Chapter 1

Jane's hand trembled as he held the sonogram. Not possible, his mind raced with a multitude of ideas, not all of them good. NOT POSSIBLE.

"Lisbon," He whispered, setting the sonogram on the table. He ran a hand through his hair. He can't be back, HE CAN'T. I killed him.

A shrill ringing broke the uneasy silence. He glanced at the caller ID, and gulped down the creeping of fear before he answered.

"Hello, Patrick." A guttural hiss mocked him, "I hope I wasn't missed too terribly."

Jane felt his skin crawl when he registered the voice. "How are you still alive? I killed you."

"Did you?" He sneered, "Did you really?"

He swallowed a lump in his throat.

"You of all people should know that I have many connections all around. You did quite a number on me, Patrick. I still have the marks of your hands on my throat. You'll pay a price for that, I'm afraid."

"Where's Lisbon?"

"She's such a sweet person, isn't she?" the taunting laugh could be heard in his voice, "She's foolish too. Brave and foolish to think that she could possibly be anywhere near safe with you."

"You leave her alone," He growled against his tears.

"You're in no position to threaten me, Patrick. Not when the fate of your little doll and child rest in my hands." A bloodcurdling laugh resonated through the speakers of the phone. "My, My. Isn't this taking you for a stroll through memory lane? I'm sure all of this must seem eerily familiar for you, my friend. The fate of your loved ones in the palm of my hands. The blood of your girl and your child in my grasp."

"You took everything from me. What more do you want from me?"

"Now we're on the right track. I want you to suffer, Patrick. I want you to pay for ruining my legacy."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about. I was a God. I was admired. I was feared. I was loved. You poisoned it. With your words. With your damning actions. With your meddling. You ruined my name. You ruined everything I built from the ground up. I'm going to make you pay. I'm going to make you suffer by hurting your little girlfriend. She will call out for you. She will scream in pain. She will scream for your help. And you will never come for her. You couldn't protect her. You couldn't defend her. And that will be your punishment." There was a small hesitation, "For now, at least."

"No." He spoke softly, terrified, "Don't. Not her. Please."

A cackling laugh reverberated through the phone, making it difficult for Jane to determine which was trembling worse, the phone or his hand. He heard Lisbon whimper, pleading for them to stop, before screaming out his name in pain. He opened his mouth, to call out to her, but Red John had hung up.

Lisbon. Her name echoed through his skull. Lisbon, I'm so sorry. Tears poured out of his eyes, as he shut them tight. He slowly sat on the ground as his tears fell faster. Lisbon. He felt useless. Incompetent. It's my fault. It's all my fault. He has her. He's hurting her. And it's all my fault. He wiped away his tears angrily as he stood up.

"No." He spoke out loud to no one in particular. "I'm going to get her back. I'm not going to just sit here and let her get hurt because of me."

He moved to the computer, glancing at the framed photo of her and the old CBI team that was set on the desk. He smiled softly, whispering, "I'm going to get you back, Teresa. I'm so sorry I caused this. I promise you, I'm going to fix it. I'm going to get you back."

He logged on, typing determinedly as he entered the old program Van Pelt had showed him once. He wrote down the jumble of rambled numbers and waited as the program beeped with the trace. He only hoped that he wasn't too late. He leaned back against the chair, running a still trembling hand through his mess of curls.

"Come on," He muttered under his breath, "Don't fail me now."

He gave out an airy chuckle as the program finished, flashing the location in big red letters. He jotted it down, not trusting his memory to commit it to memory. Not when his nerves are frayed and shot. He rushed his way out of the house, and stopped. He looked back, before walking into the kitchen and picked up the sonogram once more. She was pregnant. With his child. Their child. That's what she wanted to tell him. That's why she wanted to talk about their relationship. That's why she had doubts about him. About them.

He got a cotton ball and doused it in rubbing alcohol, turning back to the sonogram. With trembling hands, he rubbed the smiley away, blowing softly on the picture before putting away the alcohol and setting the picture in his wallet for safekeeping until he got her back. Until he got them back. Until he rescues his family.

He walked out of the house, locking it with her keys, and rushed to his car. He got in, set the location on the dashboard, and started the car. He drove with a fury he hadn't felt in a long time. He drove with his fists clenched so tight, it seemed as if they were screwed onto the steering wheel. His jaw was set so tightly, his teeth were developing stress fractures. He arrived to the location in 10 minutes when it would've and should've taken him 25. He got out of the car, and walked up to payphone where the call was traced. The receiver was hanging off of the hook.

Jane grimaced softly as he set it back. He looked around, trying to find something that might lead him to her. He was about to leave when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glistening object. He walked towards it, kneeling down before it. It was a video camera. He picked it up, not caring about prints, because what else were they going to prove except that Red John was back? He pressed play and held his breath.

Lisbon's screams were heard, but all that was able to be seen was black. There was a moment of silence, only her ragged breaths were heard. That's when the screen was flooded with light. As it focused, Lisbon's face was clear. She was tied to a chair, her body filled with bleeding cuts and bruises. There was a bloody knife. It moved closer to Lisbon, piercing through the skin on her thigh and going deeper and deeper until it started to carve into muscle and bone. She groaned, whimpering softly. Her tears were falling down her cheeks, splashing onto her lap and mixing in with blood. It was only a matter of time when the pain got so excruciating that a scream escaped out of her blood splattered lips. The frame went dark, but the only thing that was visible, was the smiley face again, but it was painted with fresh blood. Lisbon's blood.