-1Disclaimer: 'Law and Order: Criminal Intent' and all its characters belong to Dick Wolf. Not me. : (
A/N: Tralala, another chapter. Enjoy.
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Murder, He Wrote // Chapter Seven: Memories
Blue eyes flicked open to a ceiling they didn't recognize.
Madison jerked into a sitting position as a gasp fell from her mouth. Where am I? Was the first thought that zipped through her head as she stared around. It was dark, but there was a dim light coming from a narrow slit across the room. She looked up at it, came to the conclusion that it was a door and that said door was at the beginning of a flight of stairs.
She tried to stand, but fell back onto the floor with a grunt. She stared back at the rope that was tied around her wrists. And then at the second piece of twine that was twisted around that rope and wound around a pipe behind her. She let out a raspy sob and pulled at the restraints until the rough material began to burn her delicate skin.
"Hello?" It was hard to believe the voice was hers. "Is someone there?"
Nothing. Silence.
"Hello!" Madison jerked forward in a desperate attempt to free herself. "Someone help!"
---
Alex was shaking. She didn't realize it, but her body was twitching with tremors. She could almost see her. She could almost see Madison crying, frantically trying to get out of wherever she was. She could feel what she was feeling. Fear. Desperation. Weakness.
Then she saw herself in that room. Those curtains, those screams, the feel of cold metal on her cheek.
Alex choked back a sob, blinked at the road ahead of her as she raced towards Bill Yonkers' house. Her partner was at her side, shouting out orders into a walkie-talkie. No time for self-pity, Alex, the voice inside of her said as she turned the corner sharply. Now it's just Madison. You have to save her. You know what she is feeling. You're the only one who can help her now.
She slammed on the brakes and was out of the SUV and beside her partner, rushing up the steps to the door. With a shout of "NYPD!" Bobby kicked down the heavy door with one simple movement and rushed in with a SWAT team on his heels. Alex followed her partner up the steps, her gun placed in her sweaty grip.
"NYPD!" Bobby hollered again as they broke into the bedroom.
The sleeping Yonkers shot up in his bed, threw his hands in the air. Bobby converged on him, flipped him onto his stomach, and snatched the cuffs Alex held out for him. "Where is she!?" Bobby yelled, pressing his weight onto the thin man's back.
"I don't have her! I don't have her!" he screamed back. "I was only doing what I was told! He said he'd hurt my kids! I had to do it! I had to! They're my kids!" Tears sputtered out of him and he turned his face into the pillow.
"Damn it, where is she!?" Bobby pressed his gun to the man's ginger hair.
"Rodney's Butchery! He told me to take her there and tie her up in the basement! I did what he said!" Yonkers sucked in air when the detective pulled himself off of the man's frail body. "He's probably already there. You'll be too late."
"You better hope not," Alex said as she holstered her gun and sprinted after her partner.
---
Her wrists were bleeding. She could feel the thick liquid running over her palms and dripping off her fingers. Madison continued to twist her hands. She would get free. She would get out.
Her head snapped to the side when the door at the top of the steps swung open. She blinked at the new light that was flooding into the room, waited until her eyes adjusted before she screamed.
"I like that," he said, deliberately taking his time to slowly descend to the bottom of the staircase. "Keep screaming."
Madison saw the glint of the blade and choked on a whimper. Warren Martin had finally reached the end of the stairs and was making his way towards the small girl. "I think your mother was the most fun to kill," he taunted. "It was like killing two birds with one stone." He chuckled. "Actually, two unworthy brats with one knife." He kneeled in front of the girl, ran his finger over the tip of the blade, and showed her the blood that trickled from the small wound. He licked at it, smiled. "I've been after you for a while. But you're very slick." He moved the bleeding finger back and forth. "First, you hide so I can't find you. Next, you let the cops protect you. Then, someone else takes the hit for you. But now," He ran the back of his dirty fingers on her face. "you're all mine."
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Alex watched Bobby from the corner of her eye. He was fidgeting. With his seatbelt, his shirt, his hands. She wondered if he had done the same when she was missing. Had he lost it like he had back at Yonkers house? Had he displayed as much emotion for her as he had to the teenage girl he had met less than a week ago? She shook her head, focused on the road. They were partners. They were professional.
And even though it was, she tried to believe it was nothing more.
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Madison pumped her legs forward, caught the man in the chest just as the knife would have punctured her throat. With one last powerful tug, she ripped her hands free of their restraints and launched herself over the man and to her feet. She heard him growl in frustration, but didn't dare to look back as she jumped onto the staircase. She stumbled up the steps, made it to the top where she threw open the door and fell out onto the floor.
She scrambled to her feet, paused to stare at her surroundings for a moment before she spotted a door. Freedom. She ran for it, finally grabbed onto the handle and yanked. When it didn't budge, she gasped and turned, her eyes darting for another way out. They landed on the slow moving figure that was hauling itself from the doorway and into the room.
"Now, now, now, Madi, that's not a good thing to do." Warren moved from behind the butcher's counter and stepped into the center of the room. His gaze followed Madison as she sprinted away from the door and to another corner of the room. "There's no where to run little girl," he all but sang.
She began to scream. Scream for help. For Bobby. But deep down, in the darkest corners of her heart, she knew no one was coming.
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Rodney's Butchery. The best meats in town! The sign read. And below it: Closed on Sundays.
The small, tinted windows of the store offered minimal view for the snipers above to get a good shot, and an even worse one for the officers on foot. An officer approached the door, battering ram in hand. He threw his arms back, then swung them forward. The glass windows of the door shattered as the metal frame flew off its hinges. Bobby was the first to rush in, gun drawn.
It was then that he saw the large form of Warren Martin hovering over the much smaller one of Madison. He raised his gun, shouted, "NYPD!"
And fired.
