A/N: There once was a fanfiction author who got inspired by another fanfiction author and came up with a story because of that. The first one's called performativezippers with her (unfortunately yet unfinished) story 'Attachment', the second one colormetheworld and 'Bound'. Both are brilliant. I had to come up with my own.
Chapter 1: The House
The house was decrepit.
It had been painted twice, first in green, then white. Both coats were chipped now, revealing the naked wood here and there, which had become gray over the years.
The windows were nailed shut. The person who had handled the nail-gun hadn't even cared enough to push the curtains out of the way. Now parts of the fabric were forever banned to the outside. The sun had drained those scraps of fabric of their color; only the part that was still on the inside, still fulfilling its purpose as a curtain, spoke of the orange and little white flowers which once had spread all over the cloth.
They came with the element of surprise and didn't try to make a noiseless entrance. They stormed through the back door right into the kitchen, the lead detective taking cover behind two fully equipped members of the SWAT team, one of whom had shattered the wooden door and its frame with a ram seconds prior to their invasion.
A foul odor hung in the air as they rushed through the small single-story living space, shouting "Clear!" whenever they met the corner of a room without encountering anyone.
With a nod the detective commanded the team towards the basement door. They paused for a second, before smashing it just like the one before, and descended the narrow staircase shouting "Police! Hands up! No one moves!"
The basement was lit by a single naked bulb, bathing everything in strangely out of place warm and yellow colors. The detective moved, gun out, around the two men who wordlessly held their positions at the foot of the stairs, weapons drawn as well and pointed at something on the ground.
It was a woman. She was cowering in front of a shabby army cot, her back to them, shoulders raised tensely and both hands placed on the mattress in front of her.
It was not what the detective had expected to find. The team had set out to arrest Logan Milford, a real estate agent, which was an ironic profession as the detective considered the place he called home. Two months ago he had kidnapped a little boy out of a house he had sold when the now two-year-old had not even been born, yet.
It took them long to figure it out. Almost too long to keep up hope. After the first week of William Johansson's disappearance most of the team had been discouraged profoundly; not the detective, though. A planned kidnapping of a toddler out of his bedroom without a ransom note simply didn't feel like murder had been the motivation for the act. However, standing in that basement she was still only praying she'd be right.
A woman hadn't been in the picture. Yet, she was the only person to be found on the property they had been able to trace back to Milford.
"Hands behind your head!" The detective barked once more, adrenaline coursing through every fiber of her body. The woman on the floor flinched, but obeyed the command and quickly intertwined her fingers at the back of her skull. She also bent towards the cot slightly and rested her elbows on top of the mattress.
"Get up and slowly turn around!"
The woman flinched again, then hectically shook her head, begging desperately, "Please, you can do as you like, but please let me stay..." She suddenly moved a hand away from her head to the hem of her shirt, but the detective immediately shouted "Hand back up!" which made her flinch once more as she pushed her hunched form even closer to the bed-frame, her hand back on its assigned position.
The detective took a few steps to the side then, trying to get a better look at the stranger. The shirt had slid up a little where the woman had touched it moments ago, revealing pale skin and red marks. Everything about the scene felt off. The woman's head was buried in between her arms, greasy long strands of matted hair splayed over her trembling shoulders. Just when the detective thought there was nothing else to learn from her new angle, she noticed movement on the woman's lap and under the bed.
"Is that William?" she asked, even though she already knew. The other woman, however, oddly enough started shaking her head again and also moved her hand back to whatever task it had on her shirt. She winced, probably in anticipation of the protest she thought would follow.
It did not come. The detective bit her tongue, bit down the standard commands she was supposed to shout in this kind of situation. The woman succeeded to lift her shirt this time, the angry red streaks turning out to be whipping marks. In some places the skin had broken, some of the wounds were already healing, some so fresh that raising the shirt had smeared some of the blood seeping out of them.
"Do as you please", the woman startled the detective out of her thoughts at the captivating sight. "But only to me."
At that the tall detective dropped to her knees, keeping an arm's length distance to the woman who was crouching over the little one they had spent so much time trying to find.
"We're the police", she said. "We're here for William. No-one's going to hurt you."
The woman didn't move.
"Can you hand him over to me?" The detective tried further and noticed an immediate change as the shoulders of the foreigner started shaking again. She had moved her hands to the small head that seemed to be resting in her lap. The detective still didn't tell her to put them back against her head. She looked over at the SWAT members, who were still pointing their gun's at the battered woman's back.
"This won't be rushed", the task force leader explained to them. "Go back outside and report to Cavanaugh. Wait for me there." They didn't even nod before turning and leaving the chamber in the basement.
The detective inspected the woman they found more thoroughly now. She was clad in black slacks and a black shirt, which still only covered half of her injured back, making the observer wonder how many more bruises and wounds were hidden underneath the fabric. She was very skinny, obviously undernourished. Her whole appearance was emaciated and filthy.
She waited for a long time. Best case scenario, the woman would relax a little in her presence. After fifteen minutes of silence, however, she decided to open the conversation.
"I'm Detective Rizzoli", she introduced herself and after a beat she added, "Jane. My name's Jane. What's yours?" She felt overwhelmed by a sense of guilt that no-one had even been looking for this woman. Not that she knew of, anyway.
When the woman didn't answer, she asked, "Would you look at me?"
"There is no use." Her voice was small, but steady. "I cannot see you properly."
"Why's that?"
"My pupils are dilated."
"Okay." Jane Rizzoli was at an unaccustomed loss of words. She decided to keep the woman talking, even if the conversation felt odd. "Why are your pupils dilated?"
"Because of the Cyclogyl drops he gives me."
"Who? Logan Milford?"
"I don't know", the woman sighed, almost sounding a little frustrated.
"You don't know what?" Detective Rizzoli had to be careful not to grow frustrated herself. The woman they found had been beaten and kept in a basement, only god knew how long. She had no right to rush the process, that had been her initial feeling. Still, the conversation didn't seem to go anywhere and there was still the little boy she so desperately wanted to check on.
"I don't know his name." At least the woman seemed lucid and willing enough to answer the questions.
"It was a man, though, who kept you here?" This only got her a nod.
"Would you move back from the bed and let me look at you, please?" She tried again. Like before, the woman tensed visibly, but also slowly shuffled away from the cot the way she had been asked to. For the first time the detective was able to see the other woman's face. They were about the same age, somewhere in the beginning of her thirties, as far as Jane Rizzoli could tell. The lady was squinting, probably because of the light sensitivity due to the eye drops she had talked about, but otherwise her face showed no signs of bruises or injuries. At least there she hadn't been hit lately.
As the woman pushed herself away from the cot she reached under the boy's shoulders and pulled him up with her. He yelped when he came out from under the bed, but only once before he dug his face into her neck and slung his short arms around her meager torso in a vise-like grip.
"Is he okay?" the detective asked, instinctively reaching out, but never touching them.
"He hasn't sustained any injuries. I am not fully qualified to draw a conclusion concerning his mental and emotional state." The woman was tentatively stroking the little boy's back. Detective Rizzoli frowned.
"You have medical training?" She got merely a nod this time. Why did all the personal questions seem so hard to answer for that woman?
"I would really like to get you both to a hospital", she proposed, trying to get somewhere. The child's parents had the right to get him back as quickly as possible. The last two months had been torturous for them. That was the reason why she didn't ask the woman, if she felt up to it. In the end, it wasn't her place to decide, but the police's responsibility to get her medical attention as well as her statement. They needed it. Logan Milford was still out there somewhere.
"He hates loud noises", the woman stated and Detective Rizzoli took it as a general sign of complying.
"I don't want to unnecessarily scare him either", she replied and saw a hint of gratefulness flash over the woman's face. "Would you wait here a sec and let me get something from my car?"
Obviously that kind of request was too much to handle for the woman, as she gazed back at the detective with a mixture of confusion and fear. Jane Rizzoli wasn't sure she would be able to decipher all the layers of conflict that woman found herself in, or to help her with it at all.
She would definitely try, though. It had never been her approach to handle only one part of a crime. She had always fully engaged in the task, had sought the contact to the people who were connected to the victim, and ultimately that was what made her a successful and greatly appreciated member of the force.
She met the woman's gaze and tried to reassure her. "Trust me. I'll be back in two. You are safe now."
She stood up, intent on not making any sudden or jerky movements, and quietly ascended the stairs. Before she opened the door she looked back at the woman. She hadn't moved an inch, her back to the staircase. Underneath her long honey blond hair the tiny arms and hands could be seen of the boy she held close.
No-one knew what had happened down in that basement, yet. No-one could tell what kind of experiences those two had shared, had to share, what had forced the bond they obviously formed. The detective didn't want to call someone over her radio in order to get the item she required. On one hand, it didn't feel right to confront the woman and the little boy with more people again right now. On the other hand, she wanted to check how the situation outside had developed since she had been left by the SWAT team.
As detective Rizzoli stepped into the cold night's air, she felt as if coming out of a hazy dream, or another dimension that had been locked away in this old house of foul smells and horrors. It was a clear night, her eyes were drawn to the sky by a desire for closure she inexplicably searched in the stars. She couldn't make out a single one, though, the red and blue flashing lights from the patrol cars too invasive.
"Detective Rizzoli! What's the news on the kidnapped toddler?" A news reporter shouted at her from behind the tape. While she had been down there the area around the house had been turned into a crime scene. And the scene of crimes was what this place really was, she contemplated, even though they could call themselves fortunate for discovering those people alive. She made out lieutenant Sean Cavanaugh, her boss, at the far end of the back yard, talking to two distressed people who, on second inspection, she recognized as William's parents.
"Are they coming out?" Her partner Barry Frost, a merely half-baked detective, had come up to her unnoticed.
"Not yet", she hissed, annoyed and not stopping on her way to her car. To his credit Frost already knew her well enough to not take her mood personally. "Who the fuck called the parents?" she asked as she ducked under the police tape that marked the beginning of the street.
Frost gaped at her. "They're his parents."
"His identity hasn't even been confirmed, Frost", she spat. "Do you know what it will do to them if it's not him!?"
"You think it's not him? The SWAT team said you found him!"
At that she stopped and rubbed her forehead in frustration. She needed to get back. She had promised to be quick.
"It's him, alright!? But all that matters right now is that there are two people in distress down there. I'm not sure either one of them is ready for the outside. For people wanting anything from them, and if it's only a damn hug."
She pulled open the door on the passenger's side and opened the glove department where she produced the headphones she usually put on at the shooting range.
Ignoring Frost's baffled stare she asked him, "Would you do something for me?"
"Anything", he replied in an instant, straightening himself.
She knew she could count on him. "Back up my car all the way to the back door over there", she explained as she handed him the keys. "Tell Cavanaugh I will take the woman and the boy to the hospital and they should meet us there."
"I'm not sure he'll like that, Jane."
"You didn't see them", the detective whispered. "They're not ready to be separated." With that she started jogging into the direction of the house again, just when her boss seemed to have spotted her. She disappeared into the dark kitchen as a barked "Rizzoli!" and the engine of her car resounded through the yard.
She once more went down the stairs to a room she had already come to dread. To her surprise the still unknown woman was standing now, holding the child the same way as before against her chest, and facing the entrance to the place that had served as her cage. She was still squinting against the dim light.
"It's true", the woman remarked, confusion still crossing her features.
"Yes, it is", the detective replied as she came to stand in front of the two. She knew why the woman had said that and tried to convey all the seriousness she was capable of, as she held out the headphones for the lady to take. "I'm getting you out of here."
The woman nodded briskly and carefully took the item from the taller woman, trying not to brush her fingers. She then turned around to the cot.
"William, dear, I have to put you down for a moment, alright?" Her voice had completely changed. All the unsureness from before was gone. In an even pace she shifted her weight from one leg to the other and back, gently rocking the small child and giving him all the time to make up his mind.
"Alright", he mumbled after a while to the detective's surprise and let himself be lowered to the mattress without any protest. He was simply eying the woman he was not accustomed to, equally curious and suspicious.
The other woman sat down next to him, quietly hissing at the movement that seemed to be painful, and took his hand, which made him immediately raise his beautiful brown eyes to hers.
"This lady is with the police", the woman explained, barely motioning into detective Rizzoli's direction. "She will take us to a hospital. There will be people who want to see if we are alright."
"What 'bout him?" the boy inquired.
"He will not be there." The certainty with which she said it, made Jane hope that the obviously hurt woman had not been damaged too severely by the monster they still had to catch.
"Alright", the boy said again and the detective felt deep respect for the trust they had built with each other.
"Detective Rizzoli gave me these for you", the lady continued and Jane was slightly astonished to hear her title and last name out of that woman's mouth. A woman, who seemed so very collected all of the sudden, but only minutes ago had showed no sign whether the information Jane had provided had actually reached her.
"When you wear them, everything will be less scary. And you can hold onto me at all times."
The little one nodded in a comprehensible manner.
"Remember our safe word?"
"Yes", he replied instantly, lisping slightly. The lady then picked up the headphones and gently placed them over his ears. It was barely visible, but they smiled at each other. That woman had done a remarkable job, the detective realized. She had kept a safe place for that child within a most hostile environment. She watched as the woman picked up the boy again and he laid his head against her collarbone, eyes back on the detective.
"Ready?" Jane asked. The woman didn't nod. "It's gonna be alright", the detective encouraged, using the same word the lady had used with the boy. "I got my car parked one step out of the house. All you need to do is slip in the back seat." She then turned and waited until the woman came to stand behind her, before she put her foot on the first step.
As they reached the door to the basement, she explained, "There will be emergency vehicle lighting coming in through the windows when we step into the kitchen."
"May I...", the woman started, but the tension and insecurity were back and obviously prohibited her from voicing her request. Jane looked over her shoulder.
"Anything you want, okay?", she told her in a hoarse voice that she hoped to be perceived as soft. Not a term her colleagues would ever dare to describe her with.
"May I hold on to your back, so I can shield my eyes and still find the way?"
"'Course", she said. Under different circumstances she would have made a joke about the formal way the woman enunciated herself. "Just ignore everything that's going on. Keep focused on getting you and William in the car, alright?" This time the woman nodded.
And then she opened the door.
Even from inside the kitchen she could see that the amount of press had tripled since she'd been outside. The lights and noises would yield stress to anyone, not only the poor people who had been locked away for months. As soon as she pushed open the door to the backyard, William's parents, the Johanssons, rushed towards them, the mother screaming hysterically as Frost and Cavanaugh quickly moved to stop their approach. Jane was grateful for the trust her boss and team mates showed in that instant. They let her make the call on how the situation should be handled.
The woman behind her suddenly gasped and painfully dug her nails into the detective's shoulder, just before she sagged against her. Jane was fast enough to catch her around the waist, and even though the woman shrieked in shock and pain, she dragged her along, pulled open the back door of her car and ungracefully maneuvered her and the child she held inside. She didn't bother to look up at the crowd in front of the house, just slid behind the wheel and drove away from the crime scene as quickly as possible.
A/N: Okay. This had to get out of my head, but now there seriously is nothing left in there. Not for that story anyway. For now. So, to be fair, this'll be a one shot.