Disclaimer: Dick's the man. Boo-ya.
Author's Note: This chapter took forever; it just didn't want to cooperate with me and after three months of fighting with it, I'm posting it as is. Hopefully you'll enjoy it some. Only two more after this, I think.
Thanks to C, for being the bestest ass-kicker a girl could ask for. What would I ever do without ya, babz?
Twisted Us
Chapter Four
Written by Shay
The earth ceased to move and time came to a grinding halt. Up became down and down, up. The world swirled around her in diluted shades of gray; merely shadows of things she no longer recognized. The only thing she remained aware of was the endless loop of words playing her mind. Taunting her with reality; teasing her.
Father. Daughter. Father. Daughter.
Two words, eight syllables, that had never held much meaning in her life were now anchored to the center of her existence. Her eyes dilated at the realization, her mouth gaping to form incoherent words that wouldn't come. Her chest tightened, heaved with the threat of a panic attack she couldn't control.
Father. Daughter. Father. Daughter.
Her head shook of its own accord and she stumbled backward as her surroundings came back into focus. Her back hit the wall behind her but her gaze never left the man in front of her.
He was smiling, grinning like a madman at her reaction, as if it were what he'd been hoping for all along. Like he'd been waiting for her armor to crack and took the greatest pleasure in having been the one to accomplish the feat.
His dark eyes... dear God, his eyes. Her eyes. She gasped in recognition; how could she have missed it? For two days she'd been staring into a mirror of sorts and yet had missed the boat completely.
No.
The logical side of her brain chose that moment to kick in, the sound of her own rational voice startling. Coming back into herself, she felt her initial shock being to wear off and the anger take hold.
Catching Sam off guard, she leapt forward, her cuffed hands claiming a scathing hold on the material of his shirt. His eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected attack and he sucked in an uneasy breath when she leaned in, her nose barely grazing his.
"Who the hell are you?"
Her captor remained stoic before a slow grin claimed his features, the cold reaction causing her to falter slightly. Still, she didn't release her hold on him even as his meaty fingers circle her wrists; blunt fingertips digging into soft flesh. Her steely gaze remained transfixed on him while he leaned forward, his hot breath dancing across her face.
"Why Detective, I would've thought you'd have it figured out by now. Guess you're as stupid as your slut of a mother."
Despite recognizing his deliberate intention of further eliciting her anger, Olivia couldn't help the dangerous growl that escaped her throat.
"Fuck you."
He laughed then, his fingers digging into her skin a little more harshly and she fought off the urge to wince.
"Hit a nerve, did I? Sis."
The word and its implications struck her as surely as if he'd hit her physically and she recoiled slightly, even as her hold on him tightened. "You're full of shit."
"Am I?" Sam cocked an eyebrow, his head tilting to the side as if to gesture around them. "Tell me, what does the evidence support?"
"That you're a psychotic, stalking bastard."
Eyes clouded over at her words, becoming wild as he tightened his grip. "Oh no, Detective Benson. I'm not the bastard, you are. In every pathetic, sordid sense of the word."
His words cut deeply, tugging at every insecurity she'd harbored since childhood. Feelings of inadequacy, because of who she was, where she came from. The little voice that had always hummed at the back of her mind was now screaming and she desperately fought the urge to scream right back.
Blinking back the stinging threat of tears she refused to cry, Olivia zeroed in on Sam once more. Strapping on her cop persona, her face hardened into its interrogation stance. The emotional fallout that this moment would inevitably cause would have to wait until she was alone; she couldn't focus on the overwhelming revelation that had just been dropped into her lap. Not if she intended to escape this ordeal - physically at least. She would deal with it later.
"What do you want from me?"
"What I want," he spoke with barely concealed rage, "is for you to experience all the pain you've caused. All of it."
With that, he yanked her hands away from his chest with such force that the sickening sound of her nails being ripped from her fingertips echoed through the room. Pain seared through her, coming out in a strangled squeak as she stumbled backward.
Blood dripped from the damaged appendages, staining her dirt-caked shirt where she cradled her hand to her chest. Her stomach twisted and churned and despite having not eaten in close to three days, she heaved relentlessly.
Before Olivia even had the chance to collect her bearings Sam had hold of her again, this time by the back of the neck. He smiled widely as he produced the small knife he'd threatened her with earlier and placed it against her throat.
"Let the good times begin!"
The continuous and monotonous hum of the busy squad room buzzed around him, though Elliot was oblivious. His eyes, bleary with worry and lack of sleep, stared unendingly at the empty chair at the desk across from him. The unoccupied seat struck something deep within him; his panic at the possibility of never seeing it taken by anyone ever again. Or at least not by the right anyone.
He wasn't, by nature, a pessimistic man. Even through the mind-numbing shit he saw day in and day out; even with the mess his personal life had faltered into, he'd managed to keep an optimistic, if not slightly cynical, outlook on things. Or at least tried to. This was different somehow. He'd seen the crime scenes of the first two victims; the gruesome blood baths courtesy of a lunatic. The same man that now had Olivia. Her brother.
"Shit," the word slipped past his lips before he'd even realized he'd spoken. Her brother. Her goddamn brother. That was the deal breaker there. The murdering, rapist mother fucker that had abducted his partner was her own flesh and blood. A man she didn't even know existed. And it begged the question that haunted them all: was this all a premeditated nightmare or just a sick crime of coincidence? He could only pray it was the latter.
The sudden slamming of the Captain's office door broke his reverie and Elliot's gaze snapped upward as Cragen stalked toward them, fire in his eyes and paper in hand. The older man's eyes traveled over the faces of his top detectives, silently requesting their presence at the evidence board.
Elliot met the questioning gaze of his colleagues, a dark dread festering in the pit of his stomach. Whatever news was coming their way couldn't be good, judging by the look on Cragen's face. He could only pray none of the heinous scenes playing out in his head had become reality.
Once the four men were situated, their bodies blocking the rest of the room's view, Cragen finally spoke.
"We've got a match on the prints," he paused, taping up a photo of an unfamiliar man. Elliot felt his heart plummet at the sight. "Samuel Holt, thirty-eight, of Brooklyn. Prints matched thanks to a brief stay at a state psychiatric hospital in Florida. Last seen leaving a bar not far from Olivia's apartment."
Silence washed over them as four sets of eyes took in the man that had effectively turned their unit upside down. The bastard that threatened the very heart of their squad; a woman that each of them men loved in a myriad of different ways, one that they would all put their lives on the line for, no questions asked.
Elliot couldn't look away, his eyes searching the photo for some telling resemblance to Olivia. Hoping, wishing, praying that he wouldn't find any. Cringing at the familiar dark eyes that stared back at him.
"- No sign of him since Tuesday morning," Cragen was saying when Elliot finally tuned back in. "Uniforms are sitting on his house and his ex-wife's place. Boss hasn't seen him since before the first abduction. A neighbor says there's a girlfriend in the picture; an Evie Cronin. Munch, Fin, I want you to talk to her. Find out if she's heard from him recently or if she knows where he might be. Let's find this bastard and bring Olivia home. Safely."
"On it, Cap," Munch was quick to agree, heading out the door before another word was uttered; Fin following close behind.
"Elliot, I need to talk to you in my office," the captain requested firmly; Elliot mutely nodded. As the two men turned an unfamiliar voice called from behind them.
"Elliot Stabler?"
Pivoting back around, Elliot nodded in acknowledgement at the nervous-looking man in the squad room's doorway. "I'm Elliot Stabler. How can I help you?"
Green eyes darted between Elliot and Cragen, who stood with arms crossed and penetrating, unyielding eyes trained on the stranger. The man visibly swallowed, his hands shaking as he thrust a cardboard box in Elliot's direction. The detective eyed him with distrust.
"What's this?"
The question seemed to startle him. "I-I don't know. I was just told to make sure you got it."
Glancing at his superior, Elliot cautiously reached for the proffered package, his gut twisting as he did. He didn't want whatever was in the box, he realized with stunning clarity. The dread in the pit of his stomach was back.
"By who?"
The demand was made abruptly, harshly, and the man blanched at Elliot's tone.
"I don't know! Some guy offered me two-hundred bucks to bring it here. That kind of money, you don't ask questions."
Cragen reacted first, covering the few feet between him and the stranger in a second flat. His face belied the obvious fear he shared with his lead detective towards whatever was in the box. Years on the job told them both it could be nothing good.
"Where did you -"
"Cap," Elliot's voice interrupted, the word coming out in shaky rhythm. Cragen turned, all color draining from his face at the sight.
The box lay open on his desktop while a familiar blue sweater rested in Elliot's shaking hands. Deep crimson stood out in stark contrast to the soft material; each streak of the life giving liquid branding both men in the heart.
From behind Cragen, the delivery man grunted out an unintelligible sound before raising his hands in defense against Elliot's accusatory glare.
"I didn't have anything to do with that, I swear. You've got to believe me; I didn't know what was in the box. Please -"
Cragen shook his head to silence the man, his eyes still on the sweater. In a tone Elliot had never before heard from the older man, he imparted his directions.
"Take it to the lab and put a rush on it. You, come with me."
"It's hers," Elliot barely managed." She was wearing it the night before she... I-I gave it to her, for her birthday last year. I -"
"Take it to the lab, Elliot. Now."
Blue eyes dilated, stinging with the threat of emotion he couldn't stand to let loose. Swallowing the rock that had lodged itself in his throat, he gently placed the knit shirt back into the box and stalked out of the room, his heart left behind.
Dusk had fallen upon the city again before Warner made the call to the precinct with the tests results for the blood from Olivia's sweater. while it wasn't a surprise in the least that it was found to be hers, it amped up the frantic urgency that had the squad room in a vice grip.
Leads continued to pour in from the tip line; each one that appeared to have the slightest validity to it was investigated, keeping the three detectives and their captain on their toes. Each time they returned to the bullpen after chasing ghosts the air thickened with defeat just a little bit more, leaving raw nerves exposed and on edge.
It was ten minutes to midnight when Elliot and Fin reappeared in the doorway of the squad room, both their faces drawn tight with disappointment and another emotion all refused to name. Another lead shot down; another hour wasted.
Fin silently made his way to his desk, shaking his head at the questioning look in John's eyes. The older man sighed before chancing a glance at his other colleague who seemed to be rooted in his place by the door. His gaze was focused on the only empty chair in the room, save for his own; the one nobody had so much as touched in nearly three days. John could only imagine what was going through his head.
"Elliot."
Tired and bloodshot eyes darted over to where don stood in the doorway of his office, concern painting his face like a canvas. Elliot made no move to step into the room, only continued to stare at him for another moment before shaking his head and turning, muttering to himself as he went.
Having watched the entire exchange, John stood with the intention of going after him but retreated as Cragen held up a hand to stop him.
"I'll go. You two keep working."
The night was warm, the threat of rain hanging overhead as Elliot dropped unceremoniously onto the front steps of the precinct. A few officers loitering the area glanced his way as he did, but nobody approached and nobody said anything. They all knew the score.
Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his head in his hands and let out a groan of frustration. The images he'd fought for three days assaulted him from behind closed eyelids; images of finding his partner, his best friend, his... Olivia, broken and battered the way the other two victims had been found. Dead. The thought left him gasping for air as he sprung to his feet, blinking back the moisture that had gathered in the corners of his eyes. He couldn't start thinking of her like that. Not now.
"Elliot," Cragen interrupted his internal combat with a heavy hand on his shoulder. Elliot turned to meet his gaze.
"Cap, I just -"
"I know," Don nodded, understanding shining in his eyes. "We're all worried, Elliot. Olivia's like family to all of us."
Elliot's eyes narrowed and he shook his head. "I just... It doesn't seem like enough. Like we're not doing enough; I'm not doing enough. She's out there somewhere with that son-of-a-bitch, who's doing God knows what to her. And we're all sitting here with our thumbs up our asses."
"We're doing everything we can -"
"It's not good enough!" Elliot's voice exploded from within. "It's not enough, dammit! If it were one of us out there, she'd be -"
The shrill sound of his cell phone gave him pause and he sighed heavily as he reached into his pants pocket to retrieve the distraction.
"Stabler."
He was quiet before glancing at Cragen, who was watching him with concern. Elliot's eyes widened and he swore he felt his heart jumpstart in his chest.
"Liv."
tbc... ;)