic-stricken eyes conveying a message of untold suffering. Blinking back tears, he fought to control his emotions, but he was drowning in a sea of shame. Rather than cut him a break, the universe had dealt him another blow, adding yet one more indignity to the freak show that was his life. And just when he’d thought he finally had a real chance at a relationship. It was a cruel and undeserved setback in his quest for happiness, and lifting his head, he gazed up at Booker, his wide, tortured eyes searching for answers. “Wh-why?” he whispered. “Why would he do that to me?”
Nervously licking his lips, Booker cast his eyes to the floor. “I don’t know, Tom. I really don’t.”
Clambering to his feet, Tom used the back of his hand to wipe the spittle from his lips. “I need some air.”
Booker followed his friend across the room. “Wait, I’ll come with you.”
Tom stopped, his shoulders visibly tensing. “I want to be alone.”
“But, Tommy—”
“Fuck off,” Tom muttered, and picking up his jacket, he walked out the door.
Booker briefly weighed up the pros and cons of following his friend. But in the end, it wasn’t a difficult decision, and with Bowie’s voice for company, he set about destroying the sordid evidence of Will’s treacherous crime.
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Cries of a Shadow