Chapter 7 - Good Night, My Little Kitty
Day 16, 7:34 p.m. – The winter sun had set early, like it always did in D.C. Gibbs sipped his coffee and stared out the window at the street below. After discovering that the Grey had been the man he'd seen on the street below at the hot dog stand the day Joey disappeared, he had everyone on his team running license plates and mapping programs and talking to various cab drivers and the hot dog vendor. Security footage was pulled from a museum nearby, but there was no hard lead on determining where Grey had gone. As for Joey, Gibbs assumed that Grey had stolen his uniform, but brought his own duffel bag and he carried her out in that, along with any other evidence against him.
They weren't making much progress. And he knew – some people, like Palmer and...the Director, too, it seemed, didn't even believe Joey was still alive – a doubt that hung over his mind like an empty basin of hell, clouds, and blood. He didn't want to believe it, but it was probably true.
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Joey was beginning to wonder if Grey would ever come back. She needed the drug – without it...she tore herself apart. By now her body was numb to the beatings and her once-white shirt was almost completely scarlet with dried blood caked over in many layers. She removed it once, but put it back on almost immediately in light of the freezing wind coming through window. It was now December. December 5th, to be exact, but she didn't know it. She did feel colder than ever before, though.
And for the first time in weeks, she genuinely missed Jethro. She wanted to be held by him, she wanted to sit with him and rub her hands along the frame of his boat. Her mind floated back to those days of happy, domestic bliss and cherry bombs, and Tony – all her friends at NCIS.
A new determination flooded her being and took over her essence. She glared back up at the boarded-up window, and formulated in her mind a new way to escape without the Monster's help. Not this time. Every fiber in her body was frazzled and had been burned over and over again by the torture and the blood, and she wasn't going to take another beating. Not again.
She had to get out before he got back.
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The television was heavy-set and it took Joey more than an hour to get it over to the window and upright again. The cobblestone-surface of the floor wasn't helping. But she was finally able to clamber up on top of the machine and she was eye-level with the lowest board on the window frame. Wiping her hands on her shirt she reached into the crack of the boards and wrapped her fingers around, but upon contact, she recoiled as if having just touched a hot stove. The boards were severely cracked and covered in loose splinters. Sighing heavily, she looked back down at the floor and around her for something to use to pry the wood off the window.
Nothing....but then, in a burst of inspiration, Joey pulled off her stained shirt and shoved a sleeve through the crack in the board. Reaching back behind the board, nicking her herself only once, she drew the sleeve out from the other side of the board, wrapped a sleeve around each arm and pulled.
After a couple of minutes the wood came loose and she tumbled backward off the television, the board smashing into her forehead. But she was so happy in that moment that it didn't matter. Joey shoved the board off her face and looked up at the new opening in the window. Her expression fell to utter dismay almost instantly when she saw that the window was barred from the outside with long, thin strips of iron. Snow flurries swept into the tiny room. Joey's head fell to her chest.
The steel door swung open. Grey stepped in. The moment he saw that she had been trying to escape his stolid expression mutated into rage. He ripped off his belt – a new one, Joey noticed, with little metal studs adorning the wide leather strap – and advanced swiftly. Joey fell back and rolled to the left, standing up, but before she could collect her defenses Grey had his large hand around her neck and he shoved her down to the ground, pinning each of her arms with his legs and wrenching back her head with a handful of her hair.
The pain was sharp and lingered – tears streaked the girl's face and ran down into her hair and ears. Grey whipped out a small plastic bag from his coat pocket, and from within this he withdrew a slender needle with a pale jade-green liquid swirling inside of the crystal vial. He jabbed the thin metal tip into the soft, pulsing spot at the base of Joey's neck.
The effect was instantaneous. The drug flowed directly into the bloodstream and was sucked up into the spinal cord within a matter of seconds. Joey's neurological processes shut down, then flickered on again. Her eyes rolled back and forth in her head and her body convulsed violently. Grey pulled himself up and grabbed his "defiant niece" by her collar, dragged her forward and tossed her down on the mattress.
The metal studs in the belt had been methodically sharpened to a point, and the man was relentless in his brutality this night. The skull was almost completed – after this beating he would only have one more mark to make to finish the tattoo, and then he would kill her like he killed her parents.
One stroke fell, two strokes became four, then six, then ten – all the while Joey was beginning to hallucinate - disoriented and writhing on the mattress. She heard the raging roar and clanking of the Monster coming back to her. Little lights once more clouded her vision, but then she looked up.
The steel door was wide open.
Mustering every ounce of strength she had left, Joey backed into a sitting position against the wall and used the stone surface to push herself up. She opened her eyes. Eyes that, despite the dark and the dank hell of this place, still shone blue-green, swimming with salty tears that were now only mementos of utter chaos and rage, like shining fish in a diamond pond.
She tackled Grey with such force he fell to his back on the ground, smacking his head against the edge of the television set and dropping the leather belt. Joey shoved his chest and reached into the left pocket of his jeans, where – she knew – he kept his silver knife. Wrenching it out she jumped off the man and broke for the door.
The hallway was dark and smoggy with dust and grime. To the left and below she caught the sound of running water and the smell of something putrid. Stairs just ahead....she limped up and out, stumbling when she reached the next landing. Boxes and crates were laid out everywhere – some in large stacks or groups, some open, and some discarded along the metal siding walls. She had been in the basement of an old warehouse. Pushing herself to her feet she stumbled off towards the large double doors that led outside. But again she tripped and collapsed in a peculiar manner – one leg twisted under the other. She yelled and cried out in pain, allowing her torso to fall to the floor.
Joey wasn't sure how long she laid there. She didn't try to get up. It seemed hopeless. There she was, on her stomach in some strange, macabre place in the dark, alone. Something inside of her ignited a new kind of fear, a fear that gnaws at a person until they think they are completely lost and that no one is coming to save them. Not anymore.
Her jeans were bloodstained and fraying now at the cuffs – her black knit undershirt was drenched in sweat and patched with blood – there were this rips all across the back and sides where little cuts and breaks in the skin bled profusely, covering the bruises and welts. The skull on her shoulder seemed to smile when her body twitched or convulsed.
There was a crash just ahead of her and Joey pulled her head off the concrete floor and looked forward. A crate had fallen over and the straw packaging was spilling out. Something shone there amongst the mess – something black and gleaming. Squinting, Joey dragged herself forward to the next crate and pulled her body up using the wood as support. Sliding over to the fallen crate she looked down at the straw carnage. Ruffling through it with one foot she coughed gently when she uncovered the glock. It was new, a brand-new gun. The prospect excited her for some reason, renewed her energy and replenished stamina. With a gun she was unstoppable. Reaching down, she plucked it from the straw and turned it over a few times in her hand, running dirt fingers over the polished blue steel and automatic trigger. A small canister rolled out from under the straw.
It was full of 9 millimeter bullets. Joey knew how to load a gun – Gibbs had made a point of teaching her.
Cautiously she tucked the gun into the waistband of her jeans and shuffled towards the door.
The street outside was cold and looming. Snow swirled around her feet, but it was black with soot and muck from gasoline.
Behind her she heard Grey shout in angry fury. Panicking, she took off running down the street. Somewhere there came the sound of sirens, but it faded into the distance.
A sudden, shocking jolt erupted up and down Joey's spine and she slammed into the wall of a building, tumbling into the dark alley there and colliding with a rusty dumpster. There was a ladder on the wall of this building, and she scrambled up to the first landing. When finally collapsed on the roof she peering out over the edge. No sign of Grey. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief she tried to shake off the convulsions and frequent shocks that were emitting from her body and making her squirm. The moment of freedom was short-lived. Over the other side of the building the Monster emerged and charged toward her. She screamed and fell backward over the edge of the building, slamming down onto the ladder and onto the highest landing, which she rolled off of in her agonizing rush of pain. She fell another story and crumpled onto the second floor metal landing, hanging onto the side with both arms, fingers wrapped around the holes in the metal flooring, legs dangling over the side. The silver knife came loose in her pocket and fell to the ground, clattering across the plastic top of the dumpster and landing in a pile of snow. Cringing, she looked up. There was no monster there anymore – it was Grey, now. He had a gun aimed at her head. Joey looked down and waited for the shot, but it didn't come.
"Good night, my little Kitty," Grey whispered maniacally. His finger clicked on the trigger and pulled back with a loud bang.
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9:54 p.m. - McGee came running into the bullpen and slid to a stop in front of Gibbs' desk.
"Boss, the P.D. just got a call in for a man fitting Grey's description and some shots fired over in the warehouse district off of 5th Avenue."
Gibbs didn't hesitate in getting up or moving out – in fact, he was up like a shot the second the word Grey exploded off of McGee's lips.
"GRAB YOUR GEAR!" He shouted as he and his team crammed into the elevator.
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Joey screamed in pain – the bullet had sliced through the fleshy part of her right arm and ricocheted down into the alley. Her arm jolted and she let go of the landing and fell to the ground, smashing down upon the dumpster lid and rolling to the ground. In a flash of fear Joey saw the face of her Monster and curled into a ball with her hands over her head, screaming.
In a rage of blind fear and angst she stood, as if in some kind drunken stupor, and tried to run out of the alley, smashing into garbage cans and sliding onto the street. The snow fell harder now and her body went numb. The Monster flickered in essence and dissipated into nothing. She ran onward, not knowing where she was going or how to get there.
Joey tripped and looked up. Big glass windows and lots of expensive displays caught her eye. Behind her, Grey was running. Frantic, she jerked her head around and scanned the area, looking for something to help her sound the alarm. In the center of the street something rusty grabbed her attention and she scrambled over the sidewalk and loped over to the center of the street. From a distance she might have appeared to be a rabid dog, thin and groaning, its sanity slowly trickling away. Joey bent down wrapped her fingers around the edges of the manhole cover, yanking forcefully. It came loose. Clenching it she stood up and frantically scrambled back towards the sidewalk, trying to keep a firm grip on the metal plate in her bloodied, freezing hands. Summoning everything that was left of her strength she hurled the manhole cover at the jewelry-store window, drawing her hands up over her head as the smashed into a million tiny pieces and rained down to the ground around her broken frame.
TBC
Author's Chapter Notes:
Joey escapes her dungeon and ends up on the street, running from Grey.