Chapter 15
"Wait, McGee!"
The dam was breaking. The dam that held back the tears, the memories, the things he'd been able to consciously forget, the things that still lurked in his subconscious mind. He couldn't stop. When a dam breaks, no one worries about a single raindrop. It's the torrent that drowns them.
"McGee! Stop!"
Tim kept walking. He never ran, but neither did he break his stride. The important thing was to get away. He had to get away from the man that had destroyed a life just because, because he could. He got to the elevator and it opened. He got in jabbed at any button. He didn't care which floor. He just wanted to leave. A hand stopped the doors from closing. Tim was pacing back and forth. He didn't want to remember. Gibbs closed the doors and stopped the elevator.
He grabbed Tim's shoulders. "Tim, stop."
Tim violently threw his hands off. The ache he was feeling seemed to great to bear and he couldn't deal with it. Tears rolled down Tim's cheeks. "He didn't care, boss. He didn't care what he did. He didn't even have a reason! He just did it because Lt. Rivens was there! How do I tell his wife that her husband was killed because he was there?"
"Would it have been better if it was because Rivens was a symbol of something in Gneiting's mind or because Gneiting had some sort of fetish or delusion?"
"Yes!"
"Why, Tim?"
"Because there would have been a reason, something to hold onto. Something that Mrs. Rivens can remember and say that it wasn't her fault because some twisted psycho killed her husband. Even if it's an awful memory, it's something. Instead, she'll think that he was there because she put him there. She's still going to think it's her fault!" Tim slid down the wall of the elevator, sobbing.
Gibbs started up the elevator again and sent it to the morgue. The doors opened and Gibbs kept the elevator there.
"Gibbs, what's going on? Tim?" Abby was just about to step on the elevator.
"Get Ducky would you, Abbs?"
"Sure." She ran off.
When Ducky got there, Tim was still sobbing uncontrollably. Abby knelt by him and hugged him, but this time, he neither responded nor calmed down.
"What's going on, Gibbs?"
"We caught the serial killer's son."
"Really?"
"He said he killed Lt. Rivens to finish his father's work."
"That wasn't good enough for Timothy, I see."
"No."
Ducky bent over and said, "Timothy, why don't you come with me and we can talk about it?" He reached out his hand. When Tim didn't move, he grabbed his hand and pulled him up. Tim's tears stopped as suddenly as they started. Abby kept her arm around his waist as they walked into the morgue. Ducky eased him onto an autopsy table.
"Timothy, what's wrong?"
Tim looked at Ducky, incredulously. Could no one else see why this was so wrong? "Everything's wrong, Ducky."
"But you caught the man who killed Lt. Rivens and found out who killed the other six men. Their families will have closure now. Isn't that enough?"
"No! It can't be enough."
"Why not?"
"There has to be a reason, an explanation, something," he said desperately.
"Sometimes, there's not a reason. Sometimes, bad things just happen."
Tears slipped down Tim's cheeks again. "Nothing ever happens without a reason, Ducky."
Ducky looked into Tim's tormented eyes and the pieces fell into place. "Are you talking about this case, or about your father?"
Tim started to answer, but stopped. He couldn't answer, not honestly.
"Timothy, do you still blame yourself for your father's death?"
"I–no, of course not. I know how he died. I didn't kill him."
"I wasn't suggesting that you did, but you seem very focused on helping Mrs. Rivens so that she doesn't blame herself for her husband's death. More so than on finding the simple truth."
"The truth is never simple, Ducky. She shouldn't blame herself for what happened to her husband, but I know she will."
"Why? She didn't kill him."
"Because she'll think that if she had just called him back or that if she had reported him missing sooner or that if she had done any other of a million things that he would still be alive. In a way, she's right, but that doesn't make it her fault. I don't know how I can keep her from feeling that way."
"Is that how it is for you, Timothy?"
Tim was silent.
"Well?"
"I-I don't blame myself, Ducky."
"That didn't sound very certain."
"I-"
"Why do you blame yourself?" he asked again.
Tim didn't answer for a couple of minutes. Ducky let him think about it. Gibbs had left finish up with Gneiting, but Abby remained, standing silently beside Tim. He had forgotten she was there.
"I-I didn't go down to the basement."
"You were the one who found him, correct?"
"Yes, but I was supposed to go down earlier. I was supposed to clean the basement, right when I got home from school."
"And why does that make it your fault?"
Tim squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to remember this. He didn't want to say the words. "I-I heard the police talking to my mom, the day after. They told her it was suicide."
"And?"
"Time of death was at about 3:30 in the afternoon." Tim felt like he was pulling the words out of a deep hole in his mind. It was hard to say them and harder still to hear them.
"Why does that make it your fault?"
Tim bent over and covered his face. His voice, when he resumed, was muffled. "I-I got home at 3:15." The tears began again. He couldn't hold them back as he kept talking. "Dad was still alive when I got there. If-If I had gone down to the basement–"
"Oh, Timothy."
"I could have saved him, cut him down or something. Mom never said anything. No one did. I don't think I was supposed to hear that. One of the officers even said that if I had gone down, I would have seen him. They didn't know I was supposed to."
"It's not your fault, Timothy."
Tim just shook his head. "I know that I didn't kill him. I didn't drive him to kill himself, but if I had done what I was told, I would have found him...alive. It might have been too late to save him. Maybe–" the tears dripped. "–maybe I could have known why."
"Why didn't you talk about this before?"
"I didn't remember."
"What do you mean?"
"I remember coming down the stairs. I remember seeing my mom's face when they told her how he died. I remember the officers seeing me. I forgot what they had said."
"Not forgot, Timothy. Repressed. You didn't want to remember, but you always knew. Your dreams are about that aren't they." It wasn't a question.
Tim nodded, shaking more tears loose. He felt like he had shed too many already. How many tears did one person have? "Always. Dad keeps reaching out to me, asking for help. He always looks at me and asks me why. I can't answer him, Ducky. I don't know why."
"You probably never will, Timothy."
"That's the worst part, never knowing the reason." Tim broke down crying again. Abby hugged him tightly and he put his arms around her as well, sobbing as if his heart would break. He shed the tears of shame and regret he'd never been able to consciously express. Abby didn't say anything. Honestly, how could you comfort someone for a tragedy that had occurred long before you had even met? She just held him tightly and let him cry.