T Minus 1 Day, cont'd

T Minus 1 Day, cont'd

Hours. Hours had gone by. Elliot and Fin had spent hours in the car outside Douglas H. Ruskinowicz's brownstone. Casey was tied up in court and Cragen told them to wait. Fin was antsy, shifting around uncomfortably, itching to get inside and do something. Anything.

Elliot was shaking. He was staring at the front door, certain that he was mere yards away from Olivia, and yet he had to sit there. Munch had continued to run the background on him, reporting that while the parents had never returned to claim their living child, they had resurfaced several years after Maggie's death, having been killed in a car wreck. Their house was left to their son, the only living heir, and was signed over to him on his eighteenth birthday, along with a considerable bank account. Ruskinowicz had never held a job and his school records were sketchy. Munch was expounding on how the kid had fallen through the cracks in the system and wound up being a wacko and therefore their problem.

Elliot hung up on him. He wasn't going to have any mercy on Howie or Douglas or whoever the fuck he was.

Fin glanced over at him, trying and failing to hide the smirk on his face for Elliot's response to Munch's excuses. "Cracks in the system, my ass."

Nodding, Elliot sighed. "Yeah, cry me a river."

"So let's do something about it." Fin reached for the door handle.

Elliot didn't even care what Fin was going to do. He was just glad that Fin was going to do something. He jogged a few steps to catch up. "What do you have in mind?"

"Casey's tied up in court, but we know we're getting that warrant, right?" Fin shrugged. "So what difference does it make if we go in and get her before we get the warrant?"

"No kicking the door then?" Elliot faked a frown. The idea of going in to get Olivia was the best thought he'd entertained in a long time.

"Yeah, I know, that's my favorite part too."

They circled the house first, searching through all the windows, praying to find something that would constitute probable cause. It wasn't that either of them particularly took issue with bending the rules to get to Olivia; it was that probable cause would give them the perfect opportunity to kick in the door after all.

Coming up empty, they carefully climbed the stairs to the front door. Elliot kept watch for anyone who might see them. Fin pulled a small package out of his pocket, revealing the lock pick kit that he always carried. When he saw it, Elliot let out a laugh.

Fin just shrugged as he plugged the tools into the lock. "Never know when I might need these. That's why I'm always prepared."

"Liv made some comment about you being a boy scout a few years back. I think I finally figured out what she meant." At the time, he'd thought it was simply a joke. But Elliot wasn't really surprised Olivia knew something about Fin that few others did. She had a way of getting people to open up, prying information out of them without them even knowing it.

The two men were silent for a moment as Fin worked the two tools inside the lock. When the knob turned easily in his hand, he put his tools away and looked back at Elliot. "If he's got an alarm in here, I'll meet you back at the precinct."

Elliot nodded. "I don't think we have to worry." He indicated the window frames that were rotting. "His parents took off forty years ago. I'd be surprised if anything's been done to this place since."

Fin took a deep breath, gently pushing the door open. Silence greeted them. The shades were drawn tight, leaving the house pitch dark even in the daylight. There was a stale, musty smell nearly overpowering that made it seem as though no one had set foot inside in years. He cautiously took two steps inside, shining a small flashlight around to display a furnished room.

Elliot stepped inside, closing the door behind them, assuring a little bit of secrecy. His hand brushed a side table which sent a cloud of dust flying into the air. "Not much of a housekeeper, is he?"

"Neither am I." Fin grimaced as he inspected the ornate couch in the middle of the room. It was covered with dust so thick he couldn't even figure out what color it was. "Damn, I don't think anyone's been here in a long time, Elliot."

Refusing to be dissuaded, Elliot took point. "Maybe he doesn't stay here. Maybe he's just got Olivia locked up in here while he's living it up downtown."

"This is his legal address, but would you want to live in the house your sister died in?" Fin shrugged and followed Elliot. "The girl was dead in her bed, right? If he thinks Olivia is Maggie-"

"We'll try upstairs first." Elliot crossed the room in two long strides, reaching out for the banister.

But Fin grabbed his arm, shining his light across the steps in explanation. "Nobody's gone up there in years, El."

He had to admit Fin had a point. Not only was there a thick layer of dust covering the stairs and banister, but giant cobwebs hung across the open space. "Split up. See what you can find." As sure as they were that a warrant would be forthcoming, he knew their time was limited. Unless they both wanted to get busted for breaking and entering, they needed to hurry up.

Of course, he hoped that they'd find Olivia and could then make up some bullshit story about hearing her call for help.

Fin headed toward the dining room. Elliot went in the opposite direction, tripping down three steps that left him in a family room of sorts. Provided said family was headed by child abusers and three of the four were dead. He leaned in close to examine the portraits on the wall. Some were professional, some were candids. They could have been any family. Hell, they could have been his own childhood pictures, minus a few kids. Dad was tall, brown eyes, sandy hair. Mom was tall too, green eyes, dark hair. Howie was very young, no more than three, childish exuberance obvious in the way he was held still in his sister's lap. He looked a lot like his father, the same brown eyes and sandy hair. In fact, Elliot would have been able to identify him from that picture as he hadn't changed a bit except to grow taller in the intervening years.

But when his eyes shifted up to Maggie, his breath caught in his throat. One glance was all it took for a few more of the pieces to fall into place. Maggie was a few years older than her brother, maybe six or seven. She was already lanky, the almost gawky expanse of arm peeking out from beneath the lace sleeve of her dress revealing that she would have surely grown into a considerable height for a woman. Her legs were crossed and folded in what might have been a delicate, sweet pose on a shorter child, where as Maggie just looked uncomfortable, as though her long legs were meant to be stretched out. Her grip was tight on her brother, probably forcing him to put up with interminable shots and poses at the photographer's urging. Elliot had endured several of those sessions over the years and almost always wound up with very expensive pictures of at least one kid crying and two scowling. Yet, as tight as her hold was, her hands appeared soft and gentle where they fell on her brother's skin.

He heard Fin calling him, a strained whisper trying to get his attention. Elliot was transfixed. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. His eyes were locked on hers.

Maggie's deep brown stare held him to the spot. He knew those eyes. That same beautiful color, that same bright gaze, that same well-hidden pain. The smile was the same too, wide and hopeful and forced. The poor girl was faking a happy, carefree childhood. But it wasn't just that he'd seen the same expression on Olivia's face a hundred times.

It was that Maggie was a dead ringer for Olivia.

"Fuck, Elliot, is that-"

Elliot nodded, breaking out of the trance he was in. "Olivia or Maggie? You tell me."

"Damn, no wonder Howie freaked out." Fin stepped closer, examining the portrait as though he was searching for some evidence it was fake. "Olivia wasn't adopted, was she?"

"No. And she wasn't beaten to death by her father either." Elliot bristled at the suggestion, at his own words. Because Olivia hadn't been beaten to death by her father. But that didn't mean Olivia hadn't somehow been made into some sort of sacrifice in an attempt to get Maggie back. There was no telling what Howie had done.

"But still-"

And then there was a spark of hope in him. "He loved her, right? He curled up and tried to keep her safe or whatever."

Fin nodded, following Elliot's line of thought. "Howie thought you hurt her. He said he was keeping her safe from you."

Elliot dared to let a real smile form. "If he loved Maggie so much, maybe he hasn't hurt Olivia."

"Maybe he's just protecting her." Fin nodded toward the other room. "You should come see this."

Knowing better, yet unable to stop himself, Elliot snagged one of the framed photos of the kids. He shoved it into his pocket and then hurried after Fin. "What did you find?"

Fin led him to the kitchen. The floor, although dirty, was hardly dust covered. The counters had crumbs and new appliances and a damp sponge. He pulled open the fridge, showing the half stocked contents. The table had recent mail and a two day old newspaper piled on one side.

"He lives in the kitchen?" Elliot didn't know what to make of it, besides the fact that Olivia clearly wasn't sitting there.

"Check this out." Fin pointed to a stack of books on one of the chairs. On top was "Kitchens and Bathrooms, Do It Yourself For Less." He shuffled the stack, showing a few more of the same sort, two on brick pointing and mortar work, and a couple random science textbooks. "This guy's a freak."

Elliot's eyes stayed on the top book, trying to reconcile it with what he knew of Howie. "He really doesn't seem like the home repair type."

Fin shrugged and lifted it, dropping it on the table and allowing it to fall open to the most used page. With a snicker, he shook his head. "I'd call a damn plumber for that shit."

The dog-eared pages were instructions on installing a toilet. Although the ridiculous stick figure on the side margin of the page indicted that adding a powder room was a great way to increase the value of one's home, something about it really bothered Elliot. He glanced at Fin, who'd moved on to exploring another room just off the kitchen. "The only time I'd consider doing my own plumbing would be if I didn't want anyone to know what I was doing."

Fin was staring at something just around the door frame. "Which might also explain why you'd install a god-damned vault."

"What?" Elliot rounded the corner and came to a dead stop. He was staring at a steel door, not the kind used on houses, but a solid steel door. Along the left hand side were a series of locks – chains, sliders, deadbolts.

"What do you think he's got in there?" Fin said it with a smile, as though he was calmed by the idea of them being so close. "It's probably the only way to keep Olivia from escaping."

But Elliot found no reassurance in it. He only saw another barrier, another reason he couldn't get to her. He raised his hands, paying no attention to the damage he'd already done to his left, and slammed them against the unyielding door. Nothing happened, not that he expected it would, but he did it again anyway. The unbelievable pain in his hand felt like nothing next to the emotional ache.

Fin saw it, the swollen purple mass that used to be a hand, and realized that Elliot was perhaps not in the best psychological state of his life. "Hey, come on, you're not going to get in there."

He didn't hear Fin. He didn't feel it when Fin grabbed at his arms, trying to keep him from hurting himself. But the physical pain was sapping his strength and he fell against the door, his face pressing against the cool steel. "Olivia!" He struck at the door again with his right hand, finding no give at all. "Olivia!"

Fin's eyes went wide, looking around like IAB would appear out of thin air. "Fuck, Elliot, knock it off!"

"Olivia!" He kept pounding, shouting, as Fin wrestled with him.

Normally Fin wouldn't have been able to win, but Elliot's energy was focused on getting to Olivia, not on wining a fight. Fin managed to pull him away, getting between him and the door, shoving him backwards all the way back to the front door.

"Liv!" He wasn't even screaming anymore, just crying, sobbing, as Fin continued shoving him outside.

"We have to get the hell out of here. The neighbors might have heard you." Fin pulled him down the stairs, shoving him roughly into the car. "Jesus, Elliot, you want him to have a case against us? He'll hire some mouthpiece to say he's being unfairly treated and he'll get to skate and you'll never see her again. Is that what you want?"

Elliot tried to get up, tried to get back out of the car. "No! I won't leave her." He was hysterical, something that he normally might have been embarrassed to display in front of Fin. "Liv!"

"Shit, Elliot, shit. I didn't know you were going to freak out like this. Shut up before you get both our asses hauled in!" Fin was still working on getting Elliot far enough into the car to shut the door, but Elliot wasn't having it.

"Fuck you! Run away! I don't care what you do, but you can't make me leave her." He pushed at Fin, forgetting until too late that he could actually feel pain and that the pain of hitting Fin with his left hand would be unbearable. The excruciating sensation stopped him long enough for Fin to slam the door shut.

Fearing that Elliot would hop out of the car, Fin ran to the driver's side, threw the car into gear and peeled out.

A few miles later, Elliot turned his sullen, despondent glare on Fin. "Where the fuck are you going?"

Fin kept his snarl facing out the windshield as he continued arguing with himself as to whether or not he should check Elliot into Bellevue as a danger to himself and others. Fin had no problem knocking a few teeth out if someone really deserved it, but until Elliot had lost it once again, Fin hadn't realized how unglued Elliot really was. He finally answered, only because he was afraid he'd get blindsided with an attack if he didn't. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

Elliot didn't say a word. He'd been threatened so many times that someone would check him into the psych ward. It wasn't new to him. But the scary fact was that he'd always been so sure the other person was wrong. He'd never truly lost control. He'd never faced being unable to stop himself if he wanted. He'd never faced anything like the previous week, even the days before Olivia had been taken.

He didn't try to defend himself. He was pretty damn sure Fin was right.