Characters: Jane/Red John with a little Jane/Lisbon thrown in for good measure.
Summary: Red John has grown tired of his cat and mouse game and has Jane right where he wants him…or does he?
Disclaimer: I don't own TM. Think I'll leave the real work to the experts.
A/N: I wanted to attempt a story with little/no dialogue. This is what I came up with. I'll explain more after.
Spoilers: Small finale (4x24) spoiler.
The Owl Cries at Midnight
Jane sat in the dark room, near the open window. He could feel the cool night breeze on his face. It would have been welcoming if his hands and ankles weren't tied down with strong rope. He moved against the tight twine to no avail. His wrists were raw from constant effort and his back hurt straining awkwardly on the cold metal chair.
He couldn't blame anyone else for his current predicament other than Red John of course but no, this was entirely his doing. Another one of Patrick Jane's oh so brilliant plans had gone horribly wrong. He should have learned by now that the ideas which seem so brilliant to begin with, are never more than a fool's errand in retrospect. If only this latest spark of genius had merely panned out as simply a fool's errand.
When the property next to Rosalind Harker's residence went up for sale, Jane pounced on the opportunity. What better occasion to surveillance a known Red John haunt. It wasn't as if Jane was getting anywhere pacing the CBI attic at all hours of the night. He was able to convince the owner to let him rent the space on a month-by-month basis by offering to pay double their asking price. A generous deposit sealed the deal and Jane started his stakeout only two days later, the earliest the papers could be signed.
Of course, like all of Jane's previous ingenious schemes, he decided to keep the location to himself. He spent his nights in the small vacant home, leaving the office only after the rest of the team. Even Lisbon, who normally stayed late didn't take notice until two whole weeks had passed. Jane never did have a normal nightly routine but eventually, Lisbon had noticed that her office, and more particularly, sofa, remained unusually vacant in the evenings. When she asked him about it, he merely shrugged it off saying he needed to leave the office to think which was close the truth since he was constantly thinking.
Typical of the consultant's thinking, he thought this plan foolproof. He even thought to leave his not so inconspicuous vehicle at the office and use public transportation for his nightly vigils. In the end, however, the plan proved as successful as using a melon and wig to fake Lisbon's head. What made the outcome even worse was the fact that it was entirely avoidable. The reason Jane's plan failed and probably the reason why Red John was finally sick of their game was because the consultant was no longer a worthy opponent in the serial killer's eyes. Patrick Jane had fallen asleep on the job.
Yes, the man was an insomniac and yes, he typically didn't get more than a few hours of sleep on a typical night but after a month of no sleep other than the naps he could secure during the day, Jane's mind finally took a much needed break. He had woken up chained to a wall in a musty root cellar.
It took Jane ten minutes in Red John's captivity to realize this was it. `His nemeses was finally pulling the plug and there was nothing he could do about it. He was left alone for two days in that musty, cold room to stare at the opposite wall which was collaged with hundreds of pictures. Many were of him and the team, on cases, at the office and even at their homes. Directly in front of him, however, the photos were noticeably larger and, older. Photos of him posing as a physic, his family. Jane had willed himself not to look at those but after a day or so, he could resist no longer. His wife, pulling weeds in the garden. Charlotte, on the swings in the playground at school. Jane realized that though the images were terribly difficult to look at, they meant something. Red John was targeting his family before he had opened his mouth on television that horrible evening. The killer was revealing all his secrets. It was this fact that led Jane to realize that this was the end.
Now though, the consultant longed for those photos, for the glimpses of happier memories. It had been two weeks of physical and psychological torture leading down to this night. First came the pictures, then came the audio and video of events Jane both never wanted to see and needed to at the same time. Lastly, and most recently, came the knife. Red John had focused on Jane's exposed back with small, painful, yet relatively shallow incisions. It wasn't until the killer was through with his 'canvas' that he showed the trembling Jane. Rightly expecting a gruesome smile carved into his back, he was horrified to find the first stanza of the William Blake poem that both he and Red John had become obsessed with over the last year or so.
Later, Jane was gagged and moved to his current location and most assuredly, where Red John planned on finishing his deed in Teresa Lisbon's bedroom. It was fitting, really. All these years Jane thought Red John was trying to turn him into a killer too, never really grasping at the fact that he had succeeded the moment Jane's family was murdered. Now, Jane assumed the killer hoped to begin the game again, with new prey. The thought made the consultant sick to his stomach though he had eaten little in the past couple of weeks.
Though he visited Lisbon's residence on a few occasions, Jane never had a reason to wander this far into her private abode. The room screamed Lisbon, simple yet tactful; A dark oak dresser, night stand and queen bed. Black and white photos of historic Chicago adorned the walls. Jane wondered if tonight perhaps, those walls would have their fist splash of color.
Red John had left Jane alone bound and gagged moments ago, probably to gather the supplies he needed. He had caught a glimpse of the two industrial spotlights in the back of the truck on the ride over. Jane figured he had a couple of minutes at most to contemplate his fate before the killer returned, the most prominent thought being that he had indeed failed. He thought about his wife and his little girl, wondered what they would think about what he had become. He thought about the blade that most assuredly was to come. Being ever a coward, he hoped it would be quick though he knew he deserved otherwise. He thought about Lisbon, about how at this very moment, so late in the evening she must be at the office agonizing over where her missing consultant had disappeared to and about what she would find when she, if ever, decided to give up on the search if only for a few precious hours of rest she would never get when she returned home.
Jane willed his wrists to move, if only to warn his friend that she was Red John's new target, new toy. As if by a miracle or merely an exceeded effort caused by desperation, there was a slight give in the ropes. He pulled with all his might, clenching his eyes shut against the searing pain that shot up his arms. A door opened and closed on the other side of the house. Red John was back but it didn't matter because Jane was suddenly free. Well, his arms were anyway. With quick, conman precision, the ropes at his feet were undone as he sprinted toward the open window as fast as his aching body would allow.
The bedroom door opened as Jane dove out the window. He stifled a groan as he rolled on Lisbon's lawn. Then, as quickly as Jane could get his feet under him, he was up and sprinting down the street away from Red John, away from his most certain demise. Jane removed the gag as he ran. Running with the cloth still logged in his mouth would have made sprinting, and more importantly breathing, rather difficult. He thought better of using his normal bus stop and instead, jogged the three blocks to the next one. He hid in the shadows, constantly looking, and watching, expecting at any moment to see the old brown pickup come rolling down the street after him.
All was silent except for the distant hoot of a barn owl. He recalled Lisbon mentioning that there was a pair of owls nesting somewhere near her place. Their echoing calls of love often kept the brunette awake at night to the point where she had to shut her window on otherwise pleasant evenings.
The bus rolled up to the stop forty-five minutes later. Jane glimpsed up at the bus, wary of it hidden occupants before slowly retreating from the shadows. The doors swung open and Jane climbed in. The driver stared at Jane an extra beat, momentarily taken aback by his haggard appearance before focusing his attention on closing the door and pulling out from the stop.
The bus was empty say for a bulky black man fast asleep at the rear of the bus. Jane chose a seat near the middle. His leg shook nervously like a jackhammer the entire way into town. Again, thinking ahead, Jane chose a stop other than the one closest to the office but not so far away that he couldn't walk there.
Once off the bus, he shivered in the chill of the night as the wind wiped at his now thin shirt. He was thankful Red John had allowed him to put it back on at the conclusion of his carving but it didn't help much against the cold. Five blocks and Jane would be back at the CBI where he could tell Lisbon that he had failed yet again but at least he was alive. That thought spurred him forward.
The building was dark when Jane finally approached, wary of his surroundings. He was sure red John was looking for him and the killer could have made it to the office much faster than public transportation ever could. He kept to the shadows until, at last, he reached the door and then the elevator. Jane slumped against the wall as the soft music flooded his ears. He sighed, watching the numbers count upwards slowly.
The elevator dinged and Jane pushed off the wall and into the dark corridor. The familiarity of the bullpen brought moisture to the consultant's eyes but he fought the emotion. He resisted the urge to collapse into the warn leather of his couch but he had a more important destination in mind.
Like a lighthouse on a stormy night, the small lamp in Lisbon's office drew Jane closer. Jane paused at the doorway and took in the scene. He wasn't at all surprised to find Lisbon asleep, no doubt due to exhaustion on her couch. He certainly understood the limits of the human mind when it came to sleep. Laying across her lap, were file folders. He had come to warn her about Red John's plans to make her his next guinea pig and here she was, already acting more like the vengeance-driven consultant than he would have liked.
Jane wanted nothing more than to take Lisbon into his arms and reassure her that everything would be okay, that he was here but he didn't have the heart to wake her. Not with the dark circles under her eyes, and a rumpled jacket. He couldn't resist stepping closer, however and he took a few seconds or minutes to simply watch her sleep. Lisbon would call him a creep if she were to wake up and watch him snooping.
Finally, he sat on the very edge of her sofa, every cell in his body craved human contact, craved her. Unable to resist any longer, Jane leaned toward the slumbering woman and reached out his hand, intending to secure a fallen piece of hair back behind her ear. His fingers were about to make that hungered contact when he felt it, the breath behind his right ear. Jane's spine tightened reflexively.
"Tiger, tiger."
Jane's eyes widened in panic when he saw the glint of metal in the darkness. He tried to bring his hands up to protect his face but he found them bound at his back.
Outside, in the large oak tree in the front lawn, the barn owl's cries were drowned out by a much louder, feral cry that tore through the open window and into the night air. The bird paused his love song, eyes blinking periodically in the darkness until the louder screams ceased and the crickets resumed their distant chirping. It was only then, that the owl resumed its call and its mate echoed, sometime around midnight.
fin
A/N: First, I want to say I'm sorry. Well, I'm not really but I didn't warn you about that one but it would have ruined the ending. So did you ever read "The Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge" when you were in school? It's pretty much the original 'sixth sense'. That's where the idea for this came from. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it even though it was depressing. I did say it was Angst now didn't I? I would love to know what you think even if you hated how I ended it.