CHAPTER 7 OFFICER FRIENDLY
Cole sat on the bench beside Devlin. He had no reason to stay at the hospital now that Gabe was gone.
Gone . The word felt so fucking final. For now, it simply meant Gabe was no longer physically here at the hospital.
But how soon until it meant something… more?
Cole ducked his head and gripped the back of his neck.
He flinched slightly when Devlin touched his back.
Cole felt the tension in the man as they waited for word on Abel and the kids—waiting to see if the madman would keep his word and return them safe and sound.
Up and down the corridor, Angel paced, unable to sit still.
His hands continuously flexed, his jaw was set, and his eyes widened with a glimmer of panic as his mind filled with horrific images of what the madman had done to his little brother.
Cole didn’t need to look inside his head to know what he was imagining—the same imaginations tormented Cole’s mind.
Ezra’s face suddenly appeared behind his eyes.
His father had taken his first love from him…
would he also take his last? Tears welled up and fell from his face onto the cold tiled floor.
Sniffing and wiping his eyes, Cole numbly pulled out his wallet and dug inside for the one thing he had left of his best friend and first love.
He set the wallet on the bench beside him and slowly wrapped the braided leather bracelet around his fingers.
Somehow, it felt like it connected him to Gabe as well.
Because it was fashioned in love… formed from your heart of hearts.
The elevator doors swooshed open down the hall, and Dane stepped out. Cole looked up, almost hopeful to see Gabe still with him. He was alone. Angel hugged him tightly, clinging to him. Dane held the young man close and kissed his head, then led him back to the bench.
“It shouldn’t be long,” Dane said. “We’ll have them back soon.”
Them… but not Gabe.
Cole nodded and lowered his head as he slid the bracelet through his fingers, his heart slowly squeezing as if caught in a vice that was steadily tightening on the dying muscle. Feeling Dane’s heavy stare, Cole lifted his head again. Dane wasn’t looking at him, but at the bracelet.
“What’s that?” Dane asked with a slight pinch to his brow.
Cole handed it to him. “Ezra made it for me,” he whispered.
“I made one for him exactly like on his birthday, and he wanted to make one for me, too. He said they could be like…” he swallowed thickly, his eyes stinging.
“… boyfriend bracelets.” Dane handed it back, and Cole fingered the precious gift, his tears thickening.
“He said he would never take it off.” His voice cracked with emotion.
“I said I wouldn’t either.” His chin trembled.
“But I did… after I ran away. It hurt too much to look at it.” He sniffed and returned it to the wallet, stuffing the wallet back into his pocket.
When he glanced up, Dane was standing still as a statue, a troubled look on his face. “Dane?”
The man blinked and brushed his hand over his mouth. “You said… Ezra’s was exactly like it?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“And you guys made them by hand… yourselves?”
“Yes.” Cole frowned. “Why…”
Dane rubbed his mouth again, anxiety tightening his face. “Because…” he licked his lips as the three men looked at him. “Because… the deputy was wearing one exactly like yours.”
The deputy shifted in the driver’s seat and reached over to adjust the heater, his jacket sleeve pulling up slightly. Gabe stared at the braided leather bracelet on his wrist. It seemed out of place—not something he would expect a man like the deputy to wear.
Glancing at Gabe, the deputy straightened up behind the wheel and pointed to the bracelet. “Nice, huh?”
“It looks handmade,” Gabe murmured.
The deputy examined the bracelet, twisting his wrist, and smiled. “It was.” An odd look seeped into his eyes. “Made with… love.” He cleared his throat, and his eyes cleared. “I wear it… as a reminder.”
“Of a friend?”
Roland’s mouth twitched. “Of a… lover.” His eyes took on an almost glassy sheen—not tears, but… something else. Something not so endearing.
“Did something happen to them?”
“Yeah,” the man mused softly, drifting away for a moment before snapping back to the present. He winked at Gabe. “But I’m a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. And that what is meant to be, will be… one way or another. What do you think?”
Gabe nodded. “Sure,” he murmured. “I suppose I believe the same.”
The deputy was silent for a moment, then asked, “So, if you don’t get your friends back and the Mangler kills them…” he glanced at Gabe. “…will you still believe everything happens for a reason?”
“That isn’t going to happen,” he said tightly.
“Just saying if,” the deputy said. “Would you still believe that? Accept it as just part of this nightmare we call life?”
“I don’t think about what ifs when my friends’ lives are at stake. I imagine getting them home safe—and work toward that goal.”
“All right.” Roland nodded. “Not a bad policy, I suppose. Stay positive, right?”
The more the deputy talked, the more his voice scratched an “itch” in Gabe’s brain…
like a fingernail scraping at a scab, peeling away the dead flesh to reopen the wound.
And the more he scraped , the more the raw matter underneath became exposed.
A memory gone dormant by trauma and anesthesia… now, slowly waking up.
“What...” Cole’s breath labored as a weight pressed down on him. His entire body went numb. “What do you mean, he was wearing one exactly like it?”
“I saw it,” Dane confirmed. “When he was sitting here, just before he went outside.”
Cole’s mind was too overwhelmed to process the new information completely. There was too much trauma vying for his attention, and this small, yet highly significant detail started to short-circuit his brain.
Maybe he found it in the underground cell where Ezra was kept.
But why would he wear it? He knew Cole had given it to Ezra for his birthday—because Cole had told him.
···
Henry didn’t sleep at all that night. He lay on top of the bed, shaking violently, eyes glazed and fixed on some indistinct point on the wall of his bedroom.
Though he had scrubbed himself raw in the scalding bath, he still felt the woman’s blood on his hands, heard her voice in his head, pleading… pleading for death…
Please… kill me…
After leaving the bath, Henry went to his room wearing just a towel, his mind numb with the horror of what his father had forced him to do.
At the window, he saw his dad by the large pig pen, tossing things over the fence.
The heavy sows and the strong boar went into a feeding frenzy, shoving violently against each other to get at whatever his dad was feeding them.
But Henry knew what it was. His dad was “cleaning up the mess.”
Pigs will eat every part of an animal, his dad had told him: bones and all.
The perfect cleanup crew—no evidence left behind.
Henry then thought about the pugs his dad butchered, the bacon and sausage he made from them, and all the breakfast meat Henry had eaten. He puked again, even though his stomach was still empty.
After dry heaving, left with a bitter taste of raw bile in his throat, Henry crawled onto his bed without dressing, and lay on top of the covers as the biting cold seeped into his raw skin.
Maybe he would freeze to death, and the nightmare would be over.
He stared at the braided bracelet, the leather wet from the bath.
A single blood drop stain darkened a spot on the leather band.
His eyes fixed on that stain as if it meant something deeper that his thirteen-year-old mind couldn’t quite grasp.
He finally closed his eyes, praying with all his might that they never opened again.
His prayers went unanswered, and he opened his eyes to a chilly morning, fog pressing against his bedroom window, too thick for the early sunlight to penetrate. Warmth filled his body beneath a heavy blanket that had been draped over him during the night.
Henry felt hollowed out as he dressed and headed to the kitchen.
The smell of bacon wafted through the house, and Henry’s stomach flipped, nearly making him rush to the bathroom.
He fought off the nausea and took his seat at the table while his dad used a fork to turn the strips of bacon in the frying pan.
“How many eggs?” his dad asked without looking at him. “One? Two?”
Henry felt lightheaded from nausea and the overwhelming terror from yesterday. “I’m not hungry,” he whispered sickly. “I-I don’t feel good.”
“Got to keep your strength.” His dad looked at him.
“You’re a growing boy.” He cracked two eggs into a second frying pan.
“Though you took a huge step in becoming a man yesterday. I know the first one isn’t easy, but you did well.
” When the eggs were ready, he brought a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast to the table, placing it before Henry.
He gripped Henry’s shoulder a bit too hard.
“Next time, you’ll do better.” It wasn’t so much a reassurance as a demand.
Henry stared at the slices of cooked bacon—once his favorite breakfast food—and tried not to puke right onto the plate as he imagined the pigs tearing into the dead woman’s flesh, devouring her down to her bones, then eating the bones, too.
“Go on,” his dad said with a firm squeeze to his shoulder.
Henry winced. “Eat up.” He returned to the stove and shut off the burners.
“I have to run into the station for a bit, but I’ll be back early.
” The smile he flashed at Henry made the boy’s blood run cold.
“Maybe I’ll bring you home a… treat. Something more your style to practice on. ”
No… no… please no…