Chapter 5 – Fighting Back

Two weeks later

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" asked Elaine Southerlyn one last time.  She ran a critical eye over her daughter's face.  "You've lost an awful lot of weight, Serena.  I wish you'd come back with us.  Sophia was just saying the other day how much she misses you."

Serena narrowly avoided rolling her eyes.  "Sophia doesn't need a third person to cook and clean for."  She hugged her mother anyway.

"For whom to…"  Elaine's voice trailed off in the middle of correcting Serena.  It just didn't seem that crucial anymore.  She smiled weakly.  "I suppose you're right."

Peter regarded his daughter gravely.  Normally an articulate man, he was unable to tell her that he was proud of her strength, that he loved her best of all things, and that he would miss her very much.  He experienced these sentiments as vague, uncomfortable sensations that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his stomach.  Instead, he awkwardly drew her into her second hug in as many weeks.  "Keep your mother and me informed of the investigation, Serena.  Don't…don't hesitate to call at night."  He terminated the physical contact by taking one measured step backwards.

Feigning amusement, Serena smiled at her father.  She could tell he had tried, but it upset her that after all she had been through, he still hadn't been able to speak openly with her.  She would forbear.  It was a Southerlyn trait.

"We love you, dear," said Elaine as Peter started their car.  She gave her daughter one last, loving look, then got in the Lexus' passenger seat. 

Serena watched the vehicle until it turned at the corner, then went back up to her apartment.  There were stacks of cardboard boxes in her living room, neatly labeled and sorted into categories.

After two weeks, she still hadn't been able to shake the feeling of being watched.  Learning that Brian Pooler used to live less than twenty meters away had put her on edge so badly that she had had to tranquilize herself with a pair of Benadryl.  She had thought about spending the night with a friend, but was damned if she was going to be run out of her own home by mere memories.

After a few days of nonstop hypervigilance, she had changed her mind and found a nice, rent-controlled apartment in a nearby neighborhood.  It was actually much more upscale than her current apartment, and she suspected her mother had pulled a few strings with the realtor to help nudge things along.

In the meantime, she had continued working at the DA's office.  Vacation was a distant concept.  She would not be able to completely relax until she saw Brian Pooler being locked in a ten-by-ten cell. 

The detectives at SVU had virtually nothing to work with.  Despite having his picture circulated throughout the state, accompanied by a story on the evening news, Brian Pooler had vanished.  It was especially frustrating to know that police had only to take him into custody to close the book on her case.  They had a mountain of evidence, all of which was useless without the actual perpetrator.  A tech guy had come by and installed a bug in her phone so that when Brian called her—and he would call, there was no doubt in her mind—the police would be able to trace it back to his location.  So far, nothing.

Serena turned the TV on and left it playing at low volume.  She couldn't stand silence. 

Standing in front of her refrigerator, she sighed.  Her unused Victim's Services card was clipped up next to a takeout menu.  Detective Benson had pressed the card into her hand before dropping her off at her apartment.  The woman had been a bedrock of support, really.  Serena supposed the detective was used to it.  How many victims had Benson seen?  Hundreds?  She hadn't lost her compassion despite her inevitable desensitization to brutality.

The phone rang.  Serena let the machine get it.  It was Carla, wanting to know if Serena wanted to hit the gym with her this weekend.  The gym, filled with sweaty, bulky men, who would all be staring at her in her shorts and t-shirt.  Other friends had asked her to the movies, where she would be expected to sit in the dark for at least two hours, surrounded by strangers.  They all seemed to think that it was best to simply throw her back into the social pool. 

Victim's Services was no better in Serena's mind.  She didn't want to talk to an assigned counselor.  She didn't want therapy.  She didn't want to be a victim.

During one of her more useless bouts of insomnia, she had found herself musing about becoming friends with some physicists, getting them to build a time machine for her, and changing her past.  The thought had set off a spate of irrational giggling, followed by a few bottles of Corona.

Serena shut the fridge's door and resigned herself to another weekend at the office.  The guards and metal detectors and video cameras, once an irritating necessity, were now a source of comfort.  She exchanged her sweatpants for jeans, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and walked to the nearest subway station.

Even though it was early in the evening, the platform was already crowded.  A lot of commuters were trying to get home, and here she was, headed for work.  Serena was on the verge of taking a taxi instead when she was jostled from behind.  She automatically turned around, one hand reared back as if to strike.  It was just a punk teenager.  He gave her a surly look and slouched away.  Serena lowered her fist.

"Serena."

She didn't hesitate this time.  Serena whirled around and put all of her weight into a punishing right hook.  Brian Pooler went down hard; a few people screamed and backed away. 

"What was that for?" Brian howled.

Her right hand useless, Serena used her left to dig out her cellphone.  She hit the speed dial without taking her eyes from Brian.  He was glancing around nervously at the growing circle of people.  Someone tried to help him up.  At the other end of the line, the phone was ringing.

"Benson."  Her voice was immediately soothing.

"It's Serena.  Brian Pooler's here, Detective.  He's here," said Serena breathlessly.  She wanted to kick Pooler while he was down, knock him out, anything to make him stop giving her that look of betrayal and confusion.  She pressed the phone tightly to her ear. 

"Who are you calling?" asked Brian.  "Are you calling the police?"  He shook off the hands of the people helping him and advanced intently on Serena.

"Serena?  Where are you?" asked Detective Benson.  She sounded like she was already on the move from all the rustling going on in the background.

"I'm on a subway platform.  Uh, 96th and Broadway." 

"What are you doing?" Brian asked, indignant. 

Serena pointed at Brian with her phone, the antenna wavering slightly.  "You stay away from me, you son of a bitch."

"Is this guy bothering you?" asked someone. 

"Serena, tell them who I am," pleaded Brian.  He tried to reassure the bystanders, who were rapidly piecing together the situation.  "There's nothing to see here.  I'm her boyfriend.  Everyone, please, just go back to your business."

"Serena?  Serena?"  Benson's voice sounded tinny and distant on the cellphone.

"Please just hurry," said Serena.

* * * * * *

When Olivia and Elliot pushed their way into the subway station, they found Serena pacing in front of a concrete bench.  A patrolman was trying to get her to stay still while another held the crowd at bay.  A beefy transit detective came forward.  "You SVU?" he asked brusquely.

Olivia placed her hand on her chest, next to the badge clipped to her overcoat.  "Benson."  She pointed to Elliot.  "Stabler."  She stopped a few meters away from Serena, who had finally come to a halt and was looking anxiously at the two SVU detectives.  "What the hell happened?" asked Olivia.

The transit detective referenced his notebook, hooked a thumb over his shoulder.  "The lady says a man who's been stalking her found her on the platform.  He approached her, she felt threatened, so she slugged him.  Says she then called you, Detective Benson, while a Good Samaritan held the suspect in custody."

Elliot looked around.  "Where is he?"

"The suspect broke free, ran off down Broadway.  Samaritan's right over there."  He flipped over the cover of his notebook and tucked it in his jacket.  "As far as I'm concerned, this is all yours."

"Thanks," Elliot drawled, giving the man a sideways glance as he brushed past.

Olivia relieved the officer watching Serena; he gratefully joined his partner on crowd control.  "Hey, Serena.  You want to tell me what happened?"  She placed a hand on the other woman's arm, guided her to the nearest bench.  Elliot hung back to take witness statements, but also to give the women some space.

Serena fiddled with the clasps on her bag.  "I was headed for the office.  I got to the station around six o'clock.  A few minutes later, I heard someone say my name.  I knew it was Brian, and…I don't know.  My body just reacted before I could think.  I mean, I knew it was him by his voice.  So I hit him.  In the face."  She showed Olivia her swollen knuckles.  Her hand was already stiff and she cradled it gingerly, seemingly embarrassed if the slight pinking of her cheeks was any clue.  "Dumb, right?"

Olivia chuckled.  "I think you did what anyone might have done in your position."  She examined Serena's hand with a critical eye.  "That must've been some punch.  Have you gotten medical attention yet?"

"I didn't show it to the other detective," Serena admitted.  "He seemed to think I was a little…unstable."

"Well, he hasn't seen what you've seen," said Olivia seriously.

"But Brian Pooler does.  How did he know I was going to be here?" asked Serena sharply.  "He must have been watching me.  I don't know how, or from where, I've been so careful…"  She started pacing again, uninjured hand rubbing the back of her neck, the other on her hip.

Olivia stood up directly in Serena's path.  Serena stopped in the face of the detective's solid frame.  "We'll figure it out, Serena, I promise.  For now let's go to the hospital, get that hand checked out, and then we'll get you home, all right?"

Gnawing at her lip a little, Serena nodded.

"Ready?" asked Elliot, joining the two women.

"Only if Sugar Ray here is," said Olivia.  The partners shot her identical smiles.

The pink became red as the two detectives escorted her into the crisp night air.