Red and blue lights flickered across Henry’s vision as he jumped out of his truck. Sound was muted as he pushed through the officers, dampened not only by the pre-dawn fog blanketing them but the severity of the crime scene. There was a still figure lying in the back of an ambulance, and Henry strained his eyes to find the man’s partner-in-crime.
There he was, sitting near the ambulance, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped tight around his legs. Henry sat down beside him, cataloging the bruises and blood that stained him. Not all of it belonged to the man on the gurney.
“Talk to me, kiddo,” he said softly.
Shawn flinched and looked at Henry, his eyes empty, haunted. His lips trembled, and he shook his head desperately.
“Gus will heal. You’ll heal. And I’m here, Shawn. I’m here.”
At that, Shawn curled into Henry with a sob that shook both of their bodies. Grief speared through Henry-it had been too close. He’d nearly lost both of his sons that night.
They’re alive, he thought, and they’ll be okay.
It was a mantra he found himself repeating more and more with each new case they investigated.