Series title: Whumptober 2023
Chapters: 1/1
Characters: Jane Rizzoli / Vince Korsak
Trigger warnings: Blood, Rape/Non-Con
A/N: The characters and universe don't belong to me. All rights go to TNT, and everyone involved in the production of Rizzoli and Isles, as well as Tess Gerritsen. Everything else belongs to my twisted imagination.
The Polaroid of her own face was staring back at her, challenging her to find him before he played his next move. They had found that house only because he let them. They had kicked down the door and searched the place. Nothing. Until she found that hidden door in the basement. She had pushed the shelf away and broken down the door. The nauseating smell of blood and urine had attacked her nose as she was rushing into the passage carved in the guts of Earth. A gloomy addition to an otherwise impeccable house. She had followed the narrow path, pointing her gun and flashlight before her in case someone showed up to cause trouble. She had expected to find traps along the way, to find hell at the end of the room but what she found was worse. She had needed a moment to take it in.
The room was a perfect recreation of the basement in which Korsak had found her years ago, except it was completely empty. She had swept over the area with her light. It caught a sparkle. She had walked up to the object that caught her light. Her heard had dropped in her chest. It was a scalpel. It was used to pin a Polaroid of her on the wall. It was a message for her. She was too nosy, and too close to find the truth behind the murders. She had to be taken care of. She would be the next victim and they would do it Hoyt's way. Not even an ounce of originality. They were only copying famous serial killers and 'finishing' their work.
If it hadn't been a clue for their murderer's next move, Jane would have ripped the picture off the wall and she was the next target of yet another psychopath. It would never end. It would always be her, because she was a woman, because she was considered of the weak gender, because they thought they could get rid of her more easily than they would of a male counterpart. Or she had a magnet drawing them to her. At least Hoyt had seen her as a worth challenger. Maybe had he respected her in his own twisted way.
She was stunned with her discovery that she didn't realise she had made a rookie mistake: she didn't clear all the dark corners of that basement to make sure no one was hiding there, waiting for their trap to close on their prey. A violent hit to the head knocked her out. She dropped her gun and light before her body collapsed to the cold hard ground.
"So nice of you to join us for the party, Detective."
x
When she opened her eyes again, she was experienced Detective Jane Rizzoli no more. She was a rookie, fresh in the Homicide squad and eager to prove her worth. She was tracking down the famous Surgeon and was convinced to have found where he was hiding with his last victim. She was right, but it had nearly cost her her life.
And now here she was again, flat on her back in some lost underground vault, staring at the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Hoyt was dead but a copycat was thriving in following in his footsteps. She was terrified. The murderer was maybe copying famous serial killers' modus operandi, but he was also adding his own twisted touch.
The distant banging on the basement door and the calling of her name reminded her that she wasn't alone. Her partners were there too. They were searching the house together when she had found that secret passage that had led her to her downfall. She tried to move and that's when she felt it, the excruciating pain in her palm. The bastard had skewered her hand and pinned her to the ground in the same way Hoyt did years ago. The pain was climbing all the way up to her shoulder... She had to fight the urge to be sick. The light bulb was just powerful enough for her to distinguish the vague shape of a shaft poking out of her shoulder. And then, just above her, his face a dark oval, the man was calmly pulling down his pants, unafraid of Jane's partners trying to find their find in.
She was petrified. If she moved, she could worsen her wounds. He straddled her, adjusting his position for his penis to press against her thankfully still covered genitals. She realised that her other hand was free. Yet, the mix of unbearable pain and terror had her fully paralysed. She could only follow him with her eyes as used a scalpel to cut the button of her pants. She swallowed a sob. He was smiling, purposefully taking his time as the blade slowly cut the fabric, revealing her underwear. His calloused hands were of an extreme softness as he pushed her top up and removed the cut fabric of her pants.
The scalpel brushed over the tender skin of her stomach. She shuddered. He followed an invisible line down her belly button to the barrier of her underwear. She was crying. His lips kissed her through the fabric. She hated her body for reacting to his filthy touch.
He never said a word as he stripped her from her clothes. She gasped when his lips circled a breast and started sucking on it. He didn't stop when the door open, nor when her partners ran through the passage. The tip of his scalpel was pressing against her jugular vein. It nicked her skin. A trickle of red ran down her neck to the floor.
The sound of gunshots was deafening to her ears. The blood was warm and bitter as it covered her face and upper body. The weight of his dead body dropping on her took her breath away. Someone cursed. The body was removed from her. She was sobbing now, ashamed of the sight she was once again offering to Korsak who kept everyone and covered her with his jacket. Just like the first time, when he had found her at Hoyt's mercy, he stayed by her side and talked to her, even after the paramedics arrived. She was apologising. He was telling her that it wasn't her fault. He never left her side, not even when she was loaded in the back of the ambulance and rushed to the closest hospital. She would survive, they said, but her recovery would take time...