There it was.

Lying innocently on Gibbs' coffee table.

Mocking him with its silence.

DiNozzo was sitting on the horns of a dilemma.

He was thankful that Gibbs went downstairs to work on his boat. After hours of work with little progress to speak of, Gibbs decided to dismiss his team. They would report to work tomorrow at 0800 hours. Gibbs and DiNozzo were too restless to sleep.

So Gibbs poured himself some bourbon and retreated downstairs.

DiNozzo decided to sort through his mail.

There had been the usual bills, magazines and catalogs. DiNozzo was also happy to get a postcard from his girlfriend, Ava Fowler. She was enjoying a vacation in Hawaii.

Lucky girl.

Unfortunately, DiNozzo's content mood didn't last.

There was yet another manila envelope waiting for him. As usual, there was no return address. It had a different postmark and his address was written in big block letters with black marker.

So the possibility of identifying the kidnappers' handwriting went right out the window.

Again.

DiNozzo felt conflicted.

Did he turn over the envelope to Fornell and his cronies? Or did he risk his job, freedom and reputation by opening the envelope. On one hand, this wasn't his case. On the other hand, this was his friend and partner he was talking about.

DiNozzo didn't know what to do.

Should he open the envelope or not?

The only sound came from the old fashioned clock resting sedately on Gibbs' mantel. It continued to tick away, the sound growing louder in his ears.

DiNozzo couldn't help feeling like the main character in Edgar Allen Poe's infamous story, "The Telltale Heart". He felt like clamping his hands over his ears as he glared at the clock.

It continued to tick away, unconcerned with his futile glares.

Growing louder and louder.

DiNozzo wanted to scream, "Make it stop!"

But that would only alert Gibbs.

DiNozzo reached out with a hand to open the envelope, but then he hesitated.

He flinched as he remembered a case from his rookie days as a cop in Baltimore. Unthinkingly, he opened a kidnapper's ransom letter at a crime scene. His supervisor all but tore him a new asshole as it was possible that thanks his bungling, valuable forensic evidence had just been lost.

DiNozzo felt lower than dirt when his supervising officer later turned out to be right.

Resolutely, DiNozzo suppressed the urge to open the envelope.

Then he jogged downstairs to the basement to inform Gibbs of what he'd received in the mail.


Molly Henderson cursed as she glanced at her watch.

She was going to be late.

It was a bitch, working the midnight shift at a Mobil gas station. But she desperately needed the money. She'd been very dissatisfied with her career as of late.

Until recently, she was a teacher at a local high school.

But Molly was sick and tired of teaching a bunch of spoiled, entitled children.

Her mother, Lily Henderson, said she was crazy. But Molly felt like she needed to start over. She'd just gotten a divorce from her husband of three years, Derek Parker, who had sole custody of their daughter, Rose. She decided to take back her maiden name after the divorce was official.

Their divorce was as amicable as it could be.

They remained good friends and she had her daughter every other weekend.

Molly didn't contest the current custodial arrangements. She was extremely busy with med school and working two jobs. During the day, she was a waitress at a local coffee shop.

But her schedule was unpredictable thanks to her classes.

She worked the midnight to four a.m. shift at Mobil.

Sure, it cut into her study time and sleeping hours. But her savings and loans only went so far. Her parents refused to help out with her education. Molly didn't blame them as they'd been of tremendous help to her when she was getting a teaching degree.

Thank God for Derek.

Her ex husband was tremendously understanding and gave her help when she needed it. It helped that he owned his own landscaping business and could work from home.

Even though she remained on good terms with her ex, her heart was bruised.

Divorces were never easy.

Lord knew, she had firsthand experience. Lily and her ex, Philip Henderson, went through a bitter, acrimonious divorce. They fought over every last penny. They also fought like cats and dogs when it came to custody of Molly and her little sister, Gina.

Molly rushed as fast as she could to her rusty dark blue mini Cooper.

Sure, it was a piece of shit, but it was all she could afford.

She also occupied a tiny studio apartment in the seedier part of Baltimore. But it wasn't like she was swimming in dough nowadays. She didn't have a giant money bin like Scrooge McDuck did in the old cartoon, "Duck Tales".

Molly ran even faster after checking her watch again.

Damn Professor Hill!

Frank Hill was a longwinded SOB who liked to wax poetic for hours. His lectures never ended at a predictable time, to his students' eternal annoyance. Molly's only thought was on reaching her car so she could make it to her shift on time.

Her manager was an anal retentive bastard who was big on punctuality.

She was too preoccupied to realize she was being followed.

Molly never saw it coming. The last thing she felt was a sharp pain on the back of her head before everything went black.

And she collapsed like a house of cards.


What was that bastard up to?

Isabelle Kowalski no qualms tailing her cheating husband.

She wondered why it bothered her so much. It wasn't like Isabelle herself was faithful. But at least she wasn't stupid enough to get caught. She couldn't believe her husband was screwing Gloria Jenkins, her archrival from high school.

Besides, no one cheated on Isabelle Elizabeth Devereaux Kowalski and got away with it.

No one.

What was he doing?

Driving to his longtime piece of ass?

Normally, Isabelle wouldn't give a damn about what he was up to.

There was no love lost between them and Isabelle only married him for his millions. However, he was already planning on transferring his assets to accounts that only he had access to. She'd overheard him talking his lawyer, Beaumont Kramer.

He was also threatening to reduce her allowance.

That wouldn't do.

That wouldn't do at all.

Isabelle was used to living the high life and she refused to let her social climber of a husband threaten her livelihood. She deserved nothing but the best. Her parents always treated her like a princess.

If Cornelius knew what was good for him, he would let sleeping dogs lie.

Unfortunately, he was too stupid to realize that rocking the boat was dangerous.

Hence the reason she was following him. Isabelle hoped to get enough dirt on her husband to get him to change his mind. Which was why she'd brought her camera and recording equipment.

She also brought a gun for protection.

She'd always been a daddy's girl.

She inherited her passion for hunting from her father, Oswald Devereaux. Isabelle's brow furrowed as Cornelius drove to Georgetown. While it was true he was a senator, Cornelius preferred to do his wheeling and dealing in Louisville or on Capitol Hill.

Last time she checked, Gloria Jenkins didn't live in DC.

Much less Georgetown.

Her eyes widened as he watched him park at a stately townhouse in a quiet neighborhood. Cornelius and his friends were creatures of habit. But he hasn't visited this particular friend in years.

Isabelle didn't know the particulars.

All she knew was that Cornelius had a falling out with two old friends in the early days of their marriage.

Cornelius was nothing if not stubborn.

And consistent.

If he said he wasn't going to speak to you again, he meant it.

So why was he breaking his word?

Why was he visiting a hated fellow senator? Rodney Chalmers was a senator from South Carolina. He had a secondary residence in Georgetown, presumably because he had family here.

But Isabelle knew it was because his current mistress lived nearby.

Isabelle was thankful she'd planted a bug in Cornelius' suit.

She parked out of sight as she activated her recording equipment and snuck out of her car. She was wearing a disguise and a black wig to disguise her blonde hair. It was too bad she was so intent on taking damming photographs. Otherwise, she would've heard the shock of a lifetime as her recording equipment did its job. When she would listen to aforementioned conversation later, Isabelle would finally realize what her husband was capable of and the depths he would sink to, to ensure his powerbase was never threatened and that his reputation remained as clean as a whistle.


Despite what was about to happen, Ducky was as cheerful as ever.

He was clad in his customary hospital scrubs with a white mask over his face.

Gibbs was standing nearby. As usual, his expression was unreadable and he had his arms crossed over his chest.

Tim was on the other side.

For once, the entire team was present. DiNozzo had a slight smirk on his face as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Ziva was in her "Mossad" mode as her expression was even more stoic than Gibbs'.

"...is fascinating." Ducky was saying. "You rarely get a case like this." He had a scalpel in his hand as he perused the body gracing the Autopsy table. "Why, I haven't seen something like this since my early days as a doctor in the Royal Army Medical Corps. In fact-"

As usual, Gibbs looked annoyed because Ducky tended to ramble. He opened his mouth to say: "Move it along, Duck!"

"Ahem." Ducky cleared his throat. "Sorry about that."

"What's the cause of death?" Gibbs asked.

Before Ducky could say anything, there was an ear-splitting noise. Tim looked around, confused. For some reason, the others weren't bothered by the sound.

In fact, they were acting like nothing was going on.

Ducky's lips were moving, but Tim couldn't hear a thing.

He didn't understand what was going on. Tim clamped his hand over the ears, but the loud music continued. Or at least, it was posing as music. He glanced at Gibbs again. Why was the former Marine allowing Abby to play her music in Autopsy?

How come the others were acting like they didn't even hear the music?

Slowly but surely, Tim was coming to his senses.

Eventually, he realized that he was dreaming. He felt like he was swimming in a sea of sluggishness and that his ears were stuffed full of cotton. His head was throbbing like a bitch in tune with the pulsating beats coming from the boombox.

As he gained more clarity, the pain returned with a vengeance.

Tim hissed and gritted his teeth.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. He hissed again as the light pierced his eyes.
He had to blink a few times as dark spots danced in his vision. Once his vision cleared and headache became more tolerable, Tim slowly and carefully glanced around.

Sure enough, he was still in the different hellhole his kidnapper dumped him in.

At least he was alone this time around.

Tim ruthlessly shoved those memories aside. He had to think of a way out of here. But how? There were no weapons around. His wrists were secured behind his back with thick handcuffs and he certainly wasn't Mark Sheridan from the film, "U.S. Marshals".

His ankles were secured as well.

Tim suppressed a rude snort.

Even if he wasn't bound, it wasn't like he could move around much. His left leg was still a mess and his left ankle was broken. Tim glanced around again. There was nothing he could use to try and unlock the handcuffs.

Tim stiffened as the door opened.

He tried not to whimper as THEY slowly sauntered towards him.

He didn't like the look in their eyes. Despite his best efforts, visions of his past kidnapping flashed before his eyes. They had the same look as HIS assistant. The only good thing was they didn't laugh like hyenas.

But he remembered everything the assistant would tauntingly whisper in his ear.

His foul breath would wash over him.

Tim could still remember that vile odor to this day. It smelled of a weird combination of onions, garlic and rotting flesh. It was why he vomited the first time he'd seen a corpse at his first NCIS crime scene. He was getting flashbacks of the assistant and what that bastard did to him.

He would wince everytime the assistant would whisper in his ear.

He never liked the sensation of the assistant's foul air washing over him.

It made him feel dirty.

Polluted.

And that he needed to take a thousand showers just to get rid of the scent.

It never helped that the assistant would trail those fingers lingeringly over his exposed skin. Tim would shudder everytime that happened. It felt like a spider was crawling all over his body.

The assistant never bothered to wash his hands either.

So Tim had to endure the sight of those yellow, rotting fingernails.

The fingernails weren't normal. They were carved into sharp points. The assistant would give him an insane, menacing grin as he dragged those same nails over his pale flesh. Giving him sharp scratches. But the assistant was very careful.

As the scratches weren't sharp enough to bleed.

The assistant called their moments together "playtime".

When he began, he would whisper the same phrase into his ear. Tim had nightmares of those same words to this day as they were burned into his memory:

"Timmy is going to be a good boy, isn't he? Timmy is going to make Uncle...feel good!"


"Camptown ladies sing a song

Doo dah, doo Dah

Camptown racetrack five miles long

Oh the doo dah day"

I was in a good mood as I stuffed the bitch into the trunk of my car. Thankfully, there were no witnesses when I knocked her out.

I shoved her into the passenger seat of her mini Cooper and drove to a deserted parking lot only a few blocks away.

Where my vehicle was waiting.

"Come here with my hat caved in

Doo dah, doo dah

Come back home with a pocket full of tin

Oh the doo dah day"

Ah, Camptown Ladies.

It was one of my favorite little diddies.

So I couldn't help myself as I all but skipped to the driver's seat. Despite what my bastard doctor told me, I decided I wasn't going to let this stop me. I had huge plans for this sorry cunt. She was going to help me whether she liked it or not.

"Going to run all night

Going to run all day

Bet my money on the bob-tailed nag

Somebody bet on the bay"

My grin threatened to split my face as I slid behind the wheel and turned on the ignition. It was amazingly easy to track her down. The stupid bitch never bothered to change her name.

Women.

They were so stupid.

So predictable.

Thankfully, the dump where I'd temporarily placed Tiny Tim was close by. Snatching her up was a cinch!

"The long tailed filly and the big black hoss

Doo dah, doo dah

They fly the track, they both cut across

Oh the doo dah day"

She wasn't even aware of her surroundings! Even an idiot with half a brain would know you have to be wary at night. Who knows what could happen to you, especially if you were a member of the weaker sex. Unfortunately for her-and fortunately for me-common sense didn't even occur to her.

She was far more preoccupied with her insipid little plans for the evening.

"The Black hoss stickin' in a big mud hole

Doo dah, doo dah

Can't touch the bottom with a ten foot pole

Oh the doo dah day"

I stopped at a red light.

I was tempted to continue with my plans.

But I didn't want to run into a patch of bad luck. If I tried that the chances would increase of something going wrong. Sometimes, it was better to quit while you were ahead.

I happily resumed singing as the light turned green.

"Going to run all night

Going to run all day

Bet my money on the bob-tailed nag

Somebody bet on the bay"

She should be out for a good many hours. Before I knocked her out, I injected her with a heavy sedative. Which was a good thing, as I didn't want to hear her screams for help. Not yet, anyway.

That would come later, when no one was around to hear the bitch.

"Old mulely cow come on to the track

Doo dah, doo dah

The bob-tailed throwed her over his back

Oh the doo dah day"

My Lord God must be pleased with me. I didn't run into a single cop and at this time of night, there weren't a lot of cars around. To me, this just confirmed that I was doing the right thing.

"They fly along like a railroad car

Doo dah, doo dah

Running a race with a shooting star

Oh the doo dah day"

I knew that I had to be cautious. I shouldn't count my chickens before they hatch and all that jazz. But I was confident that I would succeed. After all, my superior intellect was nothing to scoff at.

"Going to run all night

Going to run all day

Bet my money on the bob-tailed nag

Somebody bet on the bay"

Obviously, I won't take her to the same location where Tiny Tim currently resides. No, I would take her back to the cabin. However, I was going to place her in a dungeon far away from Tiny Tim's.

While both of them were stupid, I'm not taking any chances. There was no sense in having the two meet and work together to escape.

"See them flying on a ten mile heat

Doo dah, doo dah

Round the racetrack then repeat

Oh the doo dah day"

I tapped my fingers in rhythm. True, this song wasn't quite as good as "What's goin on", but I needed something to cheer me up. It wouldn't do to dwell on the doctor's prognosis.

Or I would get depressed.

And I couldn't afford to get depressed.

"I win my money on the bob-tailed nag

Doo dah, doo dah

I keep my money in an old tow bag

Oh the doo dah day"

After all, I wasn't doing this for my selfish pleasures. No, it would be an insult to everything my Lord God stood for. How could I perform holy works in His name if I let my baser emotions and desires get the better of me?

My jaw firmed as I took to the highway.

No, I wasn't human.

I was above those letter mortals.

Those peons.

True, I took honest pleasure in Tiny Tim's suffering. But he wasn't enduring pain and torture just to satisfy my whims. No, his pain served a higher purpose. Everything I did, I did in the Name of my Lord God.

I needed to spread the word. So everyone would know the divine might of the One and True God, Anthony DiNozzo Jr. Molly Henderson would serve a purpose as well. She just didn't know it yet.

"Going to run all night

Going to run all day

Bet my money on the bob-tailed nag

Somebody bet on the bay

Oh the doo dah day"