She is glad to be home, as she steps into her apartment. She locks the door behind her. She exhales, and reaches for a bottle of wine. She places the bottle, on the counter. She reaches into the cabinet, for a glass. Her stomach twists into a knot. The hair on the back of her neck stands up.
"Come on, Casey," she tells herself.
She finds that she is unable to think about anything, other than the case at hand. After all, one of her co-workers, one of her close friends, was the latest victim. A victim, of a sadistic, bastard. Who rapes cops, not ADA's, she reminds herself. This reminder doesn't seem to settle her nerves. Her thoughts begin to run.
What if he wasn't done, as they had suggested? He liked to change his pattern. That is what made him such an unusual serial rapist. He liked change. He left his DNA, inside of his victims, but no fingerprints. What if instead of being done, he was out for revenge? What if he had been out for revenge, since he began raping cops? Maybe it wasn't about power. It was about rage, and a personal vendetta.
8 years earlier-
Olivia chases him down the street. She tackles him to the ground. Her knee rests on his back. She securely pins him to the ground. Her partner joins her. She cuffs him. Elliot helps him off the ground. He squirms. Her nostrils flare, in rage. She slams him against the door of the car.
She didn't always get this angry. She rarely used excessive force. This was different. She knew, from the moment she looked in his eyes, that he was guilty. He had cold, soulless eyes. She recites his Miranda rights.
He hated Olivia. He wanted to hurt her. Olivia had humiliated him. She had emasculated him. He wanted to get back at her, by any means necessary. What if that meant hurting the people she was associated with, too? The people she worked with, and cared about? Casey can't find enough nerve to pour her wine. She leans against the counter. She gets the feeling that she isn't alone. He's watching her. She swallows hard, calculating her next move. Before she can reach for her phone, he slithers out, into the light. He comes out of the doorway, of her bedroom.
"Hello, Casey. It's so nice to see you," he approaches, "Have a glass of wine, it will make you feel better," he muses.
"Tell me, how do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Make them feel like jello?"
"It's my own personal cocktail recipe. I can't share my trade secrets with you," he pulls out a knife.
"You don't want to use your fists, instead? Maybe you can put your hands around my neck, and choke me out."
"Don't tease me," his lips curl into an evil grin.
"If you want me, you're going to have to kill me."
"I hoped that you would say that. We're going to have so much fun, together."
"I don't even enjoy being the same courtroom, with you."
"Don't worry, I'll make it memorable," he promises.
"How did you ever become a lawyer?"
"The same way that you did."
"We have enough evidence to put you away, for life."
"And I'll be in your head, for the rest of yours," he taunts, he closes the gap, between them. He presses the knife against her neck.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you, yet. Just a slice here, and there. I'm going to strip you, of your clothes, and then, your dignity," he nicks her neck.
She winces.
"Come on, let's go," he pushes her, towards the bedroom.
He wraps his hand around her wrist. He drags her towards the bedroom. He flips on the light.
"I don't want you to forget my face."
She swallows hard. He pushes her onto the bed. She struggles.
"I forgot how fun it was, to have a feisty one."
He approaches, reaching for his belt. He moves towards her. She spits in his face. She kicks, and he whips out his knife. She moves, before it can hit her arm. She knows that before it goes any farther, he's going to use his belt, as a tourniquet. He's going to jab a needle into her arm, and inject her, with something. She moves towards the head of the bed. He is focused on getting the needle out of his kit. She stops, when she reaches the pillow. The lawyer part of her, screams. He reaches for her arm. She doesn't struggle. He puts the belt around her left arm. She takes her only opportunity. She pulls the gun, from under her pillow. It's a revolver. She's already cocked it, knowing that the chamber is full.
She had been through a lot of practice, and training. Olivia had helped her. They had been over a lot of what if, scenarios. She was prepared, for what would happen, if she only had one hand. It's a small gun. His eyes focus on her vein, as he wields the needle. She fires, without a second thought. It is a shot, that is close range. The bullet is a small caliber. She knows that accuracy is key, as she cocks the weapon, a second time. The bullet hits him, in the shoulder. He drops the needle. He stumbles backwards in agony. It takes him a moment, to regain his footing. This enrages him. He reaches for his knife.
"I am going to make you regret that." With one hand he holds a knife, with the other he reaches for the gun.
She fires, again, as he comes at her, with the knife. She know has two hands on the weapon, providing more accuracy. The bullet exits the barrel. It hits him in the rib cage. He falls backwards. He hits his head, on the floor. She puts the gun down, and reaches for the phone. She can barely dial the three numbers. He lies on her floor, bleeding as she talks to the 911 dispatcher. He continues to breathe. She hangs up the phone, and grabs the gun. She slides off the bed, and leaves the room. She's sitting in the kitchen, waiting, when the paramedics arrive. The police are right behind them, into the building.
Casey answers the door, when the paramedics knock.
"He's in there," she points.
Amaro is the first familiar face that she sees. He follows the paramedics into her apartment. He looks at her.
"Are you ok?"
"I didn't kill him," she answers.
"Did he hurt you? You're bleeding."
He reaches for a paper towel. She presses it against her neck. She holds out the gun, to him, with the hand grip towards him. He notes the four bullets on the counter.
"I emptied it, after. I shot him, twice," she adds.
"Did he hurt you?"
"No."
