Disclaimer: I do not own Law and Order: SVU. It belongs to a genius named Dick Wolf. No profit is being made from this story.
Olivia sprinted through the hallway, her heart thudding in her ears, as his screams worsened. She bolted into the living room with her gun aimed, thinking Elliot was being hurt. Seeing him unharmed, she sagged with relief and dropped her gun.
He was twisting around on the couch, screaming and whimpering in terror. Olivia was momentarily frozen in horror at what she was seeing. When he cried out her name, she snapped out of it. Striding across the room, she flipped on the lamp and went to the couch. Leaning down, she gripped his shoulders, stilling his movements.
"Stop, please!" he screamed. "Get away from me!"
"Elliot," she said loudly. "Honey, wake up." She shook him a few times and he suddenly stilled. His eyes snapped open, wide with terror. Olivia leaned down quickly and pulled him up into a tight hug. He whimpered and pressed himself against her, tears pouring down his face. "It's ok, Elliot," she soothed, tenderly rubbing his back. "I've got you, baby."
It took a minute for him to stop trembling. "Don't go," he whispered tearfully. "Please stay here."
"Of course, honey," she said, running a hand through his hair. "I'll stay right here."
He relaxed at her words and drew back a little. She looked into his face. It streamed tears, and his eyes were terrified. Her heart ached. "Did you have a bad dream?" she asked softly.
He nodded, looking down. She took his hand in hers and rubbed his knuckles. "Do you want to tell me about it?" she continued gently.
Elliot shook his head and quickly pressed his face against her neck as the horrible images unwittingly flashed in his brain again. She heard him whimper, tears bubbling in his throat. "Shh…" she said softly, hugging him again. "It's alright. It's alright."
She stroked his hair and rocked him gently. He rested his face on her neck and sniffled sleepily. Olivia tenderly rubbed his back until he fell asleep again. Sighing softly, she leaned back against the cushions, absently keeping up the motion. At least one of them would be sleeping tonight.
Rain was pounding ruthlessly against the roof of the 1-6, but the atmosphere inside was so disciplined that no one even seemed to hear it. Cragen surveyed the large group before him. "Everyone knows what you're doing?" he asked one last time. Nods all around satisfied him. "Alright, then," he declared. "Let's do this."
It was barely 8 am, and traffic in Manhattan was not kind as the dozens of squad cars formed a caravan and left the precinct. Pedestrians stopped and gawked at the sight. One car turned on the flashing lights. Cragen snatched up his radio. "Hey, hey!" he barked. "Lose the siren, Cowboy."
"Sorry, sir," came the sheepish reply of the officer. Munch, sitting in the passenger seat, grinned. The captain shook his head and remained parked next to the curb, watching the cars split up in two directions. When they were out of sight, he turned toward Munch and met Fin's eyes in the backseat. "Well, they're ready," he said grimly. "Are we?"
Neither man gave him an answer, but he could almost read what they were thinking. We haven't been ready since the first day. Shifting the car into park, Don pulled away and headed for the highway.
Angry honks and curses filtered through the mob of cars sitting on the exit ramp, but the officers tuned them out. They waved cars to the side, stopping each station wagon and Fed-Ex truck.
An hour of silence later, Cragen pulled the Crown Victoria off of Interstate 6 and parked on the shoulder. The three men hopped out and stretched their legs. "Alright, you guys," Cragen said, yelling to be heard over the downpour. "This isn't the exact spot; we'll just have to search the woods for the cabin." Munch led the way as they trudged into the trees, wiping his wet glasses with one hand.
They picked their way through the damp forest for over an hour before they saw the crime scene tape ahead. New determination set in their features and they picked up the pace.
"Watch it," Cragen cautioned as they went down the cellar steps. The ground was slick with rainwater. Munch and Fin followed him warily through the narrow passageway. Coming back there conjured up every emotion that each man had been trying so hard to lock away from memory. The fear….the helplessness….the apprehension….every thought of when Elliot went missing came back to slap them in the face the further they went.
"This is it." Fin's soft voice stopped them, and they realized that a sewer was in front of them. He stooped down and lifted the lid. It creaked loudly with rust and age, and Cragen shined his flashlight down to estimate the distance to the ground.
"Looks about six, maybe eight feet down," he predicted, looking back at them. He looked at them squarely. "You guys up for that?"
They watched in surprise when Fin stooped and jumped down without a word. Munch looked at the captain in amusement. "Answers that question," he said, and they followed suit.
Olivia fell into an uncomfortable sleep around dawn and didn't budge for hours. The noise of the rain pounding the fire escape woke her at 10 am. Momentarily, she forgot where she was and stretched widely, jumping when her hand connected with something soft.
"Ow," Elliot mumbled sleepily, easing his eyes open.
Her mouth fell open in embarrassment. "Oh, shit," she groaned. "I'm sorry, Elliot." She reached down and stroked his cheek where she had accidentally clobbered him. Shifting herself out from under him, she got to her feet. Elliot leaned against the spot she had just vacated and yawned as he slowly started to wake up as well.
His eyes suddenly flew open wide when he heard her footsteps fading away. "Olivia!" He tried to sit up quickly and ended up falling against the cushion.
The panic in his voice made her stop and whip around halfway into the kitchen. "What's wrong?" she asked, concerned. He looked scared to death.
"Don't leave." His eyes took on a pleading look that sent shards of pain through her. "Please stay here."
She came back to the couch and sat next to him, wordlessly pulling him into a warm hug. She pulled away after a few minutes and stroked his face. "Elliot," she said gently. "I'm not going to leave you, sweetheart. I promise you; I would never leave you."
He looked at her silently, and she gently brushed away a tear threatening to escape from his eye. "I'm just going into the kitchen," she continued, using the soothing voice that she had perfected over the years from working with child victims. "You can see me from here. Ok? I'm not going anywhere."
He bit his lip as she gave his face one last stroke and kissed his cheek before getting up again. His eyes followed her as she went into the kitchen, but true to her word, she remained in his sight the entire time. He felt himself relax.
Olivia felt herself trembling as she started the coffeepot. She wondered what in God's name had happened to Elliot to make him too scared to even sit in a room by himself. Her stomach turned. Do I even want to know?
Fin had to fight the tears when he saw the leather straps on the wall. He hadn't seen much when he went down to rescue Elliot, and certainly wasn't expecting this. The straps looked to be about seven feet off the ground. His mind supplied him with an image of his friend with his arms hanging from the straps and his wrists being crushed by the rough leather. No wonder he freaked out at the hospital, he thought bitterly, looking at the other two across the room.
Munch lost the battle. He broke down and cried silently, his shoulders shaking, and turned his flashlight away from the scene before him. Blood was splattered all over the walls and floor, with pieces of flesh and bone mixed in. He knew without asking that all of it belonged to Elliot. He was infuriated and heartbroken at the thought of the torture his friend had been subjected to. This bastard went too far, he growled silently. He messed with the wrong guy this time.
"Guys," Cragen said, drawing the attention of the other two. He shined his flashlight beam and illuminated their figures. "I'm going back up. I'll look around to see if there's anything else we missed." They nodded. Don fingered the rope ladder and pulled it down, testing it's stability before climbing up. He took his flashlight back out of his pocket when he reached the top and shined it in front of him carefully.
A wall plastered with pieces of paper caught his attention, and he walked over to it. The flashlight illuminated newspaper clippings headlining "The Butcher", as well as gruesome photographs. Cragen was absolutely appalled- there were hundreds of them. Some looked very old. Leaning closer, he read one of the dates-January 12, 1977.
He continued down the wall, Cragen found himself looking at photos of Elliot. There were at least thirty of them. He studied each one. Some of them featured the other three detectives, but the focus of the cameraman always focused on Elliot. His jaw dropped suddenly when he recognized the inside of the precinct. Dear God…he was at the station! The thought sent white hot anger through his nerves, but it was quickly replaced by shock at the next set of photos.
The man had been watching Elliot in his own home. The pictures seemed to be in sequence- just inside his apartment, closing the door, looking at mail, loosening his tie. He let out a surprised gasp when he saw the next few, and averted his eyes in shame. The man had photographed Elliot stripping and climbing into his bed. Don clenched his fists and forced himself to move away from the wall.
The other two came up to join him, and their reactions at seeing the wall matched his.
"You guys!"
Munch tore his eyes away, alerted by the panicked note in the captain's voice. Fin looked at him, surprised as well, and they both hurried over to him. He was standing in front of an old wooden desk, staring at a small paper hanging from one of the shelves.
"What is it?" Leaning closer, Munch saw that it was a Post-it note with the words ELLIOT STABLER written on it in bold letters. Underneath the words was an address.
Fin swore. "The bastard knows Elliot's address. He knows his god damn address!"
Cragen turned slowly to look at them, and the two men suddenly realized that he looked extremely pale.
"What's wrong?" Munch asked.
The captain had to fight to speak past the lump in his throat. "That's not Elliot's address," he croaked out.
He took a shuddering breath. "It's Olivia's."
