A/N: Welcome my quarantine peeps! In my perpetual state of boredom, I decided to sit down and read this, and even I was disappointed when I finished it and realized there was no ending. Life got crazy, I'm married now, and this story is still a comfort I come back to. I realized how much I missed writing creatively, which is something I've neglected to do for a while. I want to give this story the justice I feel it deserves. I don't know if anyone is going to read this, but in case you come back looking to relive this story like I did, here is the ending I wish I was able to read. Let's fly on.


Max POV

I was uncomfortable in every sense of the word.

My suit was uncomfortable. Scratchy tweed fabric agonized my freshly shaven legs, which were unaccustomed to staying crossed underneath a skirt. My button down shirt was clung to the light sweat on my body underneath the heavy blazer I was made to wear. Earrings adorned my ears, clip-ons, mind you, and the extra weight was impossible not to notice. My face felt masked in makeup meant to run down my cheeks when I was called to the stand. The skin on my feet was raw from the stiff leather of new heels purchased for this spectacle. I wanted my hair up and off my face, but the tightness of the ponytail started to pull on my tender scalp. I couldn't help picking at my nails as I sat in place, compulsively tapping my left foot against the ground. I was the centerpiece of the room. I was uncomfortable.

I was uncomfortable with the dozens of pairs of eyes that I could feel on me at any given moment. The jury weighed me up and down, deciding my credibility for themselves. I felt stares of pity, stares of morbid curiosity. I felt heavier stares too. Stares from my mother, from Ella. Stares from Star and Kate who took off the school day to attend the opening of the trial. But Fang's stares, Fang's penetrated deepest.

As far as I could tell, Fang's eyes never strayed from me. I knew exactly where he was, sitting in the first row of the audience just mere feet behind me. His eyes bore hot on the small of my back. Maybe he felt that if they moved, even for a second, I would break down. He was always my protector, but today, he was just another pair of eyes watching my every move.

There was one pair of eyes that I knew weren't looking at me. His. Seated thirty feet to my left at a perfect 180 degree angle that blocked my view, he sat. He came in after I had taken my seat. I was told he'd be accompanied by two officers. I was told he'd be in a suit, handcuffs tight under a plain oxford shirt. Hands and ankles in shackles, no chance of him being able to physically harm me. I believed how they told me he was going to look, but I chose not to confirm it for myself. He was here, I could feel that. I could hear that. I swear I could smell that. But I'll be damned to make sure that for today, I had no need to see that. That was the only comfort I had today.

Tara squeezed my clenched fist. She told me today, and the days that followed, would be uncomfortable to say the least. I was thankful that my legal team had a young female law student who saw me as the person I am, not as the victim they're representing. She was on my case to learn, but her inexperience exposed her to the humanity many learned to distance themselves from. Not to say my lawyers were stone cold and callous, they weren't. They were professionals. This was their job. I was their case. It's hard to make it in such an emotionally taxing profession without creating boundaries and walls. Tara just hadn't had the chance to construct them yet.

Tara quickly became the liaison between me and the prosecution. On days where I felt overwhelmed during trial preparation, Tara was the voice I'd rely on. She'd call for breaks, call for the team to leave the room for a few minutes so I could catch my composure. She'd call Fang over when she thought I could use the support, but would also be the first one to call him away when she knew the topics on the agenda would be more comfortable addressed in his absence. Tara did everything in her power to minimize as much as the discomfort as she could, but she also knew to prepare me for what she couldn't.

Dylan would be in the courtroom, that was a given. Today was just the opening statements. No witnesses would be called up to the stand, and Dylan would never intrude my peripheral vision. My breath was rapid knowing we were breathing the same air, but today, today at least I didn't have to see him.

I was worried about how I'd react to hearing the recount of my experience in Dylan's hands. It wasn't fair, Tara empathized, that victims had to relive their traumas in the courtroom just to reach 'justice'. It wasn't really justice at all that victims were punished in this way. But without my appearance and my testimony, Tara apologetically explained, Dylan could walk out a free man. Kids would fly before I'd ever let that happen.

Before the trial, the number of people in my life who knew the truth of what happened to me were scarce. Mom knew the most, but even she had been spared from the worst of the details. In the next few weeks, she'd come to learn the horrors of what happened to her eldest daughter that no mother should even have to imagine. She hasn't looked at me the same way she used to since the night she saw me for the first time in the hospital, and this trial most certainly would not help.

After Mom, Ella knew the most details. She even knew some that Mom didn't. Ella knew what I told her, but unlike Mom, she didn't know the forensic details that littered the police case. She didn't know the medical damage my body endured. Ella, my sweet, sensitive sister, shouldn't have to learn how many of my bones He broke. Angel and Gazzy were to remain in school for the trial. Angel didn't even really know what was going on, but her inexplicable sixth sense picked up on the mood in the house. Angel knew there was a bad man that hurt me, and more recently, hurt Fang. I don't know is she knew more, but if she did, she wasn't letting on. I wanted Ella to stay in school during the trial as well. Hearing the case was like hearing my diary be read aloud to my closest friends and unfamiliar strangers alike. Both sucked, but at least I wouldn't have to look the jury in the eyes ever again after this month.

Ella insisted on being present at the entire trial, and she and I shared the same stubborn trait. Honestly, I was grateful that Mom would have someone to hold her hand during the trial. It was lonely on the prosecution's table, and it would've been nice having someone to hold mine.

Ella was not the only one to take the day off for this occasion. Star and Kate asked me if it would help me if they were at the first day of the trial. Kate said she'd keep the engine on in the getaway car if I needed to bolt out of there. I didn't want Star and Kate to know more than they already did about what happened to me. It was too private, and honestly, too pathetic. But to their credit, they were able to see past what happened to me and see me for who I am on the other side of the trauma. Today, I was thankful they were here to show their support.

Jeb also took the day off work to be sitting next to Fang while the opening statements were delivered. Dylan hurt his son too, and Jeb was anticipating the moment the guilty verdict would be read. I think we all were.

And then... there was Fang.

I was most conflicted about Fang being here. Selfishly, I needed him here. I needed to know I wasn't alone. I needed his strength.

Unselfishly, though, I needed to protect him from the information about my ordeal that I knew would feel like a roundhouse kick to the chest. Fang rarely showed emotion, and I'd never seen him cry. Not even when he found me that one night. I felt a terrible premonition that that would change.

Dylan had pled not guilty. That narcissistic son of a bitch thought he had a valid defense. I couldn't bring myself to register his lawyer's opening statement, too consumed in my own internal soap opera playing out the infinite sequences of possibilities during the trial. I barely heard my team's opening statement either.

Court adjourned for the day, and I was whisked out of the room by my team. Fang grabbed me immediately outside the room to check in on my state. I got through the day just fine, but I knew it would only get harder as the proceedings went on.

Different expert forensic witnesses were called to testify on the second day of proceedings. The courtroom was half as full as it was on day one, which I was incredibly thankful for. Jeb was needed in the lab, and Star and Kate went back to school. Fang, also a victim, I kept reminding myself, was excused from class for the entire trial.

I knew today would be harder. I knew I would be forced to hear about the forensic evidence verifying the abuse that I endured. I just wasn't ready for Fang to hear it too.


"The prosecution now calls Dr. Ramirez to the stand." Dr. Ramirez, a thirty-some year-old emergency medicine doctor took her time approaching the stand. She was dressed in a hue of grays, her hair softly pushed back in a professional up-do.

"Please state your name, position, and credentials for the record," the prosecution requested.

"Dr. Jane Ramirez, Chief of Emergency Pediatric Medicine at New York General Hospital. I obtained my M.D. from Columbia University, and completed my residency in emergency medicine and pediatric intensive care at the Cleveland Clinic. I also have additional training in assault, specifically rape, that I completed abroad with Doctors Without Borders."

"Thank you, Dr. Ramirez. Now, would you please give the jury an overview and details, where necessary, of Ms. Martinez's medical condition upon admission in the Intensive Care Unit."

"Of course. Ms. Martinez was admitted with three broken ribs, a fracture on her left ulna, or wrist, to clarify, and large bruises spanning across her thighs, hips, abdomen, and chest." X-rays and pictures lit up behind Dr. Ramirez, chilling the jury and people in the courtroom.

I grabbed my healed left wrist, still feeling where the bone remodeled incorrectly having healed improperly for three weeks before I made it to the hospital.

"The surface injuries were only the tip of the iceberg," Dr. Ramirez continued. I held a breath, knowing where this was going. Tara eyed me to see if I needed her to call for a recess. I shook my head no. I could do this.

"A vaginal exam revealed different stages of bruising along the vaginal wall, as well as tearing. This suggests that Ms. Martinez was raped repeatedly over an extended period of time."

I was relieved, for the first time, that I couldn't see Fang. I couldn't have withstood the pain I pictured plastered on his face. He didn't need to know how badly I was hurt. He didn't need the burden of the truth. And Mom, oh god. My breakfast protested in my stomach, attempting to leap up my throat.

Dr. Martinez continued, thankfully not dragging on over my more... intimate injuries.

"And as for her overall health, it was very poor."

"Can you elaborate on that, Dr. Ramirez?"

"Of course. Ms. Martinez was eighty-eight pounds when she was admitted. Her extreme weight loss and low body mass was attributed to her being denied proper nutrition over a period of months. Her lab tests confirmed this. Ms. Martinez was extremely anemic, deficient in practically every vitamin and protein the human body requires in order to properly function. She was also dehydrated to the point of early stage kidney failure. We had her on dialysis, as well as intense IV-fluid infusion for one week, but there is no saying what kind of permanent physical damage resulted from this."

"Thank you, Dr. Ramirez. That is all of the questions that the prosecution has."

Detective Anne Walker was the next to approach the stand.

"Max, Anne is going to show pictures of Dylan's basement where you were kept," Tara whispered. "I know this is going to be painful. It's ok if you need to put your head down, and-" she paused, being nudged by the lead prosecutor to spit out something I could tell she didn't feel great about saying. "And it's important for the jury to see the pain the pictures cause."

Tara sighed, "They need to see that it was real."

My head hung low. They had prepared me for this.

Detective Walker was good at her job, at least that was the impression that I got from her testimony. She explained the forensic evidence that they found when they got a warrant to search Dylan's New York property. The chains. The bolts. The prison cell I rotted in for six months. DNA evidence from blood and, I turned red- urine- that was a match to me. There was clear evidence not only putting me at Dylan's property, but proving that I was there involuntarily. The abduction in Arizona, followed by the crimes committed across state lines in New York, made this a federal case. Federal crimes call for federal sentences, and if there was any justice, Dylan would rot in the same conditions in federal prison.


By the second week of the trial, I had been consumed by a false sense of confidence. The evidence seemed so strong that, despite Dylan's not guilty plea, I felt certain that the jury would unanimously find him guilty. After all, how could they not?

They had my first-hand impact statement, which Tara read to the jury in my stead. DNA evidence placed me in his basement. The blood on my bedroom floor the night he broke into my home matched his DNA. Four witnesses saw Dylan shoot Fang. Facts don't lie; Dylan was a monster.

His lawyer was too.

Finding a defense for the crimes amid such compelling and comprehensive evidence seemed impossible. He couldn't deny that I was taken, locked in Dylan's basement, and abused. He couldn't deny shooting Fang.

But he could change the narrative.

"Your honor and fellow jurors, my client intends to plead not guilty by reason of insanity."

I was in complete disbelief. Yes, Dylan was psychopathic, but he was competent enough to be held accountable for his actions.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. My client is not your average person off the street. He was born in Germany, in a lab. Dylan is a survivor of the genetic experiments performed on children by none other than the plaintiff, Max Martinez's, father."

This was fucking news to me.

"My client was reared in the lab for the first thirteen years of his life. He was told that the purpose of his creation was to be with a girl. That girl was none other than the daughter of his creator. Her name, he was told, was Maximum Martinez. He was brainwashed to believe that his life depended on his success in, to put it most accurately... mating... with Miss Martinez. That the fate of the world depended on it."

"My client was not socialized with the outside world during his formative years. He did not develop our sense of right and wrong. Dylan is simply another victim in this tragic timeline of events. Ladies and gentlemen, Dylan is not the ruthless psychopath that the prosecution would have you believe. Dylan needs rehabilitation and cognitive behavioral therapy to learn how to be an upstanding citizen in our society. He was deprived of that during his most influential years. He knows now that what he did to Max, and her friend, was wrong. However, at the time of his actions, he believed that he was only doing his best to protect Miss Martinez as if his life depended on it."

I was absolutely stunned. My father created Dylan? For who, me? He fucking built me a boyfriend?

It was too much to process.

No. Dylan was a monster. Dylan had no defense. Dylan ruined me. He broke me. He, he...

Breathe. Breathe! Breathe!

Oh God I couldn't breathe.

Tara noticed my distress and tried to calm me without drawing too much attention. I was panicked. I couldn't breathe. Why couldn't I breathe?

"Max, put your head between your knees. Take even breaths with me, ready. In. Out. Shhh. It's ok, you can breathe. In. Out. Shhh." Tara whispered. I felt like I was going to hurl. I looked behind me to see that my mom looked about as sick as I was. Maybe even more.

For the first time during the trial, I really thought Dylan would walk away as a free man.

The prosecution reconvened after the defense's case, clearly taken off guard by the new information. They weren't sure if the circumstantial facts would be enough to sway a jury to believe that Dylan didn't understand that what he was doing was wrong. The injuries told the loudest story, my lawyers assured me.

Their mouths told me we'd win this case. Their eyes told another story.

Desperate, the prosecution requested a day's recess to process the new information presented by the defense. The judge agreed. We had 24 hours.


Detective Walker had outdone herself.

Her instincts had led her to look deeper into unsolved kidnappings and sexual assaults in New York. She thought it was probably a waste of time. She didn't think she'd get a hit so compelling. And it was mere luck that the victim was now a freshman at UCSD.

Maya.

The prosecution called her to the stand the next day. I finally looked up to see a blond girl take the witness chair. I blinked once, twice. Three for good measure. Standing in front of me, open for questioning, was my... doppelganger?

I rubbed my eyes again. The similarity was striking. Only minor features gave away our separate identities.

"Miss Ride. If you will. Please recount the night of June 2nd."

I won't recount the graphic horrors that Maya laid out for the people of the jury. Like the rest of the trial, it was sickening to hear. Dylan forced Maya into his car that night, raped her, and left her for dead in a mall parking lot. It was nothing short of a miracle that she survived.

Another victim to add to Dylan's rap sheet, but I didn't make the connection as to how it would help my case. More proof that Dylan was a danger to society? As if we needed any of that.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Miss Ride's attack occurred three months after Miss Martinez's abduction."

Realization set in. The jury seemed to understand too. If Dylan's goal was strictly to 'mate' with and protect me, why did he attack my look alike?

"Do not let the somber details of the defendant's childhood distract you from the facts of this case. The defendant is a violent threat to society who is fully accountable for his actions. Abuse does not justify abuse. Miss Ride and Miss Martinez are two known victims, but many more might exist. It is our duty to our fellow Americans to keep dangerous individuals like him off our streets and away from our children. Justice needs to be served for Miss Ride. For Miss Martinez. For Mr. Batchelder. Nothing further, your Honor."

The jury deliberated for eight days. Tara informed me that was normal for these kinds of proceedings. I wasn't so sure. Why did they need eight days if the evidence was overwhelmingly clear that Dylan was guilty and accountable for his crimes?

I did not deserve to pay the price for my father's crimes.


The jury had settled on a verdict. I was permitted to take my seat between my mom and Fang, rather than at the prosecution's table. I was no longer a prop for the prosecution. I looked at Maya, darting my eyes immediately after sensing her glance. I wondered if she blamed me in some way. Had she not looked like me, had I been able to escape Dylan and had him arrested sooner, maybe this trauma wouldn't have been inflicted on her. Maybe she would still be whole.

Fang kissed my left hand, stoic in his glance. Whatever emotions he was feeling were well hidden. Ella sat next to my mom, holding her hand for close comfort. Iggy held her other. He wanted justice for his brother. He wanted justice for me.

Jeb whispered something to Iggy that I couldn't hear. Behind him, all of my friends sat hand in hand, heads huddled in thought and prayer. This verdict affected all of us. My new family.

"Your honor. For the crime of kidnapping and false imprisonment, the jury finds the defendant... guilty on all counts."

Weight was lifted off my chest. Guilty. They found him guilty.

"For the crime of rape in the first degree, the jury finds the defendant... guilty on all counts."

Fang squeezed my hand. We won. It was over.

"For the crime of attempted murder with a deadly weapon, the jury finds the defendant... guilty."

Justice was served.

Dylan was sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole.

With Dylan behind bars, I was free.