"Wake her up," Jane told the nurse.

It had been a month since he had rescued Lisbon from Red John, and the cuts on her face - which had been in the pattern of Red John's signature smiley face - had finally completely healed over without a flaw. She had been in a drug-induced coma ever since she had arrived at the hospital to ensure this; Jane had been responsible for this course of action, claiming to be her husband so that he could have complete say over her treatment.

The scene at the CBI had been one of massive chaos, not only during but also after Red John's "game" of "hide-and-go-seek" with Jane. Jane had stayed out of the mess as much as possible, focusing instead on keeping an eye on Lisbon, more for his own comfort than her safety.

Now, it was finally time for her to wake up. Jane was worried about her, but he knew that the sooner she was back in the world, the sooner she would be able to recover psychologically from her ordeal.

Or, at least, he hoped that was the case.

The nurse nodded to him wordlessly and adjusted Lisbon's IV.

"Let me be with her alone for a minute," Jane said to the nurse, the words almost a plea.

"Mr. Jane, your wife needs-"

"If anything seems wrong, I'll call for help," Jane said, cutting her off and trying not to flinch at the words 'your wife'. "Just please, let me be alone with her when she wakes up. I'll help her with the transition. Please. She'll want to see me…and I'd…" He cleared his throat, taking the moment to brace himself to say what he was about to say. "I'd like to be alone with my wife," he finished.

"Of course," the nurse said with a nervous smile, and she quickly left, much to Jane's relief. He walked over to Lisbon's cot, sat down next to her, and took hold of her hand. "Lisbon," he said softly. "Lisbon, hey. Wake up."

Slowly, Lisbon opened her eyes.

"Hey," Jane said, smiling.

"Jane…?" she croaked.

"Hey, Lisbon," he said again.

Lisbon took a breath, pushing back her sleepiness. "What…where…?" She shook herself, waking up fully. Suddenly, she sat bolt upright, her eyes went wide, and she turned to Jane and exclaimed, "Red John-!"

"He's not here," Jane told her calmly. "You're in the hospital."

"Hospital…" Lisbon repeated. She laid back down, still looking at Jane. "You saved me…" she finally said.

Jane smiled, tears welling in his eyes. "Yeah, I did," he said. "I'm sorry I took so long."

"I'm…I'm sorry I kicked you in the face," Lisbon said, her voice weak. "Thank you, for saving me." Her own eyes filled with tears. "I don't know…how I can ever thank you…for what you gave up for me…"

"Oh, you don't need to thank me," Jane told her, trying to sound nonchalant; "I wouldn't have sacrificed a stranger's life to kill Red John, it was nothing personal."

"Why not?" Lisbon asked, confused.

Jane sighed. "I've been fighting Red John for years," he said somberly, "and so many innocent people have already died in the crossfire…I don't even know if his blood will be enough to wash everyone else's off my hands as it is."

Lisbon nodded, somehow understanding. Then, she blinked.

"I don't feel any pain," she said, sounding confused.

Jane nodded and sighed again, not breaking eye contact with her. "You've been here for a month," he said.

Lisbon's eyes widened. "A month?" she repeated.

Jane nodded.

"Why?" she asked.

Jane sighed again. "Red John cut up your face to look like his signature," he told her.

"You mean…" She traced lines around her face and over her eyes and mouth.

Jane nodded again. "You've been kept unconscious so that they'd heal without scarring. I had a feeling you wouldn't want to have to see that when you look in the mirror."

Lisbon nodded. "Thanks," she said.

Jane nodded sadly. "Your other cuts…" He hesitated.

"I know," she said. "They were bad."

Jane nodded again.

Lisbon turned away. Then, she smiled and, pulling her hand out of his gentle grasp, waved her finger at him. "You kissed me," she said.

Jane cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Um, yes, yes I did," he said. "I, ah…I needed to make you stop struggling, and…it…it was all I could think of on short notice…"

"Is that all?" she asked, not turning back to him.

"Yes," he said firmly.

"Oh," she said, her tone unreadable even for him.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

"Where was I?" Lisbon asked him at last.

"The middle of the desert," Jane answered. "Convenient, really, since that made it easier for him to blow the place up after he was done with it."

"Blow up…" Lisbon processed this slowly. "It's gone?"

Jane nodded.

"The answer…" Lisbon began.

Jane felt a knife in his heart. "I'm so sorry, Lisbon," he said, tears welling in his eyes again. "It shouldn't have taken me so long to find you, but I was panicking and I wasn't thinking clearly and…" He shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said again after a moment.

"It's okay," Lisbon told him softly.

"No," Jane said, shaking his head again. "No, it's not. The answer was…so simple…so obvious…"

"Whatever the code was, he knew it was something you wouldn't see," Lisbon said.

Jane blinked. "How did you know the answer was in code?" he asked. Then, a split second later, he reconsidered and said "Never mind; I don't want to hear about anything he did to you." He sighed. "It was so simple," he said again remorsefully. "All it was was seemingly random letters and numbers underlined on a page, and put together in order they spelled out where you were."

It was Lisbon's turn to blink. "That's it?" she asked.

Jane nodded, the knife in his heart twisting. "I'm so sorry."

Lisbon sighed. "It's okay," she said again; "he made it simple because he knew you wouldn't be looking for it." She turned away, an odd expression on her face. "He's like that."

For a minute, neither of them said anything.

"So…what happens now?" Lisbon finally asked.

Jane took a breath. "Well," he said, "for now, you'll stay here until the doctors say you can leave. Then you'll go home…and…you'll go into therapy." Lisbon closed her eyes and nodded. The fact that she didn't roll her eyes, and the significance of this, was not lost on Jane. He swallowed. "You won't be coming back to work, though," he told her, "not for a while at least."

"How long?" she asked listlessly.

Jane sighed. "Bertram says he won't even think about letting you come back until at least a month after you get out of the hospital," he answered. When Lisbon said nothing, he took another breath and prepared to tell her the bad news.

"Lisbon…" He took another breath, then reached out and took hold of her hand. "I'm…I'm able to be here for you right now, but…well, Bertram wanted to have some idea about how you'd be when you woke up, and…he asked some psychologists for advice." Jane smiled humorlessly. "Most of the stuff they said was all over the place - some of them even contradicted each other - which didn't surprise me in the least." Lisbon smiled at him. Forcing himself to smile back, Jane continued, "There was one thing they agreed on, though, and that was that…considering the circumstances under which you were saved, your subconscious will probably start to associate me being nearby with you being safe, which is more than a little ironic." Lisbon's smile wasn't as agreeing as he had hoped it would be, and he suddenly got a feeling that it was going to turn out to be true. "The thing is," he forced himself to go on, "Bertram doesn't want you to be…dependent on me - and neither do I! No one does! But…for some reason…" Jane sighed. "He thinks the best way to prevent that is to cut off all contact between us until you come back to work."

Lisbon's head snapped to face him, her eyes wide with panic, and the heart rate monitors she was hooked up to started beeping wildly.

Jane tightened his grip on her hand. "I'm sorry!" he exclaimed. "I've been trying to get him to see reason, but…" He shook his head, worried himself now. "He just won't listen."

"But…but…!" Lisbon stammered, and she was gripping Jane's hand so tightly he was afraid she was going to break it.

"Lisbon, I promise you, I won't stop trying," he vowed, moving closer to her. When she didn't respond, he leaned over her and put his arms around her. "Hey," he murmured soothingly, "it'll be okay…you're alive - remember that. You beat him. You're gonna be okay."

Lisbon hugged him back tightly, and to his relief, her heart rate started calming down. A moment later, the nurse, whom Jane had forgotten about completely, hurried in. Hearing the door open, Jane looked up, and he let Lisbon go. She held on to him for another second - which concerned him - then laid back down.

"Mr. Jane, I'm sorry, but I need to make sure your wife is okay," she said.

Lisbon's eyes widened, and she quickly turned to look at Jane. "'Wife'?" she exclaimed.

Jane snapped his fingers. "Knew I was forgetting something," he said to himself. He turned to the nurse. "Uh, yeah, she's not really my wife," he told her.

The nurse blinked several times in surprise. "But you said-"

"I lied," Jane interrupted, feeling the need to clear up the confusion as quickly as possible. "She's my boss, and my friend, but no, she's not my wife; my wife is dead."

"But why would you-?"

"I needed to be able to call the shots when it came to her treatment in order to make sure the cuts on her face wouldn't scar, and I figured lying would be easier and faster than arguing the point." Jane answered the nurse's question before she could finish asking it.

"Oh," the nurse said, stunned.

Jane turned to Lisbon, who was too surprised to speak.

"I'll work on getting you back as soon as possible," he told her seriously. "For now, stay strong…and remember: you survived. You beat him, and you survived, and you're going to be okay." He smiled, squeezed her hand, and stood up. "Bye, Lisbon," he said, and he walked out the door.

Lisbon watched him leave, her eyes wide. The nurse followed her gaze.

"I wish I had a friend like that," she commented.

Lisbon turned to look at the nurse questioningly.

"He didn't leave you alone for one second during this entire month," the nurse told her. "He slept here, ate here…he rarely even left to use the bathroom, and even then, he only left when someone else was here instead." She sighed. "I wish my husband cared about me that much," she said wistfully.

Lisbon's eyes turned back to the closed door. I wish he could stay here while I'm awake, she thought miserably.

~X~

A month after she woke up, Lisbon drove home from the hospital. Her injuries had healed over a bit too quickly, in the doctors' opinions, and they had been worried about internal bleeding and a bunch of other complications she hadn't bothered paying attention to, but after another month had passed and her condition remained stable, the doctors were forced to concede and send her home.

It was late when she finally walked into her apartment. Getting through the parking garage had been hell, but at least she hadn't been coming home from work. She locked the door behind her, and suddenly, she registered the fact that she was alone.

Alone. No one around to help her if something happened…no one to hear her scream…

Panic rose in her chest.

Breathe, she told herself, relax…breathe…nothing's going to happen…He gave his word he wouldn't kill you…

Her self-talk worked surprisingly well, and she managed to get her heart rate back down. She took some more deep breaths for good measure, then went upstairs.

Shower. She froze at the thought. She felt disgusting after her two months in the hospital, but she could feel her scars…she really didn't want to look at them…

She sighed. Might as well get it over with, she told herself, and she went into the bathroom.

She closed her eyes as she undressed, deliberately avoiding the mirror. As she washed off, she could feel the keloid lines that crisscrossed her entire body. I'm going to have these for the rest of my life, she reminded herself; I should just get used to it. She knew she couldn't have them removed. No; the very thought of being cut again, even surgically, threatened to give her an anxiety attack.

When she got out of the shower, she towel-dried her body, took a fortifying breath, and looked in the mirror.

Her face was unmarked; she'd known that, but she started there to comfort herself. In fact, her entire head and neck were completely unscathed.

But right below her neck…

Her eyes widened at the sight of the two massive, ropy scars that cut through her shoulders and across the top of her chest, the one on her right side far bigger than that on her left. Her right upper arm bore a thick, short scar perfectly perpendicular to the bone, and her lower right arm featured a long scar, slightly slanted, across the entire back. Her left arm was untouched.

She forced herself to look lower, and she saw the scar that crossed the middle of her torso, her internal organs shielded from it by her lowest ribs. Other than that, her front was untouched above her legs. She looked down. The scars on her legs, front and back, somehow weren't too horrifying, though they were all long and thick. As long as I can still run, she thought; the cuts seemed, like all her cuts, to be perfectly positioned in such a way as to not hinder her at all. Son of a bitch really knows human anatomy, she thought of Red John, though she quickly shoved the thought aside; any thought of Red John made her feel…helpless. Scared. Dead inside. Worse than dead inside.

She gave herself a little shake, then looked back at the mirror. She took a deep breath, gathered her damp hair and pulled it all over her left shoulder. Then, keeping her eye on the massive scar on her right shoulder in the mirror, she turned around…and gasped.

The scar on her right shoulder cut well through, and was just as large in appearance from the back as from the front. The rest of her back was covered in huge, ugly scars that crisscrossed her back without ever actually touching each other, thus being a group of individual scars despite their numerousness and the limited space.

She felt the tears come as she realized that she would be forced to look at these scars every day…that anyone who knew her would have to, unless she wore clothes that completely covered her body all day, every day, no matter the season. Even then, they'd probably be visible; they were so big…

Her newly, feebly-reconstructed spirit broke back down at this loss of her body, and she cried.

But the night's shock's weren't over. When she got to her bedroom, the first thing she noticed was the splash of bright red on her pillow.

It was a lily. A bright red, asian lily bloom, the stem completely cut off, carefully placed on the center of her pillow, almost remindful of a hotel.

Lisbon stared at the flower in shock for a moment. Then, she lunged forward, grabbed it, wrenched open her window, and threw the flower outside, slamming the window shut behind it.

She stood there for a moment, her hands on the window frame, shaking.

It can't have been him, she told herself. He hasn't been here.

…Dear God, please don't let him have been here!

Deep down, of course, she knew who had put it there, despite what she told herself, but she quickly entered the Lovely Land of Denial and set it aside.

She didn't think she'd sleep. She thought she would lie in bed awake, scared of her own shadow. But being in her own bed - an actual, comfortable bed - was so soothing, she fell asleep almost instantly…and quickly regretted it.

~o~

She was back in her blood-filled corner, her vision blocked, shackled to the wall. Jane hadn't made it.

"Time's up, My Dear Little Saint," Red John hissed. "Say good-bye to My Old Friend…and to life itself."

"Teresa, I'm sorry." Jane's helpless, broken voice came over the cell phone held out to her.

"This isn't your fault," she told him as she cried. "Please don't blame yourself for this."

"Say goodbye…" Red John hissed again.

"Lisbon…" She knew Jane was trying to comfort her the only way he could: by using her last name.

"Jane," she said in response, just being able to say the word both comforting and devastating. "Goodbye. Goodbye, Patrick Jane…" She had to say it. She was going to die; she had to say it before she died. "I love you," she whispered.

"Lisbon…"

"I love you," she said again, softly and tearfully. "Goodbye…my love."

"I love you too, Teresa Lisbon, goodbye," Jane replied, and she could hear the sincerity in his voice.

Red John's laughter echoed throughout the room, and in her ears, as he set the phone down on the chair - so it wouldn't get in the blood pool - and lunged at her. She felt his knife cut through her body - not just skin and muscle, but organs, major arteries, vital passages…the agony was unbearable. She screamed, and screamed, agony wiping everything from her mind, barely even noticing as Red John took off her pants, not even pausing in his cutting and stabbing of her as he did so, and began to-

~o~

"Lady! Lady, wake up! Hey! Wake up!"

Lisbon felt someone shaking her. Her reflexes kicked in, and she head-butted the guy, flung him off her, and - realized she was lying in her bed, safe and far away from Red John.

She blinked, gasping, as the last of the nightmare faded from her vision. She looked over the side of her bed and saw a man lying on the floor, groaning and clutching his face where she had hit him. Suddenly, she noticed that he was also lying at the feet of some other people, and her head snapped up to see an entire crowd standing in her room.

Her eyes widened, and she quickly grabbed her gun from her nightstand drawer, turned off the safety, and pointed it at the crowd, the feel of the gun in her hand comforting her. "Who are you people?" she demanded wildly. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"Sorry, lady, but you were screaming bloody murder and we thought someone was hurting you!" a man at the front of the crowd exclaimed defensively.

"What's the big idea, anyway?" asked someone else in the crowd. "Screaming your head off, waking up the whole damn building?"

"She was having a nightmare, give her a break," said the guy on the floor, standing up. He turned to her. "I'm sorry I scared you, but you were screaming loud enough to keep the whole city awake, so I figured you'd want to wake up."

Lisbon blinked, momentarily lost for words. She didn't lower her gun or turn the safety back on. "How did you get in here?" she demanded again, somewhat more steadily.

"I…erm…" The man who had woken her fidgeted uncomfortably. "I kind of…broke your door down. Sorry about that."

"You did what?" she exclaimed.

"We thought you were in trouble!" the man told her, holding up his hands and taking a step back.

"I told him the fact that the door was locked meant it was nothing," said a woman's voice.

"And I told you whoever was attacking her could have locked the door from the inside!" the man shot at the general crowd. He turned back to her. "I'm Sam, by the way," he said. "I live next door."

The people in the group quickly went around introducing themselves and stating where they were from. Most of them were from somewhere on Lisbon's floor, but a few of them were from the floors immediately above and below her, too.

Lisbon closed her eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry I woke you all up," she said, turning the safety on her gun back on and lowering it, though she didn't set it aside (the feel of the gun in her hand really was very comforting).

"It's okay!" Sam quickly assured her, though Lisbon had a feeling not everyone else felt that way.

"You can all go home now," she said sheepishly; "I'm sorry for the trouble."

Most of the crowd filed out of her room, some grumbling. Sam, however, stayed behind.

"What happened?" he asked her curiously. "You've got some pretty bad scars there; were you dreaming about how you got them?"

At his words, Lisbon quickly set her gun down on her nightstand and yanked her sheets over her, covering the few scars that were showing. "I…" She swallowed. "I don't…"

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me about it," Sam said quickly. "It's none of my business; I was just wondering…"

"No, no, it's fine," she told him, somehow put at ease by his awkward manner. "I…" She sighed again. "I was kidnapped and tortured for three weeks by a monster," she said, deciding to give the briefest version she could think of. "I was cut up, psychologically tortured, and I nearly died. That was two months ago. I just got out of the hospital today. I…" She swallowed. "I was dreaming that…the man who saved me…didn't save me." She fought to keep herself from crying. "I was dreaming that he…finished me off."

Sam blinked. "Wow," he commented. "No wonder you were screaming like you were."

Lisbon nodded. "I'm sorry I disturbed you," she said; "really, I am…it's just…being home is…hard, I guess. It's hard to adjust. I start therapy tomorrow, so it shouldn't happen again."

"You shouldn't apologize for what some psycho did to you," Sam said.

Lisbon smiled faintly at the irony of Sam's choice of words. Psycho. If only, she thought. If only that's what he was…not the monster he really is…

"Thank you for waking me up," she said sincerely. Then, suddenly remembering the concept of manners, she held out her (left) hand and said, "I'm Teresa Lisbon."

"Sam Patterson. Nice to meet you. Well, sort of. I guess. I mean, no offense-"

"It's okay," Lisbon said, mercifully cutting off Sam's babble and shaking his hand.

Sam nodded awkwardly. "So, uh…what's with the gun?" he asked, motioning to the gun sitting on her nightstand.

"Oh! I'm a agent in the California Bureau of Investigation," she answered.

"That's…a cop?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Lisbon said, smiling a little in spite of herself. "Yeah, I'm a cop."

Sam his eyebrows. "Wow. Guess that explains your crazy head-butt." He laughed nervously. "I'd hate to find out what you did to the bastard who kidnapped you."

"He got away," Lisbon said. Then she smiled and added, "I bit his arm, but he…dealt with it pretty quickly."

"O-kaaay," Sam said, obviously a bit confused.

Lisbon shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said, "I know I'm not making much sense."

"No, no, it's okay," Sam said quickly.

Lisbon swallowed and nodded, closing her eyes, glad he wasn't pressing her for details.

"So…" Sam said after a minute. "Are you going to be okay, or do you need someone here to wake you up if you start having nightmares again?" The question was completely sincere, and Lisbon knew he had no ulterior motives in asking.

"I…" She hesitated. Then, she glanced at her clock, and was surprised to see it was only 2:00 A.M. She looked back at Sam. "That would…that would be…"

"I'll sleep on the floor," Sam assured her quickly.

She smiled, embarrassed, but at the same time knowing she really did need his help. "I'd be…I'd be very grateful if you would do that, thank you. I mean, if it's not too much trouble."

"Oh, no, it's fine!" Sam reassured her, and he sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall. "Honestly, I need to sit down here for a minute anyway. You hit hard."

"Sorry," Lisbon said quickly. "It was a reflex."

"Cop reflex, I get it," Sam said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "How some nut job managed to get you, I have no idea."

"He's not a nut job," Lisbon said softly; "he's a monster."

"Aren't they the same thing?" Sam asked.

"I used to think so," Lisbon said, lying back down, her voice turning soft as she recalled the broken, powerless way Red John had made her feel. "Then I met him…"

Sam said nothing, and Lisbon was grateful for that. She closed her eyes…

Her nightmare began again, and it felt even more real than before. She was saying goodbye to Jane, when she felt someone shaking her gently.

"Lady - Teresa - wake up. It's Teresa, right? Wake up."

Lisbon's eyes flew open, and she saw Sam kneeling in front of her face over the side of the bed.

She sat up. "Thanks," she said, slightly breathless. She noticed that she was sweating.

"No problem," Sam replied with a quick, nervous smile. Lisbon smiled back warmly, noticing for the first time that Sam was very young - probably no older than 25. Poor kid, having to babysit me, she thought.

He scooted back against the wall. He looked at her for a minute, as though debating whether or not to say something. Finally, he asked her, "Who's Patrick Jane?"

She stiffened. "What?"

"You were talking in your sleep," Sam told her; "that's how I knew you were having a nightmare. You were saying goodbye to someone. You called them Jane, and then you called them Patrick Jane, so…"

"He's on my team," Lisbon said, "so I call him by his last name. We all use last names. It's protocol."

"Oh," Sam said, nodding. "So…who is he?"

"He's…the man who rescued me," Lisbon answered, not sure how much she wanted to tell and wondering if Sam had heard her say "I love you" in her dream. What was that even about, anyway? she wondered. I don't love him…

Do I?

"Any fool with eyes can see you're hopelessly, madly in love with him…" Red John's words echoed in her mind.

Oblivious to Lisbon's thoughts, Sam asked, "Why were you saying goodbye to him? I mean, just him?"

Lisbon sighed and decided to tell Sam some of what she knew she was going to end up having to tell her therapist the next day anyway. "I was kidnapped because of Jane," she said. "Jane and I…we're good friends, even though I'm his boss and he's a loose cannon."

"You're his boss?" Sam repeated.

"Well, yeah," Lisbon replied. "I mean, he's not a cop, he's a consultant…look him up, you'll find out everything you need to know about him without too much trouble. Long story short, a serial killer has a vendetta against him and likes to make him miserable, and since I'm his best friend, I was taken, and Jane was given the opportunity to save me because Red John thinks that there's no failure if there's no chance of success or something like that…"

"Wait a minute," Sam interrupted. "Red John? That psycho killer who draws smiley faces in people's blood?"

"That's the one," Lisbon replied with a humorless smile. Then she added, "But he's not a psycho. He's…" She bit her lip. "He's perfectly sane," she told Sam, her voice soft and timid once more. "He's just…a monster. An evil monster, and proud of it." Seeing that Sam had opened his mouth to ask for details, Lisbon quickly said, "I don't want to talk about him. Living as his captive for three weeks was more than enough time spent in his twisted head."

"Oh, okay," Sam replied, backing down quickly.

He's so polite, Lisbon thought. Nice kid. Wonder what his story is…

And it was only then that she realized exactly what his name was: Sam. Samuel. Like Bosco…

Coincidence? Or…?

She quickly pushed the thought from her mind; she could already sense the direction her mind was starting to go with that thought, and she knew that that way madness lay…and it was already going to be a long night.

~X~

Sam had to wake her up six more times during the night. When he left in the morning, Lisbon suddenly felt unsafe in her solitude. Before, she had always been perfectly happy with the fact that she lived alone. Now, however…

Red John's laughter echoed in the silence. His voice haunted her. His pitch-black form, and the indiscernible figure she had known him as for three weeks, lurked in the shadows and the edges of her vision. He was everywhere…he was in her, in her head. Will I ever be free of him? she wondered.

And then there was the flower…

No, she told herself sternly. Don't think about that. Whatever you do, don't think about that.

Still, Lisbon couldn't help but look around outside her apartment building on the side where her window was situated to see if it was still there. She found its crushed remains in a gutter, and she quickly hurried away from it.

Therapy wasn't helpful, not that she had expected it to be. The last time she'd been in therapy, her therapist had drugged her and tried to frame her for murder, which certainly didn't help her already-shaky composure. Besides, she didn't want to talk to a stranger about what had happened to her; shrink or no, they wouldn't get it, she knew they wouldn't. She wanted to talk to someone who would understand.

She wanted to talk to Jane.

But she wasn't allowed to.

Damn you, Bertram. The thought flitted through her mind unexpectedly, and she was surprised to find just how heartfelt it was. More than anything else in the world, she wanted to talk to Jane, or to at least have some form of contact with him. She didn't know why, but just the thought of talking to him made her feel a bit better. She wasn't even amused by the irony of it. She just wanted to see him, or talk to him, or something. Anything.

Weeks passed. Sam had to stay over with her every night, and her nightmares didn't get much better as time went on. She didn't get much sleep, and rest was almost little more than a fantasy. Without even thinking about it, Lisbon quickly purged her apartment of everything red, or even remotely reddish. The color of death. Red John's idea was stuck in her head, and she couldn't get rid of it.

She couldn't get rid of him.

Despite the fact that she wasn't getting any better, Lisbon managed to convince her therapist to let her go back to work after one month, arguing that she might feel better if she had her job to distract her from the thoughts that haunted her when she was alone…and that she needed to see Jane. This argument was the subject of an entire week's worth of sessions, but her therapist finally conceded, and Lisbon readied herself to go back to her life.

Of course, it didn't occur to her that she would be re-entering enemy territory in doing so until she got there…