"Law and Order: SVU" belongs to Dick Wolf and Universal Television. No profit is being made from this story.
Author's Note: This site is great, but holy hell is the document manager annoying. Apologies to anyone who recently opened this chapter and read the massive pile of insanity that just happened. I accidentally posted the chapter twice in one document. My bad.
September 2019
Deputy U.S. Marshal Evan Fogerty had fifteen years of experience under his belt with the agency, helping break up trafficking organizations around the country. Not much really shocked him anymore.
Until this time.
"Holy shit," he breathed, stepping into the attic of the abandoned garage behind the other agents.
They were all using flashlights. It was after midnight and the attic had no electricity running to it. There was no heat, either, and it was freezing inside. The air reeked of human excrament, unwashed bodies, and rotting meat.
A few dirty mattresses were spread out along the floor and at least five children were crowded together on each one. Each child was handcuffed at the wrists and ankles with long prison chains. It was impossible to guess their ages because they were all filthy, malnourished, and in various stages of undress.
They huddled silently, staring at them as the agents spread around the room, hurrying to unlock each of their bonds.
Seeing all of the kids being tended to, Evan continued past the mattresses and made his way to the back of the room, sweeping his light back and forth.
His stomach knotted with outrage, seeing three buckets filled with human waste that had obviously been what they had been using to relieve themselves, and styrofoam trays piled around, half-full of congealing, unidentifiable substances that he hoped wasn't what they had been given to eat.
The pungent odor got even stronger as he walked toward the back corner and he had a sinking feeling that he knew what was causing it.
He was proven grimly right
Folded bonelessly in a heap on the wood-planked floor were the wide-eyed bodies of three blonde women. They lay almost perfectly aligned, as if they had been executed all in a row.
Evan exhaled heavily and closed his eyes with sorrow. It never got easier to see, but this time it hit hard.
Because damn it...they had been so close. If they had just gotten there sooner, would these young women still be alive?
He was startled out of his morose thoughts by an unexpected sound. It was a bit like whining. He whipped his flashlight back up and aimed it toward the direction of the noise.
The beam revealed blue eyes closing painfully against the brightness. He moved his light over the person and what he saw shocked him.
It was a man, lying in the far corner of the darkness away from the others. His hands and feet were zip-tied to a sturdy heating unit that had been built into the wall. He was naked except for brief underwear that hung off of him and was so emaciated that his ribs were visible.
His mouth was taped and the horror and pleading on his face was instantly recognizable. The sound was coming from him. Even as the marshal stood shining light directly on him, the man squirmed and whimpered like he was desperate for someone to see that he was there.
Fogerty ran across the room and immediately knelt down next to him. He debated internally for a split-second before reaching deftly for the keys in his pocket.
"It's alright," he said as reassuringly as he could. "I'm a U.S. Marshal. I'm here to help you."
He quickly slid a key underneath the plastic tie binding the man's hands to the heater and snapped it apart. The man groaned weakly when his hands dropped down like lead weights as if he couldn't even attempt to lift them.
Evan winced. The man had obviously been in that position long enough to cause numbness. He got ready to cut the man's feet free and then changed course when he heard muffled gasping.
Instinct and compassion guided his moves, instead.
"Let me get that tape off of you," he said carefully.
He gently felt around and managed to slide his fingers under the tape. He tried to pull it as lightly as he could off of the man's face, but some stuck to the grey-dark beard anyway.
"Sorry," he murmered, tugging quickly to dispose of it all.
He carefully placed the strip of tape face-up on the ground and then looked at the man fully in the eyes. The expression looking back at him was terrified, exhausted, and told unknown volumes of horror that was yet to even be fully discovered.
Evan was still stunned at seeing him. At no time during any of the hundreds of briefings they'd held about this operation over the years was the possibility of an adult victim ever mentioned, let alone a man.
"Hold on," he said, moving to cut the man's feet free. "There you go."
The man lay feebly on the floor, shaking. Without hesitating, the marshal slipped out of his jacket.
Even though protocol was clear in the expectation that victims were not to be touched without medical personnel present except in life-saving circumstances only, he made a "conscientious, deliberate decision to act and protocol be damned, Sir" (the latter being his exact words when questioned later about his actions by the chief deputy).
It was easy to forget that victims were live people when someone spent all of his time in a supervisory position and didn't see them. Man, woman, or child, it made no difference to Evan Fogerty. The day he left a victim alone, traumatized and upset after being freed, was the day he would voluntarily quit because he would have no humanity left in him.
He gently laid his jacket down over the man, covering as much of his torso as possible to give him both warmth and dignity. He called out to his fellow agents that they had another victim and needed more medics.
December 2019
Detective Dierdre Higgens was technically not considered a "rookie' in the squad anymore because she had just completed her probationary employment period at SVU in November. But she definitely hadn't been there long enough to get a choice in covering the New Years Eve shift that most all of the higher-grade detectives took paid leave for, so she was stuck in an almost empty office waiting for what was sure to be a night of cleaning vomit from drunken suspects out of the holding cell.
Unfortunately, she also hadn't been with the squad long enough to know much about anything prior to Captain Benson taking command. So when an officer who identified himself as Kevin McLaughlin called and asked for Don Cragen, she didn't know who he was talking about.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't think there's anyone here by that name."
Puzzled, McLaughlin paused. He wasn't expecting that.
"What about Olivia Benson?" he asked. "Can I speak to her instead?"
Higgens glanced at the dark office at the corner of the bullpen.
"She's not in tonight," Higgens said. "I can forward you to her answering machine if you want."
McLaughlin hesitated. It seemed too much important somehow to just leave a message. But he wasn't sure what else to do.
"Sure," he said. "I guess so."
January 2012
Elliot sat at a corner table inside Hank's Bar in downtown Los Angeles, slowly nursing a beer and keeping a discreet eye on the pool game in the corner.
Four men were at the pool table, alternating shots with their cues. Among them were Raul and Marco Hernandez, two suspected members of the sex trafficking ring that the marshals were working to bring down, which had been dubbed "Operation Rubicon" by the feds.
It spoke volumes of how desperate things were becoming that the federal government had even considered having a retired detective come on as part of their team. The Hernandez family was the most recent target, but "Operation Rubicon" itself had been in the works for almost a decade.
There was no telling how many victims had been forced into sex trafficking in that time, but the agency estimated in the hundreds. The operation had started in Washington and then made it's way down the west coast. It was big business, extremely clandestine, and spotlessly professional, making it that much harder to locate.
The fact that they had actually wanted him to be the 'inside man' could be extremely flattering or extremely insulting, depending on how one viewed the situation. Either they were impressed by his previous history as a former cop and Marine...or they thought he was more expendable than federal agents who wouldn't risk themselves in such a situation. Other than Deputy Marshal Woodhouse, he hadn't gotten to know any of them very well, so there was really no way to tell.
Woodhouse was polite to him, but it wasn't hard to see that the marshals didn't really like having him on their team. Cragen had warned him not to expect a warm welcome and not to take it personally if they gave him shit, because as agencies went, the U.S. Marshals had a bit of a reputation for not playing well with others.
As he was being outfitted for the meeting that day, the room full of marshals, most a good decade or two younger than he, had snidely insisted that he prove he was able to reach for, pull out, and fire the gun given to him in under seven seconds before he be allowed to carry it, because that was "the record" of their last new agent.
He had, quite smugly if he were to admit it, done so in less than five seconds.
It didn't help his case in working peaceably with them, but it did give him an insufferably inflated ego whenever he was around the team that they hated. Cragen wouldn't necessary like hearing that, but...he figured if they could screw with him, he was entitled to a little screwing back.
Still, co-workers notwithstanding, Elliot had to admit...he was enjoying himself for the first time in a very long time.
Of course he missed everyone at SVU. It had been a struggle not to give in and call Olivia since he had arrived in California to tell her what was going on. He had given the captain a letter to give to her, hoping she would understand that he was never going to cut her out of his life, and was praying that she didn't hate him when he got back to New York in six months.
But being a part of the team with the marshals reminded him of the camaraderie of being in a platoon. And it definitely appealed to his inner child, getting to play "cowboy" every night, speeding around riding shotgun with them as they busted smaller players involved in "Operation Rubicon" in order to get details on the activities of the main ones.
It was during one such bust that they had gotten hold of someone who had been "recruiting" child prostitutes using an x-rated website on the dark web. The marshals had created a fake online profile for Elliot to pose as a new-to-the-game trafficker looking to trade "services" in the area and then sent it out into the ether.
It got a bite in fifteen minutes. A meeting was then arranged for Elliot to discuss the details with the Hernandez brothers at the bar he now sat in.
He wasn't wearing a wire, but behind the bar was an undercover marshal serving as one of the bartenders. Another was working in the back room as a "stock boy." Tucked into the ankle of Elliot's sock was the small snub-nosed revolver lent to him by the federal government and he was wearing a Kevlar vest under his shirt as a precaution insisted on by the chief deputy.
When Elliot got up from the table and sauntered over to the pool table, challenging them to a game, he casually asked if they could get him change for a five and a ten at the convenience store down the street.
It immediately hooked their interest.
To a normal person overhearing, it sound like a normal question from someone asking another to exchange money. To a trafficker in "Operation Rubicon," it was code, asking if they were interested in purchasing a five and ten-year old boy from him.
Elliot's heart skipped a beat when one of the Hernandez brothers suddenly whipped out a knife. Inwardly, his pulse raced, but outwardly he showed no sign of being rattled.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the marshal behind the bar move closer to the counter, preparing to pull out a gun from underneath at a moment's notice.
He stood still and raised his eyebrows.
"If you fuck with us," the one with the knife said quietly. "I'll gut you so fast, you'll be dead before you know you're bleeding. You got it?"
Elliot nodded coolly. The brothers exchanged a glance.
"Where can we meet?" the other one asked.
He gave them the address of the apartment that the marshals had set him up in to use as a cover. They agreed to meet him there in an hour.
"Ask for me," Elliot told them. "Name's Jack. Jack Donaldson."
When "Jack" walked out of the bar, he walked a few blocks to see if they would try to follow him. When they didn't, he turned into an alley where a pair of marshals waited in a car and slid into the backseat.
They didn't know that someone else was inside the top floor of the industrial building beside the alley, watching with binoculars as they drove away.
December 2019
Olivia sat on her couch beside the sleeping form of her son, who had insisted that he could stay up long enough to see the ball drop out of their apartment window. He had. Barely.
Her mind was a million miles away as she stared at the printout of Elliot's DNA and worried her thumbnail between her teeth. She couldn't stop thinking about it.
How had Elliot's DNA ended up on a shirt worn by a little girl who had escaped sex traffickers? Was he involved in something criminal? The idea seemed insane. None of this made any sense.
She stared at his picture and wondered if maybe she didn't know him anymore. Or if she ever really had.
That thought scared her.
She couldn't deny that it had shaken her more than she would ever publicly admit when he had abruptly left the way he had. Other than a cryptic letter given to her by the captain as she had been clearing his desk, he hadn't said a single word to indicate he would just up and retire.
She had considered Elliot her best friend...and yet, he hadn't returned any of her messages or calls in the weeks following the shooting and once she stopped trying to contact him, it was like he had cut her completely out of his life. How had he been able to do that?
She had been through so much since he'd left that it felt like a lifetime's worth-William Lewis, adopting Noah, becoming captain, for Christ's sake- and he hadn't gotten in touch once. The man who had risked his life, saved her life, and shared intimate personal space with her for over twelve years...had just dismissed her like it was easy. It hurt and angered her more than she could express.
She supposed it always might. She'd had plenty of fanciful thoughts over the years of running into him unexpectedly, of slapping the shit out of him in anger, and of telling him to fuck off with his cruel handling of their former partnership.
But having him pop up as a potential suspect in a case, well...that one she hadn't seen coming.
May 2015
Once they had gotten Elliot addicted to the drugs, controlling him was easy.
The Hernandez brothers had been able to move him and the children twelve different times since he had first been taken prisoner and he'd literally had no memory of almost all of it.
Except for when they had very nearly killed him.
Whether it had been on accident or on purpose, he had no clue. But somehow, instead of a dose just large enough to make him woozy while they carried him, someone gave him enough ecstasy to black out.
He had woken up in the trunk of a car at some point later, hyperthermic and starting to suffocate behind the tape still on his mouth.
They only realized what had happened after Emanuel Hernandez had gone outside the house for a smoke and heard the muffled sound of gagging and choking coming from the trunk.
After they tied him back up with the others, they'd had no choice but to give him water so that he would continue to stay alive. He had puked up two bottles of it before it finally stayed down.
After he had drunk all he could, Emanuel Hernandez didn't even bother taping his mouth back up before pummelling him. Hernandez punched him with seething viciousness in the face and head, over and over, until Elliot was left dazed and bleeding.
January 2020
He could hear the ruckus from Times Square when the ball dropped and the city rang in the new year.
But from where he sat, feet dangling off of the edge of the pedestrian overpass of the freeway below, it was strangely quiet.
Elliot's teeth were chattering. It was freezing this high off of the ground and he was shaking so hard that his entire body trembled.
He was a little scared to think of his plan failing and having to actually feel himself having a heart attack or breaking his spine if he somehow survived.
But he just couldn't face another day of the hell he now lived in. The memories were too much and the drug addiction was so shameful that he could barely stand to wake up anymore.
His babies were dead, his wife hated him, and his best friend had not only gotten more successful once he was gone from her life but had flourished more richly than she had ever thought she could.
He was also a murderer and his face no doubt lived in the memories of the countless numbers of children who had been looking at him as they were being violated.
He shuddered with grief just remembering it. He got to his feet and stepped up to the edge of the overpass, looking a the plastic bag in his hand.
He was lucky to have gotten so much. The guy on the corner hadn't wanted to give him all of it, but he had been convinced after Elliot had literally offered him the shirt on his back and even his shoes. Those things were high-price commodities for selling.
He was probably going to end up freezing to death up there, bare-chested and in his socks, if he didn't work up the courage soon. He half-wondered if that wasn't a better alternative.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the bag filled with white powder and prepared to inhale.
He hoped fervently that overdose would make his heart short out before he hit the ground.
June 2019
Everyone tensed up when the attic door opened.
His adrenaline was pumping from methamphetamine, nearly making him break his own wrists when he squirmed with a force he didn't even realize, but Elliot could only squint out through a bruised and blackened eye that had been given to him the night before by Jorge Hernandez.
Raul and Mario Hernandez came inside pushing two females by the shoulders. They had their hands taped behind their backs and pillowcases secured over their heads so they couldn't see.
It had become a horrific reality by that point to see dozens of children "cycled" in and out. Elliot never knew who they were, where they came from, or what became of them once they were sold off to someone else.
But this time, instead of being pushed onto a mattress and chained up with the others, they were brought over and forced still right in front of where Elliot was tied to the wall.
Raul Hernandez looked at Elliot coldly as he removed the pillowcases.
Elliot's stomach dropped to his feet and he cried out immediately when he recognized the faces of two of his daughters.
They were older and looked different than he remembered, but he would know them anywhere.
He jerked and squirmed hard, yelling frantically behind the tape over his mouth.
Elizabeth was the first one to realize that the man laying on the floor before her, bound and gagged, was her father. Her eyes widened in shock and horror. They hadn't seen or heard from him in eight years and had thought he was dead.
"DADDY!" she cried.
Kathleen gasped when she recognized him. They were both terrified, but they began crying uncontrollably when they saw that he was sobbing too, looking just as scared.
Elliot shook his head desperately, whimpering out muffled pleas to the men holding onto his daughters.
Raul Hernandez just sneered. He narrowed his eyes at Elliot.
"I warned you, Detective," he said coldly.
January 2020
Kevin McLaughlin didn't really believe in God, or fate, or anything else of the sort. He tended to side more toward realism and natural consequences that came with actions.
At least, he did before that night.
He was supposed to be off for New Years, but one of the officers working that night had called in sick and he was next on the duty list. As soon as he had clocked in for the midnight shift and gotten into his patrol car, he almost immediately received a call from dispatch saying that someone had reported an unconscious person on the 82nd Street overpass.
He got there as paramedics were already heading up. He could see the silhouette of a man face down about three feet from the barrier separating the pedestrian bridge from the steep drop down. The man wasn't wearing shoes or a shirt.
McLaughlin assumed he was passed out drunk. But then one of the paramedics quickly called out that they needed naloxone and he saw an empty plastic bag by their feet. A drug overdose, then.
When one of the paramedics stepped over to retrieve the dose of Narcan, McLaughlin got a glimpse of the man's limp right arm and saw two things.
The first was an eagle, globe, and anchor tattoo on the man's forearm that McLaughlin, who had served six years as a Marine before becoming a cop, recognized on sight.
The second was a faded ligature mark on the man's wrist that he had seen before.
"Shit," he said, his eyes widening in horror. "Oh, shit."
He watched as the medics rolled the man over to administer the Narcan and he sickeningly confirmed it was who he'd thought. He still had the man's photographs that had been taken from him after he had been arrested two days prior. He'd forgotten to give them back.
The paramedics quickly put the man on a stretcher. McLaughlin went back to his car and pulled up the number he had found earlier listed under Olivia Benson.
He was frustrated when he got the office voice mail again. He hung up.
He decided that after his shift, he was going to go pay an in-person visit to the 16 precinct in Manhattan. The situation obviously warranted it now. Someone surely had to know this man.
He bit his lip in indecision as the paramedics loaded the man into the ambulance.
Someone had to know this man. But until he could find out...he might be the only one who did.
"Hey," he called out as the medics were getting inside. "What hospital are you going to?"
Olivia was startled to see Fin sitting inside the office when she arrived the next morning.
He looked uneasy. She looked at him warily.
"What is it?" she said without preamble. "'I'm sure you couldn't tell me anything worse right now than I've heard these last few days."
He didn't respond immediately and she looked at him incredulously when he grimaced guiltily.
"Shit, Fin," she said. "Seriously?"
Fin blew out a breath.
"I saw Elliot a few days ago, Olivia," he told her. She seemed surprised. "He looked... " He struggled to find the right words. "Rough. Really rough."
She furrowed her brow.
"What do you mean by 'rough,' Fin?" she asked.
He sucked on his lip for a moment, debating what to tell her.
"He looked like he had been sleeping in a gutter and was as high as a kite, Olivia," Fin finally said. "That's what I mean."
She gaped at him like he was nuts.
"What?" she said, bewildered.
Fin looked like he was going to say something, but was hesitant.
"What?" she asked again.
"It's just-" He looked uncomfortable. "Well...we all know that mental illness runs in his family. Maybe...maybe he's not the same person we remember."
He swallowed, seeing the tension rise in her body language. She was glaring daggers at him and didn't seem to even know it.
"It's just a thought," he said quietly. "He definitely sounded different...out of it and kind of jittery."
Olivia seemed to pounce on his words immediately.
"You talked to him?" she asked. "What did he say?"
Oh, shit, he instantly thought, realizing he had just opened up a can of worms
He nodded slowly. Her eyebrows jumped, indicating her impatience with him for not continuing.
"We have a victim right now that had his DNA on her, Fin," she said. It sounded like she was about to take her claws out. "Something bad is going on here...this isn't the time to screw around! What did he say?"
Fin looked at her contritely.
"He just said. .. he wanted to see you," he replied, meeting her eyes briefly. "He kept asking me to tell you to come talk to him."
She looked shocked.
"So then...why didn't you?" she said
He continued so quietly that she hardly understood him. He suddenly had the stark realization...she was about to be pissed.
"Because I told him I wouldn't," he said. He swallowed. '"I was only trying to look out for you, Olivia. You...didn't see how he looked. "
Olivia could hear roaring in her ears. She was almost shaking, she was so angry.
"You -" she struggled to say, breathing in through her nose. "You had no right to make that decision, Fin! No right!" She was fuming. "It's not any business of yours who I see or don't see, Sergeant."
She practically spit out the word. He remained silent. Shaking her head angrily, she pulled her jacket back on and reached for her keys.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
She looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
"I'm going to do what you should have done, Fin," she said hotly. "I'm going to talk to Elliot and find out what the hell is going on here."
She stormed out. Fin rubbed his eyes tensely.
On her desk, unnoticed by them both, the "Do Not Disturb" function was on the office phone and two messages were blinking, waiting to be heard.