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.
Author's Note: Happy Independence Day! God Bless America and have some homemade potato salad for me since I have to go to work today.
A strangled moan elicited from the figure sprawled limply against the side of the couch, catching the black man's attention. Turning away from the television, he glanced over across the room.
He had been out for over an hour now, but he looked to be coming around. Setting down the remote, the black man climbed from the rocking chair and walked over.
"What are you doin'?" Jed said crossly from his spot on the carpet. He was sprawled in front of the TV comfortably. The black man ignored him and he rolled his eyes.
The young black woman bounced her baby on her knees and looked over as well. She cooed to the child with a smile when the baby gurgled, blowing a raspberry on her stomach. She glanced over again.
Elliot's eyes began fluttering. The black man bent down and reached behind him, pushing him forward a little ways so he could untie the knot binding his hands and feet together. He slipped his feet free and gently folded his legs out in front of his body before going back and tightening the rope around his hands.
The black man waited while Elliot slowly came back to consciousness. He groaned immediately, stiff and sore, and he watched him try to stretch. The blue eyes immediately flew wide when he realized that he couldn't breathe or move and he began thrashing wildly.
Hands reached out to hold him still and he fought them even more, terrified whimpers coming from his mouth.
Where am I…what's happening? Someone help! Please!
The words weren't coming out. Why weren't they coming out?
The black man continued to wait patiently while the man's panicked spasm played itself out. He leaned forward and spoke deeply.
"Stop fighting. You'll only hurt yourself...stop fighting."
He jumped at the unfamiliar voice, his panic rising again. Ignoring the advice, he squirmed and kicked as hard as he could. Rolling his eyes, the man held him firmly against the couch with a strong grip and continued to wait.
Rapid gasps and whimpers began coming out when Elliot realized that he couldn't get free. He soon grew too tired to keep it up, and finally stilled, breathing hard.
The man relaxed his grip once his captive stopped moving and stared down into his face. He was trembling as he looked up at him.
Tears filled his eyes as Elliot remembered all that was happening. He stared up at the black man who was silent, feeling the tape pressing hard against his mouth.
It hadn't been a nightmare. He wasn't home in his bed…this was actually happening.
The sound of choked whimpering began filling the room as the bound man began crying pathetically. He gasped and shook with the force of each sob that racked his body, his arms quivering with his fear.
"Alright, alright." An angry female voice invaded the room then. "Back up, Todd…give him some space, why don't you?"
The black man scowled, but did as he was told. The older woman fixed him with an angry glare as she set the iron down and walked over to where they were.
"Why don't you get him a room?" Jed said sarcastically.
Her head whipped around with lightening speed. "You shut your mouth, Jedson," she said threateningly. "I'll tan your hide, young man."
Jed smirked, turning back to the television program with disinterest.
"Is he still bleeding?" the younger black woman asked in concern from her spot on the loveseat. She set the baby gently down on a blanket.
"I said move, Todd," the older woman snapped, shoving the black man's arm. He scoffed and stood up, walking back to his rocking chair.
The old white woman leaned down in front of him, her brown eyes soft and sympathetic. She made a disappointed clucking noise with her tongue as she looked the man over. The poor thing was terrified. He was shaking so badly that he was almost coming off the floor.
"Go get him a glass of water," she snapped to Jed.
He looked at her incredulously. "Huh?" he said. "Are you kiddin' me?"
She fixed him with a hard stare and growled, "Jedson William…go, young man!"
Scoffing, Jed rose slowly from his position and trudged into the kitchen, grumbling under his breath.
Turning back to the man in front of her, Millie reached out and fingered the tape on his mouth. "That must be very uncomfortable," she said, her voice kind and soothing. She looked at him. "Would you like me to take it off?"
He gasped loudly in the middle of a sob, looking at her in disbelief and fear. She looked at him squarely. "Now, I can only take it off if you promise not to scream," she said. "Will you promise?"
Her voice was so kind and soothing. He sobbed brokenly, gulping, and nodded hesitantly.
She gently poked her fingers under the tape and began slowly peeling it away. The man's tears fell onto her hands.
After a minute, she loosened it and slid it off of his mouth. She smoothed her hands over his lips gently. "There you go," she said sympathetically, looking at him kindly. His eyes were such an awesome blue…she had never seen anything like them before.
His face was crumpled and splotchy, his nose red and eyes puffy. Tears continued to stream down his face as he sobbed without being able to help it. "Please," he begged. "Let me go…please let me go." He sobbed again. "Please…I want to go home."
Jed appeared with the glass and handed it to her. She brought it up to his mouth. "Drink some water," she soothed. "Here."
She brought the glass up to his lips, prodding them apart. He sobbed into the water as she gently forced him to drink.
"There you go," she soothed. "That's it."
He swallowed the water greedily, his throat as dry as a bone. He sniffled and gulped, his sobs easing a fraction.
She tilted the glass all the way up so that he could drain the last drops and smiled. "That's better, huh?" she said gently. She set the glass aside as he licked his lips, swallowing.
His face immediately twisted desperately again. "I want to go home," he sobbed. "Please, I promise I won't say anything to anyone…please, I just want to go home."
He couldn't believe his own ears. He was begging. Elliot Stabler, the man who made his living intimidating criminals, was reduced to begging.
Her face suddenly hardened as she firmly pressed her hands against his mouth, silencing his cries. "Hush," she said in irritation. He stilled, and she took her hands away.
"HELP ME!" he screamed. "SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!"
The black man came over again and Jed got up as well. They yanked him to his feet and the black man began putting him over his shoulder again. He carried him out of the room, screaming and fighting all the way.
"Bastards!" he screamed, thrashing wildly. "You're going to rot in hell! Mother fucking bastards!"
They ignored him, continuing down the hallway. Jed opened a door. The black man hurled him into the dark room hard, stepping back and swinging the door shut. Jed snapped the padlock in place.
Elliot cried out as he flew hard down a set of stairs, yelping when he slammed into a wall and continued tumbling backwards.
He hit stone floor and backed up quickly, breathing hard. Pain suddenly shot through his right hand when he pressed his weight against it, and he dimly realized that his wrist was most likely broken.
A small light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a dim glow over the room. Elliot scooted back against the nearest wall, bracing himself on it so that he could stand. He looked around. It appeared to be a basement.
He took a couple of deep breaths with his eyes closed, forcing himself to get control. He had to calm down or else he would never be able to think clearly. Getting out of here depended on him.
Slowly opening his eyes, he looked around once more. First and foremost, he had to untie his hands somehow.
His trained eye began scanning the room for any kind of object that might work. He slowly began making his way around.
A workbench on the other side made his eyes light up. Workbench….tools. There had to be some kind of tool he could use.
Hurrying over, he scanned the flat countertop. The only thing on it was a large radio that looked to be in the middle of being repaired. Biting his lip in thought, he stooped down and looked underneath.
A tool box sat to the left side, with four drawers that looked to slide out. Sticking his foot in the lowest one, he slid it out toward him and examined the inside.
Nails and thumbtacks. Too small; he would never be able to hold those things behind his back long enough to work through rope. He lifted his foot higher and tried the next drawer. Nuts and bolts.
The next drawer was too high for his foot to reach. Stooping, he brought his knee up and tried to wedge it into the drawer. It took three tries before he was able to slide it out.
He examined the mess of miscellaneous scrap pieces, his heart racing when he spotted a piece of metal with a jagged edge. He lowered himself down and turned around, awkwardly grabbing inside with his bound hands and trying to turn his head enough to see what he was doing.
He finally closed his fingers around it and carefully lifted it out, praying that he wouldn't drop it. Backing away from the workbench, he tightened his grip on the metal and began trying to position it so that he could work it under the ropes.
A slicing pain in his left hand made him hiss as he inadvertently jammed the instrument into his flesh. He kept going, wriggling his hands around as much as he could until he was able to grab the end with his right hand and hold it.
Grunting with the effort, he felt around behind him, blindly probing for the ropes. Another sharp pain and he gasped out loud, slicing his own hand again.
He ended up slicing himself four more times before he finally maneuvered the sharp edge under the rope on his left hand and began painstakingly sawing. He realized too late that each sawing motion that he completed sent the instrument straight down into his knuckles, tearing them open.
Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to ignore it and kept going. Sweat broke out onto his forehead from desperation and anxiousness as he strained, grunting in pain.
After what seemed like an eternity, he was able to wriggle the ropes apart. He pulled hard and his hands flew around to the front of his body.
He dropped the metal, his chest heaving with exhaustion, and brought his hands up to his face. He winced at the sight of them. Both wrists were purple and puffy, his palms and knuckles cut and bleeding. The rope still remained wrapped tightly around his wrists, but he didn't care. He was finally able to move.
The first thing he did was reach up to inspect his face. He remembered being slammed in the face with one of the flashlights, but hadn't really felt that much pain until he had woken up inside the house. He guessed that they had hit him with something to knock him out.
His fingers gingerly felt his nose first. It was swollen and caked with dried blood. Continuing down, he felt around his mouth and was horrified when he encountered a tooth hanging loosely. Pain shot through him when he touched it and he pulled his hand back, finding blood all over it.
Wincing, he moved up to his head. Judging by the headache that was pounding his temples, it was a pretty safe bet that he had been hit by something hard. Gently fingering through his hair, he brushed over a huge knot and yelped immediately as fire cascaded through his head.
Coming to the side of his head, he encountered another painful lump. His forehead had a large gash that was still bleeding lightly, and he fingered a cut by his left eye.
Blowing through his cheeks, he walked around to the other side, praying to find a window of some sort.
He stepped around a pile of cardboard boxes and suddenly stopped dead. The sight in front of him froze him in his tracks His eyes widened in horror but he couldn't speak.
The rain continued to pound over Manhattan. Olivia startled awake at the sound of it slapping against the fire escape and glanced toward the window. She could see it pounding against her window.
It hadn't stopped all day. Lord, it was like a monsoon or something. Blearily looking at the clock, she saw that it was now 1:30.
She snuggled back into her pillow and fell asleep again.
He stood frozen, unable to look away from the horrible sight.
A girl was lying on the cement floor. Her brown hair was splayed across the floor, caked with dust and dirt. Her face was covered in it as well.
Her arms and legs were stretched across the ground in spread-eagle fashion. Large metal spikes were driven through each of her hands in the center of her palms, fastening her to the floor. Another was shoved through her ribcage, blood soaking her shirt all the way down to the tops of her jeans.
He shook involuntarily, feeling like he was going to puke. The girl attempted to lift her head. Blood smeared her mouth and oozed from her lips.
The blood rushed from his face and he felt his knees give. He stumbled to the floor before he could brace himself.
Struggling to get back up, he hurried over to her. He looked her over in horror, his hands shaking.
She whimpered as he came closer. He still couldn't speak. Tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at the large metal spike holding her to the center of the floor. He could see pieces of her ribs sticking clean out through her shirt.
When she began to cry softly, he shook himself quickly. Coming around beside her head, he got down beside her. Her green eyes were terrified as she stared into his blue ones.
"Please," she croaked. "Don't hurt me…don't hurt me."
His instincts took over as he gently pressed both hands to the side of her face, stroking her hair to comfort her.
"I'm not going to hurt you, sweetheart," he said weakly. "I promise…I promise I'm not going to hurt you."
She stared up at him wide-eyed, but felt herself instinctively beginning to relax at his gentle touch. She didn't know why. Maybe it was the fear that she saw in his eyes, or the way his hands shook on her face…whatever it was, she somehow knew that he wasn't a threat.
It was then that she got a good look at the man. She noticed for the first time that his face was a bloody mess and that his clothes were torn. He was trembling and seemed to not even be aware of it. The look of terror that seemed to be fixed in his features struck a chord in her and her eyes widened with the sudden realization.
This man was in the same situation that she was.
He saw the girl beginning to relax a little and continued to stroke her hair. "My name is Elliot," he said softly. "What's your name?"
She groaned in pain and he nearly lost it. He had to fight to keep his composure as she writhed around in total agony. Taking a shuddering breath, he looked her over and decided to try and free her hands.
The girl opened her eyes, tears streaming down her face. She was startled to see tears coming down the man's face as well.
"I have a daughter around your age," he said softly, beginning to scoot a little ways away from her head. "Her name is Maureen. She goes to NYU." He kept talking to her as he looked for a way to begin. "Do you go to school anywhere?"
She gulped. "Stan-Stanford," she whispered. A sudden pain ripped through her body and she shuddered violently, her face white.
Elliot's eyes widened when he saw this. "How long have you been here?" he asked gently.
"I-I don't know," she said, beginning to sob. "I st-stopped at the gas station for directions and…they…they…." She stopped talking, groaning again.
His stomach plummeted and he nearly puked. Just like me…they got her just like they got me.
Taking a deep breath, he cupped her face again. "Alright, honey," he said nervously. "I'm going to try to get your hands free. Just relax, ok? It's going to be alright."
She moaned weakly. "No," she croaked, but he didn't hear her.
He got next to her left hand. He winced and shuddered involuntarily as he gingerly gripped the metal spike.
He barely moved it and she screamed out so loudly that he jumped.
"Stop, stop!" she screamed. "Please don't…please stop!" She whimpered and sobbed in pain.
His hands trembled. Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to grip it again. He had to save this poor child.
Her agonized scream was too much. He dropped his hand halfway through pulling and sobbed.
"I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm sorry." He shook so hard that he nearly fell over.
The girl whimpered in pain, her body quivering.
Elliot took a deep breath and moved over to her stomach. The metal spike was wedged down between her rib cage and belly button. Leaning over to try and get a look at where it started, he suddenly saw her intestine.
His body heaved and he fell to the side, vomiting violently.
She heard the man being sick and knew he had been trying to see how to free her middle. She sobbed in despair and agony.
He groaned and shuddered over and over, unable to stop the vomiting. He threw up four times before he could get enough control to take a deep breath and calm down.
He shook hard as he shakily raised himself back up and forced himself to get back to it. Looking around her middle, he gingerly began lifting the spike.
She screamed immediately, her entire body convulsing. It took him a split second to see what was happening and he dropped his hand in horror, but the damage had already been done. Tears began streaming down his face uncontrollably.
The spike had torn open her entire stomach. The large piece of metal was wedged through her ribcage and heart and was now resting against her spleen. He could see her insides straining as she fought for every breath.
Her mouth bubbled with blood and she coughed, choking violently. Panicking, Elliot gripped it hard and pulled upward, grunting desperately. Her screams echoed around the basement. His hands shook so hard that he had to lean forward and press his body against them to keep them steady.
Tears streamed down his face as he struggled to remove the humongous piece of metal. Help me, God…dear Jesus help me save this child.
"Please!" she howled painfully. A guttural sounding scream came up from her throat that made the hairs on his neck stand up. "Please stop!"
Elliot strained hard. "I'm going to get you out of here," he gasped tearfully. "I promise."
The girl arched upward as much as her body would allow and screamed louder than ever. His hand slipped and in the next second he heard the sound of bones breaking loudly.
"Jesus, oh Jesus," he gasped, scrambling to see her face. Her eyes were wide and she was shaking. Whimpers began coming from her mouth and blood oozed between her teeth.
Then she suddenly stilled. Her face was pasty white as her head fell back against the concrete floor. Her middle had stopped moving.
She was dead. His attempt to help had actually made it worse….he had killed her.
He screamed in agony, collapsing on top of her. Her blood soaked his hands and face as he lay quivering, sobbing so hard that he almost passed out.
He began to shake hard. Struggling to his feet, he began walking in a slow daze across the basement. He gasped in breaths, starting to hyperventilate.
He came around to the stairs again and heard a crunching noise on the ground. Looking down, he saw his cell phone lying on the ground. It must have fallen from his pocket when he tumbled down.
His chest heaved as he swooped down to pick it up, frantically flipping it open. The face plate was blurred because of his tears.
Sobbing, he prayed hard and waited for it to light up. The low battery signal flashed instantly. He quickly pressed the number three and continued to pray. The sound of the call dialing made him cry out in relief.
Suddenly, he heard the door open above him. He froze. Footsteps began descending down the stairs.
Don started out of sleep again and looked at the clock blearily. 3:45. He looked around in confusion and suddenly heard his cell phone ringing from down the hall.
Stumbling out of bed, he ambled wearily down the hall, feeling like he was under water. Hell, maybe he was dreaming.
The phone kept ringing. He flipped on the kitchen light, wincing at the painful brightness. His striped tiger cat, Tigger, looked down at him from her perch on top of the refrigerator and immediately jumped down, hoping to be fed.
Pushing her gently aside when she rubbed against his ankle, he stumbled toward the insistent ringing. Who the hell would be calling his cell phone at this hour? Dispatch always called his house if something happened after midnight, but he hadn't gotten one of those in a while.
He swore. If someone was pranking him….heaven help the poor teenage kid who roused Donald Cragen from his sleep.
Reaching for the phone, he glanced at the caller ID as he opened it: Elliot Stabler
"What the hell…?" he grumbled angrily, slapping the phone open. Why in God's name would Elliot be calling him at three in the morning? If he was drunk…Don's teeth clenched at the thought. It wouldn't be the first time he had gotten a call from a bartender asking him to come pick up one of his detectives. "Hello?"
No answer. "Hello?" he repeated angrily. He clenched his teeth. "God damn it, Elliot…are you drunk? I swear to God, if you are…"
The voice of the captain came over the line. Elliot frantically covered the phone with his hand, praying that they hadn't heard it.
"Where are you, boy?" Jed called out.
Their footsteps began circling the basement, making his heart race. He was lying on his stomach under the workbench, praying that he wouldn't be seen. Swallowing hard, he lifted the phone to his lips. His hands were shaking.
Cragen sighed angrily when his third response got no answer. He was exhausted and in no mood. "God damn it," he seethed angrily. "Put the god damned bartended on the phone now, Detective."
"Help…help me," whispered a shaky voice.
Don froze in surprise that quickly turned to horror. "Elliot?" he asked. "Elliot, is that you?"
"Ple-please," he stuttered as quietly as he could. "You have to help me."
The captain's heart began to pound. He had never heard Elliot's voice sound like that before. All thoughts of anger fled his mind immediately. "Where are you, Elliot?" he asked quickly, hand coming up to search for his car keys.
The black man stepped in front of the workbench. Elliot sucked in his breath and covered the phone with his hand, ducking his head. Tears streamed down his face as he shook hard.
"You think you can hide from us?" he called out.
"Elliot!" Don asked urgently. "Where are you?"
He pressed his hand harder against the phone to muffle the noise. It began to beep, indicating that it was seconds away from dying.
The man circled around the area. Elliot brought the phone down against the floor.
Cragen could hear him sobbing on the other end, and it scared the shit out of him. These weren't normal sobs. They sounded scared to death. He snatched the keys and ran for the front door, barefoot and clad in a t-shirt and pajama pants.
"Tell me where you are, Elliot!" he said desperately. "You have to tell me where you are!"
More sobs filled the phone. The captain's heart almost leapt from his chest in despair.
Silence filled the basement. Elliot's heart leapt in his throat.
He looked around anxiously, unable to see. He inched out from under the workbench to have a better look.
A growl sounded and he was yanked upward by his hair. He yelped and dropped the phone.
Well…are we liking it? Please review on, it's Independence Day!
