There was a moment of silence as Olivia stared up at the man, unwilling to accept that her ordeal wasn't over. Then he wrenched her upright, still holding her hair, pulling her towards the wall. She struggled to keep upright, her feet scrabbling against the ground as he pulled her forward with deliberate roughness. Near the far corner was the large dark shape she'd seen earlier - it was a bed, roughly made but sturdy, with ropes at all four corners and odd protrusions at the sides.

Burton tossed her onto the mattress, and she had a split second to notice the reddish-brown stains on the gray cloth before she was flipped onto her back. She tried to struggle, unable to face this again, but a stunning blow to her face made her go still. It was followed by the dim awareness that ropes were being wrapped around her ankles, and she wanted to cry. She would be helpless again.

When all four limbs were restrained, Burton walked around the border of the bed, tightening the ropes until they dug into her skin and her muscles strained painfully. She was spread wide, all of her completely exposed. She could barely move an inch, not even to relieve the pressure.

Finally, he pulled the gag from her mouth and smiled down at her, stroking her cheek. "You can talk to me if you'd like. Unlike Cliff, I don't mind."

When she only stared at him, he shrugged, climbing on top of the bed and taking off his belt, dangling it in his hands. "Come on. Talk me out of this. Last chance."

He was only taunting her, she knew. Even so, she couldn't give up this easily. "You can still end this now," she said, her voice almost steady. "Just let me go, and we can all walk away."

He looked amused, his fingers playing against her skin. "And why would we do that?"

"The cops are going to know I'm gone soon. When they find me -"

He smirked. "Take a look around. You think this is our first rodeo? No one's gonna find you."

She took a breath. "Maybe they never found you before. But if you've gotten away with it so far, you must have chosen your victims carefully. People who wouldn't be missed, who might have gone on their own. People who no one would look too hard for. But like it or not, I'm going to be high profile. The police are going to tear apart the state looking for me. It won't -"

He whipped the belt hard across her hip, and she cut off with a gasp.

"And where do you think they'll start looking? We're miles from where we found you, and I doubt you were supposed to be there in the first place. How do you think they'll find you down here?"

"They'll find me," she said, though her voice lacked the conviction she wanted. "You don't know my squad. There's always something."

The next strike came against her thigh, and she flinched, swallowing a cry.

"Oh, I doubt that. Like I said. It's not our first rodeo." He lowered his voice. "You think you're so big because you're a cop, but I'm about to beat that notion right out of you. You're gonna scream for it by the end, just like everyone else. And when you're all fucked out, I'm gonna slit your throat. What do you think of that?"

"Burton, listen to me -"

He whipped her across her breasts and she barely bit back a shriek, panting helplessly as he looked down at her with pleasure.

"Not so high and mighty now, are you?"

"I don't -"

The belt struck hard between her legs. Agony jolted through her as she finally screamed, writhing against her bonds, rope cutting into her skin. He waited until she stopped, his lips curling into a pleased smile as his eyes met hers.

"Got nothing else to say to that?"

She didn't reply, quivering against the mattress.

"We'd best get started then."

He knelt over her, trailing one rough finger down the skin of her chest, his other hand pulling at his jeans. She closed her eyes and turned her head, all she could do under the present circumstances, bound as she was. A hand gripped her chin, pulling her face forward.

"You're going to watch me with those pretty brown eyes," Burton said. "Or maybe I'm gonna decide you don't need them anymore."

With that, he entered her and she screamed again, unable to even struggle as the ropes held her tightly to the bed. She forced herself to look at him, watching the pleasure on his sweaty face. She was already sore, and he, even more than his cousin, seemed to know how to make it hurt. He pulled her towards him, every limb seeming to strain against her bonds, and she found she didn't have the breath to keep screaming.

"Please," she managed to choke out.

"Oh, it's too late for that," he whispered, pressing her back down on the bed.

It seemed to go on for hours. When he finally climbed off her, she stared numbly at the gray ceiling, her whole body aching. She wasn't quite surprised when only moments later, the mattress dipped and Cliff straddled her again, grinning down at her in a way that dared her to protest. She was too tired for fear, closing her eyes in resignation. There was nothing left to try. They would rape her until they had their fill, and then they would kill her. Her only consolation was that her team would likely never discover the horror of her final moments.

But when the man finally finished, no one took his place. The ropes around her limbs were loosened the barest fraction, enough that they no longer cut into her skin. Then Burton leaned over her, stroking her cheek in a parody of intimacy.

"Get a good rest," he said. "You've got a busy day tomorrow."

Footsteps retreated and the heavy metal door slammed shut. The lights flicked off, leaving Olivia alone, shivering in the darkness.

When he was young, Elliot's father had told him that the makings of a good detective was half instinct, half reason. Instinct to put you on the right path, to know when to push or hold back. Reason to fill in the gaps, to find the next step, to pull you back from your mistakes. He found on one cold autumn day that both reason and instinct had failed him and the consequences were catastrophic.

He'd gone home last night and had a perfectly normal evening. Before he'd gone to bed, he'd considered calling Olivia again to try and talk things out. But his reconciliation with his wife was still tentative, and such an action would be self-sabotage of the highest degree. So he didn't. And when work started the next day and she wasn't there, he was only a little concerned. Olivia was never late, except for when she was. She always had some bit of follow up going on, some favor or errand for someone.

When an hour had passed with no sign of her, he finally knew something was wrong. He drove to her home with sirens on, calling her phone again and again even as he knew there would be no reply. Denial was the strongest of human emotions and he refused - refused to believe that something could happen to her without him knowing. The fundamental tenet of his life was that if something happened to Olivia, he would know. There had to be another explanation.

When he reached her apartment, he let himself inside, half afraid of what he'd see. But there was nothing. No sign of a struggle, no blood on the floor. No dishes in the sink either. No fresh garbage, no splashes of water in the bathroom. No sign she'd ever come home last night.

He called her cell phone again, hoping against hope there was some kind of mistake, that she'd reply with breathless apologies about how she was running late, working a case off the books.

There was no answer.

When the call went to voicemail, he hung up, dialing Cragen's number with shaking fingers.

"Hello?"

Elliot could barely speak. "She's gone, Captain."

He could hear the frown in the other man's voice. "What?"

"Olivia. She didn't make it home last night."

The world was spinning on his axis, and he closed his eyes, knowing with all the instincts that had failed him last night that this was something terrible, something that couldn't be resolved with a few easy explanations.

"Olivia's gone missing."