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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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Carefully maneuvering his wheelchair over to the large bay window, Booker applied the brakes and stared at the beautifully manicured lawns below. He was tired, disillusioned, and his scar throbbed like a bitch. Three weeks had passed since a well-aimed bullet had ripped through his flesh, and he still wasn’t able to walk unaided. His recovery was frustratingly slow, not to mention arduous. Not that he shied away from the physical challenge. He approached each and every physiotherapy session with a dogged determination born from years of discipline and a self-imposed fitness regime. But the results weren’t nearly as gratifying. Every day he struggled in the gym was another cold reminder that life, as he knew it, would never be the same again. Tyrell Carson had seen to that, and to add insult to injury, the would-be killer was still on the loose. It was disheartening, but if Booker were honest with himself, he knew his gradual slide toward full-blown depression was more to do with what had happened to him in the ICU than the lack of progress in his case. And it was becoming a real problem.
Visions of Jacob plagued his dreams, and he struggled to make sense of it all. He knew it was ludicrous, but he couldn’t get the memory of his conversation with his dead lover out of his mind. Had he actually died and found his way to the afterlife or was it all a hallucination? He honestly did not know, but whatever the answer, he hadn’t found the courage to divulge the details of his experience to anyone, not even Tom. And it wasn’t because he feared ridicule. He didn’t. He was comfortable in his own skin, and therefore, he rarely cared what others thought of him. The problem was actually far more straightforward...he just didn’t know how to start the conversation. So, in true Booker fashion, he suppressed his feelings and carried the heavy emotional toll of his encounter around with him day in, day out with no hope of releasing the turbulence of conflicting ideologies welling inside him.
“Knock, knock.”
Turning his head, Booker saw Tom standing in the open doorway, a backpack slung over one shoulder. In his hands, a dented pizza box emitted the tantalizing aroma of cheese and pepperoni. His lover, it appeared, had not only brought him some clean clothes but also lunch.
Not wanting Tom to witness his inner turmoil, Booker forced a smile to his lips. “Hey, baby. C'mon in.”
Tom remained standing in the doorway for a moment before entering the room and closing the door. After liberating himself of the rucksack, he placed the pizza box on the overbed table and wheeled it next to Booker. “You looked deep in thought,” he remarked. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” Booker replied in an overly cheerful voice. But when his standard daily response was met with a raised eyebrow from his lover, his demeanor changed to one of annoyance. “What? So, I’m not allowed to think now?”
Rather than carrying on the conversation and risk triggering a full-blown argument, Tom turned away and busied himself unpacking Booker’s clean clothes from the bag and replacing them with the pile of dirty T-shirts and boxers piled on a chair. Since the dark-haired officer had regained consciousness, he had noticed a marked change in his behavior. Gone was the happy-go-lucky Booker of old, and in his place was a man harboring a deep emotional trauma. He'd tried to get his lover to open up about the shooting, to talk about his feelings, but to no avail. Booker had remained stubbornly tight-lipped, and Tom, rather than push, had allowed him the privacy to deal with it in his own way. It wasn’t ideal. The young officer knew all too well the pitfalls of bottling up emotional pain, but he also understood Booker needed time to process what had happened. After all, it was only three weeks since the shooting, and he hoped once his friend left the rehabilitation center, he would find a therapist and pluck up the courage to speak openly about his ordeal.
Straightening up, Tom noticed Booker staring back out the window, the untouched pizza cooling on the table beside him. Concern creased his brow, and zipping up the bulging backpack, he placed it on the floor and took a seat opposite the injured officer. Gently pushing the pizza box across the table, he offered an encouraging smile. “Aren’t you hungry? It’s your favorite, pepperoni with extra cheese.”
Without shifting his gaze, Booker gave a slight shake of his head. Not about to give up, Tom opened the box and picked up a slice. He took several bites, taking the time to savor the bold, spicy flavor. “It’s really good,” he vouched with a smile. “Are you sure you don’t want some?”
“I said no.”
There was an unmistakable warning in the laconic response, a definitive shut the fuck up and stop bothering me vibe, and heeding the caution, Tom put down his slice of pizza and wiped the crumbs from his hands. He knew he was trying too hard, but he felt so impotent, so helpless. A mere three months before, the only person he’d had to worry about was Will, and as an uncompromising, domineering individual, his brother pretty much took care of himself. And while his friendship and budding romance with Booker was new and exciting, he was also entering uncharted territory. Will had controlled every aspect of his life, and he was used to being the protected not the protector. Although, in reality, after their parents died, his brother had manipulated and exploited him rather than show any interest in his overall wellbeing. But the semantics were irrelevant. The real point was he had no idea how to help the man he loved through the most traumatic experience of his life, and that meant, he was failing as both a friend and a potential lover. Support was paramount, but unlike his peers, he lacked the skill of social interaction, and he wasn’t sure how hard to push. He was terrified of upsetting his friend to the point where he cut off all ties, and so, he kept his thoughts to himself and only spoke about the banal, everyday aspects of their life, in the hope, one day, the dark-haired officer would open up about his feelings.
Closing the pizza box, Tom tried a different approach. “Judy called today. She says hi. Maybe when you’re feeling up to it, she and the others can—”
“Do you believe in heaven?”
The quietly spoken question effectively derailed Tom’s attempt to keep the conversation light, and caught unaware, he stumbled over his words. “I...uh...I-I dunno. I went to Sunday school until I was fourteen, so, yeah, I s’pose so.”
An aggravated sigh huffed from between Booker’s lips and turning his head, he looked Tom straight in the eye. “I’m not asking you what you were programmed to believe as a child, Hanson. I’m asking what you believe now.”
Confused by Booker’s sudden interest in the afterlife, Tom thought long and hard before answering the question as honestly as he could. “Okay, then yeah, I guess I do. I mean, I don’t think there are pearly white gates or anything like that, but I do believe there is more to this world than just our brief existence living on earth.”
“So, you’re saying our souls live on after we die?”
There was a hint of desperation in Booker’s voice, an intense desire to accept a two-thousand-year-old religious belief as fact, and a prickle of fear ran down the length of Tom’s spine. Something was troubling his lover, and rubbing a nervous hand over his mouth, he attempted to get to the truth. “You’ve never shown an interest in my religious beliefs before. What’s this all about?”
A flicker of pain shimmied in Booker’s dark eyes, but the look was fleeting. Embarrassment quickly replaced his physical suffering, and lowering his head, he stared down at his fingers. Tom followed his gaze, and he was surprised to see the dark-haired officer had almost bitten his nails down to the quick. It was a worrying sign and reaching out a hand, he placed it over his friend’s knee. “You were there for me during the worst time of my life, now it’s time for me to be there for you. Talk to me, Dennis. Tell me what’s bothering you. Are you questioning your own mortality? ‘Cause if you are, that’s okay. You and I both know it’s common for victims of a violent crime to sometimes feel—”
“I saw him.”
The softly spoken statement had Tom’s brow puckering into a frown. “Saw who? Tyrell?”
Booker’s head shook slowly from side to side. “No,” he murmured, his eyes remaining downcast. “Jacob. I saw Jacob.”
Tom stared at the dark-haired officer. It took a moment, but when the meaning behind his friend’s words finally sank in, his eyes widened in shock. “Wh-what do you mean you saw Jacob.”
Shifting awkwardly in his wheelchair, Booker clenched and unclenched his hands. He was starting to regret bringing up the whole out of body experience with Tom. But there was no turning back. And strangely, once he’d released the proverbial cat out of the bag, he had an overwhelming need to get all his thoughts out into the open. So, after inhaling a deep, calming breath, he made the decision to continue to describe his encounter as best he could. “I was in the ICU and all of a sudden, I was looking down on myself lying in a bed. Then, a light appeared above me and…”
Booker bit down on his lower lip, his teeth nervously worrying the plump flesh. When Tom remained silent, he continued his story, albeit somewhat cautiously. “The light was so calming, so inviting I found myself floating toward it.”
“Are you telling me you died?”
The high-pitched shrill of Tom's voice resonated around the room, the audible panic jarring Booker’s nerves. Hearing the words out loud made his encounter that much more real, and a violent chill snaked through his body. Had he died or was it all a figment of his imagination? He had no idea and lifting his head, he shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. Maybe just for a moment. Or maybe it was just a dream.”
Rattled by the revelation, but needing to hear more, Tom sat forward in his seat, his gaze fixed on Booker’s face. “Tell me what happened next.”
Booker lowered his eyes and stared at his clenched fists. “I became one with the light, if that makes sense. And that’s when I saw him.”
“Jacob?”
“Yeah, Jacob. And I know this is going to sound stupid, but he was glowing, like he was part of the light too.”
“And?”
Booker paused. There was an edge to Tom’s voice, a hint of nervousness, and for the briefest of moments, he considered leaving out the more intimate details of his encounter. But despite his earlier reservations, he found himself wanting to share the whole experience, and so, even though he knew it might hurt his lover, he spoke the truth. “And I felt loved.”
The confession drew an audible hiss from Tom, and feeling the need to reassure him, Booker risked making eye contact. Lifting his head, he met his friend’s wide-eyed gaze. Immediately, a pang of regret thudded through his heart and reaching out, he took Tom’s hand in his and lightly squeezed his fingers. “Please don’t get upset. When you hear the whole story, I promise, you’ll understand.”
Tom’s hand remained unresponsive beneath Booker’s touch. “Understand what?” he mumbled, his gaze drifting to the floor. “Understand that you’re still in love with Jacob and you wish you could be with him?”
“No. Understand that while I’ll always miss Jacob, it’s you and me who are destined to be together.”
Shocked by the unexpected statement, Tom’s head snapped up. “We are? How do you know?”
Booker gave Tom’s hand another squeeze. “An angel told me.”
This time, Tom responded to the touch of his lover’s hand by grasping it in his own. “Are you saying, Jacob told you we were destined to be together?”
For the first time in weeks, Booker’s lips relaxed into a genuine smile. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. He said it wasn’t my time and I needed to go back to you because we love each other. And he was right. When I was floating in limbo, I looked down, and I saw you standing next to Judy. Your head was resting on her shoulder, and you were crying. And at that moment, I felt a surge of love so strong, I was pulled back into my body.”
The dark-haired officer paused, and lowering his head, he fought to get his emotions back under control. Several long seconds passed, and when he finally lifted his head, tears were glistening in his eyes. “You saved my life, baby. You brought me back, and if that’s not love, then I don’t know what is.”
Tom stared back at Booker, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes wide. The scene his friend described was exactly how it had played out in the ICU, and although eerie, it was also strangely comforting. Pulling himself together, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against the officer’s enticing pout. “Thank you for coming back to me.”
The warm whisper of Tom’s breath against his flesh sent goosebumps tingling up and down Booker’s arms. Smiling, he cupped his lover’s face in his hand and traced the chiseled contours of his cheekbone with his thumb. “Thank you for bringing me back.”
A sudden thought had Tom’s eyebrows drawing together and sitting back, he rubbed a hand over his chin. “So, I guess if there really is a heaven, it makes sense there must also be a hell, right?”
Hungry for the first time in weeks, Booker picked up a slice of pizza and folding it in half, he crammed it into his mouth. “I dunno,” he mumbled through a mouthful of dough. “I guess. Why?”
Not wanting to dampen his lover's mood, Tom gave a noncommittal shrug. “No reason. I was just thinking out loud.”
But in reality, it did matter because, with all that Booker had told him, the young officer now knew he would never see his brother again.
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Cries of a Shadow