S2 EP11

Jackson was walking back and forth in the bullpen with a deep frown on his forehead. He held his phone against his ear again, then grunted when he received no response— again. He had been up for almost all night from the unreturned texts and calls; a grave agitation engulfed him.

He was still fixated on his uneasiness when he bumped into another officer just walking into the station, causing him to finally look up from his phone screen. "Lucy, have you heard from Ollie?" he blurted out before mumbling an apology.

Lucy shook her head as she shrugged her bag back onto her shoulder. "Um, no. How come?"

"I've been texting and calling her, but nothing's getting through..." Jackson trailed off, sending at least ten more texts to the rookie since his last unanswered call.

"Uh... Have you pissed her off?"

He sent her a look. "No."

"Okay, then that's very unlike her." Lucy pulled out her phone and dialled the missing woman's contact. "No answer," she informed, catching sight of another rookie walking past the bullpen. "Nolan! Hey— Can you try Ollie's number?"

"Uh, sure." John stopped at his spot confusingly and tried to call, but the call was not picked up either. He shook his head at the other two. "Straight to voicemail. What's going on?"

"Ollie hasn't been answering my texts since last night," Jackson notified hastily.

"Didn't she went out with this guy?" John recalled. "She texted us about it."

Jackson nodded stiffly. "But she never checked in after."

The rookies hung back in unsureness; worst-case scenarios were flooding their three brains, each getting more gruesome than the last.

"Harper—!" John called out as he spotted his T.O. walking into the bullpen. "Did you see Ollie in the locker room?"

Harper turned to the group of rookies curiously. "No. Why?"

John turned sharply to the group again. "If she's just running late and we ring the fire alarm, she'll get dinged, but—"

"But—" Jackson cut in, "If we don't and something terrible—"

"Guys," Lucy interjected curtly, sharing the same alarmed look with the two others. "This is serious. We have to tell someone about this."

"Sergeant!" Harper called loudly without another second thought, striding over to the watch commander, who had been in a discussion with Tim; the rookies followed suit. "Tell him."

"Ollie hasn't been responding to texts or calls since last night," Lucy reported urgently. "None of us can get through to her."

Tim frowned at the rookies. "Did she go out with that guy? The one she met at a bar," he asked. "Caleb Wright, with a W."

"She did," John confirmed, "She texted us last night — about eight-thirty? — that she was going to meet him. Haven't heard from her since."

"Could've ended up at his place, overslept," Grey put forward.

"No," the three rookies opposed in unison.

"Sir, she did not check in with me last night, or this morning," Jackson added tensely. "And she always does after a date, no matter what."

Tim's expression deadened. "And she's never late."

The faces of the three rookies were harsh and anxious; Grey, too, had a concern rooting in his chest. Finally, he turned to Tim and asked, "What do you know about this Caleb guy?"

"Uh— he said that he worked for a medical supply company. And... I saw a video of him playing with a puppy," Tim informed, earning odd looks from the other officers. "Ollie was checking out his social media page," he brushed over.

"Alright, take West, run a background check. I want to know everything you can find on Caleb before we knock on his door— and find Armstrong," Grey instructed, and the pair of officers were off at once.

"I'll run a trace on Ollie's phone, get her into MUPS and NaMus systems," Harper inputted, already pacing off.

Grey advanced to the middle of the bullpen. "Everyone, listen up! Officer Olivia Marshall has not been seen for approximately thirteen hours. Given the circumstance, we cannot rule out abduction. So stop whatever you're doing. I want everyone on this until she's located."

➤➤➤

Ollie registered the buzzing sound before she felt her senses returning.

Feeling tender was an understatement.

She was still slipping in and out of consciousness. Finally taking in her surroundings, she grasped that she did not recognise wherever she had been abducted.

A secondary location, her mind flashed, never a good start.

She had tried moving her body first— but to no avail. It was not long before she realised she had been tied down to a smooth, hard surface.

The buzzing was hurting her head.

And her ribs.

The sting was sending sharp signals to her nerves.

A needle.

A tattoo.

Caleb.

DOD12919

Her head hit the hard surface again right after she read the fresh ink. She still felt heavy.

"You know what it is?" he demanded, "Tell me."

"My day of death..."

➤➤➤

"Caleb Wright doesn't seem to exist," Armstrong informed just as Tim and Jackson entered his office.

"That's impossible," Tim insisted, "I saw his social media page."

"Well, it's gone now. He must've erased it," Armstrong muttered. "But if he is our guy, then he's already faked one identity."

"Bryan Coleman," Jackson realised.

"Exactly," the detective nodded. "He stole his life to gain access to the old zoo. Used its isolation to kill his victims—"

"But with that place burned, he's gonna need new killing ground," Tim interjected curtly, unable to take his eyes off the empty search results on the computer screen.

"My guess is he already has one, and that's where Ollie is right now."

➤➤➤

The second time Ollie regained her consciousness — properly, this time — she found herself bound and seated upright. Her wrists and ankles were duct taped to a wooden chair.

She turned her head sorely, trying to make sense of her new surroundings again. A window with blinds. A rug under her feet. Chairs. A few tall shelves around her. A table. There was a bottle of water on the table. Am I in a living room?

"Oh, hey. You're up." Caleb's voice pricked her head as he entered the space with a plate of hot food. He stopped in front of her, eyeing her up while he picked up a piece of omelette with his fork. "I'd offer you some, but it's better if your stomach's empty, you know, later. All the screaming tends to make you—"

He mimicked a gagging motion; she responded with a roll of her eyes.

"So, did you hit on me in that bar just to make me a victim?" Ollie managed out.

"Oh. No, no. I see the confusion," Caleb crunched on a slice of bacon as he circled around her like a predator marking its prey. "You weren't the target. You were just a happy opportunity. I was there scoping out Armstrong. Honestly, I don't know what Rosalind sees in the guy." He simply shrugged. "But who am I to judge? We all have our fetishes."

Ollie's gaze flickered around the room again; whatever he had dosed her with, she was glad that it was strong enough not to trigger her panic— yet. She needed a plan, to strategize, to keep herself sane for the time being.

Start small. Start from your surroundings. Start from what you could possibly achieve, given the circumstances.

Think, Ollie, think.

What do you do from now forward?

"I'm guessing you're gonna bury me in Rosalind's third unmarked grave," Ollie spoke again; not a question, but rather a declaration.

Caleb nodded delightedly. "I think so. You see, I was gonna put Nora in there, but then you screwed that up. So, who better to be buried there than you?"

Scream for help? No, that's just stupid, and a waste of energy.

Try to break free? But definitely not in front of him.

"You know, you're awfully calm for someone who knows how she's going to die," the man chuckled, still chewing on his breakfast.

"Why, not enjoying me now?" she inclined forward slightly to provoke, but the sting on her rib made her lean back against the chair again sharply. "Why the tattoo? Some sick display of ownership? The ultimate control over another person, deciding when they die?"

Caleb turned to her with a smile. "No. It's not for me, silly. It's for you," he mused, "To force you to face the truth of your death. It's the gift of something we rarely get in life: clarity."

I need to get out of this place.

But where even am I?

Does it matter?

I could try to fight him.

But with my current physicality and dehydration, I don't even believe that's a workable idea.

"Well, I think I'm pretty clear about it."

"Ah... but that's what you think now." He took a step closer to her, bending down to her strained look. "Until you come face-to-face with death yourself," he whispered tauntingly.

Has anyone even realised I'm missing?

Surely the cops at the station have, right? I haven't shown up for shift.

I wouldn't skip work— and I am never late.

"Did Rosalind teach you that as well?" she spat, unamused.

"No!" Caleb's face suddenly dropped, snapping at her face. "That's mine."

Ollie hummed, knowing that she had stricken a nerve, "I just thought, you know, since Rosalind is your mentor, you—"

"No, no, no! It's not like that," he snapped again, his voice getting louder at each word, "We're equals."

"Really?" she cocked her head to the side, staring flat into his frowning eyes. "Does she know that?"

Caleb trudged towards the chair at her provocation, his egotistic look suddenly returning. "You're good, Officer Marshall," he eventually jeered. "I guess I am gonna enjoy this, after all. More than I thought I would."

Are they coming?

Please be coming. Please be looking for me. I need all of you.

As Caleb strode away from the living room, Ollie let out a breath she was holding.

She strained against her taped wrists, struggling to free herself. She regretted a little for not asking for some water. It took her a few seconds to steady her breathing before attempting to yank her hands off the chair again.

It was working— the duct tape was loosening up.

One more time.

Her skin burned.

Once more.

Yet freeing herself from the wooden chair was one thing, and escaping Caleb and his barrel was another. She had to come up with something — anything — to ensure the tattoo on her rib would not realise.

Death was not what she feared, but rather the possibility of never being found. She did not want to end up like one of the corpses in the morgue.

She had to get her head straight, think twice ahead, if she even wanted a chance to survive this.

I'm gonna buy you some time to find me.

From now forward, just survive.

➤➤➤

"The bartender at Las Torres recognized Ollie and Caleb," Armstrong briefed the officers flooding into the briefing room. "The good news: There's a security camera in the parking lot, so we know they left at 9:05."

The detective pointed them a footage on the screen, where they saw two individuals exiting the bar. "The bad news: The camera angle's too steep to recognize faces," he shared, switching to another footage, "Two minutes later, this car drove by."

"The license plate on Caleb's car was reported stolen earlier that day," Grey inputted, "Officer Marshall's car was found in the alley, where she left it last night. Which means, we believe Caleb is Rosalind's protege, and he took Officer Marshall."

The atmosphere in the briefing room was tense, anxious, dreading.

"I know how upsetting this is, but we have to remain focused. She's counting on us..."

Grey's voice drowned out at the back of Tim's head as he stepped out of the room in much discomfort.

He pressed his cell phone by his ear after dialling a number, clenching his jaw while waiting for his call to be picked up.

"What's up?"

"Hey. Ollie's been taken," Tim managed out, "I need you."

➤➤➤

Ollie's skin felt raw as the final yank freed her from her restraints. The tape around her ankles was easier to tear off after that.

She got up to her feet at once, stumbling a bit at the soreness and pain that was throbbing throughout her body. Her muscles ached. But she refused to think about it.

Footsteps.

Ollie managed to step behind a wall as she heard Caleb's voice echoing through the hallway.

"Okay. We are ready to go."

As the asshole emerged into the living room again, Ollie mustered her strength — a little more weight than she expected — and struck him square in the face.

She took the chance to run.

She staggered across the house, finding the front door at last. The door was unlocked. She got herself out of the house. Her eyes were stinging at the sudden brightness. She hurried down the porch, almost missing her steps.

"Help— H-Help..."

Acres of mountains and lands clocked into her vision.

The fight she had in her from just now died abruptly in her throat.

She let out a dry chuckle at the cruel joke.

The tripwire that caught her foot sent her face-first against the rocky ground.

Caleb had caught up to her, hauling her up from the ground. He was swift to pepper-spray the woman to rob her of her eyesight. He found it amusing as she swung her fists but failed to hit him at every attempt.

At last, he shoved her and kicked her hard in the head in hopes of knocking her out cold— and he did a good enough job to strike the wind out of her.

Ollie fell to the ground once again, with a wail as Caleb dragged her back into the house by her leg.

Yet the pain from the wounds was nothing compared to the anguish filling in her veins.

From now forward, she just had to survive.

But surviving was so hard when everything was working against her.

➤➤➤

Angela bolted into the station with Wesley following closely beside her. She immediately found Tim and Jackson occupied at one of the desks; the former sprung up on his feet as soon as he saw her.

"Hey. Thanks for coming in," Tim greeted.

"Of course," Angela furrowed her brows. "Grey's got you on tip lines?"

"Us, and Avery and Chen," Tim gestured at the two other officers at the desk behind theirs. "Nothing says 'We got squat' like listening to the public," he huffed impatiently, nodding at Wesley. "Day off?"

"Yeah, something like that," Wesley replied, glancing briefly at Angela then back to Tim. "Can I help?"

"What's your tolerance level for cranks and asshats wasting your time?"

He responded with a weary shrug. "I'm a public defender."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Have at it." He gestured Wesley to the desk and telephones while pulling Angela aside.

Angela followed Tim to a quieter part of the station as he huffed resignedly.

"This is useless," he eventually grunted out. "We should be out on the streets, kicking down doors."

"Whose doors?" Angela stared at him.

"I don't know, but, I-I can't just sit here."

His head was eating him alive, and with another grunt, he stormed off down the adjacent hallway.

"Wait up!" Angela called out, hurrying after him.

"I'm fine," he stated flatly, "Just blowing off steam."

"I get it, but you got to get your head in the game."

Tim finally peered back, gritting his teeth. "I don't need a pep talk."

"Then why'd you call me?" Angela questioned, finally getting him to halt on his steps. "Clearly, you need to get something off your chest."

And the guilt came crashing in again.

"All I had to do was say yes," Tim finally let out, his head hung low.

Angela furrowed her brows. "What do you mean?"

"I told her to go get a drink, after the day we had. And... she asked me first if I want to grab a drink with her," he let out a weak chuckle, "But I said no. I-I told her Grey needs me back at the station."

"Didn't Grey let us all home at the same time?"

"He did. And I don't know why I..." he shook his head uneasily, "Look, she wanted to go home, okay? Go to bed. And I— I pushed her right at him."

Angela shook her head at him. "Tim, you couldn't have known."

"But I should've— I'm a cop!" Tim's voice grew agitated. "I was standing this close to the guy, okay? Right across from him, and I never saw him coming. But she did, though. She... She hesitated. She has been hesitating for the whole day. A-And I pushed her right— at— him—"

"Hey," Angela interjected curtly, holding the side of his arm. "This — isn't gonna help her in any way. She needs you to get your head in the game right now, alright? She needs all of us to get ourselves together and find her."

Tim rubbed his hands over his face in frustration; Angela just stood with him.

This was the first time she had seen him so... distraught; she was not even sure how to comfort him.

And maybe there was not any way to do so, other than to find his rookie and get her back safely.

"If..." he rasped out after a while, his jaw tight. "I don't think I'll be able to forgive myself if anything happens to her."

His helplessness pained her to watch. "I know. But you got to get yourself together," Angela cleared her throat, speaking more seriously now, "Otherwise, you'll be better off sitting this one out."

That seemed to snap him back enough. Tim took a moment more to compose himself, drawing in deep breaths and exhaling sharply. When he finally met her eyes again, it was a flame building to burn.

"No way. Let's go."

➤➤➤

Ollie had never felt so helpless as she was feeling right now.

Her steps were faltering, her feet blistered, her fist clenched tight, her raw skin getting sliced by the zip ties binding her wrists. They were still hiking through the trails and hills. Caleb was guiding her with a knife from behind, the very one that she almost stabbed him with on her second attempt to escape.

Which was also what led to her currently-swelling jaw.

Caleb poked her with the knife again, howling at her to move faster.

The dehydration was getting to her sickly, and Ollie was ticked off at the next jab. "The second I get that away from you again, I'll make sure to put it right in your brain."

"Such bravado, still thinking there's an escape," Caleb cooed, prodding her once again. "You weren't conscious for your birth, but you will feel every second of your death."

Ollie scoffed hilariously. "Did that line actually work with the other victims?" she challenged. "Like, seriously. You can't come up with something less cringy?"

"I know what you're trying to do, but you're not gonna ruin this moment for me," Caleb smiled instead, poking the knife at her back. "Let's go."

Ollie's steps froze up when she saw the barrel and the deep pre-dug hole a short distance away. She quickly realised that Caleb had changed up his execution-and-burial method.

The scene before her eyes had significantly reduced her survival chances.

"Didn't you suffocate the other two victims above ground before you buried them with Rosalind's kills?" she asked heavily, refusing to let him detect her fright.

"Given the setbacks, I'm taking extra precautions." Caleb shoved her towards the yellow barrel. "Climb in."

"I am not getting in there," Ollie bit back; her legs were cemented onto the ground.

Caleb sneered, shaking his head tiredly. "You know, they all say that. And then they all get in. You know why? Hope." He pulled out a handgun from his waistband. "Inside that barrel, there's still life." He aimed the gun at her; she was too weak to even flinch. "Out here, only death. And you and I both know, that despite the evidence literally tattooed on your side, you don't think you're dying today. So— get in the barrel."

Ollie loathed that he was not wrong.

Why not die a quick death? Provoke him enough for him to put a bullet through my head?

Because even though the high probability of dying did not terrify her, she still held on to the faith that the cops she had grown close with — her friends — would pick her up before it did.

She rejected the belief that the burn on her rib certified her death.

But right now, what other choice did she have other than to get in the barrel?

And so, that was what she did.

Not before releasing the item that she had been clutching so securely in her fist, though.

"Get down."

She did as told, squatting into the barrel. The space felt more cramped than it looked from the outside.

"Look," Caleb chimed as the woman in the barrel lifted her head slightly to him. He took a picture of her; the exhausted rage in her eyes did not go uncaptured. "Any last words?"

Ollie smiled jadedly. "They're coming for you. And you'll be dead long before I am."

Caleb laughed, lifting up the barrel's lid from the ground. "So I can watch," he sang. The bottom of the lid was lined with lights and a small camera; Ollie felt sick to her stomach.

The light above her head was snuffed out before she could react. Every click that secured the lid in place stabbed at her panic.

This was it.

Whatever composure she had managed to put together left like the sunlight in the barrel.

Ollie groaned out in pain as she tumbled inside the barrel; Caleb had kicked her into the hole. She could hear the faint shovelling sound, followed by sand and stones hitting against the metal she was stuck in.

This was it.

The hair on her arms stood, her fingertips tingled shakily, her breathing skipped and staggered.

She could not tell which was worse: getting buried alive, or getting eaten alive by your own mind and body.

It was also hard to think about anything else other than the panic when you were literally getting trapped to die a slow, slow death.

But Ollie had to stop her heaving in the barrel if she intended on surviving this— her last chance. The fighter's mentality was so, so exhausting to maintain, but it was also what she had grown accustomed to.

From now forward, stay calm, save your air, stay alive...

...even though despair clawed at her gloriously.

━━━━━

Ollie: 🛢️

This storyline is so fun to write ngl