Abandonment: The hidden story behind her harrowing ordeal

The Ledger: Evening addition.

The true horror of a top NYPD detective's horrific ordeal four months ago has been slowly coming to light since she was tragically found unconscious and unresponsive after apparently overdosing in her apartment two nights ago. With her condition still being described as 'critical', a witness has stepped forward and claimed a massive NYPD cover-up of events surrounding the senior detective's four-day abduction and captivity by William Lewis, one of the most deranged and heinous serial murder-rapists the city has ever seen.

In a press-conference held immediately after Olivia Benson, 46, was found, the chief of police, Robert Humphrey, explained that the detective had been taken in some kind of revenge attack on the sex crimes unit. He claimed that Benson, who was physically and psychologically tortured during the days that she was held by Lewis, was, among other things, forced to watch two murders and the violent rape of another woman during her prolonged captivity. According to Humphrey, on the fourth day, she managed to outwit and escape her captor just as he had been about to seriously sexually assault her, an end point towards which he had apparently been eagerly building and something he had coldly assured her she would not survive. The NYPD has been widely praised since, for not only its superb training of professional and capable officers, level-headed even in face of such inconceivable atrocity, but also for its speedy action in tracking down the suspect and rescuing one of their own from a sadistic predator.

Last night, however, a very different story emerged, as a young woman, who wishes to remain anonymous, contacted us to reveal that in fact the NYPD have, in an attempt to cover up an array of bumbling errors resulting not least in the death of her own mother, missed out some key events. The young woman, who admitted not without some bitterness that her father used to work for the NYPD until he was effectively driven out of the job despite years of dedicated service, told us how Lewis had forced himself into her parents' home with Detective Benson in tow and wreaked havoc there, smashing up furniture, threatening the lives of both herself and her father and forcing them to watch as he carried out a frenzied sexual attack on the detective right in front of them.

Disturbed when her mother arrived home from work, Lewis finally halted his assault and headed downstairs to assumedly restrain her mother. Terrified for her own and her family's safety, she struggled desperately and somehow managed to free herself from her restraints. Knowing she had very little time and at the insistent urge of her father, she escaped out of the window with the intention of finding and bringing back help. Miraculously she happened to run into a pair of beat officers just a few hundred meters from her family home, but to her disbelief, the two officers astonishingly refused to believe her admittedly somewhat incredible-sounding story. As she desperately pleaded with the officers to at least check in on her family home, they became concerned by the smell of the alcohol on her breath, which she claims she had been forced by Lewis to drink during her hours-long ordeal. Breaking down into tears, she heart-brokenly admits she became agitated then and lashed out from pure frustration. It's clear from her dejected tone and expression that it's not something she will ever be able to easily come to terms with, as she explains that instead of attaining the help she had assumed had been mere minutes away when she had first run into the officers, she found herself being cuffed and dragged down to the nearest precinct for questioning.

Once there, she was finally able to convince the police to check out her story, but it was already too late, for when the NYPD finally did visit her home, they discovered her parents in critical condition, both with a single gunshot wound to the chest. Her mother was tragically pronounced dead at the scene, whereas her father it seemed had been 'luckier', for he was still alive – barely. The bullet was later discovered to have lodged in a rib, effectively saving his life, although he had lost a significant amount of blood in the time he had laid waiting for help to arrive, helpless to do anything to save his wife. Lewis was long gone and Detective Benson was also nowhere to be seen.

With tears streaming down her face, our witness explains how the medical examiner had concluded that her mother had in fact died around forty minutes after she had initially been shot, meaning that had the NYPD arrived sooner, her mother could likely have been saved. Lewis went on to murder at least two other people and rape another before he was finally apprehended three days later.

Queens

Elliot stared at the newspaper article. He couldn't help re-reading it, over and over again. It was surreal seeing the words in black and white; a cold account of events so horrifying that it felt like his gut was literally being ripped to shreds every single time he thought of them. His life was in pieces. His wife was gone, his daughter traumatized, his home violated and now his ex-partner, a woman his relationship with whom he couldn't even put into words, certainly not now after everything that had happened, had finally succumbed to a lifetime of pain, the culmination of which still gave him nightmares. He hated the fact that whoever had written this article had done so with the reader in mind, deliberately picking words and phrases and details that would intentionally cause ultimate shock and horror. As if events weren't bad enough. He coughed, wincing as he felt the now familiar pain in his rib. It had saved his life, but he was left with the constant reminder. It was nothing compared to the pain inside his heart though.

He remembered returning to her apartment. The feeling had nagged at him, telling him there was something terribly wrong. He wasn't sure how, but he had somehow sensed it. Then, when there had been no response to his knocks and calls, he had forced the door, rushing inside, searching for her; soon finding her laying there on her bed, her eyes closed. The expression on her face was so peaceful, that it would have looked as though she were sleeping, were it not for the trickle of drool spilling over the side of her mouth. He rushed over and immediately reached for her, startled at how she could still be so warm. It seemed so contradictory to the conventional notion of death. He knew better though. He'd only been gone around forty-five minutes. Whatever she had taken, it had worked quickly.

His knees almost gave out then as he took in the reality of what she had done and he sank down to the floor, landing hard, but barely feeling it. He reached to feel for a pulse in her neck with one hand, while with the other he reached into his pocket, withdrew his phone, pressing it so hard against his ear that his mind fixated more on that uncomfortable sensation, rather than the devastation at the scene before him and the fact that his ex-partner could possibly be gone; like this. He was overwhelmed by the conviction that this was partly if not wholly his fault. The pulse was there, but it was weak. The moisture began to accumulate in his eyes and he dialed, dazedly requesting a bus. He reached for the empty bottle of pills he had suddenly noticed beside her. It was then he saw the note. He took it, hardly daring to breathe as he forced his eyes to focus on the scrawled handwriting, evidence perhaps that it was a last minute thought. It was short and simple with just three words. "I'm sorry." There was no explanation, no rationalization. She had simply just suffered too much. She was one of the bravest, most passionate kindhearted people he knew, but it appeared life had just thrown too much misery her way.

Dropping his phone to the ground once he had finished the call, he slipped his arms under and around her back, bringing her still form upwards towards him, holding her in a tight embrace.

"Why?" he demanded desperately not even attempting to fight the tears which were now coursing down his cheeks relentlessly. "Why did you do this you stupid woman? Why?" As he spoke his tone rose and he began to shake her, frustrated, desperate, devastated… "How could you do this? Don't you dare die on me, Olivia! Do you hear me? I can't… you can't do this. Don't…don't you know….?" His voice trailed off as he buried his face in her chest, leaving his sentence unfinished. Gently, he eased her body down so that she was once more lying flat against the bed. Following her down and clinging desperately to her, his head buried in her chest, his tears quickly soaked through her thin nightdress.

He remained there until the attending medics gently eased him off.

Four months earlier.

She paused. It sounded like there was movement in the back room. Yet Brian hadn't been due to come over. Could he have let himself in to surprise her? He had a key now after all. She remembered the night she had given it to him a couple of weeks back. A few too many margaritas, a particularly passionate encounter followed by an intimate heart to heart and when he had brought it up, she had thought what the hell? The following morning the doubts had inevitably hit, but what was done was done. She could hardly ask for it back now, could she? Besides it was more symbolic than anything else. He hadn't yet used it and she suspected he wouldn't unless invited anyway. He knew her well enough to know that she highly valued her independence.

Perhaps he had decided to surprise her though? Feeling slightly silly, she called out. It was an instinctive reaction. She was half-expecting Brian to appear, half-expecting the noise to have been a figment of her imagination. She saw the gun before she saw him. The sight of it mesmerised her and she found herself frozen, her mind not quite believing the reality of the situation she was in. As he rushed towards her and she felt the gun against her skin, she could sense her heart pounding in her chest but barely anything else. He was pushing her, forcing her around the kitchen counter. She complied. What choice did she have? This man was a vicious sociopath. He had killed before and she had no doubt that he wouldn't have any qualms about ending her life right now. There was a strange glint in his eye and she thought his pupils might be slightly dilated. If he was on something, then it might not take much to tip him over the edge. Her knees felt weak and she found herself staggering as he pushed her towards a chair and instructed her firmly to sit.

Grateful she no longer had to support her own weight; she complied and sank down onto the seat. He immediately yanked her hands behind her back and she cried out at the pain in her shoulders as he pulled hard, getting them in position as he reached for her own handcuffs. She struggled, but the pain in her shoulder as he pulled her elbows even closer together behind her back startled her and she cried out once again. She heard the click and felt the metal rubbing against her wrists.

"Too tight," she muttered and was rewarded with a blow to the face.

"You don't get a say in this," he warned her with a snarl.

The fear took firm hold in the pit of her stomach. She watched him as he stepped back and stood before her, staring at her leeringly, her lower position in the chair making him seem even larger, even more menacing. His gaze lowered to her chest and panic overwhelmed her.

"Help!" she screamed, desperately hoping that her voice would carry through to the neighboring apartments and that someone would have the presence of mind to raise the alarm. Something told her it was her only chance. She had witnessed the aftermath first hand after Lewis had finished with his last victim and was terrified that a similar fate surely awaited her, if not worse. She couldn't help but doubt he would let her live afterwards. He would know that she wouldn't stop until she brought him to justice once the whole thing was over.

The second blow took her breath away. She could feel the blood, sense it trickling down from the cut. The pain brought tears to her eyes. She closed them, wondering if perhaps in doing so it might make the whole nightmare go away. She was jolted back to reality when she heard him pulling out a stretch of thick tape. She watched nervously as he cut it carefully.

"I'm sorry, I won't shout out again," she begged, terrified at the prospect of being gagged and not being able to breathe. He ignored her pleas and roughly slapped the tape over her mouth. She struggled as she desperately tried to force enough air through her nose. She wasn't getting enough. Her breaths were coming faster and faster. She felt like she was suffocating. She began to struggle even harder.

"You need to relax," he said, grinning chillingly. "Getting yourself all worked up is just going to make things harder on you. Take long deep breaths. Stop fighting the inevitable. You're mine to do what I want with now. Accept it."

She closed her eyes. He was right in that she needed to control her growing panic and slow her breathing down. At this rate she would pass out. She couldn't help but question if that would really be such a bad thing. She couldn't give up though. She had to fight him. She told herself firmly that at some point an opportunity would present itself. She had to believe that. It was the only way to get through this. She concentrated hard on taking long, regular deep breaths and to her relief, she found herself adjusting to the reduced airflow and her panic began to abate.

She was startled by the sound of a can cracking. She opened her eyes and searched for him. He had moved over to the sofa and had sprawled out, a lager in his hand, his feet up on her table, staring straight at her, an expression on his face that let her know just how smug and confident he was feeling. A sudden surge of anger coursed through her at the sight of him sprawled out like that on her sofa, not a care in the world, either oblivious to or just completely detached from her fear. She wanted to throw herself at him, beat him to within an inch of his life, wipe that smug smile off his face and show him that she was no victim, that she was infinitely better than him and that he was the one who should be afraid of her.

Then she watched as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a packet of cigarettes, removed one and started fingering it slowly, watching her carefully for a reaction. Her heart sank as she realized his intent. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, as images of his previous victim's injuries bombarded her mind. Once again she found herself fighting to control her breathing rate. She could hear the sound as he switched on his lighter. Then she could smell the first waft of tobacco as the newly lit cigarette began to burn. It was as though all her senses were heightened. She couldn't bring herself to open her eyes. She was convinced that seeing it would somehow just make it so much more real. She could hear the creak of her sofa as he got to his feet and she could hear him crossing the room with slow, deliberate, torturous steps towards her.

She could hear him right in front of her as he exaggeratedly sucked in a deep breath and then she felt the air hit her face as he blew the offending carcinogenic fumes directly at her face. She tried to hold her breath, but she was already close to panicking and was unable to hold out for more than a few seconds. She gagged at the smell as the smoke forced its way into her lungs.

"Open your eyes," he instructed her coldly. She dug her finger nails hard into her palms. She couldn't. She wouldn't.

His hands were on her neck. She flinched as he ran his fingers over her skin and then began to descend, lowering her top and exposing the sensitive skin of her upper chest.

"No," she begged, but all that came out was a strange groaning sound.

Then she felt the heat as he pushed the lit end hard down onto her skin.

The pain was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. It was toe-curling, heightened by her fear. Her eyes now wide open; she thrashed and kicked with her unbound legs seeking to make contact with her torturer, but her efforts were fruitless as he was easily able to avoid getting kicked.

"This is going to be so much fun," he said gleefully, letting her know without a doubt just how much he was enjoying himself.

The tear began to roll its way down her cheek and she didn't even bother to try and hide it.