Disclaimer: I still do not own the show.

Warning: This chapter may contain some graphic sexual references (such as medical terms, etc.)

Chapter One

The inevitable doom to come hung over the heads of the top dectectives in Manhattan's Special Victims Unit. Unfortunately, with no reported activity, all they could do was wait helplessly. The silence killed them.

There were many detectives under the jurisdiction of Captain Don Craegen, but four stood above the rest. Detectives Olivia Benson, Elliot Stabler, and Odafin Tutuola; and Sergeant John Munch. These four detectives were typically given some of the most difficult cases. Craegen often felt that the detectives' devotion to their work accounted for much of their success. Though, he often questioned their motives- especially with the risks taken when these four went far beyond the call of duty.

If you asked any police officer in New York City what the hardest crimes were, the response would be almost unanimous: sex crimes; the crimes covered by the Special Victims Unit. Fin, who worked in Narcotics before joining the SVU in 2000 often commented that "with druggies, you just gotta be tough."

Tough doesn't go very far in SVU. Unlike in homicide, many of the victims are living; broken and battered, but still alive. Dealing with these victims requires more than just strength- it requires a heart.

--

"You know, I was enjoying the extra sleep," Olivia admitted to her partner as she ducked underneath the yellow police tape. "It figures we'd be called in before 4 AM."

"Let's just see if this is as bad as we've been thinking our next case would be," Elliot spoke with little emotion in his voice.

Of course, in New York City, the crime scene was anything but quiet. Civilians always seemed to flock outside the crime scene tape with cell phones and digital cameras. It was like a show to them. The detectives figured photos and videos would be posted online before sunrise.

"Detectives Benson and Stabler, Special Victims," Olivia flashed her badge to one of the officers on scene. "What do we have here?"

"Everett and Calandra Foster. A neighbor called; said she heard screaming. Seemed more annoyed about the noise than anything. Warner's checking for fluids," The officer gestured to the two cloth-covered figures on the floor.

"Melinda, can you tell us anything?" Olivia crouched down next to the medical examiner.

The doctor nodded. "I found fluids, but we won't know anything until we get back to the lab."

"Cause of death?"

"Probably bled to death. I'll know more after I do an autopsy of the bodies. I can tell you that the killer wanted them to suffer."

"What makes you say that?" Detective Stabler asked.

"Whoever did this beat the hell out of these people, and besides," she pulled the bottom of the cloth up, revealing the man's bloody genital region. "The penectomy was performed before he died."

Elliot winced as the color left his face. "That's certainly one way to make a man suffer. Just hack off his penis."

"El, look at the door," Olivia pointed to a mangled mechanism. "The perp forced his way in here."

"Okay, so here's what I'm thinking. Someone comes in rob them. Wife wakes up and makes the husband check it out. Then, she gets worried and goes to check on it herself. Burglars see an opportunity. They rape her, and then they beat both of them to death."

Olivia just nodded, scanning the room for more clues. "Any idea what the murder weapon was?"

Melinda shook her head. "I'm not sure what things were used."

"Things?" Elliot asked, the color returning to his face.

"I told you they beat the hell out of these people. There was more than one weapon used to kill these people. I won't be able to figure them all out until the autopsies are performed."

Things were silent between the three as the business around them continued. They were all trapped in their momentary trains of thought. Their lives were something between a mystery novel and a bad horror film. The only difference is that this was real. Real people with real pain, real problems. It never made any sense; they came up with explanations, but there was always a level in which they would never be able to fully understand.

--

Aside from the mangled door mechanism and the bodies, there weren't many clues. Even the presence of fluids would mean little until they had some DNA to which they could compare.

So, the detectives did what they could. Donning latex gloves, they searched the house for anything that might help explain what happened. As Olivia walked down the hallway, she stopped. From behind a closed door came a sound of shuffling.

"Elliot," she whispered loudly, motioning to her partner. "There's someone in that room."

Neither really believed that the perpetrator would still be in the house, but it was better safe than sorry in cases such as these. Elliot went first, Olivia behind; each holding out their guns in preparation for self-defense. Each standing on either sides of the doorway, Elliot pushed the door open before pointing his gun in, and then turning inside. "Police! Put your hands up!"

"Elliot, wait."

In the corner, sat a little girl, probably no older than seven. Her knees held up to her chest. Her chestnut hair was tied into two messy braids; her tear-stained face speckled with freckles. She wore a purple t-shirt that was at least two sizes too big, and a pair of purple plaid cotton pants. Held between her knees and her chest was a stuffed cat.

And she sat there, trembling with blue eyes wide in fear as she held her hands up in the air.