Two Caged Men

Doug's P.O.V.

At first I though this job would be a piece of cake- go undercover in a juvenile prison, find out where the source of the heroin is, bust the guys, and get the hell out of there like any other good cop.

I got in here with my partner, Hanson, and fellow co-workers on the Jump Street program, Ioki and Booker, and things were going pretty smoothly- for the first ten seconds. Then, all hell broke loose.

Of course, it seemed that it had broken loose a long time ago for the other inmates in the lock-up. But that's when we realized that being sent here as an inmate was far worse for the kids than any other punishment available for them. This place was supposed to 'rehabilitate' them- but instead it just messed them up even more.

I'd only been here a few days with Hanson and I could barely take it. Donning our 'McQuaid Brothers' disguise, we were in the same cell together- the same miniscule, 2 by 2-inch cell that barely had enough room to breathe in.

Ok, it probably really wasn't that small- but it sure seems a hell of a lot like it when you have claustrophobia. Either way it took everything out of me just to not turn into a puddle of jelly on the floor and stay at least half-sane.

But Tommy- good ol' Tommy Hanson, my partner, my friend- was there for me. Just having his presence with me, talking to me, helped me a bit. It would have helped even more if the damn guards kept the doors to the cells open at night- it's not like we're going anywhere, right? - But at least I had Hanson to keep me at least a bit level. I don't think I'd ever admit it out loud, but if it weren't for him, I would have cracked the first night. I owe him everything for that.

But then the shit really hit the fan- some jerk planted heroin in our cell when we were out in the court yard one day and Tommy, being the saint he is, took the fall- and a one way ticket into solitary. Once again I owed him everything for taking that fall- he must have realized that I wouldn't be able to handle a 1 by 1-inch cell as opposed to a 2 by 2-inch cell.

Of course, even though Tommy saved my butt for the meantime, hell still had it in for me; Or, at least, the other inmates- three of 'em, to be exact. I was already having a mini-panic attack from my claustrophobia, but then these shmucks had to come into my cell- And. Close. The. Damn. Door!

Of course, that didn't go over well with me- one rumble and a bigger panic attack later, the warden and some of his lackeys are dragging me over to another cell across from the one that Tommy was in. They stopped for a second in front of my new home, relishing the moment before they tossed me in there for the night. I peered into the room, dread squeezing the air out of my lungs.

Fate is a cruel, cruel thing.

"No, no, please, don't put me in there, I-I'm claustrophobic, I can't handle it!" I plead desperately, not caring that any shred of dignity in me was evaporating quickly. I began kicking, twisting, fighting hysterically for my life and sanity.

"Ya, ya, that's what they all say," The Warden chuckled cruelly like I was making a stupid joke. Despite my panicked fighting, they tossed me into my solitary cell without a word- and locked the door behind them with a bang of finality.

At that point, something snapped in me. I only really remember bits and pieces of what happened after that point, but I do remember that I screamed…and cried for help…a lot. Nobody helped me.

Except Hanson.

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Tom's P.O.V.

I sat in my cell, empty as the room itself. Even with all of my thoughts flooding my vision I felt nothing. Solitary gives you a lot of time to think- and boy, did I do a lot of that.

But, not all at once- my inner musings were interrupted by the sound of Doug's entrance into his own cell. I vaguely wondered what the hell he had done now to earn a ticket into solitary. Either way when I heard him cry out in sheer hysteria, emotion suddenly began to familiarize with me again. I don't know what it was- Guilt? Pity? Sadness? They're all pretty similar to one another, so it was hard to be sure.

I heard Penhall continue calling out his rueful "No, no, no!"s over and over again, and I have to admit, it was depressing me further. Of all people, Doug probably deserved this the least. He was a good cop, good man, and a good friend. So many people in here had blackened souls from their time in here, killing fellow human beings, and other heinous crimes- but Doug shouldn't have been in here. Even the people who killed wouldn't deserve this.

My partner's yelps and cries began more drawn out and his violent actions became louder, banging against the door, walls, anything to try to get out of there. Slowly those cries calmed down and with it came the real ones.

I heard Doug choking on his breaths and strangled sobs exiting his surely trembling lips. I could picture Penhall leaned again the door of his cell in a fetal position, surely driving himself over the edge with fear. "Help…help…someone…" I heard him whisper with desperation. "PLEASE!" he suddenly gasped out, and the banging began again. "PLEASE! PLEASE! SOMEBODY, I'M DYING, I CAN'T TAKE IT, THE WALLS ARE CLOSING IN, I CAN'T, I CAN'T--!"

He kept repeating himself over and over, and his breathing became louder and louder- it sounded like he was breathing right in my ear. He would surely pass out or get worse. I felt so helpless. I wanted to be there for him, tell him he was ok, that he shouldn't be afraid.

"Doug, it's ok, calm down," I murmured weakly from my position on the floor.

Penhall's cries persisted.

"Please, Penhall, you're just making it worse," I said a bit louder.

"PLEASE! PLEASE! LET ME OUT! NOOO, PLEEEASE!"

"OFFICER PENHALL!" I barked, "CALM THE HELL DOWN!" I stood up and walked over to my cell door, peering out of the bars in hopes to catch a glimpse of my partner on the other side.

Doug's screams stopped momentarily. "...T-tommy?" he mumbled hopefully, his voice laced with tears. "Tom, ye' gotta get m' outta here, man, I'm goin' nuts, please, HELP ME--!" I could tell that Penhall wasn't in his right mind at the moment- his slurs and incoherent speech suggested so. But I knew I had to reach him.

"Doug, please, just relax, come on, buddy, just breath with me," I answered, much kinder than before.

"I-I can't, m-man," Penhall stuttered out between his hyperventilating, "I-I-I'm dyin' here, Hanson, please, I gotta ge' outta here…"

"Penhall. Stand up and look out your door. Look at me, man,"

I heard slow shuffles of fabric, stumblings, and eventually saw the shadow that was Doug's face. Red-eyed, slick faced and hair disheveled, he had a distant look in his brown eyes, but despite his far-off appearance, he was looking at me.

Which is what I wanted.

"Doug, just look at me…just breathe, man. You're not going to die. The walls aren't crashing in on you. It's all in your head,"

My partner brought his hands around the bars, staring off distantly. "H-how can ye' be sure? Yer not in here, Tommy…there's n-no air…I-I can't…"

"Yes you can," I shot back, "You're a trained police officer, just like me, you can handle situations like this. You've just got to pull yourself together,"

"I CAN'T, DON'T YA GET IT!" Doug bellowed to my surprise, "WE'RE STUCK IN 'DIS HELL HOLE, NOBODIES COMIN', AN-AND I JUST CAN'T TAKE IT NO MORE!" He started shaking the bars on his door in an attempt to break them, but failed. After a few moments he stopped in defeat and let his arms hang out. He leaned his head against the bars and dry sobs began to rack his body once more.

I stood there silent for a moment, biting my lip with apprehension of the scene unfolding before me. Of the three years I've known him, I'd never seen Doug like this. In way, seeing him this vulnerable made me feel vulnerable as well; If 'big, strong' Doug could break down like this, what about me?

"Doug…you've got to snap out of this," I stated slowly, "I need you to be strong with me. I need you with me."

"Yer better off widout me, I'm jus' a big mess," Doug sputtered out, his arms trembling; it was clear that he was weakening the more he continued to hyperventilate. I couldn't stand to see my best friend in such a mess, so I averted my eyes to the ground.

"No, man, I need you now the most…this place is getting to the both of us. We need to stick together and get through this. Remember why we're here- we need to bust this heroin ring in this juvenile lock-up, remember?"

"Y-yes,"

"Just think about that Doug, and breathe," I replied softly, looking back up, only to see that Doug was looking straight at me again- the distance in his eyes came closer to me instead of farther away. "Just take deep breaths, I need you with me,"

I saw one of his knees give out, but then he jolted back up with a sudden determination to stay conscious. "Tommy, yer a good guy, m' best friend, m' sorry for all this…" he blubbered out.

"Sorry for what?"

"M' sorry…for bein' the way I am…claustrophobic…havin' t' have ya listen t' all this…lettin' ya take the blame for the jerk-off who planted the heroin in our room…sorry for aggravatin' ya all the time…shootin' ya in the ass…"

I couldn't help but chuckle as that. "Doug, you don't have to be sorry for anything. I'm glad to be here for you…you'd do the same for me, buddy,"

Doug took in a shaky breath his lips convulsed slightly. "T-thank you, Tommy," he murmured distantly, his eyes unfocusing slightly; he wasn't getting enough oxygen to his brain still, I could tell.

I reached my arm out of my own bars and held out my gloved hand towards Penhall. "Doug, we're going to get out of here, man, just hold on…hold on…"

Penhall bleakly looked at me with a hiccup. He weakly held out his arm towards mine, and for a moment, our fingertips touched, and his eyes became completely focused on me.

But then, with a small shudder, his arm slapped against the cell door and his head slumped; he had finally passed out.

I stayed at my cell door, watching his breathing finally even out in a strange sort of peace. I was sure Doug wouldn't remember this episode, not that he would want to, and I promised myself that if we got out of there, I would never mention it to Penhall; it would crush his pride to know that he had broke like this, especially in front of me.

Minutes later, a couple of guards came by and took Penhall away.

I tried shouting out to them as where they were taking him, but they ignored me completely, leaving me alone in the darkness for the rest of the night.

I later found out from one of the inmates that Doug was 'taken to the looney bin' after snapping in the middle of the night. But I knew it wasn't true- I had reached him. Through all the mess of his disheveled brain, I had gotten to him. Yet they still took him away.

I only hoped that Fuller could get to him in time as well.

Within days I felt the pressures of this place, and the worries of what happened to Doug, crash down on me. For the first time since my dad died, I cried. I cried for the kids that were stuck in here, cried for what they had to go through, and cried for my partner, Doug Penhall.

Eventually I got out of here, too. I helped catch the guy who was bringing in the heroin, but watched a kid die in a big cell brawl. I helped a kid after he got out of there as well, but the pain I felt from the time I spent there did not lessen. Even now I'm still haunted by images of Doug's blood-shot eyes and his screams of terror. I'm still haunted by everything that happened there.

I look over at Penhall from my desk in The Chapel, and he seems alright- he still doesn't quite remember what happened that night in solitary.

But he does look at me in a different light. Somehow, in the back of his head, he knows something happened- and if possible, when he greets me, he smiles a bit wider.

I smile back, and the pain lessens slightly. Time heals everything, as they say- but I think friendship helps even more.

Fin