Chapter 2

Something was missing. Constant chatter, raunchy jokes. The overwhelming smell of expensive masculine perfume.

"DiNozzo."

"Late. Overslept. Meeting us at the crime scene." McGee announced unceremoniously, trying to button his new, clean shirt and open car`s door at the same time. Once on the road, the view became a blur of colours and shapes. Watching the needle of the speedometer batting at 140, he mentally congratulated himself for skipping breakfast.

No name, no address, no calls, nothing to track. To type, to hide behind a monitor. He understood. It was going to be one of the days they would end up drowning the images, the horror, the darkness in a restless sleep, a constant, desperate ideal of righting an irreversible wrong.

The car came to a sudden halt. Usually, a quiet neighbourhood. Now, the silence resonated. No ambulances, no sirens. A frozen crowd of five, a cry for help, a horrified shriek. The herds started to gather. The sound of hurried footsteps intensified, and yet, nobody dared to cross the invisible line marked by terror.

The team took a deep breath. Synchronised, they made their way to the crime scene. The smell of burnt flesh, the sight of body parts clustered together, discarded with a violence hard to stomach. McGee held back the urge to scream, to cry, to vomit, to hit, to maim, to kill. The outline of a tiny body, a hand clutching, holding on desperately, to a now inexistent sliver of hope.

He turned his head. More death. Another four. The camera shutter snapped furiously. Every image gnawed at the shreds of self-control left in him. Bits and pieces of conversations tumbled in his head. Ziva`s voice, a lifeline. He pushed aside thoughts and memories. Looking up, McGee searched for an escape, for a tell of a recurring nightmare. There was none.

Tony. "When did you...?" he started, his voice weak. It didn't matter. He didn`t wait for an answer he knew it wouldn`t come. The micro-expressions on his partner`s face mirrored his. Anger, disbelief, shock, horror, hatred, grief. There were no words for that moment, no jokes, no witty comments.

"Sketch, DiNozzo." Gibbs ordered. Anger faltered behind. He didn`t flinch. He deserved it.

Ten forty-five. Three hours. Five bodies. Countless bags of evidence. It amounted to a quiet ride back to headquarters. They had to make some sense of this. This time, it went beyond a dead marine. A family, their whole world, ripped apart.

"No survivors." Gibbs vowed, approval meeting his words. They would have no mercy, no leniency or compassion for the guilty.