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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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A happy 2019 to you all! My apologies for the delay in updating this story, I’ve been on holiday :)

Kicking the door closed with his foot, Booker lowered the final packing box to the floor and stared around his and Tom’s new apartment. Spacious and modern, it was the home he’d always dreamed of but never thought he’d achieve. A slow smile played over his lips. It was funny how life turned out. Leaving I.A.D. had, in many ways, been the best decision of his life. He was not only doing a job he loved, but he’d also met Tom, a man who had managed to capture his heart in a way he hadn’t thought possible after the loss of his beloved Jacob. There was a hint of romance in the air, and he was cautiously optimistic their relationship might prove resilient enough to blossom into something extraordinary. But, as many an aspiring poet had penned, there was no light without darkness and no good without evil. There was a downside to his new life. His association with Tom had driven Will to suicide, and his role in the officer’s untimely death would plague him forever. Nighttime was the worst. He tossed and turned, his mind replaying the events that had led to that fateful night, his guilt-ridden conscience wishing he’d handled things differently. But hindsight was—for the most part—20/20. Had he made mistakes? Yes. Should he have seen the signs? Definitely. As an officer of the law, he was trained to notice the unusual, and even though his instincts had told him there was something odd about the brothers’ relationship, he hadn't trusted his gut and taken the appropriate action. It was his biggest regret, but as much as he longed to change the course of events, he couldn't turn back time, and even if he could, he wasn’t one hundred percent confident he would have done anything differently. Fate had played her hand, and he needed to accept that fact and not drive himself crazy with what-ifs. That way, he would be mentally strong enough to be there for Tom, if and when he needed him. Because despite the young officer's determination to fight through his depression, Booker knew enough about grief to know there would still be bad times, and he wanted to be the one to help his friend weather the storm.
“I owe you an apology.”
At the sound of Tom’s voice, Booker’s eyes came back into focus. Time had played one of her wily tricks, and he had no idea how long his friend had been standing in front of him. Confusion knitted his brow. Was Tom apologizing for his brother? The stolen kiss? Their life together in general? He had no idea and pushing all thoughts of Will’s death from his mind, he asked the obvious question. “For?”
“Telling you to fuck off yesterday. I didn’t mean it. I know you were only trying to help.”
Booker thought back to the moment in question, and he suppressed a shudder. Nothing could have prepared him for the horror he’d unleashed into the universe when he’d unlocked Will’s mysterious box of secrets. The private stash of pictures hidden within was more than just photographic evidence of the elder Hanson’s miscreant behavior. For Booker, the visual documentation of Tom’s naked prepubescent body made the sexual abuse that much more real in his own mind. Not that he’d ever doubted the young officer’s account of his fucked-up life, he’d just found the whole scenario difficult to imagine. But not anymore. Seeing the photos made everything that much clearer, and not in a good way. Small for his age, it was obvious Tom never stood a chance. His brother would have easily outweighed him by at least thirty pounds, so fighting him off was never an option. A sickening image of Tom screaming for help flashed through the dark-haired officer’s mind, and closing his eyes, he forced down his rising nausea. When he finally felt strong enough to open them again, Tom’s face danced in front of him, a deep sadness projecting from his dark eyes. The look sent the strange tingle of déjà vu rippling over Booker’s flesh. He’d seen the same vulnerable expression a hundred times in the few short months he'd known Tom, but one occasion, in particular, stood out from the rest. It was of Tom lying in a hospital bed, his lower lip trembling, the husky choke of his voice revealing the true horror of his childhood. “I was so young, Dennis. I was so young, and I didn't know how to s-stop...”
The memory shimmied through Booker’s consciousness in mind-blowing, psychedelic detail. Tom hadn’t tried to stop his brother, so how had his twelve-year-old mind, and later, his adult conscience, reconciled the abuse? Initially, he’d assumed his friend had just accepted it, the very idea of which, had caused him many sleepless nights. But knowing Tom as he did now, he began to wonder if that was the case. The young officer had a very complicated psyche. He had a penchant to daydream and perhaps he’d found a way to escape the dysphoria of his abuse without physically fighting back. It was a distinct possibility, and the concept gave Booker some measure of comfort. But regardless of what had transpired during the assaults, he’d slowly come to accept Tom as the victim, and he wished he'd had the foresight to recognize the truth at the very beginning, thereby saving Tom unnecessary emotional torment. But he hadn't, and while he lived with his remorse every single day, he took peace in the knowledge his friend hadn't held a grudge and had found it in his heart to forgive him.
“I guess your silence means you're still pissed off.”
The mumbled statement infiltrated Booker’s thoughts, and he immediately turned his attention back to Tom. The delicacy of the young officer’s features never ceased to amaze him, and his heart fluttered in his chest before falling into a rhythm of double-time beats. He could deny it all he liked, but the truth was staring him right in the face. Despite his insistence on not rushing into a relationship, he was falling in love with Tom Hanson, and keeping him at arm's length was proving more problematic than he’d first thought. And if he were honest with himself, a part of him didn’t care. The previous night's kiss had, in many ways, changed his thinking. Life was short. He’d lost one lover to disease, he sure as hell wasn’t about to lose another because he was too afraid to take a chance and open his heart to an emotionally damaged man.
Stepping forward, Booker placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders and stared deep into his troubled eyes. “Of course I’m not pissed off. I thought after last night, you would have figured that out already.”
A look of innocent curiosity passed over Tom’s face. “Because we kissed?”
“Yeah,” Booker grinned. “Because we kissed.”
Emboldened, Tom leaned in close. “And you liked it?” he murmured, his mouth hovering over Booker’s, the warm, whispery tendrils of his breath tickling the dark-haired officer’s skin.
For someone with little to no social skills, Tom had somehow managed to perfect the art of seduction. From the alluring tilt of his head to the soft pouty bow of his full lips, he’d nailed the brief without even trying. Booker’s cock instantly hardened, the strained outline creating a noticeable bulge in his jeans. His hunger for Tom was so palpable, he could feel it coursing through his body, igniting a fire in every nerve, every fiber of his being. Grabbing Tom by the waist, he pulled him in for a kiss. The young officer responded, his lips warm, pliant, unresisting. Opening his mouth, Booker flicked the tip of his tongue against Tom’s, the sensual act eliciting a low moan from his lover. Spurred on by the enthusiastic response, the dark-haired officer placed a hand at the back of Tom’s neck, and pulling him forward, he kissed him hard, almost brutally. And in that fateful moment, all rational thought left his head, and his mind switched to autopilot. He wanted Tom, needed him, and his yearning for contact became all-consuming. Slipping a hand inside the waistband of the young officer’s jeans, the tips of his fingers eagerly explored the curved globe of his lover’s buttocks...squeezing...stroking, the smoothness of the firm cheeks exciting his imagination. But it wasn’t enough. He needed more, and pulling Tom close, he ground his erection against him, the delightful friction further lengthening his cock. He was finally at one with the man he loved, their bodies melding together and at that moment, nothing could stop them...or so he thought. But that was before he suddenly realized Tom was no longer kissing him back. The young officer’s mouth, although still partially open, remained motionless, his tongue stiff and unmoving. Somewhere between initiating the kiss and copping a feel, the young officer’s body had frozen beneath Booker’s hand, his warm, supple flesh transforming into a lifeless effigy. Confused, the dark-haired officer broke the one-sided kiss, and removing his hand from Tom’s waistband, he took a step back. His eyes widened, and passing a shaky hand over his mouth, he stared at his friend in shock.
Tom stood with his hands by his sides, his face expressionless, a living death mask made from human skin. His eyes were open, unseeing, unblinking, his dark irises devoid of any emotion. It was although he was bewitched, frozen in time, his mind and body trapped within the binding force of a sorcerer’s spell. He was physically present, but emotionally, he had completely checked out. He was, for all intents and purposes, nothing more than a human shell. Tommy had left the building.
A cold chill ran down the length of Booker’s spine and raising a hand, he cautiously waved it in front of his friend’s face. Tom remained unresponsive, his expression vacant, the only signs of life the barely perceivable rise and fall of his chest. Fear prickled the dark-haired officer’s skin as a forgotten memory flashed into his mind. He’d seen the same expressionless visage before when he’d discovered Tom sitting in the tub, cold water cascading over his trembling body. And while he had no idea why his friend kept falling into a fugue-like state, he understood the need to act quickly and bring him back to the land of the living.
Stepping forward, he placed a trembling hand on the young officer’s shoulder and giving it a gentle shake, he spoke in a low, calm voice. “Tommy? Tommy, can you hear me?”
A flicker of awareness passed over Tom’s face before his expression, once again, turned to stone. Unperturbed, Booker tried again, this time, using more force. “TOM! TOMMY! WAKE UP!”
Tom’s eyes flew open, his panicked gaze flitting anxiously around the room before settling on the dark-haired officer’s worried face. Slowly, his cognitive thought returned, and with it, the knowledge his damaged mind had somehow misinterpreted the intimate encounter with Booker as a sexual assault, and in doing so, he had regressed to the safety of his happy place. A slow blush crept up his neck, mottling his skin and pulling away from Booker’s hold, he attempted to cover his embarrassment by deflecting attention away from himself. “S-So, what bedroom do you want? I’m happy to take the smaller one if you want room for your gym equipment.”
The disbelieving look on Booker’s face told Tom his plan had failed, and lowering his gaze, he exhaled a weighty sigh. “I guess you want to know what just happened.”
Concern had Booker’s mouth hardening into a firm line. “That would be a start.”
Shuffling awkwardly, Tom shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders into a shrug. “I dunno, I guess I blanked out.”
“Yeah, I worked that much out for myself. What I don’t know is why?”
It was a question Tom had trouble answering. He had no idea why the feel of Booker’s hand against his bare skin had triggered such an adverse reaction. It wasn't as though he didn't want to experience the intimate touch of another human being...he did, more than words could ever express. But it appeared he had no control over his mind. One minute he was there, and the next, poof! he was gone. It was more than a little disconcerting, it was downright demoralizing. What if he were incapable of having sexual relations with Booker because Will’s abuse had conditioned his mind into thinking he needed protection from all sexual contact? It was a terrifying thought because he knew if he couldn't find a way to distinguish the difference between consent and assault, then he really would end up loveless and alone.
When a warm hand cupped his face, Tom instinctively jerked away, his arms wrapping protectively around his torso. But Booker was determined to get to the truth, and abandoning the idea of offering physical comfort, he used his words to coax an explanation from his friend. “Talk to me, baby. Tell me what’s going on.”
Lifting his head, Tom tried to put on a brave face, but he failed dismally. His lower lip started to tremble, making it difficult for him to speak. But he knew he owed Booker an explanation, and so, he battled through the emotional pain and described his blackouts as best he could. “Wh-when Will...I-I don’t know h-how to explain it. My m-mind would go to another place, b-back to when I was a child and my m-mom and dad were still alive. I w-wouldn’t know what was h-happening until...well...until it was o-over.”
Booker stared at his friend, sympathy shining from his dark eyes. And with that honest confession, he had his answer. Tom had found a way to cope with his brother’s abuse by allowing his mind to enter an altered state of consciousness during the assaults, the result rendering him helpless. It was a common coping mechanism for abused children, and the dark-haired officer wondered why he hadn’t made the connection before. But although relieved he finally knew the truth, he quickly realized his newfound knowledge brought with it a whole new set of problems. His touch had also triggered Tom’s brain to withdraw into a dissociative state, automatically forcing him to take refuge in the memories of his past, and that meant any sexual contact apart from kissing was likely to spark the same reaction. The young officer had developed a Pavlovian response, a conditioning of the mind he’d perfected over the twelve long years of his abuse. Adult Tom might want to experience the wonders of a consensual sexual relationship, but Child Tom was still very much in control of his emotions. It was a troubling situation, and one the dark-haired officer had no idea how to fix. All he could think to do was suggest his friend speak to his psychologist and hopefully, after extensive therapy, he could rewire his brain, so his mind, once again, knew the difference between consensual sex and the horror of a sexual assault.
Taking Tom’s hand in his, Booker led him over to the couch and sat down. The young officer hesitated for a moment before taking a seat beside his friend. He had a feeling Booker was about to announce his decision to end their relationship. Not that he blamed him. The dark-haired officer deserved a partner who was of sound mind, not a lunatic like himself. Tears pricked his eyes, but he bravely held them back. He’d had a good run, and maybe, one day, he’d know the love of a good man.
“Are you okay?”
Shrugging his shoulders, Tom managed a weak smile. “I’ve been better.”
Booker studied his friend’s pale face for a moment before speaking. “What Will did to you was...Geez, Tommy, I can’t even put it into words. But none of this is your fault. You endured years of abuse, and you found a way to cope. There’s no shame in that. We just need to find a way to deal with it.”
It took Tom a second before the meaning behind the dark-haired officer’s words sank in. When they did, his face registered surprise, and he stared at his friend in wide-eyed bewilderment. “We need to find a way to deal with it?”
A slow smile crinkled the corners of Booker’s eyes. “Of course. We’re a couple now, aren’t we?”
They were the magical words Tom had waited a lifetime to hear, and falling into Booker’s waiting arms, he rested his head against his chest and closed his eyes. “Yes, we are.”
A quiet calmness settled over both men. They still had many hurdles to overcome, but in their hearts, they knew they would find a way to make it work.
**
The following evening
Pulling into the chapel’s parking lot, Booker switched off the Caddy’s engine. He glanced at his watch, a frustrated sigh expelling from between his lips. He was running late, and he visualized Tom anxiously pacing the floor of their new apartment, waiting for him to come home so he could discuss the outcome of the emergency therapy appointment he'd attended that morning. In a somewhat awkward conversation, they’d made the joint decision to cease all physical contact, at least until they knew the extent of the young officer’s psychiatric disorder. It was better that way. Tom’s mental shutdown had rattled them both, and neither man wanted to jeopardize their relationship by ignoring the obvious warning signs.
Climbing out of the car, Booker slammed the door closed. He stood for a moment and watched the fingers of sunlight stretching across the night sky change from yellow to a soft muted orange. If he played his cards right, he could be in and out of the chapel in fifteen minutes. However, if he ran into Judy, Doug, or Harry, he would have to stop and chat, meaning he was destined to wait at least another long, agonizing hour before he knew the therapist’s views on Tom’s dissociative disorder. It was tempting to conveniently ‘forget’ his captain's instruction for a debriefing and hurry home, but he just couldn't bring himself to ignore a direct order. Rebel or not, he was still a cop, and as much as it pained him, the responsibilities of the job always came first.
“Brady! Brady! Hey...Booker!”
At the sound of his name, Booker turned, his lips spreading into a welcoming smile. But the friendly expression froze on his face when he saw Tyrell Carson standing a few feet away, a Glock 17 9mm pistol hanging from his fingers, a drug-crazed look in his ice-blue eyes.
“I bet you thought I was still in juvie, huh?”
Booker raised both hands in a non-threatening gesture. “Hey, man. Put the gun down. You don’t want to—”
“DON'T YOU TALK TO ME, YOU FUCKING NARK!” Carson yelled, spittle flying from between his lips. “YOU SET ME UP! YOU AND YOUR FUCKING COP BUDDIES SET...ME...UP!”
Taking a tentative step forward, Booker attempted to reason with the enraged teen. “I had no choice. It's my job and—”
“FUCK YOU!” Tyrell screamed and raising his weapon, he pulled the trigger.
The bullet pierced through Booker’s flesh, the force of the impact spinning him around. Falling to his knees, he stared in confusion at the blood seeping through the fibers of his white cotton T-shirt. “What did you do?” he whispered, and clutching a hand to his stomach, he crumpled to the ground.
Startled by the noise, a colony of roosting starlings took flight, their shrill, rattling whistle signaling the flock to scatter. In a daze, Tyrell lowered the gun and glanced nervously around him. Spying a metal dumpster, he quickly hid the weapon among the rotten food and cardboard boxes. Despite the effects of the drugs coursing through his veins, his addled mind understood the need to make a hasty escape, and with no regard for the wounded officer, he sprinted from the scene without looking back.
On the ground, Booker lay motionless, his eyes half closed, the blood from his wound staining the pitted asphalt beneath him. He had no idea if anyone had heard the shot, but as his mind started to drift, he found himself drawn toward the peace of the impending darkness.
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Cries of a Shadow