NCIS: Jethro's Secret
"The Gimmicky Doll."
The morgue girdled by old, massive walls was a cold, abandoned place. Flat, silver tables were covered in dust and little stains of dirty raindrops dripping from the ceiling. Raindrops and dust that were lying on the cold tables perennially; on the tables that once were only the pit stops to numerous of corpses; replaced the dead bodies; stealing their destiny of an everlasting silence.
Gibbs was standing in the middle of the morgue, surrounded by Kate and McGee’s intense yet ridiculous whispers.
“Kate, tell me what…?” Gibbs hackled. “That you didn’t find anything? That every single door you smashed releasing your anger, making a noise that was reverberating in my mind for 5 minutes, was hiding nothing but the stale air, mold and some spiders’ webs?”
McGee and Kate glanced at each other; standing confused behind Jethro, stricken by his tone.
“Yes, Boss. I mean, we didn’t find any traces of Tony’s presence. It was all empty. And yes, Kate smashed the doors.” McGee said strenuously, holding a gun firmly.
“McGee!” Kate shoved him with her elbow.
Their faces were overcome with sweat that magnified their effort, their desire, determination to find DiNozzo.
“Boss,” McGee said stretching the word, feeling garbled among the silver tables. “…what are doing at a… Morgue??” He continued, gazing at a wisp of dead insects on the floor.
“It’s a crime scene, McGee. It was. DiNozzo was typing MORGUE, as far as I’m concerned, I presumed he was stranded in here, knowing that this was the crime scene 20 years ago when John killed senior special agent McGavin.”
“And you shot John,” Kate interrupted noticing a gimmicky doll, sprawling in a corner.
Gleams of the street lights came in through a ripped up curtain on the window; giving the morgue a less gloomy effect.
The little doll lying in the corner had a photograph torn in half pinned to its scarf; a photograph of Tony with a drawn target on his face and the sign “What goes around”.
Gibbs grabbed the photo and slammed it on a silver table.
“Damn you, John.” He shouted; gasping of anger. “Damn you.”
Kate was standing next to Gibbs, gazing at the doll that was grinning, showing its white plastic teeth.
“Boss, there’s a basement underneath the morgue,” McGee dashed the inflamed looks, pointing his finger at a plate nailed to a wall. The letters were barely readable, obscured by the rust.
Their silent footsteps down the stairs, wrapped in a sound of pounding hearts magnified their anticipation. Walking on eggshells and preparing themselves for a scenario they were about to face, did not let them fear. Or hesitate. Gibbs knocked the door down; a frontier between an image in their minds, their ignited hearts and image of mischievous reality.
He smashed the very same door that captured DiNozzo, separating him from the outer world.
Gibbs was standing in the middle of the morgue, surrounded by Kate and McGee’s intense yet ridiculous whispers.
“Kate, tell me what…?” Gibbs hackled. “That you didn’t find anything? That every single door you smashed releasing your anger, making a noise that was reverberating in my mind for 5 minutes, was hiding nothing but the stale air, mold and some spiders’ webs?”
McGee and Kate glanced at each other; standing confused behind Jethro, stricken by his tone.
“Yes, Boss. I mean, we didn’t find any traces of Tony’s presence. It was all empty. And yes, Kate smashed the doors.” McGee said strenuously, holding a gun firmly.
“McGee!” Kate shoved him with her elbow.
Their faces were overcome with sweat that magnified their effort, their desire, determination to find DiNozzo.
“Boss,” McGee said stretching the word, feeling garbled among the silver tables. “…what are doing at a… Morgue??” He continued, gazing at a wisp of dead insects on the floor.
“It’s a crime scene, McGee. It was. DiNozzo was typing MORGUE, as far as I’m concerned, I presumed he was stranded in here, knowing that this was the crime scene 20 years ago when John killed senior special agent McGavin.”
“And you shot John,” Kate interrupted noticing a gimmicky doll, sprawling in a corner.
Gleams of the street lights came in through a ripped up curtain on the window; giving the morgue a less gloomy effect.
The little doll lying in the corner had a photograph torn in half pinned to its scarf; a photograph of Tony with a drawn target on his face and the sign “What goes around”.
Gibbs grabbed the photo and slammed it on a silver table.
“Damn you, John.” He shouted; gasping of anger. “Damn you.”
Kate was standing next to Gibbs, gazing at the doll that was grinning, showing its white plastic teeth.
“Boss, there’s a basement underneath the morgue,” McGee dashed the inflamed looks, pointing his finger at a plate nailed to a wall. The letters were barely readable, obscured by the rust.
Their silent footsteps down the stairs, wrapped in a sound of pounding hearts magnified their anticipation. Walking on eggshells and preparing themselves for a scenario they were about to face, did not let them fear. Or hesitate. Gibbs knocked the door down; a frontier between an image in their minds, their ignited hearts and image of mischievous reality.
He smashed the very same door that captured DiNozzo, separating him from the outer world.