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Cries of a Shadow	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2758 -:- 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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By the time Tom returned, the pizza had arrived, and taking a seat, he avoided Booker’s scrutinizing gaze by staring down at the checkered tablecloth. He was unsure how to initiate a conversation with the man sitting opposite him; the man whose dark, insightful eyes followed his every move. Once again, he could feel his anxiety taking hold, and his hands twisted anxiously in his lap. His mind was a jumble of competing thoughts, and he longed for Booker to take charge and end the awkward silence unfolding between them. The seconds ticked by, slow, daunting, and his heart rate increased, the faltering rhythm whooshing in his ears like the ocean’s waves on a bright summer’s day. He took comfort from the sound, the auditory illusion taking him back to his childhood and closing his eyes, his mind began to wander. He was six-years-old, and he and Will were building sandcastles on Venice Beach. It was one of a handful of memories he treasured, and his mind often reminisced about that time in his life when he was loved and cared for by those he adored.
“Hungry?”
Tom’s eyes flew open, the sound of Booker’s voice forcing him back to the present with a mind-jolting bang. His head shot up, and he stared at his colleague, his dark, troubled eyes conveying his confusion. “Huh?”
“I asked if you were hungry,” Booker grinned.
An embarrassed smile tilted Tom’s lips. “Sorry, I...um...sometimes I get lost in my own thoughts.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Booker laughed, and grabbing a piece of pizza, he proceeded to eat. “So, tell me about yourself, Tom. Any family apart from Will?"
Although not hungry, Tom followed Booker’s lead and taking a slice of pizza, he put it on his plate. “You first,” he deflected. “Do you have any siblings?”
“A sister, Kathy,” Booker replied through a mouthful of pizza. “We get along okay. I’m pretty close to my mom, and my dad...well, let’s just say, he's no longer in the picture.”
Tom nodded, unwilling to pry further. But Booker was not so judicious and taking a second slice of pizza, he began his interrogation. “What about you?”
An uncomfortable silence followed before Tom finally answered the question, his tone sullen. “What’s to tell? I’m sure the Jump Street grapevine has already told you my father died on the job and my mom drank herself to death.”
Not about to lie, Booker gave a slight nod of his head. “Yeah, okay, someone did tell me that, but I’d kinda like to hear it from you.”
Sweat prickled the back of Tom’s neck, and he twisted his replacement napkin in his lap. “Why? It doesn’t change the facts. What they told you is true, end of story.”
“Ooo-kay,” Booker replied slowly, rethinking his tactic. He’d obviously touched a nerve, and he recognized the need to tread warily or risk alienating Tom further. But he also believed in speaking the truth and putting down his pizza, he stared the young officer in the eye. “Friends don’t rely on gossip, Tom, they prefer to hear information straight from the source. I’m not asking 'cause I want to make you uncomfortable, I’m asking ‘cause I want to get to know you better.”
Tom’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Friends? Is that what we are?”
A slow endearing smile spread over Booker’s face. “Sure, why not? Unless you don’t want to be.”
For the first time in a long time, a genuine grin curled the corners of Tom’s lips. “I dunno,” he teased, a cheeky glint shining from his eyes. “I haven’t decided yet. You’re kinda weird.”
It was a small step, but a step nonetheless, and Booker reveled in his victory. He had finally managed to break through Tom’s defensive shield, revealing a glimpse of the man within, and his smile widened. “Yeah? Well, you’re kinda weird too, so I guess we’ll get along great.”
With the tension between them now broken, Tom visibly relaxed, and picking up his pizza, he took a bite. But his relief was short-lived.
“So, you and Will are pretty tight, huh? Must be nice having a brother to pal around with.”
It was the question Tom had been dreading most, and putting down his pizza, he wiped his hands on his napkin. “I guess,” he replied cautiously. “I mean, we don't always agree, but we’re brothers, we love each other.”
To Booker, it seemed an odd comment to make, but he hid his surprise behind a smile. “Yeah, that sounds like Kathy and me.”
Relieved he was managing to keep the discussion going without revealing too much about his life, Tom continued to pick at his pizza. Although not completely comfortable in Booker’s presence, he was relaxed enough to start taking in his surroundings. Many of the patrons were couples or families, and he marveled at the ease with which their dialogue flowed. To his left, a man and woman in their early thirties chatted enthusiastically, the woman’s eyes never leaving the man’s face as he laughed and gesticulated wildly with his hands. Her expression could only be described as rapturous, and Tom found himself mesmerized by the love shining from her emerald green eyes. He’d seen that countenance before, in his mother’s eyes, and a lump rose in his throat. He missed those looks, and he wondered if he would ever know such unconditional love again.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
The question took Tom by surprise, and drawing in a breath, he inhaled the piece of pizza he’d just started chewing. Panicked, he began to cough, his eyes streaming as he struggled to dislodge the morsel of food from his windpipe. For a second time, Booker jumped to his feet, alarm registering on his face. But just as he was considering giving Tom the Heimlich Maneuver, the young officer spat the offending piece of pepperoni onto his plate, clearing his airway.
The chitter-chatter of voices lulled to a hushed murmur, the curious diners once again focusing their attention on Tom. The young officer cringed under their scrutiny, and bowing his head low, his shoulders hunched forward, shielding his face from view. No matter how hard he tried, he always ended up making a fool of himself in front of his peers, and each embarrassing episode only served to chip away another piece of his dwindling confidence. When he looked back over the past twenty-three years, he could barely remember a time when he hadn’t felt socially awkward. It appeared to be his lot in life, but the knowledge did not make the ridicule any easier to swallow. He was tired of being the butt of everyone’s jokes, and he wondered what it would feel like to go through life with the aplomb of someone like Booker. The dark-haired officer appeared to have it all, good looks, a pleasant, easy-going personality, and a belief in himself that made others step back and take notice. He had an edge many envied, even his cocky attitude was somewhat endearing, if also a little annoying. However, in stark contrast, Tom viewed himself as ineffectual, and if it wasn’t for his constant social blunders, he was certain most people wouldn’t even notice him. Of course, the latter would have suited him perfectly. Invisible Tom was far more preferable than conspicuous Tom, especially in a room full of people.
“J-Jesus, Hanson,” Booker stammered, his hand rubbing his new friend’s back. “Are you okay?
Unable to speak, the young officer could only nod his head. The trail of tears leaking from his eyes were no longer a side effect of his choking fit, they were tears of torment and humiliation, and he wondered why God hated him so much. He could feel the walls closing in on him, the low hum of muted voices mocking him with their whispered judgments. Panic squeezed the air from his lungs, the heavy thump, thump, thumpity, thump of his heart blending with the soft laughter echoing throughout the room, the acoustic vibration disorienting him to the point of confusion. But as much as he wanted to run, he remained motionless, his limbs paralyzed, his mind trapped within the horror of his predicament. He was a helpless victim of his own stupidity, and he only had himself to blame. He’d allowed his anxiety to control his reflexes, leaving him spluttering like a fool, and he knew he would never set foot in the restaurant again. Not that he thought Booker would ever invite him out for lunch again after his embarrassing performance. He’d blown his one chance to make a friend, and he’d managed to do it in the most spectacular and memorable fashion imaginable.
It didn't take long for the curious onlookers to lose interest and idle chatter once again filled the room. Feeling guilty for the role he’d played in embarrassing Tom, Booker lightly squeezed his shoulder. “Shit, man, I’m really sorry,” he apologized, his dark eyes shining with concern. “I didn't mean for you to choke. I was just making conversation.”
Unable to cope with the public humiliation any longer, Tom’s limbs finally cooperated and shoving back his chair, he stood up. “I-I should go,” he stammered, his voice thick with emotion. “This was a mistake.”
Not wanting their lunch to end before it had even begun, Booker made the decision to change tack. “No, it wasn’t. C’mon, sit down, let’s talk about our case. We need to get our background stories straight before we turn up at school tomorrow.”
“I can’t stay in here,” Tom hissed, his dark, frantic eyes skimming over the restaurant patrons’ faces before settling on a point just below Booker’s left shoulder. “Not after that.”
“No problem, we’ll sit outside.”
The obvious solution to his dilemma was not what Tom wanted to hear, and he rubbed his hand over his mouth, his expression uncertain. Eating alfresco style offered little protection from prying eyes, and with his apartment a mere two blocks away, there was a good chance someone would recognize him. But he didn’t want to let his new friend down, and so, although reluctant to prolong the agony of his humiliation, he gave his assent with a small nod. “Okay.”
Hiding a smile, Booker picked up their pizza and headed toward the door. Tom briefly considered bolting for the restroom and making his escape via the window, but he realized the ridiculousness of the idea before it had even finished forming in his mind. Whether he liked it or not, he had agreed to meet the dark-haired officer for lunch, and despite his misgivings, he was prepared to honor that commitment. He owed Booker that much.
After inhaling several deep, calming breaths, he picked up the pitcher of beer in one hand, the two glasses in the other, and followed his friend outside.
**
From his vantage point on the cracked sidewalk, Tom watched as a group of school children crossed the street, their bags bulging with books, and half-eaten lunches. Their good-natured pushing and shoving brought a smile to his lips, and he basked in the affection of their camaraderie. He could still remember the fun times he’d spent with Robbie, riding their bikes down to the local park, where they’d shoot hoops until the sun disappeared behind the horizon and it was time to go home. Although both small in stature for their ages, each boy had dreamed of making it to the ABL, a schoolboy fantasy that for Tom, disappeared the moment his father died. Once Thomas Hanson was buried in the ground, it hadn’t taken long for Tom’s sheltered life to become nothing more than a distant memory, the fragmented images of sepia-toned reflections reminding him of what he’d lost. The reality of a drunken mother and a brother trying his hardest to hold the family together became his world, and unable to cope with the mounting pressure of his home life, he withdrew into himself, preferring the quietude of his own company to that of a group. But as the years slipped away and the nightmare of his past became less painful, he realized he missed the companionship of others. The problem was, by the time he was ready to fraternize, his social awkwardness was too ingrained, too debilitating, leaving him no option but to quietly slip back into the background. It was a lonely existence, but one he was comfortable with. A life of solitude had become the norm, and anything else seemed alien and a little frightening.
On the other side of the small wrought-iron table, Booker watched the wave of differing emotions play over Tom’s face. From his slow, wistful smile, to the sad, acquiescent flutter of his eyes, each sentiment added another dimension to the exquisite beauty of his features, the open display captivating Booker with its honesty. There was a childlike innocence behind the young officer’s coy countenance that couldn’t be faked, his unassuming allure touching Booker in places he'd never been touched before. Tom was an enigma, guarded one minute, an open book the next, and the dark-haired officer longed for the day when he could put all the pieces of the puzzle together and see the real Tom Hanson in all his glory.
When Tom realized he was being watched, a light blush reddened his cheeks, and glancing at his watch, he pushed back his chair and stood up. “I should get going. It’s getting late.”
Disappointment flashed in Booker’s eyes, but he didn’t protest. The last few hours had proved pleasantly tranquil, and although often stilted, their conversation had flowed from work, to world events, to music, and sport. He had purposely avoided any personal topics, preferring to let Tom relax and enjoy his meal. But once relocated outside, the attractive officer had made no effort to touch his pizza, and the froth of his beer lay flat inside his glass, the bubbles having dissipated hours before. His new friend’s lack of appetite puzzled Booker, and he hoped it had nothing to do with the head injury he’d suffered. However, although concerned, he did not pry. They were finally getting along, and one wrong move could bring down the walls of silence he’d fought so hard to break through, leaving him back at square one.
With an exaggerated sigh of food-induced contentment, the dark-haired officer stood up and pulling out a crumpled pack of Marlboros, he liberated a cigarette with his teeth. “Need a ride?” he mumbled around the butt hanging from between his lips.
Tom hesitated, unsure whether to accept. But his indecision was interrupted by the audible click of a lighter, closely followed by the acrid smell of cigarette smoke, and once again, his mind spiraled back to the past. His mother had started smoking the same brand of cigarettes after his father died, her incessant chain-smoking filling their small house with the smell of stale tobacco, the odor intermingling with the stench of her despair. It was an unpleasant reminder of the worst year of his life, and he suppressed a shudder, the unwanted imagery destroying what was left of his momentary calm. His body tensed, and stepping back, he sought the welcoming fragrance of the warm spring breeze, while banishing the memory to a dark corner of his mind. He didn’t want to spoil what had turned into an enjoyable afternoon, and after taking a moment to compose himself, he gave his answer. “Sure, that’d be great. Thanks, Dennis.”
The sound of Tom’s voice softly speaking his name sent Booker’s stomach rolling into somersaults. His flesh tingled with carnal desire, the tightening of his jeans a sign of his growing arousal. But while he understood his sexual attraction toward the young officer, the emotional attraction was a mystery. Shy, nervy, and lacking in confidence, Tom was the exact opposite of all his other lovers. However, there was no mistaking his feelings, he wanted Hanson more than he’d wanted any other man, and while the depth of his infatuation confused him, his desire to protect was genuine. There was a vulnerability about Tom, a naiveté that tugged at his heart and brought out his nurturing side. But despite his internal longing, he was intuitive enough to know they’d only ever be friends. Anything more would only be a fevered product of his overactive imagination, and the sooner he came to terms with that fact, the easier life would be.
With his semi-hard erection now becoming an issue, he motioned with his eyes toward his Cadillac. “Get in.”
Nervous excitement fluttered in Tom’s chest, the irregular beat of his heart sending tremors through his fingers. Hitching a ride with a friend was a new experience, and he was embarrassed to admit the effect the everyday activity had upon him. For the first time in his adult life, he felt socially accepted, the headiness of his elation acting like a drug, his emotional high curling his lips into a goofy grin. But he quickly hid his euphoric expression behind his hand. The last thing he wanted was for Booker to think he was some kind of crazy person. Especially after what had transpired in the restaurant.
Climbing into the passenger seat, the young officer took in his surroundings. The footwell was littered with empty cola bottles and crumpled food wrappers; the staple diet of most cops. A little disgusted, he pushed the litter to one side with his foot. Cleanliness was something he prided himself on, it gave him the control he lacked in other areas of his life. But after settling into Booker’s trash-filled vehicle, he suddenly felt liberated, and he wondered what it would feel like to live each day without giving a damn what anyone thought.
“So, where to?”
Tom hesitated for a moment, his uncertainty returning like a familiar friend. If Will saw him getting out of a strange vehicle, he was in for a whole load of trouble. But it was too late to change his mind, and swallowing down his apprehension, he forced himself to smile. “Turn left on Fourth, it’s the second street on the right,” he directed, his trembling fingers making it difficult for him to fasten his seat belt.
“Here, let me,” Booker offered, his fingers brushing over the back of Tom’s hand as he took hold of the buckle and clicked it into place. He was surprised to hear a sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he turned the key in the ignition, put the shifter into gear, and flicking the indicator, he pulled away from the curb.
The drive took less than two minutes, and as he approached the turning to Tom’s street, Booker’s curiosity stirred. He assumed he would get to see where Tom lived, but he was soon left disappointed. As he pulled into the street, the young officer quickly unbuckled his seat belt. “Drop me off here.”
Booker pulled up to the curb. “Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes scanning the street for an apartment building. “I don’t mind—”
“Thanks for the lift,” Tom replied hurriedly. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
“Wait,” Booker instructed, his hand grabbing at Tom’s upper arm before he could get out of the car.
Startled by the contact, Tom physically recoiled, the emotional reflex rippling through his body in anxious waves. Embarrassed by his reaction, he turned and faced Booker, his lips twitching into a weak smile. “Sorry. Um, what?”
Even though he found it odd, Booker decided not to question Tom’s reaction. Instead, he ignored the apology and leaning across his friend, he opened the glove compartment. After several seconds of searching, he pulled out a fuel receipt and a pen and turning over the narrow strip of paper, he hurriedly wrote down his address and phone number. “Here,” he offered Tom with a smile. “Just in case you need to get in touch with me outside of working hours.”
Tom stared at the piece of paper before taking it and shoving it in his pocket. “Thanks,” he replied with a half smile, and exiting the vehicle, he slammed the door closed and disappeared between two buildings.
**
Will stared out of the window, his face twisted into a tight, angry mask. The tumbler of whiskey in his hand shook violently, the clinking of ice shattering the silence in the room. In his other hand, a forgotten cigarette dangled between his fingers, its noxious fumes rising from the burning tip. But with his gaze fixed on the black Cadillac parked down the street, he barely registered the irritating haze wafting in front of his eyes. He immediately recognized the man climbing out of the vehicle as Tom, and bringing his glass to his lips, he swallowed a large mouthful of cheap bourbon. His frown deepened as he watched his brother raise a hand to the driver before scurrying toward the back entrance of their building. Once out of sight, Will returned his attention to the Caddy, and narrowing his eyes, he attempted to identify the driver. But the vehicle was too far away and shifting his gaze, his eyes focused on the lit cigarette in his hand. Without thought, he curled his fingers into a fist and crushed it against his flesh. The tip singed his skin, the flaring pain giving him a strange sense of relief, and closing his eyes, he waited for the burning sensation to settle to a dull throb. Moments later, a visible calm relaxed his features, and opening his eyes, he tossed the extinguished butt on the floor and walked into the kitchen.
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Cries of a Shadow