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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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My apologies for taking so long to update. I was dealing with the unexpected passing of my father.
In peace,
OpenPage x

Two weeks later
Tom descended the chapel’s metal staircase two steps at a time. There was a carefree skip in his gait, his jubilant mood evident by the sparkle radiating from his dark eyes. Despite his nerves, his meeting with the mayor had gone better than expected. In less than two weeks, his position would become official, and he would begin his new job as a mentor to young offenders. It wouldn’t be easy, but he wasn’t afraid of hard work. With his morale at an all-time high, he was confident he would find a way to balance the emotional stress of the job with the grueling nighttime study required for the position. It was a new start, and after everything he’d endured, one he was eager to begin.
Crossing the dimly lit parking lot, the young officer headed toward his Mustang. A light gust of wind ruffled his hair, the refreshing night breeze a welcome relief after the intense meeting. Deep in thought, he failed to notice a dark figure looming in the shadows.
“Hey, asswipe. How’s your buddy?”
Icy fear traveled the length of Tom’s spine. Stopping midstep, he slowly turned and spoke into the darkness. “Tyrell?”
A figure stepped out of the gloom, a pistol hanging from one hand. “Got it in one, Einstein.”
Terror gripped Tom’s heart, the squeezing pressure choking the breath from his lungs. Fuller and the mayor had left only minutes before, leaving him without backup in an isolated parking lot with a would-be cop killer. In the blink of an eye, his dream day had turned into a terrifying nightmare. All he could hope was that his wits and training hadn’t deserted him during his long convalescence away from the job.
Swallowing down his fear, the young officer took stock of the situation by carefully studying Tyrell’s haggard face. Life on the streets had hardened him into an almost unrecognizable, soulless caricature of his former self. Gone were the youthful good looks, the teen’s once flawless skin now ravaged with unsightly sores. It didn’t take a genius to recognize the signs. Unwashed, unkempt, with his hair hanging in greasy strands around his gaunt face, Tyrell had become the poster child for addiction. In less than three months, it appeared he’d developed a habit that rivaled any 70s rock star. Death, it seemed, was a mere prick of a needle away.
Upon closer scrutiny, Tom noticed the teen’s small pinpoint pupils. Baked like a cake on the 4th of July, Tyrell’s drug-addled mind only added to the unpredictability of the situation. He was a ticking time bomb, and the young officer immediately recognized the need to exercise extreme caution. If not, he ran the very real risk of exacerbating the dangerous position he had unwittingly found himself in, and that could mean another unnecessary shooting.
“Whatcha looking at, dickwad?”
Quickly gathering his wits, Tom relaxed his muscles into a non-threatening pose, while managing to keep a weather eye on the Glock 17 9mm pistol hanging from the teen’s fingers. “Hey, man,” he cajoled in a soft voice. “It isn’t too late to hand yourself in. I can help you, all you have to do is drop the gun, and it’ll all be over. Don’t you want it to be over? Surely anything’s better than a life on the run.”
“Is he dead?”
Anger chilled Tom’s response. “Do you care?”
A flicker of emotion briefly sparkled in the teen’s deadpan eyes before his demeanor settled back to one of cold indifference. “Not really.”
“Then why ask the question?”
“‘Cause I figured if he was, you might want to join him.”
Tom’s muscles instinctively tensed. “Whoa…Tyrell, you don’t want to—”
“DON’T TELL ME WHAT I CAN AND CAN’T DO!” Tyrell yelled, the gun in his hand waving menacingly at Tom. “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU! I’LL KILL YOU ALL!”
In fear of his safety, Tom made a split decision. Launching himself sideways, he hit the gravel parking lot with a grunt. A loud crack split through the still night air, the bullet narrowly missing its intended target. Scrambling behind a dumpster, Tom reached inside his waistband and pulled out his Smith and Wesson. Before he had time to reassess the situation, a second shot ricocheted off the metal bin, the deafening sound far too close for comfort.
With his senses now in survival mode, the young officer crouched down low, the adrenaline coursing through his body, drilling his heart into his chest. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to tune out the peripheral sound of the early evening traffic. He knew by ignoring any background noise, he had a better chance of detecting an ambush. It was police training 101. Know your surroundings. By maintaining a sense of situational awareness, he not only improved his decision-making skills under pressure, he also gained a better understanding of the circumstances he found himself in.
Or so he hoped.
The crunch of gravel underfoot had the young officer on high alert. Although protected by the dumpster, he had the distinct disadvantage of not being able to see his stalker approach, leaving him susceptible to a surprise attack. He had mere seconds to make a decision. What game strategy should he use? Defensive or offensive? It was a fifty-fifty split, but eventually, his heart ruled his head. Governed by the urge to always try the passive option first, he used his voice as his weapon. “Tyrell, I know you’re scared and feeling betrayed because we set you up. I get it. I really do. And I know you didn’t want to hurt Officer Booker. The drugs have taken over your life, and you’re making bad choices. But you can end all your pain right now. If you surrender, I can get you into a treatment program, and I promise you, once you’re clean, you’ll see things a lot clearer. It’s not too late, you’re still young, you have your whole life ahead of you. You’re bright and resourceful. Why throw away what could still be a promising future, when there’s a stranger who cares enough to offer you the help you need?”
“Will I have to go to prison?”
Tom’s heart dipped. The ‘little boy lost’ tone reflected in the softly spoken question validated everything he and Mayor Wilkins had discussed a mere thirty minutes before. At barely eighteen years of age, Tyrell Carson was neither a man or a child. He was at that vulnerable age where, legally, he was accountable for his actions, but emotionally, he was still incredibly immature. He, like many others his age, already had an extensive criminal background. But with the Young Offenders Initiative officially approved, those lucky enough to qualify, had a rare opportunity to turn their lives around before it was too late. And in a strange twist of fate, it seemed the universe had delivered Booker’s shooter to Tom as his first test case. Could he make a difference with words alone? Without any experience, the young officer had no idea, but he was more than willing to give it a shot. Tyrell Carson may not have been the mayor’s first choice of candidate, but for Tom, Tyche, the Greek goddess of providence, had spoken. It was time to put into practice what he hoped to preach. But first, he needed to gain the teen’s trust, and that meant a no-bullshit approach. If he were to make any inroads with Tyrell, he needed to speak candidly. No sugar coating of words allowed.
Carefully inching closer to the edge of the dumpster, Tom gave the young offender an honest answer. “That’s up to the courts. But a stint in prison doesn’t have to be a life sentence. You can still graduate high school, and with hard work, you can even take some college courses. Then, when you get out, you’ll have a real chance of turning your life around.”
“And you’ll help me?”
The shaking timbre of Tyrell’s ‘little boy lost’ voice drifted across the parking lot, the pathetic tone once again penetrating Tom’s heart. Believing he was making real progress, the young officer ignored the tiny warning voice inside his head and cautiously lowered his weapon. “I promise I’ll do everything I can. But first, I’m going to stand up so we can talk face-to-face, okay?”
Silence. Then, out of the gloom, the sound of Tyrell’s voice. “You won’t shoot me, right?”
Tom drew a sharp breath of air into his nose before slowly releasing it. The memory of his lover lying in a hospital bed flashed into his head, immediately casting genuine doubts in his mind. Tyrell had no qualms shooting Booker, yet he was worried he might suffer the same fate. The dramatic turn of events inserted a certain amount of irony into the situation, which would have been funny if the circumstances weren’t so perilous. And they were perilous. Any wrong move could see another gunshot victim fighting for their life, and Tom wanted to avoid adding to the casualty count. He’d witnessed too much death and heartache over the last few months, he couldn’t bear the thought of dealing with anymore. But he had to trust his instincts. Otherwise, there was no point in pursuing his dream of becoming a counselor.
Cautiously moving around the dumpster, Tom attempted to keep Tyrell calm by speaking in a low, reassuring voice. “Hey, man, I told you, I just want to talk. There’s been enough violence already. But first, I need you to drop your weapon. Will you do that?”
“What do you think, asshole?”
Tom froze. Tyrell had spat out his words as though they were a bad taste on his tongue, and it was then that the young officer realized how easily the teen had conned him. Carson wasn’t a scared schoolboy seeking redemption for past mistakes. He was a dangerous criminal, hell-bent on wreaking havoc.
When the sound of hurried footsteps reached Tom’s ears, he knew he was in trouble. Fast running out of options, a pang of regret skipped through his heart. Life had dealt him yet another unwinnable hand, and steeling himself for the inevitable carnage, he stepped out from behind the dumpster, raised his gun and fired.
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Cries of a Shadow