I return to the sound of crashing ocean waves, flashes of dark sky, and pelting rain. Against the horizon, the clouds are black as death and thick with the promise of a hurricane. Every so often, wind gusts push the rain almost sideways. Somewhere nearby, flags clink against their metal posts. Against the edge of the pier, a huge destroyer stands unperturbed, in the rugged ocean. Waves slam against the concrete pier, sending salt sprays into the sky.
I can't feel anything. Not the rain, not the wind, not the ankle-deep puddle I stand in. I can't smell the salt of the sea or the heady rain. I remember what it should smell like. I took all this for granted when I was alive. I thought life was a job to get done. I forgot to take a breath and take the chance to savor it all. I never thought I could be nostalgic for Norfolk Naval Base and yet…
Through the rain, I notice movement on the walkway to the destroyer. On instinct, I raise my hand to shield my eyes from the rain.
Two male figures jog up the bridge. The one in the lead wears a black dress coat with the collar turned up against the rain. He shields his hair as best he can with his right hand. The other keeps his head down and his hands deep in his pockets, the sides of his trench coat whipping in the wind.
Tim and Tony are heading to the USS Telluride.
I sprint after them. The rain turns heavier as I move. Just once, I think my foot splashed a puddle. I don't take time to consider it because I can't lose Tim and Tony. Destroyers are huge and if I lose them, I might not find them until I blink out and return again. By the time I reach the entrance, the door is already closed. I step through it without a second thought.
Standing just inside the door, I find Tim and Tony. The senior agent is soaked straight through his coat, hair mussed and dress shirt darkened from the water. Tim looks even more miserable than Tony with water sliding down the back of his neck. His face has taken on a slight green tinge. When the boat sways, Tim hiccups into the back of his hand and swallows hard. Tony shoots him a death glare.
Oh Tim, what a time to get seasick…
They listen to a bored-looking ensign discuss the layout of the ship. The ensign is tall and lanky, a bean pole with a shock of jet black hair. He is extremely unattractive with hangdog features stretched too far across his small face. I check the ensign's coveralls for a name: Latimer.
"Are you guys here about Davey?" Latimer is a little too enthusiastic for my liking.
"We're taking a closer look at his death," Tony offers.
"He jumped off the bridge," Latimer says with conviction.
Tim and Tony share a curious look. I put my hands on my hips and cock my head.
"Oh yeah?" I say.
Latimer raises his hands in mock surrender. "That's the word around the canteen. He just found out his girlfriend was cheating on him. She sent him an e-mail a few days ago. We're set to redeploy in a few days." He wrinkles his nose as he shakes his head. "What a way to find out."
Tony nods. "That is terrible. We'll look into it."
Tony motions at Tim, who plucks a soggy notepad from the breast pocket of his coat. He flicks some water off the cover before making some notations. I peer over his shoulder to read his impeccable handwriting: Johansson killed himself over girlfriend? Find the e-mail she sent.
"You two can't believe that," I say. "He's lying."
One perk to being dead is being able to say what I'm thinking because no one can hear me.
Tilting his head, Latimer studies Tim and Tony. "Weren't you just here yesterday to talk to the Agent Afloat? Why'd you come back?"
"We were in the neighborhood," Tony bites out.
"Really?"
"No, we decided to drive all the way to Norfolk during a hurricane warning for fun."
Latimer blinks at Tony as he tries to process what the senior agent said.
Tony rolls his eyes. "We need to speak with Agent Palisades again."
Latimer ducks his head, obviously chastened. "I'll go see where he is, Sir."
I start to follow, but I decide against it. I still can't decide if I should act like the agent I was or the ghost I am. I don't want to leave my team.
Tony glares at the ensign's retreating figure until he disappears around the corner. As soon as they're alone, Tony wrings out the hem of his coat. Then, he shakes the extra water over his hair like he's a dog. If only he could hear the jokes I would crack about that…
Woof.
Some water splashes on Tim's face.
"Hey," he says weakly.
Tony shakes more water at him.
Tim opens his mouth to protest, but the boat suddenly pitches. It's enough for both men to grab an exposed metal handrail. Tim dry heaves into the crook of his elbow. Tony sighs as though nothing will ever be right with the world.
"I thought you got over that, McGee," he says quietly.
"I get seasick, Tony," Tim growls. "It's not something you just get over."
Flinching, Tony is clearly surprised by the younger man's vitriol. "That's not what I meant. Can't you do something for it?"
"Skipping lunch helps sometimes. I wasn't planning on being on a ship today. I usually have Dramamine, but I forgot to buy more with everything that's happened." He lets his voice trail off.
At the mention of my death again, my frown deepens. Tony returns to wringing water out of his jacket while Tim struggles to keep his lunch down. The spreading silence borders on excruciating.
I try to fill it. "Just so you know, I'm not haunting you." I consider for a moment. "Maybe I am. I'm not sure what I'm doing anymore. It could be worse. You could be haunted by Gibbs."
I bark an awkward laugh, but the noise comes as a mix between a burp and a cough. Tony freezes, hands clutching the front of his jacket. Tim's body goes rigid.
Tony shoots Tim an accusing glance.
"It wasn't me." Tim shakes his head. "And that was gross, Tony."
Tony narrows his eyes. "It sure wasn't me, McBarfbag."
Their eyes skirt to the spot between them. Right to where I'm standing. I should be feeling the blush creep across my cheeks, but there isn't anything there. Somehow, I'm still embarrassed.
"Come on, guys," I blurt out. "I laughed. That was not a fart."
For a split second, I think their eyes seems to notice me. They end up staring at each other. Then, they both look away and take a huge step away from each other.
"Today is weird," Tony announces.
Tim nods his assent.
The steady sound of returning footsteps have both men standing up straighter. They look more official than a guy ready to barf up his guts and whatever Tony is. Latimer peers his head about the corner. I match their stance. Invisible or not, dead or alive, I'm still an NCIS agent.
Latimer's expression is unreadable. "Pali will see you now, Sirs."
Tim cocks an eyebrow. "Pali?"
"Agent Palisades." Latimer chuckles uneasily. "It's a little nickname we came up with. He likes to be close to the crew. He thinks being friendly with will make us more likely to rat each other out." Tony opens his mouth to ask, but Latimer beats him to it. "Nope, it doesn't work."
"Right," Tony says.
With a wave of Latimer's hand, they're moving. He leads the way down the tight corridor. The lights are low and the hallway is dark, dank and downright creepy. If I were still alive, I would need to squint. I probably still could, but my eyes don't need to adjust. We work our way, single file, down the hallway. I glide beside Tony for part of the trip. His jaw is set, his eyes fixed on the back of Latimer's head. He knows something it wrong about the ensign, but he isn't sure what yet. I sidle next to Tim for the rest. The deeper we move in the ship, the more pallid his complexion grows. He keeps his hand affixed to the metal wall as though it could steady him in the pitching boat.
Three sets of footfalls echo on the metal floor. They step over knee knockers, careful to avoid tripping. I slide through them. Add that to the very short list of benefits of being a ghost. It's smooth going until I hit one with a loud ploink. I crouch to rub my shin, surprised that it hurt.
Latimer and Tony glance back at Tim, who is also clear of the knee knocker. Tim shares a meaningful glance with Tony.
"Today is weird," Tim articulates.
Then, they set off again. I hang back, trying to kick the knee knocker again. My leg passes straight through it. For the first time, I notice the bottom half of my leg is clad in what appears to be a business suit and dress flats. Of course, I'm even stylish in my 9-to-5 working stiff garb in the afterlife. So much for those dramatic white dresses ghosts are said to wear.
I hustle to catch the men. The passages are tight, bordering on claustrophobic and dark from the low, sulfuric lights looming overhead. The lighting, the rock of the ship, and the drum of the lashing rain builds the dread in my gut. I don't know quite what is about to happen, but I don't like it.
I find them in the bowels of the ship. There is a small living quarters and a door marked AGENT AFLOAT in black, block lettering. It is quiet down here, far from the noise and hubbub of the mess and the living quarters and the sailors. I don't notice the boat's rock as much so we must be near the middle of the ship. Even still, there is an unmistakable pitch of rough seas.
The door to the agent afloat's office is ajar. Latimer pokes his head inside.
"Agents DiNozzo and McGee are back, Sir." His tone is off, a warning.
A deep voice calls out, "Send them in."
The men enter the office with Tony in the lead and Latimer pulling up the rear. If you want to get technical, I'm pulling up the rear. Tim and Tony don't even bother soaking up the surroundings. Not that there is anything to soak up. The office is spartan and depressing even by warship standards. There is a desk, a chair and a computer older than I am…was. No pictures, no personal effects, nothing to show an actual person lives and works here. Gibbs might find it homey.
Agent Palisades stands beside his desk. He is not a large man, only slightly taller than me. What he lacks in physical size, he makes up for in pure physique. His body is toned and supple, all muscle without an ounce of body fat. His suntanned face and his salt and pepper hair make his age hard to pin down. He could be as young as Tony or as old as Gibbs. Splitting the difference, I would say he is in his mid-40s.
He shakes Tony's hand first, then Tim's. Forgetting, I stick my hand out. He doesn't shake it. I run my hand through my hair to make it less awkward. Though, it's only awkward for me. Add that to the list of good things about being a ghost.
"Agent DiNozzo. Agent McGee," he greets. "I wish I could say it was a pleasure to see you again." He bristles, eyes wary between the agents. "But given the circumstances…"
Tony clips a nod. "I promise we won't take much time. We needed to clear up some things."
"Things…" Palisades draws out the word. "Couldn't this be done with a phone call? That was a long trip from DC."
"I'm a face-to-face kind of guy." With his eyes on Latimer, Tony offers a genial smile. "Some conversations are better held alone."
When Latimer doesn't take the hint, Palisades clears his throat. Latimer scuffs his shoe against the floor. He mumbles an excuse about needing to check the dinner menu before he slinks into the hallway.
For some reason, I follow him. He should be heading to the mess, but he stops by a set of stairs where a group of four Navymen wait. They stand together in a tight cluster, their faces nervous and fearful. Latimer speaks in hushed whispers. I have no idea what he said, but it can't be good.
No, it can't be good at all.