I own nothing.
That night Janey dreamed about Mr. Stabler, the man Lionel thought was her father.
She didn't even know his first name; all she knew was that he worked for the police (Maureen hadn't been specific) and that he looked like Janey. Except the eyes. Probably he had Maureen's big blue eyes.
Growing up, she hadn't missed having a father. Real parenthood hadn't touched her; she had never received it nor needed it, and hadn't understood the other kids from broken homes who bemoaned the lack of role models and caregivers in their lives. Life was mostly common sense, she thought, and kids could figure it out as easily as most of the grownups Janey knew. But then, she had never been in any real trouble. She hadn't needed help like she surely needed it now.
Mr. Stabler comforted her in her dream. Janey pictured him as a big man, strong, with a set jaw and heavy hands. His hair was short, but the same dark reddish-brown as hers, and he was balding. He wore a suit because in her dream a blue police uniform seemed silly.
In the dream he really was her father. He removed the chains from her wrists and carried her away from the cold brick wall, sat with her on his lap and hugged her, told her he would take care of her, that she would be fine. She curled up like a little child while he rocked her and stroked her hair, and she was grateful that for once she didn't have to be the adult. He could be strong for her; she could cry and know he wasn't going to make her take care of herself the way her mother always had.
She looked up at his face, scrutinizing it, trying to find herself in his features. He did look like her in an older, masculine way. He had a big nose and a broad forehead with a widow's peak, kind of like hers, and his mouth was the same shape. But his eyes were so different…wide, intense, ice-blue.
"Dad…" she whispered, wishing, wishing with her whole soul that it was true.
As she stared at his face, his expression changed. His blue eyes glowed with cruelty and melted into Lionel's pale green.
She was awake.
A small circle of auburn hair on the floor around her reminded her of what had just happened. Lionel was staring at her intensely, and she could only imagine how she must look to him: shorn, shivering, broken.
There was a new energy about Lionel. He was breathing hard, and his crouching position was tense.
Janey wondered if she had said "Dad" out loud…what would he think?
"Your father is coming," he said, answering part of her question. "He has not forgotten you."
Janey realized he was holding eye contact just like the first morning they had arrived here. Crazily, she thought He's hypnotizing me. She wanted to look away, but was too afraid he would strike her again while she was unprepared. It seemed like as long as she kept eye contact there was an invisible barrier holding him back.
"I hope he will not arrive before you have learned to like me."
God, no, not this, she couldn't handle this.
He brought his hand up to her cheek and rubbed his thumb across her sore lower lip. It was chapped and bloody.
"Yesterday you were more beautiful than you are today," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps I am good enough for you now. Perhaps you want to kiss me now."
No, no, no. "Please leave me alone. Please stop..." A bubble of leftover blood in her mouth popped on her lips as she begged.
He looked almost comically concerned. "I would not leave you alone while you are hurt." Slowly, so slowly it couldn't be real, he leaned towards her. They held eye contact until the last second, when his eyes flickered down to her lips.
Wild strength rose up in Janey. Control left her. She slammed her heel into Lionel's stomach as hard as she could; when he grunted in pain she kicked him in the face and kept on kicking, trying to hold him back like a child throwing a temper tantrum. He backed away, more startled than hurt.
He looked disappointed. Like she had tricked him. Tension cracked on the air between them, and he bared his teeth in frustration, distorting his handsome features.
Janey knew she couldn't hold him back for long if he really decided he wanted her…that way. And she thought that if he did – if he kissed her, or went further – she really would go insane.
The idea of sex was unsettling to her in the best of circumstances; having seen what promiscuity made of her mother, she had determined even before she became a Christian that she would wait, that no man would get more than a kiss out of her unless she was sure it was true love. At fourteen she had decided to wait until marriage; her mother had laughed when it came up in conversation.
She had said, "Hon, why do you want to be a prude? Let me tell you the dirty truth your Sunday School frosties may have failed to mention: This is the twenty-first century, doll, and ain't no man alive going to marry a girl who won't give him a sample. My advice: shop around. Enjoy yourself, baby; no harm in it."
Janey had never talked with her mother about sex again.
Now Lionel's eyes were shining with violence, and Janey wondered what her mother would do in her situation. Just give up, probably. Close her eyes, shut her mouth, and maybe when he'd gotten what he wanted he would let her go. She'd smoke a pack of cigarettes afterwards to ease the indignity, the way she did after every failed relationship.
And Maureen, what if it were Maureen here? Would she be ashamed to give in, even when there wasn't really a choice? They'd never exactly agreed on the abstinence issue…Janey wondered if Mr. Stabler knew that about his daughter. But she thought Maureen would fight.
Janey needed to decide right now, before this escalated as it was undoubtedly about to: If Lionel put a knife to her throat and told her to hold still for him, would she? If he beat her, pointed that gun at her, was she going to close her eyes and try to survive, or fight, knowing she would lose, knowing that his anger could end up killing her?
Lionel was panting; the calm detachment he had sustained so long drained out of his face while Janey watched. She could actually see his sanity leaving his body. When his muscles clenched and she knew he was going to fly at her, for a moment the cold, pain, and bone-melting fear of her reality were gone; absent from herself, with time almost frozen, she sent up a prayer for strength. A warm, strong hand seemed to grip her shoulder; she imagined it was Maureen's dad, who she wanted more than anything to be her own dad, giving her what strength he could…telling her that he cared, that this moment mattered because there was someone who loved her.
The moment passed when Lionel's restraining decorum vanished, and he kissed her violently, slamming her back into the wall. The stinging of her broken nose rocked Janey's brain; she thought it would kill her.
But it didn't.
And with the memory of her dream about Mr. Stabler, the father she never had, infusing strength into her weakened frame, she bit down on Lionel's tongue until she drew blood.
Finally, finally, there was a break in the Janey Christopher case.
The homeless man who had brought in Lionel Sachet's envelope of pictures had seen him get into a dirty black or possibly dark brown SUV, a Cherokee or Trooper, and had actually been able to read half its license plate before it sped out of sight. Though a hopeless alcoholic, the homeless man's brain still worked to some extent in the mornings, and realizing helping the cops could lead to a reward for him, he had worked to observe and remember all he could about the encounter. Elliot didn't disappoint him; after two hours of intense interrogation, he had given the man the best lunch the precinct could buy and forty dollars in cash. Elliot didn't care if he spent it on alcohol; for a car description and half a license plate he'd have bought the man a keg of straight vodka himself.
Computer checks were running now, though not knowing the SUV's make would significantly lengthen the following investigation; unless a black or brown SUV with the exact license plate 3-point match had been stolen recently, they would probably end up with ten to twenty potentials to check. But it was something. Even if they ended up with a list a hundred long they would at least have a place to begin.
While waiting for the precinct techies to print up their search list, Elliot held the framed picture of Janey Olivia had taken from the dorm room. There was something about her face, her expression, that captivated him.
She wasn't beautiful the way Maureen was beautiful; her nose was on the large side and her cheeks were full, some would say chubby. But in the picture she looked so happy, carefree…she glowed. Just like Siabhon Monohan, he thought grimly, remembering how he found Lionel's last victim.
She, too, had been a bright, pretty honors student; her picture had hung smilingly on the bulletin board in the squad room for three weeks, speaking of hope, happiness, potential.
Finding her had been a terrible moment for him. The instant he saw her face he knew she would never recover; the girl Lionel Sachet had kidnapped had been dead for weeks. In her place was an insensible body with lifeless eyes. She was beyond both pain and relief. Even when Elliot was on top of Sachet, beating and cuffing him, she had watched unfeelingly. He was too late. She was utterly broken.
Elliot prayed to God that when they found Janey, the spark he could see in her picture would still be visible. That she wouldn't have lost the ability to smile, to feel, to enjoy being a college student.
He hoped she was a fighter. For both their sakes, he needed her to stay whole until he and Olivia could save her; and for Maureen and all the other girls Sachet had hurt, he needed her to be strong enough to live on afterwards, the way Siobhan hadn't been able to.
In the quiet moment, his exhaustion pulled him out of himself; he thought the smiling picture transformed into a tearstained, battered face staring up at him, pleading; he reached out to grip the poor kid's shoulder for support, but his hand hit nothing and he awoke with a jerk.
Olivia was touching the top of his head to wake him. The list of SUVs was ready; he and she immediately got to work on narrowing down the potentials.