Chapter 7
26 days earlier...
Tim came into NCIS the next day and checked his computer. Tony had been there, but he hadn't gotten in. Tim smiled sarcastically. It was nice to know he was so respected, so cared for in this place. There was no way that Tony would be able to break into his computer...now that he knew he wanted to. Tim sat down and began his morning routine, beginning with checking his NCIS email. As had become usual, there was a message for him. He opened it, read it, filed it with his others and meticulously filled out a report which he sent to the appropriate authorities.
Only then did he notice something else: There was a message from F. Harrison. The name wasn't at all familiar, but Tim clicked on the message anyway. It hadn't gone to junkmail which meant something in and of itself. There was a large attachment, a video. Tony came in. Tim ignored him and checked the video for viruses. It was clean. He clicked on it.
"It's too bad she won't live, but then who really does?" Tim stared at his computer screen in horror. Over and over, the lines repeated. "It's too bad she won't live, but then who really does?" "It's too bad she won't live..." "...too bad she won't live..." "...she won't live..." "...she won't live..."
All the while, the video looped to show Petty Officer Johnson restrained, shrieking in terror as a man, masked and shadowed, approached her.
"It's too bad she won't live, but then who really does?"
Closer and closer he came, slowly with no sense of hurry. His back was to the camera, but Angie's fear was there for the world...no for Tim to see.
"It's too bad she won't live, but then, who really does?"
A garrotte fell free from one hand as the man stopped inches from her. When the inevitable moment came, Tim actually had to look away, but the sound of Angie's screams abruptly cutting off was almost worse than seeing it happen. He closed his eyes, but the vision the sounds conveyed made actual sight redundant.
"It's too bad she won't live..."
"...she won't live..."
As the video continued to play, Tim just kept his eyes closed and wished that it would stop. Something about seeing it happen made the whole thing much much worse and he couldn't think straight. He wasn't thinking like an agent. He was thinking like an inexperienced witness to a murder, a murder he had told people was not going to happen.
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Tony glanced briefly at Tim as he came into the bullpen, but Tim steadfastly ignored him and Tony didn't say anything. Tim hadn't actually ignored him over the last two days; they had had work to do, but he had made it patently obvious that he had no interest in speaking to Tony beyond the absolute essentials. However, when he heard the repeated lines of Bladerunner coming from Tim's computer he glanced up again. The closing line repeated over and over, and Tony couldn't figure out why in the world he would want to listen to it. The movie was pretty good, but not that good.
"Hey, Probie..." the teasing words faltered as he got a look at Tim's face, white with his eyes tightly closed. "McGee, what is it?"
Tim didn't answer, didn't even appear to hear him over the movie lines. Tony's brow furrowed in confusion as he stood and walked over to Tim's desk.
"Hey, McGee, I realize that you're mad at me still, but replaying Bladerunner isn't going to change anything," Tony said, trying to rally. It didn't work. Tim still didn't respond. He reached his desk and looked over Tim's shoulder.
"It's too bad she won't live, but then, who really does?"
The video had looped again and Tony was treated to a vision of exactly what was making Tim close his eyes.
"McGee...isn't this that petty officer? The Donnie Darko one?"
"Angeline Johnson," Tim finally said, his eyes still closed.
"Where is this, do you think?" Tony asked, looking at the video with calculated separation. He looked at Tim. "Hey! Probie!" He slapped his head. "Focus! Freaking out is not going to help find her." That seemed to wake Tim up from whatever had disturbed him so deeply. Tony didn't completely blame him because it was quite different to watch the murder taking place. Tim had seen something like that before, but he hadn't realized it was real. This time...there was little question of the reality. The real question was why the video had been sent to Tim. Why not Gibbs when Johnson had been sent to him in the first place?
Tim moved a shaking hand to the mouse and paused the video. He swallowed a few times and then looked at the surroundings. "O-Okay," he said, his voice as shaky as his hands, but at least he was engaging again. "There don't appear to be any defining features. I would say it's an apartment. The, uh, the killer seems to have chosen his clothing intentionally to block out any details of his build. The matte black makes him seem less defined."
"What's up?" Gibbs asked.
Tony looked at Tim who seemed to be nearly back to normal, although still pale. "It looks like Petty Officer Johnson is dead, Boss."
"What?" he strode over to the computer and looked at the video. "When did you get this, McGee?"
"About ten minutes ago, Boss. I was just checking my email. It was...just there."
"And?"
"And we're working on it, Boss," Tony said.
"I'm going to send it down to Abby and see if she can pull any details from it."
Gibbs just stared at Tim.
"And...I'm also going to see if I can track where the email was sent from. I'll get right on it, Boss," Tim said, trying to cover his shock. He wasn't sure exactly why he was so shocked by what he saw. He had seen the results of much worse before. He'd even seen a murder in much the same way...only he hadn't known it at the time. Maybe it's because I told no fewer than two people that we'd find her...implying that she'd live...
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It only took two hours to track down the source of the video. As good as he knew Tim was with computer stuff, Tony was amazed at the way Tim seemed to interface with his machine, pulling things out of it that Tony would never have even thought of looking for. He was driven...maybe...Tony shut down that line of thought quickly. For the moment, there were more important things going on than his figuring out Tim's mental state, and also, Tim seemed to have forgotten his anger in the wake of trying to find the killer. Abby was able to isolate some information about the apartment in the same amount of time and together, they were able to track the apartment to a building in Anacostia.
Now that this was a genuine murder rather than a suspected kidnaping, the whole team rolled when they headed out to the scene. They pulled up to the old apartment building, noting briefly that it was officially abandoned. Abby had been able to peg a direction and an approximate floor based on the view out the window, but beyond that, they would have to search each room.
They headed up to the second floor, not holding out much hope that the killer was still there, but ready for the possibility. They found the petty officer...the late petty officer in the fourth room. Tim looked as shaken as he had been when he had seen the body in the barrel of lye out at Norfolk. Tony noticed, but he wasn't sure anyone else had. Ziva and Gibbs cleared the other rooms of the small apartment and then they all came together in front of the remains of Angeline Johnson. Tim moved slowly forward, as if in a dream and gently placed his fingers on her neck.
"She's dead," he said tonelessly. "I'll get my camera."
Ziva looked at him strangely. Tim was acting so off. "What is wrong, McGee?"
Tim didn't turn from his bag. "I talked with her two days ago. I rode in the elevator with her. She reported to us. She was alive probably four hours ago." He stood and turned around, no tears, but a strange look on his face. "Now, she's dead."
"Yes, McGee. She is. Just like every other murder we have investigated," Ziva pointed out. "Why is this any different? She is just as dead as the others were."
Tim shook his head. "It's nothing, Ziva."
"McGee, start in the bedroom."
"Yes, Boss," Tim answered. There was no sense of relief from him, just acceptance of what Gibbs was obviously doing. He stepped into the bedroom, not expecting to find much. All of the action had been in the main room. Then, he stopped. He froze, both mind and body. He was absolutely shocked and the same shock that had kept him from acting like an agent took over him again. Without even thinking, he reached out to the photograph lying, barely hidden beneath the pillow on the bed. His hand was shaking as he looked at the photo. He turned it over and a sickening feeling came over him. He actually thought he might throw up. Hardly knowing what he was doing, Tim slid the photograph into his pocket. They can't see this. No one can ever see this. They can't know. It wasn't germaine to the case. It couldn't be because Tim wasn't involved. The picture was all wrong; it looked off. It was off. It had to be.
"You all right in there, Probie?" Tony called.
Instantly, Tim was back in reality again. He looked around the room, fearful that other photos would be there as well. There was nothing. The room was immaculate...except for...no, there was nothing in this room. Not a thing. Nothing.
"I'm fine, Tony. There's not much here."
Tim had lied. He had not just avoided the truth or hedged. He had lied. He felt like it was branded on his forehead, like the incriminating photograph was burning a hole in his pocket...but what else could he do? There were too many variables. He straightened his shoulders and walked out of the bedroom.
"Do you need help in here, Boss?" he asked. He struggled not to flinch as Gibbs turned his gaze from Petty Officer Johnson to Tim.
He didn't answer at first, just raised his eyebrows in a mute query.
"I'm fine, Boss. Really."
"Then, get started."
Tim nodded and began snapping photos revealing the woman who would mark the beginning of his downfall.
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Present...
"I've seen horrors... horrors that you've seen."
Tim looked up and around, seeing no one, but hearing the voice. For the moment, his guilt was sublimated beneath a growing sense of horror.
"It's impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means."
This wasn't a movie clip. This was a real voice, coming from somewhere in his apartment. As had happened so many times, he was briefly frozen with indecision and fear. By sheer force of will, he wrenched his mind from the encroaching brain freeze. He pulled out his gun.
"You have a right to kill me. You have a right to do that... but you have no right to judge me."
The quote was out of order. Tim remembered the original words. Apocalypse Now was one of those movies Tony had made him watch. He had even enjoyed it, in a sickening way. It was the deconstruction of a demented man...a man who had probably begun as a normal human being. He took a step toward the sink in his kitchen, moving slowly around the counter, just to be sure that no one was there. The voice, even though it was only a whisper, sounded familiar, a voice from the past.
