CHAPTER 40 LIFE SENTENCE
Max and Horatio hurried through the waiting room doors, rushing to the ER nurse's desk. Max took a deep breath to speak calmly despite his rapid heartbeat. “We’re Maddy Harris’ parents. He was brought in earlier with his girlfriend, Savannah Sims. Do you know which room they’re in?”
“Max?”
Turning around, Max saw Devlin. “Maddy…?”
“He’s okay.” Relief shimmered in the doctor’s eyes. “Savannah, too.”
Max approached him and embraced him tightly, barely holding back tears. “Thank God, they’re finally home,” he whispered with a tremor in his voice.
Devlin hugged him back, trembling. “I have, many times over.”
Withdrawing, Max asked, “How is Abel? Angel?”
“They...” A change flickered behind the man’s eyes, disrupting Max’s joy and relief.
“What?”
Devlin licked his lips, staring at the two men as if hesitant to continue.
“Is something wrong?” Horatio asked uneasily.
Devlin motioned for them to follow and led them into an empty room. He paused for a moment, one hand covering his mouth as he stared at the floor, tears in his eyes.
“You’re scaring me,” Max said quietly. “Talk to us.”
Devlin lifted his head, took a shaky breath, and cleared his throat. “Something... something happened last night.” His chin trembled as tears started to well up. “Something... really bad.” The look on his face frightened Max. “Horrifying.”
Max exchanged a worried look with Horatio. “What, Devlin? Tell us. These boys, they’re all our kids.”
Devlin once again covered his mouth and leaned against the empty bed made up with fresh white linen.
His head drooped, and his face crumpled as tears spilled over.
“When… When Gabe traded himself for Abel and the kids…” His voice quivered as he stared at the floor, his eyes reflecting a distant horror.
“We were told they were waiting for us at the park.” His arms folded around his stomach as tremors shook through him.
Max sat beside him and wrapped his arm around the younger man. “What happened at the park?” Max whispered, suddenly terrified to hear the answer. Horatio moved closer, his hand resting on Devlin’s shoulder.
“Abel…” Devlin squeezed his eyes shut, breath catching in his throat.
“He was… He was sitting on the ground, in just his underwear, tied to a tree, gagged, and…” Devlin shuddered as a sob hitched in his chest. “And hanging above him was…” He started shaking harder, and Max held him tighter.
“… was two… teenagers. A boy and a… a girl.” Devlin pressed against Max, breaking into sobs.
“Their bodies were… were cut open … bleeding all over him. They were wearing Maddy and Savannah’s clothes. ”
“ Jesus,” Horatio breathed, horrified.
Through broken sobs, his words hardly coherent, Devlin told them how Abel screamed for the others to keep Angel back, but he still saw the bodies, believing it was Maddy and Savannah—that they all thought it was the kids.
“Their faces…?” Max whispered shakily.
“They were covered… with cloth bags,” Devlin trembled.
“Only… Only after the cops came and took them down did we… did we find out it wasn’t…
” Fresh sobs escaped him. “But by then, it was… it was too late. Abel and Angel, they… they just went away … mentally. Even after we found out it wasn’t our kids, they were still… traumatized.”
“Of course,” Horatio murmured sickly. “That’s understandable.”
“When we came back to the hospital,” Devlin whispered. “I gave them both something to sleep, because… because the kids were still missing and we knew that what happened at the park… could still happen for real. Angel and Abel knew it, and it was too much for them.”
“You did the right thing,” Max said softly. “At that point, it was surely best for them to just sleep.”
Devlin inhaled a shaky breath. “When the kids came back… Angel and Abel were relieved to see them safe and unharmed, but…” He shook his head.
“… what happened at the park… that’s not going to go away even with the kids home.
You didn’t hear their screams …” Devlin broke down again, trembling against Max.
“You didn’t see the horror on their faces…
how they just checked out because the nightmare was just too much to face.
” His breath shuddered. “It isn’t over. Maybe it wasn’t our kids out there, but…
but the monster still got what he wanted.
He did it to break us… and he did. I’ll never…
” Devlin shook his head, crying. “… I’ll never stop hearing their screams…
stop seeing the looks on their faces. I don’t think that nightmare will ever go away…
for any of us who were there.” He closed his eyes, swallowing thickly.
“And Cole… he saw it all… I-I don’t know if he can hold up under the guilt. ”
“Why would Cole feel guilty?” Max asked, glancing uncertainly at Horatio.
Devlin raised his head and looked at the two men. “You don’t know?” he whispered hollowly.
“Know what?” Horatio frowned.
Devlin swallowed thickly, his throat working nervously. “The serial killer who took Abel and the kids…” Quiet horror resonated in his watery eyes. “… he was Cole’s father.”
Gabe fell silent, and Cole's chest ached with hollow gratitude; his husband was desperately trying to comfort him, to make the unbearable bearable, but Cole couldn't bring himself to tell him it was only making everything worse.
The weight of responsibility for Ezra crushed down on Cole, making each breath a struggle.
It wasn't just guilt—it was a visceral certainty that he had failed the person who needed him most in the world.
Lying still, Cole's fingers worked the bracelet, the leather still tacky with Byrne's blood.
The sensation sent revulsion crawling up his spine like insects beneath his skin.
His stomach lurched suddenly, bile rising as a violent tremor shook him from the inside out, and he lurched from the bed as if fleeing from his own thoughts.
“Cole…?” Gabe sat forward, concerned. “Where are you going?”
“I have to...” Cole trembled, his words catching in his throat as he stumbled into the bathroom on unsteady legs.
He pushed through the door with his shoulder, the hinges protesting with a metallic whine as it slammed shut behind him.
The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting his reflection in sickly tones as he lurched toward the sink.
His hands shook so violently he could barely control his fingers, cold sweat beading along his hairline as he fumbled with the bracelet.
The leather felt slick and wrong against his skin— contaminated .
He yanked it free and dropped it into the porcelain basin with a dull thud, then cranked the faucet handle until water gushed out in a steaming rush.
Cole slammed his palm against the soap dispenser once, twice, three times until cool blue liquid pooled in his trembling hand.
He seized the bracelet and began to scrub frantically, watching pink-tinged soap bubbles swirl down the drain, his fingernails digging into the leather as if trying to excavate the blood from its very fibers.
“Cole?” Gabe opened the bathroom door and shuffled inside. “What’re you doing?”
Cole's entire body convulsed as he obsessively scrubbed the bracelet, each breath catching in his chest. Tears blurred his vision and streaked down his cheeks. “The blood… it won’t come out…” His voice cracked, raw with despair that clawed up from deep inside his chest. “I-I don’t want his blood…
on the bracelet… but it won’t come out.” Each word seemed torn from him, his thumbs working against the leather until his skin was raw, repeatedly slamming the soap dispenser with such force that his knuckles whitened.
“Hey. Hey.” Gabe's fingers dug into Cole's shoulders, his touch both an anchor and a reminder of the unbridgeable gap between Cole's pain and anyone else's understanding. “Babe, it's okay—”
“No, it isn't!” Cole's cry was a sound of pure anguish that seemed to echo from every dark corner of his soul.
His hands trembled violently beneath the scalding water, steam rising around his face like the physical manifestation of his grief.
“I have to get it out! I don't want his fucking blood on it!
I don't...” His body folded in on itself as though physically crushed by the weight of his emotions, sobs wracking his frame until he could barely breathe, doubled over the sink like a man mortally wounded.
Gabe pressed against his back, the solid warmth of his chest a stark contrast to the cold porcelain edge digging into Cole's hip.
His arms wrapped around Cole like a lifeline, lips brushing the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck where fine hairs stood on end.
“I know, baby,” he whispered, his voice trembling with a quiver that vibrated against Cole's spine.
Gabe shifted beside him, his fingers gently prying the soaked bracelet from Cole's raw, reddened fingers. “Let me help.”
Cole's hands shook violently, knuckles white as he gripped the porcelain edge of the sink, shoulders hunched as if bearing an invisible burden.
Tears streamed down his cheeks, dripping from his jaw to splatter against the white basin.
“It-It won't come out...” he choked through lips that had gone bloodless, his voice breaking. “It won't...”
He was right; Gabe's thumbs worked the leather with steady, deliberate force, but the rusty bloodstain had soaked deep into the fibers, making the once-smooth surface rough and mottled.
Gabe finally grabbed a handful of paper towels, the sharp tearing sound echoing in the small bathroom.
He dabbed away the excess water, then pressed the damp bracelet into Cole's palm, folding his trembling fingers over it one by one.
“This is the blood of an enemy that you defeated,” Gabe murmured, his eyes shining with a fierce, protective light as he held Cole's hands between his own.
“This stain on the bracelet is proof that you fought and you won.
And I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but...” his voice lowered to barely more than a whisper, “Ezra won, too. He's alive .”
Cole stared blankly at the bracelet, the leather now darkened and swollen with water, his tears flowing freely.
“He's breathing,” Cole whispered, each word fragmenting in his throat.
“But he isn't alive . They stole his life...hurt him until...” his chin trembled, the muscle beneath his jaw pulsing visibly as fresh tears welled and spilled over.
“...until he lost his mind.” His shoulders caved inward, spine curving as if his chest were collapsing under the weight of an invisible anvil, each sob tearing from him with such force his ribs ached.
“The Ezra I knew… my best friend … is dead .” His knees finally buckled, and he wilted against Gabe's solid frame, fingers clutching desperately at his husband's hospital gown, twisting the fabric as tremors wracked his body. “They took everything from him… they took him from me …” The words emerged as barely more than exhaled pain, his voice raw and threadbare. “And he’s not coming back.”
Gabe held him tightly, his strong arms forming a fortress around his shuddering body, cradling Cole's head in the hollow between his neck and collarbone.
“Baby, you don't know that,” he murmured, his breath stirring the fine hairs at Cole's temple.
“He's in a bad way right now, but with help, with therapy, maybe he will come back. For him to survive this long...” Gabe's voice cracked, and he took a deep breath, his chest expanding against Cole's.
“He had to be fighting inside. There had to be something he was holding onto, something that gave him the strength not to give up.” His lips brushed against Cole's hairline, lingering there as his fingers traced slow, soothing circles between his shoulder blades.
“And I can't help but believe that something was you. From the things Dane told me, that you told him... you were all he had in the world. If anything was keeping him alive...” His arms tightened, as if he could physically shield Cole from his own thoughts, “...it was you .”
Although Gabe's words were meant to soothe him, they burned against Cole's raw nerves like salt on an open wound.
His chest constricted as if caught in a vise, lungs struggling against the crushing weight of realization.
A wave of nausea rolled through his body as images flashed behind his eyes—Ezra suffering, bleeding, screaming—all while picturing Cole's face as some distant salvation that would never truly come.
The thought hollowed him out, leaving nothing but a cavernous ache where his heart should be, guilt crystallizing in his veins like ice.
This wasn't comfort; it was a sentence Cole couldn't bear to serve… yet couldn't escape.