A Silent Cry For Help
TITLE: And They All Fall Down
CHAPTER ONE: A Silent Cry For Help
SUMMARY: Living by the Seven Heavenly Virtues has never been so dangerous. Violent attacks are happening in NYC and it is up to Faith to figure it out. She’s going to need all the help the SVU crew can give her to stop this killer.
NOTES: Set after “Chosen”, Tenth Entry in the August Fic-A-Day Challenge at Twisted Shorts
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and/or Angel the Series, they belong to Fox, the WB/UPN, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. The characters of Law and Order: SVU belong to NBC, Dick Wolf, etc. The ideas and concepts in this story are mine entirely. Please do not copy or take this story without my permission.
**Detective Olivia Benson’s POV
I was on the way back to my car after checking in on a victim. I kept in touch with some of my past cases because it gave me strength. To see a person survive what these victims had to and make it out in one piece was why I did my job.
The lights on the sidewalk were strangely all dark. The lamppost on the other side of the street all seemed in working order. I made a mental note to contact the city maintenance department and get them out here. I passed the last alley before my car and involuntarily shuddered as a cool chill went down my spine. I stopped in my tracks, turning around slowly, and retraced my steps. Again, as I walked past the mouth of the alley, I got a chill. There was nothing down that alley, absolutely nothing but darkness. I knew that just as I knew my name, but deeper down my gut told me something wasn’t right. When I walked back towards my car, crossing before the alley for a third time I saw something. It was too brief to determine exactly what it was, but it was enough for me to step into that alley, and enough for me to pull my gun.
I pulled my gun and carefully moved forward. It was dark, almost pitch black, the only dim light came from the streetlight too far away.
The iron smell of blood hit me after two steps. It was strong, almost thick, tangible, and I gagged. But I kept going because I could make out a body in the alley, a few yards further in.
“I’m Detective Benson, I’m with the New York City Police Department,” I called out as I approached the prone figure.
Blood was everywhere. There was no way to avoid tracking through it. And though keeping the crime scene intact was important, it wasn’t as important as the life of the person on the ground.
The body didn’t move as I continued further into the alley. The shadows seemed to grow thicker, darker, as I reached my destination. Piles of dirt, intermingled with broken pieces of wood littered the alley. There had been one hell of a fight in this alley. It took some real muscle to tear apart those wooden crates. Finally I came to a stop a few feet from the body and called out again, identifying myself.
The woman was naked and laying in a lake of blood. A slight mist was evaporating from the blood, mixing with the cool air. The crime scene was recent, very recent. A chill ran down my spine and I quickly looked around making sure I was still alone in the alley. She was beaten and broken, an arm at an odd angle, and blood oozing from tears all along her flesh. A black tribal tattoo was visible through the mass of cuts along her arm, but there were no other prominent identifying features. I shifted the gun into my right hand and took a few more steps toward her. I crouched down and gagged again as I got closer to the gory mess before me. I had to determine whether she was dead or alive. Pity made me hope she was dead.
I slid my fingers through the bloody, torn mess that was her neck and felt for a pulse. I had almost given up when I felt it, weak, horribly weak, but it was there. I clicked the safety on my gun back on and slammed it into its holster. I found my cell phone and flipped it open. Auto dial one got me the department dispatch.
“This is Detective Olivia Benson, Badge Number 3258461, I need a bus down the alley on the west side of East 106th Street and Park Ave immediately. I have a badly injured female assault victim,” I yelled into the phone. The operator on the other side calmly informed me that she relayed the message and the bus was on its way. I thanked her and flipped the phone shut, stowing it back in my jacket.
I spared another look down at the young brunette before me and wondered just how she had managed to end up in this situation.