COPS

Chapter LXI: Aftermath

The fluorescent light above hummed a steady, merciless drone in the interrogation room. Ryan sat at the metal table, his hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned pale. Across from him, Officer Patrick Hayward leaned back in his chair, his notepad resting lazily on the table as though this was routine, as though the man before him wasn’t unraveling from the inside.

Hayward cleared his throat. “Ryan, we just need to go through this carefully. Mary’s death—”

The moment the name left his lips, Ryan snapped. His eyes, usually calm and analytical, blazed with a fury that startled even the seasoned officer. He slammed his palm flat against the table, the sound echoing through the small room.

“Are you saying I killed her?!” Ryan’s voice cracked, raw with disbelief and indignation. His chest rose and fell with sharp, angry breaths. “HOW COULD I KILL HER?! How could I—” He stopped, his throat tightening as if the very words were trying to strangle him.

Hayward didn’t flinch. He had been expecting an outburst, maybe even needed it. But what struck him wasn’t the anger—it was the heartbreak laced beneath it.

Ryan pressed his hand to his face, dragging it slowly down as if trying to pull away the mask of rage, replacing it with something calmer, steadier. He leaned back in his chair, forcing a slow exhale through his nose. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more measured, but no less heavy.

“I loved her,” he said, his tone trembling on the edge of despair. “Mary was… everything. You think I’d ever harm her? You think I’d let anything touch her if I could stop it?” His eyes lifted, staring into Hayward’s with an intensity that bordered on pleading. “Don’t reduce me to a suspect in her death. Don’t take away the one thing keeping me breathing right now.”

For a long, heavy moment, the room went still. Hayward tapped his pen against the notepad, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t cruel—just methodical. But Ryan’s words lingered in the air like smoke after a fire, impossible to ignore.

Outside the glass window, Alex and Lt. Stewart stood watching. Alex’s jaw was tight, his eyes shadowed with guilt. He had pushed for this interrogation, convinced that Ryan was hiding something. But seeing him now, so broken, so stripped bare of his defenses, Alex felt the guilt twist deeper into his chest.

Lt. Stewart muttered lowly, arms crossed. “He doesn’t look like a killer. He looks like a man crushed.”

Alex didn’t reply. He just stared.

Inside, the silence was broken by the door opening. Detective Jacobs stepped in, carrying a folder in his hand, his face grave but composed. The room’s atmosphere shifted instantly, as though everyone knew whatever Jacobs held in his hand was the weight that would tip the scales.

“Hayward,” Jacobs said, his tone clipped. He set the folder on the table and opened it. “Forensics just came back.”

Ryan’s eyes darted to the folder, his heart pounding in his ears. He braced himself for whatever judgment lay within those pages.

Jacobs flipped through the documents, scanning, then reading aloud with deliberate clarity. “Cause of death: blunt force trauma to the skull. Time of death consistent with when Mary left the pool area. No signs of struggle with Ryan. DNA under her fingernails… not a match for him.” Jacobs paused, his eyes flicking to Ryan before continuing. “But partial prints consistent with another known party were found on the railing she collapsed near.”

Ryan swallowed hard, relief mingling with the ache of grief. He hadn’t realized how much he needed those words until they freed him from the invisible noose tightening around his neck.

Hayward leaned back, closing his notepad without a word. His suspicion softened, replaced by reluctant respect. “Looks like you’re not the monster some of us thought you were.”

Ryan’s lips curled into the faintest, bitterest smile. “No. But I know who is.” His voice had regained a quiet steel.

The room stilled again. Alex, watching through the glass, felt his stomach twist. Ryan wasn’t absolved in his own mind—he was redirected. His grief had hardened into something colder, sharper.

Jacobs set the file down and looked at Ryan directly. “We’ll keep digging. But the evidence clears you. For now.”

Ryan pushed back from the table, his hands trembling slightly, though he tried to hide it. He wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved, or furious that suspicion had ever landed on him in the first place.

He stood, his voice steady though his insides shook. “Find George. Before he hurts someone else. Because every second you waste on me is another life he takes.”

The officers exchanged a glance. Even Hayward, once skeptical, seemed to nod slightly in agreement.

Ryan turned his gaze toward the glass, toward Alex and Stewart standing there. His eyes locked with Alex’s, and in that silent moment, Alex felt something cut through him: shame, yes, but also an undeniable recognition. Ryan wasn’t just grieving—he was preparing.

Preparing to finish what the law couldn’t.

The air in the small office was heavy, as if the walls themselves had absorbed the tension from Ryan’s interrogation. He sat slouched in the chair, staring at the faint scratches in the wooden desk, his hands still trembling though he tried to keep them steady. His face bore the look of someone who had just been accused of the unthinkable, and no amount of words could fully wipe away that sting.

The door creaked open, and Alex stepped inside, closing it gently behind him. For a moment, he didn’t speak. He just watched his older brother—once so sharp, confident, unshakable—reduced to silence. Alex hated seeing him like this.

He moved closer, pulling up a chair across from Ryan. “The kids are fine, big brother,” Alex said softly, his voice carrying a mixture of reassurance and sorrow. “They’re safe. That’s what matters right now.”

Ryan lifted his eyes at last, and for a flicker of a second, the hardness in his gaze softened. But it wasn’t long before the storm returned. He rubbed a hand over his face, his jaw clenching. “Thanks, Lex…” he muttered, the words rough, like they scraped his throat on the way out. “I’m just… not in the mood.”

“I know.” Alex leaned forward, elbows on his knees, keeping his tone steady and calm. “But you don’t have to go through this alone. If you need anything—I mean anything—I’ll be here. That’s what brothers are.”

Ryan looked at him again, this time longer. Behind the exhaustion in his eyes there was something else—a vulnerability Ryan rarely allowed anyone to see. He swallowed, but no words came.

Alex reached across the desk and rested a hand on Ryan’s arm, grounding him. “They’re doubting you because they don’t see the whole picture. But I do. I know you. You’d never hurt Mary, or Emily, or Nathan. Don’t let their suspicions make you doubt yourself.”

Ryan let out a shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders sagging just slightly. “It’s just… I’ve been chasing this thing for so long, and now they look at me like I’m the monster. Like I’m him.” His voice cracked on the last word, barely audible.

Alex shook his head firmly. “You’re not him. You’re my brother. You’re the guy who taught me how to swim, who helped me with my first job interview, who stayed up with me after Dad died because I couldn’t sleep. That’s who you are, Ryan. Don’t forget it.”

For a long moment, silence filled the room. The kind of silence that wasn’t empty but carried weight—grief, love, and everything unsaid. Finally, Ryan nodded faintly, his lips tightening as if trying to keep control. “I don’t deserve you, Lex.”

“Maybe not,” Alex teased gently, forcing a small smile. “But you’re stuck with me anyway.”

Ryan gave the smallest chuckle, more exhale than laugh, but it was enough to ease the heaviness between them. Alex leaned back, giving him space, but he didn’t move far. He stayed, because that’s what brothers do—they stand guard when the world tries to break one of them apart.

Outside, the corridor echoed with footsteps and muffled voices, the investigation still raging on. But in that room, for the first time all day, Ryan didn’t feel completely alone.