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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
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Tuesday March 14^th 1989 (8.06 a.m.)
The day after sleeping in Tom’s bed, Booker had unofficially moved into the apartment and he felt happier knowing he could keep an eye on him and make sure he did not slip back into bad habits. It had been an unspoken agreement between them, he had shown up after work with a bag in his hand and Tom had not questioned it.
After surviving the first night sharing a bed with the man who featured in all his sexual fantasies, Booker had slowly begun to relax around Tom. They had been sleeping side by side for less than a week but in that time, he had grown used to Tom throwing his limbs over him in the middle of the night and he now took an innocent pleasure from it. The only difficult times were when one or both of them woke up with an early morning erection. Tom seemed unfazed by it and he would give Booker a cheeky smile and take himself off to the bathroom. But for Booker, it was excruciating. He would listen to the sound of the shower, imagining Tom jerking off under the warm spray of water and with little or no stimulation, he would ejaculate forcefully into his boxers. The guilt brought tears to his eyes and he would quickly wrap a towel around his waist to hide his humiliation and sit on the end of the bed, waiting for Tom to finish so he could escape to the privacy of the bathroom. It was his own hellish shame and he silently hoped Tom would never realize that he was the source of his sexual release.
As roommates, they jelled well together and things started to improve even more when, the day after Booker moved in, they received some heartening news. The doctors at St. Mary’s had brought Ioki out of his induced coma and he was on the slow road to recovery. The young officer had no memory of the shooting and for Booker that was a relief. The last thing he or Tom needed was for someone to contradict their story.
Tom was still not back at work and he spent his free time buying replacement furniture for his apartment. He needed to keep busy, the desire to snort a line was still very much in the forefront of his mind and each passing day that brought him closer to Penhall’s final farewell, had made it that little bit more difficult. But just when he thought he had the urges under control, Fuller dropped a bombshell the day before Doug’s burial. The District Attorney had laid charges against him and just to add a little icing to the cake, he was not welcome at the funeral.
The news had hit him hard. In his mind, he had honestly come to believe that Penhall’s shooting was an accident and to again face the horrifying truth that he was responsible because of his own selfish indulgences had him spiraling into a deep pit of depression. He immediately turned to alcohol, although his real desire was cocaine. But with Booker living with him, that was an impossible dream. Even though he now faced charges, without Booker’s testimony to the contrary, there was no real evidence to prove the shooting was anything more than an accident. But he knew if he strayed and began using again, that testimony would become a reality and he would be looking at a prison sentence.
Now, as Booker was preparing to leave for Doug’s service, he felt his resolve faltering. His best friend was going to his final resting place and he would not be there to say goodbye. It was a cruel ending to a tragic story and he wanted nothing more than to slip into oblivion and never wake up.
Booker exited the bathroom and walking over to where Hanson stood, he wrinkled his nose in disgust when he smelled the alcohol on his breath. “Jesus Tom, it’s eight in the morning, don’t you think it’s a little early?”
Tom scowled and turning away, he poured himself another drink. “I’m pretty sure the day you bury your best friend you’re exempt from being monitored by the alcohol police,” he muttered irritably, “so get off my case.”
Not wanting to start an argument, Booker refrained from biting back. Instead, he placed an arm around Tom’s shoulders. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
Jerking away, Tom glared crossly at his roommate. “Do I fucking look okay?” he snapped.
Booker sighed softly. “No, you look like hell,” he replied truthfully. When Tom made no reply, he continued. “There’s nothing I can do Tom, Fuller’s specifically requested you don’t come and—”
“Just go,” Tom shot back moodily. “I don’t need to listen to your bullshit excuses.”
Booker opened his mouth to retort but when he saw the genuine pain in Tom’s eyes, he remained silent and turning away, he exited the apartment.
****
Tuesday March 14^th 1989 (9.56 a.m.)
Captain Briody stood over Penhall’s rosewood coffin and gazing out over the small crowd of mourners gathered by the graveside, he delivered the eulogy. “When you're a cop, there's nothing new to learn about when it comes to death. There's no new novelty to it, no new insight to ponder over, to think about. I guess we all know there's a lot of things out there that get us, end us, bring up that final roll call. Since I've been a cop on the force for these past twenty-two years, I can't count the times I've stood here and done this. But I remember every one like it was my son's first communion and it stings...” He paused for effect before adding, “and I think it's a frickin' tragedy that Officer Penhall died at the hands of one of his own, a comrade, a brother in arms…”
Judy cast a teary eye in Booker’s direction but she received no acknowledgment that he had seen her and turning back towards the casket, she tightened her grasp around the rose in her hand. She and Doug had shared several tender moments together and she could not help but wonder what life would have been like if they had actually started dating. But now she would never know. Doug was gone and she would forever be left guessing.
Wiping a tear from her eye, she hoped with all her heart that Hanson would pay for taking the life of such a beautiful soul.
****
Tuesday March 14^th 1989 (10.28 a.m.)
Secreted in an alleyway, Tom leaned over and opening his Mustang’s glove box, he pulled out a small notepad and a baggie of cocaine. He was only fifteen minutes from home but he could not wait. A burning fire of pain and guilt raged deep within his mind and soul and the only way he knew to extinguish it was to give his body what it needed; cocaine. He could no longer bear to feel, to know, to care, all he longed for was the numbness that would help him forget that today was the day they would cover his best friend in dirt and he would become nothing more than a name engraved on a headstone.
With a shaky hand, he pulled his credit card from his wallet and crudely cut a line on the crumpled notepad. Once satisfied, he ducked his head and snorted the white powder up his nose through a one-dollar bill. Pinching his nostrils lightly together between his thumb and forefinger, he inhaled deeply and with a sigh, he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. As the drug entered his system, he felt the thrill he had craved since Penhall’s death and a small, satisfied smile played over his lips. But as the minutes passed, he knew it was not enough. The high, along with the numbing of his mind was only fleeting. He needed more but he risked detection and if Booker ever found out he was using again, he could kiss his freedom goodbye.
A sudden fear gripped his heart. Unable to cope with the devastating reality of Penhall’s death, he had pushed aside the frightening actuality that the District Attorney had filed charges against him. The thought terrified him because if Harry regained his memory of the shooting, his and Booker’s account would come under question and in all probability, even without proof that he was high on cocaine, a guilty verdict would be handed down.
It was then that a plan formed in his mind. He would not sit around and wait for a jury of his so-called peers to decide his fate because he knew it was only a matter of time before his façade crumbled and the horrifying truth would be revealed.
Therefore, there was only one thing for him to do, he would pack a bag, and run.
****
Tuesday March 14^th 1989 (2.33 p.m.)
Booker shook Fuller’s hand and watched in silence as his superior left the bar. The majority of mourners had left an hour before but he, Fuller and Judy had stayed behind and exchanged treasured memories of Doug. But for Booker, the tales seemed incomplete without Tom’s recollections of the moments he had shared with his best friend. However, knowing Judy’s feelings about Hanson, he did not mention their portrayal as the McQuaids or their uniquely brother-like closeness. Instead, he quietly listened as they honored a man whose humor and benevolence would be remembered forever.
Shrugging into his leather jacket, he downed the last of his drink and turned to go, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Judy sitting alone at a table. He had said goodbye to her minutes before and he wondered why she had not left. A deep feeling of sadness filled his heart as he stared at her bowed head. Apart from Tom, Judy was taking Doug’s death the hardest and in spite of her animosity towards Hanson, he felt deeply sorry for her. Putting his keys back in his pocket, he walked over to her table and pulling out a chair, he sat down. “Do you need a ride?” he asked softly.
Judy lifted her head and gave Booker a wan smile. “No, I just needed a moment alone before driving home. It’s been… emotional, you know?”
Booker started to stand up. “Yeah, I know,” he replied quietly, “I’ll leave you—”
A cold hand clutched his arm. “I changed my mind,” Judy interrupted in a teary voice. “I don’t want to be alone Booker, because when I am, all I see...” A loud racking sob tore through her sentence like a jagged wound and she collapsed against Booker’s chest. “Oh God, all I see is his terrified face! You were there, you saw him, was he frightened? Was he in pain? Please! I need to know because the not knowing is driving me crazy!”
Holding Judy in his arms, Booker struggled to keep his own voice from cracking with emotion. “When I got to him, I think he was in shock. He only uttered one word… Tommy.”
Judy let out a shocked gasp and pulling away from Booker’s hold, she stared at him with wide eyes. “He knew? He knew Hanson shot him?”
Realizing his mistake, Booker quickly shook his head. “N-No, that’s not… I mean, it was more like he was calling for Tom, not—”
Scraping her chair violently backwards, Judy stood up and glared coldly down at Booker. “Oh he knew. Of course he knew and his very last thought would have been why? Jesus, I don’t know how Hanson sleeps at night knowing—”
“He doesn’t know,” Booker interjected softly. “I haven’t told him.”
Grabbing up her coat, Judy gave him a hard look. “Then maybe you should tell him so he knows that Doug hated him for what he did, just like the rest of us do.”
****
Tuesday March 14^th 1989 (3.28 p.m.)
Walking into the apartment, Booker threw his jacket onto the couch and called out Tom’s name. When he received no answer, a shiver of foreboding ran down his spine and he hurried into the bedroom. “Tommy are you…?”
But his sentence remained unfinished as he pulled up short in the middle of the room and gazed around him at the chaotic scene. Items of clothing lay discarded on the floor, open drawers revealed little or no contents and the closet was all but empty. It did not take a genius to know what had happened and sitting down heavily on the bed, he buried his face in his hands.
Tom had taken his belongings and run.
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- 7
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Chasing a Butterfly