Disclaimer: I do not own Law and Order: SVU. It belongs to a genius named Dick Wolf. No profit is being made from this story.
Four and a Half Weeks Earlier
The phone rang, breaking Don's train of thought. Irritated, he paused in his writing and reached for it.
"Yeah," he said briskly.
"Is this Captain Donald Cragen?" the caller asked.
"Yes," he said.
"Captain, my name is Paul Manning," the caller continued. "I'm calling from the 5-2 precinct. I just spoke to a detective from your unit a little while ago about a man we are currently holding….Jason Evans?"
"Yes," Don repeated. "Is there a problem?"
"A big one, Captain," Manning said frantically. "Jason Evans has escaped our custody."
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"GOD DAMN IT!" Olivia screamed painfully. She continued jerking and pulling on the metal handcuff attached to her right wrist so hard that she could feel the skin breaking. "FUCK!"
Tears were trailing down her cheeks at the thought of what could possibly be happening to Elliot at that moment. She had never seen any of the men before, but their move to incapacitate her indicated that their focus had only been on her partner.
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Elliot had never felt as much terror as he did the moment he was pushed onto the floor of the van. The doors slammed shut and he felt himself lurch as it took off.
He was yanked up before he could orient himself and pressed hard into a leather seat. There was a loud ripping sound and he was jerked forward while someone taped his wrists behind his back.
Another ripping sound was heard. His eyes flew wide in surprise when he was gagged with more of the tape, but the feeling of a blindfold being slipped over his face sent him into full-blown panic.
Voices were all around him, deep and gruff. He jumped when he suddenly felt pulling on his jacket and began twisting away. Rough hands pressed him down hard and he felt something cold press in the center of his forehead.
"Sit still," a man's voice growled softly.
The distinctive cocking of a gun made him start to shake involuntarily and he froze, too terrified to even breathe the wrong way.
He swallowed hard as he felt his jacket being pulled to the side. His handcuffs, gun, and badge were jerked out of his side pockets before he was shoved back against the seat.
"Jay, stay back here," he heard someone say.
There was the sound of shuffling and what sounded like a curtain closing before it became quiet.
A weight pressed down beside him and he stiffened instantly. An arm wrapped around his neck suddenly and he began to panic, tossing his head and twisting around to get it off. The pressure only worsened until he found himself gagging.
"You've got two choices," a voice hissed at him. "You'll sit still and be quiet or I'll blow you're brains onto the floor." The cold feeling returned, pressing hard into his forehead.
He shook again and didn't make a sound, sitting stock-still.
"Good choice," the voice sneered.
The arm remained locked around his neck and the gun never left his face as they continued to travel.
Present
A man with long blonde hair slammed his fist hard against the granite table top in frustration and leapt off of the bar stool.
"I can't fucking take it anymore!" he growled. Spinning around, he threw a look at a group of men sitting on the couch watching a football game. "Someone go shut him up!"
The men on the couch looked at him in exasperation and each other, silently telling someone else to get up.
Another howl floated through the air.
"God damn it!" he yelled, striding through the room. He grabbed a young brown-haired man up and shoved him towards the back door. "GO!"
Laughs and gloating jeers from the other men on the couch made the young man whip around. He sneered and stuck his middle finger up at them.
"That's the way it goes, son," the blonde man said with a smirk. "Low man on the totem pole doesn't get a choice." He looked to the others and grinned. "Don't catch a cold."
"Fuck you," he muttered darkly, flinging his coat off of the closet door. He shrugged it on and zipped it up as he opened the door.
"Whoo!" someone called out as the cold wind whipped inside. "Close the door, boy! It's cold as shit out there!" They laughed again.
The young man flicked them off again as he stomped outside, slamming the door shut behind him.
He opened the gate and shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked toward the beach. Paranoia had him looking around with every step as he approached. The howls drifting up from the water were loud.
The next howl made him shiver involuntarily. He had to fight the instinct to get the hell out of there. He never came down here with them. To be perfectly honest, he thought what they were doing was disgusting as shit.
He much rather preferred staying inside where it was warm and playing Playstation while they did their thing. The place was stocked with all the alcohol he could ask for.
Jesse Madison was no fool. He might not like their choice of entertainment, but hell if he wasn't going to take advantage of being free
The howls didn't stop when he waded into the water. Madison winced, coming up behind the prone figure on the ground.
He was getting ready to snap at him to shut up when the words froze on his lips. He stood in front of the man completely tongue-tied. He had to fight the sudden urge to be sick at the sight before him.
The man was stripped completely naked. His upper torso was sprawled sideways awkwardly because his hands were tied to one of the gigantic legs of the pier.
The gentle waves of the low tide occasionally washed up to his thighs, but his pelvis was completely vulnerable to the cold air.
Jesse could see the dark handle of the knife he knew that Jeff always carried protruding out slightly from the man's rectum. Blood had stained the sand below his pelvic bone.
The man's face was so pale that it looked almost grey. His whimper made the hairs on Jesse's arms stand up. His eyes were screwed shut tightly and he was shaking hard.
"Jesus," he whispered, closing his eyes. He flinched and said awkwardly, "Hey."
The man jumped violently and began whimpering, his eyes screwed tightly shut. Tears started streaming down his cheeks.
He's afraid of you.
The realization made him sick to his stomach and his hands starting to shake slightly. He fought to keep the tremble from his voice as he looked down on him.
"L-look," he said uneasily. "You-you really need to be quiet, okay? They…they're getting really mad."
The man tearfully howled again.
"Please," he begged, suddenly terrified. "Please, Mister…please be quiet. I'll have to gag you if you don't. I…I really don't want to do that."
The voice sounded young and scared. Elliot was startled by that. But he hurt so much that he couldn't do anything to stop himself from yelling. He took a deep breath and the pain it caused made him scream again.
Looking around in fear, Jesse spotted remnants of a grey t-shirt on the ground near him and grabbed it. Twisting it in his hands, he leaned forward and forced it into the man's mouth, flinching when he gagged. He balled it up tightly and kept shoving it in until the man couldn't move his jaw.
The man opened his eyes after he was through and Jesse was so shocked that he almost fell over. His eyes were bright blue. He looked a lot like his dad.
He ducked his head and swallowed hard. The man looked at him and began sobbing silently, his head coming back to rest on the sand. His eyes closed and he didn't fight. He just lay there and cried.
Jesse got up quickly as he felt himself starting to cry too. He stepped back onto the sand and looked back at the man.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, sobbing. "I'm so sorry."
Four and a Half Weeks Earlier
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Fin reached across the seatbelt and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Munch glanced over from the driver's seat and back to the road again.
"Tutuola," he answered.
"Fin," Cragen said quickly. "Jason Evans has escaped."
"What?" he said, almost screeching. Munch looked over, startled. "When? We just talked to the guys down in the lock-up not fifteen minutes ago!"
"It was sometime after you guys called," Don said impatiently. "Look, I don't know exactly what happened yet, but I can't get hold of Elliot or Olivia. When you get to the warehouse, tell them I want all of you back here."
"Alright," he said.
Munch looked over when he hung up. "What?" he asked immediately.
His partner looked at him slowly, dread on his face. "Evans escaped from the 5-2."
The incredulous look that passed on John's face was the same one that Fin was wearing himself.
"Cragen doesn't know what happened," he added quickly, before his partner could say anything. "All he knows is that it happened after we called for the extra security."
Munch shook his head, clenching his teeth. He looked at the road again. "Son of a-"
"He wants us to meet Olivia and Elliot at the warehouse and all of us to go back to the house," he said. "He said he can't reach them on his phone…I'll try them."
He began dialing. John shook his head again and pressed his foot harder on the gas pedal, stunned. How the hell did that happen?
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The van continued on in silence. The arm had eventually left it's position around his neck, probably because the owner had gotten tired, but the gun remained where it was.
The only sound Elliot heard was his own panicked breathing. Anytime he tried to make any semblance of a sound, the gun would cock and press harder.
The loud ringing startled him so much that he jumped violently and gasped. The arm was back around his throat in a flash.
"Don't make a sound," the voice growled in his ear.
Hands were reaching into his jacket again as the phone continued to ring. He closed his eyes and prayed silently.
The ringing amplified as the man pulled it out. He pulled it to him and studied the faceplate as it flashed.
"Fin," he said aloud, reading the name lighting up on the caller ID.
A small choking noise escaped Elliot's throat. Please… dear God make him realize something's wrong!
He heard the phone being flipped open and began struggling wildly to make noise, praying that his friend would be able to hear it.
The phone snapped shut again and the man threw it to the side. He dove against Elliot's side and pressed his knee right into his groin, making him give a muffled yelp of pain.
"Bad idea, hot shot," the man hissed, digging his knee harder.
He picked Elliot up by the lapels of his jacket and slammed him hard against the seat before punching him over and over in the face.
"Don't," he hissed, emphasizing each word with a hard punch. "Try. That. Again."
Elliot moaned, cowering down as best he could to try and escape the raining blows. It didn't work.
"Do you understand me?" When there was no sound of acknowledgement, the man punched him hard again.
"I asked you a question, fucker!" he growled. He punched him again, seeing blood on his hand when he pulled back this time. "Do you understand me?"
Realizing that the man wasn't going to stop until he made some kind of sound, Elliot managed a choked whimper of pain and then braced himself for another blow. It didn't come.
Satisfied, the man leaned back again and reclaimed his tight hold around his neck. This time, he made no move to let go.
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Fin sighed in frustration, slamming the phone shut. "Damn it," he muttered. He heard Elliot pick up and then the phone had hung up. "God damn cell phones. These things suck."
He dialed Olivia next.
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The phone lying haphazardly on the passenger seat of the Crown Victoria began to ring. The sound bounced around the empty car until it stopped a few seconds later.
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"Damn it!" he cursed again, slamming the phone shut.
"What?" Munch asked in annoyance, tired of the theatrics.
"Elliot's phone lost the signal, and Olivia isn't answering," Fin replied.
"Keep your pants on, will you?" his partner asked. "We'll be at the warehouse in ten minutes."
Shaking his head, Fin put the phone back into his pocket.
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Their attitudes changed quickly when they got to the warehouse. They saw the lone sedan and instantly became on alert.
"Where are the others?" Munch asked ominously.
He exchanged a look with Fin as he pulled his gun. They quietly got out of the car.
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"I got right."
Olivia snapped her head up quickly and froze, listening hard. Was that…?
"See anything?"
She sighed in relief, almost weeping. "GUYS!" she screamed as loud as she could. She went as far as the handcuff would allow and shouted again.
Munch rolled his eyes, holstering his gun.
"Olivia, what is with you and your partner?" he asked, coming inside. "Why don't you answer-"
His eyes widened when he saw her handcuffed to the stairs. They ran to her quickly.
"Are you alright?" Fin asked immediately, as John was getting the handcuff key.
"Elliot," she gasped. John almost had to hold her down to keep her still. "Guys, they took Elliot."
John froze with the handcuff in his hand. Fin looked at her in horror.
"What?" he asked.
She rubbed her wrist, beginning to run toward the door. They had to pump to keep up.
Present
Olivia got as far away from the subway terminal as she could before pulling the car over to the side of the road. She threw it into park and then collapsed against the steering wheel in tears.
While on her way to the scene, she had been praying for God to forgive her; praying for Elliot to forgive her. It killed her inside…but during the ride there she was wishing that the body was his.
She wanted it to be him so that they would finally be able to give him closure from the horrible nightmare that they had forced upon him. He deserved a proper resting and they needed to give it to him. It was insignificant after all that they had done, but it had to be them. It just had to be.
But when she saw his ID, she lost it. The truth was that she wasn't prepared. She wasn't prepared to see her partner, her best friend in the world, murdered and thrown away like a piece of garbage, and to know that he suffered horribly before his death.
The only thing running through her mind was what if it was her fault? What if the body was his because she had prayed for it to be his?
It wasn't him; at least, they said it wasn't him. Olivia personally had her doubts. She was afraid for it to be him and afraid for it not to be him. She would look for him until the day she died if that's what it would take. But she would rather know that he was freed by death than know that he was still alive and in pain.
She began sobbing so hard that she could barely draw a breath. Elliot was such a wonderful, god-sent person….how on earth could someone be so cruel and brutal to him?
"Fucking bastards," she sobbed angrily in the quiet of the car.
They were going to pay. If he died, she was going to track each one of those men down and shove her pistol down their throats one-by-one.
A sudden rapping on her window made her jump. Looking up blearily, she saw a figure standing next to the car window. Hastily swallowing and wiping her face, she unsnapped the safety on her gun before cracking the window.
Fin stood patiently and watched her crack the window. He heard her curse when she realized who it was and waited some more. After a minute, the window came down the rest of the way.
"What do you want?" she asked irritably. Her face was wet and her nose was stuffy, but she still managed to glare at him defensively. Seeing him about to open his mouth, she snapped quickly before he could. "Don't ask me if I'm alright. God damn it, I'm not alright, and I'm allowed to be not alright! He's my partner, God damn it! I'm not alright!"
Her sentence ended in a furious scream and she began sobbing again, shaking her head in defeat.
Fin stood silently while she screamed at him. When she was through, he slowly walked around the front of the car and opened the passenger door.
She didn't look at him when he slid inside and shut the door behind him. Neither spoke as they sat. After a few minutes of tense silence, she sighed tearfully. Tears fell steadily down her face as she spoke softly. Her voice was drained and lifeless.
"Maybe they gave him a blanket to sleep with tonight," she said. She paused. "Maybe he's still wearing his big fleece coat and is too hot."
Fin looked at her sympathetically, but couldn't get his mouth to cooperate.
"Is he full, Fin? Did they give him dinner? What if his allergies act up?" she asked tearfully. "Do they know what kind of medicine to give him?" Her body shook as she sobbed.
Fin was shocked to silence. He had never seen Olivia Benson break this way before. He bit his lip to hold back his own tears.
"I hope they're keeping him warm," she said, her voice shaking. "He doesn't like the cold. He doesn't like the cold." She leaned against the steering wheel and wrapped her arms around herself, moaning over and over. "I'm sorry, Elliot. I'm sorry."
She felt arms around her and she collapsed into them, too spent to resist. She couldn't cry anymore; she just shook.
Fin didn't speak. He simply held her in silence and looked out at the darkness.
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It didn't surprise John to see a car in his driveway when he got home. Fin called him every night and he never answered. Tonight was the first time he had seen him, Olivia, and Cragen in almost three weeks.
He didn't want to talk to his partner. He would inevitably try to tell him that he was acting like a baby. It was true, John wouldn't deny it. But he couldn't go to the station and face it. Like a selfish child, he was hiding from it.
He'd had no right to go off on Elliot the way he had. The man had a temper and was quite possibly the most bull-headed person he had ever encountered, but he was his friend, and a damn fine one at that. When his own ass was in a sling, Elliot never hesitated to back him up. John had seen it firsthand.
His face flushed with shame. The man had his entire world fall apart on him not six months ago when Kathy left him. He hadn't even offered to talk to him, not once, and he had been through three divorces.
When he pulled into the driveway, he realized that the car didn't belong to his partner after all. It belonged to Captain Cragen. He was sitting on his front porch steps, and got up at John's approach. He began walking across the grass toward the car.
Fuck. He couldn't very well back up and drive away; it was obvious he had seen him. Maybe if he sat very still, he wouldn't be seen.
You've been watching way too much Jurassic Park, idiot.
The door opened and John stepped out slowly. He leaned against the car as Don approached, and he could see the defensiveness in his stance as he came closer.
He took a deep breath. He wasn't going to let him go this time. Enough was enough. Tonight had been a reality check for them all and reminded them what they're focus was.
He stopped a few feet from where Munch stood, careful not to intrude on his personal space, and gave him the benefit of the doubt.
"We need to talk, John," he said seriously.
John looked at him with a hard expression, not quite angry but definitely not inviting.
"So talk," he said harshly.
Don bit his tongue against the remark that wanted to come out and took a deep breath to calm himself. "I don't know what you're trying to accomplish," he said. "But you're not doing anybody any good by sitting around and sulking."
He raised an eyebrow at the captain. "You think I'm not doing any good?" His eyes glittered dangerously. "Well, your hard work obviously isn't paying off, is it, Captain?"
Anger etched itself into the captain's face as he stepped forward. "At least we're trying," he said. "At least we're making an effort."
"And I'm not, that's it?" John asked angrily.
"You haven't set foot in the station in almost three weeks!" Don shouted. "I swear, John! When did you get so God damned selfish?"
Munch was momentarily stunned. The captain never cursed.
Don took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. "Look, I didn't come here to lecture you," he said quietly. "You're a grown man; you can do what you want." He shook his head. "But I honestly thought you were a better man than this."
When John didn't reply, Don shook his head again and began walking to his car.
"How can I go to the station?"
The tearful voice behind him made him stop. He slowly turned back around to face Munch. His lip was quivering slightly and he was biting it hard to stay in control. His face was as hard as stone, but his eyes were shining.
"Nothing we've done has made a difference," he said shakily. Don began slowly walking back towards him. "It's been a month and we still don't know where he is. I can't go back, Captain. I can't."
He stopped in front of his detective. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. "Why not?" he asked simply.
John shook his head. In the streetlight, Don saw tears slowly trail down his face.
"The last time I ever spoke to Elliot, we were fighting," he said, his voice quivering. "I said things that I knew would get him mad because he pissed me off. We weren't speaking when he…when he was…" He trailed off and fell silent.
Don took a quiet breath and closed his eyes. He knew something had happened between them, but no one ever elaborated as to what it was.
"What if he's dead?" John asked hoarsely. "What if he died thinking I was mad at him?" He suddenly sobbed, losing control. "I didn't mean it! I swear to God, if I had known-if I knew he wouldn't be-" He gulped in air. "He's my friend, Captain. I don't want him to think I'm not still his friend."
The captain didn't miss the way he kept switching from past to present tense. He chose not to acknowledge it, but inside he knew that John was still hoping Elliot was still alive. Just like all of them were.
"I never apologized," he whispered, swiping his eyes. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter whose fault it was…I should have apologized."
Don looked at Munch and came closer. He weighed his words carefully, knowing how dangerous they were as he said them.
"John," he said slowly. "Did your father ever apologize to you?"
His head shot up so fast it almost banged against the car window. "What?" he said edgily. Challenge was in his eyes fast. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"
He began coming toward the captain defensively. "Is that supposed to be some kind of cheap shot?" he asked angrily.
Don looked at him calmly, knowing he would never hurt him. "Your father died without saying goodbye," he said, knowing because John had said it himself. "Were you angry at him for that?"
The memory of that long-ago day came back clear in John's mind and he closed his eyes.
"What if you could see him again?" Cragen continued softly. He knew he was on shaky ground. "Would you want him to apologize to you?"
He swallowed hard. After a minute, he raised his head to look at the captain. "No," he said softly. "I would want to tell him I love him and that I forgive him for what he did." He closed his eyes again, knowing the point.
The captain was silent. When John looked up again, he came and carefully put an arm around him.
"Both of you said things you didn't mean, I'm sure," he said softly. "It's not the first time, and it won't be the last." He squeezed his shoulder gently. "If the situation were reversed, what would you say to Elliot if he was doing what you're doing?"
John was silent. When he looked up, a small smile was curved on his lips. It made Cragen's heart jump.
"I'd tell him he's a jackass," he said finally. He chuckled, wiping his eyes again. The captain smiled. "I'd make him get back in the game, because he's not a quitter."
He looked at the captain sheepishly.
"That sounds like good advice," Don said lightly. He squeezed his shoulder.
John sighed. "I'll follow you back," he said quietly.
Cragen smiled and surprised him by hugging him suddenly.
"You're not a quitter, either," he said softly. "Let's get back in the game, Detective."
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Hysterical laughter floated out when Jesse opened the door.
"Who was it?" one of them asked, through their chuckles.
Matt shrugged. "Some guy at the ATM," he said, grinning. "Who the hell goes to the ATM at two in the morning?"
Jones had his eyes narrowed. He was the only one not smiling. "You made sure to get one that looked like him, right?"
Another man rolled his eyes. "Chill, man," he said. "Tall guy, he had brown hair, looked like he worked out…relax. By the time we finished, a grandmother could have passed for Pretty Boy out there."
Matt grinned again. "Man, it was beautiful," he said. "Snapped his neck like a fucking drumstick."
"And the number?" Jones persisted. "You got the numbers right? And the ID…you remembered the ID?"
"Relax, EJ," he snapped, annoyed. "We did everything. Those cops totally freaked out."
Jones glowered. "You better have," he said.
Matt rolled his eyes and turned toward the red-haired man. "Still sore?" He grinned.
"Fuck you," the man spat out. He shifted uncomfortably. "God damn bastard…hurts like shit."
"You got him back though," someone else said encouragingly. "Don't worry about it man….he knows who's boss now."
The red-haired man grinned despite himself. Matt's interest was piqued.
"What did you do?" he asked. Jones had sent him and the others off to take care of their business after the incident.
"He'll be singing soprano for a long time," the man said, grinning. He mimed sticking something straight up into his finger, shaped like a hole. "Right up the pipe...man, that was beautiful."
They laughed again and Jesse felt sick to his stomach.
"Hey, Madison," someone called out. He jumped slightly. The man speaking to him grinned. "Good job…it's a lot quieter now."
He smiled weakly, but all he could see in his mind was the man's blue eyes, looking at him in terror.
He shuffled towards the hallway as they began carrying on again. They were most likely drunk.
Jesse crept quietly to the very back bedroom and stepped inside. Going over to the dresser, he picked up the worn leather badge that was sitting on top.
Elliot Stabler
1st Grade Detective
New York Police Department
He gazed at the photo. The man had a dimple in the same spot as his dad.
He shifted the badge to get a closer look and something suddenly fluttered to the floor. He bent to pick it up and brought it to his face.
It was a photograph, slightly crinkled at the edges. The man was sitting next to a pretty blonde woman with his arm wrapped around her waist. Behind them stood two blonde teenaged girls, one with her arms around the man's neck. A little boy sat in the man's lap and a little girl in the woman's lap. They were all smiling.
His wife and kids.
His throat closed and he almost became sick. The photo shook in his trembling hand as he swallowed hard.
Creeping over to the door, he stuck his head out and listened. No one was coming. He quietly closed the door and walked over beside the bed.
Picking up the phone, he dialed 411. He fingered the picture as it connected, biting his lip and looking anxiously at the door.
"Hello," he said quietly, when the operator picked up. He took a deep breath. "I need the number for the New York Police Department."
