So this was inspired by Lizzybeth93's story Journey's End. All credit to her for the idea of the letter and the 7 days :). I just couldn't get the idea out of my head and so I finally decided to write a fanfic, my second one ever. I have been reading so many brilliant fics on this site so really you have all inspired me. I must say though I used to find it much easier to write back in high school, and yet this was quite hard. Hopefully by doing this I will get my groove back. Enjoy, more to come :)
Don't own anything, I am just a poor student not a wealthy TV producer.
"Jane… tell me you didn't…?"
Lisbon's hoarse whisper broke the silence in the bullpen. Five sets of eyes were trained on one sheepish consultant. One very dishevelled, muddy consultant, wry smile resembling a caught-out child, smelling slightly of … horse manure?
"I assure you, this will all work out fine. Just a slight setback… just need to plan a little more, cast a wide net and - "
"Your cover's been blown, Sherlock" Cho remarked dryly. It was true. Their airtight case against one David Marr, livery yard owner and part time serial killer, painstakingly compiled and waiting on a warrant to ensure an arrest, had been blown apart five minutes earlier with a phone call from the D.A. to Hightower. Marr had lawyered up and was threatening to file against the agency, claiming substantial property damage and attempted theft of a prized horse by an agent Wayne Rigsby of the CBI.
The agent in question was standing dumbstruck, and fuming, next to an even more irate Director Hightower. Van Pelt looked dismayed, the promise of a payoff for her hours of hard work now dissolved in one fell swoop.
Cho and Lisbon just looked resigned, unsurprised.
"Impersonating a state agent is a serious offence, Mr Jane. One which you have been charged with before. I can only assume you have no interest in learning from your past experiences with regards to this. Don't interrupt."
As Jane bit back a response, Hightower took a breath. And another. She shifted her glare to Lisbon whose eyes were now downcast.
"According to the D.A., you entered Mr Marr's property alone this afternoon and introduced yourself as Agent Rigsby to the stable hand. You flashed a fake warrant and confounded the poor girl with an elaborate misdirection. You then let yourself into a locked barn using illegal techniques, handled an expensive animal without permission, and then lost control of it causing a great deal of damage to the barn and who knows what kind of damage to the horse, if they ever retrieve it from the state forest. And do I even need to ask agent Lisbon if she was aware of your actions at the time?"
Lisbon glanced up at Jane, then met her superior's eyes. The uncomfortable silence was a clear answer. Hightower continued.
"Didn't think so. Through your actions Mr Jane, you have irredeemably impaired the case your team had built around the suspect, which was relying on Mr Marr's complete ignorance of any such suspicion against him. Which was also relying on evidence we were waiting on a warrant to collect. Evidence which will surely now be destroyed. So what, Jane, were you bored? What exactly inspired you to do this?"
For the first time in a long time, Patrick Jane could only feel ashamed. "I'm sorry, I just… uh… I wanted to close the case. Sorry guys…" He raised his eyes to meet Hightower's gaze, sure that she knew why he was impatient. Unsure of what her response would be. It was an uncomfortable feeling for Patrick to be unsure of anything. A feeling he was experiencing far too often lately.
After a long pause, Hightower spoke again. "Look, it's late, and I'm missing my son's birthday party. I don't even want to look at you right now Patrick, much less know what to do with you. You're all dismissed, we'll continue this tomorrow." Without so much as a further glance, she strode out of the bullpen.
The team stood in awkward silence for a few moments. Finally Rigsby straightened, stepped towards Jane and held out his hand. Jane wordlessly handed back Rigsby's pickpocketed ID and badge. "Not cool, man" Rigsby muttered, and with a nod to his boss and colleagues, grabbed his jacket and walked away. Grace offered a shy goodnight, and followed suit. Cho met Lisbon's gaze, and when she flashed him a tight smile he also took his cue to leave. Lisbon the wordlessly turned to pack up the files spread out on the table behind them. Jane waited.
"You know, it's one thing to constantly betray my trust. I'm responsible for you, and I've come to expect it. It's another thing entirely to jeopardise the careers of your colleagues like you did today." Turning back to face him, she smiled bitterly. "And I'm not even surprised."
"So why don't you go on up to your attic now and think about Red John. Now that there aren't any other silly little homicide cases to distract you." Her voice was quiet, icy; yet her words seemed to linger in the empty room.
Jane said nothing. He couldn't deny that that was exactly what he planned to do. Yet he truly regretted the day's events. And he was shocked at how guilty he felt for causing Lisbon to look at him the way she was right now. And for once he was too tired to put on a mask. Or maybe he just didn't want to lie to her again.
"Goodnight Jane". she turned on her heel and strode into her office. Locking the files in the cabinet, she grabbed her keys and her jacket and left.
Jane glanced at the empty bullpen, his couch, Louis the night janitor making his way round the corner at the far end of the hall. And then he turned and made his way up to the attic.
It was just after nine when Lisbon arrived at the door to her apartment, fumbling with the stack of mail in her hand and she tried to find the right key. Shouldering open the heavy door, she dumped the mail on a small table next to the dorrway and leaned back against the door to shut it. Sighing she tossed her jacket over the couch and headed straight into the kitchen.
With the kettle on the stove to boil she hastily changed out of her work blouse and pants into her favourite pair of yoga pants and faded Minnie Mouse t-shirt her 7 year old nephew had meticulously picked out for her on vacation in Florida the year before. One that she would never admit to wearing so often or ever leave the house in. She realised how tired she was as she heard the kettle begin to whistle in the next room. Stowing her gun in the safe next to her bed, she padded out to the kitchen.
A few minutes later, frozen dinner in the microwave and coffee brewing on the counter, she retrieved the stack of envelopes from near the door. Yawning, she rifled through them - cell phone bill, bank statement, notice from the landlord of planned development behind the complex. The last one was a plain white envelope, she assumed a letter from her brother, although the writing was a little neater than usual, maybe from his wife Amy… wait there was no address on it. Just her name in neat cursive, black pen. Whoever it was from had hand delivered it.
While this was odd, Lisbon figured it must be from one of her neighbours. She pealed back the seal of the envelope and slide her fingers inside to pull out the letter, suddenly feeling a sharp stinging pain in her fingers. Before her brain realised the cause of it bright drops of blood spattered the back of the envelope and the paper in her hand. She flung them both on the counter in alarm and saw a glint of a razor blade tucked just inside the opening of the envelope. Looking down she saw blood pooling on the kitchen tiles and scrambled to the sink. Under the flow of water she could see the blade had sliced deeply into her index and middle fingers. She reached for a towel and wrapped her hand up tightly.
Completely alarmed now, she moved back over to the letter and, taking a fork out of the drawer, used it to carefully turn it over and unfold it on the counter. Inside was just a few more lines written in the same cursive script as on the front.
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire in thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And at the bottom of the page was a very familiar signature, a sinister smiley face scrawled in red marker. And two more words:
Seven days.
Lisbon let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding, and tried to think clearly. But she couldn't push down the awful realisation rising in her throat. Red John had been outside her apartment. He'd brought this letter and put it in her mailbox. Oh God he'd put a razor blade inside… one of his blades...
A shrill beeping made her jump and whirl around. Her microwave was screeching for her attention. Flipping the door open to silence it she rushed straight past and back into her bedroom, punching in the safe code lightning fast and retrieving her weapon. She grabbed her cell and moved straight back into the kitchen. Laying the gun on the table in front of her, her trembling fingers sought out a familiar speed dial.
to be continued...