A/N: Hope everyone made it through the waiting for this chapter! Here it is, as promised. Please read and review. This was a heavy, dark one, folks. I'm exhausted. Your support means everything, so thank you all. There will be another chapter, so fear not.

Spoilers: Her Negotiation, Surrender Benson

Trigger/Content Warnings: STRONG warnings for the Lewis arc, including kidnap, assault, torture, forced intoxication, rape, attempted rape, and violence. Please skip this chapter and wait for 5 if those things are too much for you. 3

Rating: M for violence, mature themes, mentions of assault.

Disclaimer: The characters used herein are the intellectual and legal property of Dick Wolf and NBC. No money is being made from this body of work. I do solemnly swear that I have been up to no good with them, and my mischief is managed.

Equinox

IV: Eclipse

For Olivia, everything had been reduced to moments of semi-consciousness.

The smell of her bedding.

Starlight.

Summer night air.

The grit and must of an old car.

She recognized she was in a trunk. At least Lewis wouldn't - couldn't - rape her in a trunk. Liv let her eyes close. There, in the dark, Elliot came to her. It was a dream, of course – she wasn't so concussed that she didn't know it to be – but it helped slow her breathing, a small respite.

"Hey, Liv," El's voice rumbled. She could feel his arms around her, unlocking some of her fear-rigid muscles.

Elliot, she spoke without moving her mouth. I'm scared.

"I know. It's okay," he told her softly.

He's going to kill me, she whimpered.

"No."

He's going to rape me. It's the same thing, she countered.

"That's fear talking," El whispered. Liv felt the brush of his dream lips against her temple. "The Liv I know wouldn't give up so fast."

Says the one who gave up on the entire force.

He smiled. "Leaving the force wasn't hard. Leaving you was hell. You have to wake up now, Liv." She felt his fingers tap the hollow of her throat, where her necklace rested. "Leave them this," he explained. His arms reached, undoing the gold chain. "Wake up, Olivia," he urged.

Liv's eyes fluttered open in the dim shadows of the trunk. She could hear Lewis, at the driver's side, heard the pop of the trunk latch. She put her cuffed hands together, thumbs in, and brought them close to her throat, managing to hook one under her necklace. She pulled, and the necklace came away easily.

It was undone.

Quickly, she dropped it near the back of the trunk, nudging it as far out of sight as she could. Lewis was at the trunk then. "Wake up, Olivia," he called cheerfully. "We've got a date!"

The light was harsh, flooding her vision before he stepped into it. Lewis took her by the upper arms and helped her sit up, then pulled her out completely. "C'mon, hurry up," he barked, "time's a-wastin'."

Liv glanced over her shoulder as he turned to shut the trunk again. The necklace was pushed up under the edge of the spare tire. It would have to do.

He pushed her into the house, steering her with one hand, the other still holding a gun. The last sleeping pill he'd forced her to swallow seemed to be wearing off, and she was able to focus enough to glance at their surroundings. It was no place she knew. The home was large and clean, except for the destruction that Lewis had wrought.

An older man was unconscious on the floor of the eat-in kitchen, bound and gagged.

"Don't waste your time worryin' about him, darlin'," Lewis told her, "just collateral damage." He shoved her into the bedroom, just off the room where that man was dying, and finally pushed her onto the four-poster bed there.

Another person, already in the room, whimpered. Liv craned her neck, and saw an older woman with a mascara-streaked face, moaning into her own piece of duct tape.

"Olivia, meet Susan, our new friend," Lewis grinned. He pulled out a cigarette and lit up. "We're gonna have some fun together – as soon as I get . . . comfortable."

Part of Liv wanted to try and console the other woman - despite her own peril – but mostly Olivia was just ashamed. Nothing made her angrier or more ashamed than the loss of her power and control. Lewis knew it; it was part of why he had chosen her. She was tired, hungover from pills and forced drinking, nauseous, coated in sweat from fear.

She listened as William went back and forth, smoking his cigarette and moving things around the house. Then he was carrying a bottle of wine, swigging from it, pacing.

Liv was sure that the pistol-whipping had given her a concussion. From the looks of it, the woman with them had been worked over some, too. At last, Lewis came into the room and ended his pacing. He took his time untying Susan, taking off her duct tape. He levelled the gun at her when she was freed, leering at her.

"Strip," he ordered. "Or die. Your choice."

/ / /

"Lewis was right. You do have a vendetta against him," Vanessa Mayer huffed, stalking across the courthouse hallway.

"Counselor, your client broke into Detective Benson's apartment two nights ago. Now, he either killed her, or he's holding her captive," Cragen explained.

"You're out of your mind. I just saw him."

"When? Where?" Rollins snapped.

"This is harassment. I don't have to answer your questions," the redhead sneered, turning and starting down the corridor.

Amanda went after her, her stomach churning with rage and with fear. "Counselor, hey. Look, these . . . these are pictures from that Detective's apartment."

"You have the wrong suspect. I was with him all day yesterday."

"Where?" Cragen asked.

"We drove out to Long lsland."

"In a Lincoln?"

"Yes."

Amanda nodded. "He stole it. Where'd you go?"

"He said he wanted to go to the beach to clear his head," Vanessa replied, her voice finally faltering, faintly.

"Okay, so, on this drive, did he . . . did he stop the car? Did he ever check the trunk?"

"No."

"We have reason to believe Detective Benson was in that car," Cragen told her.

"No, the car was empty," she protested.

"Did you stop anywhere?"

"I had to get back to the city. And before he dropped me at the train station, we stopped for dinner."

"Where?"

"At my parents' house in Bellport."

Amanda could finally see a flicker of doubt, and nervousness, creep from the lawyer's voice into her eyes. Good, she thought, good, you oblivious bitch. Better late to the game than never.

/ / /

Olivia's head was spinning , again, thanks to the wine and vodka that Lewis had been forcing down her throat each time he took a break. She was tied to a chair again, trying hard not to puke while her mouth was still duct taped.

Lewis had been assaulting the older woman for hours, forcing her to watch by threat of burning Susan if she didn't. Her eyes rolled erratically, the combination of liquor, concussion, and shock making it almost impossible to focus. Susan was sobbing as he raped her, having given up screaming a while before.

"Are you looking, Olivia? I said watch!" Lewis grunted, twisting his head to see her in the chair. Her eyes were drooping again. He took his cigarette from the bedside table and pushed it into the old woman's bare shoulder.

The piercing scream jolted Liv in her chair. For a second, she had thought it was her own screaming, and nearly wet her pants in terror. She forced her eyes open a few moments more, but then she was out of luck; the darkness slid over her again like a veil, and everything was blessedly quiet.

"Ah, s'just as well," William slurred when he realized she was unconscious, "I'm just about done with this one anyway."

/ / /

"Ride with the vic!" Cragen called to Amanda.

Rollins piled into the ambulance behind the stretcher, leaning over Mrs. Mayer. "Tell me what happened, Susan. Who did this?"

"She said his name is Billy," the woman gasped. "My daughter brought him. We all had supper together. He drove her to the train station . . . and then he came back."

"Can you tell me what happened after Lewis came back?"

"He held a gun on me, and he m-made me take off my clothes. He made . . . oh, God. He made her watch while he raped me!" she sobbed.

"And this woman - did she say anything?"

"No. She had duct tape on her mouth. He told her to keep her eyes open. Anytime she tried to close them, he held put a lit . . . lit cigarette on me." Mayer faltered, growing faint again.

Amanda panicked, leaning in even closer, desperate: "Was this woman - was she with him when he left?"

"Detective," the medic warned.

"She . . . she passed out."

"She was alive," Amanda said, mostly to herself. "Could you tell that she was alive?"

"You're done, Detective," the medic snapped.

The shriek of the siren throbbed in Rollins' ears as she sat back hard against the wall of the bus, her pulse so rapid that she was near to panting. She was alive . . . Liv's alive, she thought. She has to be, because if she's not . . . I'm going to kill him.

/ / /

Olivia had officially lost all track of time. When she was conscious now, there was light, or there was dark. At the moment, there was only the roof of the vehicle they were traveling in, as Lewis had wedged her between the front and back seats, on the floor. He had parked and gone, maybe a half hour ago, while she was coming out of another medicated booze haze.

She wondered if the squad was getting close to finding them. Wondered if she was going to die, at the hands of this sadistic S. O. B. She fantasized about seeing Elliot again; about him showing up to save her, even though there was no realistic hope of that happening.

The dome light popped on. "Hey, I'm back. I got us some supplies," Lewis told her cheerily. "What, are you resting? Upsy-Daisy." He lifted her from the floor, settling her against the back seat. Liv rolled her head from side to side, her cop instincts wanting some clue of where they were, but it was just a dark parking lot.

"That a girl. There you go. Okay, arms behind your back." He secured her wrists. "There you go. There you go. Okay. Man - I love hardware stores. I got a tarp, some rope, uh, extra duct tape, some surprises for later, and some drinks. How's that sound, huh? If I take the tape off, you'll be a good girl?"

"Mm-hmm," she mumbled.

"Yeah? Okay. There you go. You thirsty, sweetheart? Yeah? Here you go," he opened a new bottle of vodka. Liv's stomach rolled at the sight. "Oh, no, no, no. Hey, hey," he said, chasing her lips with the bottleneck, "you don't get to say 'no' anymore, okay?" Lewis sighed as she still resisted. "All right, you have some vodka, and I'll give you some water . . . okay?"

He laid a bottle of water against her stomach. The sheer clean, cold of it was enough to make her relent.

"That's it - suck it down. Suck it down . . . yeah, that's it," he urged. Liv choked at the sudden rush of liquid down her dry, sore throat, attempting to spit out as much as she could. "Swallow. Shh, shh. Shh, shh, shh. The Vicodin and the sleeping pills - they give you dry mouth, right?"

"Water," she whispered.

"I know - I promised. I'm a man of my word. Like . . . when I told you about that lady. And I told you what I was gonna do to her, right? I told her everything, and then I did everything that I said, didn't I? Huh?" He grabbed her face, angry, "Didn't I? Yeah. There you go." Liv took a frantic drink, trying to suck in as much as possible. "Okay, that's enough. I think we're gonna find it soon."

"Find what?" she asked.

"Someplace special."

Liv's eyes widened in the moonlight, interpreting what he meant. She moved towards the water again, and he poured it out on the pavement, then crumpled the bottle and shoved the plastic into her tank top. He put the strip of duct tape back over her mouth, then kissed her mouth over it, drawing an exhausted whimper of disgust from her.

"One move," Lewis warned her, "lights out. I'll do you cold."

/ / /

"And the two girls in Alabama: Roommates. He breaks into their apartment, puts them in the trunk of their own car. He drives them to a fishing cabin. Then he holds them there for three days. He rapes, tortures – " Amanda cut short, seeing Cassidy's expression, "Um, he leaves them there tied up, but they manage to escape."

"So he lets them all live," Brian said.

"Not always. His first lawyer girlfriend, in Maryland . . . he took her to a foreclosed house. He holds her there for almost two days, leaves her for dead."

"No news is good news," Munch contributed, "The car hasn't been spotted on any bridges, tunnels, or ferries."

"Okay. Then he's still on Long lsland," Cragen returned, heading to the map onscreen.

"Well, yeah, well, he told his lawyer that he wanted to clear his mind, go to the beach," Rollins said, stepping up next to the Captain.

"The beach in Long lsland?" Cassidy echoed, his voice hollow. "Which beach, hmm? North shore, South shore, the bay? Do you know how many beach houses there are in Long lsland?"

Amanda narrowed her eyes. "I was just trying to help," she told him curtly.

"By going on about how brutal this psycho is?" Cassidy goaded.

"Brian," Cragen warned.

"Y'think you're the only one who's scared, Cassidy?!" Amanda snapped, taking a step toward him.

Brian chuckled derisively. "Scared? Really?" He matched her step forward. "I'm way past that."

"Okay, enough!" Cragen barked. "Amanda, go cool off. Brian, go with Munch; take a walk."

The detectives broke their gaze at each other and went in opposite directions. Amanda marched to the locker room, fuming beyond what she had let Cassidy see. She paced a short, terse line in front of the bank of lockers. I can't take this anymore. Where are they? Fuck!

Amanda hadn't slept since Sunday night before her Monday shift. The longer Liv was missing, the more out of control Amanda felt. Now that asshole thought he was the only one who cared enough for it to matter. Well, fuck that.

"Ugh!" she screamed, throwing out a kick to the nearest locker.

"Sound like you need a few minutes of shut-eye, partner."

Amanda whirled on Fin in the doorway, her chest heaving with her anger. She snorted. "Couldn't if I wanted to," she told him, and sighed. She dropped onto the bench alongside where she'd been pacing, fingers pressed to her temples. "Not until we get her back."

Fin said nothing, but came to the bench, sitting down beside her.

"What if she's dead," she whispered.

Non-committal, as ever, Fin simply pursed his lips into a line, looked at the floor. Amanda wondered about all his years on the job, about what he had seen.

Or maybe he had always known too much, and spoke very little.

"All you gotta do, is go back out there, and manage not to throw a punch until Cassidy leaves," Fin advised slowly. "From what I hear, the whole squad managed it for a year, before he transferred to Narcotics."

She laughed. Amanda took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I hear ya."

"C'mon, let's go find Liv." Fin stood, motioning for Amanda to follow him back to the bullpen.

/ / /

It was bright out, early morning, the next time Lewis pulled Liv from the car. He half-dragged her to the door of a small beach house, then inside. In the master bedroom there was an iron bed frame with mattress, but no sheets. He tossed her onto it, turning away to deal with his supplies.

"I got to lose the car. It won't take me that long, though." William ripped a piece of duct tape with his teeth. "Are you gonna miss me?"

Olivia whimpered; the pressure of her bladder was incredible. She had needed to go for a very long time, but he had taken nearly every other thing from her; she wasn't about to lose her dignity by pissing her pants.

"Hmm?" She moaned again, and he followed her line of sight, to a small bathroom off the room they were in. "Of course," he chuckled, "It's been a long time." He finished tearing another piece of tape. "All that vodka, right? Let's go."

He stood back, leering as she tried to lift herself from the bed. Still, she made the effort, refusing to give in to him right away. Despite the circumstances, Liv couldn't get her core muscles to pull her upright, and she moaned in sadness and frustration.

"Do you need help?" Lewis asked quietly. "I can help you." His tone was hollow, and his eyes suddenly colder than normal. Liv's stomach knotted as he threw the duct tape aside, lunging at her. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her to her feet as smooth as if it was foreplay.

Perhaps it was, for him.

They were nearly nose to nose, the butt of his gun under her chin. Liv was too tired to flinch. After a beat, Lewis spun her in the direction of the bathroom. Would he undo her wrists? Hold the gun on her while she lowered her pants? Would he try, finally, to assault her sexually? Her mind raced.

Then she was standing in front of the toilet, facing Lewis, still cuffed. His eyes tried to hold her tired ones as he levelled the gun at her, then used his free hand to pull her belt open. Seconds ground to a halt.

He popped the button on her dark jeans.

Lowered her zipper.

He reached out, lowering each side of her pants with her panties, one at a time, using just one hand. Liv held her breath, refusing to look lower than his face. "Take a piss already," Lewis barked finally.

Liv sat, finding the cool of the toilet seat and the relief astounding. When she finished, she was momentarily paralyzed again, by the fear that he would try to wipe for her. But he was antsy – jonesing again, maybe – and merely yanked her back to her feet, roughly getting her pants back on. He even took the pains to re-buckle her belt.

Then she was back on the bare mattress, her hands handcuffed, this time to the iron bed frame.

"Try not to miss me too much," Lewis smirked.

At last, Liv was alone.

/ / /

Cragen had decided that it was safer, for the time being, to keep Rollins around the precinct – so Fin and Amaro went out to question the hardware store owner. But Fin always had Amanda's back, and he kept her in the loop without having to be asked.

Now, Amanda was standing in the ladies' room of the bar Fin had brought her to, staring dazedly at the concrete brick wall at the end of the sinks. They'd told Cragen that Fin was taking her home to try and sleep.

Tarp, rope, wire, hand-held blowtorch: William Lewis' shopping list for psychopaths had been banging around in her brain like a bumper car gone off its circuit.

Tarp, rope, wire, hand-held blowtorch.

Blowtorch. Christ. Her eyes burned, from lack of sleep and tears she had so far been too scared to shed. Deep down, Amanda needed to see . . . how much she had to blame herself for. Was Liv dead? How hurt was she?

What had Olivia suffered, all because Amanda couldn't keep from involving herself in every goddam thing? Had she ruined what could now be Liv's last day off ever, to bring this maniac into the squad and get her killed?

Please, no, she thought, her lip trembling. Please, God. Without conscious thought, her fist shot out into brick.

"Whoa!" a woman who had stepped in, just in time to catch it, shouted. "Man troubles, honey?" the woman asked, with genuine concern.

Rollins looked down, noticing that she had split a knuckle. "I wish," she muttered, and left the bathroom.

Fin noticed, immediately, when she sat down again. He frowned, and signalled the bartender, ordering a glass with just ice.

"I'm fine, Fin," she mumbled.

But her voice and her hand shook in defiance of her as he held the cold glass against her still-swelling hand.

/ / /

It had been a while since Lewis had doped her up, or kept her forcibly drunk. Liv's adrenaline reserves had kicked in, once he was out of the beach house and she could take a deep breath again.

She didn't waste any time, trying to suss out how sturdy the bed frame really was. Pulling, with as much strength and leverage she could scrape together, she made a real effort to break away the metal rod that she was handcuffed around.

Urging herself on, she would heave and think of something each time, that she wanted when this was all over. Assuming that she survived it, of course.

A hot bath. Heave.

A hair cut. Yank.

An entire bottle of ibuprofen. Pull. Harder!

I want him dead, she thought coldly. Kicking her feet out in anger, tugging desperately.

Discouraged, Liv rested for a minute, then decided she would add more weight. She walked her legs across the mattress, scooting her butt along. Finally, her weight shifted, off the bed and toward the floor. She straightened until her arms had the room to really pull, then used the entirety of her weight to continue her work. Her hands felt like they were going to pop off – and at that point, so be it.

I want William Lewis dead, she thought again, getting comfortable with the idea.

Not too long after that thought, she heard the front door again. She caught her breath, and stilled.

He swaggered into the room, sucking on another one of his beloved alcoholic energy drinks. When his gaze turned to her, his grin fell. "Look at you," he chastised. Crumpling the can in his hand, he tossed it. "You going somewhere?"

William came to the bed, throwing her weight back onto the mattress like an afterthought. "Not without me, you're not." Liv moaned in pain. "I told you I'd be right back!" He yanked off the duct tape covering her mouth.

Taking a deep breath, Lewis centered himself, focusing again on the bed. "We'll cuff your hands right here . . . " he moved to the foot, "We'll tie up your feet – " he yanked her feet down, straining her bruised wrists, and Liv cried out. "Right here. Oh, man," he chuckled, "a real old-fashioned iron-frame bed. This . . . I knew this place would be perfect. You want me to burn your clothes off or cut them off?"

She focused at the ceiling, ignoring him vigorously.

"Scissors . . . I need some scissors. Where's the scissors? There's got to be some scissors around here, right?" He opened drawers aimlessly, shut them again, muttering to himself. "Oh, not in here - the kitchen." Then his soft chuckle again, making her skin crawl. He left the room and Liv spiralled, twisting with terror, wanting so desperately to cry. "Nope. No luck. Oh, wait a second. That's pretty perfect."

Lewis appeared from the doorway to her right, holding what appeared to be a can opener, with a sharp point. He laughed, but then became curious when he saw her expression. "What's that look? Are you feeling sad? Thinking about someone you're never gonna see again?" Straddling the end of the bed, he placed the can opener at her ankles, slicing the duct tape there. "Mom? Dad? Boyfriend?" Then the duct tape above her knees.

Olivia staunchly refused to meet his eyes.

"No, huh? Someone else . . . someone who you would give anything to see just one more time." He made his way back to the head of the bed, and placed a frighteningly intimate kiss on the exposed inside of her arm.

She groaned in disgust, disturbed and weakened by his ability to read her. An ability that he shouldn't fucking have at all, let alone be as good at as he had been proving. Unable to stop herself - not sure she would if she could - it was Elliot who filled her head – Elliot, not Brian.

Not Brian.

Twelve years, like a raindrop in the middle of a storm. Liv thought of his crooked grin, of his flashing temper, of the smell of his cologne from the kids every Christmas. She thought of everything, all of it, at once: his incredible shape for his age, his stormy Irish eyes, the sound of his voice

(I love you, Liv)

and how she had known, the moment their bodies had fit together, that she could never love another man the same way.

"You're gonna cry his name out . . . at some point," Lewis confessed in a whisper, "they always do. Well, just try to put him out of your mind, okay? 'Cause you don't make it out of here alive."

Everything else . . . every tactic had failed. All of a sudden, Liv did a one-eighty, grinning wickedly at Lewis. "You know what? You might want to keep me around. I know what you like."

"Well, then you've been holding out on me."

"Yes, but that's what you want, isn't it? Hard to get and then begging for it. Hmm? I know how to get you off."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Kentucky . . . Alabama . . . I've seen the photos. I probably know more details about it than you remember," she challenged.

"Oh, I doubt that."

"I've seen a lot of things, but I've never seen anything like this. You're not some punk."

"Don't try and play me now," he warned.

"No, I'm not playing you. No, 'cause I know you don't like that. Those two girls at the cabin - you hung one by her arm in the closet, and you made her listen while you did the other one for two days. Did you . . . did you even sleep?"

"I don't need sleep, not after I get on a roll. You're gonna find that out," he bragged.

"When?"

"Now."

"Well, then you might want to loosen these cuffs or take 'em off," she smirked. She told herself that maybe she could survive it, if she offered him sex instead of him taking it. All she wanted was just the slightest inch of control back . . . just something, a sniff of dignity.

"Yeah? Is that right?"

As much as it sickened her, Liv could tell she was turning him on. But he hated it. She fascinated him because usually, the only thing that got him going was the play of his power over weak victims. Lewis had never been on level playing ground with a woman, and it scared him. He was running out of time, to fuck her, to prove that he was still the stronger. In all their time together he could have had it over with half a dozen times before even two days passed, but each time he had choked. The only thing that seemed to scare her was the gun.

"Yeah. I know you like a struggle. You want to show me how strong you are, overpower me, pin my arms behind my back . . . "

"No." His voice fell flat.

"Come on," she coaxed.

It was too much for him. He felt his control slipping, and the moment Liv had barely gained fell out from under her, with consequences. "No!" Lewis growled, and he straddled her in the blink of an eye, placing the barrel of her gun in her mouth.

Olivia whimpered as her body ran hot and cold all over, the room spun, passing out became a real possibility. "You don't tell me what to do. Okay?" She nodded, her dark eyes suffused with terror. "Now you say . . . " he prompted, pulling the gun away.

Finally breaking, her eyes spilled over with tears. "I want to live," she whimpered. "I'll do anything. I'll do anything . . . " Liv choked on a sob, "anything. I'll do anything."

"Yeah. Yes, you will." Lewis's nostrils flared, satisfied with his power, by her fear.

A knock, clear as day, on the front door.

And that was when Liv screamed.

/ / /

The time stretched out limitlessly. She could hear him, speaking to a woman, but not well enough to make out what lies he might be telling her. Keeping an ear tuned to the muffled sound of his voice, Liv started pulling on the iron bar again. Maybe it was hopeless, but there was no way she was going to make it too easy for him.

The front door shut again, and Liv froze. Now the woman's voice was inside - being rushed into another room, she assumed – and also, a child's voice. A girl's.

As terrified as Olivia had been for her life over four days, her body still managed to produce an even deeper level as it registered the sound of the little girl's questions. This child was scared. Both of Liv's hands gripped the iron bar in rage and defiance. That monster would never touch a child as long as she was still breathing.

That was when the bar moved.

Not much, but enough to know that it was hers, if she wanted it. And God, how she wanted it. She froze again, motionless on the mattress, thinking fast. His footsteps were coming back in her direction.

"I hate to be rude, but we have to hurry. We have company. The maid showed up with her five-year-old daughter . . . " he chuckled, and it was obvious that this wrench in his plans was unnerving him. "Sweet little Luisa."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing yet. That little one . . . she's a cutie."

"Little girls, huh? Old ladies. What is it with you? Are you afraid of me?" Liv asked.

Lewis tittered anxiously. "Oh, no, sweetheart. I was just hoping we could take our time."

"We've been together for four days. There's a lot of talk, but there's not a lot of action," she complained, eyeing his crotch to make her point.

"It's coming, baby."

"I wonder if . . . if you're not man enough to get it up for a real woman. I just wondered about that," she whispered.

"Huh?"

"You see, I profiled you: a tyrannical sadist who preys on the weak. I think you're afraid of me. I do."

More and more ired, Lewis slammed the utility knife he'd been using to cut rope onto the dresser. "Do I look afraid to you?" he demanded, unflinching.

"I think you're afraid of me," she repeated.

"Let's get to the action," he said, tired of her challenges.

Liv's last thought before pulling the iron bar in a lunge was – If this fails God, let him rape me and not the girl. Not the little girl.

The next she knew, she was off the bed, and Lewis was on the floor, bleeding from the mouth and nose. He made a lunge for the dresser, for the gun she was so fucking afraid of, and she hit him again, right at the elbow. As he dropped back to the floor in pain, Liv grabbed the gun and levelled it at his head.

God, it felt good. It felt familiar, powerful. Her heart was hammering with fresh adrenaline. The rough of the metal under her tender palm was a caress. She imagined this is how men felt when holding their cocks in their hand – thinking that it made or broke a situation. Or a person.

"Don't move," she warned.

"Why? What are you gonna do?" He moved toward her, testing her.

She trembled, then held her ground. "One move . . . lights out."

"Okay. All right. You want to be in control for a while, baby? I can play that," he half-grinned.

He was still playing his fucking game. But the game was over. Olivia cold-cocked Lewis, knocking him out in one blow.

She made sure that he was out solid, then dragged him to the foot of the bed. Fumbling in his pockets, she retrieved the key to her cuffs, and stumbled out into the beach house, across to the room where he had stashed Luisa and her mother.

"Please, here," Olivia called out. "Unlock these cuffs! I want to help you!"

The maid opened the door cautiously, peering at her in confusion. Once the cuffs were off, Liv turned heel and ran back to the other bedroom, cuffing Lewis to the foot frame. Then she turned back to the other two, crossing to them. "Did he hurt you or your little girl?"

"Estamos bien," the mother answered, shaking.

"Listen, I want you to take your daughter, and I want you to get out of here now." Liv pushed them toward the door.

"I call the police!"

"Listen to me. I am the police. He's a very bad man. Now, he's gonna go away for a long time. Let me ask you a question: are you legal? ¿Tiene usted una tarjeta verde? Okay. If the police find out that you are here, they will take away your daughter. Escuchame. No digas nada. ¿Entiende?"

"Si."

Liv looked down at Luisa. "¿Y tu, entiendes?"

"Si."

"Okay." She pushed them out, watching them go. "Ya vete!" she shouted.

Chest heaving, she stood in the silent beach house a minute. Torn, between the repulsion that thinking of going back in the room caused, and her desire to hurt Lewis in any or all of the ways he'd hurt her. At last, she went slowly back to where he lay, unconscious and bleeding.

For the first time in four days, Olivia looked at her own face in the mirror. She lost her breath at the puzzle of blood, sweat, sticky alcohol and grime that stared back. Her dark hair was a nest where evidence and horror had dried, stuck, tangled together in manic bunches. Shock was settling in, pushing out fight or flight, trying to make her body rest.

"Hey. Hey, you." She turned back to Lewis, kicked a foot. "You're out cold, are you? I haven't called anybody yet. I think I want you to suffer first. Maybe I could burn you . . . or cut you." She chuckled, thoughts starting to pile up in her traumatized mind, like a cold-blooded traffic jam.

"Or I could use the blowtorch on you," she mused, testing its weight. She flicked it on. Off. "But you might enjoy that too much. See, you - you'd know what to do. Your whole life, you know what you want, and you just do it. What I want to do . . . " Olivia sighed, tipping her head. She aimed the gun again, her voice going cold: "I want to shoot you in the head right now, watch you bleed out. Or maybe that's too easy."

Elliot filled her head again, pulling the corners of her mouth down with grief and the endless longing for closure. "My old partner . . . " her voice quavered, "he'd know what to do. He wouldn't question himself after what you've done." Sitting down, she half-smiled at the idea. "He would kick your teeth in, break your legs, break your arms, break your back, break your face."

Liv caught herself on a harsh sob. God, how she had wanted him to save her. How she wanted him still, there, then – the only person who had ever thought her truly perfect, whole, just as she was. Elliot would take on all the shame, the vengeance, so she wouldn't have to finish it herself. Why can't I let you go, El? she thought. I wanted it to be you.

"Maybe I should call him. Maybe I should get him to use that metal bar on you . . . huh?" She leaned towards Lewis on the floor. "And make you beg for your life," she hissed with disgust.

Twisting, Lewis rolled over, growling at her. Liv yelped, leaping to her feet and pointing the gun.

"Then do it. Do something. Please, God, that speech . . . that's the saddest thing I ever heard in my life."

"Shut up."

"Your partner would know what to do. I would know what to do, and you just stand there wondering what to do?"

"I will hurt you."

"Then take the cuffs off."

"Stop talking," she ordered.

"Or what? Are you gonna shoot me? You don't have it in you. You want to, but you can't, 'cause you're a nice girl."

"You don't know who you're dealing with."

"That old partner of yours . . . well, he sounds very macho, doesn't he?"

"No." It was too close to begging, but he was doing it again – he was reading her, pushing buttons that no one else ever saw. Despite the gun, it scared her again.

"It must've been tough for you - all those long nights, alone in the car."

"You don't get to talk about him," Liv declared.

"Did he ever do you? He did, didn't he? You still want him." William chuckled at her, feigning sympathy. "I can hear it in your voice. You're all bottled up. Yeah. All your life, you've been listening to stories . . . women telling you about the worst night of their life."

"Shut up!"

"What about you, huh? What are you working through?"

"Shut up! I said shut up."

"Something your daddy did to you? Is that it?" Lewis guessed.

"Shut up!"

"I'm onto something, aren't I? Yeah, call me what you want, but I can always smell a victim!"

Liv hated him. She hated him with every cell in her body – and not just because of the four day torture and trauma binge, or even because he had made her cross every personal line she had ever drawn in the sand. It won't be me. I'm not a victim – never the victim. I won't beg. I won't give in, show my fear. I'll die before I let myself be raped. Lewis had taken her control, her dignity, and now he was coming for the parts so tender that she could hardly touch them herself.

He refused to quit baiting her, and when pointing the gun failed, she came back around to where he sat. She kicked him in the knees, trying to hurt him enough to make a point, but it just spurred him on.

"Yes! Can you smell that? That's it. There's the spunk. Point taken. I got it. Daddy's off-limits, right? Okay. Why don't I talk about mine, then?"

"How about you don't? I'm not interested."

"No, you are. You are."

"I don't want to hear it."

"My daddy . . . well . . . he used to leave me at my babysitter's. He used to put me in front of the TV to watch cartoons, and he'd take her in the back and do her on the water bed. One day, he got wasted. He passed out, right? She comes out of the room. She asks me if I want to play. She puts me in her mouth. God, it felt good. Then my daddy came out. He slaps her in the face. She's bleeding . . . from the nose, and the mouth. Then he grabs her, pulls her pants down, and does her on the floor, hard, while she's screaming, begging him to stop."

"While you watched. Are you kidding me? Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?" Liv scoffed.

Lewis laughed. "Sorry? Oh, no, honey. I think you missed the point. My daddy got up, pulled up his pants, brought me to the car, and took me to Dairy Queen for ice cream. One of the best days of my life . . . the moment I knew what I was put here for. I know what I want. What about you?"

"I do. I know exactly what I want. I want you dead," she said flatly. "I want a bullet in your head." She came towards him slowly, the gun aimed again, sweating with the effort and the headache from her concussion.

"That's it," he encouraged, coaxing her on.

"I want you in the ground."

"Come on," he closed his eyes, feeling the metal of the handgun, like destiny kissed upon his forehead.

"Nobody will miss you. Nobody will mourn you."

"Oh, just do it. Do it right now. Come on, while you're angry . . . just shoot me. Do it. It's gonna feel so good. Just shoot me. Just shoot me. Don't wait. Don't let this go to trial, baby. I've got a long history of winning streaks. I'm gonna get off, I promise."

Shaking, forcing herself not to kill him, she pulled the gun back once again. Immediately, he was disappointed.

"No, no, no, no, no, no. No. No, come back," he whined, like she had blue-balled him on the edge of a great orgasm.

Back to the dresser, she made herself lay down her gun. The shock, her head wound – whatever she was going to do, she was running out of time. Overexposed, Liv felt raw, felt raped. He hadn't touched her sexually, maybe he'd never even really planned to . . . but he had taken things that weren't his. William Lewis had laid bare the one way that they were the same, and all the ways that they were different. She may have gotten free, but he was the one who had won.

"I knew it," he spoke up to her, "You don't have the balls."

A glint of light reflected off of Elliot's mini badge on the bottom of the gun. El's voice - You've got to wake up, now, Liv. . . . She picked up the metal bar from the dresser, turning back to Lewis.

As she raised it, she saw his expression. At last, he was afraid. The metal rod came down hard, and he cried out in pain.

Again, and they were both screaming now. In her head, Elliot whispered words of encouragement – and she let him, because now she knew, it was the last time he would ever save her.

It was time to let go, and her heart was breaking.

Olivia raised the rod, again and again.