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Chasing a Butterfly	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2592 -:- 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
- 51
- 52
Friday November 6th, 1992 (10.18 a.m.)
Tom unbuckled his seat belt and opened the car door. A blast of cold air blew into the warm Mustang, bringing goose bumps to his flesh, in spite of the heavy coat he was wearing. He glanced up at the clear blue sky, and a soft, wistful sigh escaped his lips. It was the perfect day to visit an old friend.
A gentle hand squeezed his thigh and turning his head, he smiled at his lover. “I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to do this.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Booker asked quietly, his dark eyes shining with concern.
With a shake of his head, Tom exhaled a heavy breath. “Thanks, but I need to face him on my own. There are things I need to say, things that are kinda private, you know?”
Booker smiled and nodded his head. “Yeah, of course. Take your time and I’ll be here when you get back.”
Tom’s expression softened and leaning across the car, he brushed his lips against the soft flesh of Booker’s pout and kissed him tenderly. “I know you will.”
They kissed for several long moments, their love for each other evident in the tender caresses they bestowed upon each other and as the intensity of their passion deepened, Tom drew the strength he needed from his lover’s affections. But the time had come for him to face his demons and gently disengaging from Booker’s tender hold, he sat back in his seat. Their brief coupling had flushed his face a flattering shade of pink, the soft hue highlighting his cheekbones, and the enchanting sight caused a loving smile to form on Booker’s lips. In return, Tom attempted to project a calmness he did not feel, but he knew he was failing dismally and flashing a tentative smile, he sighed softly. “Wish me luck.”
At that moment, Tom had never looked more beautiful, and Booker could not resist stealing one last kiss. “Good luck,” he murmured against his lover’s soft lips. More than anything, he wanted to shield Tom from the pain he was about to face, but to do so would only hinder his lover’s healing. He was astute enough to know he needed to step back and allow Tom to find the peace he was searching for, and he was secure enough to give him the space to do it alone.
It was time to let go.
Tom briefly returned Booker’s kiss, but his mind was now on the task at hand and gently pulling away, he climbed from the car and closed the door behind him. He stood for several moments, his nervous disposition pumping adrenalin throughout his body, the hormone accentuating the tremor in his hand and drawing in a lungful of the cool, fall air, he attempted to control his anxiety. Gradually, his tension lessened and making his way across the beautifully manicured lawns, he stopped in front of a simple granite headstone. Dropping to his knees, he carefully placed a bunch of flowers at the bottom of the monument and silently read the dedication.
In Loving Memory Of

Douglas John Penhall

Los Angeles Police Officer

Born November 6th, 1964

Died March 7th, 1989

Aged 24 years

Killed in the Line of Duty
“Too loved in life to be forgotten in death.”
As he traced a finger over the inscription, tears blinded his eyes, and he choked back a sob. “Hey, Doug,” he whispered, his voice hitching with emotion. “It’s me. Happy birthday. Sorry it’s taken me so long to come and visit, I was in a dark place and… well, I guess you know that ‘cause I’m pretty sure you’re keeping an eye on me, just like you always did.”
A single tear trickled from the corner of his eye and wound its way down his smooth cheek. “God, I miss you so much,” he sobbed, “and I’m so, so sorry for what I did.”
Closing his eyes, he allowed the memories he had banished for so long to dance freely in his mind. Doug dressed as a McQuaid, his hair unbrushed and sticking up in peaks around his head. Doug sitting on his motorbike, his voice full of pain as he admitted that he had attempted suicide at the age of eight. Doug showing off his dance moves, his large frame surprisingly rhythmic as he moved across the floor, his lopsided grin adding to the appeal of his infectious nature. On and on the memories flowed and tears streamed unchecked down Tom’s pale face. It was the first time since initially hearing of Doug’s death that he had allowed himself the emotional luxury to mourn his friend’s death, and his tears soon turned into loud, racking sobs. But the pain that filled his heart had a cathartic effect, and he knew he was eventually coming to terms with the finality of Doug’s death and the role he had played in his passing. It was a pivotal moment in his recovery and a sense of calm mingled with his heartache. He was finally moving forward.
The fall breeze picked up, sending dry, auburn-hued leaves scattering across the ground, the soft rustling competing with the melodic song of the Yellow-rumped Warblers that inhabited the copse of trees bordering the cemetery. As the dulcet whistling of the migrant birds became louder, Tom opened his eyes and turned his gaze towards the small wooded area and immediately, his breath caught in his throat. Standing amongst the deciduous woodlands were three shadowy figures, two males flanking a single female, their ethereal forms shimmering in the bright sunlight. They stood united in death, the three people who had affected his life in such a powerful and dramatic way, and he knew they would be bound together forever. They were now as much a part of each other as they were a part of him.
As he stared through his tears, all three figures lifted their hands in a final goodbye before turning away, their ghostly outlines fading into the greenery of the trees until they were no more.
It was a profound and moving moment, and as his tears flowed, Tom knew that Amy, Doug and Mosco were finally at peace.
He continued to stare at the trees for several long minutes, the graceful waving of the leafless limbs lulling him into a sense of blissful calm. Eventually, he took a deep breath and smiling through his tears, he wiped a shaky hand across his eyes. “I love you, Doug,” he declared softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “Always have, always will and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
At that moment, a lone Monarch butterfly landed on Doug’s headstone, its delicate orange and black wings fluttering regally in the breeze. Captivated by its fragility, Tom stared at the intricacy of the design and silently marveled at its beauty. It was an enchanting moment that lasted only a few seconds, and when the majestic insect took flight and disappeared into the distance, he knew it was a sign. Doug had forgiven him, and he was free to spread his wings and fly.
He was no longer chasing a butterfly, he was the butterfly, and he was finally free.
Finis
- 51
- 52
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Chasing a Butterfly