Deep Crimson

Chapter 1: The Old and The New

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

He didn't tell me the truth, I could see it in his eyes. Red John had said something else, something that worried even the great Patrick Jane. I didn't understand it, and I don't think he did either. He lied to my face, but then again, when did he ever stop lying? I closed my eyes, trying to lock the hurt down. I was Theresa Lisbon, locking my emotions down was just what I did. And the only person who could possibly see through my charade was wrapped up in himself. Jane, Patrick Jane was the only person who had any chance of seeing through the barriers, and into dangerous waters. But, he wouldn't look, wouldn't see what was right in front of him, and I didn't know if that was a good thing or not. Either way, it wouldn't change anything. When it came to Red John, Patrick Jane forgot about everything, all he cared about was Red John and revenge. He would do anything to catch him, and wouldn't care what it cost him or anyone else. He said he was fine, but because of all that I've been through, I knew he wasn't telling the truth. I knew something that Red John had said effected Jane, in a way nothing could. And I knew why, I knew why he wouldn't say anything. He didn't want anyone else to have a head start, he wanted Red John to himself. I knew what would happen eventually, he would murder Red John and I would be forced to arrest him. He was going to destroy his life, and I don't think he'd ever regret it, not truly.

A week later.

"Where's your mother?" my dad asked me, he was drunk again. It happen so often, it was almost normal behavior, almost expected. I looked at him, this had been going on for years with no change, with no remorse. I couldn't count the number of hospital runs I had been to in the last four and a half years, the number was just too high.

"Daddy," I replied, worried, he never mentioned mother, never, "She's dead. It has been four and a half years." He looked at me, his gaze murderous. I had just enough time to feel panic rise in my chest before I felt something make contact with my head. I dropped to the ground as a small cry escaped from my lips. I couldn't see, I couldn't move, I was alone. Panic rippled through my thoughts. I was still conscious, but I couldn't do anything, there was just too much pain. All I could see was darkness, the hatred in his eyes.

"Resa?" I heard the cautious question asked by my sister Gwen. I opened my mouth to reply, to warn her, I had to try. But another blow came, this time to my chest. I could breathe, move, see, as the pain returned. For a split second darkness covered everything, I blacked out. Seconds later I heard a scream come from my sister. My heart lurched within my chest as I forced myself up, everything hurt. Every move I made sent excruciating pain throughout my whole body. But I had to move, I had to get to Gwen, I had to save her. I struggled forward, my eyes glanced around the whole room, looking, searching for her. There. The scream came again, twice, three times. My father stood up, turning away from her, turned towards me.

"Bitches. That's what you both are. You deserve what you got," he said coldly as he walked away from me and out the door. The door slammed behind him, and then the room was over taken by silence. I ran towards my sister, hoping, praying that I was wrong. But, I could feel the dread in my heart, and I knew she was dead, killed by her own father. I reached her body, pressing my fingers on her pulse point, nothing. She was dead.

"G-Gwen? Theresa?" I heard one of my brothers behind me. I turned around fresh tears rolled down my face. Not because of the pain I was in, not because of what my father had done, but because, she was gone forever. My little sister.

"Tommy...," I whimpered. I could see the acusation in his eyes.

"It's your fault!" he exploded, "You could have saved her, but you let her die. It's your fault she's gone," he paused and looked at me, "And it's your fault mom's gone too." I felt my heart break into millions of pieces, not even clean in two.

"Resa," it was my other two brothers, Damon and Jake, "How..." they trailed off. They didn't even have to say it, I knew what was coming: How could you do that?

"No," I cried, "That's not true." But they were already gone. I went back to Gwen's body, brushing the hair out of her face.

"They can't be right... Oh Gwen... I'm so sorry. I tried, I really did," I sobbed, wishing that my father had taken my life instead of hers. But it was too late. I stood up, deciding that I'd call the police in the morning, and made my way to my room. As soon as I shut the door I crumpled against it. I wasn't sad, no, I was distraught. I couldn't feel anything, I was completely alone. My own family hated me. I walked over to my dresser, seeing the mirror that he had smashed the last time he was in one of his rages. The glass was still everywhere. I picked up a piece, desperate to feel something, anything, and I did the only thing I could think of. I brought the glass down against my upper thigh and cut. Just a thin, shallow cut across my leg. I writhed in pain and agony, but, I felt everything. I felt alive. For the first time I felt like I was strong enough to make it through. I clamped an old t-shirt on to my leg, which sent more pain through my body. The gray shirt quickly turned scarlet as the blood seeped into it.

He wasn't arrested, no, because he was drunk, he apparently wasn't fully responsible for his actions. All he had to do was get help. Like that was going to happen. I knew he wouldn't get help, that this would just keep getting worse, but what could I do? Nothing. I couldn't, my brothers, they had already lost so much, losing anything else... I couldn't do that to them. The worst part, they thought I was responsible. They hated me.

Two weeks later, two weeks of me suffering through beatings from my father, two week and I could still feel the glass cut across my skin. I knew cutting was dangerous, and I didn't do it often. Only when I couldn't feel anything. And in those two weeks, I felt, I felt more than I ever had before. I opened the door for my bothers, only to clap my hand over my mouth and drop everything I was carrying. He was dead. My father was dead. Before I had thought that if he died then we might be saved, that I might be relieved. I wasn't, I felt emptiness claw through my stomach. We stood at his body, but none of us were looking at him. My brothers we staring at me, hatred gleamed in their eyes. They still thought my sisters' death was my fault, and I didn't know whether to agree with them or not. They wished I had gone in her place. And so did I.

I stared at the case file in my hand, the memories that the case had brought back were painful. It felt like old wounds had just been ripped open. The case: a man, the father, who was a known alcoholic, had killed all of his kids during an alcohol withdrawal. It wasn't necessarily cold blooded murder, but it was still murder. We solved it quickly, considering the man had confessed three hours into the case.

"So," Rigsby wondered, "Why do you think he confessed?"

"My guess," Van Pelt answered, "Guilt." I rolled my eyes, knowing that wasn't the case.

"No, it wasn't guilt," I snapped, "It was the affects of the alcohol withdrawal. Definitely not guilt." I stood up quickly as memories came flooding back again and walked into my office, closing the door behind me. I breathed deeply, this shouldn't be affecting you like this, Theresa. Don't let it. But, it did get to me. All I could hear was my sister's screams right before she died or my brothers saying my name in disgust. My sister. No one, not a single person knew I had, had a sister. Not even Patrick Jane. Not that he would care any way. When all was said and done, I knew that he would choose Red John, that what he kept saying to me meant nothing at all. He would leave me, just like everyone else in my life. And new wounds would lie next to the old, never healing. Patrick Jane was sure to make a few new wounds, and I wasn't sure if I could handle breaking again.

These wounds won't seem to heal

This pain is just too real

There's just too much that time can not erase

A/N: Hey, I'm not sure what to think about this story, so I would really appreciate some reviews to let me know. Reviews and constructive criticism is always great! And suggestions!

~ ~ Rebecca