Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

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
- 48
- 49
The rhythmic whoosh of the respirator bounced around the walls of the ICU, the measured release of oxygen creating a frightening musical backdrop to what could well be, Tyrell Carson’s final performance. The constant noise reminded Tom of the panic he’d felt watching Booker fight for his life and wiping a shaky hand over his mouth, he stared down at the lifeless body. A tube ran from the unconscious teen’s mouth. Another drained fluid from his chest. There was a third protruding from a vein in his arm, the IV tree next to the bed dangling several bags of clear liquid. Tyrell was hanging on by a thread, and all because of a split-second decision...Tom’s decision...a decision that in all likelihood, would end in another death.
Choking back tears, the young officer turned and stumbled from the room. He needed to get away from the accusatory mutterings and disapproving stares of the hospital staff, find a quiet place and weigh up his options. Because in his mind, if Tyrell Carson died, then he’d have failed, and that meant his life would no longer be worth living.
**
Half an hour later
Booker took the hospital steps two at a time, his purposeful gait hinting at his agitation. Pushing his way through the revolving glass doors, he strode into the lobby with one thought on his mind...find Tom. Since receiving his lover’s panicked phone call, a tight knot of unease had taken up residence in his stomach. They’d barely exchanged a word before Tom had hung up the phone, and he had no idea whether Tyrell Carson had survived the trip to the hospital. Not that he cared either way. Carson wasn’t worthy of his sympathy. The teen had given up that right the moment he’d raised his gun and pulled the trigger, leaving him with a life-threatening injury. Tom, on the other hand, was foremost on his mind. Judging by his lover’s voice, the shooting had rattled him, and he longed to gather the young officer in his arms and reassure him everything would be okay.
Hurrying over to the elevator, Booker pushed the ‘up’ arrow. The button turned red, signaling the lift’s downward descent. The worried officer’s foot tapped impatiently, the desire to see his lover bordering on neurosis. Tom needed him, and if he were truthful, he needed to see Tom because his gut told him, the young officer was teetering on the precipice of a full-blown meltdown.
When the elevator doors opened, Booker hurried inside and pressed the button for the fourth floor. More foot-tapping ensued, the long wait for the doors to close adding to his agitation. Impatient, he repeatedly stabbed at the fourth-floor button. And while his logical mind told him it wouldn’t make the doors shut any faster, he needed to do something or run the risk of completely losing his cool.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the doors slid closed, and the lift started its slow ascent. Restless energy pulsed through Booker’s body, the high-intensity waves sending his foot into another tapping frenzy. He watched with growing impatience as the digital numbers above the door counted slowly upward. When the elevator stopped on the second floor, he cursed loudly, his frustration mounting. The elderly couple who entered seemed to sense his unrest, and with tense smiles, they retreated to the back of the car without making eye contact. Under normal circumstances, Booker would have reassured them with a friendly grin. But these weren’t normal circumstances. His baby had shot a teenager, and even though he knew in his heart it was self-defense, there would be consequences.
Rather than startle his elderly companions any further, Booker calmly pressed the ‘Close Door’ button. Another agonizing wait passed before the lift jolted back to life. Resisting the urge to watch the numbers count upward toward his final destination, the dark-haired officer closed his eyes and inhaled several deep, calming breaths. If he were to help his lover, he needed to keep a level head. Fortunately, life with Tom had taught him a certain level of restraint, and he was finding it easier to keep his inner turmoil to himself. His hot-headedness was often the cause of his angst, and by taking a leaf out of his lover’s book, he was slowly learning to tame the savage beast.
But there were still times when he struggled to keep his cool, and when the elevator finally jerked to a stop, his eyes flew open, and he all but burst through the doors. His head snapped left and right as he frantically searched for the sign that would direct him toward the ICU. But his high-level of anxiety played tricks on his brain, and each sign merged into the next before he could decipher the words. It was then he realized he needed to take a breath and calm the fuck down. He was wasting valuable time, and his gut told him it was time he could ill afford to lose.
“Booker.”
At the sound of his name, the dark-haired officer spun around, his expression registering his surprise when he came face-to-face with his captain. “C-Coach! Have you seen Tom?”
Somewhat taken aback by the panicked edge to Booker’s voice, Fuller briefly wondered if there was something more to the young officers’ relationship than just friendship. Was there some truth behind the gossip? Were the two men in a sexual relationship, and if so, was it serious? Not that it was any of his business, but fraternization within the workplace could cause problems. Especially when the interested parties worked so closely together. If true, it wasn’t ideal, but as far as he was concerned, it was a problem for another day. He had more pressing issues at hand. Once the newspapers caught wind of the shooting, the media circus would begin, and that meant press conferences and, more than likely, pressure from the public for an internal inquiry.
“Coach, have you seen him?”
With a slight shake of his head, Fuller returned his mind to the conversation. “Uh, no, I haven’t. The ICU nurse said he left a little while ago. But I wouldn’t worry. Tom’s a stickler for protocol. He’s probably gone back to the chapel to type up his report.”
Disappointment clouded Booker’s eyes. “Oh, I was really hoping to speak to him.”
Fuller’s face tightened with concern. As a captain, he’d counseled many injured officers, and he knew all too well the ongoing trauma associated with a gunshot wound. Even the most stoic of officers suffered flashbacks, and sometimes it was those very same officers who needed the most help. It was a testing time for all involved, and sensing an opportunity, he rested a fatherly hand on the dark-haired officer’s shoulder. “How are you doing, Booker? I’m sure the news has brought back some unwanted memories.”
Booker’s hand unconsciously rubbed at his stomach. “I dunno. I guess. Is he alive?”
The flat affect tone in Booker’s voice set off alarm bells in Fuller’s head, and a worried frown wrinkled his brow. “He survived the initial surgery, but it’s touch and go.”
When the dark-haired officer didn’t respond, Fuller’s face softened. “Booker, I understand this must be extremely difficult for you, and I want you to know there’s no shame in asking for help. If you need to speak to a—”
“Can I see him?”
It took Fuller a full five seconds to realize Booker wasn’t referring to his suggestion to speak to a therapist. The lines scoring the older man’s forehead deepened, adding years to his ruggedly handsome face. “I’m assuming you mean Tyrell Carson. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Yeah, I am.”
The steely look of determination in Booker’s eyes told Fuller all he needed to know. His permission meant nothing. The dark-haired officer had only asked the question out of politeness, and it wouldn’t make a scrap of difference if he denied the request. His young charge was on a mission, and once he had his mind made up, nothing could stop him, not even the commissioner himself.
“Okay. But first, let me speak to the nurse in charge.”
With a brief nod, Booker followed his commanding officer. Afraid his agitation could prove cause for alarm, he stood back and let Fuller argue his case. The draconian middle-aged nurse stood with her arms folded over her ample bosom, her puckered mouth highlighting the perioral wrinkling etched deep into her skin. Concern for the safety of her patient was obviously paramount, and ignoring Fuller’s authoritative position, she fired off several questions in rapid succession. Taking the time to choose his words, Fuller summoned every ounce of his cleverly crafted diplomacy and pleaded their case. Seemingly unconvinced, the nurse turned and cast a discerning eye over Booker. Once satisfied he didn’t pose a threat, she gave Fuller a strict list of instructions and shooting the dark-haired officer a parting look, she walked away.
“Geez,” Booker muttered under his breath. “Eat your heart out, Nurse Ratched.”
“Booker.”
The stern, one-word warning from his superior officer had the desired effect. There was nothing funny about the situation they found themselves in, and feeling a little ashamed, Booker lowered his eyes to the floor. Tyrell Carson was fighting for his life in the same room he himself had almost died. If ever there were a sign karma was alive and well and balancing the scales of justice, it was that exact moment in time. Not that Booker took any comfort from the knowledge Carson had received his just deserts. Tom faced severe disciplinary action for his role in the shooting, the consequences of which could affect his dream of becoming a youth counselor. And if that happened, then as far as Booker was concerned, the universe had got it wrong. Even having the chance to see Carson endure the same level of pain that still haunted him in his dreams left him feeling empty inside. Because ultimately, no amount of self-satisfaction was worth the trauma of watching his baby suffer yet another setback. The scales of justice had tipped too far the other way, and whatever the outcome, Tom was, once again, a victim of circumstance.
The pressure of a gentle hand resting on his arm had Booker jerking back to the present moment, and looking up, he met Fuller’s concerned gaze.
“Are you still sure you want to do this?”
Booker’s heart skipped a beat, and in a rare moment of panic, he began to question the wisdom of his decision. Then, without warning, the memory of his heavenly reunion with Jacob flashed into his mind, the recollection further igniting his fear. Was Tyrell Carson experiencing the same out of body encounter with a loved one, and if so, was his guardian angel beckoning him forth with open arms or gently telling him it wasn’t his time? The potency of the imagery was so powerful, a cold sweat crawled over the dark-haired officer’s skin. He had no way of knowing, but for Tom’s sake, he hoped The Reaper had filled his quota for the day. Because if not, there was a very real chance his lover could go to jail, and jail was no place for a sensitive soul like Tom.
The thought sent a shiver of foreboding down Booker’s spine, but as much as he wanted to turn tail and run, his pesky ego prevented him from displaying any sign of weakness in front of his captain. If he were to save face, he knew he needed to rein in his apprehension and tackle his fears head-on. Carson’s welfare meant nothing to him, but Tom’s did, and it was this realization that steadied his nerves. To help his lover, he needed to see Tyrell. If he could assess the teen’s condition first hand, he might find the words needed to help Tom through his crisis. It was a long shot, but in his heart, he knew it was the right decision. He had to do it. Not for him, not for Tyrell, but for Tom. It was all about Tom.
With his mind made up, Booker ran a trembling hand over his top lip. Sweat slicked his fingers and wiping the offensive moisture on his jeans, he gave Fuller a nod. “I’m positive. Lead the way.”
Although not wholly convinced the dark-haired officer had made the right decision, Fuller headed off down the corridor. When he reached the nurses’ station, he turned right and stopped in front of a large double door. “He’s in here.”
Determined to prove his mettle, Booker pushed open the door and strode purposefully inside. But it didn’t take long for his bravado to falter. The distressing sight of Carson’s lifeless body stopped him dead in his tracks, causing Fuller to almost run into the back of him. “Jesus,” he whispered, the color slowly draining from his face. “Oh, Jesus.”
Maneuvering slowly around the cramped room, Fuller picked up a chair and passed it to Booker. “Here,” he muttered through tight lips. “Take a seat. We can only stay a minute.”
Afraid his legs were about to give way, Booker quickly placed the chair next to the bed and sat down. The audible whoosh of the ventilator reignited a memory, and he suppressed a shudder. It was the same sound he’d heard during his out of body experience, and again he wondered if Tyrell were hanging in limbo amidst the physical and celestial planes that were the invisible dividers between life and death.
“Are you okay, son?”
The gentleness of his captain’s tone brought tears to Booker’s eyes, but he quickly swallowed his emotion. Tyrell Carson was not his concern, Tom was, and he needed to know if he would be okay.
After taking a moment to calm his thoughts, Booker managed to speak, albeit in an unsteady voice. “What’s going to happen to Tom?”
“There’ll be an investigation.”
“Will he be charged?”
A loud stream of air whistled through Fuller’s nostrils. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
It seemed unlikely one small, evasive answer could have the power to bring forth a tsunami of pure emotion. But it did. Without warning, the floodgates restraining Booker’s tears burst open, and covering his face in his hands, he wept for the man whose life, through no fault of his own, was now in ruins.
- 48
- 49
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Cries of a Shadow