He hears rain falling as he comes to in an unfamiliar place. It's warm. A fire crackles nearby. His movements are restricted, his skin pinched under the bonds. He blinks a few times, letting the dull throbbing inside his head ease, letting his eyes adjust to the low light.
A woman with a gun sits in an oversized chair near the fireplace. She greets him with a dark smile. "Hey, he's awake."
A man saunters over from the kitchenette, crouches down. He tilts his bottle up, draining the last of its contents. Elliot steadies himself. "What happened to Kate?"
A sharp bark of laughter comes from the woman's mouth.
The bottle is tossed aside, it bounces off the wall and spins on the floor. "Kate's dead." He picks at the thick silver chain bracelet. "You fucked up."
Elliot's eyes flutter closed momentarily before he inhales a deep breath. "Where's my partner?"
"Don't worry about her."
Elliot swallows hard. "What do you want?"
He slowly stands. "I don't make deals with cops."
"You won't make it out of this, Cade."
His lips gradually twist into a snarl.
Elliot continues. "You've abducted two police officers. Kidnapped. Sexually assaulted. Murdered. They're already searching. Dozens. They'll find this place and-"
"Shutup!"
"They'll take you out. Both of you. Trust me, they will not hesitate."
Suddenly, he kicks, boot solidly connecting with Elliot's shin. Elliot breathes hard through his nostrils, watches him stride to the corner near the door where a metal bat leans against the wall. Realization hits, and he immediately yells out for him to stop.
But he doesn't. He doesn't even acknowledge Elliot's threats and pleas.
The front door swings open, a blast of frigid air quickly invading.
He wakes in a cold sweat. Heart pounding, mind struggling to convert from nightmare to reality.
"Hey," she whispers softly from beside him.
He sighs, replies groggily, "Sorry to wake you."
"You were mumbling in your sleep…"
He props up against the pillows, wills his body to relax.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He doesn't. He can't tell her.
Her hand reaches for him, and then slowly retracts. He's relieved. And guilty.
He shakes his head to answer her question, pulls the sheet off and gingerly gets to his feet, careful to put his weight on the left leg. The lingering images of the nightmare add to the headache as he makes his way to the bathroom.
He squints in the mirror. Fading bruises, a mix of black and purple, yellow and green. He splashes cool water against his face, closes his eyes and for a moment just breathes, allows the pictures swimming behind the lids to dissolve.
After swallowing down a pill, he flips off the light and returns to the dark of the bedroom, holding his broken wrist close to his side.
He sits on the edge of the bed, glances at the red digits on the clock. It's always early, always late. He sighs, leans back against the headboard, and wishes she'd stop looking at him.
"Are you in pain?"
"It's okay. Let's try to get some sleep." He rolls onto his side, his back to her, unaware how she stares at him for a long moment, then reluctantly turns away.
"She's pretty." The girlfriend readjusts her grip on the gun as Elliot looks up at her. "He's always had a thing for brunettes." She adds, flicking her blonde locks over her shoulder.
A wave of nausea swells just as the door opens and the boyfriend drags her inside.
"Elliot?"
He softly clears his throat. "Yeah. It does."
"How bad, would you say, does it get?"
He stares at the skyline from the partially opened blinds, watching the brilliant shine of sunlight play off the multitude of glass and steel.
"It…" He steps away from the window, uses the wall for support to alleviate his leg. "It's not too much that I can't deal."
"Is that the truth?"
"Well, I'm dealing, so yeah."
"Okay. That's good."
He nods. "That it?"
"Unless there's something else you want to discuss."
He gives a small shake of his head, makes his way to the door.
"I'll see you Thursday."
He exhales quietly before slipping out.
He almost bites off his own tongue to keep from voicing his pain, his rage. He finds her eyes, his own blurred by the moisture inside them. He locks onto her gaze, guilt and sorrow etched deeply in blue.
He's frightened to see that her eyes reveal nothing.
After all the seemingly endless violence, she's turned onto her side away from him, unmoving. He begs for her life despite the blows he receives each time he calls out her name.
He puts up a fight against the ropes, only to receive a swift kick to his midsection.
The boyfriend carries her limp body from sight, into the darkened hallway. The girlfriend casually wipes fresh blood from the bat.
His face distorts in anger as he curses the girlfriend. And as she raises the gun to his head a agonized scream erupts from the rear of the cabin.
John perches on the corner of his desk, offers a mug of coffee. "It's actually fresh."
Elliot smiles faintly, takes the cup. Sips the warmth and eyes the detective still sitting there.
"Got a call while you were out," John confesses gently. "Allison Mackey was found dead in her cell this morning."
Elliot's eyes widen slightly.
"She left a note for Cade," he adds. "Partners until the end…"
Elliot looks down at his lap, weighing the implications.
John pushes off the desk, watches him for a moment, the worried lines on his forehead, the distant look in his eyes. He puts a supportive hand on Elliot's back briefly before walking away.
He yells her name again. The girlfriend nods proudly of her mate's ability to have drawn such a horrible sound from a human. But it's quiet from the back now. Just occasional muffled noise. He counts off each unbearable minute in his head until the boyfriend emerges from the dark hallway.
"Need a break?"
The girlfriend smiles sweetly. "Dying for a shower."
The boyfriend watches her hips sway as she disappears from the main room, then takes a long swig from his bottle.
"What'd you do to my partner?"
A chill creeps along his spine as the boyfriend seems to contemplate an answer before settling on a lazy shrug.
"What'd you do to her?!"
The boyfriend takes another drink, long and slow. Methodically screws the top back on. And winks.
"Hear you're free from desk duty."
"Not a moment too soon," Elliot replies, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.
His gaze pauses to rest on his partner's desk. Fin catches it.
"You're with me today. Old man's got court."
His line of sight moves away from the desk as he nods once, places his jacket over the back of his chair.
"We got anything?"
"Cap wants us to pay Mr. Thompson a visit about those e-mails he claimed not to send."
"Okay…" Elliot mumbles.
"Somethin' wrong?"
Fin's voice brings him back to the moment, and he clears his throat.
"No…"
Fin rises to his feet.
"I'm good," he quickly assures.
The detective nods and doesn't press further.
"Ready?"
Fin grabs up his cup of coffee, trails not far behind.
He's forced to sit through it again. Flesh pounds against flesh, nails scratch, animalistic sounds fill the cabin. But he pushes their noise aside, keeps alert for any small sound from the back. His dread grows with every passing minute of complete silence. When they're finally finished, they make sandwiches and pass out on the sofa.
He pulls in vain against the restraints. Eventually, unable to keep his eyes open, he drifts off whispering a faint apology.
"I hear her. I-I can't get it out of my head." He paces the short distance from door to wall, the one with the thick wooden book shelf stocked with too many pages of empty words. "He was…" He expels a heavy breath, rubs a palm across his forehead. "I just…wanted him to do it, so he couldn't…he couldn't hurt her anymore…"
A look of disgust crosses his features as he sinks into the leather chair.
"It's completely normal for people to want someone they care about to be relieved of pain and suffering. You don't have to feel guilty or ashamed of it, Elliot."
He shakes his head slowly, eyes shining along the rims. "I dream about it. Every night. H-how could I ever hope for anything but to save her? To walk into that precinct and know she'd never be there again…"
He shakes his head again, with more vigor, and rises to his feet, pacing the same route again.
"It's alright, Elliot."
"No…it's…it's not," he argues firmly. "I wished for him to end her life." He stalks to the window, stares out at the clouded daylight filtering through the blinds. He sighs, head hangs, as he repeats in a ghost of a whisper. "Her life."
The door bursts open, the broken lock lands with a loud thud against the floor in front of him. Bright lights shine in the darkness, voices call out demands.
A shot fires. More voices. And the cabin fills with chaos.
"Elliot, hey, I wasn't expecting you this early. I just put Eli down for the night and the kids are…" His wife deposits a basket of laundry on the floor and comes to stand in front of him, concern in her eyes.
"Elliot?"
He takes her by the hand but keeps eye contact at a minimum. "He had a good day?"
Kathy gives his fingers a light squeeze. "Of course he did. Play, eat, sleep, play some more…" She bends enough to meet his gaze, questions poised. But he loosens his hold on her hand, his fingers slipping from her grasp.
"I'm gonna go give him a kiss. Got to head back to work," he says, giving her a quick half-hearted smile he knows she won't buy.
"Elliot."
He shakes his head as he backs away. "I know. I'm sorry, I just…I…"
"Go," she gently commands, resigned.
He sees the girlfriend pinned to the ground, cuffs on. He feels hands upon him and questions repeated.
His eyes scan the cabin for the boyfriend, but he's gone. His heart sinks as his line of sight shifts to the dark hallway.
The medics gently lead him from the cabin. They ignore his insistence to be let go. He wrestles away from them, jogs back to the doorway, despite the pain, passes the girlfriend being escorted by two uniforms.
Her eyes are wide, wild. She smiles at him. He keeps moving.
"Elliot."
"Where's Cade?" he asks, out of breath.
The captain's expression confirms his fear. He puts a hand on his shoulder, silently encouraging his return to the ambulance waiting down the road.
"You need to let them treat you."
Before he can object, an officer appears from around the corner of the cabin. "No sign of Cade or Detective Benson from any windows. One in the back's boarded up, must be where he's got her."
"Is he talking?" Cragen asks.
The officer shakes his head. "Negative."
"Any indication of Benson's condition?"
"Nothing."
Cragen turns back to his detective, orders him in a firm tone to get looked at.
The officer and captain cross the threshold into the cabin.
Elliot's head lowers as an EMT takes him by the arm again.
He sits at his desk, shoulders slouched, alone in the dark and unable to keep it all from replaying in his head. He stares at his phone, considering options, wishfully thinking.
It had been his call. His decision. And she had taken the direction, dutifully so.
It was on him. All on him.
His arm has just been wrapped in thick gauze and tape when it happens.
Gunshots. From the cabin.
One.
Two.
Then nothing but garbled radio and muted voices.