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To Chase a Feather in the Wind	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 1696 -:- 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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The sound of heavy footsteps on the basement stairs pulled Dennis from a light sleep. Since his brutal assault, Conan had not given him any more drugs and his body trembled from the withdrawal and the hot pain that stabbed inside him. When the door of the cage flew open, he knew he was in trouble and he attempted to drag his filthy, injured body out of harm’s way. But within seconds, a large hand grabbed a handful of his dark hair and yanked his head upwards. His wide, frightened eyes stared up into an angry face and he wondered what he had done that had made Daddy so mad. As he felt his hair ripping from his scalp, tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and he let out a small cry. Grasping hold of Conan’s thick wrist, he began to sob and snot bubbled from his nostril. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry!”
Conan stared down at Booker in disgust. His Adonis was rapidly becoming nothing more than a filthy, sniveling whore and it angered him that it might be his final memory of what had once been a beautiful face. Throwing his captive back down onto the mattress, he forcefully grabbed hold of his chin and squeezed it menacingly. “Word on the street is, some fuckin’ lowlife’s snitched on me,” he growled. “I need to get out of here and I don’t have time to take you with me.” Leaning in close, his eyes glinted with malice. “But rest assured baby doll,” he breathed against Dennis face, “I will find you again and when I do, you and me are gonna be together for a looong time.”
Terror gripped Dennis’ heart but it had nothing to do with Conan’s threatening words. It was the fear of abandonment, of being alone without the comfort of a gentle caress or the mind-altering drugs that helped to numb his physical and mental pain. His eyes grew wide with panic and reaching out, he grasped frantically at Conan’s shirt. “Don’t leave me,” he begged. “Please, please don’t leave me!”
A cruel smile played over Conan’s lips and for a moment, he considered picking Dennis up and carrying him out of the house. But he knew he did not have time, his informant had always been reliable and he took him at his word; the cops were on their way and he needed to skip town and he needed to do it quickly.
Ignoring Dennis’ grimy face, he pulled him into his arms and kissed him forcefully. It was a brutal kiss, hard and possessive, without any show of affection. His tongue raped Dennis’ mouth, cruelly taking what should have been given willingly and when he was done, he threw him back down against the mattress like a discarded piece of trash. Standing up, he wiped the back of his hand against his lips. “Au revoir baby doll,” he smirked. “I’ll be seeing you again real soon.”
Turning away, he hurried from the cage and in his haste, he did not even bother locking the door. Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs and when the basement door slammed shurt, Dennis once again found himself alone.
**
Mike Ferris could feel his ship sinking and he decided to save himself and to hell with his crew. Ignoring Tom’s penetrating stare, he turned to face his lawyer. “If I cooperate, I’ll get a reduced sentence, right?”
Looking into the rodent face of a man who exploited minors made Maxine Howard’s skin crawl but she kept her expression neutral. “I can’t promise you anything Mr. Ferris,” she replied in a business-like tone, “but any information you voluntarily offer that helps us find Officer Booker will certainly be looked upon favorably by the court.”
Ferris knew he had nowhere left to run and sighing heavily, he nodded his head. “Okay, here’s what I know. Conan’s name is Maurice Keppler. He’s been in the industry for about ten years but he also goes by other aliases.”
Tom stepped forward and laying his hands flat on the table, he peered into Ferris’ narrow eyes. “So is Keppler his real name or an alias?” he asked in a strained voice.
An amused smile twitched at Ferris’ lips. “Hey, do I look like I work at the Census Bureau?” he taunted in a low voice. “Keppler’s the name I know him by so why don’t you go and do your job and run his name through your database, ‘cause I haven’t got anything else to say except tick tock Officer Hanson, you’re wasting time.”
With lightning speed, Tom reached out and grabbing Ferris by the front of his shirt, he hauled him over the table. “You perverted piece of shit!” he yelled into the startled man's face. “You’d better hope he’s okay or I’ll—”
Penhall quickly intervened before Tom said anything that could be construed as a threat. “Hanson,” he warned in a low voice.
Tom glared into Ferris’ grinning face before shoving him back into his chair. Turning towards Penhall, he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Let’s go,” he muttered. “I don’t want to look at this fucking scumbag another minute.”
Penhall nodded and casting one last glance at Ferris, he followed Tom out the door.
**
Keppler’s house presented nicely from the outside. The manicured lawns were bordered by red and white rose bushes that were neatly pruned and in full bloom. The front of the single storey house consisted of four small, latticed windows, two on either side of the double front door. It was a pleasant, unassuming home that fitted in with the middle class neighborhood.
Penhall pulled up to the curb and before Tom could jump from the car, he reached out and grabbed his arm. “We do this by the book,” he instructed in a calm voice. “Okay?”
Tom’s heart was racing in his chest and he longed to break down the white painted door so he could rescue the man who was now dominating his thoughts night and day. But he knew Penhall was right. He was a police officer and he needed to respect the protocol.
A wan smile played over his lips. “Okay,” he murmured and turning away, he climbed out of the vehicle. A squad car pulled up behind them and two uniformed officers jumped out. When Doug was standing beside him, he turned and addressed them. “Penhall and I will go in first, you two stay outside and cover the front. We’ve got backup at the rear of the property so he can’t escape. Judge Ellis has issued a warrant so there will be no pleasantries; we’re breaking down the door and going in. The paramedics are on their way, tell them to wait outside until we call them. Any questions?”
The two young officers shook their heads and unholstering his gun, Tom turned his attention back to his partner. “Ready?”
With his Glock already in his hand, Doug nodded and followed Tom up the gravel driveway. When they reached the wide front door, Tom reached out and tried the doorknob. He was surprised when it turned easily in his hand and his pulse quickened. Pushing open the door, he stepped slowly inside, with Doug close behind him.
Within less than a minute, they had checked the ground floor and it was obvious to both officers that Conan had left the house in a hurry. Drawers and cupboards stood open and items of clothing were strewn around the bedroom. The bathroom was devoid of any toiletries and a strong box lay open on the bed, its contents liberated in such a hurry that several hundred dollar bills still remained inside.
Returning to the kitchen, Tom nodded towards the basement door. It was the only room left in the house and he hoped and prayed that Booker was down there and that he had not been whisked away by his kidnapper to some unknown destination.
Opening the door, he slowly descended the wooden staircase. Sunlight filtered into the room from a small rectangular window that sat high up on the wall. When he was half way down the steps, he stopped and drew in a sharp intake of breath. Below him, he could see a cage and lying on a mattress was Booker, naked as the day he was born.
He could hear Penhall’s footsteps and he immediately held his hand out behind him, signaling for him to stop. “Don’t come any further,” he hissed.
Doug stopped moving. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice tinged with alarm. “Is it Booker?”
Tom stood motionless, his gaze remaining fixed on the lifeless body lying in the cage and he struggled to keep his hands from shaking. From his vantage point on the stairs, he had no idea if Booker was dead or alive but he wanted to give him his dignity and not have dozens of prying eyes staring at his naked body.
Adrenalin began to pump through his veins and his frozen mind suddenly jumped into action. Descending the last few steps two at a time, he yelled out to Doug over his shoulder. “We’ve found him! Get the paramedics but no one comes down here until I say so!”
“Hanson—” Doug began but he was quickly shouted down by Tom.
“Just do it!”
Turning around, Doug raced back up the stairs and disappeared from view. When Tom reached the floor of the basement, he holstered his gun before slowly walking over to the open door of the cage. Blood pounded in his ears and he struggled to breathe. He was terrified that when he reached Booker, he would turn him over and see sightless eyes staring up at him. If Booker were indeed dead, he would have to live with the pain for the rest of his life and the haunting knowledge that he had been too late to save him.
Holding his breath, he moved inside the cage and slowly approached the prone figure. Time stood still as he crept forward, terrified of what he would find. But when he saw Booker’s foot twitch, his breath exhaled in a rush and hurrying forward, he dropped to his knees. “Dennis,” he choked and tears of relief filled his eyes. “It’s Tom. You’re okay, everything’s going to be okay.” Reaching out, he laid a comforting hand on Booker’s naked shoulder, desperate to hear his voice, desperate for him to say that he was all right.
Dennis rolled over and stared up at Tom, his beautiful dark eyes full of pain and confusion. Tom gasped when he saw the dried blood and semen that still coated his stomach and matted his dark pubic hair. Biting down hard on his lower lip to stop himself from crying out, he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the young officer’s waist, concealing his nakedness and the bloody mess that covered his body. “It’s okay, you’re safe, it’s okay,” he muttered over and over as he stroked Booker’s tangled hair, all the while wondering if it would ever be okay again.
When Dennis' cold fingers clutched his hand, he gave them a reassuring squeeze and lifting his head, he yelled out to Penhall. “DOUG! Get the paramedics down here… NOW!”
A scurry of footsteps sounded from upstairs and moments later, two men entered the cage, followed by a wide-eyed Doug. Tom tried to step back but Booker kept a firm grasp on his fingers and so he remained next to him whilst the EMTs did their job.
Doug started to speak but his voice trailed off after muttering one solitary word. “Jesus...”
Tom gazed up at his partner with teary eyes. “He’ll be okay,” he whispered, unsure whether he uttered the words to comfort Doug, Booker or himself. “He’s strong, he’ll be okay.”
The taller of the two paramedics turned and addressed him. “We’re ready to go, we’ll have to carry him up the steps to the stretcher and then we’ll take him to Saint Mary’s.”
Doug quickly exited the cage and silently watched as Booker was carried from his prison. When they reached the staircase, Tom gently extricated his fingers from Booker’s grasp and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You’re in safe hands now Dennis. I’ll see you at the hospital, okay?”
A single tear leaked from Dennis’ eye but he remained silent. Stepping back so that they had room to climb the stairs, Tom wiped a hand over his own watery eyes. Moments later, he felt a comforting arm around his shoulders and turning around, he gazed into Doug’s sad eyes. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?” he asked in a quiet voice.
Doug gave Tom the answer he needed to hear. “Of course he will. Now go to the hospital and make sure he gets the best care. I’ll phone Fuller and give him an update.”
Tom hurried up the stairs and when he arrived outside, Booker was already in the ambulance. He stood and watched the vehicle as it drove off down the street, its red lights flashing in the dimness of the impending nightfall. Turning to one of the young uniformed officers, he struggled to keep the emotion out of his voice. “Take me to Saint Mary’s,” he muttered and climbing into the patrol car, he attempted to push the nightmare of what he had just witnessed from his mind
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- 6
- 7
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To Chase a Feather in the Wind