Page 32 of Cole: Bloodlines
“But hedidn’tbutcher the bitch after she spit out Henry,” the deputy whispered against Gabe’s ear, his breath hot and staleas he panted, stroking Gabe’s dick. The man’s crotch pressed firm against Gabe’s thigh, his cock stiff inside his pants. “They became a fuckingfamily…while he kept me hidden away in that filthy little cabin—for years.”
The deputy’s words sounded disjointed, fractured, as if spoken through a thick pane of ice, barely piercing the deafening roar of the cold that had seized Gabe’s naked body. An invisible vise clamped his chest, crushing the air from his lungs, making each shallow breath a desperate, futile gasp. He registered the man’s fist around his cock only as a distant pressure, a phantom touch—a horrifying mercy in the face of encroaching hypothermia. Every fiber of his being screamed to spit, to claw, to unleash the impotent fury curdling in his gut, but his jaw was locked, a frozen vise, mirroring the paralysis that had claimed his limbs, his will. The man’s whines about “Henry” ruining his life were just background noise, a lunatic’s static, indistinguishable from the screams in his own mind.
“But I had a secret for him,” the deputy murmured, his breath quick and hot against Gabe’s temple, a sickening contrast to the pervasive cold. He jerked Gabe’s dick, limp and unresponsive in his fist, bumping his own crotch, a grotesque, self-contained act of depravity. “When I told him, he didn’t believe it. But I believed it. I still do. Because there ain’t no fucking way—”
“Enough,” the madman barked, his voice slicing through the haze, a whip-crack of authority. He approached, his shadow falling over Gabe like a shroud. “He isn’t going tocumfor you,” he muttered with disdain, his words dripping with contempt. “He’s half frozen. Cage him.” The man’s eyes, dark and fathomless, bored into Gabe’s, and a deep, primal satisfaction, chilling in its purity, resonated forth, a silent pronouncement of ownership. “Let him sit and think about what is… and whatwillbe.” The words echoed, a promise of endless torment.
The deputy scowled, a petulant child denied his toy. He unfastened Gabe’s hands, the chains clinking like a death knell, and Gabe’s arms dropped, heavy and useless, dead weight that pulled at his shoulders, sending a severe, radiating ache webbing through his back and chest. Roland shoved him toward one of the cages, his bare feet slapping against the freezing, wet concrete, each contact a jolt of pain, a reminder of his degradation as he stumbled forward. The deputy pulled open the rusty cage door with a piercing, metallic screech that seemed to tear at the very fabric of Gabe’s sanity, then forced him inside. The heavy padlock clanged shut, the sound reverberating through Gabe’s bones, sealing him in. The deputy squatted, gripping the flaking bars, his grin wide and predatory, the face of a lunatic.
“Get some rest, Gabey. Don’t think too hard about your dead friends… or Henry and the others, when they found them.” He winked, a gesture of sickening intimacy. “I’m sure they’re coping just fine… what do you think?” He chuckled, a low, guttural sound that scraped against Gabe’s raw nerves, then stood and left the spacious room, pulling the heavy metal door closed behind him with a final, echoing thud that swallowed the last vestiges of light, casting the entire area into a suffocating, absolute blackness.
The scraping echo of the door shutting vibrated not just through Gabe’s bones, but through the very core of his being, a final, definitive severing from the world. Convulsing shivers racked his ice-cold body, each spasm a testament to the horror that had taken root within him. In the suffocating darkness, he slid his trembling hands across the floor of the cage, the gritty grime and sharp rust flakes burrowing beneath his nails, a grotesque communion with his prison. His fingers brushed against coarse fabric. Shaking so violently that his teeth chattered, he grabbed the cloth and dragged it to him. It reekedof rot, mildew, and something else… something metallic and cloying. He gagged, the pungent odors assaulting his senses, but desperate for any meager comfort, he ignored the stench, pulling the nasty, stiff blanket around his body, huddling into a fetal ball, trying to cover his legs, to reclaim some shred of warmth.
He pressed into the far corner of the cage, hugging the filthy cover to his freezing body, and stared into the pervading darkness, so thick it pulsed with a life of its own, a malevolent entity breathing down his neck. He tried, with every ounce of his shattered will, not to see beyond the black void, to keep his mind from wandering into the abyss that awaited. But the images were there, unbidden, intrusive, a relentless horror movie playing on a loop behind his eyes, each turn growing more terrifying, more visceral than the last.
Cole, Dane, Devlin…Angel… their faces, their screams, the sickening discovery of the bodies in the park… Savannah, Maddy, Abel… brutally raped and butchered. The words, the names, were a litany of torment, each one a fresh, agonizing wound.
A low, keening wail, thin and reedy, squeezed up Gabe’s throat, a sound torn from the deepest chambers of his soul. He closed his eyes so tightly they ached, pressing his knuckles into them, desperate to block out the relentless reel of horror that continued to roll behind his eyelids, a private hell he could not escape.It’s over,he thought, a cold, desolate certainty settling upon him.Everyone is dead…even those who were still breathing.Hewas dead. They werealldead.
How’s your faith, son-in-law? Still believe in God?
Gabe opened his eyes to the blackness, and warm tears spilled down his chilled face.
My God…My God… why have you forsaken us?
The silent plea, a raw, guttural cry from a spirit utterly broken, echoed unanswered in the suffocating dark.
CHAPTER 13: THE DEAD KIDS
Dane moved listlessly,each step a monumental effort, dragging himself toward the tree. The coroner, Frank, led the way, his silhouette a grim guide against the pale moonlight, with Detective Jordan a silent shadow behind them. Beneath Dane's heavy boots, the frozen grass crunched, a brittle, foreboding sound that echoed the snapping of his own sanity in the frigid, desolate air. The sharp, metallic tang of winter, laced with something else—something cloying and sickeningly sweet, like crushed wildflowers and iron—pierced his nostrils, a scent he knew, with chilling certainty, would forever be etched into the darkest corners of his memory, irrevocably bound to this night of unspeakable horror. His sinuses ached, a dull, throbbing pressure behind his eyes, mirroring the expanding agony in his chest.
Then, the tree gave way to the unimaginable. The sight of the children, splayed on the unforgiving ground—naked, broken, their delicate forms twisted into grotesque parodies of human agony—shattered something fundamental within Dane. A primal scream clawed at the back of his throat, but no sound escaped. His entire being seized, a violent convulsion that threatened to buckle his knees. He wrenched his gaze away, the world tilting, a wave of nausea cresting in his stomach. When he’d first stumbled upon the scene, shielding Angel from its full depravity, he'd only caught glimpses, flashes of a nightmare that had nevertheless clawed its way into his very soul, leaving him hollowed out and raw. But this… this was an intimacy with horror he hadn't prepared for. The stark, undeniable reality of their butchered, violated bodies, the children they had lovedwith a fierce, protective devotion, was a blow that stole his breath, leaving only a cold, echoing void.
“Take a moment,” Frank’s voice, a surprising balm of genuine sympathy, cut through the suffocating silence. It was a kindness that only made the dam inside Dane threaten to burst. He pressed his hand to his eyes, the pressure so hard that phantom stars exploded behind his eyelids. His throat constricted, a knot of raw grief and bile, and his chest felt like it was being crushed by an unseen weight. He swallowed, a dry, rasping sound, desperate to push back the scalding tears that burned behind his eyelids, threatening to spill over. Maddy… Maddy was like his own little brother. He couldn't have loved him more if they shared the same blood. And Savannah…
Savannah. Her name was a silent scream in his mind. Everyone’s darling, a whisper of sunshine and resilience, so achingly fragile, yet forged with an inner strength that defied her years. She was the quiet anchor Maddy had desperately needed, and he, in turn, was her unyielding shield. The thought of their vibrant lives, snuffed out with such brutal, casual cruelty, ripped through him.Fuck. He shoved the heels of his palms into his damp, burning eyes, a ragged, guttural sound tearing from his throat, a sound that was more animalistic groan than human breath.
This isn’t fair—it isn’t FUCKING FAIR!The words screamed in the echoing chamber of his mind, raw and visceral. The innocent getbutcheredwhile the fuckingmonsterswin? He choked back curses, bitter and acrid, aimed at a God who had, so many times before, forged miracles from their miseries, spun hope from trauma. Had they received their allotted miracles, a lifetime’s worth, and this… this was the desolate wasteland left behind when the well ran dry? The thought was a chilling, blasphemous whisper, a betrayal of everything he had once believed.
He forced himself to inhale, the cold air burning his lungs, then exhaled slowly, a long, shuddering sigh that tasted of despair. He scrubbed his face roughly, wiping away the hot tracks of tears, before clearing his throat, a dry, clicking sound. Turning back, the grotesque display of the dead children slammed into him again, a phantom fist to his sternum, stealing the air from his lungs. Still, he didn't retreat. He couldn't. There was no fucking way the boys, shattered and reeling, could bear this burden. Not Cole, whose quiet strength was already stretched thin. And Devlin… the man was already carrying the weight of the world; this final, crushing horror shouldn't be laid upon him too. It had to be Dane. He was the one who had to look, to witness, to remember.
A raw sniff, another ragged exhale, and Dane offered a curt nod to the coroner, a silent command to proceed. Frank, his face a mask of somber professionalism, knelt beside the bodies. The air thickened, heavy with unspoken dread, as he carefully, agonizingly slowly, removed the cloth bags obscuring their heads. Dane’s eyes squeezed shut, a desperate, futile attempt to ward off the inevitable, to keep the last shreds of sanity intact. No one spoke. The silence was absolute, suffocating, broken only by the frantic hammering of his own heart against his ribs. No one pressured him, no one rushed him. They waited, a grim, patient vigil, while he wrestled with the demons in his mind, gathering the fractured remnants of his courage to finally look the nightmare in the face.
A shaky, tortured breath hitched in his throat, and Dane’s eyelids fluttered open, heavy as grave-slabs. The innocent, violated faces swam before him, distorted by the fresh torrent of tears that immediately welled, blurring their features into a horrifying, indistinguishable canvas of suffering. He blinked, hard, and the scalding tears spilled down his cheeks, tracing cold paths on his numb skin. He blinked again, rubbing the heels ofhis hands against his eyes until his vision cleared, the horrific details snapping into sharp, unbearable focus. He stared, unblinking, at the dead children, his fractured mind desperately, agonizingly, struggling to reconcile the grotesque reality before him with the faces he knew, the laughter he remembered.
“Dane…” Jordan’s voice, a low rumble of concern, broke the spell, his hand a tentative weight on Dane’s arm. But the words, the touch, were distant, muted. It took a full, agonizing minute for the truth, therealshock, to fully register, to claw its way through the protective layers of grief and disbelief. And then it hit him, a physical blow that sent him staggering back, a violent jerk that nearly pitched him off balance. The coroner, Frank, had risen to his feet, his gaze fixed on Dane, his brow furrowed with a dawning apprehension. Dane’s own eyes, wide and unseeing, felt as though they were bulging from their sockets.
This… This isn’t real.The thought was a frantic, collapsing dam.I’m hallucinating… the trauma, it’s… it’s fucking with me.A cruel, elaborate trick of his shattered mind. But the insidious tendrils of reality began to coil around him, tightening, squeezing, as the twisted, malevolent joke of it all stared him in the face, mocking his grief, his certainty. It was a grotesque masquerade, a perversion of death itself.
Dane reeled back another step, his feet slipping on the treacherous, icy grass, the world spinning precariously. His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto his ass, the jarring impact barely registering. His eyes remained fixed, unblinking, on the dead teens, now seen with a new, horrifying clarity.
Detective Jordan and Frank were instantly at his side, strong hands gripping his arms, hauling him back to his feet. “Dane?” Jordan began, his voice laced with confusion, “What… what is it?”
“It isn’t…” Dane’s voice was a fractured whisper, barely audible, as if ripped from a throat already shredded by screams. “It isn’t… them.”
The two men exchanged a startled, disbelieving look. “What?” Frank frowned, leaning closer, as if he hadn't heard correctly.
“It isn’t them!” Dane choked, the words tearing from him, raw and ragged, as fresh, scalding tears streamed down his face, blurring the world into a painful smear. He clutched Jordan’s arm, his fingers digging in, desperate. “It isn’t them. It isn’t them!” The same three words, a broken mantra, the only truth his shattered mind could grasp, repeated over and over, until they lost all meaning, becoming just a desperate sound. “It isn’t…” He spun away from them, a sudden, desperate burst of energy, and bolted for the cars, his feet slipping and sliding precariously on the slick, frozen grass, but still, he kept his balance.
