A/N: This is a story I wrote after getting an idea to try and set a story in American Samoa. Why? I have no idea. I do make an attempt to write in Samoan and I did a lot of research on how the culture functions and what American Samoa is like. If you find something that I have written to be very wrong, please feel free to tell me. I hate getting things wrong. I also don't want to offend anyone by writing something that is not true. If my Samoan is bad (which it probably is), and you know it, do tell me. I had to work with what I had, which was a single online dictionary from the early 20th century. What this boils down to is that I did my best and I hope it's good enough.
Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS, nor any of the characters found therein. The OCs found in this story are my own creation...and unfortunately, I can't make money off them...and I'm not making money off this story. I really wish I was. Then, I could move out of my crappy basement apartment and away from the mice in the walls. :)
The Crying Man
by Enthusiastic Fish
Chapter 1
They called him The Crying Man...which was ironic on the surface because that was the one thing he never did. He never cried. So, why the name? One of the tourists asked upon hearing a discussion about it and the locals said it was because he never cried...but he needed to cry. The Crying Man. They had needed some way to refer to him and the name had stuck.
He knew what they called him, and it didn't bother him one bit. They could have called him The Running Man with equal accuracy. There was no question in his mind that he was running away. It actually amused him that he'd run so far. Pago Pago was definitely far. Seven thousand miles from Washington, D. C. He hadn't given his name when he had come. It had surprised him when they hadn't pressed for one. So long as he paid his rent and didn't make any trouble, he was welcome to keep his secrets.
The interesting thing about The Crying Man, to the tourists at least, was that he wasn't some hermit. He had a laptop. He was friendly and chatted when he came in for groceries. He simply refused to talk about himself. He wasn't rude about it; he just wouldn't answer any questions...except for one.
"Are you a local?"
The Crying Man laughed...loudly. "Do I look like a local?"
"No."
The Crying Man smiled. "There's your answer."
He was even picking up some of the local language. He was terrible at it and they all laughed at his poor attempts to converse with them, but they appreciated the effort.
"Talofa!"
"Vai?"
"Fa'afetai."
Smothered chuckles.
"Come on. Didn't I get that one right?"
"Close."
"...but no cigar?"
"Exactly."
"Fa'amolemole, tell me how to say it right."
They loved helping him with his pronunciation. It was an entertaining way to pass the time...when there was time to spare. The Crying Man was content to talk with them when they were there...or not. He didn't push himself on them. He didn't hold himself aloof. He was simply there. He showed great respect to the matais and asked many questions to make sure that he didn't offend anyone by his ignorance. In short, he was unlike many who came to American Samoa.
The house he rented was inland, but he spent long hours on the beach, staring at the water. If he had told the owner of the house how long he'd be staying, no one mentioned it. He simply paid the rent, kept the house in good condition, better, in fact, than it had been before, and went about whatever business brought him there.
...the business of running away. Even when he smiled, even when he laughed, there was something deep in his eyes that said he'd rather be crying.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"It's been three days. Have you seen him at all?" Luka asked.
"No. Not on the beach," Noelani said. She worked as a kind of lifeguard, watching to make sure the tourists didn't hurt themselves.
Malaki, the store-owner, was concerned. "He's not been in the store either."
"Should we see if he's all right? He doesn't usually like visitors," Noelani said.
The Crying Man had been in Pago Pago for six months. He was a man of habit, routine. He did the same things every day...except this week. Wednesday was the day he came to get groceries and he hadn't come. Those who saw him most, Luka, Noelani and Malaki, worried for him. His house was isolated. He didn't invite anyone over...ever. It was hard to say that they were his friends. He wasn't open enough to really have friends, but they liked The Crying Man all the same.
"Seoeli may have heard from him. Rent was due yesterday, was it not?" Luka observed.
"Good idea. I'll call him." Malaki went behind the counter and grabbed his phone. A brief conversation with Seoeli did nothing to alleviate his worries. "Seoeli said The Crying Man has not paid. Because he has been so good in the past, he's not worried now, but..."
"...but he would not be late for no reason," Noelani finished. "That is not who he is."
"Then, who is he?" Luka asked, wryly. "We don't even know his name."
"You have looked in his eyes, Luka. You tell me."
"You're right. It's not like him."
As one, the three left the store and headed for The Crying Man's home. When they reached it, the area was eerily quiet. None of them had actually been there since The Crying Man had moved in, but the silence was oppressive and frightening...like the eerie calm in the eye of a hurricane. There was a feeling of chaos waiting to break loose. Luka took the first step toward the house. He was one of the many unemployed young people on Tutuila. Malaki sometimes gave him temporary work at the store, but that was only at the height of the tourist season. He had applied to attend American Samoa Community College, but his SAT scores were too low. He was in the process of trying again...and The Crying Man had offered to help him study. From those tutoring sessions, they knew that he was very well-educated...and very smart. The two things did not always mean the same thing.
Once Luka began his approach, Noelani and Malaki followed. They knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Luka looked at them and then hesitantly tried the door. It was rude, but he was more convinced than ever that there was something wrong.
"'Olo'o Tagata Tagi!" Luka called.
Only silence answered, but there was a strange smell in the air. Luka looked back at Noelani and Malaki, his worry changing swiftly to fear. The house was small, but they split up to search it.
Noelani found The Crying Man.
"Here! Come quickly!" she shouted. When Luka and Malaki reached the bedroom, they stopped. Noelani was kneeling beside the mat. The Crying Man was on the floor...bleeding.
"I think he's been shot," she whispered. There was a large pool of blood on the floor beside him. He was not moving.