Lisbon receives her first letter from Jane, three months after he goes on the run.
Slamming the door of her apartment forcefully behind her, Teresa Lisbon stormed into her small kitchen and yanked open the fridge. She had just pulled a bottle of Pinot Grigio rosé wine out of the fridge when, to her extreme annoyance, her doorbell rang.
For God's sake! She had just officially lost her job and wanted to drown her sorrows in a bottle of wine. Couldn't she at least do that without being interrupted?
Never the less, she set the bottle down on the counter and trudged to the door. A speech (containing a few too many swear words) prepared in her head for whoever dared interrupt her, Lisbon opened the door, leaving the safety chain in place.
Nobody was there. She looked both left and right, and still the hallway was vacant. What the hell? She was just about to shut the door when something caught her eye. Unhooking the chain, Lisbon opened the door fully and stepped out. A small, brown wrapped package sat on her doorstep like a puppy wagging its tail. Bending over to pick it up slowly, she looked down the hall. Nobody. Her curiosity full and truly piqued, she shut the door and placed the parcel on the kitchen counter. Lisbon leaned up on her tiptoes and reached for a glass in the cupboard above the sink. Grabbing the bottle, she untwisted the cap and poured herself some of the stress-reliever. She picked up both the parcel and the glass of wine and took them to her leather sofa. She took a sip of wine whilst ripping the brown paper eagerly, but the glass slipped from her fingertips when she was greeted with the contents of the package.
Inside was a cream envelope. My Dearest Teresa was scrawled across the front of it in elaborate, elegant calligraphy. She would know that scrawl anywhere. But of course he couldn't be writing to her- could he? Who else would address her like that, though? The other item inside the parcel was a white shell. It was smooth and shiny, and had a pattern similar to that of being splattered with droplets of black paint.
Lisbon closed her eyes quickly, willing herself not to burst into tears. Her heart clenched painfully every time she thought of him, even though it had only been a couple of months since he had fled. Perhaps it was the lingering thought that she would never again see those beautiful blue eyes or unruly blonde curls. She had lost the only person that truly knew her- even better than she knew her own self.
Taking a breath, she tore open the envelope. A smooth piece of paper covered in writing slid out, falling onto her lap. She picked it up, allowing a single tear to smudge the paper. She was in floods of tears before reaching the end.
Lisbon,
I'm sorry it took this long for me to write to you. I know you must be angry with me, but I didn't want to ruin your life any more than I already have. The FBI are probably watching your every move, so I had to be careful. Don't be surprised if this letter has found you in a strange circumstance; the carnie folk always like to make life interesting.
I want to tell you that I'm alright- well, as alright as I can be. Being without you is so strange. I still wake up every morning wishing life was back to normal. I miss seeing your face every day, yelling at me and telling me my crazy ideas are wrong and unprofessional. I even miss my dusty old attic.
Life as a fugitive isn't all it's cracked up to be, Lisbon. It's…quiet. And incredibly lonely. Spanish was never my strong point. It's muy difícil, I can tell you. What I wouldn't give to hear your beautiful voice right now, amongst all these Spanish ones. I found the shell that you are now probably holding in your hands on one of my many walks along the beach. It's a cowry, apparently. It was so beautiful that I couldn't leave it behind.
And most of all, I want to apologise. I knew this was inevitable. But when I came to you that day, I never expected leaving to be as it hard as it was. After Angela and Charlotte, I didn't think I could ever be truly happy again. I never expected to find such happiness as I did when I found you. If there is one thing I could change about that day, I would have given you a proper goodbye. A real one.
I hope that you are well and are rebuilding your life. My biggest regret is the way I hurt you- though I'm certain you'll find happiness again, somewhere else. Until the next letter, I should probably get back to being a fugitive on the run.
Missing you,
U no woo.