EPILOGUE UNTOUCHED BY MADNESS
Devlin paused outside the main entrance doors to the IC ward, the antiseptic smell already seeping through the sealed threshold.
He pressed his badge against the scanner—a soft green light blinked in acknowledgment—and the pneumatic doors parted with a whispered hiss.
Cole gripped the rubber-coated armrests of the hospital wheelchair, his fingernails leaving half-moon impressions in his palms. Every muscle in his body coiled tight as piano wire as Devlin wheeled him past the patient stations.
Each cubicle glowed under fluorescent lighting, the occupants' most private moments visible through glass partitions from the central nurse's desk, where three staff members tracked vitals on blue-lit monitors, their faces bathed in the cold electronic glow.
“He's right up here,” Devlin murmured as they rolled past an empty bed, its pristine sheets folded with military precision.
Cole's whole body strained forward like a compass needle finding north, his knuckles bleached bone-white from clutching the armrests.
His heart slammed against his ribcage in an arrhythmic panic, each breath coming in shallow gasps that barely filled his lungs.
The wheelchair's rubber wheels squeaked against the polished linoleum as they rounded a half-drawn curtain the color of faded seafoam.
There, bathed in the fluorescent glow, lay the patient—cheekbones jutting sharply from a hollowed face, collarbones forming ridges beneath papery skin.
His chest, visible above the thin hospital blanket, rose and fell in shallow movements.
“Is he going to make it?” Cole whispered, his throat constricting around the words as hot tears blurred his vision, transforming the monitor's glow into a smeared constellation of emerald light.
“He's in bad shape,” Devlin said quietly, his fingers pressing into Cole's shoulder with gentle pressure that anchored him to the moment. His voice dropped to a whisper that barely carried over the rhythmic beeping of the monitors. “But he isn’t giving up. The doctors are cautiously optimistic, but this will be a marathon, not a sprint. The level of abuse he endured, as well as the lack of care he received… It’s weakened some of his internal organs and even appeared to stunt his growth to some degree.” Devlin's voice dropped lower, almost a whisper.
“And that's just the physical inventory. The nightmares, the panic attacks, the dissociation—those scars run deeper than anything you can see on an X-ray.”
Cole hung his head, fingers trembling as they worked the bracelet on his wrist. “Is it even possible,” his voice cracked, tears spilling onto his lap, “for someone to heal mentally... after going through something like that, for so long?”
Devlin knelt beside the wheelchair, his own eyes glistening as he pressed his lips to Cole's head.
“All things are possible to those who believe,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
“It wouldn't be the first miracle we've witnessed.” His hand cupped Cole's cheek, thumb brushing away a tear.
“Something we should all know by now...” his voice faltered, “is never to underestimate the power of love.” Devlin wrapped his arms around Cole, who collapsed against him, shoulders heaving with silent sobs.
“You were his best friend—his only friend—and his first love.
That's not just hope, Cole. That's a lifeline.”
A lifeline. Cole twisted the leather bracelet, fresh tears rising. He didn’t feel like a lifeline when Ezra had been suffering all those years… while Cole erased his own identity and built a new life for himself, burying the past—and Ezra along with it.
You thought he was dead. You had every reason to believe he was gone. You didn’t abandon him to a life of unspeakable torment and abuse. If you’d known he was alive—or even thought he might be—you would have looked for him, and kept looking for him until you found him.
Cole closed his eyes, quiet sobs sifting out of him.
“You’re not in this alone,” Devlin whispered, hugging him. “We will all be here for Ezra… and for you.”
“I know,” Cole said thickly, his voice wet with tears. He looked at Devlin through watery eyes. “I love you, you know?” he whispered with a tremor. “You don’t know how special you are to me… and to Gabe. You and Abel both.”
Devlin kissed him softly on the lips. “We love you, too. You and Gabe… you saved Abel and me, more than once. Words can’t express how much you both mean to us.”
Cole hugged him, kissing him deeply. “I need to be alone with Ezra, but… will you wait for me out here?”
“Of course,” Devlin murmured and stood, wheeling Cole into the cubicle next to the bed. “I’ll be right out here.” He stepped out and slowly pulled the curtain closed behind him.
It took a moment for Cole to look at Ezra’s face, really seeing him for the first time since finding him in the crate.
As he studied his gaunt features, the thirteen-year-old boy he used to know began to peek through.
Cole trembled and reached tentatively for his hand, gripping him gently, as if he might break.
Cole bit his lower lip as his chin quivered.
“Ezra…” he whispered, his voice breaking.
“It’s me… Henry.” Cole bent forward and pressed his lips to Ezra’s frail hand and sobbed.
“I’m so sorry,” he shuddered through his cries.
“I’m so sorry, baby… I didn’t know… I didn’t know what was happening to you…
I didn’t know… I didn’t…” He curled forward, his body shaking as he broke down, all the pain, grief, and guilt surging out through his sobs.
“It’s all my fault… I’m so sorry… it’s all my fault… all my fault.”
He clung to Ezra’s hand, feeling the familiarity of his touch as memories swarmed his mind of him and Ezra as young boys in love, holding hands, sharing innocent kisses.
Cole raised his head and grabbed a few Kleenex from a box on a nearby stand, and wiped his eyes and nose.
With trembling fingers, he removed the bracelet and fastened it carefully around Ezra’s thin wrist.
“I know he took it from you,” Cole whispered thickly.
“I took it back. He’s gone, Ezra. He’s never coming back.
He can’t hurt you anymore.” His chin trembled.
“You’re safe now. You don’t have to hide anymore, you…
you can come back.” Cole pressed his face to his hand again, sobs welling once more. “Please come back… please…”
Cole flinched when Ezra’s hand shifted a fraction.
Cole raised his head, straightening a bit.
Ezra's hand drifted toward his concave stomach with the painful deliberation of someone navigating through molasses—each millimeter a separate, exhausting journey.
His other hand, mottled with yellowish bruises that bloomed like watercolor stains beneath translucent skin, sought out the first with the hesitant, uncertain movements of someone who had spent a lifetime in darkness.
His cracked fingertips, bordered by ragged cuticles and broken nails, dragged weakly over the braided bracelet, catching on the worn leather threads.
His hands went still, pale as alabaster against the institutional beige blanket, and a visible flutter rippled beneath the translucent skin of his chest.
On the heart monitor screen, the jagged green line faltered, dropping into a momentary valley before climbing again—his pulse literally skipping a beat. … and a tear slipped from beneath his closed eyelid.
Cole began to shake. He’s still in there. Cole tenderly covered both of Ezra’s hands and pressed his face against the blanket, sobbing quietly. “It’s me, Ezra… It’s Henry… I’m here, I’m right here. I’m never gonna leave you. I promise… I won’t ever let you be alone or afraid again. You’re safe.”
When Cole returned to his room, rather than going to his own bed, he went to Gabe and crawled into bed with him.
The pain, despair, and guilt resonating from his husband tore Gabe apart.
As soon as his arms wrapped around Cole, the man broke to pieces, his body convulsing beneath the force of his sobs.
Gabe pressed his lips to his hair and closed his eyes, tears running down his face as his husband shook in his arms. Gabe kept silent and just let Cole release everything inside of him—not only from the last few days, but his entire life.
When Cole finally spoke, he clung to Gabe in a death grip, his words hitching out in broken sobs.
“ I… I did this to him… it’s my fault, Gabe…
how can I… how can I live with this?” His arms tightened around Gabe, his nails digging into his back as his body strained beneath his sobs.
“I want it out of me… I want the poison out of my veins… I can’t handle this…
I can’t, Gabe…” His sobs intensified until he was shaking uncontrollably, his pain and desperation frightening Gabe.
“My own flesh and blood did this to him… I can’t handle being a part of them…
being a part of what hurt him this way… I can’t… I can’t…”
Gabe held him tightly, crying with him, with no fucking clue what to say to ease his pain and suffering. The words he desperately wished he could say— “You’re not.”— suddenly echoed through the room… but didn’t come from Gabe.