DISCLAIMER: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and all characters are
property of NBC and Dick Wolf. The book that is mentioned really exists, but i
may have gotten the title wrong.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
You have been gone for almost 4 months now. And yet, you're still here. I haven't had this feeling in a while. The feeling that you're being blamed for something you have no memory of. Something out of your control. The worst feeling ever.
I have everything you had. Your job, your office, well, not the same office, but the one you were supposed to have if you had been alive. I have your friends. Even though that's a loose term under these circumstances. They are so... strange. I can not really find another word for it.
On the outside, they seem fine, normal detectives. But I can tell they are slowly falling apart on the inside. I watch Munch and Fin make jokes, and do whatever it is they do that makes them partners. I watch Elliott and Olivia, the way they behave around one another. Like a married couple, without the intimacy. I wonder if you ever saw what I am seeing now. A carefully rehearsed façade. They will never tell me about their nightmares, or their fears, who am I to believe them?
You were perfect. Blonde, tall, smart. I saw some pictures of you. You were famous for your killer closings, making any perp shiver with fear. I want to be like that, even though I am much better at cross examination then reciting the whole case in front of twelve strangers. I found a box with stuff they forgot to return to your family. They are simple things, but yet, they tell me who you were. There is a cd that someone called Hallie gave you. It has lots of different music on it, ranging from salsa to clubmusic. The front is blue and yellow, and is decorated with all kinds of symbols. There are books, one on warcrimes, and the other is called "Buena Vista Girls Club", Olivia gave it to you. It's pretty tattered, and there is a coffee stain on the back of the book. Pictures, of you with family members, with friends, and one that never ceases to fascinate me. It's of you and Olivia, looking at eachother, taken on a beach somewhere. You look like you are talking, more with thoughts then with words. I keep the pictures in a special envelope in my drawer, no one seems to ask about them, so they are my guilty pleasure at the moment. I try to look at your picture, listen to your music, see the case through your eyes. It's very effective.
I'm not you. My name is Casey Novak, I have a degree in Criminal Law from Yale, I play softball, and hockey. I like ice-cream, autumn, and old horror movies. I never wanted to be involved with Sex Crimes, but somehow, I did. I don't regret being placed here, but sometimes, I wish they would have waited. They are still grieving, still missing you. And sometimes, I miss you too.
I don't know who you were, Alexandra, I only know what's in the filing box. I'm sorry you had to die, maybe we could have been friends. Olivia misses you, much more than you will ever know. I don't believe in ghosts, but I do believe you are still around. In every letter of your case files, in every single inch of this office.
I'll take good care of what you left behind, I promise.
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