Chapter 1
Detectives Elliot Stabler and Olivia Benson strode quickly through the corridors of the Student Services Building of Elmhurst College following the agitated young man who had met them outside the building. They stopped outside a heavy wooden door marked 'Conference Room,' while the young man gave a brisk knock, then quickly turned the knob and led them into the room. There were over a half dozen people ranged around the conference table, their faces set in varying degrees of worry and distress. A tall, thin, woman with graying hair pulled back into a severe bun who appeared to be in her early fifties rose instantly from her seat at the head of the table.
"These are the police detectives," the young man escorting them said to the room at large.
The level of distress in the room notched up perceptibly at the announcement, but the woman stepped forward with her hand extended and attempted a smile. "Thank you for coming so quickly, Detectives. I'm afraid we're quite out of our league with this situation. I'm Delores Pennicott, President of Elmhurst. I greatly appreciate your assistance."
"Detective Stabler," the male detective said as he shook her hand. "And this is my partner Detective Benson. We were told you needed to speak with someone from the Special Victims Unit right away, but we weren't given any details."
"Yes. I apologize for that. It's all rather . . . awkward," Pennicott responded as she shook Benson's hand in turn. "Please have a seat and we'll explain what we know. I'm afraid we're not even certain a 'crime' has been committed, so we felt it best to leave that determination in your hands."
"Of course a crime has been committed, Delores!" a clearly agitated man in his forties with dark hair and piercing brown eyes exploded.
"Henry, please," Pennicott pleaded. "Let's stop arguing about this and let the detectives do their job.
"I apologize again," Pennicott directed to Stabler and Benson. "I'm afraid this situation has unnerved us all. We've never had anything like this happen before in the 120 year history of this institution. It's appalling. Please sit," she added, pointing to the two empty chairs to her right, "while I introduce you to the rest of the group."
Benson and Stabler exchanged quick quizzical glances as they took their seats, then followed the woman's pointing finger as she made the introductions.
"The gentleman to your right is Henry Jacobs, our Dean of Students; next is Richard Wilkins, Security Director; Janet Cantrell, Director of the Student Counselling Center; Trudy Jenkins, Director of Public Relations; Stanley Henderson, Provost, and Lily Harkins, College Counsel." The detectives acknowledged each introduction with a quick nod of the head.
"Since Dean Jacobs has been handling our internal investigation so far, perhaps it's best if he begins."
Lines of shock and fatigue were clearly ingrained on the dark-haired man's face as he leaned slightly forward in his chair and placed his clasped hands on the table in front of him. "Two days ago I overheard a conversation among some students in the main cafeteria on campus about a sex video that's being passed around that features some of our students. I eventually got my hands on a copy and discovered through further investigation that the video was made at an off-campus party last Friday that ended in . . . well, I guess the best way to describe it is an orgy."
Benson and Stabler kept their professional faces on as they watched the faces of those around them shift between distress and disgust.
"After some more digging, I found out the video wasn't supposed to be made public, but someone got hold of it and made copies that they started passing around."
"For free or for a price?" Benson asked.
The Dean stared at her a moment, startled by the question. "For free as far as I know. Although they'd probably make a pretty penny selling the damn thing," he added in disgust. "What difference does it make?"
"Dr. Pennicott said you weren't sure if a crime has been committed. Distribution or sale of pornography, especially if it features minors or is shown to or sold to minors, can be a crime," Benson explained.
"Do we have any minors involved in this?" Stabler interjected.
"Not that I'm aware of," the Dean said stiffly. "Everyone I've interviewed so far is over 18."
"So we're talking consenting adults here?" Benson asked.
"We believed so until this afternoon," Jacobs said, dropping his eyes in embarrassment.
Stabler shifted in his seat. "So this is a rape."
Pennicott's face drained of color and she pressed her fingers against the side of her forehead as she slumped in her chair. "Rape? Dear Lord! We . . . we really can't be certain of that yet, can we? I mean, I know we called you in because of your expertise in this area, but you've only just gotten here. How can you be certain already?"
"We haven't had a rape on this campus in years," Provost Henderson blustered. "It's simply unheard of. And it's a boy for god's sake. Do you really classify it as rape if it's a boy?"
As Benson and Stabler aimed disbelieving stares at Henderson, Wilkins intervened. "Of course it's rape even if it's a boy, Stanley. The only relevant factor in determining rape is whether it was consensual or non-consensual."
"Not necessarily . . . ," Benson began, but Stabler cut her off quickly, not wanting the discussion to get any further off track.
"Why don't you just show us the video and let us see for ourselves what's on it, then we can discuss the semantics."
"Very well," Pennicott said primly. "But you'll have to excuse me. I can't bring myself to watch that . . . that filth again. It's much too . . . appalling. Henry, call me on my private line when you're ready for me to come back."
"Same here," Henderson said bruskly, quickly rising from his seat and bolting out of the room.
The others remained seated as Jacobs rose unsteadily to his feet and opened the doors of a tall armoire set in the corner of the room. A 42" color television was secreted behind the doors.
"Nice setup," Stabler muttered under his breath.
A blush slid up Trudy Jenkins' face as she said a bit defensively, "Those of us who aren't able to attend sometimes use this room to watch our teams' televised games."
"Of course," Benson replied pleasantly as she exchanged a knowing glance with her partner.
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of the television coming to life. A moment later, Jacobs had inserted a dvd into the player hooked up to the unit and images began playing silently across the big screen.
"It's not muted," Jacobs explained. "There is no audio track. Either there wasn't one on the original or whoever made the copies didn't get it. I suppose we should be grateful for small favors," the man added with disgust. "Watching the thing is bad enough without having to hear it too."
Stabler had been sitting back in his chair but, as he nodded acknowledgment of the man's words, he leaned forward intently, settling his chin on the back of his hands which were clasped in front of him, his elbows braced on the solid mahogany of the conference table. His notebook lay open on the table in front of him with a pen beside it if needed, but at this point he was more interested in studying the demeanor of the players in this sordid drama.
Benson also leaned forward, but kept her hands free to write notes in the memo pad sitting on the table in front of her.
Cop face - that look of total blankness that gave nothing away - was one of the first tricks a successful detective had to learn, but even the best sometimes had difficulty maintaining it. Stabler felt his mouth settle into a grim line of fury as he watched the video and noted out of the corner of his eye the set line of his partner's jaw.
Earlier Jacobs had said the party ended in an 'orgy', which Stabler certainly couldn't argue with. Categorizing what came before as a party, that was another story. He watched as a medium built young man with reddish blond hair led a taller -- probably close to 6 feet, Stabler estimated -- brown haired man into the room. The redhead didn't look like he could be 18 and Stabler made a mental note to confirm his age with the Dean. The other man looked several years older. Over a dozen men, who looked to be in the 19-23 year old range, stood in a receiving line. The redhead stopped at each man in the line in turn to introduce the brown haired man to him.
"You said this was a party. It looks more like some kind of initiation to me," Stabler said, gazing speculatively at the Dean.
"I suppose that's a better word for it," the man responded stiffly.
"Is this some kind of club?" Benson picked up the thread of her partner's thought.
The Dean's frown deepened and a look of disgust settled on his face. "From what I've been told, the instigators are billing it as 'a fraternity in the true greek tradition'."
"So it's basically a homosexual sex club," Stabler said evenly, his cold, steady gaze never leaving the other man's face, so it would have been impossible for him to miss the wince.
"Basically," the man responded through clenched teeth.
"How long has this club been in operation?" Benson pressed.
The man winced again before muttering, "three or four years."
"Three or four years!" Trudy Jenkins shrieked. "Nobody told me that! My god, if that gets out this is going to be a p.r. nightmare! No self-respecting parent will want to send their child to this school!"
"Really, Trudy, that's the last thing we should be worried about right now." Stabler and Benson turned their assessing gazes to Janet Cantrell, who had been silent until that moment. "That boy has been through a terrible ordeal. His well-being should be our first concern."
Benson and Stabler followed her eyes back to the screen. The two young men had reached the end of the receiving line. All the men began removing their clothing. The redhead led the brown haired man to a hastily constructed dais in the middle of the room that had what looked like a cheap bed or cot in the center of it and helped him get to his knees on it.
Stabler watched the redhead and the brown haired man intently. Something about their interactions and the way the taller man moved set off an alarm in his head. He turned a questioning gaze to his partner who nodded acknowledgment that she saw it too.
They watched for a few more minutes in silence before Benson turned her head from the screen and blurted out, "Jesus. How many of them do it?"
"Sodomize him? All of them." Wilkins interjected coldly.
Stabler swallowed his fury and allowed his cop face to freeze back into place. There was a job to be done here, no matter how much it disgusted him to have to be the one to do it. "Does he want to file a complaint against the other men? Is that why you called us."
Another hesitation and swift, worried glances were exchanged among the university personnel. "Maybe you should watch the rest of it first, then we can call President Pennicott back. I don't think we should continue these discussions without her."
"Then call her back now," Benson said stiffly. "We've seen enough."
"No, I'm afraid you haven't," Jacobs responded, the air seeming to deflate from him as he spoke and a world-weary expression covering his face. "David says he has very little memory of what happened that night and, despite what's on the video, he absolutely refuses to press charges of any kind. All he keeps saying is that he wants to go home."
"Have you called his parents yet?" Stabler snapped.
"There are no parents to call," Janet Cantrell interjected. "David's parents died when he was 8 years old. He has no family left. He had foster parents, but they died in a car accident a few years ago."
"How long is the video," Stabler barked irritably.
"About an hour and a half total," Jacobs replied.
"Let's compromise," Benson intervened, sensing her partner was close to jumping the Dean and throttling him. "Put it on fast forward and we'll tell you to stop if there's something we need to look at closer. In the meantime, call Dr. Pennicott and tell her if she's not back here in ten minutes, we're going on without her."
"Very well," Jacobs said stiffly as he grabbed the remote and hit the fast forward button, then turned and nodded to Dr. Cantrell indicating she should make the call to the President.
"In the meantime, start giving me names," Benson said. "Who is the one being sodomized?"
"His name is David, David Gallagher," the Dean responded wearily, rubbing a hand distractedly across his temple as if attempting to push back a headache. "The redhead is Justin Graves."
"How old is Justin? He doesn't look 18 to me," Stabler cut in.
"19. He'll be 20 next month. David turned 21 last month."
They watched quietly for a few minutes, the silence broken only by the Dean's occasional announcement of the name and age of the latest man to appear on the screen. In another situation the images flying across the screen at superspeed might have seemed humorous, but no one in the room was smiling.
"Stop," Stabler barked, leaning forward to examine the frozen image more closely. "Back it up about a minute and play it at normal speed."
Once the taller man, the one the Dean had called David, had been positioned on the cot, the redhead, Justin, had gone first, then sat down beside him, talking to him and occasionally kissing him as the other men took their turns. The detective noted that Graves sat back slightly, causing Gallagher's face to be turned completely from the main room and the camera whenever his attention was focused on the redhead. And Justin made sure the other man's attention stayed focused on him -- continuously laughing and gesturing wildly as though the two of them were having the time of their lives. Stabler found his attention continually pulled from his attempt to observe Gallagher's reactions to the assault by the effusive redhead's antics.
Stabler watched closely as Justin leaned in attentively, listening to something the other was saying. He said something back and David turned his head away, allowing his face to be fully exposed to the camera for a few seconds -- just long enough to allow those watching to see the pain and confusion in his eyes.
The redhead said something else that drew the other man's attention back to him. Justin took a long swig from a bottle of what looked like vodka and, without swallowing, leaned over and kissed David again. There was a second when it looked like Gallagher was going to resist the kiss, then he reacted to the taste of the alcohol on the other's lips and started kissing him back.
"Did you see that?" Benson hissed to her partner.
"Yeah, I saw it. He was telling the redhead he wanted it to stop, but Graves just gave him something to numb the pain instead."
"And you people have some question as to whether this was rape?" Benson snarled.
There was guilty silence from around the room.
"Go back to fast forward," Stabler said with barely disguised fury.
As the line of men continued to take their turns, there were several more of the alcohol-tainted kisses. Finally the last man, a tall, muscular blond, moved into position. He and the redhead exchanged a few words, then Justin leaned over and said something to David before giving him another deep, passionate kiss before standing up to move in front of him.
Even with the video on fast forward, this 'grand finale' seemed interminable to Stabler. Although he couldn't see Gallagher's face now, he was haunted by the expression of pain and fear he had seen on it earlier. And when the men finally finished, he felt sick to his stomach seeing the self-satisfied smiles on their faces as they laughed and joked with each other while Graves slid to his knees in front of David, then kissed him deeply while using his hands to guide the other's body down onto the cot, making sure he laid on his side not on his back.
Justin continued to sit beside Gallagher, conveniently positioned to block his face from the camera, while he talked to him, caressed him and occasionally leaned over to kiss him until another tall, blond man, this one with a more athletic than muscular build, came over and began talking intently to the redhead.
Slowly the room around them emptied until only the three in the center of the videosceen were left. The blond walked away for a moment then came back with a small box that might have been a first aid kit which he waved excitedly in the air as he continued talking heatedly to the redhead. Graves had been arguing back but finally nodded his head reluctantly, leaned over to give Gallagher one last lingering kiss, then disappeared from view. A second later the video ended.
"Appalling is an understatement," Pennicott's shaky voice came from the doorway.
Benson and Stabler looked at her in surprise, having been so intent on what was happening on the screen they had not even heard the door open.
"You said he refuses to press charges," Stabler said. "Do you know why?"
"David's had a very difficult life," Pennicott answered evasively. "It's possible he's afraid of what will happen if this becomes public."
"He says he doesn't remember what happened," Jacobs added. "And I don't think he wants to remember."
"Why doesn't he remember? Was he drinking heavily or taking drugs before the party?" Stabler pressed, his steel blue eyes piercing the man.
Another awkward silence with more troubled glances exchanged among the administrators.
"Justin -- the redhead -- confessed to me earlier that David didn't want to go to the party, so he slipped him a roofie to help him relax."
Benson gave a shocked, "What?" as Stabler let out a bark of incredulous laughter.
"You people are something else," Stabler added with disgust.
"We're all in shock over this situation, Detective," Pennicott said defensively. "Perhaps we're not handling it as well as we could be, but that's why we called you in. You have experience in these matters. Please tell us what we're supposed to do."
"How many of the men involved have you interviewed?" Benson directed to the Dean.
"Including David and Justin, nine. After Justin's confession, I had him taken to a private conference room. Two of our security officers are stationed outside the door so he doesn't try to leave before you can talk to him. I've prepared a summary of the interviews I've conducted so far for you," he added as he handed copies of the document to the detectives."
"Where's the victim, David Gallagher?" Stabler asked as he scanned the first page of the document.
Jacobs cast a troubled gaze at Dr. Cantrell before responding. "He kept saying he wanted to go home, but Janet was concerned about leaving him alone after all this, so he's asleep on the sofa in my office. My secretary is sitting with him."
"You think he might be suicidal?" Benson asked.
"It's hard to say," Cantrell responded. "Henry called and asked me to come over as soon as Justin told him what really happened. David was showing signs of shock and disassociation. When we told him he needed to talk to the police, he got very upset. He kept saying he was tired and wanted to go home and go to sleep.
"I told him he couldn't go home yet, but he could sleep on the sofa in Henry's office if he was tired. He finally agreed to that and let me settle him on the sofa and tuck a blanket around him. He was very disoriented and seemed to be afraid to go to sleep, but as soon as we finally got him to close his eyes, he drifted right off."
"I told my secretary to call me immediately if he woke up or started having nightmares," Jacobs added. "So far everything seems to be fine."
"I checked on him on my way back here," Pennicott said softly. "Lisa said he's been asleep the entire time. But she said she was concerned because he's hardly moved at all. She actually got up twice to make sure he was still breathing."
"You'll see that sometimes with abused children," Cantrell responded automatically. "They're so well programmed not to draw any attention to themselves that the subconscious even keeps them from moving in their sleep."
"There's a history of abuse?" Benson asked.
Another uncomfortable silence, this one longer. Finally Pennicott broke it. "When David's parents died, there was no family to take him in. He was placed in foster care. The family he was placed with was new in the system. No one realized the husband was a pedophile until it was too late."
"How long?" Stabler asked.
"That poor child," Pennicott's voice broke on the last word. "It was a couple of months before anyone realized what was happening, but that horrible man realized they were on to him and were getting ready to take the boy from him. So he ran and took David with him, leaving his wife behind. David was 8 years old when he disappeared. They didn't find him again until he was 13."
"I remember hearing about that case," Stabler said heavily. "He was abandoned in the food court of a mall somewhere out west. The police got an anonymous call telling them where they could find him."
"That's right," Pennicott said. "If I remember correctly it was Phoenix, Arizona."
"I thought you told us his foster parents died in a car accident," Benson cut in angrily.
"Not those foster parents," the woman responded defensively. "As far as I know, that awful man is still out there somewhere; I don't believe he was ever caught. His wife committed suicide shortly after he ran off with David. The foster parents who died in the car accident are the ones David was placed with when the Phoenix police sent him back here -- the Spencers. I spoke with them several times when they brought him to campus for visits over the years -- they were hoping to remind him of the happy times he'd spent here with his parents. They were such good and caring people. They mentioned several times that they were hoping to eventually be allowed to adopt David, and I believe formal adoption proceedings were underway when they died."
"So where are their relatives? Why aren't they here?" Stabler asked.
"Evidently it wasn't a very close-knit family and since the adoption was never finalized, none of them were willing to take on the responsibility of a child with such a troubled past."
"Unbelievable!" Benson spat out with disgust.
"We're still going to need to speak with him," Stabler said. "And with Justin."
"Can you talk to David here?" Cantrell asked. "I'm very concerned about his state of mind. If we force him to go to the police station, it may push him over the edge."
"We'll see what we can do about that," Stabler said. "But we're definitely taking Justin downtown. Let's see how he feels about being caged up for awhile."
Benson pulled out her phone and called for backup to take Graves in. "Why don't we take care of the preliminaries with Justin now so we have him ready when Munch and Fin get here?" she suggested to her partner, who nodded assent.
Pennicott led the two detectives down the hall and around a corner, with Security Director Wilkins, Dean Jacobs and Dr. Cantrell trailing along behind, to a smaller conference room. Two uniformed security officers stood in front of the door.
"Has he caused any trouble?" Wilkins asked one of the officers.
"No sir. A little while ago he asked how much longer it would be, but other than that he's been quiet."
"Very well. These are the police detectives who'll be interviewing him. Give them anything they need. I'm heading outside to meet their backup."
"Yes, sir," the man responded.
"I think one of us should stay with them, Delores," Jacobs said to the president. "It may be helpful in our internal disciplinary process to hear what Justin has to say."
"Then it probably should be you, Henry," Pennicott said wearily. "You've handled the investigation from the beginning. Do you have any objections to that?" she asked the detectives.
After shooting a quick questioning glance at her partner, Benson responded, "As long as he doesn't interfere in any way or attempt to ask any questions of his own, it's fine with us."
"I'd like to stay, too," Dr. Cantrell cut in. "Listening to what he has to say may assist me in helping David deal with what's happened to him."
The detectives gave each other another quick look, then Benson nodded and they turned toward the door. Wilkins nodded to one of the guards to indicate he should unlock and open it. The detectives quickly strode inside and stopped short at the sight that met their eyes.
Justin Graves was sitting at the conference table with his head in his hands. He had clearly been crying. When he heard the door open, he lifted his head to stare at them, his face a mask of misery. "What's happening? Where's David? Is he okay? What have you done to him? You've got to let me see him. Please! He needs me!"
Stabler let his face settle into the cold mask of cop face and stepped forward. "Justin Graves, you're under arrest for sexual assault and possession and distribution of drugs in connection with a felony. Stand up and put your hands behind your back so I can cuff you. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law . . . ."
Justin's face drained of color as Stabler approached him with the handcuffs and continued giving him his Miranda rights. "No! You can't do that! This is all a big misunderstanding. You can't arrest me. I didn't do anything wrong!"
"You don't see anything wrong with giving someone drugs so he won't fight back while fourteen men rape him?" Benson snapped.
"It . . . it wasn't like that," Justin stammered. "David understands. I know he does. He's into that kind of stuff. He just needed to relax a little. He had a good time. Just ask him."
"So you admit you gave him drugs," Stabler snarled as he snapped the cuffs on.
"I . . . I'm not saying anything else until I have a lawyer present," Graves stammered, finally realizing how deep a pit of trouble he'd dug for himself.
"Fine. You can call from the station house. There'll be somebody by in a few minutes to haul your sorry ass downtown," Stabler growled as he patted the redhead down then shoved him roughly back into the chair, before turning and stalking out of the room.
"Elliot, you need to calm down," Benson said softly to her partner as they followed Jacobs and Cantrell down the hall toward the Dean's office.
"I know," Stabler said tersely. "I just look at these kids and see my own kids and their friends . . . how easily it could be any one of them. That Justin looks so normal, redhead with freckles -- just like the kid next door."
They stopped speaking as they came to a door marked 'Dean of Students' in gold letters. Stabler took a deep, calming breath and braced himself as Jacobs opened the door and they filed into the room.
Directly across from the door in front of a large window was a spacious mahogany desk with a leather desk chair behind it and two coordinating guest chairs facing it. To the right was a comfortable sitting area featuring a large sofa and two matching wing chairs with a coffee table separating them. A blond woman in her early thirties wearing wire rimmed glasses was sitting in one of the wing chairs reading a book. An armoire slightly smaller than the one in the conference room stood in the corner, closed doors concealing its contents.
Lots of comfortable places around here to watch the teams' games, Stabler thought idly as he turned his attention to the figure curled up on the sofa. He was struck by how small and frail the young man looked compared to the tall, athletic figure he had seen on the television screen. Gallagher's eyes were closed and, as he followed the line of the body, Stabler realized the young man's legs were pulled up against his chest with his arms wrapped around them in the fetal position under the lightweight blanket featuring the school's crest that had been tucked around him.
"Dr. Jacobs?" the young woman asked tentatively.
"It's all right, Lisa," the older man soothed. "These are the police detectives. They need to speak to David for a few minutes. Has he woken up at all?"
"No, sir. He started to stir about an hour ago, so I went over and tucked the blanket tighter around him and told him everything was all right; he settled right back down."
"That was good of you. He needs rest more than anything right now," Jacobs said.
"What else can I do?"
"Nothing for the moment, Lisa. I appreciate you staying this long. I didn't realize it's almost 8:00. You should go home and try to get some sleep. We'll need to start early tomorrow."
"Very well, sir. If you're sure you don't need me?" the young woman said doubtfully. "I don't think I'll be getting much sleep tonight."
"I'm Detective Benson," Olivia broke in. "And this is my partner Detective Stabler. We may need to speak with you at some point, Ms. . . . ?"
"I'm so sorry. Please excuse my manners," Jacobs said wearily. "This is my assistant, Lisa Carlson. Of course you're to help the detectives any way you can, Lisa. Give them your full cooperation . . . anything they need."
"Do you need me to stay now?" the young woman asked, casting a concerned glance at the young man on the sofa.
"I think our questions for you can wait til morning, Ms. Carlson," Stabler said, directing a reassuring smile at her. "Don't worry. We don't intend to do anything to harm him. We just want to talk, hear his version of what happened."
"Okay," the woman said, forcing a smile back at him. "For what it's worth, he's a good kid, Detective. One of the nicest I've met in all the time I've worked here. Always polite, gracious, very sweet. I can't believe he's involved in something like this."
The Dean escorted her out of the room as Benson and Stabler took the empty wing chairs and pulled them closer to the sofa. Dr. Cantrell started to drag one of the guest chairs from in front of the Dean's desk, but Stabler took it from her, moving it closer to the sofa, but not as close as the detectives' chairs. David would have the reassurance of seeing that she was there, but it would be clear she was an observer, not a participant, in their discussion.
"David," Benson said softly, leaning over to gently shake the young man's arm. His eyes fluttered open for a moment, then closed again, so she repeated his name and the movement a little more forcefully.
Slowly the man's eyes blinked open. A brilliant blue slightly cloudy with sleep, they peered at Benson in confusion then turned to Stabler. He stared intently at the detective for a moment, then a soft, tentative smile crossed his lips. "Kristian, is it really you? You finally came back."
Benson and Stabler exchanged perplexed glances before Stabler leaned forward slightly to give the confused young man a reassuring smile. "David, my name isn't Kristian, it's Elliott. Elliott Stabler. I'm a police detective from the Special Victims Unit. This is my partner, Olivia Benson. We need to talk to you about the party, the party on the video."
The smile faded from Gallagher's face and fear filled his crystal blue eyes, turning them dark and haunted. "I . . . I don't remember the party. I don't remember anything about it," he stammered, struggling to sit up as he clutched the blanket against him.
"It's all right, David," Benson said in a gentle, comforting tone. "You're not in any trouble. Nothing is going to happen to you. We just want to know what happened."
But Gallagher only huddled deeper into the corner of the sofa, appearing more like a terrified child than a man, as he pulled his legs up against him and clutched the blanket tighter around him. He stared at Benson with undisguised terror, then turned his fear-filled gaze back to Stabler. After several moments of meeting Stabler's steady, reassuring gaze, his body relaxed slightly, but his eyes remained wary.
"It's okay if you don't remember the party itself, David," Stabler said, keeping his voice calm and even. "Do you remember anything that happened earlier that day? It was last Friday."
The boy kept his gaze locked on Stabler's face as he responded hesitantly, "I went to class during the day. I had a couple of papers I needed to work on, so I was going to go to the library that night."
"But you didn't," Stabler prodded gently. "Why not?"
"Justin . . . Justin asked me if I wanted to go to a party, but I told him I had to study and work on the papers."
"Justin's your boyfriend?"
Gallagher looked at him uncomprehendingly. "My . . . my boyfriend? No. He's just a friend from class. We're in the same classics class. Sometimes we talk or hang out with some of the others after class, but nothing like that."
The detectives exchanged startled glances before Stabler continued, "So Justin asked you to go to the party, but you said you had too much work to do."
"Yeah. He laughed and said I work way too hard, that I need to relax more. Then he said if I didn't want to go to the party, I should at least take a break and come over to his room for a little while. He reminded me about some pictures and some fragments he'd been allowed to take from a dig he was on in Mexico last year that he wanted to show me. He'd talked about them before and I really wanted to see them, so I said okay. I'd been spending a lot of time studying so I figured it wouldn't hurt to take a little break."
The young man went silent and looked down in embarrassment. Finally, Stabler pressed carefully, "What happened when you went to his room?"
"He . . . he lives in this big house a couple blocks from campus with a bunch of other guys, so we walked over there. While we were walking, he talked about the dig and all the cool stuff they found. I haven't been on a dig yet myself, so I wanted to hear all about it. When we got to the house, the other guys were still setting up the downstairs for the party, so Justin went down for a minute to say hi and grab us some beers.
"I wasn't planning on drinking because I had so much work to do, but Justin said one wouldn't hurt me and I'd walk it off on the way back to my room anyway. So I started drinking it. When we got to his room, he went right to the closet to get the stuff he wanted to show me. I started feeling really funny, so I sat down on the bed. I told him I didn't feel so good and I might be getting sick so I should probably go home. He told me to lay down on his bed for a little while and if I didn't feel better, he'd get somebody to drive me home. Everything is fuzzy after that. If I really concentrate there are flashes, like when they use those strobe lights at parties, but nothing concrete."
"What's the next thing you do remember?" Stabler prodded.
"I woke up and saw it was morning. I looked around and realized I was still in Justin's room. In his bed. He was asleep next to me. He . . . his arm was laying across my stomach. I got really freaked that I couldn't remember how we'd gotten there like that or what else had happened. I saw my clothes on the floor, so I slipped out of bed, got dressed and left without waking Justin up. I just wanted to get out of there and get back to my own room til I could figure out what had happened."
"David, were you totally naked when you woke up?"
The boy, and he really did look more like a boy now, Stabler thought, looked at him with frightened, beseeching eyes, as though begging not to have to answer the question. At Stabler's continued steady gaze, he finally broke down and murmured, "Yes."
"Was Justin naked too?"
The boy's face totally drained of color and he pulled the blanket tighter against him as he whispered, "Yes."
"When you woke up did any part of your body hurt?" Stabler asked the question as delicately as he could, as though he really were speaking to a child.
The boy looked up at him again with those haunted blue eyes and simply nodded.
"Where did it hurt?"
A tear slid down the boy's face and he started to rock back and forth. "Please, I don't want to talk about this any more. Please don't make me." His voice had gone small and childlike. "Please can I go home now? I don't want to stay here any more."
"I think that's enough for now, Detective," Dr. Cantrell said sternly, as she moved quickly from her chair to comfort the distraught young man. "It's all right, David," she soothed. It's Dr. Cantrell. Everything is going to be all right."
"He needs to go to the hospital," Benson broke in firmly. "It's too late for a rape kit, but he needs to be examined for internal injuries and tested for STDs. And I think you're right that he shouldn't be alone tonight," she added giving the counselor a meaningful look.
David looked up at them, his eyes wide and beseeching. "Please don't make me go again, Kristian," he whimpered looking at Stabler. "I don't want to go. I want to stay with you."
Stabler turned to Cantrell in time to see the shocked look that crossed her face. "Who's Kristian? Why does he keep calling me that?" he asked.
"I'll explain later," the woman replied in a shaky voice as she motioned him to follow her a few steps away. When they'd reached a safe distance, she continued in a hushed voice, "For now, just tell him he needs to go and that you're going with him. As long as he thinks you're Kristian, he'll do whatever you ask. I need to call his psychiatrist and ask her to meet us at the hospital."
Stabler frowned, but turned back to the boy, who was still staring at him with huge, fear-filled eyes, and said in a calm but firm tone, "David, we have to go to the hospital now. It's okay. Olivia and I are going to go with you. We'll be there with you the whole time. You're not going to be alone. Okay?"
"You promise you'll stay," the boy whispered unsteadily.
"I promise."