Ed blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the scene unfolding in front of him. He looked around. He was at the park. He smiled—he knew where he was, he remembered. Two decades must have passed since that day in the library. He put both of his hands in his pockets as he walked toward the farther, more deserted part of the park.
He stops and holds his breath when he sees her. A dozen lifetimes or more, and yet she still takes his breath away. Didn't it happen quite literally? Even in death, she still has this kind of effect on him. He smiled on that thought.
Olivia was sitting on the bench, wearing a black leather jacket over a white shirt, washed-out jeans, and lace-up ankle boots. Her hair was tucked into a half ponytail, so he could clearly see her face. She fidgeted, uncomfortable—well, who wouldn't be? Being in a deserted part of the park.
Her partner was beside her, Stabler, he remembered. He wore a denim jacket, almost the same color as Olivia's jeans, a black shirt, and black pants. A blue cap rested on top of his head. He seemed to be nervous as well—no, vigilant, like he would draw his gun at anyone who seemed dangerous. Didn't he tell them not to look like cops? What a pair, Ed thought, and chuckled.
He caught a little movement out of the corner of his eye. He watched himself walk toward them slowly, sizing them up, and then stop a few feet away.
"I told you not to look like a cop," he said. Both of them looked at him and shrugged at the same time. Standing up, Stabler introduced himself. "Elliot Stabler. This is my partner, Olivia Benson."
"So you're the help our captain mentioned?" he asked, eyeing Ed warily.
Ed's gaze shifted from Stabler to Olivia. Would she recognize him? he wondered. Then he noticed a gleam in her eyes for a brief moment. He tilted his head to the side as she raised one eyebrow and smirked in response. So, does she? He put both hands in his suit pockets.
"Your captain—" he began, but a wave of confusion washed over him as a sweet scent hit his senses. It smelled like jasmine or vanilla with a slightly musky undertone—moonflower. He was smelling a moonflower.
"What? Our captain is what?" Stabler's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Impatient, he thought.
"Uh..." Ed cleared his throat. "Your captain—did he brief you about this 'help' you're asking for?" He gestured up and down toward himself. A moonflower in this park? He would know if one was here, wouldn't he? Especially this kind—one that bloomed only at the winter solstice, every leap year. But they were in the middle of June; if anything, the Summer Solstice was approaching. He swallowed a lump in his throat.
"...he said that you would do that and asked us to meet you here," Stabler said, his eyes narrowing at him with a hint of annoyance in his voice. 'I'll go back to investigate the flower later', he thought. "Okay, what can you tell me about this case?" he asked.
"Three females, rape-homicide. All of them had scratches all over their bodies, but none were deep enough to cause exsanguination. No DNA on the victims, either." Olivia chimed in, handing him a file folder.
He nodded, contemplating her words. It wasn't unusual for his kind to be violent against one another or against humans, the way humans were violent toward their own kind. If it were, he wouldn't be here. "Aside from the scratches, did they have any other injuries in common?" He already knew the answer, but he had to ask.
"Yeah, two small puncture wounds on the neck, about two inches apart," Stabler said, with uncertainty in his voice.
"Cap said you'd be able to shed some light... So, you're a cop? We didn't catch your name, and what precinct are you from?" he added with evident skepticism.
Ed stood there, staring at him. He was used to this kind of treatment, but before he answered, his gaze shifted to the woman beside him, trying to gauge if she shared the same skepticism her partner had. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and he couldn't decipher the emotion in her eyes. He looked back at Stabler.
"Tucker. Ed Tucker. I'm a consultant to One-P-P, on a need-to-know basis, but rest assured, you can have my assistance in this case." He said it sternly, not wanting to give any additional information and hoping Stabler wouldn't ask anything more.
"What kind of crap is that? We're supposed to work with you in this case without knowing what department you're in or who you work for?" Stabler snapped. Christ, this one's going to be a headache, Ed thought. He only pursed his lips into thin lines.
He sighed inwardly. "I'm not at liberty to say, Detective. But I am here to help you and your partner." He saw Stabler clench his jaw, open his mouth to rebut, but before he could say anything else, his pager rang. Stabler unhooked it from his belt and squinted at the small device.
"We gotta go," he said to Olivia. She nodded at her partner and met his gaze. For a split second, Ed saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes before she moved to follow Stabler, who was already walking away. Just then, Ed's pager rang. They both stopped in their tracks and turned to look at him.
"I'm betting you're coming with us?" Stabler asked.
"I guess I am," Ed replied.
They arrived on the scene in two separate cars: Ed in his own, while the partners rode in theirs. Pulling to the curb, Ed noticed a few uni's patrol cars and ambulance.
The three of them got out of their cars and approached the officers. "Stabler, Benson, and uh, Tucker," Stabler said, gesturing to the two people walking behind him. "What'd you got?"
"Uhm, Male, murdered. ME is inside, we're canvassing, and uhm... It's a scene, detective," said the officer with a distant and pale expression.
When they reached the door of the apartment, Ed was hit by the smell of blood. He doesn't usually get affected by this, but it was a lot. Like, a lot. The cream colored walls were covered, as if someone had decided to splash paint them with it along the furniture and appliances, and the floorboard was soaked. He ran his hand to his face, 'Christ. This is a mess.'
His stomach started to growl with hunger. 'This is bad', he thought. He needs to back away. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he closed his eyes for a brief second and thought to himself, 'Get a grip, Ed'. When he opened his eyes, he met Olivia's brown ones, staring at him with a hint of weariness. He gave her a forced smile.
Stabler strode toward the center of the apartment, where a body was covered by a soaked blanket. He took a peek. Whoever this man was, he couldn't be recognized anymore; pieces of his skull were already visible.
"Time of Death, approximately, 16 to 18 hours ago. I can't confirm the exact cause yet, but based on the amount of blood we can see in this apartment, exsanguination is a good bet," said a woman in her mid-30s with curly hair, wearing a gray suit. Ed guessed she was the Medical Examiner. "I haven't seen this kind of brutality before. I'm not even sure if there's any blood left on his body."
"Well, when the officer said that 'it's a scene,' we didn't expect it to be like this," Benson remarked. "Do we know what the murder weapon is? And we're sure the cause of death isn't blunt force trauma, given the state of this guy's face?" She asked, kneeling near the body, inspecting it.
"No, that was post-mortem. Whoever did this... is definitely full of rage. The throat was, well, the best word is tore off," the ME answered.
"Could it be a bat?" Stabler offered.
"Too early to tell. I can see some scratches too. I'll know more when I get him on my table," the ME said with a sigh. "Sorry, that's all I can say for now."
"Scratches? Was he sexually assaulted? Is that why you called us, Melinda?" Olivia asked, standing up to her feet.
"No. I don't think he was," Melinda replied. "But we found shredded women's clothes in the bedroom. And when I say shredded, I mean it—literally." She gave them a knowing look.
Ed sighed and walked toward the bedroom. The walls were painted green—unlike the living room, there was no splash of red in here, but he smelled blood before he saw it. A few drops were on the floor, next to shredded pieces of clothes scattered around and a few more on the bed. He couldn't discern what was top or bottom on the pieces left. There were also scratches on the pillow, as if an animal had gotten loose in this room. His eyes widened when he saw what looked like a tongue pierced with a fork on top of the dresser behind a black lamp shade.
"Does that guy still have his tongue?" he asked loudly.
"What? Yes, why?" Melinda came behind him, confusion in her voice.
"Is that a tongue?" Stabler asked, following his gaze.
Shit. Whoever did this, they're just getting started.