Chapter 11

Two years later…

"I can't take the medicine."

"Mitchel, please-"

"I can't! It won't work! The voices will never go away!"

"Mitchel," I sooth, placing hand on the frantic young man's hand. "It's okay. They'll go away, I promise."

"How do you know they'll go away?" he demands. "How?"

I look around, as if looking to see if anyone is watching. Then, I lean in real close to his face.

"Can you keep a secret?" I ask. "It's a really big one. I can't let anyone else know."

Mitchel hesitates, then nods. He now seems eager to hear what I have to tell him.

"Tell me,'" he persists.

"I used to hear voices too," I told him in a hushed whisper. He looks at me for a second, as if trying to figure out whether I am lying to him or not. He looks at me, trying to read my expression. "I'm not lying," I assure him. "I swear it's the truth."

That seems to reassure him, and he leans in to me.

"Who would talk to you?" he asks, now very interested. "I mean, who was it that spoke to you?"

I grin and watch his face.

"Death used to talk to me," I told him in a hushed voice. His eyes widen, and I continue. "He used to tell me that I was useless, and that I was making everyone around me miserable. He would tell me to kill myself, to just get it over with. He wanted me to go with him, and I wanted him to stop talking to me. But I couldn't make the voices go away, as hard as I tried. I did everything, Mitchel, but nothing worked."

"Did you try…" Mitchel pulls up his sleeve nervously, showing me his few cuts on his wrists. Some are old, and some are new; recent marks. "Did you ever do this?"

I smile and pull up my own sleeve, showing him my own marks. There are far more on my wrists than his, and I guess he is in his early stages of the pain. My scars, however, are all faded and scarred over now.. I haven't cut myself in two years, can you believe it? I hold out my wrist for him, and he takes it into his own hand. He traces the scars with his fingers, in the way that I used to. I can see the pain behind his eyes; the silent battle that he in enduring. A silent connection is made between us in that moment. We are two of the same. Fighters. We know the pain of what hides behind the walls of our minds. And just like that, we are connected by that bond. We are not alone anymore.

"What is this one from?" He points to the deepest scar, the one from the bullet.

"That," I answer, "is from my brush with Death. I think he caused that, so I would have to go with him."

"How?" Mitchel asks, looking frightened.

I tell him the story, and I can sense the understanding in his gaze as he listens to me describe the pain I was feeling the day of the shooting. He doesn't tell me so, but I know he gets it. I can see it in his eyes.

"Wow," he announces when I am finished. "How did you get through it?"

"I took the medicine that the doctors gave me," I told him. "I took the antidepressants; I went to the therapy groups… and after a while… he stopped talking to me. Just like that, he wasn't taunting me anymore."

"How did it feel?" he asks me. I know he wants an honest answer.

"Liberating," I reply. "Like I was finally free. And in a way, I was. I never had that pain again; I never had to go through it again. I'm living my life fully now. And it feels great."

"I wish I was like you, Detective Benson," Mitchel tells me, breaking eye contact and staring at the floor. "You're so brave for doing that… I… I don't know if I'm ready for that."

"Do you want it to stop?" I ask him. He looks at me and nods. "Then you're ready."

"Okay," he nods. He looks more confident now, and I can see a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I'll take the medicine."

"Okay," he nods. He looks more confident now, and I can see a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I'll take the medicine."

"Thank you, Mitchel," I smile, sighing with relief.

"No, Detective Benson," he grins. "Thank you."

After I talked to Mitchel, he took his medication. He was our star witness in our trial, and we won the case. He still continues to make progress to this day. I was able to help him out of the rut he was digging himself into, and some days I call him to see how he's doing. My job has improved as well, because I can identify with a lot more of the victims now. Elliot and I are to be married in July, and, thanks to Cragen pulling some major strings with IAB, we still remain partners. Elliot and I plan on a beach wedding, along the East Coast. Down on the water in North Carolina, where most of his family now lives. We want to have kids. We want to grow old together. And I can't help but think that this was the life I almost threw away. I could have thrown a marriage, children, and a life, all for nothing. And despite the medication, I still do hear Death from time to time. He still tries to get me, but I can push him away now. After a long time, however, he finally stops. Because I have won.

And one day, when Elliot and I grow old, we will go together into the Great Devine. Death and I will reunite as old friends; as equals. I will have lived a happy life, and I will have thanked my God for giving me the friends He did.

Well I guess that's my story! I mean, I could probably tell you the rest, but I don't think you'd find it interesting. Not as interesting as what I told you, anyway. I hoped you enjoyed, or it at least kept you entertained. I know it left me with a lot to think about. Elliot and I also want to thank you for wanting to make this into a novel, Julie! I was thrilled when you told me that you wanted others to know my story. Somber Beauty by Julie Harrison! I'll look for it soon on the shelves at the local Borders! We hope to see you soon, take care!

Best Wishes,

Olivia Benson (Soon to be Stabler)

Notes: I'm planning on doing a postscript, so keep your eyes open. :) Thanks for reading and please don't forget to review!