He cries for the trespass, because he can't cry about anything else. He weeps so hard it's half-formed words. She whispers comfort back, half-formed; leaning back beside him, smoking his cigarettes. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay.
Dale: "Don't hate Sarah Linden. She didn't want to let you down."
Ray: "Maybe my hope is the culprit here."
Dale: "Tell me about the birth of your son."
Ray: "I was in prison. We met when he was seven months old. Already a person, almost."
Dale: "No matter how alone you feel, no matter how afraid, God bigger than. It's the purpose of God, to be bigger than these things. To hold you when there is nothing holding you."
He falls to his knees, praying in earnest. There's a reason the deathbed confession is a cliché, and Ray knows that now. Only those who fall to it can understand it: That in our lives there is a space we don't see and can't feel, that exists to remind us we are smaller than we think. That we are held in the arms of something infinitely strong, passionate about us. That hears our story and remembers it. He feels it; he is bathed in it.
And Dale begins to laugh, flashing bright teeth. The long con. The cruelty of animals, caged up.
"Alton was easy. You -- I thought you'd be harder to crack."
Some of the worst crimes we do can't be prosecuted. It's what Holder wanted to say, he fought it back with a near-kiss that could have wrecked the world. Some offenses are so insidious they can't even be detected; harms inflicted on the soul don't always come with outside bruises. Like a street magician, he whips the cloth away: There was nothing there, the whole time. You're exactly what they think; you've always been exactly that.
"Outside I would use my hands, watch the lights go out of them. Here, all I have is words. But they kill just as easily. You lived for your rage and your hate, growing up a whipping boy, and I starved you of these. You gave yourself up to something beautiful, and now you have nothing left."
Dale weeps with pleasure, and heads back inside. It's a different kind of loneliness now.
Another hack's selling the accoutrements -- the shackles, the hood -- for thousands of dollars, after the execution. Henderson, rather than punching the dude, simply says he's not on the team, and thus won't be around to pick over the relics.