The Departure of Saint Teresa
DISCLAIMER: I hold no rights to any show used or referenced. No money is made of this.
*A/N* I honestly don't know where this came from. I honestly really don't. But I do know where the description of the young man comes from ^^
It's not like in the movies – of course it isn't. Please don't pretend you didn't know that.
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It was dark when she opened her eyes, not quite so dark though that she could not make out the outlines of some ragged furniture. The room seemed almost empty and the floorboards were worn and faded. The window appeared to be boarded-up but a faint ray of moonlight shone through a rift between two boards.
Her limbs felt heavy and her head ached dreadfully. The place seemed vaguely familiar and she could not help wondering when she had been there before. Only very vaguely she remembered how very afraid she had felt –
Suddenly she noticed someone crouched beside her. The man wore a dark woolen coat and black leather shoes, but she could not make out his face.
"Can you tell me your name?" he asked softly, in a warm, low voice that she had never heard before.
She thought about that for a moment. "Teresa," she said then, nodding to herself. Yes. That was the answer.
"Are you scared, Teresa?"
"I think I was," she replied slowly, frowning a little, and looked around. "I was really, really scared."
He turned his head a little and she got a glimpse of his face. It was a curious face, the features did not quite seem to be in proportion, the chin was a little large, the nose, too. But it was still a handsome face in a way, mostly because of the eyes – sparkling, lively green eyes that seemed light even in the dark.
"You don't need to be afraid anymore, Teresa," he said quietly and smiled at her.
Teresa returned his smile – she was not afraid. Why would she be, it was warm and quiet and there was nobody else with her but the young man with the deep green eyes and the British accent.
"Where are we?" she asked, throwing another look at the dark, run-down room they were in. "I've been here before."
"We wouldn't be here if you hadn't," he answered slowly. "But if you'd prefer, you could just forget this place ever existed."
"No," she mumbled, shaking her head, and went back to scrutinising her surroundings. Then suddenly, a memory tugged timidly at her mind – an old, abandoned house in the dark, a dreadful surprise in an old wardrobe, an unbearable stench in her nose and so much blood…
"But that was years ago," she whispered, staring helplessly at the young man opposite her. "I… I was in Texas. How'd I get here?"
His smile turned a little sad. "Ah yes, that happens. It's just a glimpse you get of the world that was lost… potential energy, if you want."
"What do you mean?"
"All that never happened, Teresa," he said gently. "This place… this is where it ended."
She stared at him and shook her head, trying to get her head around what he had just said. There was a puddle of dark liquid on the floor that drew her attention. "Do you mean that… that I died?"
"I'm sorry," he answered very softly. "So sorry."
"But… but I survived. They got me out-"
"They didn't, Teresa. You never left this place."
"But – I was there, I was in Texas with the FBI and-"
His eyes were full of sorrow and old age. "Look into your pocket."
"What?"
"Just do it."
She slid a hand in her back pocket and her fingers touched a familiar shape. With a frown, she pulled it out and, despite the dim light, the letters on the badge spelt out CBI very clearly.
"No," she breathed. "No, I can't be dead, I can't…"
"Calm down, Teresa, it's alright-"
"No, it's not!" she yelled, her fingers clutched around the badge. "It's not. What about Red John, I have to get him, my team needs me and Jane-"
"He was here," he cut her off softly. "It was him who found you."
"No. He needs me. He's got no one else, he needs me, I can't die, there must be something-"
He shook his head and replied in a patient voice: "Please don't think I didn't try. It was hard work, shoving other people in his way so you could stay with Patrick, but I'm afraid even I have my limits. Besides, he had to lose you. He needs that fury to find him, to end him, Teresa."
"Are you telling me Jane's happiness is a necessary sacrifice?" she spat, glaring at the man.
"It's harsh, I know," he replied smoothly. "I don't like it, either, but please, don't pretend you don't know it's true."
She was still shaking her head, staring at the man opposite. He ran a hand through his short brown hair and added:
"Don't worry, he'll stop him, soon. It'll all be over."
"How would you know?"
His smile grew almost cynical. "Well, I'm due to pick them up."
"Pick them up?" she repeated in a hoarse voice and scrutinised the man, taking in the black woollen coat, the worn, stained leather shoes, dark jeans; the kind bright green eyes.
He looked back at her, a calm and understanding expression on his young face.
"Who are you?"
Another of his sad smiles played around his lips. "I've had many names, Teresa, but they're of no importance."
"Why do you want Red John dead?" she asked quietly.
"I do my job, Teresa. I'm not a cruel man." His voice dropped half an octave, and suddenly it was cold and insanely frightening. "And I don't like having to soothe a six-year old girl."
She still stared at him and back at the puddle on the floor, and suddenly, she remembered – how she'd woken up, Partridge's corpse right next to her. How she'd rubbed the blood off her face. And how he had come through the door with an easy smile on his lips and a thin knife in his hands.
How her heart had hammered against her chest like the wings of a trapped bird against the walls of its cage.
"Come with me, Teresa."
"Where?"
He smiled and held out his hand. "Onwards. Trust me."
For a moment, she hesitated. Thought of Cho, Rigsby, Grace. And of Jane.
But then, she realised two things: firstly, there were others on her mind, Sam for instance, her parents, even Angela and Charlotte, and who was to say she wouldn't meet them? And secondly, where else was she supposed to go?
So, reluctantly, slowly, she returned his smile and took his hand.
.
.
Death is the end.
He comes in the shape of a skeleton with a ragged hooded cloak and a scythe.
He never speaks a word and he knows no pity.
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Now how do you know that?
Have you ever met him?
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