"Cleansing" - 21 JS fic ch. 5
Yet another one! Going strong on this one.
Title: Cleansing
Rating: NC-17
Pairings/Characters: Tom/Doug, Tom/OCs, Fuller, OCs
Disclaimer: I don't own 21 Jumpstreet, nor it's characters. All belong to Callen and peeps.
Warnings: M/M, slash, language, rape, violence, heartless people
A/N: Some states have people that represent them in a positive light. Sadly, we have Fred Phelps here in KS who's well-known for his shit. Oddly enough, I used some things that I figured would be on signs of his for this chapter. :)
Link to chapter four: here
Chapter Five
****
Hanson turned the knob to the right and leaned forward from where he was kneeling next to the bathtub. He lowered his head beneath the faucet, opened his mouth, and let the cool water rush in. Greedily, he swallowed the liquid down, satiating his parched throat. Drinking water was his only option to fill his stomach. He had been provided very small meals during his stay - things like bread and a little bag of chips every other day. His hunger up until the present had not been a serious problem. Now, he felt constantly sick from having such tiny portions, and his stomach voiced its discontent frequently.
After consuming enough to make him feel as if he were full, he turned the water off and slumped against the tub. Tiredly, he rubbed his face, wincing at the pain his hand caused by gliding over the burn on his cheek. It reminded him at how afraid he was to look at himself in the mirror above the sink. The image reflected back, he knew, would be hollow and disfigured terribly. His features were no longer appealing, nor was his body after having been consistently misused, causing his heart to be cut apart; there was absolutely no way Doug would want him, much less even look at him. There was no way anyone would be able to look at him.
He wiped his damp eyes and gave a small laugh. “Guess I should be happy that we did it before all this,” he spoke faintly. “My first and only time with him….I’m sorry, Doug.”
The distinct sound of the door opening at the top of the stairs reached his ears and sent a bolt of fear slithering down his spine. The thudding of footsteps made him frantically look around as if an answer would form in thin air and tell him what to do. Without a second thought, he lunged at the door, slamming it closed, locked it, and remained on the floor, sitting with his back against the entrance. His eyes darted about the small space, frenziedly trying to find anything that he could use as protection. He heard the voices before the pounding of a fist on the door, making him yelp in surprise and panic even more.
“Open the door, Tom,” Danny said with a good deal of calmness, though Tom did not miss the undertone of rage beneath it. “You’ll make things very bad for yourself.”
Tom searched the cabinet under the sink and discovered nothing but a plunger. Hurriedly, he retrieved it and dragged himself to hide behind where the door would open. He clutched it in his hands so tightly that his knuckles where turning white; his grip became slightly stronger when the banging on the door grew frequent and more forceful.
What are you going to do with this, Tom? It’s pathetic. You won’t do anything other than make them brutalize you more.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a short moment, debating on whether or not to go through with it. His decision was made as the door suddenly burst open. As the entrance slowly drifted closed behind the man who had entered, Hanson clenched his teeth and swung as hard as he could at the back of the person’s knees. The impact knocked Andrew to the floor, and Hanson wasted no time before striking him again. He succeeded in executing a number of blows to the teen’s head, back, and legs until Travis pried the object from his grasp and Derick smacked him powerfully enough to knock him completely backward to the ground. He emitted a soft groan from the contact his head made with the floor and voiced several more whimpers as he was viciously kicked repeatedly.
“You probably shouldn’t have done that,” Eric stated with an amused smirk.
“You must be a hard learner, Tommy,” Danny added. “Get him in the tub.”
Hanson’s head hung limply as he was hoisted up to his feet. He mumbled something as he fought off unconsciousness and tried to form a sentence. Fingers tugged on his hair to make him look up, letting his grieving eyes stare at the five tormentors.
“You like cold, Hanson?”
“N-N-No,” he answered dumbly, wishing to God that his feet would be severed from his body as he stood under the shower head.
“No?”
“N-No.”
“Let’s try something different then, shall we?”
The instant the water was turned on, Hanson regretted ever responding at all to the question. He yelled in extreme pain as the hottest possible water rushed over his beaten frame. Continuous cries of agony came from him while he struggled to get free, even though he knew it was of no use.
“Turn it off!” he shouted desperately. “Please! Turn it off!”
“Seems that he dislikes this one more than the cold ones,” Danny said with a broad grin.
“God, please. Turn it off.” His voice had dropped in volume as he sobbed unwillingly; it was also considerably more pitiable and frail. “Please. Let me go. Make it stop.”
“You should’ve known better. This is what you get.”
The scalding liquid made him feel as if he were submerged in an inferno. How high did the temperature have to be to melt human flesh? He knew the water was not hot enough for that, but it did not stop him from wanting to dissipate; any type of form would do fine: evaporating, melting to a liquid, anything.
The faucet knob was turned to shut off the water approximately eight minutes later. He was not shocked to find that he had minor burns to accompany the ones he already had. Roughly, he was pulled out of the bathtub and carried into the main part of the basement. They dropped him on the ground several feet away from the bed and huddled around him.
“You know, we were going to give you something to eat,” Danny said as if he were disappointed.
“A heaping plateful of food,” Eric added.
“But then you go and fuck it up for yourself. Your hands should be taught a lesson too, or at least one; they did hold the plunger.”
“Which one?”
“How ‘bout left?”
Tom was sprawled out on his back, constantly voicing his distress weakly. He did not notice the hammer until it crashed onto his left hand. A wail tore itself from his throat, followed shortly after by another one spawned from being struck once again with the tool. He could not keep count of how many times the hammer violently assaulted him; whatever the number was, it was enough to leave his hand and wrist shattered and bleeding.
“Oh god,” he forced out between his rapid breaths. “Leave me alone. Please. God, please.”
“God’s not here, Tom,” Danny spoke spitefully into the officer’s ear. “Your judgment’s coming from me, and you’ve been charged with murder. You deserve this pain. You deserve to die, Officer Hanson.”
The teenager slapped Tom strongly before he stood up and made his way upstairs, his four accomplices following. Tom curled up on his left side and wept inconsolably. He cradled his broken hand to his chest, crying out from the agony it caused him.
Helplessly, he wriggled around on the cement floor, soon shifting to rest on his back once more. His legs kicked immensely weakly at nothing on their own accord while his head rocked from side to side. The quivering whines he produced came at Doug like insufferable knives. It was all becoming too much; he would give anything to switch places with Tom to save him from the pain he was in and that was to come. He covered his face as tears started to pour from his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Tom,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I can’t find you. I’m sorry I can’t help you. I love you, Tom. God, I love you.”
It was another sleepless night for both.
****
It was everywhere. The papers, TV news stations, gossip all over the internet, and talked about frequently between people. The gruesome content of copkiller.com, the ever-present countdown, and the fact that close to one million people had checked out the website according to the visitor count made it no surprise that Tom Hanson’s tragic situation gained national attention. Every morning, Doug had to push his way through the large crowd of reporters and camera operators to get inside the Jump Street chapel, evading answering any questions as well. It was difficult to refrain from punching any one of them; Tom was nothing but a story to them, and they merely wanted to give the American public the flavor of the week by exploiting someone’s pain.
His patience and restraint ran out seven days before Tom was to be murdered.
Groups of protestors had gathered outside the chapel, flaunting signs with “GOD HATES HANSON,” “NO FAGS ON THE FORCE,” “SUPPORT THE FIVE FOR DOING GOD’S WILL,” “MAKE AN EXAMPLE OF T.H. FOR BEING A FAG AND KILLER,” “MURDER IS CRIME AND HIS PUNISHMENT FITS IT,” “HARMING THE YOUTH OF AMERICA,” “LET KILLERS BE KILLED” written on them, and Doug’s hate that had been reserved for Tom’s kidnappers was now directed at these people. He lost control when one of them shouted, “Your partner will burn in hell for what he is and what he’s done!” Frankly, it did not matter to him who he hit, as long as he made clean contact with someone’s face. His fist went flying and chaos broke loose around him. He figured he had struck around five or six people before he was pulled back and forced inside. It was Fuller who had a hold of him and marched him into his office.
“Have a seat, Penhall,” Fuller said stiffly.
“I’d rather stand.”
“What the hell was that out there?”
“Someone had to do something! How can you just let them parade around with those signs and spread that nonsense bull shit about Hanson?!”
“Because it’s their right, Doug. Yes, it’s very upsetting to see, but there’s nothing we can do. You may not know it, but we are being closely watched by the city now ever since Hanson’s disappearance. We can’t afford incidents like the one you just had to gain more negative press and talk. They’re already using Hanson as an excuse to cut funding for the Jump Street program. Having an officer lose control like that will only give them more reason to.”
“Coach, I can’t….I can’t just stand back and watch these people throw his name in the dirt.”
“I know. Which is why I want you to take a few days off, get away from them.”
“Captain-”
“Go home. And for at least one day, I don’t want you anywhere near a computer.”
“But I-”
“Leave it. Clear your head and get some rest. It’s taking a toll on you more than you think. You’ll be more helpful if you take care of yourself. One day is all I ask. Can you do that?”
Doug did not respond for a short period. Fuller simply gazed at him patiently while waiting for a reply. “Yeah, I can do that,” Doug stated reluctantly and nodded his head.
“Good. Now go home.”
Doug turned to leave, yet he paused when he got to the door. He swallowed a knot in his throat and closed his eyes briefly. “Captain?”
“Yes?”
“I….I don’t know what I’ll do if he dies,” he voiced softly. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Penhall made to exit again, though stopped when Fuller spoke. “We won’t let him die. We will find him, and we will find him alive. Don’t lose hope yet.”
Penhall bit his lip, sniffed, and tapped the doorframe with his hand. “Yeah,” he whispered vaguely as he departed, only half-heartedly believing that they would get to his partner in time.
****
Despite the heavy protest within him, Doug treaded to his computer first thing when he entered his apartment with the intent of turning it off. He stole a glance at the screen to see Tom diligently working on wrapping his left wrist and hand with one of the bed sheets. It was evident that he was greatly struggling with it, mostly due to the large amount of fabric he had to handle, but he knew it would be a good thing - and hopefully help it to feel better - if it was kept snuggly enveloped to prevent it from moving and to serve as a bit of protection.
“Just….Do it,” Penhall muttered to himself. “Just do it. Get it done.”
After several minutes of debating back and forth, Penhall finally shut the computer down. For awhile, he merely stared at the blank screen. The image may have been gone, but he could still picture Tom in his mind; it was impossible to remove the younger officer completely from his thoughts at any given time.
Doug roamed aimlessly around his apartment for an hour or so, looking for something to do, though nothing held his focus. There were numerous times where he almost turned the system back on, yet he was able to catch himself before doing it.
Realizing that he could not lie down long enough to get any rest and noting the heavy temptation from the dormant computer, he left his apartment. He ended up at a bar not long after and began a descent into a drunken stupor.
****
The alcohol pushed thoughts of Tom away for the majority of the evening. It was not until Doug returned to his apartment around eleven o’clock that his partner consumed every piece of his mind. He was too drunk to make it upstairs in bed, leaving one of the couches as an alternative. With a half-empty bottle of beer in his hand, he stretched out on the piece of furniture and stared emptily at the ceiling. It would have been a lie to say he was not happy about missing whatever hardships Hanson endured throughout the day because he was; consistently observing the many forms of abuse Hanson suffered was tearing him apart. He could not function - could not sleep, could hardly eat, could barely hold a conversation with anyone, and could not stop his pondering of Hanson every second. He felt wholly detached from everything around him as if he were a ghost. So many days had gone by without seeing his partner truly smile and without Tom being physically near him that he could not remember the last time he had felt any sort of joy.
Tom’s death would be the end of him.
He at last fell asleep only to be woken up three hours later by the phone ringing. He grumbled his discontent as he heaved himself off of the couch to retrieve the damn thing. The clock read two-fifteen, making him mumble curse words without even knowing who it was. He snatched the cordless receiver, shuffled back to the couch, and collapsed onto it with a tired sigh.
“Hello?” he muttered in a low tone, his eyes closing as he drifted towards sleep.
No answer.
“Hello?” he stated more grumpily than before.
“How are you dealing with the absence of your partner, Officer Penhall?” The voice was smooth and freakishly friendly.
Penhall bolted upright, his eyes now wide open. “Who is this?”
“If you don’t wish for me to drag out his pain any longer, you can tell me right now to just go ahead and kill him. It would certainly be merciful.”
“Who the hell is this?”
“Or perhaps you enjoy watching him be fucked by men and mistreated, and you wouldn’t want it to end prematurely. There is, after all, only six more days left.”
“Tell me your fucking name!”
There was silence on the other end of the line, and Doug pressed the phone against his ear harder to hear anything. He was shaking with anger and ready to hurl the phone across the room when a soft, trembling voice at last sounded.
“Doug?”
Instead of making it to the opposite end of the area, the receiver in Doug’s hand almost dropped to the ground from the utter shock that hit him. He opened his mouth to speak, though nothing came out.
“Doug?” the frail voice asked again.
“T-Tom? Tom, is that you?”
The response was delayed for a brief moment as Tom gained control of his sobs. “Hi, Dougie,” he whispered, and Penhall could tell from the way he said it that he was smiling, if only a little.
The tears running down the older cop’s cheeks went unnoticed as he cradled the phone to his ear and tried to form a coherent sentence. “Hey, Tommy.”
“It’s so good to hear your voice.”
Doug gave a small laugh and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it’s good to hear yours too. God, I miss you, Tom.”
“I’d hope so,” Tom said lightheartedly. “I wouldn’t want to be forgotten yet.”
“No, no, God no. Never. I couldn’t. I need you, Tom. Where are you? Tell me and I swear I’ll come and kill them and get you.”
“You know I can’t tell you. Besides, I don’t even know where I am.”
“I’ll keep looking. I’ll find you. I promise.”
A few quivering breaths sounded as Tom continued to cry. “Don’t. Don’t come find me.”
Doug felt as if someone had punched him. “What? Tom-”
“Don’t waste your time, okay? Just let it go. Please. Don’t come after me.”
“Tom, I can’t abandon you.”
“Please, Doug.” The tone was pleading, sending a wave of grief over Doug to drown in. “Don’t. I’m gonna die soon anyway; I know it. I don’t know when and I don’t know how they’ll do it, but it’ll be soon. I can’t say that I’m all that sad about it; I’m ready for it to be over. So please, Doug, please do that for me. Promise me you’ll stop looking for me.”
“Tommy-”
“Promise me. Please, Doug.” Hanson’s breathing had quickened and was now coming in rapid increments, making him pause for a couple of seconds in-between words.
“Okay. I promise. I promise.”
Doug had begun weeping uncontrollably as well. It felt like drinking a vile of poison to make such a horrible promise, even though he was not going to abide it.
“Can you do me a favor? Doug?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I’m here. What is it?”
“Can you take care of my mom for me? Just make sure she’s alright. Make sure she’s happy and well-cared for if she meets someone, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Tell her I saved some money in an account for her in case she ever needs it. She can withdraw it at the bank whenever she wants.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“D-Doug?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
The knife that had already been working its way into Doug’s heart finally sunk in entirely. He was helplessly falling apart. “I love you too. God, I love you, Tom.”
“G-Good b-bye, Doug.”
“No, Tom, wait. Wait! Don’t go!”
The younger man did not speak again. The next voice Penhall heard was that of the one he had talked to before.
“Am I not generous, letting you say goodbye?”
“You’d be generous if you let him go,” Penhall spat venomously.
“Ah, well, that I can’t do. But I’ll tell you what: I’ll let you see him for a last time before he dies.”
“Bull shit.”
“I kid you not.”
“What’s the cost?”
“Six hundred dollars.”
“Shit,” he whispered almost inaudibly. He rubbed his forehead, trying to figure out how he could get such a sum of money in such a short amount of time. “When would I get to see him?”
“Tomorrow at midnight.”
“Where?”
“I’ll call you beforehand to divulge that. There are conditions you must follow, however, in order to visit him.”
“Like what?”
“No one else is to come with you. You and you alone are to come. No backup force of police hiding out. If I see anyone other than you or even think that you aren’t alone, I’ll put a bullet in his head right then and there before you even have a chance to take a gander at him. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yeah. I got it.”
“Good. Expect a phone call, then, at ten o’clock this evening, Officer Penhall.”
There was no chance to answer. A click sounded, and Doug hung up as well. He was motionless for a moment, staring vacantly ahead of him, before he tossed the phone to the floor and buried his face in his hands.
“Six hundred dollars,” he uttered despairingly. “I don’t even think I have two hundred.”
For the next hour and a half, he scoured his apartment in search of funds. He successfully scrounged up two-hundred seventeen dollars and fifty cents before he lost his energy and passed out on the couch for the rest of the night.
Title: Cleansing
Rating: NC-17
Pairings/Characters: Tom/Doug, Tom/OCs, Fuller, OCs
Disclaimer: I don't own 21 Jumpstreet, nor it's characters. All belong to Callen and peeps.
Warnings: M/M, slash, language, rape, violence, heartless people
A/N: Some states have people that represent them in a positive light. Sadly, we have Fred Phelps here in KS who's well-known for his shit. Oddly enough, I used some things that I figured would be on signs of his for this chapter. :)
Link to chapter four: here
Chapter Five
****
Hanson turned the knob to the right and leaned forward from where he was kneeling next to the bathtub. He lowered his head beneath the faucet, opened his mouth, and let the cool water rush in. Greedily, he swallowed the liquid down, satiating his parched throat. Drinking water was his only option to fill his stomach. He had been provided very small meals during his stay - things like bread and a little bag of chips every other day. His hunger up until the present had not been a serious problem. Now, he felt constantly sick from having such tiny portions, and his stomach voiced its discontent frequently.
After consuming enough to make him feel as if he were full, he turned the water off and slumped against the tub. Tiredly, he rubbed his face, wincing at the pain his hand caused by gliding over the burn on his cheek. It reminded him at how afraid he was to look at himself in the mirror above the sink. The image reflected back, he knew, would be hollow and disfigured terribly. His features were no longer appealing, nor was his body after having been consistently misused, causing his heart to be cut apart; there was absolutely no way Doug would want him, much less even look at him. There was no way anyone would be able to look at him.
He wiped his damp eyes and gave a small laugh. “Guess I should be happy that we did it before all this,” he spoke faintly. “My first and only time with him….I’m sorry, Doug.”
The distinct sound of the door opening at the top of the stairs reached his ears and sent a bolt of fear slithering down his spine. The thudding of footsteps made him frantically look around as if an answer would form in thin air and tell him what to do. Without a second thought, he lunged at the door, slamming it closed, locked it, and remained on the floor, sitting with his back against the entrance. His eyes darted about the small space, frenziedly trying to find anything that he could use as protection. He heard the voices before the pounding of a fist on the door, making him yelp in surprise and panic even more.
“Open the door, Tom,” Danny said with a good deal of calmness, though Tom did not miss the undertone of rage beneath it. “You’ll make things very bad for yourself.”
Tom searched the cabinet under the sink and discovered nothing but a plunger. Hurriedly, he retrieved it and dragged himself to hide behind where the door would open. He clutched it in his hands so tightly that his knuckles where turning white; his grip became slightly stronger when the banging on the door grew frequent and more forceful.
What are you going to do with this, Tom? It’s pathetic. You won’t do anything other than make them brutalize you more.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a short moment, debating on whether or not to go through with it. His decision was made as the door suddenly burst open. As the entrance slowly drifted closed behind the man who had entered, Hanson clenched his teeth and swung as hard as he could at the back of the person’s knees. The impact knocked Andrew to the floor, and Hanson wasted no time before striking him again. He succeeded in executing a number of blows to the teen’s head, back, and legs until Travis pried the object from his grasp and Derick smacked him powerfully enough to knock him completely backward to the ground. He emitted a soft groan from the contact his head made with the floor and voiced several more whimpers as he was viciously kicked repeatedly.
“You probably shouldn’t have done that,” Eric stated with an amused smirk.
“You must be a hard learner, Tommy,” Danny added. “Get him in the tub.”
Hanson’s head hung limply as he was hoisted up to his feet. He mumbled something as he fought off unconsciousness and tried to form a sentence. Fingers tugged on his hair to make him look up, letting his grieving eyes stare at the five tormentors.
“You like cold, Hanson?”
“N-N-No,” he answered dumbly, wishing to God that his feet would be severed from his body as he stood under the shower head.
“No?”
“N-No.”
“Let’s try something different then, shall we?”
The instant the water was turned on, Hanson regretted ever responding at all to the question. He yelled in extreme pain as the hottest possible water rushed over his beaten frame. Continuous cries of agony came from him while he struggled to get free, even though he knew it was of no use.
“Turn it off!” he shouted desperately. “Please! Turn it off!”
“Seems that he dislikes this one more than the cold ones,” Danny said with a broad grin.
“God, please. Turn it off.” His voice had dropped in volume as he sobbed unwillingly; it was also considerably more pitiable and frail. “Please. Let me go. Make it stop.”
“You should’ve known better. This is what you get.”
The scalding liquid made him feel as if he were submerged in an inferno. How high did the temperature have to be to melt human flesh? He knew the water was not hot enough for that, but it did not stop him from wanting to dissipate; any type of form would do fine: evaporating, melting to a liquid, anything.
The faucet knob was turned to shut off the water approximately eight minutes later. He was not shocked to find that he had minor burns to accompany the ones he already had. Roughly, he was pulled out of the bathtub and carried into the main part of the basement. They dropped him on the ground several feet away from the bed and huddled around him.
“You know, we were going to give you something to eat,” Danny said as if he were disappointed.
“A heaping plateful of food,” Eric added.
“But then you go and fuck it up for yourself. Your hands should be taught a lesson too, or at least one; they did hold the plunger.”
“Which one?”
“How ‘bout left?”
Tom was sprawled out on his back, constantly voicing his distress weakly. He did not notice the hammer until it crashed onto his left hand. A wail tore itself from his throat, followed shortly after by another one spawned from being struck once again with the tool. He could not keep count of how many times the hammer violently assaulted him; whatever the number was, it was enough to leave his hand and wrist shattered and bleeding.
“Oh god,” he forced out between his rapid breaths. “Leave me alone. Please. God, please.”
“God’s not here, Tom,” Danny spoke spitefully into the officer’s ear. “Your judgment’s coming from me, and you’ve been charged with murder. You deserve this pain. You deserve to die, Officer Hanson.”
The teenager slapped Tom strongly before he stood up and made his way upstairs, his four accomplices following. Tom curled up on his left side and wept inconsolably. He cradled his broken hand to his chest, crying out from the agony it caused him.
Helplessly, he wriggled around on the cement floor, soon shifting to rest on his back once more. His legs kicked immensely weakly at nothing on their own accord while his head rocked from side to side. The quivering whines he produced came at Doug like insufferable knives. It was all becoming too much; he would give anything to switch places with Tom to save him from the pain he was in and that was to come. He covered his face as tears started to pour from his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Tom,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I can’t find you. I’m sorry I can’t help you. I love you, Tom. God, I love you.”
It was another sleepless night for both.
****
It was everywhere. The papers, TV news stations, gossip all over the internet, and talked about frequently between people. The gruesome content of copkiller.com, the ever-present countdown, and the fact that close to one million people had checked out the website according to the visitor count made it no surprise that Tom Hanson’s tragic situation gained national attention. Every morning, Doug had to push his way through the large crowd of reporters and camera operators to get inside the Jump Street chapel, evading answering any questions as well. It was difficult to refrain from punching any one of them; Tom was nothing but a story to them, and they merely wanted to give the American public the flavor of the week by exploiting someone’s pain.
His patience and restraint ran out seven days before Tom was to be murdered.
Groups of protestors had gathered outside the chapel, flaunting signs with “GOD HATES HANSON,” “NO FAGS ON THE FORCE,” “SUPPORT THE FIVE FOR DOING GOD’S WILL,” “MAKE AN EXAMPLE OF T.H. FOR BEING A FAG AND KILLER,” “MURDER IS CRIME AND HIS PUNISHMENT FITS IT,” “HARMING THE YOUTH OF AMERICA,” “LET KILLERS BE KILLED” written on them, and Doug’s hate that had been reserved for Tom’s kidnappers was now directed at these people. He lost control when one of them shouted, “Your partner will burn in hell for what he is and what he’s done!” Frankly, it did not matter to him who he hit, as long as he made clean contact with someone’s face. His fist went flying and chaos broke loose around him. He figured he had struck around five or six people before he was pulled back and forced inside. It was Fuller who had a hold of him and marched him into his office.
“Have a seat, Penhall,” Fuller said stiffly.
“I’d rather stand.”
“What the hell was that out there?”
“Someone had to do something! How can you just let them parade around with those signs and spread that nonsense bull shit about Hanson?!”
“Because it’s their right, Doug. Yes, it’s very upsetting to see, but there’s nothing we can do. You may not know it, but we are being closely watched by the city now ever since Hanson’s disappearance. We can’t afford incidents like the one you just had to gain more negative press and talk. They’re already using Hanson as an excuse to cut funding for the Jump Street program. Having an officer lose control like that will only give them more reason to.”
“Coach, I can’t….I can’t just stand back and watch these people throw his name in the dirt.”
“I know. Which is why I want you to take a few days off, get away from them.”
“Captain-”
“Go home. And for at least one day, I don’t want you anywhere near a computer.”
“But I-”
“Leave it. Clear your head and get some rest. It’s taking a toll on you more than you think. You’ll be more helpful if you take care of yourself. One day is all I ask. Can you do that?”
Doug did not respond for a short period. Fuller simply gazed at him patiently while waiting for a reply. “Yeah, I can do that,” Doug stated reluctantly and nodded his head.
“Good. Now go home.”
Doug turned to leave, yet he paused when he got to the door. He swallowed a knot in his throat and closed his eyes briefly. “Captain?”
“Yes?”
“I….I don’t know what I’ll do if he dies,” he voiced softly. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Penhall made to exit again, though stopped when Fuller spoke. “We won’t let him die. We will find him, and we will find him alive. Don’t lose hope yet.”
Penhall bit his lip, sniffed, and tapped the doorframe with his hand. “Yeah,” he whispered vaguely as he departed, only half-heartedly believing that they would get to his partner in time.
****
Despite the heavy protest within him, Doug treaded to his computer first thing when he entered his apartment with the intent of turning it off. He stole a glance at the screen to see Tom diligently working on wrapping his left wrist and hand with one of the bed sheets. It was evident that he was greatly struggling with it, mostly due to the large amount of fabric he had to handle, but he knew it would be a good thing - and hopefully help it to feel better - if it was kept snuggly enveloped to prevent it from moving and to serve as a bit of protection.
“Just….Do it,” Penhall muttered to himself. “Just do it. Get it done.”
After several minutes of debating back and forth, Penhall finally shut the computer down. For awhile, he merely stared at the blank screen. The image may have been gone, but he could still picture Tom in his mind; it was impossible to remove the younger officer completely from his thoughts at any given time.
Doug roamed aimlessly around his apartment for an hour or so, looking for something to do, though nothing held his focus. There were numerous times where he almost turned the system back on, yet he was able to catch himself before doing it.
Realizing that he could not lie down long enough to get any rest and noting the heavy temptation from the dormant computer, he left his apartment. He ended up at a bar not long after and began a descent into a drunken stupor.
****
The alcohol pushed thoughts of Tom away for the majority of the evening. It was not until Doug returned to his apartment around eleven o’clock that his partner consumed every piece of his mind. He was too drunk to make it upstairs in bed, leaving one of the couches as an alternative. With a half-empty bottle of beer in his hand, he stretched out on the piece of furniture and stared emptily at the ceiling. It would have been a lie to say he was not happy about missing whatever hardships Hanson endured throughout the day because he was; consistently observing the many forms of abuse Hanson suffered was tearing him apart. He could not function - could not sleep, could hardly eat, could barely hold a conversation with anyone, and could not stop his pondering of Hanson every second. He felt wholly detached from everything around him as if he were a ghost. So many days had gone by without seeing his partner truly smile and without Tom being physically near him that he could not remember the last time he had felt any sort of joy.
Tom’s death would be the end of him.
He at last fell asleep only to be woken up three hours later by the phone ringing. He grumbled his discontent as he heaved himself off of the couch to retrieve the damn thing. The clock read two-fifteen, making him mumble curse words without even knowing who it was. He snatched the cordless receiver, shuffled back to the couch, and collapsed onto it with a tired sigh.
“Hello?” he muttered in a low tone, his eyes closing as he drifted towards sleep.
No answer.
“Hello?” he stated more grumpily than before.
“How are you dealing with the absence of your partner, Officer Penhall?” The voice was smooth and freakishly friendly.
Penhall bolted upright, his eyes now wide open. “Who is this?”
“If you don’t wish for me to drag out his pain any longer, you can tell me right now to just go ahead and kill him. It would certainly be merciful.”
“Who the hell is this?”
“Or perhaps you enjoy watching him be fucked by men and mistreated, and you wouldn’t want it to end prematurely. There is, after all, only six more days left.”
“Tell me your fucking name!”
There was silence on the other end of the line, and Doug pressed the phone against his ear harder to hear anything. He was shaking with anger and ready to hurl the phone across the room when a soft, trembling voice at last sounded.
“Doug?”
Instead of making it to the opposite end of the area, the receiver in Doug’s hand almost dropped to the ground from the utter shock that hit him. He opened his mouth to speak, though nothing came out.
“Doug?” the frail voice asked again.
“T-Tom? Tom, is that you?”
The response was delayed for a brief moment as Tom gained control of his sobs. “Hi, Dougie,” he whispered, and Penhall could tell from the way he said it that he was smiling, if only a little.
The tears running down the older cop’s cheeks went unnoticed as he cradled the phone to his ear and tried to form a coherent sentence. “Hey, Tommy.”
“It’s so good to hear your voice.”
Doug gave a small laugh and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it’s good to hear yours too. God, I miss you, Tom.”
“I’d hope so,” Tom said lightheartedly. “I wouldn’t want to be forgotten yet.”
“No, no, God no. Never. I couldn’t. I need you, Tom. Where are you? Tell me and I swear I’ll come and kill them and get you.”
“You know I can’t tell you. Besides, I don’t even know where I am.”
“I’ll keep looking. I’ll find you. I promise.”
A few quivering breaths sounded as Tom continued to cry. “Don’t. Don’t come find me.”
Doug felt as if someone had punched him. “What? Tom-”
“Don’t waste your time, okay? Just let it go. Please. Don’t come after me.”
“Tom, I can’t abandon you.”
“Please, Doug.” The tone was pleading, sending a wave of grief over Doug to drown in. “Don’t. I’m gonna die soon anyway; I know it. I don’t know when and I don’t know how they’ll do it, but it’ll be soon. I can’t say that I’m all that sad about it; I’m ready for it to be over. So please, Doug, please do that for me. Promise me you’ll stop looking for me.”
“Tommy-”
“Promise me. Please, Doug.” Hanson’s breathing had quickened and was now coming in rapid increments, making him pause for a couple of seconds in-between words.
“Okay. I promise. I promise.”
Doug had begun weeping uncontrollably as well. It felt like drinking a vile of poison to make such a horrible promise, even though he was not going to abide it.
“Can you do me a favor? Doug?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I’m here. What is it?”
“Can you take care of my mom for me? Just make sure she’s alright. Make sure she’s happy and well-cared for if she meets someone, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Tell her I saved some money in an account for her in case she ever needs it. She can withdraw it at the bank whenever she wants.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“D-Doug?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
The knife that had already been working its way into Doug’s heart finally sunk in entirely. He was helplessly falling apart. “I love you too. God, I love you, Tom.”
“G-Good b-bye, Doug.”
“No, Tom, wait. Wait! Don’t go!”
The younger man did not speak again. The next voice Penhall heard was that of the one he had talked to before.
“Am I not generous, letting you say goodbye?”
“You’d be generous if you let him go,” Penhall spat venomously.
“Ah, well, that I can’t do. But I’ll tell you what: I’ll let you see him for a last time before he dies.”
“Bull shit.”
“I kid you not.”
“What’s the cost?”
“Six hundred dollars.”
“Shit,” he whispered almost inaudibly. He rubbed his forehead, trying to figure out how he could get such a sum of money in such a short amount of time. “When would I get to see him?”
“Tomorrow at midnight.”
“Where?”
“I’ll call you beforehand to divulge that. There are conditions you must follow, however, in order to visit him.”
“Like what?”
“No one else is to come with you. You and you alone are to come. No backup force of police hiding out. If I see anyone other than you or even think that you aren’t alone, I’ll put a bullet in his head right then and there before you even have a chance to take a gander at him. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yeah. I got it.”
“Good. Expect a phone call, then, at ten o’clock this evening, Officer Penhall.”
There was no chance to answer. A click sounded, and Doug hung up as well. He was motionless for a moment, staring vacantly ahead of him, before he tossed the phone to the floor and buried his face in his hands.
“Six hundred dollars,” he uttered despairingly. “I don’t even think I have two hundred.”
For the next hour and a half, he scoured his apartment in search of funds. He successfully scrounged up two-hundred seventeen dollars and fifty cents before he lost his energy and passed out on the couch for the rest of the night.