Taking a life
It was inevitable. It was unavoidable. Bound to happen. Everyone is bound to die at one point in time whether it be early on in life or
later on in life it's going to happen. They just didn't think the death would occur in such a manner, it was unethical. They expected the
death to be a shooting while on duty or an explosion or for them to die an almost fully-functional and retired old pensioner. But at thirty-
seven they hadn't expected this.
The woman had loved her friend more than a brother and when he was killed she just hit rock-bottom and sobbed constantly not able to control
herself. She hadn't cried like that since her mother was killed and her father commited suicide splitting the children up to go to
different foster homes. Only this time she cried longer and harder than before. She hadn't been content with the fact that she didn't stop
her friend from going after Red John and that she hadn't been there to take his bullet and die instead of him. But her friend only would've
told her that it was inevitable. That he was going to confront Red John. And that he was going to kill him. That's what he'd done. Only;
he'd gotten himself shot in the process and she'd had been there just in time to hold him in her arms as his life slipped from underneath
her fingertips. After that; she just sat there crying as she awaited the inevitable police siren that wailed almost as loud as her as it
approached and the officers raced in after being told a neighbour had heard gunshots. They'd found her holding him and now; silently sobbing
until she had nothing left to cry away. She'd been torn from his lifeless body, cuffed and put in the back of a police car until the police
were told of the mistake in that they'd arrested a woman who'd arrived after the shooting and that she'd been trying to get there to stop it
when the bullets had torn through the neighbourhood and awoken people from their slumber by none other than Wayne Rigsby and Grace Van-Pelt.
The woman had stayed silent throughout the whole affair but for the odd whimper and moan when her friend was mentioned. Of course she'd
been ordered to have a week of rest which she spent day after day of in bed sobbing and sleeping only eating when Grace dropped by with
take-out and forced her to eat even though she didn't want to but Grace was wise enough to get her to eat even when the woman said she
wasn't hungry.
Monday: The death. The woman had been ordered straight home after giving her statement and she rode home in silence tears brewing and
threatening to fall once more. She staggered into her house as though drunk yet not. She stumbled up the stairs not caring if the door was
locked and without turning on a light to find her way. She clambered into bed in the oversized shirt which once belonged to her friend that
he had left in her flat one time when he came over for dinner (uninvited) and the woman had accidentally spilled food down it. She had vowed
to clean it and get it back to him and yet although she had cleaned it she hadn't gotten round to giving it back. She found slight comfort
in wearing the dead man's clothes and found it smelled like him and the memory of him slowly lulled her to a frightful nightmare in which
the night's events repeated themselves over and over in her head and left her tossing and turning with tears escaping her eyes.
Tuesday. She awoke to birds singing and had forgotten the night's events. She found herself in her friend's shirt and decided to keep it on
before going to check the news or interesting stories letting the nightmare slip away until she was reminded of the horror movie she lived
in by the news reporters showing a picture of her friend and saying that he'd been found dead by police in the her arms. She switched off
the TV and went back to bed hoping she would wake up and it'd all be a bad dream. She reawoke at 6:27 and realised that she was still in her
nightmare so just cried herself back to sleep.
Wednesday. She awoke to a knocking at the front door. She stumbled down the stairs and found Grace hammering away ready to knock the door
down.
'What?'
'Are you ok? We called ten times yesterday and you didn't pick up and...what're you wearing?'
'I'm fine. I was asleep most of yesterday and i'm wearing a shirt'
'Yeah, one of...'
'Yeah. I spilled food down it so i was cleaning it...then...you know and...'
'Ok'
The woman was completely and utterly out of it and Grace knew it.
'I'll drop by later with food. Bye'
'Bye'
She shut the door and went back to bed. She cried herself to sleep to be woken once again by Grace hammering at the door. She rolled her
eyes clambered to the door and opened it to let Grace in.
'Still wearing the shirt?'
'Yeah'
An hour later they'd eaten, Grace had gone and the woman was back in bed and crying herself to sleep again.
Thursday. She woke to the sound of birds once more and was reminded of her friend, making her sob once again until she fell into a never-
ending not-peaceful-at-all slumber to be awoken at 7:28 by Van-Pelt knocking at the door. She amswered it and invited her in. They sat and
ate pizza for half an hour before she left her to work. She returned to her bed and slept.
Saturday. She awoke at 1:04 and found she'd slept for over twenty-four hours. She found the sleep made her less grumpy but when she awoke
she just wanted to cry leading her straight back to sleep again.
Sunday. She didn't leave bed when the knocking on her door started she just drifted back to sleep again to be awoken minutes later by police
officers trying to see if she was ok.
'Are you ok ma'am? It's just the neighbour said you haven't left the house in a few days and they were getting worried seen as your last
visit was Thursday night'
'I'm fine! Now let me sleep!'
'I can't let you do that. I'm afraid we have to take you to the hospital to have you checked over. It seems you have blood in your hair'
'Yeah. I haven't washed it since Monday night when my best friend died in my arms. I've been sleeping. Now leave me alone!'
With that she turned on her side and slept.
Monday. She couldn't take the nightmares anymore. Or the overconcerned friends and neighbours. The waking up to have to cry herself to sleep
again. The hatred for herself for letting him die. She couldn't take it. She went to the bathroom and showered for the first time since
Monday morning.
It was Grace Van-Pelt who'd found her. She'd gone round to check on her boss after she'd decided to have dinner with her. They were all
pretty down that week after their friend had been shot and killed by Red John but the most affected had been the woman, Lisbon and the team.
There was no doubt about it. But Grace had found her friend dead in a pool of blood with slits at her wrists on her bathroom floor with a
sharp-edged blade at her side slipping from her fingers and only just touching her deathly-pale white skin like a ghost's hand lingering and
daring itself to let go of her. Grace checked for a pulse and found nothing. She called for the body to be taken to the morgue just in case
and Rigsby and Cho turned up at the crime scene asking what they had, not knowing the house belonged to someone they knew. Then they
realised the tears sliding down Van-Pelt's face and realisation crept upon them and hit them square in the face.
The coroner had ruled it as a straight-forward suicide. The thirty-seven year old woman had taken her own life because Red John had taken
her friends's and she couldn't bear to live on without him. Van-Pelt, Rigsby and Cho strode up to Hightower's office walking past Lisbon's
office on the way.
'How can i help you?'
Van-Pelt threw the case file on her desk and left the room followed by the other two. Hightower lifted the case file and opened it. Suicide
stood proudly in front of the woman's face. Hightower's smile of curiosity dropped and she read
"...took her life as she could no longer face the world without her friend..."
A week later Sam Bosco opened his mail to find the case file. Private and conidential. He checked the address sure enough it was sent to him.
He opened it and read.
"The woman in question slit both wrists killing herself as she felt she could no longer live without her friend and colleague. The woman in
question 37, was found dead in her bathroom, blade in hand, on Monday 15th September, a week after her friend died in her arms from a
gunshot wound inflicted from none other than Red John. Coroner has ruled it as suicide..."
Bosco fell to his knees and fell deadly silent.
'What is it Sam?'
'A friend of mine killed herself'
'Who?'
'Teresa Lisbon'