When I return, Jimmy Palmer stands frozen in front of me. His eyes are wide behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his face pale as snow. His mouth pulls into a tiny o. He clutches a file folder against his white coat covered chest.
I am frantic and near hysterical.
Where are Tim and Tony? Has Palisades murdered them?
Is that why I'm in the morgue?
Oh G-d…please, no.
I have to get back to them.
I glare at him as though it's his fault. I stomp toward him, and he clutches the folder tighter.
"I'm not here for you," I growl.
He takes a full step back, but I smack at his file in frustration. The folder flies straight up into the air, paper raining down on both of us. We both stare, stunned, as they flutter back to earth. This is the most real I've been since I died. How is this possible? What is happening to me?
Jimmy swallows hard. "Then who…who are you here for?"
He can hear me. He can see me. I gasp and throw my hands out, ready to blurt out everything happening to Tim and Tony. I open my mouth and before I can say a word, the world fades away.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
When I blink back in, the encounter will Jimmy Palmer whirls through my mind. For so long, I couldn't impact the world around me. And suddenly, I'm having full conversations with Tim and Tony, speaking with Jimmy, and feeling the real world with my hands. I roll my fingertips together, surprised at the lack of sensation my own skin brings.
If I had a heartbeat, I'd like to think it would still be racing. Yet, there is silence in my ears where that ever present, familiar whoosh whoosh should be. In its place hangs an odd sensation, heavy and thick with longing for what used to be. My ears are filled with the raucous sound of chainsaws set against a heavy beat and the echo of shattering glass. Nearby, I catch a mechanical hum and clicking noises. Beneath it all, the rain pounds against the windows.
Someone—a woman—releases a tired huff.
Abby Scuito leans against her lab bench, long hair hanging down her back. I barely recognize her without the black lipstick and miles of eyeliner. Long gone is her usual uniform of short black shirts and Catholic school chic donned with skulls. In its place, she wears boot-cut blue jeans and a sky blue t-shirt underneath her lab jacket.
Sliding close to her, I struggle to remember she looked so unlike Abby. A court appearance last year, maybe. Or that Halloween she dressed up as Marilyn Monroe and drove Tony and Tim—especially, Tim—crazy. Something must be wrong for her to look like this.
Another motorized click. Another huff.
"Look, Major Mass Spec. I'm trying to respect your space and process and how you like to work, but I need – " Abby suddenly whirls around. "Ahhh!"
Leaping backwards, I half-expect to find Gibbs. Abby points directly at me while I turn in a circle to make sure Gibbs isn't here. He might head slap me into eternity.
Abby gasps. "Kate?!"
I clutch my hands to my chest. "You can see me?"
She waits stock-still. For what, I don't know. Her eyes are wide, lips parted in shock. For a long moment, I wonder whether I'm still visible or if I've already faded from view. Blinking quickly, she returns to life and attempts to tackle me into a hug. She glides right through me and slams into the lab bench. As she goes, the rush of her blood and the galloping thump thump thump of her heart course through me. She feels like the others, safe and warm and full of the love I took for granted.
She turns around, rubbing at the spot where her hip collided with the lab bench. Her elated smile has given way for the heartbreak. She crosses her arms against her chest.
The rain kicks up against the window.
"I thought you were back." Tears prick to her eyes, her smile is so broken. "I forgot you were dead. For a second, I forgot. How am I supposed to move on if I keep forgetting?"
I wish I could hug her. "Sometimes, I forget too."
That makes her chuckle. "How can you forget?"
Realizing she can hear me brings what should be tears to my own eyes. A tightening on where my face should be. It aches like what stubbing my toe used to feel like. I blink through it, pumping my had until the sensation ends. It takes a few long moments.
Abby tilts her head. "You know what, Kate. This is exactly like Gigi Hendel said."
I tilt my head. "Who?"
Her eyes turn to the ceiling as she makes a show at remembering. "Gigi Hendel was my Mami's neighbor. Really cool old lady. She wore bowling shoes, cat-eye glasses and she had a blue beehive." Abby gestures at her head like the iconic hairstyle. "She used to be into all sorts of things like looking gumbo, needlepoint and like Mami used to say, - " she drops her voice conspiratorially " – voodoo."
I scrunch my face up. "What does this have to do with me?"
She waves her hands at me. "How you're back, Kate! Well, not back for good. Back for now. Or maybe it's not just for now. You could get stuck here if we aren't careful. I don't want that." She closes her eyes considering. "Okay, I wouldn't mind if you did because I liked…like hanging out with you. But it isn't fair to you because you're supposed to move on and go…well, somewhere that isn't here."
"Wait, what do you mean stuck here?" Fear creeps into my voice.
"Stuck between worlds as Gigi Hendel used to say." Turning back to her lab bench, she grabs a pair of hair elastics and works on her pigtails. "Between here and the hereafter. Gigi Hendel said sometimes a ghost could be stuck if they had unfinished business. They only have until the next big storm to finish it or else…"
As if on cue, the rain slams against the window as though it's trying to break in. The sound makes me flinch just like the thought of being stuck here forever. I might not know what comes next, but it might be an eternity stuck at work.
"I didn't mean to call you a ghost," Abby blurts out. "But it's kinda what you are. I mean, you're blue and kinda transparent. And I did jump right through you. I don't know what else to call you, but – "
"Abby," I start.
"Maybe you aren't really a ghost. I mean, there are other kinds of spirits, but – "
"Abby," I try again.
"I don't know any of their names. Other than a poltergeist and you're too nice for that. I could just – "
"Abby!" I yell.
She flinches, chastened, and bites her lip. "Should I just call you a spirit?"
"Let's keep it simple," I say. "Ghost is fine. What is all this about unfinished business and a storm?"
She shrugs with her usual flourish. "That's what Gigi Hendel used to say. If a ghost got stuck between worlds, they had until the next big storm to finish their unfinished business. Gigi always said they'd get stronger as the storm approached. Something about making it easier to finish the business. It could be related to the electric charges from the lightening. Or maybe…" Her voice trails into nothing before she murmurs what sounds like, "Oh no."
Her eyes glide to the rain pelting against the windows as if she hasn't seen it before. Her face goes as white as her lab coat.
"Oh no," she says louder.
I half-nod. "Oh no is right."
She shrugs dramatically. "That's what Gigi Hendel used to say. If a ghost gets stuck between worlds, they had until the next big rain storm to complete their unfinished business or they could get stuck. Gigi always said they'll get stronger as the big storm approaches. Maybe to help with their unfinished business. I think it's got something to do with the electrical changes with lightening. Or maybe…" Her voice trails off before she whispers, "Oh no."
Our eyes slowly glide to the basement windows where the rain pelts against it like it's trying to break in. I guess a category three hurricane might count as a big rainstorm. Which means, I'm supposed to finish my unfinished business or I'll be stuck haunting the NCIS building for all eternity.
Abby's cheeks go even paler.
"Oh no," she repeats.
I push out a breath. "Oh no is right."
She shifts her weight, offering a tight smile. "Do you know what your unfinished business might be?"
Racking my brain, I come up empty. Before I died, I lived as completely as I could. Just in case. As a federal agent, you never knew exactly when your watch could end. I regularly told my parents I loved them. I kept in touch my siblings and friends. I said what I meant and meant what I said. You know, a live without regrets kind of thing. The only thing left is saving Tim and Tony, but that happened after I died. So it couldn't be unfinished business…could it?
"I need you to give Gibbs a message," I say.
"Aye aye, Captain." Scooping up a pen and paper, she offers a mock salute. "Abby, at your service."
"Tony and McGee are in trouble," I say. "They're on the USS Telluride and the agent afloat, Olivier Palisades, is going to kill them."
When Abby loses her grip on the pen and paper, they topple to the floor with a quiet thud. The pen rolls under the lab fridge. For a moment, all we hear is the whirr of her machines as they work.
"Tony and Timmy," she mutters.
"Gibbs needs to help them. They're on the USS Telluride."
Suddenly, Abby springs to life. She grabs her phone, dialing as soon as she lifts the receiver. Once done with Gibbs' number, she turns back towards me. She stares, unseeing, straight at me. Tears dance at the corner of her eyes before they slide down her cheeks. Her shoulders hitch as she swallows a sob.
"Kate?" she whispers. "Where'd you go?"
"I'm right here," I say, knowing she can't see me.
"Why did you leave? I still need you. I can't do this without you…"
Gently, I tug one of her pigtails. Her hand reaches for mine, allowing the warmth of her touch to linger against what should be my skin. My smile is sad while hers is a mere crack against her face.
"Kate," she breathes. Then, louder, into the phone: "Oh no, Gibbs, I wasn't…yeah, it's been a weird day. I just saw Kate…no, like actually saw her. No, I know she's dead. Please, just let me finish. She said Tim and Tony are on the USS Telluride and some French guy wants to kill them. I forget his name, but it sounds like a precious metal. Gold, no wait. Kate said it was close to Palladium. I don't know how she came back, but they need help now. I'll figure out what's going on with Kate later. I…uh, hello? Hello? Gibbs?" Pulling back the phone, she stares blankly at it.
"He hung up," she announces. Likely to me.
Moving around the lab, I search for a way to leave her a message. The chainsaws in her song are now mixed with what sounds like someone pounding on a chain link fence. When I catch my reflection in the lab freezer, I stop in my tracks. I appear the same way I did in life. Strong. Competent. Alive. Just my skin is tinged blue and I'm a sparkly transparent. Still me, but nothing like me. Over my shoulder, I notice Abby still staring at the spot where I stood earlier.
Suddenly, one of her machines bleats for attention. She ignores it.
"Do you think he'll get there in time?" she asks.
I answer honestly: "I hope."
Of course, she doesn't hear me. The machine's frenzied bleating continues. Instead, Abby starts into a tirade about Gigi Hendel, her famous shrimp gumbo and her voodoo—that may or may not be responsible for the famous shrimp gumbo. She alternates, rapid-fire, between her rising fear about Tim and Tony's safety and me, being stuck here. It's not a bad thing, she tells me. She needs an assistant and she doesn't trust one who's alive, so I can fit the bill if I stay. Abby loudly begins debating about whether she should call Gigi Hendel or leave the lab line open for Gibbs.
I wish I could tell her that everything is fine, that I'm fine. That as soon as I get the chance I'm moving on to what comes next because I'm not sure how good of a lab assistant I'll be. Okay, I'm not fine, but what does that help anyway? I don't want to think about Gigi Hendel and what her voodoo says about ghosts who are between worlds.
Whatever machine that is seems like it's screaming now. I can barely stand it. Between Abby's chatter and the machine, my already frayed nerves are about to explode.
Abby is muttering: "…gotta have her number here somewhere."
I try to hit the silence button on the machine, but my hand slips straight into its heart. The gears grate against my fingers, twisting and straining beneath them. The bleating reaches a higher register. Suddenly, there's a loud popping noise and a plume of smoke raises from it.
Abby leaps to her feet, rushing over. "Imogene! Oh, Imogene, my poor, sweet PCR machine. Did you mean to fry her, Kate?"
She fans at the smoke before she gasps. Her eyes are locked on the wall behind the machine. There is a message, written in soot and by what appears to be my handwriting.
Save them. I'm okay.
Nodding, she pushes at the tears coming from her eye. Whether they're from me or the smoke, I can't be sure. It doesn't matter anyway.
"I miss you," she says.
"I miss you too. I'm sorry about your PCR machine."
I know she can't hear me, but I still need to say it. I wrap my arms around her in some semblance of a hug and she leans toward me, obviously able to feel it.
"Don't worry about it," she replies. "Imogene was a jerk anyway. Gibbs owes me a new one."
Before I can say another word, I fade away.