Chapter 2 – The Dirty Truth

There were people and voices, but it was all just a sensory input jumble to Serena.  The doctor gave her some pills and told her to come back for more tests, and then a short nurse was handing her some clothes and gently guiding her through the dressing process behind a flimsy curtain.  Serena followed their instructions blindly.

At the door, she was greeted by a pasty-faced officer who led her to a squad car.  She ignored the sympathetic faces she passed on her way to the ambulance bay.  The officer took her to a plain brick building.  He tried to make small talk, but she stared silently out of the car window, watching the darkened buildings merge into a single black mass. 

In the elevator, she let herself relax just enough to breathe normally again.  Then she was being herded through the Special Victims Unit's squad room, where she finally saw familiar faces.  Jack had parted ways with her after the hospital, muttering something about going to the office and drafting some motions.  He kept avoiding looking at her directly and Serena wondered if he was uncomfortable for her or because of her.  But Detective Benson was here pressing a mug of something warm into her hands, placing a strong hand at the small of her back to guide her into an interview room.  Serena glanced at a wall clock.  She had gone out to the closest convenience store for a few little things around nine thirty.  It felt like she'd been gone for days, not hours.

"So when did you get back to your neighborhood?"

Serena fiddled with her undrunk coffee.  "Around ten.  I was just around the corner."

"What happened then?"

"Brian Pooler was waiting for me.  It was as if he knew I had gone out and was waiting for me to come back.  He got out of his car, and stood in front of me.  He said…"  Serena closed her eyes and remembered the words exactly.  "He said he wanted to talk.  I asked him to come to my apartment with me.  I wanted to get out into a lighted area, around people.  He started coming towards me.  He kept suggesting that we go out somewhere, get something to eat.  He wanted me to get in his car.  He was moving towards me the whole time and I kept backing away.  And I saw him get…this look in his eye."  She took a deep breath, trying to get rid of that sick, creepy feeling that set in after crying long and hard. 

"I threw my groceries at him and started running.  It was dark, and, uh, I tripped.  He caught up to me and he grabbed me on the wrist."  Her words grew thicker as her throat constricted involuntarily.  She drew up her sleeve to show Benson and Stabler the hand-sized bruise though it had already been documented at the hospital.  "He put his hand over my mouth, and I just, I just bit down as hard as I could.  I think he screamed and I tried to run away but he had such a tight grip on me.  He…hit me."  Eyes still closed, she frowned, feeling the hard crack of his knuckles all over again.

"Did he hit you anywhere besides your face?" asked Benson.

"No.  The first time, he just kind of slapped me.  But when I kept trying to run away, he hit me again, and, uh, things get a little hazy after that.  I couldn't see very well and there was blood in my mouth from when I bit him.  I tried to spit it at him.  I wanted to get the taste out of my mouth.  He…grabbed my neck so that it was hard to breathe."  One hand unconsciously reached up the rub the crescent-shaped mark around her neck.  "I think I blacked out, because the next thing I knew, he was…on top of me.  He forced himself on me.

"Before he left, he…he kissed me on the forehead.  He said 'I'll make it up to you,' and he got in his car and drove away.  Maybe a few minutes later, I used my cell phone to call nine-one-one.  I couldn't make myself walk back to my apartment.  I just…wanted to stay hidden in the dark."  She sniffed, rubbed her face roughly with one hand, and opened her eyes.  Sitting directly across from her, Detective Benson's face was inscrutable, but her eyes were warm with support.  Behind her, Detective Stabler leaned against the wall with his arms folded against his chest, trying to make himself seem inconspicuous.

"There's more, isn't there?" asked Serena.  She had come into homicide straight from civil investigations and had little experience with sex crimes.  She had taken one of the departed Alex Cabot's cases, but that had been open-and-shut on the merit of the evidence.  The defendant had made a deal and Serena's only real work had been to tie up any loose ends.  One thing about homicide, the victims couldn't speak for themselves.  The emotions the SVU must have weathered over the years had surely taken a toll on the detectives, but Serena couldn't see any indication of that at the moment.

"There's more," agreed Benson. 

It was almost five in the morning before all the paperwork had been properly filled out and all the questions answered.  Stiffly, Serena stood, feeling slightly chilled in her loose set of borrowed scrubs.  Detective Benson had given her a hooded jacket, but there was still a lingering cold in her muscles.  Serena didn't think she would feel completely warm for a while.

As they emerged into the fluorescently lit squad room, a familiar cultured voice broke over Serena in a half-gasp, half-sob.  "Serena," said her mother, rushing forward and clamping her arms around her only daughter. 

A tall, reserved-looking man stood behind her, hands clasped behind his back.  He looked down at the floor, around the worn room, anywhere but at the emotional display in front of him.  Elliot approached him first.  "Are you Miss Southerlyn's parents?" he asked in a low voice, navigating around the hugging women.

"Peter Southerlyn.  Her father.  My wife, Elaine."  He and Elliot shook hands.

"Detective Stabler.  My partner, Detective Benson, and I have been assigned to your daughter's case."

Serena finally got her mother to let go.  She looked up at the man in front of her.  "Father," she said slowly, almost as if she were testing his reaction.

"Serena," he said, not quite able to keep the break out of his voice.  Seeming to summon his resolve, he embraced his daughter.

Serena stiffened, more in surprise than fear, then reached around her father's waste and hugged him in return.  She hadn't been hugged by him since her twelfth birthday.  After that, it had been handshakes and the rare pat on the back.  Serena wondered briefly if she would have ever hugged him again if she hadn't been raped, but now didn't seem like the right time for resentment.

"Who did this to you?" asked Elaine Southerlyn, gingerly touching the side of Serena's face.  Serena winced, took her mother's hand in an effort to keep her still. 

"Mr. and Mrs. Southerlyn, perhaps you'd be more comfortable talking this out in private," suggested Benson.  Serena would have thrown her a grateful look if her father hadn't been watching.

"Of course," said Peter.  He cleared his throat, made a "lead on" motion.

Elliot watched as his partner led the Southerlyns upstairs where there was a small living area, complete with couch.  Elaine clung to her daughter's arm as if she were fragile.  Peter followed at a stately pace.

"Father seems to be…in shock," said Munch from his desk.  His voice seemed more dry than usual, cutting across the lack of noise in the half-empty building. 

Fin stopped paging through the LUDs from the DA's office long enough to shoot him a patented look.  "You better hope that's just shock.  Woman needs a father now more than ever."