For what must have been the first time in my brief history with Elliot, I heeded his advice. I kept my trap shut, and my eyes open as he darted to and fro on the first floor, checking to see that each and every room was clear.

"Bedroom clear-that's the first floor." Elliot said in a low voice, probably more to himself than me. I felt pretty useless, standing there like an idiot in the kitchen, "You get downstairs, and I'll get upstairs."

"Great idea, Elliot." I said delicately. He missed the sarcasm, nodded, and vanished into the dark.

It was incredibly lightless in the house. I wanted to turn the lights on in the kitchen, but I couldn't find the switch. I wandered around, and to my joy I found it. As I flicked it on, light flooded the room, and I felt slightly less….i dunno…weirded out?

How in the world was I supposed to find the basement? I mean, OK, there has to be a stairwell somewhere! I pulled open a suspicious looking door, and was greeted by various brooms, and a terrible smell that I normally equated with something that has been rotting.

I decided not to investigate, even thought that's what I am sorta supposed to be doing…(My eyes were watering, so I wrote it off as, 'Unapproachable; and moved on)

I went around to the other side of the room, and this time more cautiously pulled open another door. This time there were indeed stairs. I gave myself a figurative pat on the back, and descended.

The temperature got considerably cooler. Once again, the room was bathed in darkness. I groped around on the side of the wall for a light, and managed to find one. Breathing a sigh of relief (Gee, I really am a wimp) I flicked it on.

I was disappointed. Only one small, weak light screwed into the ceiling would be my source of comfort. I turned my head from side to side, taking the room in. It was a comfortably furnished basement, with white carpeting, a large screen TV, and other oddities that you wouldn't normally see…like…was that a fertility statue?

"Gak." I muttered. I paced around the room slowly, assuming that there wasn't any one hiding any where. Then I decided to actually do my job. I pulled open a random door, and found that it led to a bathroom. There was nothing overly remarkable about that room, and I really hoped that Elliot would have found something to make up for my nothingness..

"Hey, what did you-"

"AHH!!!" I whipped around, pulling my six inch blade from it's sheath against my side, and found myself face to face with Elliot Stabler.

"Would you please relax?!" he said, grabbing my wrists. I felt a red flush rise on my cheeks. I don't know what it was, but I was so high-strung all of a sudden.

"Cashman's not any where upstairs that I could find." Elliot continued, "Find anything down here?"

"Nope." I said, returning the knife to it's place. I took a few steps towards the door, and immediately recoiled.

"Ahh….great. I stepped on something wet…."

"Give me your knife!" Elliot ordered, his brow furrowed. He looked as though my stepping in a wet pool was drastically important to our case. I wasn't one to ignore a direct order from my volatile partner, so I handed over my wicked six incher, and he handed me his nine mill.

"Hold this." He grunted, squatting down on the ground.

I had a mad urge to laugh. Elliot was giving me a gun? I watched curiously as he placed the knife on the carpet, and dragged it to the left, making a foot long or so cut in the carpet. He did the same for another side, creating a nice ninety degree angle.

"May I ask what you're doing?"

"Following a hunch." He said, not sparing me a glance. I watched as he dragged the knife up again, cutting a third side into the square. My brow furrowed.

"OK…and, well, how's that working out for ya?"

"Do we pay you to ask questions, kid?" Elliot spat, defiantly not in the mood.

I thought about it for a moment, long and hard, "Yes, Ell, yes you do. I'm a detective, remember? Oh yeah, and..uh…you guys don't pay me."

With brute strength, Elliot didn't even bother making his last cut. He just ripped out a nice little square of expensive white carpet.

"That look like what I think it is?" Elliot asked, pointing at a crimson stain on the dark wood. I squatted down next to him, and peered intently at where Elliot was indicating. It sure looked like blood to me, if that was what Elliot thought it was.

"If you think it's red wine, Ell, then you're wrong."

At that moment, Elliot fixed me with his most penetrating glare, one that screamed, 'cut it out.' I decided to lay off on the funny stuff for a little while, and I said quickly, "Yes, I think it's blood."

"Good." Elliot rose to his feet, a look of satisfaction on his face, "For one I'd like to get a criminal that's actually got a brain in his head. Cashman might have tried to clean up the blood…"

"Hold on!" I said, frowning, "When we stopped at the Station on the way here, Munch said that the kids were found at Ramble Park! Why-"

"Don't you listen?" Elliot growled, shoving his hands in his pockets, "M.E Warner said that the kids weren't killed at the park, and CSU agrees. It was a dump stop!"

"So…this blood stain is another piece of evidence to convict Cashman?"

"You got it, kid." Elliot said, grinning triumphantly, "Sometimes I love this job."

"Hate to burst your bubble, but what if the blood types don't match?"

"Either way we have enough to put this in jail for a good long while. Elliot did some rooting."

I sighed, "How much investigation went into this case before you pulled me in?"

"Quite a lot." Elliot pulled out his cell, "We need to lock this place down, and get NYCSU over here, now."

Then all at once it happened. The lights went out, and there was that sickening crack of a pistol.