Title: Walking Separate Paths
Author: Tara
Rating: R/NC-17 (m/f, m/m)
Pairings: Benson/Stabler, Stabler/Beecher, Beecher/Keller, Keller/m
Summary: This is technically an AU set where we know that OZ is in NY, Stabler's wife Kathy hasn't left yet, and Keller never died. A child prostitution ring leaves Elliot with new answers to his own origins, and redefines a new meaning for family. I suck at writing Summaries, but this is one of my better pieces of fanfic, so enjoy.
(****Author's note: This chapter contains explicit scenes, including initial descriptions of a post-mortem examination. Please do not read if you are in any way offended by this material!****)
Chapter XIII
Augustus Hill:
"You guys ever read Through the Looking Glass? You know, the whole thing with the mirror, and the mind-blowing acid trip?
Imagine for a moment, that you are in a white room. There are four white walls, a ceiling, and a floor. You’re alone, facing the glare of those white walls pressing in on you, all encompassing, always the same. Suddenly, you find yourself facing a mirror, each movement you make perfectly replicated in front of you.
It's your face, your eyes, your mind. Or is it? Come on, Alice, what would you do if your reflection had a mind of its own? Each movement is makes now is a mockery of your own. And you, Alice, grow more frustrated with each movement, each impersonation of yourself. Do you bang on the glass? Go ahead, bang on it.
Bang.
Bang!
BANG!
The glass is gone, and you stand face to face with yourself. Is this how others see you? Is this how you see yourself? Could you really walk away from your double? Would you stand there, fascinated with the likeness of yourself? Could you let it walk away from YOU?
Somewhere down the line, maybe it was my Baptist Momma, maybe was Disney; each one gives you the great impression of 'good' and 'bad.' It’s as though there really is a tiny angel, sitting on each shoulder, whispering in your ears.
Do you listen?
Lewis Carroll, now HE was an interesting guy. Is he a child molester, or a brilliant author? Can a good man come back from the rabbit hole?
Soon, you'll find out, but before we take out our acid trip into madness, let's leave our heroes be. They've got a lot to catch up on, you know.
'Hic locus est ubi mors gaudet succurrere vitae, This is the place where death rejoices to teach those who live.’”
~~~
Medical Examiner's Office, 1 Police Plaza, 10:58 a.m.
Her stomach hadn't failed her during the internal exam. She'd half expected it to, but it was Finn who'd turned gray, finally begging off to sit in the waiting room somewhere around the time the bone shears had made an entrance. He'd left he room, breathing shallowly through his mouth, as the proctor's knife bumped over each rib, slowly loosening the connective rib tissue from the bone.
The smell was overwhelming. Watching the knife, pressing into flesh that couldn't bleed, held her gaze in morbid fascination. She'd always been the one to relate, but now, watching Warner life a section of ribs off of his exposed chest cavity, she couldn't feel. She couldn't think of this as more than a body, or she'd lose it.
She averted her eyes as the stomach contents were weighed and examined, but the sound of the M.E.'s voice called her back into focus.
"Benson." Warner's voice was harassed. "Check this out." She was hovering over the open chest cavity, examining the rib plate she had removed, and the connective tissue.
"Do you see these?" She indicated several slightly thicker parts of bone on the rib plate.
"I'd estimate this boy to be about 10 or 11 years of age, judging by the bone structure and lack of pubescent characteristics. These thickened masses indicate healed fractures. Some have been broken and healed multiple times." She gestured towards the head.
"I'll have a dental cast taken by a forensic orthodontist, but I don’t have to be an expert to tell you that he's missing several teeth."
Benson peered closely, holding her mask to her nose as the gums were peeled back for examination. It was true, several back teeth were missing. In contrast, the front teeth were even, perfect, and white.
"Could he have lost them naturally? Kids do that."
"I doubt it. There's some external cuts on the gums, and his front teeth are either caps or crowns." Warner shone a tiny penlight over the surface of the tongue.
"Caps? On a ten year-old?" She made sure to note a few things on her pad. They had a few things that needed to be double checked. There was a bit more to go on now, and FERP programming should help them find more matches to other cases.
"It's an expensive job, and it's been done by a professional." Warner shook her head. "Why beat the crap out of a kid; systematically abuse, sodomize, and torture him, only to give him a really expensive dental job?"
Liv shook her head. "I'd guess that he was a favorite. The systematic abuse has to be checked out with other case files from NYCS, but someone definitely has a lot of money. This takes time, and maintenance. We might be able to match the doctors after the dental cast comes in. It just takes time."
They stepped behind a partition at one end of the room.
"What's this for?"
"We've just updated. This software allows computerized digital readouts of X-Rays for forensic evidence. The digital readout comes up on this screen, and…" Her voice trailed off as she stared at the screen. "What the…?" She stepped closer, peering intently at a posterior cranial shot. "Liv, I'm going to need your help."
Stepping outside, she grabbed the boy's head, feeling frantically underneath it with her fingers. "Help me turn him over. I think I've found something."
Between them, they slowly turned the boy over. She tried not to wince as the sound of his entrails spilling out onto the table reached her ears. She looked away from his protruding spine, eyes darting anywhere, everywhere in the room as the M.E.'s search continued. Her eyes snapped back as the M.E. spoke.
"It's a…ring...Metal, from what I can see." She bent closer, trying to keep the boy's longish hair from impeding her vision. "It's partially imbedded in the bone of the skull." Pulling the hair away from the entry points, she exposed the points of the ring, which disappeared under the skin and presumably into the skull.
She had to sit down. Her world was spinning, and her vision exploded in dots of blue and gray.
"It's a fucking collar. The son of a bitch chained this little boy like an animal. He even put in his own god damn dog collar."
Melinda's eyes closed tightly. She leaned against the table, and stripped her gloves off to rub between her eyes. "I'll check it out and try to see how it was done. This is definitely a first in my books. You're not wrong though. It wasn't just a collar. It looks to me like he's even got dog tags."
Her head swung around in shock. "What?"
"Look. Right here."
She bent closer to look at the ring in Warner's hands, a ten digit serial number cut deep into the metal, right under a name, laser cut in precise, even script.
"Billy."
~~~
Manhattan Special Victims Unit, 11:17 a.m.
The migraine brewing behind his eyes throbbed at his temples. He's swallowed more medication than was probably allowed by the FDA, but he was far past caring. The phone ringing past his ear was completely unwanted, and his relief to hear a welcome voice on the other end was only marginal.
"SVU. Munch."
"Munch, it's Don Cragen."
"Yeah, that much I knew."
"John, I know you're pissed, but listen to me. I need you to get in touch with NYCS about a kid they were supposed to have on file 30 years ago."
"Name?" He grabbed a pen.
"Chris Keller, formerly known as Christopher Meloni. I'm sending Briscoe down to you. He's already got some information on the case, and he should be there in a few hours. I want him with Benson on this one. I'll be down by this evening."
"Any info you can give me? Benson's neurotic, and Finn and I feel like we're chasing our tails here. I sent them both down to the M.E.'s. I've been combing through most of the department files all morning and coming up with buptkiss."
"Let me know what they find. This is escalating, and from what the FBI's been telling me, it's been going on for a while. I've been stuck trying to pry information out of them, but I've only got a little to go on. Briscoe will show you. They have their own agenda going on."
"They always do. Just a minor segue…you feel like telling me what you sent Elliot up to OZ for?" He smirked at the startled pause.
"How the hell…no. I don’t want to know. Just get on it and let me know what you find. I'll fill you in on the rest when I see you tonight."
He hung up, feeling more refreshed than he had when he'd started. He picked up the phone and dialed.
"Briscoe, it's Munch. Looks like we're partners."
~~~
Oswald Maximum Security Prison, 2:03 p.m.
"Hey Father, you got a second?"
Mukada was exhausted, but second nature seminary training kicked in, and he looked up to the man at his office door. His features schooled themselves carefully into a mask of stability.
"Come in Miguel." He gestured to the chair in front of his desk with a slightly dismissive motion.
"Look Father, I need to tell someone, and I don’t know exactly what the hell the chain of command is anymore. I tried going upstairs to talk to the Warden, but Murphy says he's been in meetings all day and that he can't be disturbed."
"Yes, I know, Miguel, but what does that have to do with me?"
"I know we're not on the best of terms, or anything, ok? But something's going on, and the Warden and I have a good deal, you know. I scratch his back, and he keeps me out of solitary."
Mukada's eyebrow raised. "And you're telling me that you have information for Warden Glynn?"
Miguel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I know I'm a snitch, and if that's going to keep me alive or kill me I don't know. But right now, there's something going on, and Keller's got his ass in some hot shit, cuz the way everyone's playing it right now, the Aryans are working to send his pieces up to someone on the outside."
Mukada's full attention fixated completely. He rose, and quickly shut the door to the anteroom and hallway. Walking over, he pulled up the second chair and sat down next to Miguel. "Tell me what's going on, Miguel."
"Can you tell Glynn that I was the one who came down with this? I want him to know that I'm holding up my part of the bargain."
"Whatever you want. just tell me what you know."
The other man's eyes shot towards the door, confirming that they were alone before he began. "I was heading into the gym when I heard two guys talking; Aryan guys. They was talking about Schillinger, and some deal he's cut with a guy on the outside. Someone out there wants Keller dead, and they're willing to pay Vern a whole lotta money to sell out the rights on Keller's death."
"What rights?" The priests hands were clenched, and his whole body was tense.
"Vern's been holding the rights to kill Keller for a long time. He and Keller was up at Lardner together, and he's been gunning for that man's ass ever since he left. He's lost some cred with his own and everyone else once crazy-ass Beecher shit on his face. No one touches Keller without the say-so from Vern, but this guy's willing to throw a bunch of money at the Aryans to get Keller out.
"Out of OZ?"
"They want him out alive, but they'll take him dead, and Vern's been waiting for a chance like this for a while. It's going to be a war zone out there, and once crazy Beecher finds out who shanked his boy, he's going to gun for all the Aryans."
"Does anyone else know what you've just told me?"
"Nope. I've got the goods for now, and I wouldn't even mind a stint back in solitary during the whole shithole that's going to be OZ during the next few weeks. Schillinger's going to be looking for allies, and everyone's going to be choosing sides."
"Keller doesn't have any alliances, none that I know of anyway."
"Doesn't matter here, man. You know that. It just depends on who the hell feels like living over the next few weeks and who doesn't. It's as simple as that."
Ray was tired, and this new information wouldn't go over well. This whole operation hadn't even begun yet, and throwing wrenches into it before it even started was just bad karma. of course, Catholics weren't supposed to believe in karma, but last time he checked, Catholics weren't supposed to be gay, either.
His mind flitted briefly back to the FBI agent at the meeting last night. He wasn't positive, but he'd felt the man staring at him, and he vaguely hoped that he'd found him attractive.
Miguel's voice cut through his thoughts. "Padre, esta bien? You ok?"
"Yeah Miguel, I'm fine. Do me a favor, and stay here until I come back. I have to relay your information to the Warden." He stood and pushed his chair back. Before he could reach the door the other man spoke again.
"I got no problem staying here, Father, but where the hell IS Keller? One of the hacks dragged him and Beecher bare-assed outta the laundry room, and they've been missing ever since. Got any idea where they are?"
"Keller's in the hospital, Miguel, but that's all I know. He's been messed up pretty badly, and he's suffering from a concussion."
The Latino frowned, but said nothing else. Mukada knew that given this information, Miguel would spread it appropriately. He'd leave the rest of the cover story up to the Stabler-Beecher tag team, and whoever else was planning everything.
~~~
Medical Examiner's Office, 1 Police Plaza, 2:41 p.m.
"You okay?" Finn looked up at Liv, standing in front of him, pulling on her jacket.
He sighed, and rubbed his eyes hard with his hands. "Yeah, I'm good, Liv." He stood slowly, threading his hands over his head and popping his shoulders. "I just can't take the smell you know; turns my stomach."
She nodded, and he noticed her own gray coloring. "You look like shit."
"Yeah, well, I've had a pissy kind of day."
The ride back to the office was silent, and he drove again, letting her doze. She was still only half awake as he followed her up to the office. They were both brought up short to see Lenny Briscoe standing next to Munch.
"Briscoe? What brings you down?"
He smiled tiredly at them both and gestured to a pile of files next to Liv's desk. "I came to bring you these. For right now, I'm a glorified mail man, but Don wants me to help you out with this, and I've cleared it with my department reps."
Munch cleared his throat. "I think we're finally getting somewhere." He gestured to the dry-erase board in the center of the room. "Just give me a sec to clear what we know, and then we can compare."
It was covered in photos and names, over 30 boys, all under the age of 14.
"These are the names and faces of our victims. They're all boys, most of them prepubescent, and they've all been horribly tortured and mutilated, their bodies found in separate dump spots all over the city. Several, including our most recent vic, were found tied down into a circle, called the arc de circle, after the French words for the most severe form of stasis during a Grand Mal epileptic attack. Unfortunately, DNA matches are inconsistent, and we've begun to suspect evidence tampering. In seven recent cases, the M.E. on staff said that the results were inconclusive."
Benson frowned. "What was inconclusive?"
Munch shrugged. "That's what I'd like to know. Briscoe and I are going to take a ride down there. When I called this morning, he was shifty, and refused to answer any questions without an ID."
"That's off. Did you give him your badge number?"
"He hung up before I could, but I think that Briscoe and I should go down there and show him our ID to his face. He might feel a little more cooperative then. Any news on your end?"
Liv crossed her arms over her chest. "We did find something interesting. Did any of your vics have scalp or head trauma?"
"What kind?"
"Two small punctures, maybe even small holes in the skull. Warner found a metal ring still imbedded in this boy's head, with his name and a serial number on it. She thinks that it’s like a dog collar. It served the dual purpose of chaining him down and holding ID."
"How the hell did they pull that off without killing him?"
"She's not sure, but if this is something consistent, wouldn't the others have it?"
Finn's shout broke through the din. "I've got it. Here. Brooklyn, 1998, 7 year old boy, two unidentified entry wounds on the back of the head. This one has a different M.E. though."
Munch grabbed his coat. "Why doesn't that surprise me? Ready to go fishing?"
Briscoe smiled. "Let's go."
Olivia turned, and looked at Finn. "Where is that boy buried?"
"Ahhh…public Potter's Field on Staten Island. There's some contact info here."
"Let's go dig through some records. I'll call Novak. Let's see if we have enough to allow Warner to exhume the body."
Oswald Maximum Security Prison, 2:13 p.m.
"How do you want to play it?" Robson's teeth bit into an apple, but his eyes moved, constant and wary, circling the room. His voice was soft, but it was loud enough for the man leaning on his right to respond just as quietly.
"We need every man we can get on this, and Timmy's not making my life any fucking easier. We're going to have to break down the heavy hitters, and isolate Keller."
"Who's up first?"
"Start small, work your way up the food chain. Work the idiot first. We'll leave Timmy to work the rest of the room assignments in. Separate the weak."
"Done."
~~~
Watching a full grown man cry was disconcerting, but watching the blood pool out from under his head was less so. The man didn't stop to think about that, but he ran from the showers before he could be discovered. The smell of the blood made him sick, and he headed to the laundry to chuck his shirt before he could be discovered.
~~~
"Please! Please you have to let me see my brother. Gloria, Dr. Nathan, please…please I'm begging you, is my brother going to be okay?" O'Reilly was struggling, and his panic and concern gave him even more of an advantage, as three struggling guards attempted to pull him away from the door.
She was exhausted, and still covered in Cyril's blood, but she pitied him, and stepped as close as she dared. "Ryan, Ryan, calm down, I can't talk to you unless you calm down." She watched him ease, until he stood, chest heaving, the arms of the C.O.'s.
"Just tell me what’s wrong. Please!" His eyes were still wild, but he watched her carefully.
"Someone stabbed Cyril in the back of the neck. He was in the shower, and probably never saw it coming. He's lost a lot of blood, and I did everything I could to stabilize him, but I don't know how what the consequences will be. If his spinal cord or brain stem has been damaged, then he may face any number of problems. Worst case scenario, he could become a vegetable, or in the best shot, he may have had just a glancing blow off the skull. There was too much blood to tell, and the shank was buried. I couldn't remove it without risking his life." She paused, and she watched the eyes of the man who loved her close down, and lose life.
"He's been transferred to Benchley Memorial. I won’t know any more until this evening, but when I do know what's going on, I'll let you know."
She was in her own personal hell, watching them drag him away, only agony and fear left in him, and she suffered his defeats in her own way. She knew his loneliness, and suffering, and her own guilt resurfaced as she remembered the way his arms had strained to break free, and the strength in his body as he'd fought three men to get to her. She suffered her own lusts in silence, and paid her penance with her soul.
~~~
The noise in the doorway was quiet, but it was enough to turn Miguel's head as he sat up straighter in the chair. Mukada's office was quiet, and the sudden loudness of the ticking clock on his desk made him question his hearing. He relaxed a few minutes more, as the sudden rustle of cloth against cloth made him sit up straight again. This time, the hairs on the back of his neck were on edge, and his heart beat faster.
"Padre? Father Mukada?" He stood slowly, each movement deliberate as he crossed slowly to the door, crossing himself as he did. His eyes scanned the room, and his focus picked up the metal crucifix hanging on the wall by the door. He grabbed it, and his prayers for his soul began.
The hallway outside the door was deserted, but he inched along slowly, checking each doorway. He almost missed the figure that came at him out of the dark, and swung a shank at his face. Grabbing the arm, he managed to stop the fall of the metal before it hit his face, and for a moment, the field of vision in his left eye was nothing more than shades of metallic gray.
He never could have explained it later, but suddenly his hands were warm, almost scalding, and the blood running down over Christ's face was his own, and his back erupted in agony. He felt the cloth on his pants tear, and although he could perhaps forget the pain later, the agony of the first penetration was forever etched on his mind, the erratic thrusting behind him becoming part of the rest of the scenery, his sight fading to black, even as he prayed for his life.
"Dios te salve María, llena eres de gracia, el Señor es contigo, bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres, y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús. Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte." His vision faded into the dark.
~~~
East 86th Street, Manhattan, 4:56 p.m.
“We have a problem.”
He adjusted the phone, shifting it to sit in the space between neck and shoulder even as he stretched his feet further under the desk. His toes touched skin, and he kicked away the warm tongue lapping at his feet.
“You know I don’t like problems.”
“I’ve just received a call from our liason at the Bureau. They’ve found another one.”
“That’s nothing new. Clients pull dump jobs all the time. If they’ve paid in full it’s their right.”
“I understand sir, and normally that wouldn’t be a problem, it’s just that several unexpected circumstances have come up, and there’s a situation that needs to be dealt with immediately.”
He sighed, and his fingers toyed with the scruff of the small head that rested on his thigh, the rise and fall of his fingers eliciting small whines of pleasure. “What kind of circumstances?”
“There’s been an intereception. One of the bodies has made it’s way into the morgue with it’s ring still attached. We’ve been making attempts to recover it before discovery since this morning, but someone was tipped off.”
His hands tightened, and he ignored the squeal of pain as his fingers hooked into its collar.
“I don’t care what kind of problems you have, you WILL recover that ring immediately, John. You know the price if you don’t.” He smiled as the heavy pause on the other line was cut with shallow breathing. He cuffed his pet, and it’s cries ceased. “I think I’ve made myself clear John. We must think positively, yes? Positive thoughts mean that I’ll be holding Billy’s collar in my hands tonight, don’t they. We don’t like to think negative thoughts here. It’s bad for business.”
“Yes, sir.” The line disconnected, and he placed the phone gently in its cradle. He was lost in thought no more than a few minutes. A warm nose gently butted his hand, and a small hand held his socks on the other. He started, then smiled.
“Good boy. Give me my socks and you can go play nicely with the others.” The small head bobbed, and his socks slid gently up over his feet. Smiling, he stood, and reached down to unhook the thin silver chain from the collar ring. Smacking the boy’s small shoulders, he motioned for him to leave.
“Go play.”
~~~
Oswald Maximum Security Prison, 6:11 p.m.
She was only momentarily startled by Ray’s head as he poked inside her door. “Dr. Nathan?”
“Hi Father Ray, how can I help you?”
“I came to check on Miguel. The…rape happened right outside my office. I’d only left for a minute.”
Her face was amused, but in a desensitized, empty way. “That’s usually when it happens. He should be okay to leave by tommorrow morning. Despite the rape, he actually suffered very little tearing and bruising, and we just don’t have the beds to keep him here. His right arm was sliced open, and he did need some stiches. We’ve sewn him up and bandaged him tightly. He should be good so long as he takes care to worry about his stiches.”
She paused, and felt the weariness wash over her.
“There was a fight down in Unit B, and we need everything we’ve got for patients who need to be kept on bed rest. Miguel doesn’t need bed rest, but I’ve talked to Tim about moving him out of the way of the Latinos.”
Ray glanced back, and after a few minutes of searching, he picked out Miguel’s form, stretched out on his stomach, under several sheets. “What did McManus say?”
This time, her smile did not reach her eyes, and her emotions were indistinguiable. “He says that since Cyril O’Reilly’s over in the hospital in Intensive Care, he can move Miguel in with Ryan O’Reilly.”
“You okay with that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know why it bothers me. It just does. But, in some odd way, I think Ryan will be a better podmate for Miguel that anyone else could. He’s had so much to deal with his own brother being the way he is. I think he has enough patience to help Miguel deal with his own pain.”
Mukada didn’t agree, but for now he was going to keep his opinions to himself.
“Do you have any idea who might have raped him?”
“I have no clue. It’s pretty obvious that when Miguel was attacked he fought back to protect himself. He has some defensive wounds. There was also too much blood on his body for just him alone, so I’m pretty positive that he at least managed to wound his attacker. There’s no way of telling, though. The huge fight down in B today brought me at least fifteen men in with superficial cuts alone. The rest are out on those beds out there. It could be any one of them.” She moved backwards, and sliding one of the desk drawers open, she retrieved the metal crucifix. His eyes widened, and he reached out to accept it.
“I’m assuming this was yours. It was covered in blood, but we finally managed to pull it out of Miguel’s hands as we were stitching him up. I think he might have used it to defend himself.”
“Christ saves, Dr. Nathan. In some way or another, I think Christ saves."
~ Hussy & Wicked 2/2004 ~ Everything here is purely fiction and the product of someones dark twisted fantasy. Any actual persons mentioned are not known or affiliated with this site or its Web Mistresses no matter how much we may wish! Any stories involving real persons are purely just that, stories and a product of the author's own fantasies. No events are claimed to be true nor are they meant to be taken as a reflection of that person's actual life, personality, etc. In other words, we strongly state this is all FICTION so do not sue! The fabulously "wicked" graphics are all the product of Wicked. ~