REaDy or Not, Here I Come

by Wandergirl108

Red John takes a stab at Jane that hits too close to home. Rated T for graphic/bloody content, violence, mild language, mild and/or brief suggestive themes, and a tiny hint of implied sexual sadism. Canon goes through S4E9, NO FURTHER, and also includes my adjacent fanfics. And this is just the first installment, of a tale portraying Red John as the embodiment of true evil…

1. Part 1: The Invitation in Blood

Lisbon was walking out of her office and down the hall to the elevators at the end of the day when she saw Jane walk into a room with a desk, carrying a case file box. She knew what was in the box, but she went over to talk to him.

"Hey," she said.

"Oh, hey, Lisbon," Jane replied in his usual manner.

She gestured to the box. "Red John?"

"Uh-huh."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "You're going to be staying up all night reviewing that thing, aren't you?" she asked resignedly.

"Yup," Jane said, turning back to the desk and setting the box down. "I figured maybe a change of location would help. I mean, I don't like my desk because it's out in the open, and my perch upstairs doesn't have much light."

Lisbon sighed. "There's nothing I can say to convince you to sleep tonight, is there?" she asked, still resigned.

"Nope," Jane answered.

She sighed again. "Well, good night," she said.

"Night, Lisbon," he replied.

She walked away, left HQ, got in her car, and drove home.

~o~

Half an hour later, Jane set aside one folder of papers that was in the case file box. He had looked through it thoroughly, as he would all of them. He still wasn't sure, after all these years, what he was looking for, but he hoped that one day he'd see something and be able to catch the monster who had ruined his life.

He reached into the box without looking, intending to grab whatever file found his hand next, when he felt something strange. He'd randomly stuck his hand into that box many, many times, but he had never felt that…It felt like…

Jane grabbed the strange thing and pulled it out. It was an envelope.

He started getting that crazed, furious feeling he got whenever Red John reared his ugly head. He looked at the envelope. On the front, it said,

For Patrick

After the word "Patrick", there was a smiley face with arched eyes, the right one closed, the left one open, and the top of the circle that made the head broken. Both the words and the drawing were in red ink.

Jane stared at it for a minute, knowing. He felt rage build in his chest, as it always did when Red John did something, and after a minute, he turned the envelope over and furiously pulled out the paper inside - the envelope wasn't sealed. Of course it's not, he thought; that would take saliva, and saliva would mean DNA…

Jane unfolded the paper with shaking hands and read it.

Dear Old Friend,
How are you? I would say that I hope you are doing well, but that would be a lie, and besides, the fact that you even found this letter means that you're still desperately digging through my case file every night, hoping against hope that you'll find something that will lead you to me. Sad…Very sad…
As for myself, I have been very bored lately. After all, there are only so many women worth killing, and only so many ignorant fools worth recruiting to my cause. So, in my spare time, I've been watching you, Old Friend; and as I have watched you, it has occurred to me that there is a question you need to answer. I spent days deliberating the best way to ask you, as I rather suspect you wouldn't answer if I simply asked you outright. Then I thought, Why not make a game out of it? A game, such that, simply by playing, you will answer my question. It will be fun for everyone.
What do you say, Old Friend? Will you play a game with me? I will be contacting you shortly to give you the details. For now, I leave you with my question, so that you may ponder it before we begin.

Forever yours,

Red John

"Forever yours"…Damn right you are, Jane thought.

He re-read the letter.

So what's the question? he wondered.

He turned the letter over. Blank. He held it up to the light - and saw that there were more words underneath.

Underneath?

The letter felt like it was just one piece of paper, but apparently, it wasn't. It took him a little while to separate the two pieces of paper, but at last, Jane saw the second page. There were only two lines of text on it, right in the center:

My question, Old Friend, is this:

How much does Teresa Lisbon mean to you?

Jane's brain took a moment to absorb the words. He touched the name on the page, almost as though he didn't believe it was real.

But it was.

"Lisbon…" he breathed.

His eyes widened.

"Oh, no," he said softly.

~o~

Just before Jane's hand found Red John's letter to him, Lisbon was parking her car in the parking garage near her apartment building. She turned the car off, got out, shut the door behind her, locked her car, and started walking toward the elevators, just like she did every night.

Halfway there, however, something stopped her.

"Te-reee-saaaaa," said a mocking, singsong voice. It was soft and dark, and it echoed so that it seemed like it was coming from everywhere.

She paused and furrowed her brow. What the heck? she thought, confused. She looked around in front of her, and to her left and right. Seeing nothing, she turned all the way around, searching for…something - anything - but there was no one there.

Just as she decided that she'd imagined the voice, someone came up behind her and put their hands on her upper arms - they didn't grab her, but the pressure was just enough to make her jump. As she jumped, the person - the man - bent down (he was tall) and whispered in her ear, "You look lovely this evening, My Dear."

She took a breath to calm down - her heart was pounding - and smiled despite herself; clearly, whoever this man was, he wasn't a threat.

"Let me go," she said.

"Hmm…" the man said mockingly. "Now why would I do something like that?"

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Because if you don't I'll make you."

"Is that so?" he asked her, his tone still irritatingly condescending.

Lisbon rolled her eyes again and, without responding, moved to pull herself out of his gentle grip.

In a flash, faster than she could blink, the man wrapped his right arm around her and, with his left hand, brought a knife to her throat.

"Now, now, we'll have none of that," the man said nastily.

A little skitter of fear ran through Lisbon's body. The knife the man was holding to her throat was slightly curved, so that it seemed to curl around her neck, and the man had moved alarmingly fast.

She forced herself to breathe.

"Let go of me," she said, managing to sound calm.

"No, I don't think I will, thanks," the man said mockingly.

But Lisbon refused to be intimidated. "Let me go, drop the knife, turn around, and walk away, and I won't come after you," she said calmly.

"My Dear, I'm holding a knife to your throat," the man said in a tone that suggested amusement; "you're in no position to negotiate."

"You have no idea what you're doing," Lisbon said.

"Hmm…" the man mused. "Are you saying that because you think I've never harmed another human being in my life, or because you think I don't know who you are…" His voice dropped to a menacing hiss. "Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon?"

Lisbon's brow furrowed again. "If you know I'm a cop, why are you attacking me?" she asked, confused.

"Well, why not?" the man answered nonchalantly. "Agents are people too, are they not? Just as capable of pain, and fear…" He smiled. "Just as…mortal."

"You get in a lot more trouble for attacking a cop," Lisbon said.

The man tilted his head. "Correct me if I'm wrong, My Dear, but I'll only get in trouble if I'm caught, yes?" he asked, his tone still suggesting that he was enjoying himself.

"You will get caught," Lisbon said under her breath, slowly reaching for her gun.

The man smiled. "Really?" he whispered tauntingly.

Lisbon's hand was just about to reach her holster when it happened again: The man moved at frightening speed, sticking the handle of his knife in his mouth so it was still curved around her throat, putting his left arm around her to hold her in place, and, with his right hand, grabbing her gun and tossing it onto the pavement several yards in front of them. He did all this, then reassumed his former position, in less than a second.

Lisbon's breath started coming harder now, as fear started tightening her chest. Who the heck was this guy?

The man said nothing for a minute.

"What do you want?" Lisbon asked, fearful.

"Entertainment," the man answered nonchalantly. "I've been very bored lately..." He leaned down to whisper maliciously in her ear, "and you can help me with that."

Lisbon couldn't speak.

The man's head started to move to take the handle of his knife in his mouth again, then stopped and said dangerously, "Oh, before we continue, I suppose it's only fair to warn you: This knife is sharp enough, and I am strong enough, that I can slash your throat open just by pulling back with my teeth."

Lisbon was silent, trying not to move a muscle, as the man very slowly put the handle of his knife back in his mouth, wrapped his now free left arm around her, and reached down to her belt with his right hand. For a moment, she thought he was going to undo her pants - what else could he have meant by "entertainment"? - but to her surprise, he instead took her handcuffs out of their holder on her belt. Then, he very slowly clasped one ring of the handcuffs around her right wrist, then took her left hand, brought it around her back, and clasped the other ring around her left wrist, so that her hands were cuffed behind her. The man then reassumed his previous position and put his mouth next to her ear.

"Now then, My Dear," he whispered, "you're going to come with me. The question is, will you come quietly, or will you put up a fight?"

Lisbon said nothing.

"Honestly, I don't care either way," the man said with a shrug after a minute. "We don't have all night, so if you come quietly, it'll be more convenient…but if you put up a fight, it'll be more fun." His voice had once again dropped to a menacing hiss. "Your choice, My Dear."

"My choice, huh?" Lisbon asked, fighting the fear that was choking her.

"Quite possibly the last choice you'll ever make," the man hissed nastily.

"Well then," she said, smiling nervously, "I guess it's not much of a choice, is it?"

No sooner had she finished speaking than she clasped her hands together tightly and hammered his groin. When he convulsed, she rammed the back of her head into the front of his. As his head and chest went backward, she ducked out from under the knife and ran to where her gun had been thrown, falling to the ground. She quickly twisted her arms under herself so that her hands were in front of her. Then, she grabbed her gun, stood up, and turned around.

The man was lying on his back, groaning. She walked over to him cautiously, gun at the ready. He was completely dressed in black: black boots, black pants, black gloves, a long black coat with black buttons, a black hood, and a black cloth mask covering his face. She could also see that he was about six feet tall. Overall, he was a very menacing figure, even lying on the ground.

She approached him slowly, her gun up and ready to fire. He seemed to be-

Suddenly, as soon as she got too close to his legs, he wrapped them around hers and flipped her onto her back, hard. She heard something crack as her head hit the pavement, and prayed it wasn't her skull. In one swift motion, the man flipped himself over so that he was straddling her, knife in hand.

"Nice try, My Dear," he hissed. "Really. I didn't expect you to hammer me in the groin. Very impressive."

She panted, fighting to keep herself from passing out.

"I would drag this out longer, but as I said…" He reached into his coat and, to her horror, pulled out a hypodermic needle, full of a fluid she knew he was going to inject her with. "…we don't have all night," he finished softly. He tapped the needle with his knife and squirted out some of the liquid, whatever it was. He then switched his knife over to his left hand and turned the needle over in his right, ready to stab.

He tilted his head. "So…good night," he said, and quickly jabbed the needle into her jugular vein, pushing the injection out in one swift motion.

She fought to stay awake, but she didn't even last two seconds before everything went black.

~o~

He watched her eyes roll into the back of her head. She'd been stronger than he'd thought. He smiled as he mused how anyone other than him would not have been able to overpower her. Of course, he came prepared for any situation - her blows, though forceful, hadn't so much as bruised him, thanks to one of the many special features of his hunting costume.

Suddenly, a phone rang. It took him less than a second to realize it was hers. He searched her, found the phone, took it out, and looked at the caller ID.

Patrick Jane.

He smiled. Right on cue.

"Too little, too late, Old Friend," he whispered as he put his arms under Lisbon and lifted her up, carrying her away. "Too little, too late…"

~o~

When Lisbon's phone rang and rang, and then went to voicemail, Jane got a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't lose hope.

"Lisbon? Call me as soon as you get this!" he said urgently into the phone. "It's really important!"

He hung up.

Too anxious to wait, he called again.

It went directly to voicemail.

No. "Lisbon, call me, please! Now!" he exclaimed. "And why did you turn your phone off, damn it?"

Deep down, he knew he was too late - Lisbon never turned her phone off.

But he couldn't let his mind go there.

~o~

He carried Teresa into the building he'd had made just for them. She was still out cold, and would be for another ten minutes.

He set her down in the corner of a room that was empty save for a chair off to one side. He took off her jacket, then her shoes, then her socks, and finally her belt. Now she was wearing only a black tank top and jeans.

Much more comfortable, he thought.

He propped her up in the corner. Her head rolled around, her neck limp. Intentional, that. He'd given her a sedative that encouraged REM sleep. After all, she would need her rest…

He undid her handcuffs. Then, from one of the walls that composed the corner, he pulled a cuff attached to a chain that ran from the wall and clasped it around her right wrist; he then did the same to her left wrist with a shackle on the back wall. He smiled as the cuffs clicked into place.

You're not going anywhere.

He took a moment to just look at her. She seemed so peaceful when she was asleep. Carefully, he raised his knife to her throat and lifted her chin with the blade, taking caution not to cut her, so that her face caught the light. She was pretty. Tough, too.

"O the cunning wiles that creep/ In thy little heart asleep!/ When thy little heart doth wake/ Then the dreadful night shall break," he recited softly. Then he laughed as he added, "Break...in the sense of all hell breaking loose." He smiled. "Are you dreaming, My Dear?" he asked the unconscious woman chained in front of him. "I hope so. I hope you're having pleasant dreams." Then he leaned forward and hissed evilly, "Because your waking world is about to turn into a nightmare!"

He laughed and stood up. He had eight minutes left before the sedative wore off - plenty of time. He left, but not before he stuck his knife into a slot in the wall, and as he walked, music started playing.

He went back up the hall in the small wood cabin they were in and went through a door leading to what served as his closet: There was a special dresser standing near the center, and a long table nearby. He put Teresa's clothes on the table, took off his hunting costume and put each piece in its special place, put on some plain clothes, grabbed his knife, and left, all in the space of two minutes.

He spent the last six catching up on his Old Friend's activities, and was very amused by what he saw. Then, he stood up from his seat and went back towards Lisbon.

Time to have some fun.

~o~

The first thing Lisbon noticed when she woke up was that there was music playing.

It was classical, like Mozart or Beethoven. She thought she'd heard it before, but she couldn't remember exactly where…

The second thing she noticed was that she had a pounding headache. The pain seemed to originate at the back of her skull. That's right, I hit my head, she remembered.

As the world slowly came into focus around her, the third thing she noticed was that she was alone, and that the room she was in was empty, save for a random chair off to the side. There was light streaming through some wooden beams above, but it couldn't have been sunlight because it was the middle of the night.

She did a mental checkup of her body. Whoever had taken her hadn't raped her, she quickly realized to her relief. Checking the rest of herself, she realized that apart from her head wound, whoever had taken her didn't seem to have done anything else to her at all.

She looked around, but she barely had time to absorb the fact that the entire place was made of wooden planks before she heard footsteps above the music. She looked up to see a tall man stroll in; the room she was in seemed to be open to a hallway down which he had come.

The first thing she noticed about him was his knife. It was several inches long, and the blade had a slight curve that ended in a barb coming off the back of the tip. It was actually kind of elegant, but in a deadly sense. She knew it was the knife he had held to her throat, and it certainly looked like it was made with the intention of killing people. What caught her attention was the fact that it was in constant motion, sometimes airborne, sometimes not; its owner tossed and twirled it around constantly, almost casually, the way one might fiddle with a piece of jewelry or squeeze a stress ball.

The man walked comfortably, nonchalantly, so at ease that he almost looked like he could have been whistling. Then, to her complete surprise, he stuck the knife into the wall next to him.

The musical piece that was playing finished, then stopped. Only then did he speak.

"Ah, you're awake, My Dear," he said. "Good. You will want to be awake for this."

"Where am I?" was the first thing that came out of Lisbon's mouth, to her eternal shame - she sounded like a victim, trapped and helpless, and she'd be damned if she let herself be that to him, whoever he was.

"A place without a name," the man replied dramatically.

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Truly, this place has no name," the man added, seeing her incredulity. "I had this place built specifically for us, and I never saw a point in naming it."

Us. Clearly, he was one of those psychos who were criminally obsessed with someone; in this case, her.

She tried to stand up, only to find her wrists being pulled back. She looked, and saw that she was chained to the wall. She turned back to him and raised her eyebrows again.

"Seriously?" she asked. "Shackles?"

He stalked toward her. "Well, I have to restrain you somehow," he replied with a shrug. "If I don't, it is quite likely that you will attempt to do me harm and/or escape, neither of which I find very desirable." He leaned against the wall so that he was right in front of her, casually tossing his knife around.

"Look, I don't know who you are, and I don't care," Lisbon said. "Just let me go before you make things worse for yourself."

The man laughed. His laugh was soft, dark, and…well, evil.

Lisbon refused to be intimidated.

"You're laugh is very spooky," she said condescendingly.

"Oh, why, thank you, My Dear, I'm glad you like it," the man replied, smiling. "I've been working on it for some time."

"Look, just let me go," Lisbon said, exasperated.

The man laughed again, harder.

She sighed. "Fine, I'll bite," she said resignedly; "what's so funny?"

"You," the man hissed. "You, you, YOU! Oh…you have no idea how much trouble you're in."

"How much trouble I'm in?" Lisbon repeated, eyebrows raised again. "Right now, you're looking at assault of a state agent with a deadly weapon and abduction. Let me go now, and maybe we can cut a deal."

The man laughed again. "Look at you," he taunted. "You actually think you're negotiating!" Another laugh.

Lisbon rolled her eyes.

"Then again, I suppose you have little reason to feel endangered here," the man said after he finished laughing, turning his attention to his knife. Then he started pacing, tossing his knife around as he did so, as he continued, "By now, you've done a thorough mental checkup of your body, so you are aware of the fact that, apart from the rather nasty bump on the head you got while trying to fight me off - which is more your fault than mine - you are completely unharmed." He paused and turned to her. "To you, this suggests hesitance. Weakness," he said softly. "You think I've never harmed another human being in my life."

"And am I wrong?" Lisbon asked mockingly.

The man smiled and leaned down toward her, and it was then that she noticed that something wasn't quite right with her eyesight. "Oh, My Dear," he purred, "you couldn't possibly be more wrong."

Lisbon didn't blink.

"Consider this, if you don't believe me," he said, straightening: "If you were to be my first victim - of whatever crime - why would I knowingly choose one of the best agents in the California Bureau of Investigation?"

"You tell me," Lisbon said with a shrug.

The man smiled slowly, then laughed again.

"Oh, My Dear," he said after he had finished laughing. "If only you knew who I was, your attitude would be so different right now."

"So tell me, since you're obviously dying to," Lisbon replied coolly: "Who are you?"

The man smiled, and his smile, which was both mocking and condescending, was really starting to irritate her. "Are you sure you want to know?" he asked maliciously.

Lisbon rolled her eyes again. "Just tell me," she said, annoyed and not at all intimidated.

The man smiled again. "Very well, but for the record, you asked," he sneered.

Lisbon waited.

"I'm an old friend of a close friend of yours," the man said with a sinister smile.

There was silence for a minute.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" Lisbon asked, slowly and mockingly.

The man tilted his head. "Well, now, think about this for a moment, My Dear," he said: "Over the course of your life, there have only been three people whom you've considered to be close friends. One of them, you've spent the past fifteen years pretending they never existed-"

"How do you know-?" Lisbon began, startled.

"So from this point on, I will act likewise," the man said, raising his voice over hers. There was a pause. "So that means that you've only ever had two close friends," the man went on softly. "One is dead; the other is a coworker. Can you name them?"

Lisbon nodded.

The man raised his eyebrows.

"Sam Bosco and Patrick Jane," she answered.

"Very good," he said, smiling his evil smile.

There was silence for another minute.

"I'm sorry, I'm still drawing a blank," Lisbon finally said, shaking her head but smiling.

"Well then, let me give you another hint," the man said, smiling back.

"Please do," she replied mockingly.

The man smiled again, apparently unperturbed by her cynicism. "I'm an old friend of the close friend of yours," he said, "that I did not have shot to death in his own office."

Lisbon's mind suddenly felt sluggish. His words took a minute for her to absorb.

"Shot to death in his own office…" she repeated slowly. "That…That's Sam!" She looked up at the man in shock. "Are you saying…you had him killed?"

The man chuckled darkly and leaned against the wall. "I'll wait," he said.

Lisbon's mind was moving about a mile an hour, if that. Her brain, she later realized, was trying to protect her from the trauma that was coming. She had to think out loud to get anywhere.

"But…but if…if you…if…if it…if it was you who…who had…Sam killed, then…that…that would…that would make…that-that would make you…" She gasped, her eyes wide.

"Say it," the man said malevolently. "Say my name. Say it out loud. Make it real." He stood up straight again, looking at her intensely as he waited for the moment of realization. "Go on, say it!" he hissed.

"R-R-Re," she stuttered, "R-Red John?"

The man grinned.

"At your service, My Dear!" he grinned, giving her a formal bow.

Then he threw back his head and laughed. Hard.

"Oh, no," Lisbon breathed, shock numbing her momentarily.

Unfortunately, that didn't last.

"Oh, god, no! No!" she cried, scrambling back against the wall, away from him.

Red John still laughed, the most chilling laugh she had ever heard. She looked at him, wide-eyed, panting with terror.

"W-What do you want?" she asked fearfully.

Red John's laughter died, but his smile didn't fade. "My Dear, you asked me that same question twenty minutes ago," he replied mockingly. "My answer then was the same as it is now: What I want, is entertainment. I've been very bored lately…and you can help me with that."

He's going to kill me. She felt the knowledge flood her entire body. Crime scene photos flashed in her head: pools of blood, horribly mutilated bodies, and that evil smiley face drawn in gore.

Red John's smile widened. "Oh, not in the way you're thinking," he said in an evil hiss, "though it won't be long before you wish it was. No," he said, standing up straight again; "I have very special plans for you."

Lisbon recoiled in terror.

Red John smiled. "After all, you are special," he said; "or, at least, My Old Friend thinks you are."

Jane. She was too terrified to speak, and she didn't know what she would have said even if she could, but she suddenly knew what was going to happen.

"So, now that introductions have been made," Red John continued, reaching into his pocket, "let's give him a call…shall we?"

He pulled out her cell phone.

She watched, frozen, as he turned it on - he must have turned it off earlier. "My, my," he said tauntingly, glancing at it, "fifty missed calls in the past twenty minutes, and all from My Old Friend." He looked at her. "He must be very worried about you," he said softly.

"Does he know?" The question was out of her mouth without her willing it to be.

"I left him a note," Red John replied with a nasty smile, "and I have a feeling he got the message; but if not, he's about to."

He entered Jane's speed dial. She was too scared to wonder how he knew which number was her speed dial for Jane.

"I'll put him on speaker for you," Red John said. "I'm sure his voice would be very comforting for you right now."

"Why would you care?" she heard herself ask timidly.

Red John looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Did I say I cared?" he asked.

She couldn't answer.

He smiled, and pressed the call button.

Ring…Ring…Click.

"Lisbon!" Jane's voice sounded over the phone, loud and frantic. "Oh, thank goodness, I've been trying to call you all night! Well, okay, not all night, but listen, I think-"

Red John laughed, and he was careful to use the exact same laugh he had used for Jane over another cell phone, at another time.

"Hello?" Jane asked, dread evident in his voice. "Who is this?"

"You don't recognize the sound of my laugh?" Red John asked, his voice dripping with mock indignation. He put a hand to his chest mockingly, even though Jane couldn't see the gesture. "Oh, Old Friend, I'm hurt."

"Who are you?" Jane asked, his voice lower and more serious now.

Red John chuckled. "Tiger, tiger, burning bright/," he recited, "In the forests of the night/ What immortal hand or eye/ Could frame thy fearful symmetry?"

Lisbon remembered how Jane had once told her that Red John had said those words to her the one time they'd met in person. Tonight, however, it sounded like a prompt, almost a question, though Lisbon couldn't imagine what Red John was asking.

There was silence over the phone for a minute. Then, Jane replied with a slightly shaky voice, "In what distant deeps or skies/ Burned the fire of thine eyes?/ On what wings dare he aspire?/ What the hand dare seize the fire?"

"And what shoulder, & what art/ Could twist the sinews of thy heart?/" Red John immediately picked up, "And when thy heart began to beat/ What dread hand? & what dread feet?"

"What the hammer, what the chain/ In what furnace was thy brain?/" Jane put special emphasis on the second line of the stanza. Red John smiled. "What the anvil, what dread grasp/ Dare its deadly terrors clasp?"

"When the stars threw down their spears/ And watered heaven with their tears,/ Did he smile his work to see?/ Did he who made the lamb make thee?" Red John replied, a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

"Tiger, tiger, burning bright/" Jane finished, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his own voice, "In the forests of the night/ What immortal hand or eye/ Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?"

Red John smiled. "Very good, Old Friend," he purred. "You've been studying. Tell me: How much time have you wasted reading and rereading and re-rereading that poem, searching for answers, hmm? How many sleepless nights have you spent reciting that poem to yourself over and over, wondering why, why, of all the things I could have said to you the first time we met, I would choose the first stanza of that poem?"

Jane didn't answer. Instead, he said, "Tell me who you are!"

"Oh, but Old Friend, you know who I am," Red John replied, his tone light and mocking.

"You're Red John, admit it!" Jane snapped.

"With pride, Old Friend," Red John said calmly, making a gesture with his hand he knew Jane couldn't see; "with pride."

"What have you done to Lisbon?" Jane demanded.

"Lisbon, Lisbon…" Red John said pensively, as though trying to think of who that was, tapping his knife against his chin and clearly enjoying himself. "Do you mean, your long-suffering colleague and dear friend, Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon?"

"Yes!" Jane snarled; Red John was pushing his buttons masterfully.

"Hmm…" Red John answered, obviously enjoying dragging it out while Jane was on the edge of losing it. "What makes you think I've done anything to her?" Red John asked with mock innocence after a moment.

"Uh, well, let's see, I read your letter," Jane answered, his tone sarcastic and angry.

"Oh, you can read?" Red John asked with mock surprise. "My, my, I'm almost impressed."

"Yeah, and I read in between the lines, too!" Jane shouted. Red John smiled at just how effectively he was goading Jane. "And then, of course, there's the lovely detail of the fact that you're calling me on HER GODDAMN CELL PHONE!"

"Ah, yes," Red John said, smiling, "that."

"Yeah, that," Jane replied sarcastically. "So I'm only going to ask you one more time, and damn it, you'd better give me a straight answer: What have you done to Lisbon?"

"Hmm…Let me think…What have I done to her?…" Red John pretended to wonder out loud. Jane's impatience and panic were almost audible over the line, and Red John was clearly enjoying every moment of it. "Let me see…" He ticked things off on his fingers "I surprised her in the parking garage near her apartment building, I held a knife to her throat, I chained her with her own handcuffs, I fought her when she tried to escape, I injected her with a sedative, I took her away to somewhere in the state of California, I shackled her in the corner of a nearly-empty room…and…I believe that's all," Red John finished with a shrug.

There was silence for a minute, as Jane waited for Red John to say something to the effect of, "Oh, and I killed her". Red John knew what Jane was waiting for, and after a minute, he chuckled evilly.

"Old Friend, apart from a rather nasty bump on the head she got while trying to fight me off - which, let's face it, really is more her fault than mine - she is completely unharmed. In fact, she's right here, if you wish to speak to her," he said to Jane with a smile.

"Well, as it just so happens, I do!" Jane replied, very much wound up.

"Very well then," said Red John, and he held the phone over near Lisbon. "Here you are."

"Jane?" Lisbon said.

Jane was about to respond when Red John interrupted.

"Ah-ah-ah," Red John said over Jane, holding up a finger Jane couldn't see. Jane and Lisbon paused.

"Before we continue, I would like to say this: I really don't like how you people call each other by your last names," Red John said. "It's so professional, so…impersonal. I really don't like it. I would prefer it if you would call each other by your first names, even in conversation - at least, as long as I'm holding all the cards. Fair enough?"

Jane sighed. "Teresa, are you there?" he asked.

"Yeah," Lisbon replied, "I'm here."

"Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" Lisbon exclaimed hysterically. "I'm chained up in the corner of an empty room with the most sadistic serial killer in the state - possibly even in state history - and you're asking me if I'm okay?"

"Alright, alright, point taken!" Jane said hurriedly. "Has he done anything to you that he didn't mention a minute ago?"

"Apart from talking in riddles and doing his damned best to literally scare me to death?" Lisbon asked in response. "No." She looked up at Red John. "He hasn't done anything else to me yet."

"Excellent use of adverbs, My Dear," Red John crooned. "'Yet'. That is the key word, isn't it?" He smiled and brought the phone back to his ear. "Satisfied, Old Friend?" he asked.

"Damn you, let her go!" Jane shouted.

"Hmm…" Red John pretended to think. "Why don't you try asking nicely?" he suggested after a minute. "You know, say 'please' and so on? And would you please call me by my name?

"I'd be happy to," Jane replied; "what is your name?"

"My preferred name," Red John hissed.

Static crackled over the line as Jane took a deep breath.

"Red John," he said at last, calmly and not aggressively, "please, let Teresa go."

There was a pause.

"Please," Jane plead, "please, just let her go! Please, I'm begging you, let her go! I'm the one you want, she doesn't have to be part of this! I'm begging you, please, please don't hurt her! Just let her go, please!" The desperation in his voice grew stronger with every word.

There was a pause; the tension in the air was almost tangible.

"My, my," Red John said mockingly at last, "you're already starting to answer my question, aren't you? It really does say a great deal about how much she means to you that you would bend your pride enough to beg, me, to please do something for you…" He smiled evilly and hissed, "…even though you know there's no chance in the world that I would ever comply."

"Damn you!" Jane shouted.

Red John laughed.

"What do you want?" Jane demanded.

Red John rolled his eyes. "Ugh, it's always the same question with you people, 'What do I want?', 'What do I want?'. What I want, Old Friend, as I have already communicated to both of you at least once, is entertainment. I've been very bored recently, and I decided we would play a little game."

"What do you want with Teresa?" Jane revised.

"Ah, that's better," Red John said, smiling. "Nothing, really, not per se. What I want, I want from you; she is simply going to serve as the grand prize for whichever one of us wins the game."

"She's not a prize, she's a human being!" Jane shouted furiously.

Red John tilted his head, completely unruffled. "Perhaps you would feel better if I put it this way," he said: "Whichever one of us wins the game gets to decide whether the lovely Teresa Lisbon lives or dies. Better?"

"Jane-" Lisbon began.

"Names, My Dear!" Red John overrode her. "This is your first warning," he added, softly and dangerously.

There was silence for a moment.

"Now then, Old Friend," Red John said, "I believe there is something she wishes to say to you." He held out the phone toward Lisbon again.

Lisbon glanced hesitantly at the phone, then at Red John, then back at the phone again.

"Teresa?" Jane asked.

She took a deep breath. "Don't do it," she said.

"What?"

She swallowed. "Whatever it is he wants you to do. Don't do it."

"But I-!"

"Jane, it's not-"

"Names, My Dear!" Red John yelled over both of them.

Then, to her complete terror, he took a step toward her, bent down, and lifted his knife to her throat.

She gasped as the tip of the blade broke her skin, but gritted her teeth and didn't make a sound as Red John traced a vertical line down the front of her neck. The cut was shallow - she'd had much worse - and she wasn't going to let Red John have the satisfaction of hearing her vocalize any pain.

"Consider that your second warning," he whispered malevolently when he was done.

"Teresa!" Jane shouted over the phone. "Damn you, you son of a bitch, what did you do to her?"

"Oh, I just gave her a little scratch on her throat, that's all," Red John said casually into the phone as he stood up. "It's barely bleeding by your standards."

"Give her a break!" Jane yelled angrily. "Calling me by my last name is a force of habit for her!"

"One I'm trying to break as quickly as possible," Red John replied calmly. "Even lab rats can be taught to avoid actions that cause them pain."

"She's not a lab rat, she's a human being!"

"Exactly!" Red John said with a smile. "If a simple lab rat can be taught by such methods, then surely a human being can learn via the same methods much faster."

There was silence. Lisbon could almost hear Jane shaking.

"Now, then," Red John said at last, "I believe that there's something that saint Teresa was trying to say to you." He held out the phone again.

"Teresa, it's okay, just call me Patrick," Jane said to her.

"Okay-"

"No, say it," Jane said.

Lisbon hesitated.

"Patrick," she said after a minute.

"Good, okay," Jane said, trying to sound calm, "now, what is it?"

"Don't do anything he tells you to," Lisbon said sternly. "It's not worth it."

"Teresa, if your life is at stake-"

"I'm dead already!" she said, cutting him off. "He's not going to let you save me. He's going to kill me no matter what you do."

"That is not true," Red John asserted.

"Patrick, I'm not blindfolded, and he's not wearing a mask - you know what that means!" Lisbon told Jane, raising her voice. Then she lowered it and said softly, "It means he doesn't care what I see. He's going to kill me." She shook her head. "There's no way he'd make that kind of mistake; he's too experienced. I've seen his face. I'm dead."

Red John chuckled evilly. "My Dear," he said, smiling, "while I appreciate that you appreciate that I wouldn't make such an error…Really? Masks, and blindfolds? They're so crude, so…" He shook his head, as though looking for the right word. "…common," he finally finished distastefully. "I really don't like them. I try to avoid using them in the few instances I can afford to do so…and this happens to be one of those instances."

"What do you mean?" Lisbon asked.

Wordlessly, Red John crouched down so that he was almost at eye level with her.

"Tell me," he said instead of answering, "what do you see?"

"Huh?" Lisbon asked.

Red John tilted his head. "You claim I don't care what you see," he said. "So, what do you see?" A malevolent hiss crept into his voice. "What color are my eyes?" he asked her. "What color is my hair? How dark is my skin? Am I tall? Short? Of average hight? Am I muscular? Flabby? Thin? What about my hair? Is it curly? Wavy? Straight? Dark? Light?" He smiled an evil smile. "Can you answer any of these questions?"

Lisbon was silent, realizing, as he spoke, that no, she couldn't answer any of those questions.

"Come now, My Dear Little Saint," Red John taunted; "if I'm going to kill you no matter what, now is your chance to ensure you do not die in vain. Give My Old Friend something to go on…if you can. Can you?" His voice darkened wickedly. "Can you see…anything?"

"Well…no…" Lisbon stammered, "but…I-I got hit in the head pretty bad, and besides, the light's bad in here and-"

"My Dear, the sedative I gave you was mixed with a special chemical compound I designed myself specifically for this event," Red John said, overriding her. "It blocks the part of the brain that projects a mental image of one's surroundings - which is actually separate from the part of the brain that processes ocular input. To put it into words even My Old Friend can understand: You can sense that I'm in front of you; you can sense that I'm holding your own cell phone out to you; you can sense that I'm smiling; you can even sense that the light in this room is admittedly poor to the point of being cliché…" His smile widened. "…but you can't see anything." He stood up and leaned back against the wall, still holding the phone out to Lisbon with one hand and twirling his knife around with the other. "Now tell me," he said condescendingly, "why would I go to all the trouble of making such a drug - which, I can assure you, was not easy - if I was going to kill you no matter what My Old Friend did?"

Lisbon shook her head. "To give us false hope?" she suggested. "I don't know! I don't know why you do what you do!"

Red John smiled. "No you don't," he said softly. Then he chuckled and said, "My Dear, this is the second time tonight that a small flaw in your logic has led you to believe something entirely opposite the truth. Can you explain her error to her, Old Friend? You are an idiot, but you do know me - I'm sure you've figured it out."

Jane sighed, ignoring Red John's not-so-oblique slight, and instead said to Lisbon, "He wants to see me fail to save you…and I can't fail if there's no chance to begin with that I can succeed."

"Well said, Old Friend," Red John commented. "This time, I really am almost impressed." He brought the phone back to his ear. "Well, now that we've cleared that up, what do you say?" he asked Jane. "Will you play a game with me, with her life as the stakes?"

"What's the game?" Jane asked by way of answering.

Red John smiled. "Oh, I was thinking something simple, like…hide-and-go-seek?"

A child's game. Condescending. The message was clear to both Jane and Lisbon.

"Tell me the rules," Jane said, trying (and finally succeeding) to sound calm and confident.

Red John smiled again, and Lisbon knew that things were going exactly the way Red John wanted them to.

"Here's how this is going to work," Red John said to Jane: "Teresa and I are currently in a building somewhere in the state of California. So long as the game is still going, neither she nor I will leave this building. All you have to do is figure out where we are, then come here."

There was a pause.

"Why do I get the feeling that it's not that simple?" Jane asked, a bit of sarcasm lacing his voice.

Red John smiled again. "Perhaps because you know me well enough to know that it will not be nearly that simple," he answered nastily.

Jane was silent, afraid to hear the catch.

"Here's what happens if you agree to play," Red John said after a minute: "Upon your agreeing, I will cut her once now - and when I say 'cut', I don't mean give her a little scratch like I did two minutes ago," he added; "I mean cut, the way I do all my victims."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it!" Jane said impatiently (and more than slightly nervously).

"Yes, well, once now, upon your agreeing to play," Red John went on. "Then, for every sunrise she remains in my possession, I'll cut her once more. This will go on for…an indefinite length of time. The game ends if you win, or when I decide to end it, which I will do when one of several possible circumstances is met. If this game ends on my terms, I will do everything to her that I did to your lovely wife." He smiled his evil smile. "In the meantime, I will keep it so that she cannot see my face, and I will make sure she does not die of malnutrition, dehydration, infection, or prematurely of blood loss - or any other possibly fatal factor. In short, as long as the game is going, I will keep her alive and…as healthy as possible under the circumstances. If you find us before I decided to end it, you will win, and you will be able to save her from me. If not…Well…" He chuckled evilly. "Use your imagination," he hissed.

"How long do I have?" Jane asked.

Red John's smile was really starting to irritate Lisbon. "As I said, the length of time for which this will go on is indefinite. It could end in a month…" He shrugged. "It could end tomorrow." He paused, then added, "But, to make things more fair, how about I call you when I decide to end the game, and then do absolutely nothing to her until at least twenty-four hours after I make that call? Fair enough?"

"Fair enough," Jane replied, knowing that it was more than he ever could have hoped for.

"Good," Red John said.

"And what happens if I don't agree to play your sick little game?" Jane asked, finally managing to sound strong.

Red John's evil smile widened. "Then I kill her now," he answered, his voice a sinister whisper as he raised his knife to Lisbon's throat and lifted her chin with the tip, forcing her to look up at him, "and you…will be forced to listen…to every…single…horrific…moment of it."

While Red John had been talking, Lisbon's mind had kicked into high gear, and she quickly realized the purpose of what Red John was doing. So, as Lisbon felt the metal of the knife pressing against the underside of her chin, she found that she wasn't afraid.

"So?" Red John asked Jane. "What do you say?"

Before Jane had a chance to answer, Lisbon spoke.

"Don't do it," she said calmly.

"Oh, hold on a minute, Old Friend," Red John said; "I think saint Teresa would like to give her input." He held the phone out to her.

"Teresa," Jane began, but Lisbon stopped him.

"Patrick, don't do it," she said.

"I can't just let you die!" Jane exclaimed.

"Yes you can, I'm ordering you to!" she commanded.

"Pardon me, My Dear, but since when does My Old Friend obey your orders?" Red John asked lightly.

"Shut up!" she snapped at him.

"No, Teresa," Jane said, "it kills me to admit it, but he has a point."

"Patrick, if you were ever going to follow one of the orders I've ever given you, let it be this one," Lisbon said firmly.

"It would have to be this one, since you won't be able to give any more if he doesn't," Red John commented.

"I said, shut up, you son of a bitch!" Lisbon snarled at him.

Red John raised his eyebrows. "You would really force him to listen to me kill you?" he asked her.

"I won't scream," Lisbon said to Jane softly. "I'll try my hardest not to make a sound, I promise. Patrick, please, don't do this," she pleaded. "It's not worth it." She looked up at Red John and raised her voice in defiance. "You know how this is going to go," she continued to Jane: "He's going to drag this out as long as he can to cause maximum suffering for both of us, and when neither of us can take it anymore, he'll kill me to finish us both off."

Red John shrugged and smiled, deliberately not denying her words.

"Teresa, if there's even a chance-"

"There is no chance!" she shouted at Jane. "You don't have a chance, you have his definition of a chance! If you got in your car right now, drove to some random place in the state, knocked on the door, and found us here, you would win, and since that's remotely possible, that technically counts as a chance. Besides," she added, glaring at Red John, "do you really think he's just going to let me go, even if you do win? Do you really expect him to play by the rules?"

"Old Friend, I hereby give you my word that, so long as all of my rules are followed, I will follow all the rules I have described to you," Red John interjected. He paused, then added, "And something you should know, Old Friend: I am one of my word."

"If nothing else," Jane said.

Red John smiled and didn't object.

"Do you really trust his word?" Lisbon demanded of Jane.

"I have to," he replied.

"No, you can't trust him, and you know it!" she told him firmly. "Don't do this!"

"Teresa, I have to!" Jane repeated.

"No you don't!" she screamed at him.

Red John laughed.

"Shut up!" Lisbon snapped at him. Then, turning her attention back to the phone that was being held out in front of her, she said, "You don't have the right to decide whether I live or die." She looked back up at Red John. "Neither does Red John, but he doesn't care. Don't be like him. It's my life that's on the line, not yours; let me decide when it ends!"

"People rarely have a say in when they die," Red John pointed out.

She glared at him. "Out of the three of us, I am the one who has the most right to say what I'm used for and when I will die, and I will not be used as an instrument of torture!" she declared.

There was silence for a minute.

"Patrick, Red John has always gotten what he wanted - always, especially when he's wanted something from you," she said. "For once, don't let him get what he wants."

"If I don't do this, he'll kill you!" Jane exploded. "He'll still be getting what he wants!"

Lisbon shook her head and smiled in spite of herself. "No," she said. "You heard him. He doesn't want to kill me now. He wants to drag this thing out and torture both of us as much as possible. If you don't play along, yes, he'll kill me, but then it will be over, and he won't get what he really wants."

Red John tilted his head and shrugged, again deliberately not denying what Lisbon was saying.

"Patrick, please, don't do it," Lisbon begged him softly. "Don't play his game. If you respect or care about me at all, don't do this. It's okay. Just let me die, please. I want you to."

Red John's smile was slow and chilling as he raised the phone back to his ear. "Well," he said, "I think Saint Teresa has made her feelings perfectly clear in the matter; but the fact is, Old Friend, ultimately, it is your decision. What will it be?"

There was a tense silence, and Jane's internal struggle was almost audible.

"Patrick, don't do it!" Lisbon exclaimed, worried he wouldn't listen to her.

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Red John lifted his knife to her chin again and snapped, "That's enough out of you, Saint Teresa! You've made your feelings and desires perfectly clear, now let the man think for himself."

He paused.

"Oh, my - Old Friend, did I just call you a man?" Red John exclaimed with mock embarrassment, putting a hand to his chest. "Oh, I'm sorry, my mistake."

"If I'm not a man, then what am I?" Jane asked angrily.

"Pathetic," Red John replied readily.

"Oh, that's creative," Jane said sarcastically.

Red John smiled. "Creativity is overrated," he said; "what really matters is effectiveness."

"Damn you, you bastard," Jane said.

Red John smiled again. "Old Friend, I am many things, but I am not a bastard," he told Jane: "My parents were married to one another."

"Yeah?" challenged Jane. "For how long?"

"For as long as they lived," Red John replied, completely unruffled, "and, to my knowledge, happily so."

"Really?" Jane said sarcastically.

"Really," Red John replied, still smiling. "I would indulge you in more details, but the fact of the matter is that you're stalling, and we really don't have all night, so I'm not going to encourage you."

Another pause.

"What will it be, Old Friend?" Red John asked tauntingly.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaagh!" Jane roared, nearly ripping his hair out, unable to choose. After everything Lisbon had said, how could he go through with it? But how could he not go through with it? He couldn't let her die, too…

Red John laughed, enjoying every minute of Jane's self-torture.

Jane gritted his teeth, his hands fisted in his hair, his phone sitting on the desk. He paced, eyes screwed shut, unable to think. What was he supposed to do? What could he do?

"Tell you what, Old Friend," Red John said after a minute, "how about this: I'm going to count down from ten. When I reach one, you give me your answer. If you do not answer, I will take it as a no, and she dies! Ready?" He paused, but not long enough for an answer. "Ten…nine…eight…seven…"

"Six," Jane said with Red John, "five…four…" Red John stopped, letting Jane finish the countdown. "Three," Jane said softly, "two…one…" He took a breath. "Ready or not, here I come."

"No!" Lisbon shouted.

"Excellent!" Red John exclaimed at the same time, grinning.

Jane exhaled.

"Well," said Red John, "since you've agreed…" In one quick motion, he slashed his knife through the air and into Lisbon's upper right arm, where it sank into the muscle more than an inch.

"Aaah!" she cried.

"Teresa!" Jane shouted.

Red John pulled out his knife and tilted his head.

"Disappointing," he said. "I thought you said you weren't going to scream."

"I wasn't…ready," Lisbon said through gritted teeth as she struggled to fight the pain, blood flowing down her arm from the wound.

"Ah," Red John responded. "Maybe next time, then?"

And he laughed. It was a cold, chilling, evil laugh that sent fear skittering through both Jane and Lisbon - the laugh of a monster who had its prey right where it wanted it.

He lifted the phone back to his ear.

"Well, Old Friend, that's all there is to say," he said nastily. "I'll be calling you at sunrise. Farewell for now."

"Wait!" Jane exclaimed.

"Yes?" Red John replied, rolling his eyes in feigned irritation.

"What do you mean, you'll call me at sunrise?" Jane asked.

"LIke I said, I'm going to cut her open again every sunrise," Red John answered.

"But what do you mean, you'll call me?" Jane repeated, a bad feeling tightening his gut.

"Oh, did I forget to mention that part?" Red John asked mockingly. "I'm going to call you every time I cut her open."

"Why?" Jane asked, rage and pain building in his chest.

Red John's voice was an evil hiss as he said, "Because every time my knife sinks into her flesh, I want you to hear it."

"Every time?" Jane repeated, his mind going numb with anger, pain, hatred, fear, and so many other emotions he couldn't handle it.

"Yes, Old Friend," Red John replied in his snakelike voice, "including when I kill her."

"Damn you!" Jane shouted. "You said I'd only have to hear her die if I didn't agree to play!"

"I said you would have to listen to her die if you didn't agree to play," Red John corrected; "I never said anything about what would happen if you did agree to play."

Jane growled furiously, clenching his teeth. Then, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and calmly said, "Give me a clue."

"I beg your pardon, Old Friend?" Red John replied, raising his eyebrows.

"Give me some sort of clue as to where you are," Jane said, his tone one of submissive pleading. "Something. Somewhere to start. Anything. Please."

"And why would I do something like that?" Red John asked mockingly.

"Look," Jane said calmly, sighing, "you and I both know what you do to me. I can't think straight. I lose…basically all my common sense, and most of the rest of my mind, too. This is going to be hard enough. But if I have to listen to my best friend scream in pain every twenty-four hours, knowing that if I don't do something I'll have to listen to her be brutally murdered…" He shook his head, fighting back tears. "I won't even be able to start," he said after a minute. "So please…please, Red John, give me something. Anything. Please." He took another breath. "Play fair."

Red John tilted his head and pretended to think about it. In reality, he had been planning on giving Jane something anyway, but he liked to make Jane nervous.

"Hmm…" he said slowly. "Well, you did ask nicely…and I suppose it wasn't really fair of me not to mention that particular detail before you agreed to play…Hmm…" He paused another minute, knowing that each passing moment frayed Jane's nerves more and more. "Oh, very well," Red John said at last. "I won't give you a clue as to where I am, Old Friend, but I will tell you where to find one: The key to finding us is hidden somewhere in my case file. Which I have read, by the way, so I do know for a fact that it is there, you have my word," he added.

"Thank you," Jane said sincerely.

Red John smiled. "You're quite welcome, My Foolish Old Friend," he replied.

"May I talk to her?" Jane asked. "Now? Please?"

Red John smiled again. "My, my, you're getting very good at asking nicely," he commented mockingly. He paused. "Hmm…I don't see why not." He held the phone out to Lisbon again. "Here you are."

"Patrick-"

"Teresa, listen to me," Jane said, cutting her off. He waited a moment to make sure she was going to let him speak, then told her firmly, "I will find you. I will save you. You're not going to die, Teresa - I'm not going to let this happen to you."

"Everyone dies eventually," Red John pointed out.

"Shut up, you goddamn son of a bitch!" Jane snapped.

"Patrick, please-" Lisbon began.

"Teresa, you've had your turn to talk; now it's my turn," Jane said, "and I need you to listen to me. I will save you."

Lisbon shook her head. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to.

"Teresa," Jane said, more softly now, "do you remember when we were investigating the murder of Kelly Flower, and I got you suspended, and I asked you to join me to bust the Drabers to get it nullified?"

"Patrick-"

"Teresa, do you remember-?"

"Yes!" Lisbon cried.

"Okay," said Jane. "Do you remember how I called out Annabelle's bluff, and we got locked in a box and shipped across the border, and you were scared, and you realized why I'd asked you to come?"

"Yes," Lisbon answered.

"Do you remember what I said to you?" Jane asked her.

"Remind me," she said weakly.

"I said, and I quote - I quote - 'You know I'm always going to save you, Lisbon, whether you like it or not,'" Jane said, being careful to emphasize the fact that he was quoting something he had said a long time ago so that Red John wouldn't get mad at him for breaking a rule. "Do you remember that?"

Lisbon smiled, her single wound already taking its toll on her.

"Yes," she answered softly, "and I remember telling you that I didn't want you to save me."

"Well, that's the 'whether you like it or not' part," Jane replied, "and I will save you, Teresa, I promise. You have my word on that."

She smiled.

"I won't hold you to that," she said softly.

Jane sighed, exasperated, his emotions far past the overflow point. "Teresa, I swear to you on the graves of my wife and daughter that I will save you from Red John," he pledged.

Both Red John and Lisbon blinked with surprise.

"So just…hang in there, okay?" Jane begged. "Just hold on. I need you to believe in me. I will find you." He paused, then told her softly, "And whatever you do, no matter how scared you might be, show him no fear. He likes fear; don't you give him what he wants. As long as you have hope and you're not afraid, he won't kill you. So…wait for me, okay? Stay strong. I promise, I will save you. You're not going to die like this."

Red John smiled and raised the phone back to his ear for the last time.

"You should know better than to make a promise you can't keep," he taunted.

"I can keep this one, and I will," Jane replied.

"Well, if you have any intention of proving yourself right about that, you'd better get started," Red John told him.

"Go to hell," Jane said bluntly,

Red John chuckled. "If such a place exits - which neither you nor I believe it does - then when my time comes, I probably will," he said nonchalantly. Then he smiled on last time. "Farewell for now, o foolish old friend of mine," he said, and he hung up.

There was silence. Red John looked at the cell phone he was holding.

"Oh," he whispered evilly to himself, "this is going to be fun." And he turned around and started walking away from Lisbon without another word.

"Wait a minute!" she called after him.

"Yes?" he asked, stopping and turning back to her.

"You…You're just going to leave me here?" she asked disbelievingly.

Red John's evil smile, she realized, was his default expression.

"Would you rather I kept you company?" he asked mockingly.

Lisbon was silent. No, that wasn't what she wanted, but she didn't want to be left alone, bleeding, in an empty room, either…

Red John took a step toward her.

"My advice to you is to get some sleep," he said; "you'll need it."

"Sleep?" she repeated incredulously. "You expect me to sleep?"

He tilted his head. "Oh, I'm sorry, are you in too much pain to sleep?" he taunted.

"Kinda, yeah," Lisbon answered.

Red John took another step toward her. "That's too bad," he hissed, "because it's only going to get worse from here. I advise you sleep now, while you're still in relatively little pain, because I can assure you that a week from now, you'll wish you were in this much pain." His evil smile stretched as he added, "If you're still alive."

He laughed and walked away. Just before he disappeared around the corner, he casually stuck his knife into the wall again, and the music Lisbon had first heard resumed.

Suddenly, she remembered where she had heard it before: An iPod had been playing it on speakers when they found one of Bosco's team dead in a room with Red John's smiley face painted over him in his blood.

Meanwhile, far away, Patrick Jane sat back down at his desk, took a breath in a futile attempt to calm himself, and started searching through the papers he knew by heart for the answer that would lead him to save his best friend.

…And, if he was lucky, kill Red John.

~o~

Grace Van Pelt walked into the office space that morning, the same as she did every day, and, to her surprise, found Wayne Rigsby and Kimball Cho at their desks, but no one else.

After the three exchanged "good morning"s, she asked, "Where are Lisbon and Jane?"

"We don't know," Cho said in his usual, expressionless manner.

Van Pelt looked between Rigsby and Cho, her eyes widening slightly, as she got a very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. "You mean they haven't been here at all?" she asked, trying to contain her nervousness.

Both Rigsby and Cho answered affirmatively.

Van Pelt took a deep breath. "Any idea where they might be?" she asked them.

"Nope," Rigsby answered.

Van Pelt looked between the two men in disbelief. "Doesn't that bother either of you?" she asked them, confused by their apparent indifference.

"Bother us how?" asked Rigsby. "They'll be here."

Van Pelt shook her head; the more she thought about it, the more it felt like something was wrong.

"Lisbon's never late," she said.

"Yeah, well, Jane's always late," Cho said without looking up from his computer.

"But Lisbon's never late," Van Pelt repeated.

"Well, she was late that one time," Rigsby pointed out. "You know, after the Walter Mashbourne thing?"

Van Pelt closed her eyes and tried to stay calm. "There's no reason for her to be late now," she said.

"What was her reason then?" asked Cho.

"You know…" Van Pelt said, gesturing with her head. "Him."

"Well, wherever Jane and Lisbon are, they're probably together," Rigsby said; "all we can do is wait for them to show up."

Something was wrong. Van Pelt knew it instinctively - something just wasn't right.

"Have either of you tried calling them?" Van Pelt asked, still standing.

Both men answered that no, they had not.

Van Pelt rolled her eyes, took out her phone, and dialed Lisbon's number. The call went straight to voicemail.

That feeling in her gut was suddenly twice as strong.

"Guys, Lisbon's cell phone is off," she told them.

"So?" asked Rigsby, shrugging.

"So, Lisbon never turns her phone off!" Van Pelt exclaimed. "You know how she is - she's always open for getting called by Bertram or someone else she answers to, twenty-four/seven!"

"Maybe she just doesn't have cell phone service wherever she is," Rigsby said, shrugging again.

Getting irritated, Van Pelt dialed Jane's number. The phone rang, and rang, and eventually went to voicemail.

"Jane's phone is on, but he's not answering it," she told them. (Little did she know that her call had nearly given Jane a heart attack.)

"Huh," said Rigsby, not looking up from his computer.

"That's odd," Cho commented likewise.

Van Pelt gave an exasperated sigh. "Guys, I have a really bad feeling about this," she told them.

"What sort of bad feeling?" Rigsby asked, looking up at her with concern.

Van Pelt shook her head as she tried to find the words.

"I just…I just feel like…like something bad's happening, or is about to happen, or…I don't know!" she finally exclaimed, frustrated. "I just get the feeling that Jane and Lisbon not being here is something to be worried about." When neither of them said anything, she turned around and hurried away.

"Where are you going?" Rigsby called after her.

"To see if Jane's upstairs," she called back without slowing down.

Five minutes later, she was back.

"He's not upstairs," she panted.

Rigsby and Cho looked at each other.

"Well then, where could he be?" Rigsby asked, looking at both of them. "When we're not on a case, he's usually here or upstairs."

"Exactly!" Van Pelt said. "Something's not right!"

Rigsby and Cho looked at each other, then simultaneously stood up.

"Let's go talk to Bertram," Cho suggested. "If there's anyone who knows why they're not here, it's him."

Rigsby and Van Pelt nodded in agreement, and together, they went upstairs to Bertram's office. He was on the phone when they knocked, but he was able to finish his call a minute later.

"Come in," he said.

Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt walked into the room and up to his desk.

"What can I do for you?" Bertram asked, his normal air of haughtiness about him as usual.

"Sir, Jane and Lisbon are missing," Van Pelt said. "Do you have any idea where they might be?"

Bertram, who had been leaning back in his chair, suddenly leaned forward. "What do you mean, they're missing?" he asked, still calm.

The three looked at each other.

"Lisbon's…not in her office," Rigsby said, "and her phone is turned off."

"Which it never is," Van Pelt inserted.

"And Jane's not on his couch or upstairs, and he's not answering his phone," Cho finished.

Bertram's gaze shifted quickly between the three of them.

"I see," he said after a moment.

"Do you…Do you have any idea where they might be?" Van Pelt asked, knowing the answer.

"No," Bertram answered slowly, standing up, "but this is a problem, and I thank you for alerting me to it."

"Maybe we could track Jane's phone," Rigsby suggested. "I mean, it's on, and it's within range of a cell tower, so we should be able to find him that way."

The four agreed, and a minute later, Rigsby, Cho, and Bertram were crowded around Van Pelt as she tracked the whereabouts of Jane's cell phone.

What came up couldn't have been more surprising to them.

"He's…here?" Rigsby asked, confused.

Van Pelt turned around in her seat and faced the others.

"Guys, I have a really bad feeling about this," she told them.

"Well he's not here, and he's not in his room upstairs," Cho said.

"So where is he?" asked Bertram.

No one had an answer.

"I guess we'll just have to…look around," Van Pelt said slowly after a minute.

"You okay?" Rigsby asked, noting her expression.

"I just…I have a really, really bad feeling," she said.

"Bad how?" asked Bertram, though it was more like a demand.

"I don't know," Van Pelt said. "I just feel like…I don't know…like something's wrong."

"Well, we won't find out one way or another just standing around here," Bertram said, taking on his "commander" voice. "Let's start looking around. There are only so many places he could be, and I would very much like to find out what the hell he thinks he's doing not answering his phone and hiding like this."

They agreed not to split up, as Bertram wanted to be there when they found Jane, he and didn't want to run the risk of someone else finding him first. Van Pelt led the charge, oddly enough. She didn't say anything to the others, but she could only think of one reason why Jane would ever act exceptionally unusually: Red John. If Red John had done something, and Lisbon was missing…well, at best, Jane and Lisbon were trying to work on something together…

And at worst…

"Excuse me," she said for what felt like the millionth time to someone passing by, "have you seen Patrick Jane?"

"Oh, yeah, he's over there." The man pointed to an unassigned office. Sure enough, there was Jane, sitting at the desk, his back to the door, looking through some papers.

"Thank you," Van Pelt said to the man with a smile, even though she thought she was going to be sick. Lisbon wasn't there…

The man acknowledged her thanks and continued on his way. She turned back to the others.

There was a pause. Then, Bertram started walking purposefully toward the office Jane was in.

"Director Bertram, sir, please, wait a minute!" Van Pelt said.

"What?" Bertram asked, turning around.

She swallowed. "Let's think about this," she said quietly. "There has to be some reason why Jane's been hiding in there all this time."

"Of course there is," Bertram said, "those papers he's going through are Red John's case file."

"How do you know that?" asked Rigsby.

"The box on the desk," Bertram answered, pointing. Sure enough, the Red John case file box sat on the desk with the papers Jane was going through. "Obviously, he started working some more on the case last night and lost track of time."

"Director Bertram, sir, no offense, but I don't think it's very likely that that would happen on the exact same day Lisbon didn't show up for work by pure coincidence," Van Pelt said.

"Well, whatever the case may be, we won't know until we ask him," Bertram pointed out, and with that, he turned back around and resumed striding toward Jane. After a brief moment, the others followed him.

~o~

Jane was so immersed in the papers in front of him that he wasn't even startled by the sound of the door opening behind him.

"Go away, please," he said instantly.

"Jane, there you are," Bertram said.

"Yes, here I am, now go away, please," Jane said without turning around.

But Bertram didn't. Instead, the rest of the team came in with him.

Of course.

"Jane?" Van Pelt asked, and even through his hyper-focused state, he could hear a trace of worry in her voice, though he didn't waste any energy wondering about it.

"I said, go away, please!" he repeated instead. Damn it…He didn't have time to waste dealing with them…

"Jane-"

"I'm busy, now GO AWAY!" Jane shouted without looking back at any of them.

"Jane, what's going on?" Van Pelt asked, a note of panic in her voice that he only barely took the energy to notice.

"Can't explain, very busy, now go the hell AWAY!" Jane yelled, still paging through one of the piles of paper in front of him.

The other four looked at each other.

"Where's Lisbon?" Cho asked.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out, now GO AWAY!"

"Why would looking through Red John's case file help you find Agent Lisbon?" Bertram asked.

Jane sighed. "He took her." He said it softly; saying it aloud made it more real, and the words hurt on the way out.

"What?" Van Pelt asked.

Jane furiously threw down the papers in his hands, stood up, whirled around to face them, and shouted, "Red John took Teresa!"

They stared at him, stunned. He took a moment or two to catch his breath - he was panting with fury. Then he said to them, "He took her, and I'm the only one who can save her, so unless any of you want her to die, go away!" He turned back around and sat down again, picking up the papers he'd been looking at, struggling not to cry with anger and exhaustion. He hadn't slept - he'd spent all night searching through the file, trying to find the answer. Sunrise, when Red John had forced him to listen to Lisbon being cut open again, had been pure hell on his already strained consciousness, and he was on the verge of completely losing it.

For a moment, the others were too shocked to speak. Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt looked at each other, wide-eyed, while Bertram's face was expressionless. Then, suddenly, everyone spoke at once.

"Are you sure?" asked Rigsby.

"Why would Red John take Lisbon?" asked Cho.

"What makes you think she's alive?" asked Van Pelt.

"Why didn't you report this?" demanded Bertram.

Jane sighed.

"Here," he said, holding out the envelope from Red John, in which he'd re-enclosed the letter, to the group behind him. "Take this very informative letter. It should answer all your questions. And leave me alone!"

Gingerly, Van Pelt took the letter from Jane and opened it. She slowly took out the letter, unfolded it, and, after hesitating a moment, began reading.

"'Dear Old Friend,'" she read. "'How are you? I would say that I hope you are doing well, but that would be a lie, and besides, the fact that you even found this letter means that you're still desperately digging through my case file every night, hoping against hope that you'll find something that will lead you to me. Sad...Very sad...'"

At this, Jane rolled his eyes without turning around and muttered, "Oh, for crying out loud, why can't you just let it go?"

Van Pelt took a breath, trying to steady herself, then continued, "'As for myself, I've been very bored lately. After all, there are only so many women worth killing, and only so many ignorant fools worth recruiting to my cause. So, in my spare time, I've been watching you, Old Friend; and as I have watched you, it has occurred to me that there is a question you need to answer. I spent days deliberating the best way to ask you, as I rather suspect you wouldn't answer if I simply asked you outright. Then I thought, Why not make a game out of it? A game, such that, simply by playing, you will answer my question. It will be fun for everyone.

"'What do you say, Old Friend? Will you play a game with me? I will be contacting you shortly to give you the details. For now, I leave you with my question, so that you may ponder it before we begin. Forever yours,'" She looked up at Jane's turned back. "'Red John.'"

"Damn right you are," Jane muttered.

There was silence except for the rustling of papers as Jane set one pile aside and started going back through another.

"So…what's the question?" Rigsby asked after a minute.

"Second page," Jane grunted by way of response.

The group of four exchanged looks, and Van Pelt tried the letter to see if there was a second page. Dislodging it from the first, she switched the pages so the bottom one was on top.

"'My question, Old Friend, is this,'" she read. "'How much-" She stopped. "Oh, god," she breathed.

"What?" asked Rigsby, taking the letter from her. Then he looked at it and said, "Oh. Oh my god."

"What?" asked Bertram.

Wordlessly, Van Pelt took back the letter and showed it to Cho.

"Oh, no," he said, and a trace of fear leaked into his voice.

"What?" demanded Bertram.

Van Pelt glanced at him, took a breath, and read softly, "'How much does Teresa Lisbon mean to you?'"

Bertram blinked, taking this in.

"So, let me see if I've got this straight," he said after a moment, turning to Jane: "Red John, arguably the most sadistic serial killer in the history of the state of California - possibly even in the history of the entire country - has abducted one of my best agents because of you?"

Jane closed his eyes, taking the blow silently; and it was a very, very painful blow to hear it said out loud.

"Yes," he answered softly.

Van Pelt turned to Bertram, opening her mouth to object to the idea of blaming Jane, when she remembered that he was the director and beyond reproach.

"Sir, it's not Jane's fault that a serial killer is on the loose," she said instead.

"But it is his fault that that serial killer has come after my people!" Bertram responded.

"You can all feel free to argue whose fault it is if you go away!" groaned Jane, exasperated.

"Why the hell didn't you report this?" Bertram demanded.

"He doesn't want anyone involved but me," Jane answered. "This is between me and him, and anyone else getting involved puts her at risk."

"The hell it does!" said Bertram angrily. "He comes after my agent, he comes after me - I'll be damned if I just let you handle it without any sort of backup!"

Jane suddenly got a very bad feeling. He stood up abruptly and turned on the four people behind him.

"You can't get involved!" he exclaimed wildly. "If anyone but me tries to get in on this-"

"Agent Lisbon is my responsibility," Bertram declared, "and if Red John thinks he can take her without the entire Bureau coming after him for it, he's got something else coming!"

"No!" Jane cried, almost delirious, shoving his way through them to block the door. "You can't get involved! He'll kill her!"

"He'll kill her anyway!" Bertram argued.

"Not if I play his game alone, he won't!" Jane replied adamantly.

"Jane, we're not just going to sit back and let Red John kill Lisbon," said Rigsby.

"If she's even still alive," Cho added.

"She's alive," Jane told them.

"And how do you know that?" asked Bertram incredulously.

Jane took a moment to make eye contact with each one of them. "Because I've spoken to her," he answered. "I've spoken to her, and I've spoken to him, and I've heard her scream as he cut her open." His face was granite, his tone grave as death, as he said, "I will not let those screams turn into the screams of a dying woman, but if any of you try to get involved, that's exactly what they'll be." He paused again to let what he was saying sink in. "So don't any of you dare try to get involved," he finished.

Bertram shook his head stubbornly. "We don't play games with killers, and we certainly don't let them call the shots, ever," he said sternly. "He wants to play a game? He plays with all of us, and he plays by our rules."

"No!" Jane cried frantically. "If you do something he doesn't want you to-"

"I will not take orders from a psycho serial killer!" snarled Bertram, trying to shove Jane aside.

"You have to!" Jane exclaimed. "Look, just wait until sunrise, okay? He'll call then, and then I'll ask him what he does and doesn't want you all to do, okay?"

"Jane…it was sunrise two hours ago," said Van Pelt softly.

Jane nodded. "Yes, it was," he replied; "and tonight, the sun is going to set again, and tomorrow morning, it's going to rise again. When it rises again tomorrow, if he still has her, then I'll ask him what you are allowed to do; until then, you can't get involved, unless you want her to die."

"Get out of my way!" commanded Bertram. "That's an order!"

"I can't follow orders that will get Teresa killed," Jane replied firmly, and he actually grabbed hold of the door frame to keep the others from leaving, praying that he wouldn't have to hold them off like this for the full twenty-some hours between then and the next sunrise.

~o~

The pain in Lisbon's arm had subsided to a dull throb, which was, if nothing else, bearable. At sunrise, Red John had added a cut to the front of her left shoulder, and the pain from that wound was just beginning to dull as well. That damn music kept playing, over and over, and it contrasted so sharply with her situation that it made the whole thing feel even more horrifying.

Red John is going to kill me. This thought had been the only one that had been clear to her throughout the night. It had scared her at first, but now, she just felt…numb. What was the point in being scared? There was nothing she or anyone else could do to change the fact that she was going to die a horrible, painful death. It was simply a fact, and one she had come to accept after a long time of considering it.

Her biggest worry was what her death would do to Jane. He'd told her he'd had a breakdown after Red John had murdered his family, and while she knew she didn't mean nearly as much to him as his wife and daughter did, she also knew that, ever since the day Red John had taken everything from him, she had been his family, more or less - her and the rest of the team. Red John had made it clear that he had taken her because Jane cared about her, and she knew Jane would blame himself for it. The fact that, on top of everything else, he would have to listen to it, too…She didn't even want to think about what that would do to him. She didn't care that she was going to die, not really; what she hated about her situation was that she was being used to torture Jane…

Suddenly, she registered that footsteps were sounding over the music, getting closer. Here we go, she thought.

Red John strolled in, just as the final strains of the piano music were playing, and as the piece ended, he stuck his knife in the wall, the same as he always did, and the music stopped.

"How are you, My Dear?" he asked her mockingly, tilting his head.

She glared at him, unable to think of an adequate response through the haze of pain that filled her mind. Instead, she heard herself ask, "Is it time already?"

Red John chuckled evilly. "No, My Dear, you've plenty of time still."

"Then why are you here?" she asked weakly, wishing she could force herself to sound stronger.

"I gave my Old Friend my word that I would keep you alive," Red John answered, "and so I am going to hold to it."

Lisbon thought for a moment. "I'm not eating or drinking anything you give me," she told him.

Red John smiled chillingly, and Lisbon was able to spare a bit of brain space to marvel at how she was able to sense the movement even though she couldn't see.

"I know," he said casually, stalking toward her. Then, he pulled out a needle. "Which is why we're going to skip that entirely," he added, kneeling down right in front of her.

She recoiled into the corner, shrinking away from him.

"Give me your arm," he said to her softly.

She deliberately bent her elbows, and she twisted her head and shoulders to protect her neck for good measure.

"My Dear, what do you think I'm going to do to you?" Red John asked her, a hint of laughter lacing his voice. "When I kill you, I'll be using this knife." He held up his ever-present knife for good measure. "What exactly are you so afraid I'm going to inject you with?"

When I kill you. His choice of words was not lost on her.

"What are you going to give me?" Lisbon asked, trying not to sound afraid. She wasn't afraid, but that didn't mean she was going to just let Red John inject her with whatever he felt giving her.

Red John shrugged. "This one's mostly saline, to keep you hydrated, with all the nutrients you need to survive mixed in." He reached out to take her left arm. She pulled back. "My Dear, give me your arm, or I'll make you," he hissed dangerously.

"Why don't you just make me, then?" she asked him, trying to sound defiant and succeeding.

"I don't want to break you too quickly," he answered. "I want to let you have the illusion of having some control over what's happening to you…for now. In other words, I'm being polite," he added mockingly.

Lisbon glared at him, but, recognizing that she was only hurting herself by refusing, she unbent her left arm so that he could get at her vein.

He smiled, then wordlessly jabbed the needle he was holding into the crook of her elbow. She didn't bother to question how he didn't miss her vein. He finished, pulled the needle out, capped it, and put it away (somewhere - she couldn't tell where it went).

Then he pulled out another one.

"What's that?" she asked, drawing back again.

"Again, mostly saline," he answered. "This one is also mixed with chemicals to keep you alive - just not nutrients."

"Like?" Lisbon asked, not moving.

Red John shrugged. "Marrow stimulants so your blood supply will replenish faster, coagulating factors so you don't bleed out so quickly, vision blockers so you still can't see my face-" He broke off. "'Vision blockers,'" he repeated softly, almost to himself. "Huh. It seems I just named it."

Lisbon raised her eyebrows. "'Vision blockers?'" she repeated incredulously. "Is that really the best you can come up with."

"I doubt it," Red John replied, shrugging again. "If I put much effort into it, I'm sure I could come up with a much better one. I just don't see why I should waste my time and energy on it." He tilted his head. "Names are a convenience, My Dear, not a necessity."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said.

Red John smiled, as though her cynicism amused him. "Also in here is another drug I designed myself," he continued. "This one will make it so that the pain you are in doesn't physically or mentally impair you. Oh, it won't lessen the pain," he added, seeing her expression; "it will simply make it so that you can think and speak through it coherently, among other things. This is important, because there's something I want to ask you."

Lisbon looked at him for a minute, then wordlessly held her arm out again. Likewise, he said nothing as he gave her the second injection. Afterward, he capped the needle and put it away, same as the first. Then, he stood up, pulled the chair over, and sat down in it, so that he was sitting directly in front of her.

"Tell me when it takes effect," he told her, and he resumed twirling his knife absentmindedly.

For a moment, Lisbon felt nothing. Then-

"Oh!" she exclaimed as a strange sensation flooded through her: The pain certainly didn't lessen, but her mind was suddenly clear. She blinked, then looked up at Red John, her brow furrowed. "That feels really weird," she said.

"It should," Red John said, smiling. "Now then…" He leaned forward. "I was wondering if you could explain something to me."

"What?" Lisbon asked coolly.

"Why aren't you afraid?" Red John asked her.

Lisbon looked at him but said nothing; her mind was racing, and she was starting to get an idea, if she could just have another minute to figure it out…

"Why aren't you afraid?" Red John repeated, leaning back casually in his chair. "When you first found out who I was, you were afraid - you were utterly terrified. But now…" He tilted his head. "I know my Old Friend told you to not show me any fear, but you're not just hiding your fear, you really don't feel any. Why is that?"

Got it.

"Well, what am I supposed to be afraid of?" she asked him sarcastically. "You?"

Red John blinked, as if confused by her reply. "All sane beings fear death," he replied after a moment.

"Is that what you think you are?" Lisbon deliberately made her tone as mocking and condescending as possible. "Well, 'Death be not proud, though some say thou should be!'" She smiled at being able to quote poetry at him. Perfect, she thought.

Red John said nothing, but his knife stopped spinning around, and he looked at her with what appeared to be disbelief (from what she could tell through the vision blockers), so she knew she was on the right track.

"Seriously, though, am I supposed to be afraid of you?" she asked him mockingly. "Ha! You're nothing but an ugly, tormented little man, a lonely soul…And sad…very sad…" She smiled, knowing that quoting Jane would really get under his skin. "Just like Jane-" she emphasized the fact that she was calling Jane by his last name "-said you were, all those years ago." She tilted her head, as though realizing something, as she suddenly got another idea for how to make Red John mad. "And that's why you killed his family, isn't it?" she asked him tauntingly. "It wasn't because he slandered you; it was because he was telling a painful truth that you just couldn't stand to hear." She laughed, and she knew the sound wasn't pretty. "Well, you can rage and rampage and kill all you want to, but that doesn't change what you are," she finished, her voice dripping with mockery: "You're pathetic. You're nothing." She smiled. "And I'm not afraid of you."

Red John was shaking with rage - she could see the way his knife vibrated in the air, clenched in his hand. His eyes were closed, both his hands were balled into tight fists, and his jaw was clenched so tightly she could actually sense the muscles in his face twitching as he exerted every ounce of self-control he had. Slowly, very slowly, as though he was afraid that he would snap if he even allowed himself to move too fast, he stood up, his expression unchanging. He didn't say anything, and Lisbon knew she was close.

"What's the matter?" she taunted. "Tiger got your tongue?"

Red John bared his teeth, but he still somehow managed not to snap. Lisbon didn't have any more ideas, so she decided to let things take their course.

Slowly, very slowly, Red John switched his knife from his right hand to his left, and then, very, very slowly, he reached into his right pocket, took out Lisbon's phone, turned it on, called Jane on speed dial, and lifted the phone to his ear, all with as little movement as possible.

~o~

"No, you can't-!"

Jane was cut off by the sound of his cell phone ringing on the table.

He froze, staring at the phone in horror. Rigsby, Cho, Van Pelt, and Bertram all sensed that the phone ringing was a very bad sign, and none of them moved or spoke as Jane, terrified, walked over to his phone and checked the caller ID.

Lisbon.

Jane turned on the others.

"See what you've done!" he exclaimed at them.

"What's-?" Van Pelt began.

"It's him!" Jane shouted furiously. He glared at them. "I'll put him on speaker so you can all hear exactly what you've done!" he snarled, and he picked up the phone.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Good morning, Old Friend," came Red John's voice over the phone, and the sound was chilling for everyone who was listening - Red John was speaking very slowly, through gritted teeth, as though nearly bursting with fury. Without waiting for Jane to ask, he said, still slowly, still through gritted teeth, "I'm calling…because it would seem…that you have taught Saint Teresa…both too much…and too little…for her own good." He paused, taking a breath, as though trying to calm himself. "You've taught her…very well…how to insult me," he hissed dangerously; "however…you somehow failed to teach her…that doing so…is a very…bad…idea." Another pause. Rigsby, Cho, Van Pelt, Bertram, and Jane all waited with dread for whatever Red John was going to say next.

"…And now it's going to cost both of you!" Red John roared, his voice that of fury itself.

~o~

No sooner had Red John finished speaking into the phone than he flew at Lisbon, tossed the phone down right next to her, grabbed her, flipped his knife over and backward into his right hand so that the blade curved away from her, and brought it down, hard, on her right shoulder. Even though the blade was curving away from her, the force with which he swung it drove it more than two inches into her flesh.

Lisbon cried out involuntarily.

"Teresa!" came Jane's voice over the line.

The tip of the blade had a barb that jutted out the back, and now Red John pulled his blade through Lisbon's shoulder, slowly, causing the barb to scrape at the bone that kept the blade from going deeper. He wasn't sawing through bone, the barb was viciously ripping bone fibers apart, and Red John pulled the blade down hard, causing the ripping to go through her shoulder blade and collar bone, tearing the latter nearly in half. Lisbon screamed, and screamed; she couldn't help it - the agony was unbearable.

"Teresa!" Jane shouted again, fearing the worst.

Red John's roar of exertion and fury as he slashed through flesh and bone wasn't even audible over Lisbon's screams, until finally he cut all the way through, and with a final slash through the air that sprayed blood everywhere as the blade came free of Lisbon's body, Red John, panting, released Lisbon, picked up the phone again, and stood up.

"That's…it?" Lisbon managed to gasp, surprised.

"You son of a bitch!" Jane snarled over the phone. "You broke your word!"

"When?" Red John demanded. "In what way have I broken my word?"

"You said you'd only cut her once every sunrise!" Jane shouted.

Red John laughed his chilling, evil laugh, completely composed once more. "I said I'd cut her once every sunrise," he said, his tone taunting and mocking as usual; "I never said anything about between sunrises."

"You...!" Jane was furious - and frightened - beyond words. "What did she say to you? You know what?" Jane quickly changed his mind. "Never mind. Let me talk to her. Please. I promise, whatever she said, whatever she did, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again. Please, just let me talk to her."

Red John smiled. "Very well," he said, and he held out the phone to Lisbon. "Here you are."

"Alone," Jane said. "Please."

Red John was silent for a moment.

"Please," Jane begged. "Please, let me talk to her alone. Just…Just give her the phone and leave the room. Please."

Red John thought for a moment. "Very well," he finally said, and he set the phone down in front of Lisbon and started walking away.

"Teresa, tell me when he's gone," Jane said.

Lisbon watched until Red John was out of sight. "He's gone."

"Teresa, what happened?" Jane asked frantically. "What did you say to him?"

Lisbon smiled weakly. "The same thing you did," she answered. "Plus a…few additions of my own."

"Teresa…" For a moment, Jane was too stunned to speak. Then, "Why would you do that?" he demanded.

"Because I don't want you to play this stupid game!" Lisbon shouted.

There was silence for a moment.

"I thought that maybe, if I made him mad enough, he'd just snap and kill me," Lisbon continued finally. "I thought maybe he wouldn't even bother to call you and you wouldn't have to listen."

"Teresa…" Jane was at a loss for words. "You don't have to die," he said finally.

"Patrick-"

"Teresa, listen to me," Jane cut her off, his voice coming stronger now. "I will save you, alright? I swore I would, and I will." He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I need you to believe in me," he continued after a moment, his voice softer, "and I need you to wait for me. Please, Teresa, I need you to promise me you won't try to make him mad again. This is hard enough without me having to worry about you doing or saying something and getting yourself killed."

Lisbon laughed in spite of herself.

"What?" Jane asked, confused.

"Am I the only one who can appreciate the irony of what you just said?" Lisbon asked by way of answering, still smiling. "Usually, I'm the one who worries about you doing or saying something stupid and getting yourself killed."

"Teresa, I highly doubt that anything I have ever done has ever come even close to worrying you as much as you're worrying me right now, and if I'm wrong, I am SO SORRY!" Jane told her, a note of panic creeping into his voice. "Just please, promise me you won't try to end this thing on your terms again."

Lisbon sighed. "Okay, fine," she said.

"Okay, fine, what?"

"I promise."

"Promise what?"

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "I promise that I won't try to piss Red John off, or do anything else to try to end this game on my terms, ever again."

Jane sighed with relief. "Thank you, Teresa," he said.

No sooner had he finished saying his thanks than Red John walked back into the room. He scooped up the phone without a word to Lisbon and asked, "Are you quite finished, Old Friend?"

"Based on your perfect timing, I'm guessing you know the answer to that question already," Jane answered spitefully.

Red John smiled. "Of course I do; after all, I'm always watching you, Old Friend. I was simply being polite."

"Oh, so now you're polite?" Jane retorted sarcastically.

"Always," Red John replied coolly, and he started walking away from Lisbon. Just before he was out of sight, he stuck his knife in the wall, and the music started playing again. Then, she was alone.

~o~

"Now then," came Red John's voice over the speaker phone on Jane's cell, "it seems we have an audience, and one that would like to interfere, at that." Jane looked up quickly at Rigsby, Cho, Van Pelt, and Bertram. Van Pelt, who had been clinging to Rigsby, her face buried in his chest, ever since Lisbon had started screaming, looked up. Rigsby was holding her tightly, as much for his own comfort as for hers. Cho's typical expressionless face was showing signs of cracking and giving way to anger. Bertram looked stunned, which did not suit his normal holier-than-thou demeanor.

"Old Friend, hold out your phone so we can make this a six-way conversation," Red John said. "After all, our company would like to know what they may and may not do in this situation, yes?"

Jane glanced between the four others, not quite sure what to do.

"Old Friend, I know they're there, and I know they're listening," Red John said dangerously. "Hold out your phone, so that they may be a part of this."

Jane took his phone away from his ear wordlessly, and held it in the general direction of his friends.

"Thank you, Old Friend," Red John said mockingly. "Now, then. Grace. Wayne. Kimball. Gale. I know you can hear me. Please acknowledge yourselves."

The four all looked at Jane for direction.

"I said, acknowledge yourselves," Red John said with mock impatience. "Surely you don't need my Old Friend's guidance for that."

"How did you know we were looking at Jane?" Van Pelt asked, shocked into speaking.

"Ah, Grace, thank you for breaking the ice," Red John purred. "Anyone else?"

"Answer her question," said Cho.

"Thank you, Kimball," Red John said. "Wayne? Gale? Are you going to speak up?"

"Will you answer her question once we do?" asked Rigsby.

"One to go," Red John commentated.

"Are you watching us right now?" asked Bertram.

"And we've begun!" Red John said. "Excellent! Yes, Gale, I am watching you right now, as I am all of you at all times. How? I think I'll keep that to myself, at least for now."

"You're Red John?" asked Bertram, taking on his Director-of-the-CBI tone.

"The one and only," Red John answered proudly.

"Let my agent go!" Bertram commanded.

"Or what?" Red John replied spitefully.

Bertram wasn't put off. "As director of the California Bureau of Investigation, I hereby order you to release Agent Lisbon and surrender yourself immediately!"

Red John laughed. "Come now, Director, surely we can skip the formalities?" he asked, putting an extra touch of sarcasm on the word 'director'. "You know perfectly well that I like my life a little too much to turn myself in, and you have absolutely no power to force me to do anything whatsoever, so can we skip the demands? In this situation, they will only waste time, and as Saint Teresa has precious little left, I don't think you want to test this situation to find out how much she has to spare."

"What do you mean?" Van Pelt exclaimed fearfully.

Red John's chilling laughter cackled over the phone. "I mean, you really don't have time to waste, if you want sweet Saint Teresa to live," he answered malevolently.

There was a pause.

"Now then, all of you…I gather that you would like to know what you may and may not do in this situation to help my Old Friend save Teresa's life?" Red John asked finally.

Everyone was silent, waiting for him to continue.

"Well?" Red John asked, feigning impatience. "Would you like to know what I will allow?"

"The CBI doesn't make deals with killers!" spat Bertram.

"Well, unless you make an exception in this case, your precious agent is as good as dead," Red John replied with a calm that was even more chilling than anger would have been. "Now, would you like to know how you all may participate in this game?"

"This isn't a game, you sick freak!" Cho shouted.

"Oh, but it is," Red John answered, his tone suggesting that he was enjoying pushing everyone to the edge. "This is a game, and Teresa's life is the stakes. Would you like to know how you may play?"

"What are they allowed to do?" Jane asked, overriding everyone who was about to make an objection to what Red John had said.

Red John chuckled. "Well, Old Friend, I would obviously prefer it if everyone were to stay out of this completely," he answered. "Unfortunately, such a request would be unreasonable to the point of idiotic, so here is how your allies may fit in." There was a pause, and everyone knew Red John was smiling. "Wayne, Grace, Kimball, Gale, if you wish to participate, then the four of you must follow the first name rule that Teresa and My Foolish Old Friend are currently following," he said; "that is, whenever you address one another, or talk about one another, or Teresa, or my Old Friend, you must refer to one another by your first names only, even if you are talking about one another with someone on the outside of this agreement, for as long as Teresa remains in my possession. If any of you make an error in this regard…" Red John paused for effect. "Sweet Teresa will pay the price," he finished nastily.

Van Pelt's eyes widened with horror, and she put her hand to her mouth to muffle any sound she might make, but other than that, there was no response.

"Second - and this is important," Red John continued after a moment: "Only my Old Friend is allowed to look at any papers from my case file. If any of you so much as glance at even one of those papers, Teresa's life is forfeit. Do you understand?"

"I will not take orders-"

"Do you understand?" Red John demanded, cutting off Bertram's protest.

"Yes, they understand!" Jane said hurriedly, knowing that they did, even though they wouldn't say it.

Red John laughed again. "Good," he hissed.

There was another pause.

"Other than that, the four of you may do whatever you wish," Red John said after a moment.

Everyone blinked in surprise.

"What?" Van Pelt asked finally.

"You may do whatever you wish, so long as you observe the first name rule, and none of you look at any of the papers from my case file," Red John said, slowly and clearly. "Whatever you can come up with in an attempt to save Saint Teresa from me that does not violate either of those two terms is completely within your ability to do without any sort of penalty. I will not punish any of you, or Teresa, for anything any of you do, so long as you remain within the boundaries of the two terms I have set forth, you have my word."

"And can we trust your word?" asked Rigsby.

"Of course you can," Red John answered with mock indignation. "I value integrity very highly - I never break my word; and you have it, that you may do whatever you wish, so long as you hold to the first name rule and do not look at anything from my case file."

There was silence.

"Fair enough?" Red John asked mockingly after a moment.

Again, silence.

"Fair enough," Cho said after a minute.

Red John laughed. "Are you surprised that my terms are so few?" he asked.

"A little, yeah," answered Rigsby.

More laughter. "Well, any further limitations would be unreasonable on my part, as you all have such strong standards," he said mockingly. "Hopefully, these terms will be found agreeable to everyone, even Gale Bertram. Are they?"

Bertram nodded. "Yeah, fine, we'll play by your rules, if those are the only ones you're going to make," he said grudgingly.

"Excellent!" said Red John. "Welcome to the game, all of you. Farewell for now."

The line went dead.