Horror surged through each of his limbs, the terrified look in his eyes dropped to the floor. A sense of failure, guilt, helplessness, and most of all, grief and terror flooded through him. The restraints felt tighter against him as he struggled, squirming in a desperate, futile attempt to tear free. Elliot's world spun, speeding father and dragging slower at the same time. Staring down at Olivia, he felt like he was being tormented, as if a voice in the back of his head was laughing cruelly at her fate.

He tore his gaze away from where it was fixed, and hardened it into a vicious stare that he threw at Dale like spears.

"You son of a bitch!" He screamed, thrashing in his chair, only feeling his frustration mount and his grief begin to grow into violent rage. His blue eyes blazed wildly, like a lion ready to lash it's claws out at a helpless lamb. Except, in this case, Elliot was the lamb.

"I'll rip off your head and shove it down your throat! I'll slit your throat and let you bleed to death slowly! I'll twist your legs as far as they can go! I'll bash in your skull then throw to the wolves! I'll—" The threats flew at mile upon miles per hour, each threat as vicious and sincere as the last. Spit formed on his lips and flew in Dale's direction with the next syllable he shrieked.

Dale's eyes seemed to flash with sick amusement, his eyes wide in an insane stare. He let out an amused chuckle that pushed past the boundaries of sanity. The sinister bit of laughter was cruel and frigid.

"Poor, poor Elliot." Dale cooed mockingly, stepping forward. He accidentally kicked Olivia's gun* towards her limp body, but he didn't mind. She was far from the brink of life, and she wouldn't be a threat even if she did have a gun gripped in her hand. "This turned out better than I thought. You get the pleasure of watching your partner bleed to death, and I get the satisfaction of killing you." Dale shook his head, letting out an amused sigh. He pressed the gun to Elliot's forehead, and Elliot winced, silenced by the cold metal pushed against his skin.

Boom. A gunshot as clear as the morning sun on a summer day rang into the air.

Dale sucked his breath inward as the bullet penetrated his skin, putting him instant agony. He didn't die right away, either. Instead, he dropped his gun right into Elliot's lap, and peered down at his shirt, jaw dangling. He clenched his shirt, feeling the scarlet liquid form a dark spot over his chest. Words were turned to gurgles, and finally, he dropped sideways, his body hitting the ground with a loud slam.

Elliot listened, believing that he was listening to himself die. He couldn't will his eyes open, afraid to see what had happened. He imagined his brains spattered over his body and ground, but was surprised to feel no pain. The thud caused his eyes to fly open, however, and he quickly collected himself. Had Dale shot himself? He glanced down, noticing the deadly gun nestled in his lap. Who had fired the shot? He expected Fin, John or Cragen to come running in, or even all three of them. But the room was silent. He scanned over the room, at loss for words, when he saw Olivia. Her eyes were fixed on Elliot; gun still aimed towards where Dale had stood. Her eyes seemed almost blank. Her shoulders had risen off the ground. Amazingly, Olivia was still alive. But once her last trickle of strength had been used, she fell backwards and hit the ground almost silently, her gun resting in her hand. The expression seemed almost peaceful, as if she had fulfilled her duty.

"Liv!" He gasped, surprised she was still alive, but felt helpless once more as he pulled against his restraints. She was still alive, there was still hope, but he couldn't get it for her. He felt suddenly alone, small against the giant looming possibility of death. Frustration clawed at him, and pangs of even more horror and grief hit him one after the other.

"Liv, stay with me." He could have sounded calm, except for the fact he was shaken to his core, and his voice shook with him. It seemed to be the only thing he could do to help. He was not delivered any response from Olivia. Not a movement. She didn't whimper. She didn't blink. Nothing.

"Liv, babe, it's going to be okay. You're going to be alright." Elliot whispered, not allowing he to believe she was going to die. It seemed as if he were trying to convince himself with his meager efforts to help the situation. He hung his head, not enjoying this sight of Olivia, seemingly crushed upon the ground. She was strong; she was always strong, always hard willed and stubborn. She never seemed weak to him, ever. It hurt him to see her like this, bleeding out her life.

Hope seemed to be gone. Silenced ensued, only the occasional, "Liv, wake up," uttered from Elliot, who seemed to be lost. It felt like it was an eternity they spent waiting in that room, waiting for someone to shine a light upon them and whisk them away to someplace safe. Each second seemed to be a year, and each minute seemed like a century. The trance was broken, however, when John and Fin came racing in, tugging their guns from their holsters.

"El? Liv? You in here?" Fin yelled, John silent and vigilant, skimming over the room.

"Dear God," John gasped, spotting the bodies spewed over the place, and Elliot in the midst of it, his shirt bloodied and his face depicting a variety of pained emotions.

Elliot breathed heavily a few times, struggling to find the right words to demand. Finally, he decided on one sentence. "Help Olivia." He breathed, squirming in his chair in anger. "Help her." He spoke in a hushed voice.

Fin had taken off to secure the room, and quickly returned to the scene. "Cragen called a bus. Someone heard gunshots, and we were on our way to investigate, and then we heard another." He glanced at Olivia as he stepped towards Elliot, careful not to trip over the bodies. "…El, I doubt there's anything we can do for Liv." He peered up at Elliot, his expression soft and somber. He untied him, and felt Elliot's gaze burning into his skull.

"Don't give up, God damn it. She's alive." His eyes glowed with hatred at the though thought of the two others giving up on her. Fin opened his mouth to ask Elliot to face it, but was cut short when John spoke.

"Sweet Jesus. She's still alive. She's got a heart beat, but it's faint." He glanced down at Olivia. "You're one hell of a fighter. Hang in there, hun." He set a hand lightly on her forehead, but was about shoved over when Elliot was freed from his place. John stood up swiftly, avoiding Elliot's violent rage.

"Cragen," Fin spoke into the radio. "We have one in critical condition from a gunshot, and two deceased due to stab wounds and gunshot wounds. El's also a bit cut up, but we definitely need that bus for Liv. Get them into the lab."

"Fin, the bus is almost here. Get whoever is still alive the hell out of there and to the front. The ambulance is right down the street." Don answered. The sirens carried from the background and over the radio, making it clear to those in the room that hope was shining on them.

Elliot, during this, had been crouched over Olivia's body. He allowed himself to stroke his hair, eyes illuminated with desire to save her. "Don't worry, Liv, you're going to okay." He pushed one hand into the crook of her knees, and the other propped under her shoulder. With a huff, he lifted her from the earth, shuddering as he felt how fragile she was. Her shirt rubbed against him, letting her blood mingle with the blood that trickled from his own wounds. Hastily, Elliot shot off towards the door, Fin and John hot on his heels. He passed a few concerned and curious bystanders, their concern turned to horror as they saw the limp body of Olivia resting in Elliot's arms. They stepped silently aside, a few muttering with disbelief.

To Elliot, the faces rushed by in a blur. It didn't matter who were there. "Come on Liv, stay with me. Don't leave me." He said between pants. "Move! MOVE!" He screeched, careful not to let Olivia's head smack into anything or anyone. The rooms moved past, unfocused. All he was focused on was the door. Cragen joined them, stepping into the building as Elliot dashed towards the door. He quickly chased after them, joining. People slowly filtered out of the building as Elliot did, the sunlight glaring in his eyes. Blinded momentarily, he was still driven forward by the wail of the sirens. As soon as the white flash of light vanished, Olivia was snatched from his arms. He let out a breath in surprise.

Cragen stood next to him, panting, and John and Fin, watching with dismay and concern as they slipped Olivia onto the gurney, immediately crowding her and shouting rapidly different orders and demanding procedures to be carried out on the wounded officer. He watched as they secured her, frozen into spot as the sounds and sights slowed, swirling and melting together. His legs felt heavy, and the screams and shouts of people seemed to be the only thing that was correctly paced. His strength suddenly returned, and he rocketed after them, his instantly coiling around the protective railing of the stretcher. His eyes sunk to Olivia, feeling his stomach plummet away from him as he stared at her, depleted of words.

All too soon, they tugged her into the ambulance, and although Elliot attempted to climb into the back, a paramedic stopped him, slamming his hand against Elliot's shoulders, causing Elliot to flinch with pain. "Sir, you can't ride with us. The patient is in critical condition and you'd only get in the way. Besides, you're not family. If we let you ride, we'd have to let them ride." The medic spoke firmly and honestly, gesturing towards the other detectives who were watching at a distance. Elliot pushed away his hand.

"I'm the closest thing to family that women has." Elliot snapped, attempting to kick against the pavement and into the ambulance, but the doors slammed shut on his face. He stepped back, avoiding the vehicle as it lurched forward. The tires began to turn, propelling it forward and away. Sirens wailing, it began to wheel down the street. He watched it go, silent, as his co-workers approached. The sirens lost audibility as the ambulance took her away to a fate unknown.

Elliot hardly turned to watch as they removed the two other bodies of the fallen men. Except, one of them hadn't been a man. One of them had been a monster.

Okay, so notes:

-I re-read this twice. I did that this time because I found, upon publishing the first chapter, that there were capitalization errors and grammar errors. I hope there are none in this. I only re-read the first chapter once.

-If you're curious to how I do this, I write a draft, usually about 10 pages long on lined paper while I'm at school or not busy. I do lots of corrections and stuff on here, getting the general idea down.

I then type it up once I get home, and re-read it. For example, Dale originally was going to be alive. But I decided against it. I'm still debating allowing him to live, seeing as Olivia didn't get a clear shot to him, and she had to react very quickly. Input? I personally think this might be a bit more interesting if Dale is alive. If he isn't alive, well, then, I'm going to have to find another way to twist this story up a bit. The story will be shorter and more dramatic if Dale lives, but longer with more spread out drama.

Anyway, I then attempt to find someone to revise/edit my paper. Two sets of brains are better than one. I often ask my two friends, who also enjoy watching SVU to listen. I also might be emailing my aunt, who's been watching for amazing amount of time, and my Language Arts teacher, who I've often come to for help when writing non-fiction pieces.

After the revising is done, it is published. I re-read it one more time after that before I submit it.

The chapter after the next will have the full steps: Plot outline, rough draft, self-edit, peer-edit, and then publishing.

I've been noticing that a lot of people do not do this anymore with their stories. Sigh.

Anyway, I will have the next chapter up soon. The rough draft is ready to be typed, and I ran it by a few of my peers already.

Love,

Aly