Disclaimer: I do not own the song or the show.
Set the Fire to the Third Bar
The soft, persistent, steady beeping woke her, slowly beckoning her back to their world. She shifted, hands clawing slightly at the uncomfortable blanket resting on her body. Slowly her eyes opened, blurry, painful. They blinked, adjusting to the light hitting her face. A pounding headache instantly forming, pulsating beneath her skull. She turned her head to the side, in vain hopes to block out the bright lights illuminating from the ceiling. Moaning, she squeezed her eyes shut, allowing her forehead to wrinkle.
What had happened?
Shifting once more in her bed, she forced her eyes open. She was in a hospital, nurses and doctors steadily walking past her room, she heard their footsteps, echoing around her.
Then it happened.
Soon she felt as if her entire body was burning, the sensation slowly eating away at her. She curled her hands into fists, nails scratching at the flesh of her palms. She wanted to bite her lip, to keep her from screaming out in pain. It was slowly spreading across her body. Her heart monitor started beeping frantically as she fought the urge to turn hysterical.
A doctor clad in a white coat rushed in, stethoscope resting around his shoulders, glasses resting at the tip of his nose. He moved around towards her bed, leaning down and placing his hand on her shoulder, "You need to calm down," she eyed him, tears forming and slipping down the side of her face.
The pain was becoming so frequent, slowly succumbing her. She watched the doctor reach into his pocket and pull out a syringe with his free hand…then he maneuvered around her, injecting the contents into her IV.
"Just a sedative," he placed a cap back on the syringe, rotating it between two fingers, "I'm sorry, I cannot up your morphine levels," her hands still continued to clench painfully as she grit her teeth together.
Then slowly, she felt blackness coming around her as her lids slowly began to close. Her breathing became more laboured as she fought sleep. Her head rested heavily against the pillow, body finally relaxing, and heart returning to its normal rhythm. She then let it all go, allowing herself to fall asleep.
She slammed the door shut on the Chevrolet Suburban, the bouncing off the neighbouring houses placed intentionally around the cul-de-sac She pulled her gun from its holster, holding it down at her hip. She walked around the SUV slowly, crouched low to the ground. Looking over the hood, she spotted Cho, waiting for her signal.
With a simple tilt of her head, he lurched forward, she followed. The feeling of her badge held in place by a chain slap against her Kevlar covered chest made the blood rush through her veins, giving her the right dosage of adrenaline she would need.
This was another Red John case.
This past week had been hell, Jane constantly walking around with that crazed look whenever Red John were to be brought up. He would refuse sleep, refuse to eat. Every time Van Pelt would even attempt to speak to him, such as asking if he was 'Ok' he would refuse to say anything to her. This finally spited Lisbon, telling him to leave the building. Pushing him off the case.
He had become livid, lashing out at her, stabbing her deeply in the chest. The empty feeling made itself known as he left the bullpen, mumbling incoherent profanities directed at her. She had felt her eyes burn as she looked away from her team, residing the rest of the afternoon inside her office, blinds down.
Then they had a call-an elderly woman called, 'having a feeling that something bad was going to happen' It was probably due to the figures she saw the night before rustling around her house. Lisbon had not wanted to go, but Van Pelt had insisted.
So here they were, bursting through the doors of the house, flashlights clicking on, fingers resting squarely on the trigger, ready for a fight. Her and Cho's footsteps softly moving across the wooden floor, their breathing remaining steady and soft as their hearts pounded in their chests.
They separated, she signaled for him to try searching through a different room. Cho was hesitant before he nodded, changing the grip on his gun, and heading down the basement. She had watched after him for a few moments before turning softly on her heel, hand wrapping around the door handle. She cringed at the squeaking noise. Shutting her eyes and biting her lip.
When she opened them, blinking, she pushed the door open, her heart stopping once more at the evident sound moving throughout the house, officially putting whoever they were looking for-assuming they were in the house-on alert.
She stepped through the door, blood pounding in her ears. She looked around the dark room, watching the dust particles flutter around the candle lit in the middle of the room. It flickered, danced around, making the light dance across the contours of her face, highlighting her. She lowered her gun slightly, watching the flame, fine eyebrow tipping up.
Suddenly the door behind her slammed shut, she whipped around, heart stopping at the menacing laughter that followed. A man, just under five ten, stood behind the shadows, his thinning brown hair hidden under the baseball cap, only poking out underneath subtly.
"What a fine pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Teresa," she cringed, pulling her gun closer to her and rising it up, fingers resting on the trigger, "Oh, we won't have any of that," he stepped closer, wagging his finger at her, "It's not nice to wave guns around, someone could get hurt," his sickening smile made her feel the sudden need to vomit.
She drew her eyebrows closer together, "Don't come any closer," she warned, he didn't listen, "I mean it!" her voice became higher, but stronger.
He shook his head, "You won't shoot me, Teresa," she changed her footing slightly, he observed her. It reminded her of someone…
Jane.
But this man before her was not Patrick Jane. Not the pain-in-the-ass consultant that Minelli stuck on her team originally. This man was different, colder, evil.
This man was Red John.
She felt the need to gulp down the rising bile in her throat; she stepped back, slightly out of fear. He continued to accelerate towards her, his legs now picking up speed until he was resting in front of her.
"Why?" she asked softly, "Why won't I shoot you?" she kept her weapon trained on his chest, ready to pull the trigger.
He smiled, "I hate to lose, Teresa," the hairs all over her body stood up, she soon felt colder, "I will not be taken into custody," he stepped back from her, maneuvering in a very adept manner towards the light. He undid a few buttons on his jacket, pulling it away.
She gasped, Red John had a bomb strapped around his body, held their only with duct tape and absolutely ready to blow if she were to shoot him.
He simply chuckled at her, letting go of his jacket before rummaging his hands into his pockets and pulling out a golden antique watch. Flipping it open he tapped it, "Oh Teresa, you better act fast," dread filled her entire body as she stepped back, the lower part of her body hitting the table, knocking the table over, the candle with it, "Because this will kill us all."
"It doesn't have to end this way," it was her job to negotiate with the most notorious killers, despite the rap sheet they had piled up over the years.
"No! You don't understand! I will not be taken into custody," his eyes became livid as he moved towards her. Then the corners of his mouth turned up, laughing loudly, not afraid to hide his true identity, "Only 30 seconds Teresa!" he shouted, still laughing like a mad man.
She stepped back from him, throwing her head over her shoulder, letting some hair fall from its band holding it in place behind her head, "CHO! GET OUT! NOW!" she shouted, turning back towards Red John, watching his face continue to contort with laughter as he pulled out his deadly knife that has inflicted so much pain upon victims, families, and friends.
She watched him roll up his sleeves, slitting along his forearm. As she turned, gripping the door, she just saw him dipping his fingers around in his blood, humming to Bach creepily as he pained a bloody smilie face on the wall. His trademark-to die along with him.
Lisbon had slammed the door behind her, bolting forward, running as she had done in high school as a 100-meter runner. She ran down the corridors, suddenly hearing the bomb deploy. The sound of the room being destroyed along with the menacing laughter made her blood turn colder. Soon she felt heat, turning her head slightly, she saw flames coming her way, rushing towards her. The house groaned as it began to engulf around her. She stopped, covering her mouth with her jacket-clad arm, squinting in front of her. She was surrounded by flames.
Then she heard a hissing sound. Quickly jerking her head over to the side, her heart plummeted to the very bottom of her body as she watched flames dance around the water heater before her. She then bolted forward, covering her eyes as she attempted to leap over the flames before her.
Heat was the last thing she felt as it surrounded her completely, she cried out, screamed in fear knowing this was how she was going to die. She heard everything come apart around her, glass shattering around her, embedding itself into her body. Wood splintering all around her, doing the same as the glass had done.
Screaming was all she felt like she could do as she let her body slowly become frailer as she felt herself slowly slip away.
Then she felt herself become lighter-like she was being lifted up. Pain still moved through her body, she silently screamed, as every noise still remained deafening. Was she in hell? What all had she done wrong in her life?
Something was forcefully prodding her, as if they were trying to put out flames, "Please live," the soft harmonic voice filled her ears. She opened her eyes, seeing nothing. Soon her hearing soon began to fade as she heard his last, gargled words as she felt her heart push out one last beat.
"Live…"
Her eyes opened once more, looking around at her surroundings. She was in a different room-one more private. Breathing in, she slowly began to sit up, cringing slightly at the pain moving through her ribs and right arm. Blinking, she saw small, black dots clouding her vision. Shutting her lids and shaking her head she opened them again, they had become bigger than slowly dissolved into something much smaller.
Much more aggravating.
Her arm was also casted.
"You're awake," she heard a haggard voice come from the other side of the room. Turning her head slightly, she felt relieved to see Van Pelt, now standing beside a chair and walking towards her, "After the doctor gave you the sedative, he made a decision to put you under in a chemically induced coma for a few days," she paused, "Giving your body more of a chance to heal."
Lisbon reached up with her hand, feeling around her hairline. She relieved at the hair there at the moment…but she had no relief at the hard plastic heart monitor tapping against her skull.
"The nurse washed your hair last night," Van Pelt smiled, fiddling with her two hands, "I helped," Lisbon watched the younger woman bite at her lower lip.
"Thank you," speaking made her throat feel very hoarse-very dry. She felt as if she had tried to consume a vast amount of sandpaper. Slowly moving her tongue around in her mouth, she looked up at her rookie, "Grace, could you get me some water?"
Van Pelt nodded, "Sure boss," she turned out of the room, picking up the pitcher on her way out. Lisbon focused her vision on the wall in front of her. She wanted to move around, the sudden need became very apparent to her.
Then her rookie came back, smiling slightly, and holding the pink plastic pitcher and a fresh bag of ice, "Here you go boss," she placed both on the swinging table, then picking up the cup and pouring the ice water inside. She handed it to her boss, who extended a shaky hand outwards and wrapping her fingers around it.
Lisbon took a long gulp, savouring the cold liquid soothe her burning throat, "Thank you," she threw her head back slightly, wincing at the pain it brought, "Could I have a mirror?" Van Pelt nodded frantically before turning around and picking up her purse.
She quickly rummaged through it, pulling out her compact. She handed it over to Lisbon, who opened it and surveyed her appearance. Surprisingly she wasn't as bad as she had originally thought and felt. She had bruises covering her face, cuts, mostly small, trailing from her forehead to her neck, most likely below her itchy hospital gown.
"You look good, boss," her eyes moved upwards at the sound of Rigsby's voice. She smiled slightly, trying to ignore the pain it brought.
"Thank you, Rigsby," she felt gratitude build up in her heart, she needed to know that she looked 'good' at the moment. Probably better compared to what she had looked like when she was first admitted, "Where's Cho?"
"He's filling out some paperwork back at the office," the red-head answered quickly, "Guy hasn't had a break lately."
Lisbon took another sip from her drink, she was about to open her mouth to say something…more like ask…before Rigsby stopped her with his words, "Jane told me to give this to you," he reached into the back pocket of his slacks and pulled out a white envelope.
She stared at the white object then moved extended her good arm out towards him. He handed it to her before he looked back at the apple of his eye, Grace. He placed his hand on her lower back and slowly ushered her out of the room.
It had not been sealed; she assumed that Jane had known that her arm was broken. Softly pulling out the letter, she carefully unfolded the paper. Quickly gazing over its contents before actually reading it, she noticed it was written in black ink, some ink blotches indicating that he had left the point linger in one spot for too long….and a few tear drops-indicating that he had begun to cry.
"Dear Teresa,
I'm sorry I cannot be with you when you wake up. I could not stay in Sacramento much longer, the thoughts of it being my fault that you lay there in pain overwhelmed me. I decided to follow what I thought would be truly best. I'm leaving for a while; I promise that I will try to come back soon.
By the time you will get this letter, I will be far away from you. I cannot tell you were I'm going, because I have absolutely no idea where I plan to head. I just want to say I'm sorry for causing you so much pain, both emotionally and physically and I wish for you to please forgive me.
There was an ink blotch, lingering in the middle of the paper, causing her eyes to draw to the next sentence.
I want you to know that I love you very much.
Patrick.
She felt warm tears form in her eyes, soon they began to trickle down her cheeks, resting at the corners of her mouth. Some slipped down her chin, falling down on her chest and the white sheets of the hospital bed. She hugged the letter close to her body with her good arm, sobbing silently, feeling the guilt that had caused him to leave.
Two months later, she found herself walking down to her mailbox from her apartment. She kept her hands in her pockets, eyes trained before her almost robotically. She found herself in front of the box, reaching out of her pocket, and shaking some dryer lint from her hands, smiling at the normal gesture, she opened her box with the key.
Slowly she pulled out the bundle of mail, softly flipping through it, she noticed it was the usual-bills and birthday cards. Shaking her head slightly, she turned away and headed back up to her apartment. As she walked up, she kept her hand firmly on the railing, keeping herself steady as she continued to read what was addressed to her.
Once she entered her apartment, she threw her keys onto her dinner table, not really caring that they ended skidding over the edge. She plopped down the envelopes, deciding to open them later. That is, until a small postcard flittered to her feet. Furrowing her brow, she bent over, picking it up with her left hand, and looking at the front.
She saw a picture of the White House. She smiled slightly, maybe her brother, Aaron had decided to send her a postcard instead of the traditional birthday card. He would always think of unoriginal things like that to put a smile onto her face.
When she flipped it over, she grazed over the words-it wasn't Aaron's handwriting.
It was Jane's.
Teresa-
I'm sure you're wondering why I didn't begin the letter with the traditional 'Dear Teresa' but as you know, I can only fit so much on these miniscule cards. I just wanted to say that I'm all right, and as you know, I'm probably on the east coast.
I assume you are healing nicely; you wouldn't ever let anything stop you. You are a very strong woman, and I want you to remember that.
Love, Patrick
She leaned against the table, bracing her weight against it. She fingered the edges of the card, biting her lip in the process. Holding it close to her, she moved through the room, pulling out an old text book she had way back when. She carefully placed it on the table, pushing it open and mindlessly flipping through its contents.
Lisbon pulled a chair out and slowly descended into it. She leaned close to the table, running her hand down the thin paper. She placed her finger on California, then trailed the other lightly over towards Washington D.C. She smiled, tears dropping from her eyes. They were so close, yet so far away…
I find the map and draw a straight line
Over rivers, farms, and state lines
The distance from A to where'd you B
Its only finger lengths that I see.
~This is a multi-chapter piece and I hope to get it placed on the Jello-Forever Challenge once more. From now on, everything will be slightly based on the lyrics to the song "Set the Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol
I would love to hear from everyone :]