Disclaimer: I do not own any SVU characters, their likenesses, or any likeness of the 16th precinct. Unfortuantely, all of these people and likenesses are the property of Dick Wolf. However, I wrote him a letter about his will and leaving everything to me. I hope to hear from him soon. I do own Rochelle and shamelessly use her to my advantage. I also own the poem at the end of the chapter. The story IS mine. Druscilla Ryan Mortenson, copyright 2005.
Author's Note: The first scene of this story would probably never be allowed. Ever. However, I don't care. I wanted it, so I did it.
Rating: PG-13
ROCHELLE'S FILE
Chapter Two: Bad Dreams
"No." Elliot said, crossing his arms and looking down at the thirteen year old, who was grinning cheekily. "We won't allow it."
"We?" Rochelle asked, grinning. "You got a mouse in your pocket or something?" She looked at the floor. "Okay, I'm being a smartass." She looked back up. "But—"
"Language." Elliot said sternly. Munch turned a laugh into a cough as Olivia quickly took a drink from her coffee mug, conveniently hiding her mouth.
"But," Rochelle said pointedly, "if I can get this guy to confess, and I think I can, then it's all good, right?"
Elliot glared at his colleagues. "Look, I can see that I'm going to be outvoted, but I don't like it and that's that."
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"Hey." Rochelle said, entering the interrogation room. "What's up?"
"Nothing." the perp, McCall, said. "Yet."
Rochelle sat down and raised her eyebrows. "I'm sure we can change that." she said, grinning. "So, you really fuck that girl or what?"
"What's it to you?" McCall asked, leaning back in his seat, hands behind his head.
Rochelle beckoned him forward, moving her fingers slowly and seductively in a 'come hither' gesture. She hadn't been a hooker for a year without learning a few things. "Between you and me, I could use a good fuck."
Elliot moved for the door, but Olivia held him back. "Let's just see what she does." she said softly. "Just wait, okay?"
". . . but I want to make sure you're not all talk." Rochelle was saying. "That last thing I need is a guy with a three-inch dick telling me he can rock my world."
McCall grinned. "Yeah, I fucked her. Bitch probably wasn't nothing as good as you'll be, though."
Rochelle smiled. "Was the bitch stupid enough to say no?"
McCall laughed. "You into that sort of thing?"
Rochelle shrugged. "Maybe."
"Yeah," McCall said slowly, "she said no. Screamed it actually." Elliot opened the door and jerked his head, indicating it was time for Rochelle to leave. "Call me, sweetheart."
Rochelle rolled her eyes. "Whatever, asshole."
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"Don't
even think about it." Elliot said as Rochelle reached for the wine
bottle.
"Awww, Elliot." the young girl whined. "Why
not?"
Elliot pretended to think for a minute. "Let's see . . . you're thirteen and . . . no, I think that just about does it."
"You are so the typical father figure, Elliot." Rochelle said, eating her last potato chip.
"Was that a compliment?" Elliot asked, smiling.
Rochelle shrugged. "I don't know. I'll think about it and get back to you later." She stood up. "I'm going to bed. 'Night."
Once she was gone, Elliot remembered the strange conversation that had taken place between Olivia and him today, a conversation so logical he had to dismiss it.
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"You're not using Roxie to forget the girls, are you?" Olivia asked, sitting down beside him. She kept her voice low. "You know I can take her."
Elliot looked at her, his face pained. How can she ask that? "I could never forget the girls." Or Kathy, trust me, I've tried.
"I know." Olivia said. "I was just asking if you were trying to."
Elliot stared at her. "No, Olivia. I'm not."
She lowered her head. "I didn't mean anything by it, Elliot. I just needed to check."
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Slowly, Elliot reached for the wine bottle.
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"No, you hold your thumb outside of your fist, otherwise you'll break it. You may be able to break his nose, but it'll hurt like hell." Elliot took Rochelle's hand and made the fist appropriately.
"Elliot." Rochelle whined. "I'm tired. I know you couldn't sleep, but it's three in the morning." She stuck out her bottom lip as Elliot's cell phone rang.
"Stabler . . . on it." He clicked the device shut. He looked at Rochelle. "Go get a pillow or something. We have to go."
Rochelle nodded slowly and yawned, heading up the stairs.
They were an odd pair, heading down the stairs to Elliot's car five minutes later. Elliot was dressed in a suit. Rochelle was dressed in pajama pants, one of Elliot's tee shirts, and bunny slippers. She clutched a pillow to her chest.
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"Wait here. Lock the doors and scream if you need me, okay?" Elliot said, opening his car door. "Get some sleep, kid."
Rochelle nodded sleepily and crawled into the backseat, hitting the lock button. "'Night." she whispered.
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I walk slowly down the stairs, trying not to throw up. Randy has his cold fingers on my back, guiding me down the stairs. We walk past Momma and Daddy's room. I want to run in there and throw myself into bed next to Momma. In a perfect world she would hold me and call the cops. The real world does nothing to help people like me.
There are seven people in the basement. Daddy, three of his friends, and two of Randy's, plus Randy. Randy pushed me toward Daddy. "I brought her."
Daddy grabs me by my shoulders and slowly runs one hand up through my hair. "Slut."
"Daddy, I don't want to." I whisper. "Please."
He hits me. Hard. "Did I tell you to backtalk to me, slut?" He shakes me hard to emphasize his point.
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Elliot heard the screams before Olivia had time to register them. When she arrived at the car, Elliot was fumbling with the key. He unlocked the door and wrenched it open, revealing Rochelle.
"No!" she screamed, twisting, her body contorted with her back curved at a nearly impossible angle. Elliot gently shook her awake. When Rochelle's eyes flew open, he pulled her into his arms. "I didn't mean—"
"Ssshhh." Elliot whispered. "It's okay, angel. It was just a bad dream."
Something seemed to happen at that moment. Rochelle pulled back, shaking her head. "It's not just a bad dream." she whispered.
Elliot kissed her forehead. "Did you dream about your dad, sweetheart?" Rochelle nodded slowly. "I'm so sorry." He held the thirteen year old while she cried.
If teardrops could solve my problems
If screams could mend my heart
If my pain could ease my suffering
If my wounds could dry my tears . . .
I would never suffer
And I would never cry
I would never look at my reflection
And want to die
I wouldn't need to scream
And I wouldn't need to cut
I wouldn't look at myself and see rape
Hear the words BITCH and CUNT
I would be normal like everyone else
But my tears can't fix problems
And my wounds are still here
I HATE GOD
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What did you all think? Please R&R. I know this was a short chapter.
CHAPTER THREE: YELLOW ROSE features a major turning point in both Eliot and Rochelle's lives. We meet her father. We also get a little more light hearted.