Detectives Stabler and Benson walked
into the cold morgue, glad they were
still wearing their trench coats from the
morning’s crime scene. The Medical Examiner pulled back the sheet covering
the victim’s body. The little boy’s cheerful red santa hat wasn’t the only red thing
in the room; his shredded entrails filled
the examiner’s table. He had been eating
peas, their green hue quite appropriate
for a December 24th rape and strangulation, thought Benson as she bent down
to examine the yellow fibers running
through what were once tiny ears.
“Wait till you see this,” remarked the
examiner, before turning off the lights
unexpectedly. She flipped a switch next to
the table and a string of beautiful Christmas lights running along the boy’s
body lit up. They reminded detective
Stabler of the Christmas lights that
used to adorn his childhood home,
except those weren’t covered in blood
and weren’t arranged to spell out the
words “SATAN LIVES HERE” across a
young boy’s chest.
The medical examiner turned the
lights back on, but it would never be light
again inside detective Stabler’s soul. Not
with the things he’d seen. Not with the
things he’d done. He took a bite out of his
gingerbread man.
Detective Munch stared into the little
girl’s eyes. He knew what he was going to
have to ask, but he couldn’t bring himself
to say the words. Detectives Stabler and
Benson were the lucky ones, he thought,
at least their victim was dead. Finally he
continued.
“Okay, sweetheart. Tell me exactly
where he held the mistletoe.”
The little girl pointed to a spot on her
Santa’s Little Helper Ken doll. She wasn’t
pointing to the doll’s mouth.
Munch slunk back in his chair. He tried
to offer her a candy cane from his desk,
but he knew nothing would ever taste
sweet for this little girl again. Nothing
ever could.
Captain Cragen smiled as his detectives gathered around the plump Christmas ham he’d prepared. He could barely
hide his anticipation; tomorrow morning
they’d all gather around the tree and open
the presents he’d carefully picked out for
them. For Olivia, a beautiful porcelain
doll to keep on her desk, to remember
the innocence and beauty of youth. For
Elliot, a little red fire truck to give to his
son. And for Munch, a CD of all his favorite music. It would be a special Christmas
for everyone. Except for the South Village
Rapist who was stabbed to death by a
cellmate prior to sentencing.
