Author's Comments: You thought it was bad already? About to get worse—here we go.

Rebel in the Dark

Chapter Ten

Part 1.

The next few days after Olivia disappeared, Elliot became Sherlock Holmes trying to find her. But she had nearly two decades of tricks that she had acquired from some of the most devious criminal minds in the country to draw on, and he knew the search wasn't going to be easy—like "Where's Waldo" on steroids.

Nick was almost as desperate as Elliot to locate her, having secretly confessed to Elliot that, if he did, he might be tempted to help her get out of the country, if she wasn't out already. He had "contacts," he said. To be honest, Elliot didn't know what he would do if he found her first. He couldn't turn her in, of course—not if she didn't want to be turned in. He may just give in and enlist Nick's help to see her safely away. And maybe he would join her.

But first things first. An old buddy from the Bronx kept him informed of the status of the official search, because Manhattan SVU was being kept out of the loop—too many people here who might tip her off. There had been a couple of hits off her picture, and Elliot had jumped on them, but she was always long gone before he or anyone else could get there. But one thing was for sure—she was hiding out in Manhattan.

Or at least she had been. A few days ago, the trail had gone completely cold, and Elliot thought she might have decided to ditch this town for good. She had thousands of dollars saved that she had withdrawn from her bank account, in cash, before she committed her crime. She could go a long way on what she had.

And then one day, Elliot got a call from Simon Marsden, her brother. Elliot had already thought of Simon, and in fact had called him and asked that he keep Elliot informed if she happened to contact him. But Elliot doubted she would be so bold as to do that.

And yet, here was her little brother now, telling Elliot to meet him at a coffee house because he had something important to tell him. Elliot couldn't keep the tremor out of his hands as he opened the door to the place, and he sighed as he sat down across from Simon. Before the man could get any words out, Elliot said, "Chances are good that there are eyes on us."

"I know," said Simon. "And I don't know where she is. But she wanted me to tell you that . . . that she loves you."

Elliot, who had been staring Simon straight in the eyes until now, jerked his gaze away now so he could blink back an undetected tear. But it was obvious that Simon noticed, because he rested a hand on Elliot's and said, "If I hear anything else, I'll get in touch."

And then Simon was gone, and Elliot wrestled with an urge to start gushing right then and there, in the middle of all those people. But he shook his head and focused on his mission again, returning to the precinct.

The place was bustling, reminding Elliot of a beehive, and he knew something was up. Nick glanced around as he approached, mumbling, "They got a call from a hotel near Canal."

And with that, Elliot was off, to hopefully catch her before some newb of a uni could slap cuffs on her first.

Part 2.

Olivia grabbed a bite to eat on her way back to her hotel room from Canal Street, wanting to avoid leaving her hotel room as much as possible, even for food. To that end, she also stocked up on ready-made food like trail mix and beef jerky, so she could stay camped out in her room for another day or so before she moved on.

As she passed the front desk, she didn't like the way the clerk looked at her, like someone who spent way too much time watching "America's Most Wanted." But she ignored him and walked by without turning her head, thinking she would try to be out of the place earlier-by tomorrow morning. It was way too cold to be looking for another hotel tonight.

Once she got settled in, she sat like a stone for a few minutes, paralyzed by the grief of losing Elliot from her life once more, along with everyone else she cared about. The phone call to Simon, instead of instilling a sense of connection as she had hoped, had felt more like a scab being yanked off, opening a wound that had not yet begun to heal.

Ripping herself out of her stupor, she turned her head toward the case of Diet Coke sitting on the counter, and remembered that she needed ice. Taking the ice bucket, she walked in a trance toward the ice machine, stuffing down sadness and thoughts of Him. But the sight of the corner of one object knocked her out of her stupor and froze her in place.

There, just beyond a Ford Pick-up parked in the parking lot, she caught a glimpse of a strobe light from the top of a police car. The lights were off, and the cruiser was parked, but she couldn't see if there were any officers in it. Her breath quickening and a lump forming in her throat, she crouched like a cat as her head darted around for any signs of a uniformed threat.

And then there was pounding on a door, and male voices yelling, "Olivia Benson, open up!"

They were at her door.

Looking behind her for a safe escape route, she dashed away, light-footed so they wouldn't hear her. The next few minutes were filled with ducking and weaving around nearby buildings, and instinctively, she zig-zagged onto adjacent streets and alleys, always peering around corners for signs of more cruisers before she made a definite move. She did this for the next half-hour without paying much attention to her location, before she stopped, panting, behind a dumpster in Alphabet City.

That was when the reality of the situation hit her like a wrecking ball. Now, not only was she alone and a fugitive, but she had no money, no food, no extra clothes, not even a coat or a hat—all of which were back in the hotel room she had just fled. As she puffed, still winded, she began to shiver as her body heat drained from her, and she knew how serious the situation really was. This was New York, in the middle of winter. It was twenty-five degrees out here, and still daylight, although the sun was diving fast.

She looked at the ominous skies that threatened snow, and prayed to whatever god was in charge of the weather. It was cold already, and she had no protection whatsoever from the elements. For a fraction of a second, she thought of giving herself up. But she wasn't ready just yet—not ready for the hell of prison. She would rather freeze to death.

She squinted her eyes shut, shivering. And then she moved on, to find her way as a new member of the ranks of the homeless, in heartless New York City.