Fire and ice
Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and make no money from fanfiction.
Inspired by the September Paint-it-red challenge, 'fire and ice'. Potential spoilers based on season 6 promo material.
One shot for the moment but may develop it further if inspiration strikes.
Her hair still blazed like burnished copper. It shone against the muddy stubble of the field in which she lay, abandoned near the forest's edge. Gold and orange leaves drifted down around Grace like the trees themselves were weeping.
Lisbon raced down the rutted track that led to van Pelt's body, Jane not far behind her. Her heart thudded in her ears as she pushed herself to her limits.
Reaching her agent, Lisbon squatted down, automatically checking for a pulse. Grace's skin was icy. Had he killed her before dumping her here or had the exposure done her in? How long had she been lying out in the open?
Thank goodness for GPS trackers. They'd never have found her otherwise. Though all Teresa could do now was ensure Grace could have a decent burial, pray for her soul, and inform her loved ones. Her mind flicked to Rigsby. At least it wasn't him and Cho who had found van Pelt. Her death would destroy him. Lisbon bit back her own tears – grief battering at her iron professionalism -as she wondered how was she gonna confirm to him that his new wife had been murdered?
Rage seized Teresa in an unshakeable grasp, burning like a forest fire. No time to think. No time to feel. The bastard was gonna get what was coming to him, if it was the last thing she did. This had been yet another of Red John's heartless tricks, but this time a member of her team had paid with her life.
Lisbon had feared this from the moment she stepped into the bullpen that morning, seeing the trademark smiley face on the glass window above van Pelt's desk.
But not enough blood for him to have cut her up there. So where did he take her? What had he done?
Carefully rolling Grace over, Lisbon surveyed her prone form, checking for obvious signs of injury.
Nothing. Except for the ties binding her hands and feet.
So why hadn't van Pelt been cut up Red John style. It didn't make sense.
Lisbon stood for a moment, turning to Jane as he caught up with her, his breath coming in great wheezes as the air fought through the congestion of his heavy cold. He came to a halt, bending over with his palms on his knees until his breathing eased a little.
"She's not… He didn't…"
Lisbon placed a hand on his arm. The only comfort she could offer.
"No pulse. She stone cold. She's gone…"
"No. No!" Jane knelt by Grace's body, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, touching her cheek as he did so. He paused for a second, then put his own fingers on her pulse.
"Take it again Lisbon. Check it again. She's hypothermic, right?"
Moving to the opposite side of van Pelt's body, Lisbon placed two fingers against her fallen colleague's neck. Nothing. But she waited.
Then something. A flutter. Did she imagine it?
Focussing, Lisbon waited. And again. Very slow but definitely there. Van Pelt was alive!