Chapter 1

"Come on, Tony. Why do I have to process the basement?" And on today of all days, he added to himself.

"You lost the coin toss, Probie. Besides, I'm the lead agent in this case."

"You did lose, McGee. I saw it very clearly," Ziva said.

The three walked up the steps to the old house. A Navy Lieutenant had disappeared two weeks ago. Just that morning, his body had been found in an abandoned house. Ducky had determined that his body had been moved after his death, making the entire house a possible site for the actual murder.

"Man, I hate basements," Tim muttered, then instantly regretted it when Tony snickered.

"Childhood trauma, Probie?"

"No."

"That was just a little too emphatic, McGee."

"Sorry, Tony. I'll try again," Tim said flatly. "No, it wasn't a childhood trauma. I just don't like basements."

"Adult trauma, then?"

"No. Drop it."

"Ooh, touchy. I'd say I was right on the money. Eh, Ziva?"

"I'll infer the meaning from context and agree. You are not a good liar, McGee."

Tim studiously ignored his snickering comrades and grabbed his gear. If they only knew. "So they tell me. Where's the door?"

"In the kitchen. If you get scared, we'll come down and drive away all the monsters."

"Ha. Very funny." Tim stalked to the basement entrance. The stairs were steep and narrow, and of course the light switch was at the very bottom. Who was the genius who thought that was a good design? Tim paused and grimaced but descended. Just before he got to the last step, he heard the telltale creak of the door as Tony slammed it shut. He sighed and climbed the stairs again. He tried the door. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. "Come on, Tony. Unlock the door." He was actually quite proud of the fact that he had managed to keep his voice steady and had let only his annoyance show.

Tony's muffled answer came back, "You need to work through your issues, Probie. I'll let you out when you've finished processing."

"Tony!" Tim banged on the door once, heard Tony's answering guffaw and gave up. He swallowed hard and walked down the stairs once more and felt for the light switch. Ah! Success! He flipped the switch and nothing happened. "Great," he said to himself. He walked back up the stairs. "Come on, Tony! The lights are out down here. I can't see anything to process!"

"Good one, McGee. You have a flashlight. Let me know if you find anything!"

"I mean it, Tony. I can't see a thing!"

"Turn on your flashlight then!"

Tim grumbled and again descended to the pitch black basement. There weren't even any windows. He felt for his flashlight and flicked it on. The beam flickered. He had forgotten to replace the batteries. How much worse could this get? He thought about going up the stairs yet again to ask Tony to let him out, but he figured it was a waste of time. He could make do with this for as long as he needed to. Tony would get tired of the game eventually.

The beam didn't seem to illuminate anything so much as define the darkness, emphasize the shadows. Reluctant to move forward, Tim thought that maybe he could just admit to Tony why he didn't like basements. Surely, he wouldn't tease him for something like that. No. It was personal, much like his distaste for grubs. He was an adult now and he could deal with it. He ventured further into the open space. Strange–he could sense that it wasn't empty. It felt like it was full of stuff. He shuddered. He took another step and tripped over a cast-iron stove. As he picked himself up, he winced. This was ridiculous. He was more likely to crack his head open than see any evidence down here. He turned... and turned again as he realized that he'd lost his bearings. He couldn't tell which way he had come from.

"Eenie, meenie, miney, mo," Tim chanted, pointing in various directions. "That way is as good as any, I suppose." Tim kept speaking aloud to keep himself from panicking. "I'll hit a wall eventually. Then, I just have to follow it to the stairs." That wasn't very comforting. Still, he couldn't just stand there.

He aimed his feeble flashlight at the ground in the hopes of avoiding any more collisions and took a step. Another step. So far so good. And then... he hit something. Something loose, hanging from the ceiling. It bounced against his shoulder again and again, disturbed by Tim's fumbling. His heart started pounding. He couldn't do this, but he knew he had to. He also knew, deep down, what he was touching, what he was going to see. He wasn't sure he could handle it. The flashlight flickered again. Tim took a deep breath and turned to illuminate the object with his dying flashlight.