She's Mine
He's Back
An SVU fan fiction
Chapter 1
Detective Dominick "Sonny" Carisi raced down West 89th street in hot pursuit of a perp. In an attempt to cut him off, Fin ducked into an alley way while Carisi continued on the main street. He swerved to miss pedestrians and at one point a hot dog stand. His heart thudded in his chest and his lungs burned, his body ached and was telling him to stop but he couldn't. He had to catch the guy. Up ahead he saw him turn toward the alley Fin had cut into and Carisi smiled, knowing his partner was closing in. As suspected, Fin appeared in front and the perp halted in his step, and quickly tried to turn around, but Carisi was on the other side. He grabbed him, threw him up against the wall and cuffed him in one fell swoop.
"Johnny Reno, you are under arrest for the rape and murder of Lena Kolinsky, Joy Maynor and Mary Lancaster.," Carisi began to read him his rights.
Johnny struggled for a moment and then stopped; he knew it was over.
"Man I hate runnin' after people. I'm getting' too old for this," Fin was muttering as they hauled the perp back to the squad car.
"Ah, you still got some kick in you, old man."
Tru Jordan snapped on her rubber gloves and stepped closer to the dead body that laid before her on the slab. Tru looked over the young woman. She found herself noticing the facts right away, about 25 years old, dark blond hair, slim physic, her analytical mind was memorizing all the technical almost instantly. She looked down at the chart and read her name, Mary Lancaster.
"Ok, Mary," Tru said. "Looks like it's just me and you. Let's see if we can get the guy that did this to you."
She took a deep breath, as she picked up the small wooden applicator from her table of tools. She lifted Mary's hand and began to scrape under her fingernails. There was quite a bit of skin under the index finger, she must have scratched the hell out of him.
"Good girl, you fought hard didn't you?" She asked. She let the scrapings fall onto a piece of wax paper, folded it up and placed it in a small zip lock like baggie. She moved on to the next one, and then next until they were all done.
She often got asked how she could do this job. How she could deal with dead bodies all day long and the answer was simple, she wanted to find them justice. The dead bodies, however, were just a small part of her job description. She went anywhere forensic evidence needed to be collected. Crime scenes, victims houses, the police station for perp samples, but today she was in the morgue.
She followed her checklist, nails-check, hair-check, swab mouth-check. She wrote down all the little details she could find, any scrap of evidence that would help. Ever since her own assault she had become meticulous with her collection of evidence. She couldn't wrap her mind around the violence in this city. How men could just take whatever they want from whomever they want it from. It made her sick to her stomach. But she could help. Each piece of evidence was like a piece of a puzzle, and it was her job to provide the police with the pieces and they put it together. She found herself talking to Mary, walking her through the process of what she was doing. It was a ritual she always did, she hardly even noticed it anymore.
Back at the precinct, Carisi sat in the interrogation room across from Johnny Reno. He explained how they had a witness who placed him at the scene of one of the crimes. He had no alibi, they had him dead to rights, yet Johnny remained calm. Almost cocky.
"So you see, now all we want to know is why." Carisi finished.
"Why?" Johnny repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, you know, the good old fashion motive." Carisi said.
"I wanted to." Johnny said callously.
Carisi shook his head, "You wanted to?"
"Well, actually I wanted them." Johnny said, he leaned in closer, his voice low and cold. "Have you ever wanted somebody so badly? Just pure, raw, animal instinct? You just had to have her?"
"No," Carisi said, maintaining his stern gaze fixed on the perpetrator in front of him.
"You have," Johnny said, "Everybody has, they just bury it deep inside."
"So you went all caveman on them? Knocked them on the head with your club and drug them back to your cave." Carisi asked.
"In a way," Johnny replied.
"So why kill them?" Carisi asked. "You got what you wanted. You didn't have to end their lives. So why kill them?"
Johnny leaned in again, and when he spoke it chilled Carisi to the bone. "Why not?"
Carisi was disgusted. He stood to his feet and exited the room without saying another word. How could people be so evil? Why did people want to hurt each other like that?
He tried to shake it off as he walked back to his desk. Carisi took a seat, letting out a sigh as he leaned back in his chair. His gaze fell to the picture on his desk. He was standing with his arms wrapped around Tru, both in mid laugh. It was his favorite picture of the two of them. He remembered it like it was yesterday. They had just got done having a housing warming dinner party when their friend, Sara, a photographer, insisted they needed a photograph of the two of them to don the walls of their new apartment. So, she posed them and snapped the photo. Carisi had whispered in Tru's ear a comment about getting a free session out of the usually no-freebies Sara. It was a great picture though, and it captured their relationship perfectly. Carisi reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box. He opened it to reveal the beautiful antique engagement ring that once belonged to his grandmother.
His whole life was about asking questions. He asked them every day, all day long. But this one he was having trouble with. His own insecurities were seeping through to the surface. What if she didn't want to marry him? What if he had waited too long to ask? They had been together for almost five years, living together for two and a half. Was that too long? Had their relationship stalled? He had almost asked her two years ago, but then a personal tragedy hit their lives, and he knew it wasn't the right time. Now he was afraid he had waited too long. He snapped the box back shut and shoved it back into his pocket. He had already made up his mind, he would ask her this week.
Tru finished logging the evidence she had collected. She checked her watch one more time, it was fifteen after five, her workday was done. She shrugged off her lab coat and grabbed her purse, if she hurried, she could still make it to the center in time.
For the last five years Tru had been volunteering as a victim advocate at the women's crisis center. She led support groups, did one on one counseling and helped out any other way she could. She knew what it was like to fall victim to a predator, and she wanted to help pave the way from victim to survivor for all the women out there who were going through what she once went through.
It didn't take her long to walk the ten blocks between the city morgue and the women's center. Today she only had one session, Abigail Martinez. Abby was twenty-one-year-old college student at Hudson University. Three months ago, she was raped at a frat party. It was a tale as old as time, yet the man who raped Abby went undisciplined, as so many rapists do. Now Tru was just trying to help Abby pick up the pieces and put her life back together.
When Tru walked in she saw Abby sitting in the lobby, her shoulder length brown hair was pulled into a messy bun and she wore baggy sweatpants and hoodie. Trying to not draw attention to herself, Tru thought.
"Hey Abby," Tru approached her. "How are you today?"
"I've had better days," Abby replied flatly.
"Let's go on back," Tru motioned for Abby to follow her to one of the back rooms she often used for counseling.
For years she thought her minor in human psychology had been a waste of time in college, however it had become quite useful. They walked into the room, Tru flicked on the light and set her purse down on one of side tables. In lieu of the usual single chair and therapy sofa, this room had two oversized easy chairs, a table between them with only a lamp sitting on its surface. A credenza lined one of the walls, books and magazines filled its shelves along with a Scentsy wax warmer that was already spilling out the scent of vanilla sugar cookies into the room. To finish it off a mid-sized flat screen tv sat mounted to wall on the other side of the room.
Abby took a seat in one of the oversized chairs and Tru sat in the other one.
"Why don't you tell me about your day?" Tru pulled her notebook and pen out of her bag. She opened her notebook to the next unused page and clicked her pen open.
Abby let out an exasperated sigh. "I saw him today. He walked right past me like I was nobody. Like…." Abby trailed off.
"Like what he did to you was nothing?" Tru asked.
"Yes, exactly." Abby said. Abby's brown eyes glazed over for a second and Tru recognized that look from the mirror. "It's not like I want his attention." She corrected, "But it's not fair. He gets to go on living his life, meanwhile I'm the pariah."
"Are your classmates still giving you a hard time?" Tru asked.
Tru could tell from their previous conversations how much Abby had changed. The shy girl who retreated into her baggy sweats used to be a fun loving, high spirited girl with tons of friends. Now she was the girl who cried rape. Even in today's society of the #metoo movement, kids could be cruel when it came to accusations of sexual assault. If even one person in Abby's life had believed her, she might not have took all those pills that almost ended her life. She was on the mend though. Tru was determined to be the ear she needed to hear her, the shoulder she needed to cry on, the friend she had never had.
Tru unlocked the door to her apartment and walked in, ready to shake the day off and relax. She hung her purse where it belonged, on a hook on the back of the door, her keys went on a separate set of hooks beside the door. She noticed Sonny's keys were already hanging there and she smiled, knowing he was home. Their dog Daisy, a sandy colored Pomeranian mix that they had rescued from the shelter, came running around the corner to greet her. Daisy stood on her hind legs, dancing at Tru's feet, she bent down to greet her, rubbing her soft fur before she stood back up and turned the corner that led out of the entry way. Carisi was already coming toward her, arms extended, ready to wrap them around her.
"Hey," he greeted her with a smile as he put his arms around her waist and pulled her in close, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug.
"Hey," She greeted back.
He pulled back enough to look down at her, resting his forehead against hers, "How was your day?" He asked.
She smiled, "Better now."
Tru awoke the next morning, feeling rested and peaceful. Like she did every morning after falling asleep in Sonny's arms. Light peeked in through the closed curtains, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled her nostrils. She stretched her arms out, feeling the empty spot where Sonny usually lay, instead of him she found a piece of paper. "Tru, caught a case. Wanted to let you sleep in on your day off. Love you. Sonny"
She looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand, it was already 10:45. She pulled on her robe and walked into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. She sat at the table, sipping her coffee, she heard Daisy moving around in the other room, finally stirring herself awake too. Looks like they both slept in, Tru thought. It wasn't long before there was a knock at the door.
Tru pulled her robe closed tighter and made her way to the front door, peering out the peep hole she could see the mail man. She opened the door.
"Hey," Tru said, expecting to be handed a package too big for the mailbox.
"Tru Jordan?" He asked.
"Yes…"
"I have a certified letter for you, you need to sign right here," he handed her a small pen pad device. She signed her name, a little confused, and handed the device back to him. He handed her a letter in return. "Have a nice day."
"You too," Tru muttered as she shut the door behind her.
She looked at the letter, her heart sinking a little when she saw the return address. Rikers Island Correctional Facility.
Her heart began to race as she tore open the envelope and unfolded the papers. She quickly skimmed the letter, her eyes landing on the words Carson Goldberg and parole hearing. She felt panic rising in her chest as she finished the rest of letter. How could this be? He had only pulled 5 of his 15-year sentence. She flashed back to the night of her first attack. She had just gotten home from work, she opened her door and walked in but before she could turn and shut the door, it flew open, hitting her and knocking her off her feet. Her own screams echoed through out her mind as she remembered what he had done to her that night. And the three months of absolute terror that followed. Five years, it wasn't enough time.
She struggled to catch her breath and to not hyperventilate. No need to make this situation worse with a panic attack. She had to get a hold of herself, she silently scalded herself. Suddenly it felt like the walls were closing in. Her mouth went dry, and she felt like there were a set of hands closing in on her throat. Carson's hands. Her own hands began to shake and tremble as she felt constricted, her clothes were too tight, the apartment was too small, she needed fresh air in her lungs. She needed Sonny.