I'm really an evil person, you know. and if you haven't figured that out already, you should have made the connection simply by my lack of responsibility for vows and/or promises made during the course of this work. I probably shouldn't have said with the last chapter that I would be updating with great haste. that was sort of a white lie. because although my intentions were wholly accepted in the wide expanse of my mind, and even though my morals were in all the right places- I truly and fully intended to go through with my plan- other plans came into play, just as other plans always do. I've been at my grandmother's wilderness estate (I suppose that's a good enough name for it) and I've been mowing the great thing (which is a two day task, considering how massive the lawn and garden area is) and washing all of the very tall windows and cleaning out the three guest bedrooms that have been accumulating antique purchases, and helping my grandmother clean out the attic. I got 100 dollars for the whole thing, so I'm not complaining. but knowing all of my readers are left in suspense (but isn't that tradition?) was something dreadful hanging over my shoulders for weeks. I apologize, dear readers. I love you all and it grieves me to know you're all dissatisfied with my work.
it grieved me so very much that I was forced to drozzle miserably in the drizzle (FLOODING ZOMG) and listen to Brand New and smear mascara around my eyes and apply overkilled eyeliner. but even though I lose a year of my life with each angsty word I think, I am also gaining an artistic drop of blood in my veins to replace those genetically altered selective breeding shots my family's been molding for. someday when I'm exhibiting a Gothic Edwardian fashion sense and sipping a coffee on some dusty street corner in Prague, and you, one of my unfortunate readers, comes waltzing by, give me a wave. tell me you love me.
and I will hug you back.
wow, staying with my grandmother for lengthened periods of time makes me talk like a Scrabble-playing aristocrat. the same effect seems to happen to my little sister. she said indubitable today. WERGH WELSH OLD WOMEN! STOP IMPOSING PERFECT GRAMMAR ON YOUR GRANDCHILDREN!
ALSO VERY VERY VERY IMPORTANT:
community. is now (and damnit, I wanted to make one) a Law and Order franchise FANFICTION AWARDS site and if you all LOVE ME DEARLY you can NOMINATE ME PLEASE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. I AM GOING TO COMPLETE THIS STORY TONIGHT AND TOMORROW NIGHT SO PLEASE NOM WHEN IT'S DONE. AND DON'T FORGET ALL MY OTHER STUFF! EHEHEHEHEHEHEHE…
because I am definitely nominating some other people. SO PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GIVE ME A NOM!
you know you love me. that's why I give you the next chapter:
…
It was so predictable, really. The empty warehouse, the row of men, crouching or kneeling in the cement dust, the tall men in their suits fingering the triggers of AK's. He watched them with a quiet confidence, orange against grey. Today, this would be a drug, pulsing in his dark veins among the blue blood and the still-buzz of alcohol that droned in his ear.
He took a step down the metal stairs, shoes clanging against the steel and bringing the chins of his captives to the sky. Their eyes were still narrowed with suspicion, but there was a brightness in them he liked.
"Hello," He said softly, removing his sunglasses and setting them squarely in his front pocket. "I don't know what they offered you- drugs, cash, women…" He took a quick breath, eyes scanning the dark faces of those before him. "Children, perhaps. But you will be receiving them in due time, you have my word. I'm not really sure what sort of system you are used to operating on, but…we have careful arrangements here. We appreciate your services; for those services, we will even treat you as humans, and not the parasitic perverts you have past been accused of being."
Their eyes were just as calculating as his own, he saw that now. They were reading him, scanning him, searching his soul like an open book. These were criminals, pedophiles, serial rapists. You couldn't trust them as far as you could throw a stone, but he could employ them. Own them. Yes, they were monsters, but they were his monsters.
He knew the differences between them, but there was that similarity, too. It thrilled him with a desperate rush, and he smiled.
He took another step toward them, shoes clacking loudly on the steel stair. "We've reviewed your files. Memorized them, really. But that's what it takes. Now we know you better than your own mother, I'd assume. Everything from your dental records to the number of bruises you left between a girl's thighs to the number of bastards you've fathered. So attempting to lie, or bend the truth…it won't get you very far. The one thing we do appreciate is the business of an honest tradesman. So don't play with me." A small smile spread across his full lips, lighting up his face in an almost feminine way. "I don't play very nice."
Later, they'd driven him across the bridge and treated him to dinner in Manhattan. Lights played with his irises when the wine was poured, the confusion of his life clearing up with each taste.
"I'm a businessman, Montgomery." The grey haired man across from him was looking for a cigarette, his pockets coming up empty time and time again. "And although I'm intrigued by everything you've done for this entire…ordeal, I can't help but wonder how far you're going to take this."
"You said you're a businessman." Ripley handed him a cigarette, reaching for the lighter he kept beside his wallet. "Have you ever followed something to the top?"
"Only in stocks and dreams, Rip."
"Then you understand my passion. I can fulfill a promise. I can do this. So I will."
"Your father's headstrong qualities suit you well." He laughed, taking a quick puff and coughing. "The Montgomery traits are too obvious in you, Ripley."
"Gene pools are especially satisfying when they've been selectively bred for three hundred years, don't you think?" He lit up himself, grinning on the inside. Secondhand smoke and false promises…
The waitress was approaching, eyes strained. "I'm sorry sir, but you can't smoke in here. It's New York State law."
Ripley gave her a small smile, taking another smoke. "Of course." He said softly, not moving to put out the cigarette. The man across from him continued to smoke, giving Ripley an expectant grin.
"Really, sir…" She said, waiting and letting her eyes fall to his face. "You'll have to take that outside."
"Of course." He repeated, his smile wider. He blinked sincerely, not moving from his seat.
She hesitated, biting her lip and unsure of what to say. "I…I don't want to have any trouble, sir. You can take that right outside, and come back inside when you've finished. The other guests don't appreciate the smoke."
"Right." He stood up finally, moving to the door she'd pointed out and disposing of his cigarette there. His cell phone rang. Damn.
"Rip?"
Her voice was tense, and yet controlled. She could keep the chaos at bay now- she always had before.
"Rip, how's everything going?"
"Fine." He said, staring across the street at a taxi's occupants emptying onto the sidewalk, awkwardly lugging a suitcase behind them.
"Look Rip, my father's not satisfied with how things are going right now for us, and he says he's going to be calling you soon. I just don't think this is a good move for us, Rip."
The woman in the tiny black dress struggled to pull her luggage onto the steps, and rang the bell. He watched as the door opened, and the man who emerged scowled as she hurried past him, into the foyer he could not see. Ripley blinked as the door slammed shut, angry thoughts spilling through the cracks.
"Rip, are you still there?"
"Yeah, I'm right here."
"What do you plan to do about it?"
"I'm in a meeting right now."
"But he wants to pull the plug on this, Rip. You have to do something about it."
"Well, what are you doing?"
"Hoping he doesn't drain your career Rip, what the hell else would I be doing? It's your success that's on the line, not mine. I can still marry the next up and coming businessman, remember? Daddy doesn't care what happens to you."
He bit his lip, trying not to yell. "Is that what this was all about, then? You needed me to get back in your family's inner circle, and now that you're there, it doesn't matter what happens to me?"
"Jesus Rip, why do you think I'm calling you and trying to tell you ahead of time? I'm the only one left who is trying to help you-"
He rolled his eyes. "And a whole lot of good that's done me. Glad I've got the Bates girls to back me up, of course…"
"Enough Rip, I get the point."
'And while we're at it, does your father want to ruin me simply because I'm doing something beneficial on behalf of his dead son, or just because I've been fucking his daughter for a few months?"
"Rip!"
"So then it's-"
"Rip, he knows about Jonathan."
"That he was a schizophrenic? That he was some senseless pervert that I am somehow protecting?"
"Ripley, don't you dare insult-"
"Took him long enough, didn't it? You'd think your father of all people would understand your brother before the rest of us did."
"He knows what Jonathan did to the women."
Ripley stopped, blinking at the cold concrete of the sidewalk. "And what does he think about it?"
Her voice dropped, and he knew she was angry. "He doesn't think what we're doing is the answer."
"How did he find out?"
"I have no idea. Probably how he always finds out things he shouldn't. The Bates patriarch's eternal occupation is rubbing his fucking nose in the rest of his family's business, remember?"
"And what does he suggest we do about it?"
"He hasn't said. But it won't involve our plans, that's for sure. I attempted to explain what was going on, but he already knew. He knows about everything, it seems."
"Does he know about us?"
"Who doesn't, Ripley? Not like it matters- everyone was happy enough when we went to the dinner. The troublesome Bates daughter finally found an appropriate match and everything…"
"I know." He let out a long sigh. "So he doesn't approve of us again. Somehow I think I half-expected this anyway."
"Just keep it in mind when he calls you to rant. No matter what he says, it's still a good idea Rip. We can still go through with it."
Ripley eyed his watch. He had about four minutes to get across town. "Your father would argue with us if we were saving his life, wouldn't he?"
"What I don't understand is why he is objecting to this in the first place. He loved Jonathan more than anyone else, and he's been ruthless as hell before for people he cared half as much about. Why isn't he reacting well to this?"
"He's your father. Are we supposed to understand?" He bit his lip, checking his watch again. "I have to go. I'll call you later."
"Be careful. You know that if he could, he'd practically-"
He hung up.
Inside, the steel-eyed man who'd occupied the table with him was running a finger around the edge of his wine glass, perking up when his guest returned.
"Have a nice smoke?"
"Business call." He gave him a knowing smile. "Look Arthur, I really need to make a meeting in about ten minutes, and it's across town."
"I can get you a ride-"
"No, a cab is fine. I don't have much time, so I'll have to leave you now. Fabulous meal at any rate- bravo on the wine selection again. We'll talk later, I assume?"
"Of course. Go off and be that diligent businessman your father's always bragging about." He waved a fatherly hand toward the door, and Ripley nodded, grinning once more as he headed out to the stoop where he hailed a cab.
His ride was quick, easy. They pulled up in front of a concrete building, an older sterile-looking apartment complex that was still occupied by wealthy owners. Ripley had been renting an apartment for a few months now, explaining to his father that it was for emergency trips into the city. No one had protested.
The guards had let him in, and he'd gone up the four floors by elevator, the car still smelling like paint and delivered dinners.
His floor was quiet, as usual. It was rare he ever met anyone coming to and from his apartment. Most of the people who lived here were either elderly or had homes elsewhere, living here only on business trips just as he normally did. He turned the key, and the door to his room swung open, and the figure waiting for him let out a soft greeting from the bedroom.
"Hey Missy," He grunted, taking off his tie, watching her stretch lazily across the bed.
"You're ten minutes late." She writhed against the sheets, leather straps across her thighs and hips tightening into her flesh. Her voice was as sulky as her eyes, dark and brooding. "Take a shower- you smell like a bar. I want you clean before you stick anything in me."
…
Olivia rolled over on what she had thought was her bed, but was now revealed to be the floor in front of the couch, a blanket slung across her lower half and the nearest pillow a few feet away from being useful. The phone was ringing in her ear, stinging and screaming like a siren as she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and groping lazily for the cord stretching across her coffee table. Ten forty five in the morning. But she'd fallen asleep at six, maybe seven…three hours ago? Could she honestly remember?
She missed the call, fell back onto her aching spine and ignored the pain that throbbed mercilessly in her bones. She'd spent six hours on her feet last night, standing outside a hospital room and trying to keep her eyes from closing while her body shook like a seizure victim. She'd finally staggered home when Elliot had arrived, letting her sleep while he kept watch over their comrades' rooms. Munch had passed out on the way home, his arm a bloody mess and his face white as a sheet, causing them to turn the car around and return him to the hospital. Cragen was still in intensive care, falling in and out of consciousness. In every essence of the words, her small and fragile world was beginning to fray at the edges.
She wasn't even wearing her clothes- she'd ripped off her shirt and pants from work the following day and fallen asleep on the floor in her underwear. Exhausted and sore as hell, it had taken her four lousy minutes to lock her door, as she turned and returned the knob, something inside her screaming when it didn't immediately close. She was scared, she was tired, she wasn't sure where she was. All she wanted was to have someone pick her up and hold her against them, rocking her back and forth until sleep could come gently to her sore body.
But sleep had hit her like a five ton boulder to the head and knocked her out for hours, a train screaming into the station and leaving her breathless even now. The very action of sleep itself exhausted her, and in her mind bullets continued to ricochet back and forth, claiming her friends' lives and leaving her afraid. In her dreams, she cradled his body beneath her own and cried out for mercy, for help, for something. But no one came and nothing happened, and he died right there, her kisses on his cheek.
The phone rang again, and this time she made it, pressing the receiver to her cheek and letting out a harsh whisper of a greeting.
"Liv? You're awake?"
"I was until you called." She tried to smile despite the pain, and found with his presence so close it was easier than she'd imagined.
"Sorry," He said, his voice suddenly sheepish. "I just thought…only if you were awake and everything…"
"What is it?"
"Martha's here," Martha being Cragen's wife, "But they're taking Munch in for surgery, and I want to make sure he comes out okay. Unfortunately, I've got to pick up the kids from Kathy's, and I won't be able to make it over on time."
"You want me to drive to Kathy's and get them?" She raised an eyebrow. "Is Kathy home?"
"I asked her to drop them off, but she's already left for work. They're just sitting around waiting for me. Obviously neither one can drive, so…" His voice dropped off expectantly, and she sighed.
"Yes, I'll go get them." She stood up, stretching and letting out a long yawn. "I need to get dressed first, but I'll probably be over there in about a half hour, depending on the traffic."
"That's fine, as long as they're with you soon." He let out a short breath, as if he'd been holding it in for the conversation. "I want them close after what happened, you know?"
Her voice was softer as she spoke now, her eyes darker when she caught her reflection in the window across from the bathroom sink. "How is everyone?"
"Fin's asleep- I sent him home after you. I don't know where Casey or Huang are, but Casey called earlier and she said she was alright. They've got to stop Munch's bleeding, and they've got to repair something on his arm. I don't know what. That's what the surgery's for. Cragen's…Cragen punctured a lung. He's not breathing. They don't know what's going to happen there."
"He'll pull through, we know that." She knew it was a lie, and she knew that he had picked up on it, but she said it anyway. Just to say it. Just to put it out there with the rest of the false hopes and dreams their relationship had garnered.
"Yeah…" His voice wasn't skeptical, but it lacked its usual resilience. "Alright, you know the address?"
"No."
"It's about thirty minutes away from you." He said as he read off the directions to the apartment Kathy was renting in Brooklyn. "You shouldn't have any trouble finding it either- the balloons from the twins' birthday are still hanging from the window."
Lizzie and Dickie had turned fourteen last month, and Elliot had taken them to Coney Island for the day. At the last minute, Lizzie had asked if Olivia was going, and all of a sudden she'd joined their group, following them down the boardwalks and helping them eat their cotton candy. For a few hours, they'd been somewhat of a family- laughing at each other's bad jokes, sharing smiles. When the twins had run off to the shooting gallery, (where Lizzie had beaten Dickie 40-5) Elliot had pulled her into a photo booth and shared a kiss. She still had the pictures on her dresser.
Before they'd left, the four of them had caught the eye of a photographer on the boardwalk, who'd immediately asked to take their picture. They'd all stood together, bodies pressed in like sardines, arms touching and hands holding. Smiles appeared, eyes squinting against the fading sun.
"Stand in front of your mom." The photographer nodded to Dickie, motioning for him to switch places with Lizzie.
"Oh, I'm not-" Olivia began, grinning sheepishly and feeling her face flush red.
But Dickie just nodded. "Okay." He said before her voice could be heard, turning to her and giving her a quick smile that only the two of them could share.
In that moment, Elliot had caught her eye, and something in them seemed much brighter, lighting up her own face and the whole sky around them. They stood at the edge of the boardwalk, sunlight fading into a brilliant purple and fuchsia above the sea, and she could not help but smile. When the picture came in the mail three days later, she saw there were tears in both of their eyes.
This morning, she could not smile as brightly as that sunny day, knowing the dark things hanging over her head were only going to grow gloomier as the hours progressed. She pulled on a sweatshirt she found on the back of her door, jeans that were still hanging from her chair. At this moment, she wanted a coffee and a foot-rub, but everything else in her head was blocking these few needs from existence, reminding her of the imminent danger in two of her closest friends' lives. Her keys were still on the counter, exactly where she'd left them. Everything was where she'd left it, but nothing was the same.
She practically fell into her car, giving her neighbor a small wave as they both pulled onto the street and left their small existences for a day in the busy life of the city. Around her, the city was already wide awake, smells circulating up and down the street and weaving lines of people making their way down the sidewalk. She ignored them all, finding that after all these years of realizing a life as one in a million other existences, you didn't notice the busy streets anymore, the bustling of people and the traffic that never truly stopped. You could focus on the simplicity of your day, and let it all pass by.
She drove along, eyes fading in the mirror. It had been two months since the real danger had reared its ugly head, and then it had stopped. For two months, they had found no more leads on the case, and the only thing they heard from the Bates family was the occasional lawsuit in the mail, which Casey quickly cleared up before any serious problems arose. They'd started working on other things, back to their standard rapes and standard victims. Life continued as life always does, making up for the chaos you leave behind with an unsettling calm that never lets you relax. It was like the eye of the storm- somehow, at sometime, this would all return, and they'd be head-on into another maelstrom.
Other things had matured with the months, like her relationship with Elliot. Casey continued to be the only one who knew anything juicy about it; if anyone else knew, they didn't let on. But juicy it was no longer, unless on occasion- they'd grown out of the honeymoon stage and entered the quiet mutual continuation where each is painfully aware of the other, but it is a brilliant and wonderful pain that hits you in the soul rather than the skin. They shared dinners and beds, intermittently finding time for sex when they could. But the relationship no longer was about sex. (though neither was going to be giving that up anytime soon…) Instead, just being with Elliot was enough of a thrill, every touch sensual simply because it came from him.
They matured slowly, with the assurance of each other. They grew as one.
She pulled up in front of the apartment, yellow balloons falling limply against the grate of the fire escape beneath the window. Kathy hadn't gone through with her plan to cut off Elliot's visitation rights after all, and somehow she had anticipated it. He'd put up enough of a fight before…why not now? Why not then? Elliot fought, and that was how he lived. He fought for every last day he could spend in this strange normality they haunted. Olivia knew it almost as well as he did. Maybe that's why they were attracted to each other in the first place.
A breeze hit her as she stepped out of the car, making the spring air suddenly frigid against her skin. She was cold enough inside; why did she have to tingle everywhere else too? She stepped up the stairs, fingers resting on the button for the second floor apartment. A feeling had passed over her, a feeling that told her in this moment she was one insignificant life in this sea of people who were all living and dying around her. She meant nothing to the strangers she passed in the street. As she pushed the button, she realized for the first time she was genuinely scared.
But the feeling passed when a voice filled the speaker box.
"Olivia?" It was Lizzie, her tone upbeat. "We'll be right down."
"Do you mind if I come in?" She remembered what Elliot had said before, about leaving them alone. They were becoming a part of her in their own way, inhabiting her thoughts when she wasn't aware of it. So this was what it was like to worry all the time, to spend away part of yourself protecting things that are so much brighter and stronger than you know you'll ever be. Motherhood. It was strange and distant to her, but it was there. She had been close to it once, but that seemed a very long time ago right now on these cold steps.
"No, come on in." The door unlocked, and she pushed through, the inside hall almost as chilly as the outside air, unfortunately.
They were bounding down the stairs in front of her, small smiles on their maturing faces. Someday Lizzie would have her mother's mouth, her light hair. But her eyes seemed to belong only to her father, the changing expressions sparkling with the same brightness when she caught your attention. Dickie's face was a lot like his mother's as well, but he cracked his father's half smile when he saw Olivia, nodding at her as they shuffled out the door and boarded the car.
"How is everyone?" Lizzie asked, her usual concern shining in her eyes. Olivia figured that Elliot had explained on the phone why he couldn't pick them up, so she was forced to be honest with them. She ignored the traffic, remembered the man she loved.
"They're not sure right now. But everyone's holding up, so we hope they'll be back to normal soon. Your dad's keeping them strong right now."
"When are you going back to work?"
"Tomorrow, probably. This afternoon if I can."
"Do you see that?" Dickie's voice broke the conversation in two, his tone identical to his father's when there was trouble.
"See what?" Olivia asked, turning around momentarily as they came to a red light.
"There's a car that followed us from the house. It was parked out there when we left and it took off with us."
"God, Dickie." Lizzie shook her head, rolling her eyes at her brother. "It's a one way street, butthead. Where else are they going to go but the same direction as us?"
"They've been with for six blocks, Lizzie. And they have tinted windows."
"So does like every other SUV in creation." Lizzie shrugged. "He does this all the time, you know. Paranoid, I think."
"Olivia?" Dickie gave her a strange look, one that expressed fear and called for guidance.
"I see it." She said, her eyes never leaving the car that was following not far behind. "Don't look at it, guys. Just leave it alone."
She took a quick turn to the right. The car appeared soon after. Her stomach sank, everything in her beginning to melt. She had to keep her cool, maintain that balance everyone praised her for. It was just like the job, just like a case, just like every other day in every other life.
But there were two other bodies in the car this time, two people she would rather die than see harmed.
She was unarmed. She was almost out of gas. But she was going to put up a hell of a fight before these people made their move.
"Lizzie, get out my cell phone. It's in my pocket."
Lizzie reached across and tentatively pulled out the phone, opening it to the screen.
"Dial your father." She instructed, nodding at the phone. "Tell him where we are, and that we need help now." When she saw Lizzie's eyes, she attempted a smile. "It's fine, hon. I just want to take every precaution we can, alright?"
Lizzie nodded, bringing the phone to her ear.
Olivia took another turn. This time the car was faster, and she had to swerve to the right to avoid hitting a car. They were on a one way street, going the opposite way.
"Shit," She whispered, pulling to the left and out of the way. The car continued to follow, and her suspicions were confirmed.
They were after them.
Meanwhile, Lizzie was speaking softly into the phone, knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the seat beside Olivia. "Dad? It's Lizzie. We, uh…we're in trouble."