Lisbon receives a frightening text message that causes her to reveal her hand. (Set sometime during season 5)
Poker Face
CHAPTER ONE
The Bet
"Um, where is Jane?" Lisbon demanded, heels clicking as she marched into the bullpen, waving toward his empty leather couch. Midmorning light streamed through the large windows. Rigsby, Cho and Van Pelt turned from their computer screens to glance at their boss. They all shook their heads.
"No clue," Cho answered.
Lisbon held up her arm and looked at her watch.
"It's almost eleven o'clock!"
"He hasn't even checked in today," Van Pelt added, frowning.
"Wonder what he's up to," Rigsby mused.
"Well, since we don't have a case right now," Cho said. "We at least know he's probably not out breaking into houses or interrogating the wrong people."
"Fine," Lisbon sighed. "If he wants to play hooky, that's his business, I guess. Let me know when he gets in."
"Okay, Boss," Rigsby called after her as she turned and swept out toward her office. Lisbon ground her teeth. What did he think this was, anyway? A nightclub or a theatre where he could just show up when he felt like it and leave when he got bored?
She shoved through her office door. The blinds clanked against the glass. She swung around her desk, sat heavily down in her chair and scooted toward her screen. With a loud tap on her keyboard she banished the screen saver. Heaving another sigh, Lisbon set her fingers on home row and set to typing rapidly, hoping she could get through this report in time to actually have lunch today.
Only the clacking of keys filled the silence for about twenty minutes. A line formed between Lisbon's eyebrows as she focused on translating the details of the last case into succinct, official language, whilst leaving out as many of Jane's shenanigans as possible. Three pages. She paused and scrolled up. She'd probably have it wrapped up before she completed a fourth.
Beep.
She blinked, frowned. Glanced over at her suit coat. She'd shrugged it off earlier and left it on her couch—it was too warm to wear it.
Beep.
She paused, groaned. Found her stopping point and kept typing.
Beep.
"Gah," she huffed, shoved back from her desk, got up, came around and grabbed her coat, then dug in her pocket for her phone. "This had better be some excuse…" she gritted. Her fingers closed around her cell, she pulled it out, tossed down her jacket and lifted the phone to see the screen.
She frowned again. A blocked number.
She flipped the phone open.
1 new message.
She opened it.
Striking black words on a white background. She read them through once, quickly—then stopped. She read them again. And again.
She went cold. All the way down to her marrow. Her breathing slowed to nothing, and her heart shuddered inside her chest. Her vision blurred and blanked. She swayed.
Numbly, she opened her mouth. Van Pelt's name—Cho's name, Rigsby's—surged through her lungs, into her throat—
Caught. She choked, and closed her mouth. Her gut clamped down. She spun, her vision flaring back to vibrant clarity, and stared out through the blinds at the bullpen. Her team was right out there, working quietly. Rigsby leaned around and stylishly tossed a stapler to Cho. Van Pelt laughed.
Her legs suddenly weak, Lisbon crossed and shut the blinds. They clashed against the windows. Her hands shook as she opened her phone again and hit speed dial. She held the phone against her ear with one hand and wrapped the other arm around her middle, tight. The phone rang once. Twice. She bit the inside of her lip.
"We're sorry."
Lisbon jolted. A strident, female computer voice charged through her head.
"The number you have dialed has been disconnected. Goodbye."
"Wh…What?" Lisbon gasped. She hurriedly hung up, then dialed the number again, this time from memory. She pressed the phone to her ear and held her breath.
Ring. Ring.
"We're sorry. The number you have dialed—"
Lisbon slapped the phone shut. Then, she opened it again, and brought up that text message. Her brow twisted as she took a fistful of her hair. For a long moment, she stood in the middle of her office, frozen, the words of the text message burning against her eyes. Her heartbeat raged against her breastbone.
She closed the message and looked at her main screen.
11:30
She rammed her phone into her pants pocket, turned on her heel and pulled her door open. In afterthought, she forced herself to halfway pause by the bullpen door.
"Stay here. I'm leaving," she called.
"Where to?" Van Pelt asked.
"To find Jane," Lisbon answered, already halfway to the elevator. She reached down and felt for her gun—its solid weight rested against her hip. She stepped into the elevator and ordered it downward. The doors eased closed. Her mind scrabbled and spun, flooding with countless possibilities. And with every new one that occurred to her, she had to fight to keep her heartbeat from deafening her.
LLLLL
Lisbon flexed her stiff hands. Her knuckles lost some of their whiteness as her fingers closed again around her steering wheel. But her jaw would not unclench. She stepped down on the accelerator as the sidewalks, cars and buildings whipped by on either side. She was breaking the speed limit. By a lot. She pushed harder.
She swung around a corner, her eyes sweeping across the residential street ahead of her. There. There was his house—she remembered the front of it, the stairs…
Wait.
Sunshine glinted off the light blue paint of his ugly little car. It was parked in the street—at a funny angle.
Lisbon pulled in right behind it, slammed on the breaks and threw her car into park. She shoved the car door open and jumped out, slamming it shut even as she hurried forward.
"Jane?" she shouted—but she could already see that nobody was in the car. She flanked it, assessing it, her right hand opening and closing. The front end of the car was turned away from the curb, and so were the front wheels. The windows stood half down. She peered closer. The doors were unlocked.
She straightened, searching past the car amongst the brown grass and shrubbery of the front yard, the porch, the windows...
"Jane?" Her voice echoed up and down the street. In the distance, traffic quietly roared. She rounded the car, her shoes scraping on the cement, and charged up the sidewalk. She hopped up the steps and rang the doorbell.
Ding. Dong.
No answer.
"Jane? Jane, what's wrong with your phone? Jane!"
No answer.
She beat on the door. The hammering resounded through the empty house. Frantically, she grabbed the knob and twisted—
The door came open.
Lisbon's eyes went wide. For just an instant, she poised on the threshold, staring into the entryway.
Then, she noisily yanked her weapon from its holster, clicked off the safety, pointed the gun ahead of her with both hands and advanced.
She moved swiftly from room to room, barely breathing, eyes flicking back and forth. Nothing moved. Her soft steps reverberated against blank, cream-colored walls. She maneuvered carefully around a dusty tricycle in a side room, and secured the lower floor. Then, she turned toward the staircase.
She hesitated. Then, bracing herself, she hurried up the stairs, down a short hall, paused for just a second, then kicked the bedroom door open. It hit the inside wall with a bang.
A fiendish, blood-red smiley face glared out at her.
She leaped backward.
She threw out one hand and slapped it against the wall to catch herself. Her heart pounded so fast she couldn't hear. She blinked four times, shook her head…
She remembered.
She sucked in a deep breath, shook herself, and cursed.
She took firm hold of her weapon, marched forward and entered the bedroom.
Nobody.
She left it, and canvassed the whole upper storey. It was empty. The whole house was empty.
Lisbon holstered her gun, swearing again, a knot twisting through her chest. She charged down the stairs and left the house, barely shutting the door behind her. She got back in her car and started it up, then sped down the street—
But now she didn't know where she was going.
She pulled out her phone and hit speed dial again.
"We're sorry. The number you have—"
She hung up, then hit a different speed dial.
"Cho," she snapped as soon as he answered, steering haphazardly with one hand as she pushed down on the throttle.
"Hey, Boss."
"Any sign of Jane?"
"Nope. We've been trying to call him—"
"Yeah, the number's disconnected," Lisbon finished.
"Should we try tracking his car?"
"His car's here at his house," Lisbon answered.
"But he's not?"
"No. House is empty. No sign of forced entry."
"Any idea where we should look?"
"Try flagging him. See if he pops up anywhere. Let the local cops know he's missing. And the chief. And keep your eyes open."
"Will do."
Lisbon hung up again.
And all of a sudden she couldn't breathe.
She instantly pulled over in front of a thrift store, parked, and pressed a hand to her heart. Her vision flickered. She desperately disentangled herself from her seatbelt and scrambled out of the car, then stopped on the sidewalk. Traffic bustled down the four-lane main street. Shop doors opened and closed, their chimes jingling. She shut her eyes and took deep, measured breaths—she smelled oranges.
Her whole body shivered.
Dong…dong…
Lisbon's whole frame jerked. Her eyes flew open.
Dong…dong…
She fumbled for her phone, pulled it out and stared at it.
11:59
The nearby clock tower continued to intone its deep, steady calls. Lisbon counted six of them…
The clock on her phone blinked.
12:00
Sensation drained from her body. The bells rang out six more times, then fell silent. Lisbon stared at the screen.
Slowly, she covered her mouth with a cold hand. Her stomach turned over. And she sank down onto the very edge of a bench.
She sat. Completely still. She had no way of knowing how long. She couldn't feel, hear or see anything. Her phone lay in her limp hand. A few people walked by. One or two glanced at her. Nobody said anything.
A small, repetitious sound. An irritating one.
Her brow furrowed. She blinked absently, and pulled in a breath that hurt…
She glanced down.
Her phone was ringing.
A strange number.
She opened it and held it to her ear. But her lips wouldn't move—her throat wouldn't work. She tried to unlock her jaw…
"Lisbon," a voice said. "I can see you."
Her eyes flashed—and she paralyzed.
Then, her jaw unlocked, her lips moved…
But her voice made no sound.
"…Jane…" she mouthed.
"To your right. Warmer, warmer…"
She turned her head, feeling like her bones were made of iron. She frowned out across the street, her heart rate picking up again as her breathing staggered…
He stood on the opposite sidewalk, one hand in his pocket, the other hand holding a phone to his ear. He wore gray pants, a white shirt rolled up to his elbows, and a gray vest. A slight wind tousled his gold curls. He pulled his hand out of his pocket, and gave a casual wave. He was looking right at her—and grinning.
To be continued…
Review!