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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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Three days later
The drone of unfamiliar voices pierced through the misty half-tones of Booker’s dream, the indecipherable words slowly pulling him toward consciousness. A disgruntled groan rumbled deep in his chest and rolling onto his side, he opened his eyes and peered at his clock radio.
Three 1s met his gaze, the blinking colon separating the hour from the minutes rhythmically counting down the passing seconds. The significance of the numbers was not lost on him, and a shiver rippled over his naked flesh. An ex-girlfriend obsessed with numerology had once told him the random appearance of the number 111 was a wakeup call from the universe and to pay attention to what was happening around you. Of course, as a practical free-thinker, he didn’t believe in such foolishness, but that didn’t mean his body didn’t react when faced with what his ex called the angel number. Some things remained in the subconscious mind, even after the brain had dismissed them as nothing more than pseudo-scientific nonsense. And the angel number was one such phenomenon. For some strange reason, whenever it appeared, a little voice inside Booker’s head told him to sit up and take notice. Such was the power of his inherent spiritual connection to the universe...such was the small part of his being that wanted to believe.
Expelling a sigh, Booker flopped back against his pillow and stared at the strip of light flickering beneath the bedroom door. Since their somewhat awkward conversation three days before, Tom had not broached the subject of his blackouts again. But despite his silence, it was obvious it still weighed heavily on his mind. It was the third night in a row the sound of the television had woken him in the early hours of the morning, a sure sign his friend was having trouble sleeping. And the dark-haired officer knew he was partly to blame. By ignoring the elephant in the room, he had compounded Tom’s feelings of inadequacy. Not that he’d meant to. When he’d taken to his bed the afternoon of their conversation, he’d had every intention of helping his friend overcome his affliction. The problem was, the longer he left it, the more difficult it became to re-establish their dialogue, to the point where it seemed less painful to just let sleeping dogs lie. He knew it was the coward’s way out. How was it not? He spent all day, every day with Tom, giving them ample opportunity to test out the psychologist’s suggestion. The problem was, he wasn’t sure he had the emotional strength to deal with the fallout if it all turned to shit, and so he’d stayed quiet, all the while silently willing Tom to fix the problem himself.
However, all that was before he’d woken up for the third night in a row and found the angel number staring back at him. It was disconcerting at best, downright terrifying at worst, but whichever way he looked at it, he could no longer ignore the signs. The universe had spoken, and the time had come to get up off the bench and actively participate in the game.
With Tom’s face firmly planted in his mind, Booker closed his eyes and took a moment to reflect on their turbulent relationship. Since their first meeting, they’d faced countless personal traumas, and although challenging, they’d ridden the storm and managed to come out the other side battered but in one piece. It was a testament to their resilience and part of the reason he had decided to take another chance on love. His admiration for the shy young officer had grown exponentially with each passing day, to the point where he could honestly say he couldn’t imagine his life without him. Therefore, in his mind, it was a relationship worth fighting for, he just needed to put the horror of his shooting behind him and focus on finding a way to get past the hurdle of Tom’s blackouts.
Opening his eyes, Booker swung his legs over the side of the bed and eased himself into a sitting position. As he turned his attention back to the strip of light under the door, his fingers found the hypertrophic scar stretching the length of his abdomen. Caught within the hypnotic spell of the flickering light, he unwittingly traced a finger over the raised contour of the damaged flesh. It was a ritual he repeated several times a day, and without realizing it, his mind had unconsciously committed each jagged-edged bump to memory. The injury was so extensive, the puckered tissue had become an integral part of him, the scar unlikely to fade over time. And while vanity didn’t play a role in his disappointment, his wounded pride did. He’d let his guard down, and in doing so, he’d paid a hefty price. Not the ultimate price, of course. He was realistic enough to know he could have, and probably should have, died that day, his lifeblood draining from his crumpled body until all that was left was an empty shell. But fate had intervened. Or maybe Jacob really had played a hand in his survival. Either way, the universe had seen fit to grant him a second chance, and that meant, he needed to carpe diem the hell out of his remaining days on earth.
Simply put, he needed to live every day as if it were his last.
Unconsciously bracing a hand against his stomach, Booker stood up. Cool tendrils of air swirled around his exposed genitals, reminding him of his state of undress. Without bothering to switch on a light, he fumbled around in the dark until he found his boxers, and carefully stooping forward, he put them on. As he stood up, a muffled jocular whooping reached his ears, the fake canned laughter out of place in the sedate darkness of the room. It appeared Tom was attempting to take his mind off his troubles by watching a sitcom, and a faint memory filtered into Booker’s mind. He’d heard the same artificial laughter emanating from behind the closed door of the Hansons’ apartment the first time he’d visited Tom, and at the time, it had helped give the illusion of a typical American household. But in reality, nothing could have been further from the truth. Knowing what he did now, it was all smoke and mirrors. Behind the door of apartment 222 lurked an unspeakable evil, and he wished he’d had the foresight to recognize its power before it had the chance to manifest into the malevolent entity that ultimately stole the remaining thread of Tom’s dignity.
A stab of regret pierced Booker’s heart. No matter how many times Tom reassured him it wasn’t his fault, he knew he’d always hold himself accountable for his friend’s suffering. Not entirely, of course. After all, he’d only known Tom a little over three months. But he did feel guilty for not picking up on the signs of his friend’s abuse, and it was something he’d have to live with for the rest of his life. Such was his penance.
When a rush of unwanted memories flooded his mind, Booker pushed the image of Tom’s battered and bleeding body from his thoughts and tiptoed over to the door. He cracked it open just enough so he could peer out into the dimly lit living room, and what he saw caused his heart to skip a beat.
Tom lay on the couch, his knees drawn up to his chest, his hands tucked beneath his cheek in the prayer position. His beautiful face exhibited no emotion, the only sign of life the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the blue blanket covering his body. Even his eyes remained unresponsive, his lower lids pinched up ever so slightly, his catatonic gaze barely registering the flickering display of pictures playing out on the small television screen. He looked as though he were focusing on a thought, coming to grips with some realization, and Booker’s pulse quickened. Tom had achieved so much in his quest toward personal growth, the last thing he wanted was for his friend’s problems to overwhelm him to the point where he regressed back into a shy, reclusive individual who shut himself off from everything and everyone around him. The very idea sent the dark-haired officer’s heart hammering into an even faster rhythm, and it was then he knew what he needed to do. If Tom wasn’t capable of taking charge of his own destiny, then it was up to him to gently coax him out of his shell and nudge him in the right direction.
Without giving himself a chance to over-analyze the situation, Booker opened the door and made his presence known in a light, airy voice. “Can’t sleep?”
Tom’s head jerked up, the sound of Booker’s voice pulling him from whatever deep thought had captivated his imagination. “S-Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” Booker lied and walking over to the couch, he motioned toward the seat occupying the lower half of Tom’s body. “Mind if I join you?”
The last thing Tom wanted was Booker grilling him about his feelings. Since his rape, the dark-haired officer had the uncanny ability to read his thoughts, and no matter how hard he tried to mask his introspections, his friend almost always figured it out. Such was the power of Booker’s evolving intuition, and there was no doubt in Tom’s mind this time would be no different. But as much as he wished his friend would leave him alone and allow him to continue his sole-searching in solitude, he couldn’t deny the man he loved. And maybe it would work out for the best after all because, despite his own inability to accurately read human emotions, he was astute enough to know the dark-haired officer was also suffering. The shooting had changed him, but that wasn’t the only reason his confidence had taken a hit. Now his defenses were down, as each day passed, it was becoming more and more apparent to Tom that he still carried a tremendous amount of guilt when it came to his rape and Will’s subsequent suicide. And while he wasn’t sure a heart-to-heart talk at one in the morning was the answer, he was willing to do anything to help his lover through his cleverly disguised pain. If his newly discovered life experiences had taught him anything, it was that a problem shared was, quite often, a problem halved.
Pushing himself into a sitting position, Tom draped the blanket around his shoulders and offered his friend a small smile. “Sure. I could use the company.”
Booker seriously doubted the truth behind the statement, but he appreciated Tom’s willingness to at least try and interact when it was obvious he craved some alone time. It was a positive step, and taking a seat, he kept the conversation neutral. “So, what are we watching?”
For the umpteenth time in their relationship, Booker had given Tom a way out from having to deal with a potentially awkward situation. And while the Hanson of old would have jumped at the opportunity in a heartbeat, the new and approved Hanson, although appreciative, was willing to at least try and confront his inner demons.
After taking several deep, shaky breaths to steady his nerves, the young officer placed a hand on his friend’s knee. “I know you didn’t get out of bed to watch TV, Dennis. So, why don’t we cut through the bullshit and really talk? Okay?”
A look of surprise passed over Booker’s face. If he were completely honest with himself, he hadn’t really expected Tom to capitulate so easily. But while his friend’s readiness to open up had caught him off guard, he wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity to find a solution to his problem.
Little did he know what a life-changing moment it would be.
Settling back against the cushions, Booker placed his hand over Tom’s and gave a gentle squeeze. “Okay. Sure. How ‘bout you start? Have you given any more thought to what your psychologist suggested about how to overcome your blackouts?”
The memory of their humiliating conversation three days before had Tom blushing with embarrassment. At the time, he had fully intended to ask Booker for his help by suggesting he showed him how to masturbate. But after his shameful admission, his courage had failed him. What sort of man asked another man to demonstrate what was essentially a private and very personal journey of sexual gratification through self-stimulation? Again, the words, certainly not a normal one popped into Tom’s head, and he cringed inwardly. There really was no escaping it. He was, and always would be, the freakiest freak of Freaksville.
But just as Tom was about to shut down the conversation, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Booker’s face, and his heart fell out of rhythm. The look of love shining from his friend’s dark eyes was all the confirmation he needed. Whether he liked it or not, it was time.
Taking Booker’s hand in both of his, Tom struggled to keep his emotions in check. “Yeah, I have, and I want to know what it’s like to be with you...you know, in a sexual way. But like I explained before, the only way that’s going to happen is if I can learn to take back control of my life by not allowing the abuse of my past to dictate how my mind reacts when you touch me.”
Booker chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. He found it interesting Tom had deliberately avoided mentioning masturbation as a way of combating his affliction. But rather than push the point, he decided to wait and see in what direction the conversation headed. He could feel Tom's expectant gaze boring into him, and relaxing his facial muscles, he gave an encouraging smile. “You mean by using tactile stimulation as a kind of exposure therapy, right?”
Tom exhaled a relieved sigh. “Exactly.”
“And the problem is?”
The question was unexpected, and Tom’s brow puckered into a frown. “Wh-what do you mean?”
With their dialogue reopened, Booker had no intention of continuing to beat around the bush. If Tom wanted to move their relationship forward, he needed to take any steps necessary to heal his damaged mind. Even if it meant embarrassing himself in the process.
Reaching out, Booker gently brushed a stray strand of hair from Tom’s face. “What I mean is, nothing about this makes me uncomfortable, Tom, and you shouldn’t feel any shame either. Believe it or not, all couples have to find their rhythm, even those who seem perfectly matched. When it comes to a sexual relationship, what works for one doesn’t always work for the other. It’s all about experimentation, and our situation is no different. Who knows how long it will take before you feel relaxed? It may happen immediately, or it could take months. But trust me when I say, it will happen. We just need to be patient. And just so you know, I’ll do anything I can to help you because I love you, and I want to be with you forever. So, I guess what I’m asking is, are you willing to stumble a few times before we find what works? ‘Cause I am. I don’t care how long it takes, I just want you in my life.”
The cadenced pitter-patter of Tom's heart galloped to a thudding crescendo before settling back to a steady tempo. Once again, Booker had managed to allay all his fears and all his anxiety in one heartfelt speech. And once again, everything he said was right. Maybe it would take time for his damaged mind to stop mistaking his lover’s intimate touch as a precursor to abuse, but did it matter? If Booker didn’t care, why should he? It was then Tom truly knew what it felt like to be loved, and when he finally found his voice, he needed only one word to express his feelings. “Y-Yes.”
It was the green light Booker had nervously waited for, and tilting his head to one side, he dared to ask the question foremost in both their minds. “So, does that mean you wanna fool around? See where it takes us?”
Tom’s heart started to race. More than anything, he wanted to lie beneath his lover and feel the warmth of his touch against his bare skin. But when he caught sight of the scar sitting just above the waistband of Booker’s boxers, his heart sank. “Are you up to it?” he asked, not daring to touch the raised flesh in case he caused his friend pain. “You’ve only been home for a few days, and I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.”
Booker’s mouth stretched into a slow, mischievous grin, and lifting Tom’s hand, he placed it against his stomach. “Baby, I’m always up for anything when it comes to you.”
Flustered, Tom gulped, the heat of Booker’s flesh awakening the snaking serpent of arousal inside him. But he quickly managed to hide his embarrassment, and lightly tracing a finger over the raised flesh of Booker’s scar, he offered his friend what he hoped was a seductive smile. “Okay. If you’re up for it, then so am I.”
And with that simple attestation, Tom had no idea he was about to experience one of the most magical nights of his life.
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Cries of a Shadow