Author's Comments: Have patience. That is all.

Too Close

Chapter Ten

Part 1.

Elliot hung up the phone and marched into Cragan's office. "How's Liv?" said the captain.

"They're not allowing her any visitors, or phone calls, for some reason," he said, his voice irate. "I can bring her some clothes—that's it."

Cragan's eyebrows lowered. "I wonder what's going on over there. Go talk to Huang, see if he's been able to get in to see her."

Elliot nodded and made his way to George's office. He knocked on the door, not giving George time to invite him in before saying, "Have you been to see Olivia?"

"I did see her last night," he said, looking up from his computer monitor. "But I'm not having any luck finding out anything about her treatment. They're stone-walling me. In fact, I just got off the phone with a patient representative at the facility, and they won't even let me see her anymore."

"Isn't that an ethics violation?" said Elliot.

"Yes, it is," said George. "As a patient, she has a right to a mental health professional of her choice. But all I can do is lodge a complaint with the Office of Mental Health and hope that they remedy the situation. I was getting ready to do that right now."

Elliot sighed. "Crap," he said. "I'm really worried about her, and I have no way to check up on her. She's probably okay, but I've heard things about that place—"

"I have too," said Huang. "That is where the woman died in the emergency room after being left without treatment for hours on end. Staff members practically stepped over her dead body on the floor, bypassing her several times without checking on her."

Elliot turned toward the door and pounded his palm against the frame. "I've got to at least go over there and deliver her clothes. Maybe I can find out something else while I'm there."

"Good luck," said George. "I'll do what I can from my end." As Elliot began to step out the door, George said, "Oh, by the way." Elliot's hand froze on the door frame. "Do you have any idea how Olivia got that bruise on her face? She looked like she had marks around her neck too."

Elliot sighed inwardly, shutting the door behind him as he turned to walk over to George's desk, taking a seat across from him. He hung his head and looked down at his hands as he said, "I, um . . . Olivia and I had a fight, and it got physical."

Looking up to see George's reaction, Elliot thought he saw a trace of anger flash over the man's normally stoic expression. "You mean you hit her," he said.

"Yeah," said Elliot softly. "And then when she fought back, I—I choked her."

Elliot fought hard to keep tears from escaping the corners of his eyes, not wanting to appear repentant only when directly confronted with his misdeeds. The truth was, he had cried every day over the damage he had done to her. "George, I don't expect forgiveness from her or anyone. What I did was inexcusable. But what I can't figure out is, how do I make this right?"

"You get help," said George, back to his calm-natured persona. "And not because you want her to come back to you. But because you sincerely want to make sure you get control of your anger."

Elliot shook his head and said, "How did you know we're seeing each other? We haven't told anyone."

"You never got physical with her all these years as her partner, did you?"

"Not once."

"So, as your relationship intensified, so did your emotions. That's why it's just now happening." George examined Elliot's face to see if he was getting it, and then said, "Look, Elliot, most men who abuse don't change, it's true. But you have something other men don't have—you have insight into how wrong your behavior was, and you have real remorse. I think if you get help, and you take responsibility for your own actions, you can learn to relate to Olivia in a healthy way."

"Thanks, doc," said Elliot, wringing his hands. "I wish I could say that makes me feel better, but I'm not sure I'm ever going to forgive myself for hurting the woman I love."

Part 2.

Olivia leaned on a chair in the common room and inhaled several deep breaths. Right now there was nothing she wanted more than drop into one of the chairs and curl up into a little ball, sleeping until someone took her away. The drugs they gave her—anti-depressants, anti-agitation, anti-anxiety—along with the strain from all the major life events that wanted to pour on her all at once for some unknown reason, all made her want to give up and give in to whatever came her way.

But she sighed and lifted her head, looking around the room at the downcast faces surrounding her. She picked one young woman with bandages around her wrists, and strolled over to her. "Hi, I'm Olivia," she said.

The woman startled as if nobody had ever talked to her in this place. But then she said, "I'm Rita."

"You doing okay in here?" said Olivia, looking Rita straight in the eyes.

"I guess," said Rita, her gaze darting around, looking for guards. She whispered, "This place is horrible. There's bugs, and no doctor or counselor ever talks to me. But I'm supposed to get out tomorrow."

"I know what you mean about this place," said Olivia. "Rita, do you get any phone calls?"

"Yeah," nodded Rita. "Why? Don't you?"

"Good," said Olivia, lowering her voice. "Because I'm a cop, and they won't let me use the phone. It's very important that I use it, so I can report what's going on here."

Rita shot her a look that said she didn't believe a word of what Olivia was saying. "For real?" she said.

"Yeah, and if you'll do what I ask you to, you can verify it. All I need is for you to make one phone call."

Rita's eyes got wide, and Olivia said, "I promise I'm not making this up. I'm not delusional, I'm just depressed, just like you. But I know people who might be able to help us."

Rita smirked, and then said, "What do you want me to do?"

When Olivia was done talking to Rita, she walked throughout the common area, searching the faces of patients she encountered. After she had looked at about a dozen faces, she recognized one woman, and said to her, "Excuse me."

The woman's eyes flashed terror, and Olivia said, "It's okay, my name is Olivia. Remember me?"

The woman, a wild-eyed brunette in her forties, nodded curtly but did not speak. Olivia said, "What's your name?"

The woman hesitated, and for a moment Olivia thought she might not be able to speak. Finally, she said in a broken voice, "Tabby."

"Tabby," said Olivia, "You know I saw what happened in the bathroom the other day."

Tabby looked around nervously, and said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's okay," said Olivia, trying to catch the woman's gaze. "You don't have to talk to anyone about it right now. But there might be police officers coming to investigate, and you need to tell them what happened, okay? They'll make sure you're safe."

Just then, Roberto appeared in the room with a wheelchair, saying, "Miss Olivia, it's time."