NCIS: Jethro's Secret
"Would You Save The Last Dance For Me?"
“You really think you can smart me out, DiNozzo?” John said ripping a “MORGUE” sign.
Three decades old plate was nailed to a basement wall. Time, as well as the air and water absorbed its white color, turning it into brown. And red. Making it rusty. Bold green letters lost their shimmering glow and shape a while ago.
“DiNozzo, you’re not, we’re not at a morgue,” John said atrociously.
“You see”, he continued, pointing at the plate. “This is an arrow, DiNozzo, next to the sign, pointing up. UP. The morgue is up there, and we’re down here,” Nettles said in a mocking way, wiggling his finger. “Oh, I sound reticent to you?”
DiNozzo was quiet. He could feel his ribs crack on every twitch, on every exhaled breath. The blood on his face dried out. A narrow stream of sweat was flowing down his cheek, his neck, resting on a collar of his stained shirt. The basement, the air, kept thousands of unsaid words, thousands of thoughts, thousands of pent up feelings.
“You’re smarter than I thought you were, DiNozzo,” John voiced his opinion, nodding his head. “Tapping the Morse code,” he continued. “Brilliant! Too bad we’re 6 feet underground, 1 floor under the damn morgue. What once was morgue. Was, DiNozzo. A cold room full of distorted corpses, little tags on their toes, a cold room filled with silence is nothing but a paved hell with no audience present. No corpses anymore, DiNozzo. Just flat, cold tables.”
Tony’s mind was roaming. But one thought captured his being; clutched it like a thorny rose of life. A thought of disappointing Gibbs.
“DiNozzo, damn it. Are you listening to me?” John’s nostalgia was suddenly dashed. “Up there at the morgue,” he continued with a monstrous look on his face, grabbing DiNozzo by his bloody hair, “Your son of a bitch boss shot me. Twice. Twice, DiNozzo. He put me in jail, destroyed my life, dashed all of my hopes, dreams, desires. Oh, believe me, I’ve had enough time for thinking, scheming behind the bars. And here we are now, DiNozzo; you, my marionette, and my highness, set free on parole.”
John was walking across the basement, grinning, stroking his gun. His disturbed mind was snapping, making him twitch. It wasn’t a twitch of pain; the man was a time bomb, minutes away from going off.
“It’s your last day on Earth, DiNozzo, kiss it goodbye. You saw the sun for the last time. Too bad you couldn’t save the last dance for Kate, you’re stuck with me instead. There’s nothing to eat in here, nothing but mold, so DiNozzo’s last supper is not an option.” John’s satanic laughter degraded the limits of humanity.
It DiNozzo’s eyes, from his tarnished perception, the basement walls were closing in. He was trying to stay sane despite a throbbing headache. He smiled. John’s jolly moment was pulverized. His sadistic mind had got used to Tony’s pain; taking pleasure in his eerie situation, in his periods of unconsciousness.
A few of the following minutes were filled with an intangible air of thoughts polluted with John’s wrong intentions, disturbed judgment, challenges to pull the trigger. His invigorating behavior and self created invincible thoughts kept pushing him to the edge; pushing him to erupt; to go off.
“DiNozzo, forgive me for being so rude. I haven’t introduced myself. I’m John Nettles,” he said reluctantly.
This gesture wasn’t a repercussion of a high degree of coldness within the basement; it only proved how disturbed his mind was; what a determined and demented creature they were dealing with. Jaded and ironic looks interlocked on DiNozzo’s face and his provocative sense of humor made him speak out, causing the grotesque expressions on John’s face.
“Special agent Anthony ‘Tony’ DiNozzo…” Tony paused for a second. “…cannot wait to see the look on your face when Gibbs’s anger mixed with low/high caffeine mood swings grinds you down!”
DiNozzo grinned, making a little cut on his lip start bleeding.
The mouldering basement ceiling showed its first symptoms of aging. Grains of dust began to jive in a breeze, pervading through the air. A squeaking sound of the footsteps invaded the morgue…
Three decades old plate was nailed to a basement wall. Time, as well as the air and water absorbed its white color, turning it into brown. And red. Making it rusty. Bold green letters lost their shimmering glow and shape a while ago.
“DiNozzo, you’re not, we’re not at a morgue,” John said atrociously.
“You see”, he continued, pointing at the plate. “This is an arrow, DiNozzo, next to the sign, pointing up. UP. The morgue is up there, and we’re down here,” Nettles said in a mocking way, wiggling his finger. “Oh, I sound reticent to you?”
DiNozzo was quiet. He could feel his ribs crack on every twitch, on every exhaled breath. The blood on his face dried out. A narrow stream of sweat was flowing down his cheek, his neck, resting on a collar of his stained shirt. The basement, the air, kept thousands of unsaid words, thousands of thoughts, thousands of pent up feelings.
“You’re smarter than I thought you were, DiNozzo,” John voiced his opinion, nodding his head. “Tapping the Morse code,” he continued. “Brilliant! Too bad we’re 6 feet underground, 1 floor under the damn morgue. What once was morgue. Was, DiNozzo. A cold room full of distorted corpses, little tags on their toes, a cold room filled with silence is nothing but a paved hell with no audience present. No corpses anymore, DiNozzo. Just flat, cold tables.”
Tony’s mind was roaming. But one thought captured his being; clutched it like a thorny rose of life. A thought of disappointing Gibbs.
“DiNozzo, damn it. Are you listening to me?” John’s nostalgia was suddenly dashed. “Up there at the morgue,” he continued with a monstrous look on his face, grabbing DiNozzo by his bloody hair, “Your son of a bitch boss shot me. Twice. Twice, DiNozzo. He put me in jail, destroyed my life, dashed all of my hopes, dreams, desires. Oh, believe me, I’ve had enough time for thinking, scheming behind the bars. And here we are now, DiNozzo; you, my marionette, and my highness, set free on parole.”
John was walking across the basement, grinning, stroking his gun. His disturbed mind was snapping, making him twitch. It wasn’t a twitch of pain; the man was a time bomb, minutes away from going off.
“It’s your last day on Earth, DiNozzo, kiss it goodbye. You saw the sun for the last time. Too bad you couldn’t save the last dance for Kate, you’re stuck with me instead. There’s nothing to eat in here, nothing but mold, so DiNozzo’s last supper is not an option.” John’s satanic laughter degraded the limits of humanity.
It DiNozzo’s eyes, from his tarnished perception, the basement walls were closing in. He was trying to stay sane despite a throbbing headache. He smiled. John’s jolly moment was pulverized. His sadistic mind had got used to Tony’s pain; taking pleasure in his eerie situation, in his periods of unconsciousness.
A few of the following minutes were filled with an intangible air of thoughts polluted with John’s wrong intentions, disturbed judgment, challenges to pull the trigger. His invigorating behavior and self created invincible thoughts kept pushing him to the edge; pushing him to erupt; to go off.
“DiNozzo, forgive me for being so rude. I haven’t introduced myself. I’m John Nettles,” he said reluctantly.
This gesture wasn’t a repercussion of a high degree of coldness within the basement; it only proved how disturbed his mind was; what a determined and demented creature they were dealing with. Jaded and ironic looks interlocked on DiNozzo’s face and his provocative sense of humor made him speak out, causing the grotesque expressions on John’s face.
“Special agent Anthony ‘Tony’ DiNozzo…” Tony paused for a second. “…cannot wait to see the look on your face when Gibbs’s anger mixed with low/high caffeine mood swings grinds you down!”
DiNozzo grinned, making a little cut on his lip start bleeding.
The mouldering basement ceiling showed its first symptoms of aging. Grains of dust began to jive in a breeze, pervading through the air. A squeaking sound of the footsteps invaded the morgue…