Comments: Okay, full confession. I might have stolen this plot line from Rizzoli and Isles. It turns out a little different though. This chapter gets pretty intense, so buckle up. Trigger warnings aplenty.

Story of My Life

Chapter Two

Part One

Olivia awoke to a cramped feeling and tried to shake the grogginess out of head, an overwhelming sense of doom washing over her as she remembered what had happened. Her head pounded and her arms ached, her wrists throbbing from the pull of something tightly bound around them. Before she could get her bearings, Clark's face was in hers, large and commanding, in sharp contrast to his prior timidity. "It's okay." He touched her face, and she flinched. "It's okay now. You're safe."

Safe? Was he being sarcastic? Or did he really mean it? Either way, her arms splayed out to either side of her screamed not safe but get the hell out. Clenched in her gut by a grinder of frantic terror, she writhed in the bed. But her movements were limited by heavy weights that she started to recognize as shackles around her wrists and ankles, each one bound to a different corner of the bed. Oh God, not again, she thought, déjà vu of her stint with Lewis haunting her. But this time, she saw no way out. The bed appeared to be sturdy, the shackles so limiting that she couldn't even get one appendage free.

As the waking world came back to her, she realized with despair that he had changed her clothing while she had been out cold. Now she wore a low-cut red satin dress, no stockings or shoes. Her sudden vulnerability was a slap in the face, shocking her out of words.

Still, she tried. "Dave." Using his first name might disarm him a little.

"Yes, my love."

Damn. He really did think they were high school sweethearts or something. Or was this all just an act? If he was that delusional, she would have to tread lightly and not disrupt his delusions too much, or he might lose it.

His hand slid down her cheek and lightly brushed her neck, and she shivered. But there was no other way to get out of this predicament than talking her way out, so she had to shake off the remnants of the drugs and focus. "Please, can you unlock me so we can talk?"

He stroked her arm, sending chills crawling over her skin. His face was so close to hers now that she had to look straight up at the ceiling to keep their noses from touching. He smelled like mustard, and she wanted to hurl.

"You're fine right there," he said. "I have to keep you safe, Liv." She strained her head to turn away from him. Her nickname—the one only the people closest to her used—leaving the lips of this madman was an assault to her disgusted ears. He continued after kissing the side of her head. "We don't want the same thing that happened to my ex to happen to you."

That caught her attention, but the room was rocking still and she looked around for a blank space on the bed to spew if need be. "Your ex," she croaked. "Jessica. What happened to her?"

"Let's eat dinner first, before we talk about that. I have your favorite. Oh." He touched her face. "And I'm sure I don't have to tell you, but do not scream or make any loud noises. That would be bad news for everyone involved."

He disappeared out of her range of vision, and she heard dishes clattering. This was definitely a hotel room of some sort. One barely-decorated room in ugly brown and green striped wallpaper. One queen-sized bed with a flowery bedspread that had been pulled down to reveal cheap thin sheets that actually felt crusty. She shuddered thinking about all the filthy acts that had probably been performed here. Maybe she could escape, just like the last victim. But she would have to wait for him to leave, so she could yell out.

In any event, she couldn't imagine eating right now, with her stomach roiling. Nevertheless, he presented a plate for her approval. "Your favorite—steak."

How did he know that was my favorite? He must have been stalking her for some time, silently lurking in the background, watching her everywhere she went. And she'd never even noticed him. "Thank you," she said, trying to stay on his good side with politeness. "But I'm not hungry."

He held a fork full of meat to her lips, and the smell nearly caused her to lose it. "C'mon," he insisted. "You've got to eat."

"I-I feel sick," she said, glad that she didn't have to lie.

Finally, he lowered the fork. "Aw. I'm sorry you don't feel well. At least have some water."

She nodded, grateful for this one act of hospitality. And yet, it brought back memories of Lewis lording water over her to gain full control of her mental state. This guy didn't seem that malicious, however, and she greedily gulped down the water as he held the glass to her lips, sucking it down until it was gone, ignoring the large splashes as it spilled on her neck and the top of her dress.

"Good," he said. "That's good."

She writhed in discomfort, wishing he would at least loosen her restraints. The ropes connecting her arms to the bed were loose enough that she could rest her hands on the mattress, but tight enough that she couldn't get an arm around him to choke him. He may be delusional, but he knew what he was doing.

She thought her best chance of surviving might be to get to know him and what made him tick. "So you were saying? About your ex?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I was trying to keep her safe too. But she got away, and now she's dead."

"You killed her." Suddenly Olivia felt even more tired than she had. Was it from the roofies? Had he drugged her again with the water? Or was she just exhausted from the hard-hitting gravity of this unexpected upending of her life?

He didn't answer, instead saying, "She might still be safe if she hadn't run away." He laid down beside Olivia and draped his arm around her, snuggling against her inwardly-repelling body. "That's why I can't take off your restraints. No matter how much you ask."

"I promise," she said weakly. "I won't run away."

"Shh…" He burrowed into her body some more, resting his head on her shoulder and kissing her neck. "Just rest now. Give it time to take effect."

Give what time? What effect?

But instead, she asked, "You know they're going to be looking for me, right? Why don't you just let me go and we'll forget the whole thing."

"Nope," he said. "No need. They'll never find us."

While he rested against her, she chastised herself for not paying closer attention to the Schuster case. What had he done to her? Had he drugged her? She didn't remember that detail, other than the initial roofies, but then she had only skimmed through the file before tossing it off to Amanda. She racked her brain for any details, but she didn't remember much. How bad had he hurt her? Had she been restrained the entire time, or had he let her off at times? Was there torture involved?

As bad as her time with Lewis had been, at least she'd known what to expect. And with the help of possibly a guardian angel, she had avoided the worst of his Lewis' treatment. But she had a bad feeling this time, like there was literally no way out and no way around, only through. Her luck had run out, and maybe she would no longer be spared her dignity or her life.

Part Two

Dread gripped Amanda from the inside and threatened to spill out in the form of anger. "What did she mean she had to stay late and work? She left before I did."

Fin walked in just as she was brainstorming with Kat. "What's going on?"

Amanda slid her hand over her hair and turned to pace. "Liv's missing."

"What do you mean, missing?"

Kat answered, "Noah's nanny called Amanda last night and asked if she knew where Liv was. Liv even texted Lucy and said she would be on her way soon, but she never showed."

It was still early, but Amanda kicked herself for not calling everyone in sooner. Valuable hours had been wasted, but Amanda had thought maybe there was a simpler answer, and she'd looked in the only direction that could have possibly distracted Olivia from a night with her son—Elliot. But he had not heard from her, and right now he was out looking in all her usual spots.

Speak of the devil. After stepping off the elevator, Elliot's pace was even more frenetic than usual. "I looked all along her route, all the places she might have stopped. No sign of her, and nobody's seen her."

"Dammit." Amanda didn't know how this could possibly be her fault, but she felt guilty nonetheless. "We've got to figure out what she was working on that time of night."

Elliot shifted his feet. "What was the last case you guys talked about?"

Amanda's finger sprung into the air. "That fake wife case."

Elliot shook his head. "The what?"

"Kat will get you up to speed." Amanda was already headed for the door. "I'm going to go talk to the officer who brought us the file, see if he talked to her some more."

"I'll go with you," said Fin.

In the car, Amanda explained to Fin how odd the encounter had been, and how the officer had been a little too helpful.

"Do you think he knows something more than what he's saying?" Fin asked.

"But then, why would he be helping us so much?" She pulled up to the curb. "Unless maybe he's trying to cover for somebody by throwing us off track."

At the Sixth Precinct, Amanda and Fin discovered some startling news. "Officer Clark is gone today," said the receptionist.

"What do you mean, gone? Is it his day off or something?" Amanda had that feeling she usually had when waiting in traffic—as if something urgent was propelling her to move at full speed but nobody else felt it, and they were all just lounging around, taking their sweet time.

"I don't know. His partner is here. Maybe he can help you?"

"That would be great," said Fin.

A man younger than Clark, taller with thick, wavy hair, came out to greet them after a few excruciating minutes. "Hi, I'm Officer Taylor. How can I help you?"

"Clark's partner?" Amanda didn't want to waste time mincing words. When the officer confirmed, she said, "Where is he today?"

"He called in. Said he had a family emergency, and he'd be gone for probably a couple of weeks."

Fin and Amanda exchanged worried glances. "Hold on. Was Officer Clark on duty from—" She consulted records that she'd kept on her phone. "May twelfth through May seventeenth? This year?"

The uni scratched his head. "I think that was right around the time when he took off to go on a fishing trip. Came back to work early. Which is probably why he has personal leave to use now."

Amanda clutched Fin's arm, frozen by the terror of the potential implications. If Clark was the suspect, that meant he could have Liv right now, in a hotel room. She shook her head, trying to keep out the images of what he might be doing to her. She tried to hide her frantic distress from Officer Taylor. She needed to keep it together to work this case—because that's what it was now, a crime to be solved.

"What can you tell us about the Schuster case? Clark told us you guys were working on finding out who dropped off the photo?"

Taylor stared blankly. "Never heard of that case."

Amanda's stomach dropped. Clark had lied. He had Liv, and she knew it. But how were they going to be able to find her in time to stop him from doing to her what he'd done to Jessica? She gasped for a moment, trying to catch her breath. He could be hurting her right now, and there was nothing she could do but follow endless leads, just like with Lewis. And then she remembered how that had turned out—they had never found him, Liv had escaped on her own. She could only hope that Clark wasn't as slick at hiding from the law.

Part Three

Zooming neon lights left trails everywhere Olivia looked. For a moment, she followed them intently, forgetting about her predicament. Everything was so pretty—the patterns in the wallpaper, the pictures on the wall, the bedspread with its intricate embroidery. But she was snapped back into her nightmare by the man on the bed beside her.

"There," he whispered, his breath hot on her face. "I can see it's kicking in. This will help you get in a more loving place."

"What did you give me?" she gasped.

He did not answer, but she already knew it was a hallucinogen, because she'd accidentally been exposed to one in the past while working a case with Elliot. Clark lowered his puckered lips to her mouth, shoving his tongue deep inside. She recoiled and tried to jerk her head away, but he held it in place with strong fingers that sank into her cheeks. The treacherous tongue returned, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't move. Giving in to uncontrollable urges to move her body in the only way she could, she gripped at her restraints and yanked repeatedly, trying to expel some of her mortified energy.

She moaned in dismay, but he somehow twisted her actions. "Mmmm. You like that, huh?"

Her moan turned into a whimper, and she knew she had to try to stop this from progressing. "Please, Dave. I'm really not feeling up to this still. I feel like I might throw up."

He buried his fingers in her hair. "I'm sorry Sweetie. Maybe this will help you feel better."

Shoving his hand down the front of her dress, he groped her breast. The alarm she naturally felt was amplified by whatever drug he'd given her, and now she sunk into a level of terror she'd never experienced before. She slammed her eyes closed hoping to make it all go away, but the trailing lights remained, and now they gripped her and dragged her down into dark flaming pit. Was she in hell? She had never believed there was such a place, but now she was seeing it.

But, wait—this was just a hallucination, and she tried to remind herself of that. But her skin shrinking up at his touch warned her that no, this was real, and it would only get worse from here.

She came up with one final idea to stop him. "I think I'm having my period."

Gratefully, he stopped, but only for a moment. Then he reached under her dress and yanked down her panties, causing her to jolt as close to upright as she could get. He looked for a second, and then said, "Nope. You're in the clear."

Now there was no barrier remaining and he had direct access to the rest of her. She looked away as he took off his pants, her lower lip trembling, the damn streaks of light adding confusion on top of breath-baiting fear. His body pressed onto her, and she braced herself. Closing her eyes, she thought, Just go with it. It's happening, and the less you resist, the less it will hurt.

But she couldn't stop the steady flow of tears that soaked clumps of her hair. Clark whispered, "So beautiful. This is going to be amazing. Ready?"

Her eyes squeezed tight so hard that they hurt. She pleaded through the tears that threatened to choke her. "Please don't. I don't—"

The first thrust knocked the breath out of her, and she hyperventilated through the pain. It felt as if she was being stabbed by a knife, and in her current state, that's what she imagined—a butcher knife cutting through her straight to her organs, dismembering her.

Forgetting everything he had told her, she screamed, and he stopped long enough to cover her mouth with his hand. "Shhh," he warned. "I'm going to have to get the gag if you don't stop."

Her eyes wide open now, she protested the continued assault with desperate high-pitched moans, hoping the despair in her face would convince him to stop. But he ignored her pain in favor of his own pleasure, and her hallucinations deepened. Now he was a demon, impaling her with flaming scepter. His dark soul flowed into hers, his fluids pouring out of him like a blackened sea, filling her with pure evil.

If there was a hell, she was in it.

The entire thing was several minutes and an eternity all at once. At some point, she found herself staring up at the ceiling, and she realized he was no longer there, and the movement had stopped. But it was hard to tell when the attack had ended, because movement never stopped in this torturous nightmare.

Her skin never stopped crawling, and she imagined streams of cockroaches covering her, and then entering every one of her orifices. If Clark was no longer on top of her, it didn't matter, because the hellscape never ended. She writhed in mental anguish for what seemed like days, trading one horrific vision for another, her shaky moaning in vain.

Finally, she started to come down, but the ordeal left her in a sniveling puddle of tears and sweat and clammy skin. The worst part was that it had seemed so violent and consuming that she couldn't tell if she was actually hurt and needed medical help. She managed to lift her weak head off the bed enough to glance down and see no blood, and when she moved, she wasn't in agonizing pain, only sore. Still, the emotional toll it had taken on her had left her struggling to breathe, and even though she was in good physical health, she wondered if her heart could handle much more.

For now, she just lay still and tried to steady her frazzled nerves. Clark was in the shower, and she allowed herself the moment to release her tears and remind herself that she was still alive. Her heart quickened when it occurred to her that today was only the first day. Jessica had somehow made it through five. Olivia didn't know how, or whether she had the strength to make it that long without losing her damn mind.

"Please help me," she whispered, as if anyone could hear her.