SHOUTOUTS/ANSWERS

Windyfontaine: Yeah. Exactly. Thanks. Okey-doke. Here you go. Thanks, you too.

Jayme: Yeah. Keep readin'. Thanks.

DISCLAIMER

Story is still basically on hold, but I thought I'd give you at least one chap before finals. 21 Jump Street belongs to Stephen J. Cannel. Back story belongs to Wes Craven. I only own the plot. Btw, after I finish this story and Gospel of Deceit, I have two chaps of the sequel of my version of NOES, but I'm unsure if I can keep it at five chaps. Would you guys mind if it was longer? This is a resubmit, since Mrs. Hanson's name clicked when I saw it in another fic.

Minutes later, Rod found himself chained to a wall in the warehouse.

"Dang you, Torres. You won't get away with this," he said.

"Sssshhhhh," Torres soothed, putting a gloved finger on the musician's lips, causing him to jerk away.

"Don't you touch me," he snapped.

"Ha, ha, ha. Oh, Rodrico. Don't be this way," the man chuckled fondly, letting a finger glide down the musician's cheek.

"You sick freak. We should've killed you," Rod said. Torres' eyes darkened and then he put a hand around Rod's throat.

"You don't want to push me, Rodrico," he warned. "And what did you think you were doing telling everybody about us?" he demanded. Rod panted and struggled against his bonds. "I was pretty sure we had an agreement," he continued. He removed his hand from his throat and backhanded him. Rod moaned as the blades left blood on his cheek. "Answer me!" he shouted.

"You were tried for sexual abuse and murder. You really expected it stay hidden?" Rod rasped. Torres backhanded him again.

"Don't you talk to me that way," he snarled. Once again, Rod moaned. Torres reached over and tousled the musician's hair. Rod made a desperate sound in his throat and jerked his head away. Torres chuckled and continued the gesture, moving his hand to his victim's cheek. Rod tried to move away, but the chains prohibited the escape. As the man continued his actions, Rod's mind went back.

"Rodrico," Torres whispered. He let his glove scrape along the wall. Rod trembled in his chains.

"Please…don't," he whispered hoarsely. Torres chuckled as he approached him. Pressure on his throat brought the man out of his dark musings.

"You best pay attention, boy," Torres said. Rod gagged. You freak. You'll die…slowly Rod thought to himself. Then, mercifully, he sank into unconsciousness. Meanwhile, someone had found Rod's abandoned Viper had called it in, resulting in the Jump Street Unit, Officer Parsings, and Officer Donagon going out to the scene. Hanson carefully checked the engine, which sputtered.

"Okay, so it died, which probably ticked him off," the officer commented. Then, with a soft chuckle, "He's got quite a temper."

"What do you think happened?" Officer Parsings wondered.

"Torres. It's---it's got to be," Tom stammered.

"There's no connection," Officer Parsings stated.

"Rod's gone," Tom said.

"There's no note, therefore, no con-nect-ion," Officer Parsings told him. Tom lunged at Henry.

"Don't you tell me there's no connection! Torres is out, and now Rod's gone! He's gonna kill him! Do you understand that? Huh? Do you?!" Tom shouted, shoving Henry against a car.

"Hey, hey, hey, Tommy. Whoa!" Charlie said, grabbing his shoulder.

"Yeah, calm down, man," Doug added.

"Charlie, are you sure there---there was nothing in the warehouse?" Tom asked.

"Nothing. Just a pair of bloody handcuffs, which were covered in Bobby Markinson's DNA," Charlie responded. Tom frantically ran his fingers through his hair.

"You sure? You checked everywhere? The panel, the room---" he began to question.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. What panel? What room?" the older man asked.

"Hanson, what are you talking about?" Dennis questioned at the same time.

"The---the---room!" Tom emphasized. "N---no one---you didn't---oh, my!" he exclaimed frantically.

"Whoa. Breathe kiddo," Charlie soothed.

"That's---that's probably how he got out the---the last time---the room! A---and if you guys did---didn't find any---" Tom's voice trailed off.

"Breathe kiddo," Charlie interrupted soothingly.

"Char---I'm gonna be---" the other officers barely had time to jump back before he began retching and fell to the ground.

"Maybe it's me, but I've never seen Hanson barf so much," Booker muttered.

"Booker!" Hoffs chided, elbowing him.

"What? I'm just sayin'," Booker defended himself. Charlie came up behind him.

"What room, Tommy?" he asked when he was done vomiting.

"It---it was---where he put us---when he thought you were getting close. He---he knew Dad was looking---he thought it was such a kick that---that he was doin' the cop's son, while he was trying to find him," Tom responded hoarsely. He shakily stood up and began walking off.

"Whoa. Where you goin'?" Charlie asked.

"Gonna get Rod back," Tom replied.

"Well, let us help," Doug offered.

"Thanks, but---I gotta do this on my own," Tom told him.

"Hanson---" Booker began.

"You got siblings, Book?" Tom asked, turning around.

"Yeah. I'm the oldest," Booker replied.

"You'd watch out for them…do anything for them?" Tom continued, his voice breaking.

"In a heartbeat," Booker stated.

"Well, Rod, Kelly, and Melissa are my siblings. And I know the perfect way to trap Torres," Tom declared.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What are you thinking?" Charlie asked.

"Sorry, Charlie. If I told you, you wouldn't let me do it," Tom stated. Without waiting for an answer, he went to his mustang, got in, and drove off. For a moment, the others stared, and then got into their respective vehicles, and followed him. In his car, Tom could barely keep himself from shaking. I---I can't believe I'm actually gonna try to draw him out like this, he thought. But he knew what Torres liked. He had noticed the pattern in the kids, even if the others hadn't. The officer maneuvered his mustang to his mother's house. Then, he parked the car and walked up to the door, which was opened to reveal his mother.

"Uh, Tommy. What are you doing here?" Margaret Hanson wondered.

"My room still the same?" Tom queried.

"Of course. You know that," Margaret answered.

"Thanks," Tom said, moving past her.

"Tommy, what's going on?" Margaret asked.

"You've been watching the news, haven't you?" Tom responded.

"Yes. I've been worried sick and---" the woman cut herself off. "Tommy, what are you planning?" she demanded.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it," Tom dismissed.

"Thomas Hanson Jr., you have the same body language your father always got when he was about to do something crazy and stupid. Now you tell me what you're planning to do," Margaret snapped, grabbing his arm and whirling him around.

"I'm gonna draw out Torres," Tom told her.

"You're going to what?" Margaret gasped.

"He's got Rod, Mom. And he'll go after someone else tonight. It's gotta be me," Tom insisted. Margaret looked at her son. Dang it if he didn't look exactly like his father with the same stubbornness in his face.

"You be careful," she warned.

"Always am," he promised, giving her a light peck on the cheek. Then, he went up to his old room just as the other officers approached the driveway.

"Now what's going on?" the woman griped, going to the door.

"Where's Hanson?" Captain Fuller asked.

"Up there. Maybe you guys can talk some sense into him," Margaret answered. Curious, the officers hurried in the direction the woman had indicated.

"Hanson?" Harry asked. There was no answer.

"Hey, yo, Tommy! Are you in here or what?" Doug called.

"Yeah! In here!" they heard him acknowledge. When they got to the room, they found their friend in a pair of old, ripped, gray jeans and was just slipping into an old faded tee.

"I'm surprised they still fit," Dennis commented. Tom turned around.

"It's what he likes---the grunge look. It---it turns him on," he explained, as he got an old backpack of his out of the closet, brought it to his bed, and then turned so that they couldn't see what he put inside.

"Hanson," Judy said.

"Look, Bobby was a grunge king. So was the other boy. Now if I let him take me, I can save Rod and any other potential victim," Tom told them.

"Well, at least let a couple of us come along with you as backup," Doug encouraged.

"No. Absolutely not," Tom disagreed. He pushed past them.

"Hanson," Booker said, grabbing his arm.

"Bite me with a twirling lawnmower," Tom snapped, jerking free. Then, he went downstairs and out the door. While this was going on, Torres had managed to bring Rod out of his stupor. The musician groaned as Torres let his hands travel over his body.

"You feel so good. It's been a long time since I've had you," Torres murmured.

"You sick freak. I'll kill you," Rod said as he felt the man's breath on his neck. The man snarled and leaned in even closer.

"I should kill you right now, boy," he whispered. "But luckily for you, I have some business to attend to," he continued. Then, he pulled away. Business to attend---? Rod thought. Then, he understood.

"NO!" Rod shouted, as he fought against the bonds. Torres chuckled and walked out of the room. Rod gave his shackles one last shake, and then slumped against the wall. Minutes later, the man was out cruising again. His eyes prowled the streets. Rod was good, he enjoyed him…but he needed someone else. Someone else to whimper and cower before him. Suddenly, he noticed a boy walking down the streets. His lips curved into a smile. Yes. Just what he wanted. His headlights shined on the figure and that was when he saw who it was.

"Tommy," he murmured. He followed the officer for a little bit, and then stopped his car. He got out and let his knives scrape across the car. Tom gasped and turned around.

"Torres," he whispered, suddenly feeling like a fourteen-year old boy again. Maybe this was a bad idea, he thought to himself. However, he forced the wave of panic down. This was exactly what he wanted.

"One, two, Butcher's comin' for you," Torres sang tauntingly. Tom took off. Torres laughed. He loved a good chase. Tom lugged the pack over his shoulder and tried not to listen to the screes as Torres got closer. Suddenly, he tripped over something. The officer began crawling away, and grunted as he felt himself being pulled away. He gave a few kicks, but to no avail. As he was dragged along the concrete, Tom kept a firm grip on his backpack.