Chapter 3 – Hell Underground
Joey groaned and tried to roll over, but there was a wall blocking her movement. Her head throbbed painfully and she opened her eyes, a certain vacancy lacing her glazed-over, blue-green irises. The room, or wherever she was, was completely dark and dusky. The air tasted and smelled stale, like festering, stagnant water and really crappy coffee aroma. Cautiously she pushed herself up into a sitting position. The surface under her was soft and bouncy, but it had an edge, and she felt a hard, cold, wet floor when she reached out. Sighing, she sat back, focusing intently into the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Her head throbbed painfully.
Gradually she became aware of the fact the room was very small, taking in more of her surroundings every minute as the little sparkly lights from her head faded and her eyes dilated, taking in light. Furniture was naught to exist anywhere, except for what she was sitting on (identified as a simple mattress without any kind of bed frame) and what appeared to be a small television against the wall in front of her – about seven or eight feet away, she guessed. She rose from the mattress and ran a hand along the walls and floors, touching every surface. Walls and floors are stone, she mused as she explored every inch of the floor, no drain – this must be an old building.
As more light came to her she noticed a faint, glowing outline of something on the east wall about six or seven feet up. Joey squinted at it – the pattern of light was erratic…a boarded-up window, she concluded. This room is underground. Somehow, though, she could not find it in her being to try and escape. Instead, she attempted to hold onto as much quiet serenity as she could, but as time passed she slowly felt all of her mentally-functioning composure crumbling into oblivion as reality struck her. The room was all consuming. She shivered. The terror that barreled over all her thoughts made her feel as if she were being picked apart from the inside.
Where was Gibbs?
- - - - - - - - - - -
Day 1, 3:12 p.m. – Gibbs and Tony arrived at the door of Ms. Harriet Whipple's small cottage-like home near the park on Pennsylvania Avenue. Gibbs knocked once, and then practically kicked the door down, drawing his gun as he entered. CPR-certified or not, he wasn't sure Ms. Whipple was entirely scot-free in the matter.
The woman in question came rushing into the room, staring at her dented door in horror, as if she were looking at dog poop on her freshly-mowed green lawn.
"What time did you leave my home?" Gibbs berated her, half-yelling.
"You kicked in my door to complain about my leaving your spawn-of-the-devil daughter alone in your house?" She gaped at him.
"What TIME?" He roared, pinning her to the wall with a severely disturbed gaze.
"Is the house still intact?" She retorted sarcastically, throwing her hands into the air.
"Answer the question, ma'am." Tony chipped in, trying to be calmer, but still firm in warning.
She sighed. "I don't know – around noon....maybe half-past noon." She gave in, shaking her head. "Why? Did you lose her?"
Gibbs just glared morosely at her, making a mental note to burn her business card.
3:34 p.m. – Abby categorized the evidence into two groups: what did and what did not belong in Joey's room. On the side of the stuff that did she tagged the black tee, the orange thermal shirt, the book of Greek Literature, and a few of Joey's fingerprints – even though she wasn't in the database, these prints were assumed to be hers due to the fact that they were smaller than the other set of prints Abby lifted from various places in the room – which all belonged to Gibbs. In addition to that, in the other category Abby noted the finding of a chewed-up piece of gum, from which she had been able to lift DNA in the form of....spit, obviously. AFIS was running it now, against a sample of Joey's hair and other various suspects Ziva had interviewed.
McGee examined the crime scene photos for the umpteenth time that day – evidence was very minimal.
"Whoever did this is a genius, Abby. I mean – he must have worn gloves, and he didn't leave any kind of DNA-" Tim looked up at Abby in awe of this sick guy's genius, but she practically blew him over with a malignant glare.
"Look, McGee – if you want to find the sick perp who did this then shut up and try and stay positive. We were on a roll until you starting being all... not positive."
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry – just stating the facts."
"McGEE! JOEY COULD BE DEAD RIGHT NOW!" She grabbed his arms, chagrined.
"Alright!" He tried to placate her in surrender. "The point is – we are at a standstill. Let's hope Ziva found something more at the crime scene...a witness, if we're lucky."
"Sorry to disappoint, McGee." Ziva stated bluntly as she stepped briskly into the room. She had been in and out for the last few minutes.
"You mean nobody saw anything?" He was amazed. "This guy is good, Abby."
She smacked him on the head. Ziva sighed and rubbed her face. Dead end.
4:02 – Gibbs and Tony arrived back at the lab.
"Sorry it took us so long, guys – traffic sucked. Some kind of Intergalactic Space Science exhibit over at the museum. I was gonna buy tickets but-"
Gibbs passed him on the way to the counter, thwacking the back of his head as he passed. Tony shut his mouth and gestured to the photos laid out on the back table.
"You get anything, Probie?" he nodded towards the evidence.
"Everything was minimal. The guy who did this-"
Abby shot him a deadly look.
"-is going to regret every minute of his actions." He finished, breathing heavily in relief when Abby looked away.
AFIS beeped loudly. All five members of Gibb's team, including himself, rushed over in a miniature mob, hoping – waiting. Abby pulled up a partial allele match to the sample of Joey's hair – a dark man with dark hair and fair features, unshaven in his mug shot, dressed in bright orange prison garb.
"Vincent Grey – 37 years old....wow – "Abby paused in her skimming when she reached his rap sheet – "burglary, arson, kidnapping, aggravated assault, manslaughter, three counts of-"
"Of murder." Tony finished, stolid. He took the mouse from Abby and clicked over to the DNA charts. "This guy's got a 7-allele match to Joey."
But Gibbs was quiet in his focus – boring into the eyes of this dark man.
Tony ventured further. "Who is this guy, Boss?"
Silence.
- - - - - - - - - - -
4:21 – Joey pounded on the boards covering the window, groping around for the cracks and trying to pull the wood loose. She screamed an umpteen number of times with no response. She had been desperate in her hope that the window led outside where someone would hear her frantic ripping and clawing at the wall.
With another crackled yell Joey slammed her shoulder against the boards and tumbled backwards off the wall, landing with a thud in a puddle of water on the cold floor. Dazed, she ran one splintered, bruising hand through the pool and brought the liquid to her face, inhaling deeply. Smelled like rainwater. Blood trickled down her hand and arm; scarlet blotches appeared on her white blouse, leaving her feeling drained. Using her elbows she raised herself into a sitting position and pushed backwards, dragging her limp and faintly-pulsing body back over to the mattress.
A low rumble caressed the air above her – it was faint....coming from outside. Subway. Joey did not rise, instead – she pushed herself further up onto the mattress and fell back against the wall, breathing heavily. In this moment of silent recluse there came a certain chill – a cold, bitter atmosphere that enveloped the room....she had not noticed it before. Instinctively she curled into a fetal position and brought her bloody hands together, but snapped them back to her sides upon contact - a sharp pain tore through her fingers and up her left arm as a few of the splinters were jammed deeper into the vulnerable, soft muscle of her center palm and wrists. Cringing, gasping, biting back the screams and the tears, Joey wrapped her fingers around the wooden shrapnel and slid them out as gingerly as possible, collapsing on the dirty mattress spread-eagle on her back, bleeding and shivering in the cold, November wind that enveloped the room.
Then sleep came, followed by a rage of heavy rain that sent water dripping through the wood and enlarging the crystal puddle on the stone floor. In the center of the west wall a heavy-set, steel door swung open and a brown stock-paper bag was dropped to the floor. Joey twitched at the sound, but did not wake.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Joey must embrace the fact that she has been kidnapped - but she initially refuses to give in to the terror.