Chapter Five: Corpse

16th Precinct

Manhattan SVU

6:36 P.M., March 15, 2006

"She's completed three more drawings," Huang said.

"Of what?" Elliot asked, sounding like a man asking how much time remained until his own execution.

"I don't know. They way she holds her sketchbook, I couldn't see." He looked at his friend and asked, "Are you all right?"

Elliot didn't nod or shake his head, he just said, "I'll manage." He watched Veronica, or whoever the hell she was, none of the women Fin had located by that name matched her description, for a moment, and then asked, "How should I handle this?"

George couldn't hide his surprise completely; Elliot didn't usually seek advice preferring instead to operate as if he was expected to figure everything out for himself. Still, since he'd been asked, the doctor only raised his eyebrows slightly as he offered a suggestion, "Play along with her. If she seems surprised and apologetic, forgive her. If she thinks it's funny, laugh with her. If she's threatening, act afraid and get the hell out of there. Someone else can go in and she'll probably want to gloat to them about it."

"Yeah, well, that last one won't be an act," Elliot muttered and moved to the door.

The half-joking comment spoke volumes to the psychiatrist. He was sure Elliot wasn't buying into her tricky, but the fact that he couldn't discount her as easily as some sideshow fortuneteller had left him shake and a little uncertain of his own interrogation skills.

As the detective was stepping out of the room, George said, "One other thing."

"What?"

"Don't be aggressive. If she wants to be in control the moment you try to take charge, she will probably shut down."

Elliot nodded. "Got it."

vvvvvvv

He entered the room warily and crossed to the chair he had been sitting in before. Turning it around to face the table properly this time, he pushed it in and leaned against it uneasily for a moment. Then he moved to stand in the corner with his back to the wall, putting as much distance as possible between Veronica and himself.

She stopped drawing long enough to give him a pitiful look and say, "I'm sorry about that. I don't know what came over me."

He shook his head and said offhandedly, "It's all right. I think you were just as surprised as I was."

She smiled, and he returned the smile. She went back to her artwork. He could almost hear Huang telling him to sit down across from her, but he wasn't sure he could do that yet.

"Has that ever happened to you before?"

She looked up, eyes wide open, giving him an innocent look. "No, never."

"No little sparks of intuition?" he asked. "No creepy feelings? You've never had a sense about someone before?"

"Not once, not like that," she said, focusing on her sketch again.

Elliot nodded and crossed the room with a confidence he did not feel but had learned to fake rather effectively. Pulling out the chair, he sat before her and said, "Then I guess I ought to take this seriously."

Veronica heaved an enormous sigh of relief. "Thank God!"

Leaning forward, acting as if he really was buying into her game, he asked, "So, what do you think is going to happen to me?"

"I don't know when or where it will happen, but if you leave this place tonight, you will die," she said sincerely, her face sad.

"You said earlier that you saw it, didn't you?"

She nodded, her face drawn into a pout.

"What did you see?"

Veronica stopped drawing, stared at him hard for a moment, frowning and chewing her lip. She looked about to cry. Finally, she picked up her portfolio and shuffled through the sketches inside it.

Elliot squirmed in his chair, feeling goose bumps rise on his arms.

Pulling one out of the stack, she held it close to her breast and said sincerely, "I'm sorry. I don't want to frighten you or upset you, but this is what I saw, as clearly as I see you sitting here now, and I just know this is what's going to happen if you don't stay here."

"May I see it?" Elliot asked gently.

She handed the drawing to him reluctantly, angled so Elliot could not see the picture. The paper twitched like it was alive in her trembling hand. With a sense of foreboding, Elliot took the page and turned it so he could see her sketch.

As Cragen and Huang watched Elliot began to tremble, his shoulders began to heave as he struggled for breath, and slowly, he turned to face them. His complexion had gone translucently pale and sweat was beaded on his forehead and upper lip. In his shaking hand, he held the picture for them to see.

It was a black and white sketch, but rendered in such minute detail that it didn't matter. Their minds automatically filled in the colors.

Elliot lay against a paneled wall, in the suit he was wearing even now. His corpse, for he was obviously dead, slumped over and twisted to the side at an awkward angle. His mouth was wide open in surprise, but his blue eyes lacked that spark of life and vitality that his friends found so familiar and inviting. His head rested on the floor in an irregular halo of what was obviously bright red blood.

"I'm sorry," Veronica said.

"I'm getting him out of there," Don grumbled.

"Wait," Huang told him. "He'll let us know if he needs to leave."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Veronica chanted. "It's what I saw. It's what I saw. I'm sorry."

Play along, Elliot told himself. You're supposed to be scared shitless, and you've got that nailed, but don't panic. Don't freak out. BREATHE DAMMIT!

He took a deep breath.

Ok, that's better. Now, don't get pissed. She's upset, too, make her feel better. Play along.

"It's . . . " His voice was a squeak. He cleared his throat and tried again. "It's ok, Veronica."

"I'm sorry."

She was tearful. He put the sketch on the table face down and on shaky legs moved over to the filing cabinet to get her the tissues. Coming back to kneel beside her, he held the box out to her. Reluctant to touch her after what had happened when they shook hands, he placed his hand carefully on the back of her chair instead.

"It's ok," he said. "It's not your fault. I appreciate your trying to warn me."

She sniffled and blew her nose, looked at him with a tearstained face, and asked, "You're not mad?"

He shook his head and moved back to his seat. "You're trying to keep me alive," he said. "Why would I be mad?"

"Earlier you thought I was trying to frighten you."

He nodded. "Yeah, because you did, but I've dealt with my share of phony psychics, and I gotta tell you, after thinking about it, I realized that no one could know all of those things you told me."

Veronica lowered her head and frowned thoughtfully. Looking up with surprisingly genuine compassion in her eyes, she said, "Kathy's still crazy about you, Elliot. You should talk to her when this is over. She's been worried about Kathleen, but she doesn't know what's wrong."

Elliot felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but he just leaned back casually in his chair and said, "If I make it through tonight, I'll keep that in mind."

Veronica frowned and picked up her pencil again. "You don't believe me."

"Oh, it's not that," Elliot explained, "but you say I'm going to die tonight, and if you know anything about my relationship with my wife over the past couple of years, you know I can only climb one mountain at a time."

Veronica looked up and laughed slightly at the analogy. With a smile, she told him, "Just talk to Kathy. It will be easier than you think."

Nodding thoughtfully, Elliot gestured to the bulging portfolio. "You've been drawing all evening, haven't you?"

"All day, really," she replied. "I woke up with you in my mind. It was only this afternoon that I knew I needed to see you."

"Are all the sketches of me?" he asked, trying to sound as if he was flattered.

"Not all of them," she said. "Some of them are of people I don't know, but I think they're all connected to you."

"Mind if I take a look? Maybe show them around to the people in the squad room?"

"What for?" she asked suspiciously.

Elliot shrugged as if it didn't really matter to him. "Well, you might not know what's happening in them, but my colleagues and I might recognize something. It could help me avoid getting killed."

She accepted his explanation and handed over the portfolio. "All right, but I don't know how much good they'll do. They're not very good."

Elliot raised his eyebrows in surprise, but she didn't even notice. She was too busy sketching.

As he shuffled through the drawings he felt his heart begin to pound and his flesh begin to crawl. He didn't realize he had stopped breathing until he had to gasp for breath. Then he started seeing red splotches, like drops of blood, across his vision.

"Excuse me," he gasped, and carrying the drawings with him, he got up and left the room.

Cragen and Huang met him in the hall.

"Elliot, what is it?"

He thrust the drawings into his captain's hands, shoved the doctor aside, and bolted for the men's room, one hand clamped securely across his mouth.