Follow the Red Rabbit
Lisbon could feel her heart pounding as she desperately tried to restrain herself from bursting into that damn cellar. She had promised she would wait, that was true – and yet she couldn't help panicking at the thought of Jane down there in the company of a madman wielding a rifle.
She held her breath as she heard soft footsteps approaching. Her eyes widened when she finally got a glimpse of the man's face.
He might as well be Red John himself after all.
Then a gunshot echoed in the silence, startling both the hunter and her unsuspecting prey. Lisbon found herself completely unable to move out of shock; the man standing a few feet away from her clenched his fists and hurried downstairs to the basement.
When she finally pulled herself together and rushed towards the hatch in the floor she was presented with a sight that would haunt her to her dying day.
Sheriff Hardy was lying in a pool of his own blood with his throat cut open – while the other man had sunk to his knees and was pressing hard on the gunshot wound in Jane's chest, in a desperate attempt to staunch the flow of blood.
She had no idea how she managed to keep both her hands and her voice steady as she descended the creaky stairs holding Red John at gunpoint and told him he was under arrest.
The serial killer didn't put up a fight as Lisbon roughly handcuffed him. He simply remarked in a wistful tone that he shouldn't have trusted an idiot like Hardy with someone as precious as his longtime foe.
xxx
"You got what you wanted. Are you happy now?"
She couldn't decide whether she was more angry at Jane or at herself, and that only made her feel worse. Each of the team members had took turns in supporting her as she alternated between crying her heart out at her consultant's bedside and throwing up in the hospital restroom.
The doctors had clearly stated that his chances of survival were practically non-existent; and even if he did make it through, there was a distinct possibility that he would remain comatose for the rest of his life.
All Lisbon could do was cling to that faint glimpse of hope and wait.
Jane's features had never looked as peaceful as they did now that he was teetering on the threshold of death.