Chapter 10
14 days earlier...
Tim logged into his computer. It took a little longer to log off every time he stepped away, but with Tony and Ziva both giving him strange looks, he didn't dare leave his computer open for viewing. With every day that passed and no new evidence showing up, he felt more and more guilty. His stomach was churning constantly, and he had begun avoiding Gibbs' eyes, convinced that one moment of direct eye contact would result in him spilling his guts and confessing to every wrong possible. His stomach took another twist; the tension was almost painful. This has got to be the single most idiotic and illegal thing I've done in my life. I'm in too deep now. I can't stop. I can't pretend that it didn't happen...but I can't let them know. His stomach twisted again, definitely painfully this time. He winced but didn't make a sound.
He checked his email and saw his most recent communique from Robert. He hesitated before opening it. They never made him feel any better. If anything, they made him feel worse about whatever case he was working...and he felt so badly about the current case as it was, he wasn't sure he could stand feeling any worse. Still...it was his responsibility. He tensed, feeling his stomach tighten painfully once more, and opened the email.
Agent McGee:
This morning, I woke up and actually forgot that Joan was dead. I rolled over in my bed and looked for her. But she's not there. She'll never be there. She is dead and nothing anyone can do will ever change that. You promised that you'd find the man who killed her. Why haven't you found him yet? It has been almost two years since she was murdered. I thought you were the type of man to keep your promises. You always seemed so honorable. Why have you done nothing? Have you forgotten her? Have you forgotten your promise to me? If you no longer care, then where will the justice come from? I served my country and I am waiting for my country to return the favor. At the very least, I expected that my wife would be safe. Don't you care about that, about what I have endured, about what my wife must have felt in her last moments? Did I ever tell you that we were thinking of starting a family? I'll never have that now. All I have are the memories...of her...and of the way you investigated her death.
Robert Smith
Tim saw the monitor blur as a sheen of tears rose in his eyes. He let out a shaky breath as he brought up the form for reporting his contact. After he sent it out, he wiped his eyes and carefully filed the email. Then, he updated the folder containing all his contacts with Robert Smith over the last two years. Tim looked at the list. They had been coming more frequently lately, but the same thing had happened around the one-year mark. I can't seem to do anything right at this point. He winced again as his stomach tightened. It took a few minutes before the pain ebbed.
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Present...
"Horror. Horror has a face...and you must make a friend of horror. Horror and mortal terror are your friends."
A thrill of fear rippled up and down Tim's spine as he mentally calculated the time which had elapsed since Angeline Johnson had delivered her message. Twenty-eight days. The rest of the numbers were a little off, but the number of days was right.
"If they are not, then they are enemies to be feared. They are truly enemies."
Tim took a step toward his bedroom and turned his head in time to see the fist, covered by brass knuckles, fly at his face. As he slowly slid down the wall, he looked up at his attacker, a familiar face loomed over him.
The man spoke, quoting another line, another movie, and even through the haze of enveloping unconsciousness, Tim was horrified. "I had a bad dream." Tim's eyes started to close. "Only there's no one to tell me that it's over. This one will never be over...not for me...not for you..."
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14 days earlier...
"Julie, you're going to be late for school!" There was no movement from upstairs and Luana decided that she would not let Julie manipulate her again. "I'm not going to take this again, young lady! You get out of that bed right this instant!"
There was still no sound and Luana began muttering under her breath as she mounted the stairs. "You're lucky your father already headed to work. If I have to drive you to school one more time..."
She opened the door and froze at the sight that greeted her. "Julie! No!"
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"I-I thought she was sleeping in...again. She's a s-senior this year and is getting tired of school. I-I was so annoyed..." Luana dissolved into tears again and Gibbs put a hand on her shoulder.
"I'm very sorry."
"I never h-had the slightest idea that she was s-suicidal."
Gibbs looked over Luana's shoulder at Tony who nodded.
"She wasn't, ma'am."
Luana's face rose out of her hands. "What?"
"She was murdered."
"Why would anyone want to kill my daughter?"
"I don't know...yet. I'll find out."
Luana didn't respond but dropped her head back into her hands and sobbed. At that moment, Lieutenant Justin Robinson came in the door. He ran over to his wife and held her tightly. He looked at Gibbs once, dismissing him. Gibbs nodded and mounted the stairs to Julie's room.
"Are we sure it's the work of our guy?"
"As sure as we can be without evidence, Jethro. He has no established patterns beyond the Navy fixation and the movie quotations. I should be able to tell more when I get her back to autopsy."
Gibbs looked around the room. "I don't see a quote this time."
Ducky looked up from the body he and Jimmy had just taken down from its original position hanging over the bed from the light fixture. "That's because it was on the rope. I just removed it from her neck. See?"
Gibbs leaned over Ducky's shoulder and squinted at the text. "What does it say?"
"I know what it's like to want to die. How it hurts to smile. How you try to fit in but you can't. How you hurt yourself on the outside to try to kill the thing on the inside," Ziva said. "It is from a movie called Girl, Interrupted." Gibbs looked at her. "I did not know it. Tony did."
"Where is Tony?"
"In the backyard trying to determine how the killer got inside."
"McGee?"
A muffled voice, sounding too nervous, emerged from the shadows of the walk-in closet. "In here, Boss!"
"What are you doing?"
Tim stumbled out into the room, looking...strange. "I was just shooting the scene, Boss. ...I was thinking that maybe the killer hid in her closet and waited for her there."
Ziva raised an eyebrow. "McGee, was that not part of The Fugitive?"
Tim had the grace to blush. "Yes...but that doesn't mean it's not a good idea. I wasn't quoting lines or anything!"
"It is a good idea, McGee. Did you find anything?"
"No," Tim admitted, looking a bit disappointed...and nervous.
"What is it, McGee?"
Tim's eyes were wide. "What do you mean, Boss?"
"You are nervous, again, McGee," Ziva said helpfully. "Why?"
Tim's eyes darted back and forth between them. "I...well...Will they blame us...do you think?"
"Who?" Gibbs asked in confusion.
"Lt. Robinson and his wife. Will they blame us for not finding the killer before he got to their daughter? Think that we haven't been trying hard enough or doing our job?" Tim actually looked pained at the thought.
"I don't know, McGee. Some people do; others don't. It's impossible to tell. I hope they don't."
Gibbs watched as Tim nodded vaguely, his hand on his stomach, and didn't say anything. He seemed distracted and Gibbs had the feeling that it wasn't because of the Robinsons.
"Are you all right, McGee?" he asked.
Tim looked back at Gibbs and then out the window. "Yeah, I'm fine, Boss."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, Boss." Tim knelt beside the bed, opposite Ziva, and began to examine the bedside table. He seemed feel Gibbs' continued gaze on him. He kept moving his eyes nervously from the table to Gibbs and back to the table again.
"Boss?" Tony's voice finally distracted Gibbs from Tim. He could have sworn he heard a small sigh as he turned his attention onto Tony. There was something wrong with him.
"What, Tony?"
"I talked to Lt. Robinson on my way in. The killer had to have used the doors to get into the house. Getting into her window would have been too difficult, I think, particularly since he wouldn't have wanted to attract attention. Lt. Robinson says that he and his wife were out late last night...but that Julie got in even later than they did. The house was empty from six until ten. He would have had plenty of chances to get inside."
Tim looked up from the table. "He could have hidden in the closet," he suggested, but looked back at the table quickly when Tony and Gibbs both looked at him.
"It's possible. There's enough room in there...and Mrs. Robinson..." Here, Tony paused and was obviously holding in a laugh. "...sorry, not funny."
"No kidding, Tony," Tim muttered under his breath.
Tony exchanged a look with Ziva and Gibbs as he continued. "Luana Robinson says that this is pretty normal behavior for Julie and that she checked in with them around midnight."
"That would correspond to my estimated time of death as well, Tony," Ducky said. "Well, I think we should get her onto my table so that perhaps we can find some answers. Mr. Palmer, if you would be so good."
Jimmy began to gently place Julie Robinson in the body bag, being careful not to disturb her unduly. It didn't take long to get her in, and then, Ducky and Jimmy transported her to the truck. A fresh paroxysm of grief could be heard as they passed by the late teen's parents.
"Well?" Gibbs asked, quietly.
"I don't know, Boss. There's a lot of hair in here, but most of it, I'd be willing to bet, belongs to the girl."
"Julie," Tim said, quietly.
"What, Probie?"
Tim gulped nervously and hesitated before looking up. When he did, his face was set. "Her name is Julie, Tony. Julie Leah Robinson."
"Yes, that's true...but I don't see that it matters too much to her now how I talk about her. She's dead, Probie."
Tim stood up and glared. "It does matter, Tony. She's not just some girl; she's not a misplaced object. She's a human being who deserves to be remembered!" He stopped quickly and rammed a hand against his abdomen. "Saying Julie doesn't take any more time than saying the girl." He turned quickly toward the window, his hand still clutching his stomach.
"McGee, what is wrong?" Tony asked.
"Nothing," Tim said flatly. He breathed in and out deeply. "There's nothing wrong. I just think you should show a little more respect for the dead."
Tony's eyebrows ran halfway up his forehead as he looked questioningly at Gibbs and Ziva. Should I say something? was his silent question. Ziva shrugged.
"McGee," Gibbs said. It was only a single word, but it carried the tone of command with it, and no one, least of all Tim, dared disobey it.
Tim turned around, looking chagrined...and in pain.
"Do you have a problem?"
"No, Boss. I'm sorry," he said, not looking sorry at all.
"If you have a problem, explain yourself or deal with it on your own time."
Tim flushed. "Yes, Boss." He looked at Tony. "Sorry, Tony." Then, he turned back toward the bed.
I wouldn't have given him a choice, Tony thought as the awkward silence descended. There was something more going on here besides Tim just acting strangely. Tim had actually seemed to be physically hurting. Something is wrong and getting worse...and none of us knows what it is.
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Tim stepped into his apartment, dropped his bag on the floor by the door, dragged himself over to his desk, pushed the typewriter out of the way and pulled another photograph out of his pocket. He looked at it for a few seconds and then, gasped aloud as another stab of pain gripped his stomach. The pain didn't fade immediately as it had earlier that day, but stayed for about a minute before ebbing. It left him panting and gripping the arms of his chair. He looked once more at the picture and then flipped it over.
The only sound in the apartment were the ragged breaths coming from the figure hunched over on the chair. He stood and walked to his bag, pulled out the other photos and returned to his desk. He flipped each one onto its back. Slowly, as if in a trance, he arranged the three photos and stared at the resulting word. The ragged breathing stopped and silence reigned as Tim continued to stare miserably at the word: Tim-o-thy. Finally, he sagged in his chair and gasping sobs took the place of the silence.