Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Stillwater, PA
It was dusk on a Sunday night, a few days before Halloween, when Deputy Sheriff Anthony ‘Tony' DiNozzo drove down the darkening residential street. Despite the fading light, Tony noted that even more decorations had gone up since his patrol the night before. He shook his head humorlessly as he drove passed grinning pumpkins, spider webs, tombstones, skeletons and ghosts and wondered how much more junk would appear by Halloween which fell on Friday. Man, he hated Halloween and, as far as he was concerned, it was just the beginning of yet another hated holiday season. He stretched his neck muscles, tired from a restless night of formless threats chasing him through a forest. He'd attributed it to the fact that it was his first Halloween in such a rural area. Still, maybe it would be a relatively good Halloween for once.
As a kid he'd been severely punished for his participation in "begging" for treats during Halloween in the exclusive New York estates where he'd grown up. DiNozzos do not beg, he was taught rather forcefully. The one time he tried to go out on his own, much to the detriment of a $3000 ski suit belonging to his father that was sacrificed as a "space suit", he ended up unable to sit for a week. Then, when he became a cop, Halloween just meant increased nut jobs and crimes. Unfortunately, holiday insanity didn't end on November 1st.
Thanksgiving, for the most part, wasn't all that bad he supposed, except for the increased number of drunk drivers he'd arrested. You'd think that a holiday centered on food would keep more people home, right? Wrong and, judging from the number of pathetically morose drunks, holiday cheer wasn't the driving force behind their excessive libations.
Thanksgiving was a non-event in the DiNozzo household and certainly didn't engender any familial connotations. That particular holiday only meant a week away from school giving him time to re-enact the scenes from his favorite movies, out alone among the gardens and trees of the estate. Tony was at the military academy when he finally put two and two together and realized that the turkey coloring pages and construction paper turkeys he'd made from an outline of his hand when he was little were related to a supposedly traditional Thanksgiving meal. The academy version he was given turned out to be pretty tasty. Unfortunately, his request for the same meal on those few holiday occasions when he found himself back at the DiNozzo estate were met with disdain, turkey being far too plebeian a meal for the DiNozzo dining table. But, since he truly enjoyed the various dishes that made up a traditional Thanksgiving meal and had never shied away from thumbing his nose at his privileged up-bringing, he made sure to indulge at the various diners he frequented. This year he intended to find out if Lou's Diner served a good Thanksgiving meal and, if he was lucky, he'd be able to entice his friend, Jack, to join him – unless, of course, Jack decided otherwise and opted to cook. The thought made Tony smile.
Tony stopped smiling when he again thought about the upcoming holidays. Christmas, man he hated it above all the other holidays. In his experience, nothing good ever happened at Christmas. Tony frowned and pushed away all the memories of what Christmas had brought into – or taken from – his life. He shook his head as betrayal and loss infused his heart but he hardened himself against those emotions, choosing instead to channel them into what he truly felt about the holiday – absolute hatred. His feeling towards Christmas was why it was his habit to make sure he worked every holiday, letting others who cared about such things have time with their families. That didn't change upon his arrival in Stillwater and, strangely enough, he hadn't even had to make the request. Sheriff Gantry automatically had him working every holiday anyway.
Tony slowed down to watch a high school student jumping off the Benton bus to begin his walk home, his backpack heavy against the black and orange of his letterman's jacket, a sight which brought back good memories of college sports. With light, quick feet, the boy bounced up the steps to a small, warmly-lit home. Tony knew that if he rolled his window down even a little bit he'd hear snatches of greetings before the front door closed locking the warmth and light inside. It was the antithesis of his personal experience regarding sports and family.
Disgusted at his walk down memory lane, Tony ran a hand through his spiky, thick brown hair in agitation but then quickly smoothed it down. Keeping his window firmly closed against intruding sounds and memories, Tony went back to pondering his relatively new surroundings.
Yeah, life was definitely slower in this little town which was a good thing and, Tony told himself. He really was developing quite an appreciation for the slower pace – for the most part since decent pizza was not to be had – although just how quiet this town was still surprised him even after living here for the last nine months. He continued to scan the area and noted with pleasure that the only movement now was the swirl of autumn leaves in the late October wind. He didn't drop his vigilance, however. It was far too ingrained after several years as first a street cop and then as a detective and he owed his best to the folks in this town, a majority of whom had openly welcomed him into their midst, so he really had no reason to complain. Really.
But, despite his deliberate attempt to think of other things, he nevertheless imagined that the high schooler, like most of the residents of these picture-book homes, was settling in for the evening. He imagined a family bustling about getting dinner ready, kids doing homework or everyone discussing their day's activities, maybe even talking about their plans for the upcoming holiday. He was fully aware of the grimace that crossed his face as he kept driving; telling himself yet again that there was no point in wondering about might-have-beens.
Turning east, he drove to the outskirts of the residential area and down passed the remains of what must have been either an old church or a pretty large home at one time. The only thing left now was a vine-covered brick corner about five feet high, heavily shrouded with trees and brush. Next to it was an old cemetery with about a dozen old headstones and a couple of weather-worn statues. At least it was still being cared for Tony noted upon seeing the old, white-haired man still hard at work, quietly weeding around the neglected plots with some hand tools. There was an old bucket on the ground next to him.
Tony had seen him a couple of times over the last week, always at dusk, but he'd never spoken with him even though he'd always felt drawn to do so. As usual when passing this cemetery, Tony felt unease crawling up his spine, but somehow he knew it didn't come from the old man. Warily, he looked around but didn't see anything to account for the strange but familiar feeling. It's just a cemetery, he told himself sternly. The only one living and breathing here besides you is the old guy. Usually, he'd just drive around the cemetery until he verified that nothing was going on, but tonight his unease increased to the point where this time, he decided, he was going to get out of the cruiser and go talk with the old man.
He pushed open the cruiser door and was immediately assailed by frigid wind that seemed to seep into every opening in his clothing making goose-bumps erupt all over his body. He gave a full-bodied shudder in response and tugged his jacket zipper up a bit more, contemplating reaching back in for the (in his mind) ridiculous fuzzy uniform hat he'd been issued. This isn't Fargo, he told himself as fashion once again won out and he left it lying on the passenger seat where he'd thrown it disdainfully at the beginning of his shift. He might need to have it with him at shift brief but, no matter what Sherriff Gantry said, he wasn't about to wear it out in public if he didn't need it.
With that decision made, he pushed open the old wrought-iron gate which squealed loudly in protest making him jump slightly and increasing his unease. Forcibly calming himself, he stepped into the cemetery. There was a stillness to his surroundings that he'd found so common in cemeteries, stillness that felt as though he was holding his breath. Berating himself for the ridiculous notion, he forcefully blew a breath out through his mouth and took another determined step, intent on speaking with the man ahead of him.
It struck Tony that the sound of his boots crunching on dried grass and gravel was almost as loud in his quiet surroundings as that rusted gate hinge had been. He felt the hair rise on his neck and he froze, his eyes scanning the area as he tried to determine the source of his unease. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he took another step following his gut feeling that he needed to see this through. Tony continued forward, his hand automatically resting on his weapon. As he passed the various headstones and marble statues, he realized that he was beginning to feel a deep sadness. No, he decided, not just sadness but an almost over-whelming despair. Get a grip, DiNozzo, he admonished himself and continued walking. Cemeteries, he thought with a grimace, he hated them.
"Hi, there," he called out with forced cheerfulness as he approached the diligently working man. Surprisingly, it appeared the man hadn't heard his approach because he neither responded nor did he pause in his work. Eyes alert as he stepped closer to the man pulling weeds beside a pitted headstone, Tony tried again thinking that the old guy was just hard of hearing. His second attempt gave the same result. Curious and slightly annoyed now, he stepped closer, deliberately kicking some gravel towards the man in the process. It was either not seen or ignored so he moved to place a hand on the man's shoulder. He wasn't sure if he'd actually touched the man, but he jumped up with a shout making Tony stumble backwards. "Whoa, sorry, sir! I didn't mean to startle you!" Tony choked out as he raised one hand palm out while his other hand automatically returned to his holster.
The man said nothing as he stood there but his face showed a kaleidoscope of emotions, the initial shock giving way to welcome then – joy? In a flash, whatever that emotion was faded only to be followed by betrayal and hopelessness and, finally, anger as the blue eyes froze into ice as he glared back at Tony. Tony stared back in shock and confusion but shook it off to take in as many details of the man as he could in the quickly fading light. His hair wasn't completely white; instead strands of black and dark grey were intermixed making the man's hair look silver. Tony was also surprised to note the man wasn't nearly as old as he'd originally thought, although he looked as though life had ground him down. That impression was heightened by the lines on the man's face, most notably the deep lines between his eyes and around his mouth caused by a depth of sorrow Tony wasn't sure he understood. He wore dark pants and boots, heavily soiled with grass and mud stains, and a thick black woolen coat that looked like it had seen better days. Done with his perusal, Tony looked back into the cold blue eyes.
"Sir, do I know you?" he found himself asking and saw the man's eyes narrow. Instead of answering, though, the man angrily threw his hand shovel into the bucket and turned to pick up the rest of his tools.
"Don't call me sir," he growled over his shoulder as he stalked off into the gloom behind the building's remains without another word.
Tony just shook his head as he stared off into the night, wondering what the hell had just happened and what the guy was pissed about. Eventually, another blast of cold wind made him realize that he'd been standing for who knew how long in a dark and cold – very cold – cemetery and that he needed to finish his patrol before he was late for shift change. He hurried back to his cruiser and drove quickly towards town all the while wondering if the guy in the cemetery was just an old bastard or if he really was the source of the sorrow that had assailed him or if, which was probably the most likely possibility, Tony was just losing it.