Bab 15: Chapter 15: The Cold Reality
The cell was a box of concrete and steel, its walls coated with the grime of years gone by. A faint stench of sweat and mildew clung to the air, the scent of countless bodies that had passed through before him. Cole sat on the edge of the metal cot, staring at the peeling paint on the wall, trying to focus on something, anything, that wasn't the storm raging in his mind. His body was stiff from exhaustion, every muscle aching, but no matter how much his body craved rest, sleep refused to come. His thoughts were too loud.
He hadn't slept since the police had taken him in.
The cold, hard reality of what he'd done hit him over and over, like waves crashing against a jagged shore. He had turned himself in, walked right up to the police with blood still on his hands, and given up. It was over. But what had it cost him?
Crenshaw's face haunted him—those last moments of life flashing before Cole's eyes in vivid, brutal detail. The man had been a monster, no doubt about that, but now that the adrenaline had worn off, Cole couldn't shake the feeling that things could have gone differently. He hadn't just killed Crenshaw; he had killed a piece of himself. And now, sitting in this cell, the weight of that choice pressed down on him like a mountain.
The fight had been ugly, raw. Crenshaw, the leader of the gang that had terrorized the streets, had pushed them too far for too long. Cole's friends, his makeshift family, had been at risk. And that was something he couldn't allow. He'd acted on instinct, on a surge of anger and desperation. But now, in the cold, quiet space of the prison, all that rage had drained away, leaving only the hollow ache of what came next.
The police had wasted no time in dragging him out of the slums. They'd shoved him into the back of the cruiser like he was nothing more than trash they couldn't wait to discard. The look on their faces had told him everything—disgust, judgment, relief. To them, Cole wasn't a kid who had been fighting for his life. He was a criminal. Another thug from the streets. No better than Crenshaw.
The interrogation had been relentless. Hours of questions, accusations, and threats. Cole had sat there, the cuffs tight around his wrists, staring at the wall as they shouted at him, demanding answers. Who else was involved? Where was the rest of the gang? The police didn't just want Cole—they wanted everyone he knew, his friends, his crew. They wanted names.
But Cole had kept his mouth shut. He wouldn't betray them. He had already done enough damage by turning himself in, by leaving them out there without him. He couldn't give the cops anything more.
And now, after all of that, he was alone. The silence in the cell was deafening, the kind of silence that seemed to seep into his skin, amplifying every regret, every doubt. He had made his choice—he had saved his friends—but the cost was staggering.
The cell was barely large enough to stretch his legs. The cot beneath him was cold, the thin blanket offering little protection from the chill that settled into his bones. His breath fogged in front of him as he exhaled, the temperature in the room more suited to a meat locker than a place to keep people. The fluorescent light above flickered occasionally, casting the room in a sickly yellow glow that seemed to dim with each blink.
Outside the barred window, life moved on. The hum of the city was faint but constant. Cars, voices, the distant rumble of engines—sounds that reminded him that the world kept turning even though his life had come to a screeching halt.
Cole's mind drifted to his friends—Ty, Lina, Zack. He had told them to run before the police arrived. He hoped they had listened, that they were safe somewhere, hiding until the heat died down. Did they understand why he had done it? Did they hate him for it? They'd been through so much together, and now it felt like he had abandoned them. The guilt gnawed at him, a constant presence that wouldn't let him rest.
But what choice did he have? Crenshaw had left him no other option. The man had been a plague on their lives, and there was no way Cole could have let him continue to hold that kind of power. The streets were ruthless, and sometimes the only way to survive was to strike first. But survival had never felt this hollow.
The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, breaking through the suffocating silence. Cole looked up, the heavy clang of boots against concrete growing louder as they approached. A moment later, the steel door of his cell slid open with a low groan, revealing a guard standing in the doorway. His face was expressionless, his voice flat and disinterested.
"Matthews," the guard said, his voice carrying the same disinterest as his face. "You've got a visitor."
Cole blinked. A visitor? He hadn't expected anyone. Who would risk coming to see him? His mind immediately went to Ty, Lina, and Zack, but he quickly dismissed the idea. They wouldn't risk getting caught by the police—not after what had happened. No, this was someone else. Someone he hadn't considered.
The guard motioned for Cole to follow, and he rose from the cot, his legs stiff from sitting in one place for too long. The cold floor chilled his bare feet as he stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. The guard led him down the corridor, past other cells with faceless prisoners inside. The air was thick with the weight of despair and anger, the kind that settled into a place like this and never left.
They arrived at the visitation room, a cramped space separated by thick glass partitions. On the other side of the glass, a woman sat waiting, her back straight and her expression calm. She was middle-aged, with sharp features softened by kindness. Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and she wore a tailored black blazer that stood out against the dingy backdrop of the prison.
Cole stared at her, confused. He didn't recognize her.
"Who is she?" he asked the guard, his voice low.
"Your lawyer," the guard replied, a hint of surprise in his tone, as if he couldn't believe someone like Cole had a lawyer.
A lawyer? Cole's mind reeled as he stepped forward, taking a seat in front of the glass partition. He picked up the receiver on his side, his eyes locked on the woman in front of him.
She smiled, but it was a small, measured smile—one that spoke of patience and understanding. "Cole Matthews, I presume?"
"Who are you?" Cole asked, his voice rough from the hours of silence he had endured in the cell. "I didn't ask for a lawyer."
The woman nodded. "I know. But you need one." She leaned forward slightly, her eyes studying him carefully. "My name is Evelyn Brooks. I'm here to help you."
"Help me?" Cole scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "Why would you want to help me?"
Evelyn didn't flinch at his harsh tone. Instead, she met his gaze with unwavering calm. "Because I know what happened. I've been following your case, and I believe there's more to your story than the police are willing to admit."
Cole's jaw clenched. He didn't trust easily, and he certainly didn't trust anyone who walked into his life offering to "help." That word had lost its meaning a long time ago. No one helped kids like him. Not unless they wanted something in return.
"I'm not some charity case," Cole muttered, gripping the phone a little tighter. "I don't need your pity."
Evelyn's smile faded, but her eyes softened with something that looked like understanding. "This isn't about pity, Cole. I'm here because I believe you deserve a second chance."
A second chance. Cole almost laughed. He'd killed a man. There was no "second chance" for someone like him. He was destined for the system. Locked up, forgotten. Just like so many others.
"You don't know anything about me," Cole said, his voice quieter now, tinged with the weight of his past.
"I know more than you think," Evelyn replied gently. "I know that you were forced into a life no one should have to live. I know that you've spent most of your life surviving, not living. And I know that, right now, you think there's no way out of this." She paused, her eyes searching his. "But there is. If you let me, I can help you find it."
Cole's heart pounded in his chest. For the first time in a long time, he felt something flicker inside him. Hope. But hope was dangerous. Hope could get you killed. He had learned that the hard way.
"Why do you care?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why would you care about someone like me?"
Evelyn leaned back, her smile returning, though this time it was sadder, more reflective. "Because I've seen too many young people like you get swallowed by the system. I've seen too many lives ruined because no one was willing to step in and offer a way out. You're not a lost cause, Cole. You just need someone to fight for you."
Cole stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in slowly. He didn't know if he could trust her. He didn't know if she really believed what she was saying. But in that moment, sitting in that cold, dimly lit room, he realized that maybe, just maybe, she was the only person who cared.
"Okay," he said quietly, his voice steady but fragile. "I'll listen."
Evelyn smiled, the warmth in her eyes genuine. "That's all I'm asking."
As the guard came to take him back to his cell, Cole's mind raced. He didn't know where this path would lead, but for the first time since he had walked into that police station, he felt like he wasn't completely alone.
Maybe, just maybe, he had a chance after all.
---
When Cole returned to his cell, the silence wasn't as heavy. The chipped paint on the walls didn't seem quite as suffocating, and the cold metal cot beneath him didn't feel as hard. There was still a long road ahead, but for the first time in what felt like forever, there was a glimmer of light at the end of it.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone