The ticking of the clock was deafening in Elliot Stabler's ears as each second dragged by. Time seemed to be standing still as he fidgeted in the chair in his living room. His knee bounced up and down nervously, and he tapped his finger repetitively on the fabric on the arm of the chair. He hated waiting. He loathed anticipation.

Despite the fact that it was almost ten o'clock at night, he picked up his cell phone from the coffee table in front of him and dialed the memorized phone number for the third time that night. It rang and rang and rang in his ear, but there was no answer. Again.

He hung up and clutched the phone in his hand, silently pleading that it would finally ring on his end. He had been waiting thirty-five long and agonizing minutes for the call, and he was worried that if he had to wait any longer, he would spontaneously combust from the anticipation and panic.

He was the type of person who prayed for the best but expected the worst, the type of person to jump to grave conclusions and make a mountain out of a molehill, though he really tried to restrain himself at that moment, not wanting to cause a scene over nothing. But the longer the phone didn't ring, the more he suspected that something awful had happened.

"What's wrong?" Kathy, his wife of 10 years, wondered as she walked by and noticed the pained expression on her husband's face while he squirmed in the chair.

"Nothing," Elliot responded without hesitation, shaking his head, but not bothering to look at the blonde-haired woman. He tried not to interact with his wife when his mind was on this track. It just made the situation feel worse.

She softly nodded in response and continued walking into the kitchen, but she knew. She knew what was going on and what her husband was so distracted by. It made her heart ache, but she wasn't surprised. She was just...used to it. It was pathetic how she pretended to ignore her husband's faux pas, but she felt as if she had no other choice.

Sweat beads began to form on Elliot's brow as he started to panic more and more. He took a deep breath and glanced at the phone in his hand.

Ring, goddamn it. He silently cursed in his mind. He dialed the number again, hearing it ring over and over, but still no answer. He hung up quickly; he knew something wasn't right. He could feel it. Something was very wrong.

He was growing more impatient by the second. It was like his body was filling up more and more with anxiety each time the clock ticked loudly in his ears. He couldn't take it anymore. He jumped up from his chair and grabbed his keys off the table and opened the front door.

"Where are you going?" Kathy called from the kitchen, loud enough so he could hear, but not loud enough to wake their four children that were asleep upstairs.

Elliot didn't respond; he just slammed the door behind him and hurried down the front steps of his house. He only wore a grey t-shirt and black Adidas track pants, certainly not something he would typically wear out in public, but that was the last thing on his mind as he started his car and drove off, beginning an agonizing forty-minute drive.

He tapped his fingers on his steering wheel anxiously as he quickly got on the 495. It was a fairly familiar drive through Queens – a drive he made at least once every day on his way to work in the city as a sex crimes detective for the NYPD. He didn't pay much attention to the roads or signs, knowing them well.

But he panicked slightly as he hit slow traffic going through the Midtown Tunnel. He didn't have much time to spare, though he hoped he was ultimately making the drive for no reason. It was inconvenient, of course, but he prayed he was just overreacting and that everything was fine.

He called the number one more time when he emerged from the other end of the tunnel. Since he was already in the city, he decided that if everything ended up being fine, he would stay overnight in the city and not waste a late night trip. Partially to avoid having to deal with his wife's grief when he got home later.

"Come on, come on," he pleaded as the phone trilled in his ear. "Pick up."

When there was no answer, yet again, he threw his phone down in the empty passenger seat. He felt his eyes sting with miniscule tears. He was not prepared to deal with the impending situation. He knew what was coming, and he was fearful. He didn't think he would have the strength to get through it, especially if it was as bad as he expected it to be.

He made his way through the neighborhoods of lower Manhattan, fighting sporadic bouts of traffic. Nerves bubbled in his stomach as he passed Little Italy and Chinatown. He was getting closer, and he was terrified.

When he arrived in Tribeca, he quickly found a parking spot on the road near his destination and shuffled out of his car. He jogged down the Hudson Street block and into the Skylofts building.

"Good evening, Mr. Stabler," the doorman, Dennis, greeted politely with a smile. "Everything alright?"

"I hope so," Elliot sighed and rushed toward the elevators, impatiently waiting and nearly losing his mind as the machine brought him up to the eleventh floor.

When the elevator dinged open, he darted to the door that said 11A. He attempted to turn the doorknob, but it was locked, as he assumed it would be.

"Open up!" He called as he knocked on the door loudly. "It's Elliot!"

He only let a few seconds pass, but when there was no noise or shuffling on the other side of the door, he knew he had to break the door down to get in. He steadied himself and with one quick thrust of his shoulder, he busted the door open and hurried inside the stunning apartment.

He checked in and out of every immaculate room, each one empty. For a moment, he began to wonder if the entire apartment was vacant until he saw the record player in the bedroom. A Carly Simon vinyl was spinning around and around but the needle was removed, as if the album had ended hours ago, but the player hadn't been stopped. That, right there, was a sign that something was terribly wrong. He darted into the master bathroom, the only room he hadn't checked.

And that was where he found her – lying naked and lifeless on the floor.