THREE
McGee stood behind Reid and Charlie for a moment, silently observing them before clearing his throat and saying, "Errmm... I'm Special Agent Timothy McGee..."
Charlie and Reid both stopped stabbing the map and turned to look at McGee; each wearing their own quizzical version of a frown.
Reid looked at McGee for a moment thinking before saying, "Not Timothy McGee from MIT? Who graduated with near top marks!"
McGee, was obviously surprised by that and so raised a single eyebrow, "Err... yeah."
"Oh wow..." Reid said. "You're one of the few people who have ever graduated from MIT with such high scores! Amazing! I heard that the FBI wanted to hire you but they misplaced your paper work which is why you ended up at NCIS."
McGee didn't say anything but started to feel uncomfortable with Dr. Spencer Reid staring at him like he was a legend... he didn't think he was personally speaking. So he did one of the few things he was good at, he deflected and focused on the map.
"What are you working on here? I noticed from the other side of the room that it looks to be geographic profiling," McGee said as he moved a bit closer to the map and looked at the points on it and the colour coding tag next to it, "And I guess I'm right."
Charlie looked at McGee surprised before thinking happily that he now had someone else who understood what he was saying!
"Yes it is. We're locating the places where each of the girls were taken from as well as the dump sites of the bodies which should give us a general overview of the Unsub's residence; the area he live in." Charlie answered quickly, "We've almost finished placing all the points."
McGee nodded and looked back at the map, his mind already working. He thought about the case and about everything he could think of about the victims, he decided to ask something, "Do either of you know whether or not this guy stalks his victims?"
Reid looked at him whilst Charlie shrugged and went back to stabbing the map. Reid stopped and thought about the file he'd read, it didn't mention it but he couldn't simply assume that this Unsub didn't stalk these girls, "I don't know. In the case file it-"
"It doesn't mention anything about stalking per say but is it possible that this 'Unsub' did stalk them but it wasn't overly apparent at the time that these victim profiles were composed? Maybe he has military training or is naturally a creep I don't know, but it is a possibility that he did stalk them," McGee cut in speaking quickly, but lowly, and whilst staring at Reid, "which would mean that he'd have to have somewhere where he'd have chosen them in particular. Perhaps the local mall or shops or something. Anywhere where there are social gatherings."
Hotch, who had heard every word that McGee had just spoken, was silently impressed. He didn't know NCIS agents had more than basic profiling skills. He had tuned out the dialogue between Don and Gibbs, and had instead focused on what was being said between Reid, Charlie and McGee; and he was quite glad that he had focused on them. He walked over to them silently and said, in a voice that everyone in the room could hear, "I think you may be right Agent McGee."
McGee, who had had no clue that Hotch had heard a word he'd said, looked at him in surprise before blushing slightly. He nodded at Hotch who continued to speak.
"I think it would be a good idea if we went over the victims profiles and try to find out whether or not they all came into some sort of contact with each other. Maybe a place that they all frequented. I believe there is a Shopping Center around here that might be the common point of contact." Hotch said looking at the map, he placed his forefinger on the location of Sylmar Towne Shopping Center.
Dinozzo stood, with Ziva beside him, looking at McGee with a shocked look on his face. He'd always known McGeek was intelligent, hello he was an MIT graduate, but this was a surprise even for him. He never would've guessed that McGee knew anything about profiling beyond bad guy equals bad.
Ziva, much like Dinozzo, was surprised that McGee was being so upfront in all of this; she'd never really known him to be so 'look at me I've got the answer', yet that seemed to be what he was doing. Of course, Ziva knew that McGee some of understanding the concepts of profiling but she did not think that it would be of any use since they were to be working with a full team of profilers.
Gibbs, for the most part, simply watched this all in silence. He secretly felt proud that McGee was assisting the case with more than his normal technical skills but he did not wish for McGee to realise this fact; McGee needed to realise that was irreplaceable.
Don, didn't say a word, he instead watched in silence as the group of people in the room slowly congregated around the map with a simple show of interest. He glanced idly at the conference table that had a few files upon its surface and a small, diary? He frowned, who would have a diary in the middle of a police station?
He picked it up and idly flipped through the pages, taking note of the beautiful, calligraphy, upon each of the pages. He stopped for a moment to read one of the passages and was quite surprised by it.
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"I suppose that I have managed to tell you all that I can at this present moment in time, which truly is a shame since I shall no longer have any real purpose for which to write. Regardless of this development, or perhaps conclusion, in my tale I must say that I shall continue to obtain whatever information I can of this beast but I suppose that the focus of what I will now be writing will most likely be my own observations of things; whether they be from this man or from the time before I became his unwilling captive.
I have always wondered on the honesty of mankind. I have noted that the world is full of deceit from those who are meant to instil trust and reassurance in the larger world populace. Ironic really isn't it? Those who I, like many others, are supposed to trust with my money – which in honest I do not have being a minor in this world – and with my freedom and human rights, but are not as honest as they first appear. They were suits made of fine material, crafted by the most skilled of tailors, custom-made to cover the cracks of their very souls as a rather fine veneer are designed to mislead us, to lull us into a sense of security, into the notion that they can be trusted by us when in fact they are the traitor in the midst of a rebellion, the coward in the ranks.
I do believe I have little time left with which to continue to write this entry; that pathetic, cowardly, narcissistic man will be arriving back shortly, he would not dare miss his prearranged appointment with my torture. Oh no, that would only serve to disappoint wouldn't it now?"
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...
Don closed the book and placed it back upon the table with a sick feeling within his stomach. He tried, and failed, to not imagine the types of torture this monster had inflicted upon the owner of this diary. He forced his mind to focus on the map and the conversation that had been happening while he was immersed in the memoirs of a lost cause.
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"I wonder... is it normal to be able to understand how this man thinks? Is typical of a person of my age and lifestyle to be able to comprehend and rationalise the actions of a madman? Should I be concerned with such an ability? Should I fear that I will become a monster like this one that cages me? What should I do when I think of the other girls who have come before me and will likely come after? Should I feel like it's only fair, only right that they should suffer the pain that I have? Is that not sadistic? Is that not evil and cruel of me?
Are there others who have such an ability? Does it sicken and fascinate them in equal measure? Do they consider themselves to be 'freaks' and 'weirdoes or do they consider themselves to be superior to others?
Do they feel like this 'skill' defines them as a person? Do they believe that it will allow them grandeur, that it is a reason for them to be worshipped like some self-professed God?
Do I believe that? Should I believe that? Or should I believe that I am a social oddity? That many do not think and see as I do, do not take on another's thoughts and emotions as I do?
What should I think?
What should I believe?
Should I be sickened?
Or should I be awed?
Should I be considered superior?
Or should I be considered a freak?
What do you, who is reading this and most likely debating upon my sanity, think? Which viewpoint do you consider to be true and which to be false?"
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Don shivered slightly as he placed the book down on the conference table again. It was getting dark out and he really should be heading back to the Craftsman to check on his dad but... he couldn't stop reading.
He had tried earlier in the day to forget about the diary; he had forced his mind upon other tracks, other paths yet it always returned to this one... to this diary...
He could remember the conversation that he and Agent Hotchner "call me Hotch," had had with the NCIS Special Agent; Gibbs.
He remembered the mutterings from the sea-cop, "working with the FBI", "I'd rather have Fornell".
He remembered the grimace on Hotch's face as he spoke, trying to keep his voice neutral of the frustration he felt with the sea-cop, "We're working with the local police force, as I've already said... the BAU will not be taking the credit for this, or for the arrest and possible rescue of the latest victim...".
He remembered how the sea-cop had looked at Hotch with a searching glare, he recalled how Hotch had held the gaze with his own intent stare, he remembered the feeling of intense tension in the air; like someone was anticipating an explosion...
He also remembered himself speaking, to try and calm the air down, "look, it's pointless getting into a dispute about who has jurisdiction... there's a killer out there who's killing young girls... maybe we should focus on that more?..."
He shook his head as he rubbed a hand over his face, he felt exhausted; like this was the most trying case he'd ever had in his life... in many ways, he supposed, it probably was. He was wary of the B.A.U team, he didn't like the idea of being profiled but he knew they would do that naturally... the same way he does with a suspect to see if they're the guilty one... he just didn't like being on the receiving end of such a thing. He doubted any cop did.
He closed his eyes and counted to ten in his head;
'...one...', he heard the beat of his heart echoing in his ears;
'...two...', he heard the ticking of the clock on the wall reverberating around the room;
'...three...', he listened to the sound of fading horns and cars on the streets outside;
'...four...', he felt his chest rise and fall in a constant rhythm, unyielding in its nature;
'...five...', he felt the blood rushing about his body through veins and arteries and the tiny capillaries;
'...six...', he let his mind drift, let it follow the ripples of the pond;
'...seven...', his mind flashed upon the words he'd read in the diary of a dead girl;
'...eight...', he felt his heart constrict as his mind mulled over the written words;
'...nine...' he felt a tear slip from his eye and roll down his cheek, blazing a salty trail along his hot flesh;
'...ten...', he opened his eyes and looked solemnly at the diary lain out before him.
He leaned forward in the chair he was in and picked up the diary, flipping it open and turning to a new entry; which he noted had a date.
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"Wednesday, 2nd December 2009,
I have been his captive for over three months, so he happily allowed me a single wish; to know of the date. Today, is Wednesday. I have almost forgotten what a normal Wednesday is.
I can just recall spending Wednesday days in school, listening to the mute teachings of fascist pigs, listening to my friends during break and lunch, ignoring the orders from the fools to rein in my uniform and to conform... I miss it. I wish for myself to be back there, to be having the typical Wednesday defined by society... not this Wednesday that has now become the typical one for me in this new world I find myself trapped within.
I wonder, will someone ever find this dairy, will they ever truly care for me? Will they see me as a 'real girl' or just some long dead person who did not feel and thus did not matter? Will people read my story a decade from now and liken it to Anne Frank with her story? Or will they find entertainment in it? Will it become a blockbuster that the critics will insult and slate for my characterization? Will they insult me when I am no longer here to defend myself by citing my personality as being unbelievable purely because of age?
I do not know... I truly do not, but I can assume that the world may not ever know of me as anything more than the nth victim of the 'L.A napper'.
I do wish that I could be seen as something more than a statistic on paper. I do wish that I can be known as being human. As having lived a life once that was normal, that was average, instead of only recalled as the poor victim. I do wish that my wishes could be."
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Don felt tears in his eyes, his heart truly broke for this girl. He could understand what she felt and what she believed... the world is not a nice place but she is only a child, she should not have to face the sorts of horrors he does yet... here is the proof that she does.
He closed the diary and replaced it upon the desk, leaning forward in his chair. Resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands as he cried... as he broke down for the girl simply because she could not in her position.
Fear was a powerful tool that she knew, so she tried to not show fear. Tried to not let him see it affected her so, she wouldn't let him see her tears, because she knew if he ever did that she would lose the game for good. And so, Don cried for her. He shed the tears that fear kept locked within her.
And somewhere, out in the darkness of the night, a girl raised her head and looked through the metal grating over the small window above her and stared as the stars twinkled in 'hello' to her and the moon began to rise up high in the sky. And she too, felt a tear run down her cheek, yet wiped it away for she could not cry... or she would lose.
She turned her head away from the stars and down at the paper she had and the small pencil she held in her left hand. She smiled sadly and began to sketch an image... a face... of someone she'd never met... but had only seen the face of... a long, long time ago.
A face with dark hair and dark eyes, filled with sadness and pain...
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Reid sighed and rubbed his eyes as he looked out of the hotel room window, he watched as the stars twinkled and blinked at him. He turned his attention away from them after a moment of contemplating them and their ethereal beauty and instead re-focused his attention on the hardback book in his lap.
He picked it up again and continued to read; slowly... he wanted to savour what he read.
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/He watched with saddened eyes as he observed his boss, his leader, his mentor pick up the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels again and take a long, guilt-ridden swig of its villainous contents.
The others had left over an hour ago, Tommy had decided upon visiting some of the local clubs in the hopes that he could pick up a pretty looking girl about the age of twenty who would remind him, physically, of the one woman he really wanted but feared acquiring. Lisa, he knew, had decided to go straight to her sparsely decorated and emotionless home to lament her posting in a country she so obviously despised.
He sighed loudly, drawing his leader's attention, and said, "I'll be going home now boss. I'll be here early tomorrow and will have to leave at midday."
He waited for his boss, his father-figure to speak, and knew that when he did the alcohol that was now beginning to coarse through his veins would fuel a violent outburst. And he was not disappointed.
"Why didn't you leave with the others! Why are you going to be leaving early tomorrow! You're on my team McGregor! You don't leave when you want to! You leave when I tell you to!"
Throughout the entire tirade McGregor watched as emotionlessly as he could as his leader raised his voice and threw the bottle at him. He only moved to avoid getting hit with the glass bottle but still ended up with some of its contents splashing on his clothes. He stared at his team leader, holding the angered and alcohol-clouded gaze until he knew that his boss would not do anything more... violent.
McGregor spoke, his voice low and firm, "With all due respect sir, I didn't leave with the others because I had to finish typing up my report. I'll be leaving early tomorrow because I have to attend a funeral of a close family member and I understand that I am on your team AgentTibbs, but you donot have universal authority over me. I told you last week that I would be leaving early tomorrow but I guess you don't recall that."
Without giving Agent Tibbs the chance to do or say anything, McGregor turned abruptly and entered the lift as its doors opened. He stared at his boss as the doors began to slide shut and noticed that the Agent's alcohol-clouded mind had only just managed to process everything he had said; he could see Tibb's features begin to morph into anger. He called out as the doors slide shut completely, "Goodnight Agent Tibbs!"/
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Reid jumped as the door to the hotel room banged open and Morgan strolled in with NCIS Special Agent Anthony Dinozzo, Mossad Officer Ziva David and the rest of the B.A.U team in-tow.
"Yo Reid!" Morgan called, as he dumped a pile of files down on the cabinet next to his single bed, "Call room service! Get them to send some chow up!"
Reid rolled his eyes and marked his place in the book on his lap and placed it on his bed. He stood up and grabbed the telephone receiver, hit the button for room service and asked the person on the other end to send up some 'chow'.
NCIS Special Agent Anthony Dinozzo looked at the book on Reid's bed with a raised eyebrow and said, "Hey Ziva! Look!"
Mossad Officer Ziva David looked at Agent Dinozzo with a glare on her features; he'd interrupted her conversation with Agent Prentiss, and asked, "Look at what Tony?" as she came over to him.
He pointed at the book and replied, "McGeek's book is getting everywhere!"
Ziva looked at where he was pointing and saw the book. She looked at it, surprised to see it for a moment, then glared at it maliciously. She muttered violently under her breath in a language Dinozzo didn't understand but he got the gist of what she was saying.
She picked it up and looked at the front cover.
"Tony." She said after a long minute of her contemplating the cover.
"Yeah Ziva?" Dinozzo looked at her and nearly shivered when she looked from the book to him.
"Remind me to cause McGee a great amount of pain." She said darkly as she dropped the book back on the bed and turned away from it.
Dinozzo didn't answer, he was sort of afraid for McGeek now, but... he thought McGeek deserved Ziva's wrath...
Reid looked at Dinozzo and asked, in a confused voice, "Why is Officer David planning on causing Agent McGee pain?"
Dinozzo looked at Dr. Reid and answered with a smirk on his face, "Because... Ziva doesn't like fictional characters being based on her!"
Seeing Reid's blank look Dinozzo explained, "McGeek wrote that book you're reading and based the character Lisa on Ziva.. she doesn't appreciate the sentiment."
Reid looked at the book and then at Dinozzo before looking at the book again, "Thom. E. Gemcity is... an anagram of Timothy McGee!"
"Got it in one..." Dinozzo grinned before turning away when there was a knock at the door, "Ah! Food's here!"