Chapter 3

AN HOUR EARLIER…

Elliot groaned as the stark lighting hit his eyes as the blindfold was ripped from its purposed placement on his face. His eyes barely registered his surroundings, just enough to confirm his assumption that he was placed on a wired cot with an incredibly thin mattress. His body attempted to stretch his sore muscles out in a subconscious reaction to the release from the blindfold. The piano wire that was still in place dug itself further into his wrists and ankles, his blood forming a thin sheen. Before he could react to the wire he simultaneously felt and heard the crack of a strong backhand against his cheek.

"Wakey, wakey, Detective, we have lots to do today," whispered Richard White into Elliot's left ear. Elliot flinched with the contact of White's breath against his ear lobe. This visit from White marked only the third since he had been dragged to this location, and the first in what Elliot could only assume was about twenty hours.

"Oh, come on, Detective, you don't have any questions to ask me," questioned White, as he circled around Elliot's cot almost drinking in the detective's bodily responses to the new stimuli of lighting.

"I…" Elliot interrupted his own retort, coughing from his unused vocal chords and lack of fluid intake. After clearing his throat he paused then responded with the tone of voice, almost an octave lower than his own, he only used with the most heinous of perps, "Where is she, you bastard? If you have her I will kill you with my bare hands."

"Oh, Elliot, or El, can I call you El? I realllly like it when I hear Olivia practically purr that one syllable nickname," White said, gloating, trying to get a further reaction out of an already distressed Stabler, "It seems as though she only reserves that for you in the bedroom."

Elliot's body reacted faster than his brain, just as White had anticipated. Any attempt at harm against Olivia caused his body with physical force. He knew, in a hidden corner of his brain, that it was his military training that invoked this hero/damsel reaction; a reaction that Olivia would have torn him a new one over. This time it caused him more harm than good, the further strain against his bindings causing new blood to seep over old. He hissed and mentally kicked himself for falling for White's simple psychological taunting. He knew that in order to stay aware, to stay above White and ahead of him, he had to let such novice taunting go.

"Where is she," Elliot asked, finally feeling as though his brain was becoming less and less foggy from the drugs White had injected into him a day, or was it only hours, ago. His mind drifted to trying to figure out the timing in relation to the effects of the drugs he still slightly felt. White slapped the mattress, getting Elliot's head back to its primary focus- locating his partner, no ex-partner, current girlfriend, his mental slip making him believe that it was possible he didn't have quite the clarity of mind he just thought he had.

"Oh, El, of course she isn't here," White said, his voice dripping with power, "why would I do something like that? So soon? You really think I have no willpower, no stamina?" White's voice elevated in volume, keying Elliot in on a possible future splinter in White's armor, "This is a marathon, Detective, not a sprint. I would not waste my energy on just a few fun filled days with Olivia, or yourself. You two seem to think you work best together, and I just want to see for myself what that actually means."

"You sick fuck," Elliot growled.

"Now, now, Detective, don't go getting your panties in a bunch," White responded as walked towards a table set off in the corner of the room. He grabbed a pair of panties and duct tape from a selection of items on the worn, wooden table.

Elliot's vision had improved enough to further check out his surroundings as he watched White's movements in the corner of the room. The room itself was not large, he estimated about twice the size of an interrogation room at the 1-6, and the walls were possibly made of cement. There was a single entrance, a door that, as Elliot squinted, looked to be made of metal, with a padlock hanging from it. The lighting he originally took as blinding, after minutes of adjusting, was merely a single overhead light source and not the original natural lighting that he first assumed. This, he realized, was a pretty big issue. This confirmed his fears after hearing White's speech, that this was extremely premeditated and intricately planned, with an end game.

Elliot's mind reeled from the possible scenarios he was concocting in his head, and he missed White's actions at the table, also missing the remaining contents. White crossed the room with a bit of a swagger, excited to start the next step of his plan.

Elliot's bindings kept his body in control. His knees were hugged to his chest, keeping him on the cot or else on the cold floor. Knowing this, he did not resist, as he wanted to when White approached him with duct tape in one hand and what looked to be his favorite pair of Liv's panties in his other. His eyes widened and his mind split into two running scenarios. One, White had Olivia and was using this as proof. Two, he retraced his memory to the last time he had seen those panties in use. It was about a week ago, and the damned piece of evergreen fabric that played off of her tanned skin so well had teased him into being seduced in her kitchen. The dinner had burned, but ordering takeout an hour later was damn well worth it. His mind came back to focus, pulling itself from the beginning of an incredibly good memory.

"Am I interrupting something," White asked knowingly, "a flashback perhaps? If you are thinking about Monday evening, I can completely agree. You were both at your best that night."

Before he could respond, White stuffed the panties into Elliot's mouth, quickly securing it with strong duct tape. Elliot's face turned shades of red, not in embarrassment, but in his trademark rage. A vein became more and more pronounced on his forehead. Without the ability to speak Elliot's voice was garbled, his eyes telling more than words even could have.

"I figured a little bit of Liv would soothe you for awhile, was I wrong El," White asked in a mocking manner, "I took them from her basket, you know, the dirty laundry basket on the left of her washing machine? I couldn't decide between these or the black lace ones, my favorite. I took these because I knew they were your favorite. Do you want to know how I know that?"

Elliot willed his body not to react, to try to lower his rapid heart rate, to mask his reaction. It didn't work.

"It was obvious, El, you always came faster and harder when you had those at the starting line," White stated as he pointed to Elliot's gag, "Well, that and the fact that your reaction triggered one in our dear Olivia. She does make the most perfect of scratch marks across your back."

Elliot closed his eyes, chanting inwardly, telling himself to calm down and to think. White was giving him an awful lot of information on his methods of stalking them, and it was quite possibly a ticket to his freedom and possibly Olivia's…wherever she was.

It was almost as if White could hear Elliot's thoughts, that he could pick up the slightest thought of his detective.

"Ah yes, I almost forgot," he said as he tilted his head, slowly closing his eyes, picturing his next task, "our Olivia." White backed away from Elliot's cot and moved towards the center of the room, under the light. The light cast an unholy halo around White, which was juxtaposed with his next question, one that would haunt Elliot for his remaining days. White took a deep breath and then cast his eyes to the other side of the room, to a wall with carefully placed hooks, a wooden school desk chair, and the twin to Elliot's cot.

"Seriously, Mr. Senior Detective, you missed the seating arraignments? I had hoped you would have caught on sooner," White said chastising Elliot for his lax investigative skills as he walked out the door, leaving a wake of palpable fear behind.