He remembers running away.
The funny thing about this is that this kind of memory only seems to come when something has hit him so profoundly that there isn't anything he can do but remember those episodes from the past. And so he does, and while he remembers them, he walks, because somehow, walking always seems to help. It is a way for him to get away without really getting away, because somehow, he always ends up right where he doesn't want to be, without knowing why. But there is always a reason. He has learned this little lesson over the years, a lot more often than he cares to think about. But somehow, just when he thinks he's learned it for the last time, something happens to make him learn it again.
Something like knocking an old partner out in a courthouse bathroom, without blinking.
His hands hurt like hell, but he doesn't say anything about it. His knuckles are bloody, too, like they were after he beat the hell out of the squad room lockers because there was no one else to take it out on. He talked to Rebecca Hendrix before really thinking about what he was doing, but knows that she can't say anything about what he said to her. Can't say anything about what he admitted to her, because he didn't come to her as a friend, but rather as a patient, as strange as that is for him to admit. But then, there has been a lot of admitting to things that he swore up and down he wasn't ever going to think about again. Apparently, he had been wrong.
And now he walks, to get away, while knowing that he won't.
The problem with this is that it's like he's been looking for an escape for so long that sooner or later it's going to hit him that there isn't one, and the problem with that is that it's already hit him. He knows there is no way to get away. No way to lose the past, because no matter what, it's always going to be there, lingering in the back of his mind. What he needs is a way to forget about it all, but the truth is, he's been thinking about it too long, and it will take more time than he's willing to give to forget about it all.
He remembers the feeling of a hand across his face, for no reason that he can see.
It is the 1970's, and the Knapp Commission is going through, rooting out dirty cops, because that's what they've been set up to do. Internal Affairs is a pain in the ass then, the same way as it is now, and the thin blue lines are a lot more obvious than they were then. It is a summer night, and his father is coming home, annoyed, because of everything that's going on, pissed off, because they want him to speak out against his friends. The kids that are still living at home are spirited away, upstairs, by their mother, before she goes down to face the storm.
But there is no testimony for Internal Affairs, and instead the loss of a shield.
There is a project due, because they're studying some war in the history section of the class. They've been assigned to build one of those shoebox models, a diorama, and his father's off work, so he helps out with it. But morning comes, and disaster comes in the form of a moved tree, a project ruined because of one small thing, and the feeling of a belt, over and over again. The feeling of tears that weren't supposed to come, but did anyway, and the sound of a voice yelling things that he's tried over the years not to think about, but somehow, it always comes back to him, in the strangest moments.
Elliot finds himself on the ferry headed towards Staten Island, and isn't surprised.
It is where he ran to on that day, not caring that he was skiving off of school, because he didn't want to go in and face having to deal with everyone he knew would be there. And it is where he is running now, because it's the middle of the night, and he left Queens to come into Manhattan and now he's three for five boroughs and there's nowhere else he can think of to go. But there is always someone waiting on the island, and he knows it, has known it since he was a kid, because growing up, it was where he would disappear to.
A place to escape, even if his parents somehow always knew where to find him.
But they are both gone now, and he has no one to answer to except for himself, and maybe whoever's there when he gets to where he's going. He thinks for a moment that maybe he should have called, given the hour, but he's never had to before, and no one's ever seemed to mind. He can't see why it would be any different now. He watches the water as the ferry moves through it, looking for something that he knows he's not going to find, because it isn't there. What he wants is some kind of absolution, some kind of forgiveness for what he's done in professional and personal lives, but what he wants and what he gets are two very different things and always have been.
Every light in Erin Riordan's home is on when he gets there, like he'd expected.
And as he walks up the stairs leading to the front door, he can't help but wonder why he comes here when it feels like everything's being turned upside down. But there is a certain amount of comfort found here, where he knows he will find family, someone to talk to, and a place to stay until the morning comes and he's managed to figure out what he's going to do next. He doesn't have to ring the doorbell for the door to open, and then, there's Erin, and the sounds of everyone else who is there. He's always found it somewhat amusing that his aunt always seems to know when something's wrong with any one of them, before they actually say anything.
And he doesn't have to say anything now, for her to reach out and pull him inside, away from the troubles in his life.