The Long Way Back
2379 Words
Cole took one step toward the rain.
Then the world exploded.
Not an explosion. A flash. A bang. His ears rang. His vision blurred. Hands grabbed him from behind. Hard hands. Trained hands.
He tried to reach for the gun. Too late.
His arms were pinned. His face slammed against the wet asphalt. A knee pressed into his spine.
“Cole Mathers,” a voice said. “You are under arrest for escape from lawful custody.”
The voice was calm. Professional. Familiar.
Cole turned his head. Rain blurred his vision. But he recognized the face.
Detective Marsh.
The same man who had interrogated him three days ago. The same patient eyes. The same shaved head.
“How?” Cole gasped.
“The guard who let you out? He was mine. We wanted to see who you'd run to.” Marsh pulled Cole to his feet. “You led us right to Sabine Voss and Frankie Hale. Conspiracy to harbor a fugitive. That's a felony.”
Cole looked back at the warehouse door. It was open. Two officers were leading Sabine out in handcuffs. Frankie was on his knees, hands behind his head, a rifle at his back.
“They didn't do anything wrong,” Cole said.
“They helped a murder suspect escape. That's a crime.” Marsh pushed Cole toward a squad car. “You're going back to your cell. And this time, no visitors. No phone calls. No nothing until your trial.”
The car door opened. Cole ducked inside. The metal handcuffs bit into his wrists.
Through the rain-streaked window, he watched Sabine being placed in another car. She didn't look at him. Her face was pale. Resigned.
Frankie was on the ground now. An officer was searching him. They found the rifle. A pistol. Two knives.
Frankie looked up. His eyes met Cole's. He shook his head once. An apology. Or a farewell.
The squad car pulled away.
Cole sat in silence. The rain drummed on the roof. The officer driving didn't speak.
His mind raced. The escape had lasted less than four hours. He had gotten nowhere. Petra was gone. The evidence was gone. And now Sabine and Frankie were in custody because of him.
Setback.
The editor had been right. He had moved too fast. Now he was paying for it.
The car stopped. Not at the jail. At the courthouse.
“Out,” the officer said.
Cole stepped into the rain. They led him inside, down a different hallway, to a different cell. This one was smaller. No bench. Just a concrete floor and a steel door with no window.
“This is solitary,” Cole said.
“You're an escape risk. You get special privileges.” The officer closed the door. The lock clicked.
Darkness.
No camera in here. No red blinking light. Just black silence.
Cole sat on the cold floor. He leaned against the wall. The handcuffs were still on. He couldn't even rub his face.
He closed his eyes.
The memory fragment came again. The voice. The man in the bedroom.
“Blame the drunk husband. They always do.”
But now there was more. A second voice. Faint. Desperate.
Lauren's voice.
“Please. Don't. He doesn't know anything.”
Cole's eyes snapped open.
He remembered. Not the whole thing. Just her voice. Begging. Not for herself. For him.
He doesn't know anything.
Know what? What was she protecting him from?
Cole pressed his forehead against the cold wall. The memory was there. Buried. He just couldn't reach it.
Hours passed. No food. No water. No light.
Then a sound. The door unlocking.
Light flooded the cell. Cole squinted.
A figure stood in the doorway. Not a guard. A woman in a navy suit. Sharp face. Cold eyes.
“Mr. Mathers. I'm Monica Velez. The prosecutor assigned to your case.”
Cole didn't stand. “I know who you are.”
“Then you know I'm the one who will put you in prison for the rest of your life.”
She stepped into the cell. The guard closed the door behind her. They were alone.
“I'm here to offer you a deal,” she said.
“I'm not pleading guilty.”
“Hear me out. You plead guilty to second-degree murder. Voluntary manslaughter. We drop the aggravated circumstances enhancement. You serve fifteen years. Eligible for parole in ten.”
“I didn't kill her.”
Velez smiled. It was thin. Professional.
“Your escape attempt today tells me you're desperate. Desperate people do stupid things. This deal is your only way out.”
“Why would you offer me a deal if the evidence is so strong?”
Velez walked closer. She stood over him. Her heels clicked on the concrete.
“Because trials are expensive. And messy. And I have a ninety-seven percent conviction rate. I don't want your case to be the three percent.”
“You're afraid you'll lose.”
“I'm afraid of nothing.” Her voice dropped. “But I am offering you a chance. Take it. Or don't. Either way, you'll never see daylight again.”
Cole looked up at her. “Who hired you?”
“The state of—”
“No. Who really hired you? Senator Hawthorne? Your father's boss?”
Velez's expression didn't change. But her eyes flickered. Just for a moment.
“You're delusional.”
“I'm right. And you know it.”
She turned and walked to the door. Knocked twice.
“Fifteen years,” she said without looking back. “You have forty-eight hours to decide.”
The door opened. She left.
Cole sat in the darkness again. The door closed. The lock clicked.
Fifteen years. Ten with parole. He would be forty-four when he got out. His life would be over. His career. His future. Everything.
But if he took the deal, he would never know the truth. He would never find out who really killed Lauren. He would never see Clark's face when justice finally came.
He couldn't take the deal.
The hours crawled. At some point, a slot opened. A tray of food slid in. Cold eggs. Stale bread. Cole ate it all. Drank the water.
Then he waited.
The door opened again. Not Velez this time. A guard he didn't recognize.
“Visitor. Legal counsel.”
Dean Cross walked in. He was wearing the same dark suit. Same slicked-back hair. But his face was different. Angry.
“You're an i***t,” Dean said.
“Nice to see you too.”
“I told you to do exactly what I said. No heroics. No contacting anyone without my approval. And what did you do? You escaped. You got caught. You led the police to two of your only allies.”
“I was trying to meet a witness.”
“Petra Hawthorne is not a witness. She's a ghost. And now she's gone.” Dean paced the cell. “The police are charging Sabine and Frankie with conspiracy. They're facing five years each. Because of you.”
Cole stood up. “I didn't ask them to help.”
“They helped anyway. And now they're paying for it.” Dean stopped pacing. He faced Cole. “The deal Velez offered you? Take it.”
“What?”
“Take the deal. Fifteen years. You'll be out before you're forty-five. You can start over.”
“I didn't kill Lauren.”
“It doesn't matter. The system doesn't care about the truth. It cares about convictions. Velez has you dead to rights. The escape attempt sealed it. No jury will believe you're innocent now.”
Cole grabbed Dean's jacket. Pulled him close.
“Listen to me. I remembered something. In the cell. Lauren's voice. She said, 'Please don't. He doesn't know anything.' She was protecting me. From something.”
Dean's eyes widened. “Who was she talking to?”
“I don't know. But she was scared. Not of me. Of whoever was in the bedroom.”
Dean pulled away. He straightened his jacket.
“That's not enough. Without evidence, it's just words.”
“Then help me find evidence.”
“I can't help you from inside a cell. And I can't help you if you're a fugitive.” Dean walked to the door. “Take the deal. Survive. Then find the truth when you get out.”
“Ten years from now? The trail will be cold.”
“Better cold than dead.”
Dean knocked. The door opened. He stepped out.
Then he paused.
“One more thing. Your brother Clark visited me this morning. He offered to pay my fees if I dropped your case.”
Cole's blood ran cold. “What did you say?”
“I said no. But the fact that he's trying to isolate you means he's scared. You're close to something. Keep pushing.”
The door closed.
Cole sat down. His body ached. His head throbbed.
Clark was trying to buy his lawyer. That meant Clark was worried. Cole was getting too close to the truth.
But what truth? And how could he find it from a solitary cell?
He had no phone. No allies. No evidence. Just a fragment of a memory and a deal that would destroy his future.
Cole lay down on the concrete floor. The cold seeped into his bones.
He closed his eyes.
The memory fragment came again. Lauren's voice. More clear this time.
“Please don't. He doesn't know anything about the files.”
Files. She said files.
What files?
Cole sat up. His heart pounded.
Lauren had hidden something. Files. Evidence. And she had died protecting Cole from finding them.
Where would she hide them?
Not at home. The police had searched the house. They found nothing.
Not at work. She worked from home.
Not with Petra. Petra was missing.
Cole thought about Lauren's habits. She was paranoid about security. She used encrypted messaging. She burned documents in the backyard fire pit.
But she also had a safety deposit box. Cole remembered her mentioning it once. Years ago. Before they were married.
“For things I can't lose,” she had said.
Cole didn't know which bank. But Petra might.
And Petra was still out there. Maybe not captured. Maybe just hiding.
He needed to find her. But he couldn't from here.
Unless someone brought her to him.
Cole stood up. He walked to the door. He pounded on the steel.
“Guard! I need to make a phone call.”
No response.
He pounded again. Harder.
“I have a right to contact my lawyer!”
The slot opened. An eye peered in.
“No phone calls. Solitary confinement means solitary.”
“The prosecutor offered me a deal. I need to accept it.”
The eye studied him. “You're lying.”
“Call Velez. Tell her I'll take the deal. But I want to meet her in person. Tomorrow morning.”
The slot closed.
Cole waited.
Ten minutes passed. Twenty.
Then the door opened.
“You have five minutes,” the guard said. He handed Cole a phone. A corded landline. Ancient.
Cole dialed Dean's number from memory.
“Cross.”
“It's Cole. I'm taking the deal.”
A pause. “You changed your mind?”
“I changed my strategy. Tell Velez I'll plead to voluntary manslaughter. Fifteen years. But I want a meeting tomorrow. I want to sign the papers in person.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to see her face. And I need you to be there.”
Another pause. “This is a bad idea.”
“Everything is a bad idea. But it's the only way I get out of this cell.”
Dean sighed. “Fine. I'll make the call. Don't do anything stupid.”
The line went dead.
Cole handed the phone back to the guard. He was led back to the cell. The door closed. The lock clicked.
He sat in the darkness.
The deal was a trap. He knew that. But it was also a way to move. To see Velez. To read her reactions.
And maybe, just maybe, to find a crack in her armor.
Cole closed his eyes.
The memory fragment came again. Lauren's voice. Begging.
“He doesn't know about the files. I swear.”
The files.
They were the key.
And Cole was going to find them.
Even if it took ten years.
Even if it cost him everything.
---
End of Chapter 5
A soft noise came from the wall. Scratching. Like fingernails on concrete.
Cole sat up. He pressed his ear against the cold surface.
“Cole?” a voice whispered. Female. Young.
“Who's there?”
“It's Piper. Your teaching assistant. I'm in the next cell.”
Cole's blood ran cold. “Why are you here?”
“Because I refused to wear the wire. The police arrested me for obstruction.” Her voice trembled. “But I brought you something. Before they took my phone. I saved the number.”
“What number?”
“Petra's. The real one. Not the burner.”
Paper slid under the wall. Cole grabbed it. A phone number. Written in pen.
“Why are you helping me?” Cole asked.
“Because I saw something. The night Lauren died. I was driving home. I passed your house.”
“What did you see?”
A long pause.
“I saw a car. Black SUV. No plates. It was parked across the street. And I saw a man get out. He was wearing a military uniform.”
Cole's heart stopped.
“Did you see his face?”
“No. But I saw his rank. Lieutenant Colonel. The insignia was on his collar.”
Cole pressed his forehead against the wall. His father's rank. Charles Mathers was a Lieutenant Colonel before he “died.”
“Piper. You need to tell the police.”
“I tried. They didn't believe me. They said I was confused. That I wanted attention.”
“I believe you.”
Silence.
Then Piper's voice, barely audible.
“What do we do now?”
Cole looked at the paper in his hand. Petra's real number.
“Now? We survive.”
- Writer
