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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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Pulling up next to Tom’s Mustang, Booker switched off the Caddy’s engine. Immediately, he found his gaze drawn to the deconsecrated chapel, and he stared up at the building, much like he had the first time he’d seen it. Illuminated by the waxing gibbous moon—whose misshapen halo shone from behind a mist of light cloud—Jump Street’s headquarters looked even more desolate than it did during daylight hours, and the dark-haired officer suppressed a shiver. The unwelcoming atmosphere did little to quell his rising nerves, and he silently berated himself for acting like a love-struck schoolboy. Amused by the aptness of the comparison, a smile tilted his lips. Perhaps he was behaving more like a teenager than he realized, and his fears about not fitting in at Westview were unwarranted. The thought brought another smile to his lips and climbing out into the still night air, he slammed the Cadillac's door closed. As he trudged toward the metal stairs, he noticed two other vehicles parked nearby, and he wondered who else was working late. Not that the chapel ever stopped being a hive of activity, after all, crime never slept. But unless there was a lull in cases, most of the undercover officers only frequented the office first thing in the morning, and while Booker had no idea who the vehicles belonged to, he hoped it wasn’t Penhall, Ioki or Hoffs. He wanted to spend time alone with Tom, but if his other new friends were there, he knew he would have to interact with them too or appear rude.
As he entered the central hub, the first thing Booker noticed was the silence. Surprised, he glanced around the room, but when he realized no one was there, he walked over to the coffee maker and poured himself a mug of day-old brew. Deciding Tom must be in the restroom, he wandered over to his desk. But before he could sit down, he heard a frightened shout, followed by laughter. Curious, he set down his coffee mug, but before he could investigate the source of the sounds, a second cry ripped through the silence. This time, there was an inflection of real terror in the high-pitched scream, and realizing something was wrong, Booker ran in the direction of the man’s voice. Although it seemed unlikely—given his location—someone was in trouble, and he was the only person there to help.
Running into the locker room, the dark-haired officer skidded to a halt, disbelief widening his eyes. Tom lay on the floor, naked except for his boxers. An undercover officer by the name of Parry—who Booker had met briefly at the mayor’s ball—held Tom’s arms above his head while another man attempted to remove his shorts. Tom’s body writhed, his legs kicking violently as he struggled to maintain the last of his dignity. But he was fighting a losing battle, and with a triumphant yell, the officer whipped off his underwear and waved them in front of his face like a trophy.
Furious, Booker sprinted across the room and grabbing the man by the shoulders, he forcefully shoved him to the tiled floor. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get off him!”
Parry released Tom’s arms, his thin-lipped mouth twisting into a sneer as he slowly rose to his feet. “Hey, man, what’s your problem? We’re just havin’ some fun.”
“Fun?” Booker spat, his dark eyes flashing with anger. “It's called assault, asshole.”
A look of uncertainty flashed in the officer’s eyes before his bravado returned. “We were just letting off steam. He’s okay, aren’t you, Hanson?”
Tom sat up, his frightened eyes flitting anxiously around the room before resting on Parry’s face. “Yeah, I guess so,” he replied quietly, his expression defeated.
Angry and frustrated in equal measures, Booker addressed the two officers. “If you ever hurt Tom again, I swear I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp. Got it? Now, get the fuck out of here before I change my mind and kick both your asses right now.”
The two officers eyed Booker up and down before deciding it wasn’t worth the hassle to get into an all-out brawl. Parry’s partner tossed Tom his underwear, a cruel smile stretching his lips. “See you around, Hanson,” he taunted, and motioning to his friend with his eyes, the two men exited the locker room.
Embarrassed, Tom struggled into his boxers. But he remained on the floor, too shaken to risk standing. It was then Booker noticed the bruises adorning the young officer's body, and squatting down, he laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Jesus, Tom,” he whispered, his eyes roving over a large purple contusion running the width of the young officer’s torso. “What did they do to you?”
“N-Nothing,” Tom stammered, his eyelids blinking rapidly. “It wasn’t—”
“Bullshit!” Booker exclaimed, his voice rising in irritation. “What's wrong with you, Tom? Why won't you stand up to these bullies? Make a complaint to Fuller, I’m sure he'll—”
“N-No! I j-just wanna go HOME!”
Disgusted by the squeakiness of his voice, the childish whine of his demand, Tom lowered his head, his arms wrapping protectively around his bent knees. “I just want to go home,” he repeated softly, his body rocking rhythmically back and forth, the calming motion soothing his panicked mind.
Exasperated by Tom’s lack of backbone, Booker exhaled a heavy breath. “Where are your clothes?”
Tom’s head nodded toward an open stall. “They put them in the toilet.”
Getting to his feet, Booker walked over to the cubicle and looked inside. The two officers had shoved all of Tom’s clothes into the toilet bowl, and after assessing the situation, he quickly realized there was no chance of salvaging the contaminated clothing. While it was a cruel joke to play on a colleague, the dark-haired officer found his emotions somewhat conflicted. He couldn’t understand why Tom continued to play the victim by not standing up to his attackers. But he figured it wasn’t the right time to give him a lecture, and walking back over to his friend, he crouched down so he could speak to him face to face. “Your clothes are soaked through, but they’ll be okay after a wash. I’ve got sweats in my car. Are you alright staying here alone?”
Ashamed of his cowardly behavior, Tom put on a brave face, his lips curling at the corners without forming a smile. “I’m fine,” he muttered, his eyes refusing to meet Booker’s intense gaze. “And forget the clothes. I don’t want them anymore.”
Booker stood up, and walking over to the row of sinks, he retrieved Tom’s boots from one of the basins. “Here,” he offered. “They’re a little wet, but they’ll dry.”
Tom reached out and took the boots from Booker’s hand. “Thanks.”
Wearied by the night’s events, Booker heaved a burdensome sigh. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
There was no mistaking the disillusionment in the dark-haired officer’s voice, and lowering his head, Tom struggled to fight back the tears that threatened to betray his weakness. “Sure thing,” he muttered, the sound of his partner’s fading footsteps adding weight to his sense of isolation.
The ensuing silence closed in on the young officer, pulsating like a living entity, mocking him with its power to destroy his sanity. Gradually, his despair forced its way to the surface, shuddering through his body before spilling from his eyes in a gush of emotion. Just when he thought he’d made a real friend, fate had intervened in the cruelest of ways, leaving him, once again, bereft, humiliated, and alone.
**
Exhausted, Tom pushed open the door, the welcoming familiarity of his apartment instantly easing his troubled mind. He was finally safe, secure within the sanctuary of his home, where he could relax and put the distressing memory of his assault behind him.
“You’re late.”
At the sound of his brother’s voice, Tom’s muscles tensed. But he quickly pulled it together, and placing his wet boots on the floor, he closed the door. “I had a meeting. It kinda went longer than I expected. Sorry I didn’t call.”
Will’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Tom’s casual attire. “Whose clothes are you wearing?”
There was a dangerous edge to Will’s voice, which was a warning sign for Tom to choose his words carefully or risk bearing the brunt of his brother’s temper. While he hated lying, sometimes it was the only way to keep the peace, and taking a deep breath, he proceeded to concoct a believable tale. “I...um...I had an accident with a milkshake and...um, D-Dennis lent me his workout gear. That’s all.”
Rising to his feet, Will began to pace the floor. “Dammit!” he growled, his hands raking through his hair in mounting agitation. “I told you to stay away from that Booker. Didn’t you learn anything yesterday? Now you’ve gone and broken the rules again, and you know what that means, don't you? I’m gonna have to punish you for the second night in a row! Why can't you obey the rules, Tom-Tom? Why do you continue to disobey me? You can work with Booker, but that's it, you hear me? There’s to be no fraternizing. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
Fear clouded Tom’s eyes. “I-I’m sorry!” he stammered, his dark eyes desperately trying to convey his innocence. “I d-didn’t mean to break the rules, Will. My clothes got ruined, D-Dennis had some sweats in his car, and he let me b-borrow them. W-We weren't hanging out or anything. Honest! It was a w-work meeting. P-Please, can we forget about it just this once? I promise, I w-won’t do it again, okay? I promise!”
The panicked pitch of his brother’s voice did not sway Will’s decision. His expression remained impassive, his jaw clenched with disapproval as his head shook slowly from side to side. “I’m sorry, Tom-Tom, I’ve got no choice. You broke the rules, and I have to punish you. Now, go fill the tub.”
Like a condemned man taking his final steps toward the hangman's noose, Tom shuffled into the bathroom, his shoulders slightly bowed, his whole posture that of a man resigned to the fate about to befall him. Even after so many years of enduring the punishment, the panic stayed with him. In his mind lurked a real fear that one day, Will would take it too far and dim the light until he slipped into the impending darkness, never to return. It was a nightmare that had anchored itself in the recesses of his mind, the sensory reflection biting into the flesh of his conscious thought, unwilling to let go, taunting him with its powerful imagery. Sleep was often elusive, his fear robbing him of the peace so many others took for granted. But he’d learned to live with the horror that tormented his mind because to give in to his depression would ultimately mean, giving up his life, and despite his emotional upheaval, he wasn’t ready to let go.
However, the familiarity of the position he found himself in did little to ease his nerves, and the coolness of the bathroom tiles against the soles of his feet triggered a moment of panic in his mind. Perspiration slicked his palms, and his stomach lurched, forcing hot bile into his throat. Dropping to his knees next to the tub, he closed his eyes and attempted to clear his mind. As his heart sped up, he inhaled through his nose for three seconds before exhaling through his mouth, the slow expulsion of air making an audible hfff as it passed over his lips. It was a technique he’d perfected over the years, a way to control the blinding panic so he could keep a level head. It was important he remained calm; otherwise, he might just lose the fight.
“I DON’T HEAR THE WATER RUNNING!”
Frightened into action, Tom’s eyes flew open, and reaching across the tub, he turned on the cold water faucet. As the water started to flow, he placed the plug in the drain, his gaze fixed on the hypnotic stream gushing from the spout. Time stood still, the mesmerizing flow paralyzing his will to run or even shut his eyes. He was conditioned, the water was his master, and he was its slave, his psyche forever damaged by the horror of its potential lethality. While his phobia was justified, it didn’t make it any easier for him to rationalize within his own mind. His overwhelming fear added weight to his feelings of inadequacy, reinforcing his shame and knocking another huge chunk out of his already fragile self-esteem. Not even the satisfaction of his job could lessen the disgust he felt for himself. He was a loser, a coward, and with each passing day, he hated himself just a little bit more.
The jet of water slowed to a trickle, instantly releasing Tom’s mind from its mesmeric hold. Blinking rapidly, the officer inhaled several deep breaths, his body tense, his mind on high alert. He could hear Will behind him, and moments later, he felt the hardness of his body pressing against him, crushing him against the cool porcelain with his weight. He gripped the side of the tub, bracing himself for the inevitable, and when a large hand grasped a handful of his hair, he inhaled a deep breath through his mouth and closed his eyes.
When the cold water hit Tom’s face, his eyes instinctively flew open. Immediately, his survival instinct kicked in, and he fought to control his panic, his eyes blurring as reality slipped away. Trapped beneath the water, time became an illusion, confusing his senses. Ten seconds felt like a minute, and he started to count...one...two...three...the slow computation helping him keep track of time. From above, the muffled sound of his brother’s voice floated through the air, and while he couldn’t make out the words, he knew in his heart Will was taunting him, berating him for being such a bad, inconsiderate brother. It was a tirade he’d heard a thousand times before throughout his life, and surprisingly, the words still stung, even when he only heard them in his mind.
After thirty seconds, Tom’s lungs started to burn, and he slowly exhaled his breath through his nose, the slow expulsion of carbon dioxide creating various sized bubbles. He watched the surreal display through bulging eyes, his mind slipping toward panic as the spherical bodies of gas floated upward before finally exploding in random patterns on the water’s surface. The rim of the tub pressed against his ribs, aggravating the damaged tissue of the large bruise running the width of his torso, reminding him of his previous punishment. He’d thought he would die that night, but he hadn’t, and he was not about to give in this time either. Despite the horrors he endured, he wanted to live because he would be damned if he would die before he knew true love.
As his need for oxygen intensified, his pulse quickened. The gray edges of his vision darkened, closing in until the murky depths of the tub became nothing more than a distant memory. A combination of pain and terror forced him to fight back, and he started to wrestle against the hand holding him down. His arms flailed, his mouth opening in a silent scream as he struggled to break free. Water splashed over the rim of the tub, soaking his borrowed clothes, but he barely noticed. The need to breathe was all his mind could focus on, everything else faded into the background. But just when he thought he’d lost the battle, a rough hand pulled him from the water, and he fell, choking, to the floor.
Seconds ticked into minutes, the only sound echoing through the bathroom Tom’s sputtering gasps as he pulled some much-needed oxygen into his lungs. He could barely move, his mind and body too exhausted from the torturous ordeal. But when a soft towel lovingly rubbed at his dripping hair, his body relaxed, and curling into the fetal position, he took comfort from the soothing contact.
“You don't need friends, Tom-Tom,” Will crooned, the softness of his voice barely audible above Tom’s ragged breathing. “You’ve got me, and that’s all you’ll ever need.”
The finality of the statement sent a shiver down the length of Tom’s body, but he remained silent, strangely content in the familiarity of his dysfunctional family.
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Cries of a Shadow