Chapter 5 - Swallow
The next morning Gibbs was in the office at 4:30, running financial records and bank statements of the late Grey family – it seemed as though Joey had inherited a large sum of money upon her parents' death, payable on her sixteenth birthday. According to the legal renderings of James and Katherine Grey's joint will, if their daughter were to become deceased before that time, the money would go to... Gibbs scrolled down the page... the money would go to Vincent Andrew Grey, the younger brother of James France Grey.
The only current possible motive was money.
Director Shepard was downstairs, assisting Abby in transferring Vinnie's prison records and transcriptions of conversations between him and his visitors. Tony was the next one in the office, then McGee and Ziva. Together they stood in the off-center of the bullpen as if awaiting some kind of order. But Gibbs didn't look up, and one by one they each sat down, confused and each drawing blanks.
Then, out of nowhere came the order. "CAMPFIRE."
Simultaneously the younger agents looked up in utter stupor, then at each other, and back at Gibbs. Tony rose without much hesitation, pulling his swivel chair over to the center of the bullpen.
"Thought you didn't like the Campfire, Boss."
McGee joined the circle and Gibbs came around to the front of his desk, leaning back its hard edge. Ziva was grumbling – she, perhaps, despised the "campfire" idea more than Gibbs himself, and it surprised her greatly that HE would be the one to suggest the gathering. She joined the circle, and listened intently as Gibbs ran gave them all a crash course in "Joey 101," – everything about her family, her inheritance, and her position in terms of Vinnie Grey, who's cases and various crimes Gibbs described to them enough to give them the comprehension they needed.
Some questions were still impossible to answer fully, though.
"If all Grey wants is the inheritance, then why doesn't he just kill Joey?" Tony mused aloud.
"And why wait eleven years to do it?" Ziva put in somberly.
Gibbs looked back at the plasma and reread the will of Joey's parents. "Well, Ziva, that's what we're going to find out."
Tony seemed to notice some hint of somber determination in this, and respected his mentor more for it.
"I'm going to run Grey's personal history and set up a timeline from his first burglary to his last murder," Tony volunteered as he stood and went back to his desk, "maybe we missed something."
Gibbs looked back and motioned with his chin in McGee's direction. Tim rose and followed Tony's action, pacing back to his own desk.
"I am going to check all financial records - if he were going to use drugs with Joey he is probably keeping them somewhere for safe storage – maybe someone knows where that is." McGee took over the plasma and went to work.
Ziva stood and brushed past her boss towards Abby's lab.
"I'll help Abby run down all his contacts and prison records, photos from the crime scene and any media we have."
Gibbs called out to her retreating back, "And find the connection between his three victims – if he's as precise as these records show he's going to have an agenda," Gibbs' voice was escalating to a yell, "and FIND OUT WHERE HE'S GOING!"
- - - - - - - - - - -
Day 2, 11:16 a.m.
Rain poured over the city – dark grey clouds and sinister notions filled the outside atmosphere, and the general climate of restless determination and sorrow around NCIS wasn't helping Gibbs to get any closer to a breakthrough.
However, with a little nudge from Ducky and much prodding from Tony, he decided to leave the office for an hour to clear his head. With the intention of going out for coffee, somehow Gibbs ended up on the highway home.
It had never seemed so empty – and he, just standing there in the door frame of Joey's room, thinking about his late wife and daughter, and how he had had to cope with feeling empty – knowing they were gone. It wasn't the same kind of empty, though. This was a notion that danced around all his feeling of being a failure in protecting the only thing he had left – the kind of empty where one knows that they have lost something to a monster and they may never get it back in one piece – just like it was before it was lost to him.
The area around his collar started to itch, and he wiped sweat off his brow. Never did tell her how to turn on the A.C.
Retreating to his bedroom, Gibbs stepped into his closet and pulled off his shirt. Subconsciously he threw a sideways glance at the paling canvas clothing bag that held his naval uniform. Then he did a double-take. Slowly, keeping his eyes on the bag, he put on a clean shirt and buttoned it. The bag hung from a hook on the wall. He stared at it and paced over slowly. His mind raced – suddenly it was if reality had warped, and he had a fleeting thought – a memory lapse – that told him he was either in someone else's closet, or someone else had been in his.
Something on the bag glistened and caught his eye – he stepped over and plucked a shiny, gel-laden hair from the canvas outside. Unzipping the bag, he discovered that it was empty of his naval uniform. Someone had removed it.
And then he remembered the navy-dressed officer at the hot dog stand the day Joey disappeared.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Day 2, 11:25 a.m. - There came a distant sound of...fuzzy static. Joey stirred on the mattress, sweeping her arms across her body as he rolled over. The blood on her arms had dried and cracked with the motion, pinching her skin and rousing her. She sat up and blearily opened her eyes, and for a moment she forgot where she was and imagined that the knocking sound she was now hearing was just Jethro at her door. But as her eyes focused and adjusted to the light, she landed back on the plane of reality with an unpleasant thump.
As for the static, it was seemingly coming from the TV. Joey stood and paced forward, feeling around its wooden frame to find the OFF button, moving her hand over and across the sides and top. When she touched slowly undulating fabric, she came to an immediate standstill, then drew back with a slight gasp.
A man, the man from her bedroom, the man who took her away from safe solitude and her home, straightened his back and stepped out in front of the television. He spoke in low, malicious tones.
"Damn television - how are we supposed to know when they're coming if we can't even watch the news?" He said it in a happy-sarcastic voice, as if this whole thing was just a game of hide-and-seek.
Joey stumbled back and tripped, landing on the mattress, breathing heavily. "Who are you?" Her voice was unusually level, almost....calm. Without thinking, she instinctively moved her hand to wrap around the dog tags hanging around her neck. The metal was smooth and cold. "WHO ARE YOU?" She yelled this time.
The man sighed. "Hello, Kitty, my name is Vincent Andrew Grey," he leaned forward, grinning terribly, "might I ASSUME that your father never mentioned he even HAD a younger brother?"
Joey was lost at the name "Kitty," – four-year-lasting childhood memories were flooding back in bits and pieces, but nothing made sense. Something in the back of her mind swelled and formed a genuine thought, a real memory....
"Time for bed, my little Kitty."
Joey was dazed – she heard her father's voice...Kitty, he said – yes – her father used to call her by her first name...Katherine, like her mother....
Joey's subconscious turned to rage in an instant. Without any kind of warning she leapt upon her captor – her uncle, her own flesh and blood – and ripped, clawed, beat with small fists, she screamed and tore at every part of him she could reach, kicking and pushing. Adrenaline gave her the energy, the strength, but it was just a short burst of energy, of strength. She jumped up, but Grey's hand sent her back to the cold floor and she collapsed at his feet, rolling away from him until she stopped at the wall under the window – in the puddle of rainwater that was still being fed by the outside flow.
Joey raised herself up to her hands and knees, but before she could stand the toe of a large boot landed in the soft flesh of her underbelly, then again and again. She was shoved up against the wall by the blows, and she collapsed again, the side of her face in water. She choked on the blood and proceeded to vomit red, swirling liquid. Grey laughed and grabbed her by the back of her shirt collar, dragging her forward and tossing her down on the mattress.
Bright lights clouded Joey's vision, and her head swam into a vortex of spinning shadows. But she didn't pass out. She was just facing the dark wall. She couldn't bring her arms to move for her. Her chest throbbed – something jabbed her from the inside. Behind her she heard a snap of leather, and she froze.
"Your parents didn't know crud about being LOYAL – your father was too proud for his own good." He stated, plain and simple. "And I'm not going to sit by and watch you piddle away everything they left you when it should have been mine."
He snapped the leather belt again. "You're going to die just like they did, Kitty...alone...and without any hope for mercy."
Joey realized then that Gibbs had never told her anything about her parents' murder.
But before she could make the connection between Grey's words and her lack of knowledge, the first blow came.
Even tempo at first, but then the blows became more erratic and scattered all over her upper and lower back, her sides, her legs, arms, head. She curled into a tight knot and tried to direct most of the blows towards her back, but who was she to decide control. She was helpless. Heavy, strained leather rained down upon her entire frame and she fought back the tears that mingled in with salty sweat and blood.
And it seemed like hours before they ended – the rhythm fluctuated more than once. Joey clenched her fist around her dog tags and waited it out. Her entire body was wracked and on the brink of extreme convulsion – but then, the hellfire ceased and she collapsed on her side, unable to move, or even breathe any heavier than normal – it was if it hadn't even happened. Her body went numb, then came the burning sensation, and the feeling of being completely shattered – broken into a million pieces. Immense and excruciating pain – blood trickled from her mouth, her nose, her sides ached and when she finally let go of her dog tags there where thin cuts where the metal edges had bit into her skin. And all the while, the only thought she could put through her head was whipping by over and over again: He killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents...
"Good night, my little Kitty," Grey whispered as he caressed her face and neck, reaching with one hand into his pocket, from which he withdrew a tiny metal canister. As Joey slipped farther into darkness, he unscrewed the lid, rolled Joey onto her back and dumped the white-powder contents into her mouth. Then he pinched her nose closed and watched her gag reflex kick in. He stood up, dug around in the paper bag, and drew out a bottle of water. Pouring a little into her mouth pushed the white powder down her throat.
And in her sleep she swallowed.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Gibbs finally finds a lead off of Joey's case; Joey and Grey become...acquainted, so to speak. Joey gets a little taste of how her time with her kidnapper will play out.