A/N: Can I just say how much I love Sia? And her recent partnering with the unstoppable David Guetta—for real, amazing. Therefore, this is inspired by their recent colab., "She Wolf", an absolutely stunning song. Of course, perfect for Mentalist, a few minor touches of Florence and the Machine's "Seven Devils" thrown in for mood as well at the end of the story…I'm basing this on the premise that Lorelei is on the run, presumably Jane has lost her in his pursuit…just go with it.
Flesh & Blood
Did she lie in wait?
Was I bait to pull you in
The thrill of the kill
You feel is a sin
I lay with the wolves
Alone it seems
I thought I was part of you…
XOX
She was always to be the bait.
No doubt in her mind would allow another singular thought to the contrary. A matter of time. Whether she lived like bait on borrowed time was a whole other situation entirely—and she certainly did not. That was always the most obvious part of the ludicrous plan. On both sides of this dark red war. Her connection to him demanded it to be so. Demanded she be the sacrifice.
Her connection to both men, if she was honest. One wanted her purely out of the way, and had made her his new focus. The other…well, it had always been unclear what he wanted her for other than files and access to the man previous. Either way, she was bait. Either way, she was the used.
It happened rather quickly, she recalled later. In fact it was almost cliché, and somehow she felt cheated because of it. Maybe, she thought laughingly, even a bit insulted. If she were to end up in Red John's clutches, she'd hoped for some sort of huge scene, something that proved he'd prepared her capture in vivid, perfect detail.
But it wasn't he who'd taken her, after all.
No, of course he wouldn't; too risky. Instead it was his all too familiar minion. The one she continued to hate with a fervor she admonished herself for in the off chance moments she snuck in to hear the end of her beloved church services. The one thing she pleaded forgiveness for in confession.
He'd sent Jane's favorite to spirit her away. Lorelei Martins, with her beautifully dark face and sinful disposition. She'd lain in wait for Teresa Lisbon to return to the spot where Jane had not long ago reappeared, pretending, for all the world, to be the 'voice of God.'
Perhaps she'd made herself into an easy mark. It was the one place she thought she was safe—not even the CBI offices were near as much a sanctuary as her church, if the death of Bosco had any bearing, and the multitude of moles that resided within—and she frequented it often.
Like today. After another trying case, and another day of Jane trying her precious patience, she'd gone to seek the solace she craved. And as she knew, no one would come looking for her until the following day. Looking back, it had felt rather off as she entered those ornate doors, seating her self in the middle row.
She really should have seen it coming, being the aforementioned bait, and all.
She'd heard the doors squeal open, heard the click of languid, unhurried but purposeful heels as she knelt and prayed that she could forgive those who trespassed against her.
Heard the heels stop next to her. Felt the presence slide into the row behind her.
Felt the sharp knife at the back of her neck.
And she knew, then, her time was up.
She'd come to be collected, at last. She'd be the price paid for disobedience and disrespect caused by her friend. It was almost a relief that the day had finally come. Glancing over ones shoulder certainly grew tiresome.
But it was also her own fault, so reckless as to come in civilians, without a badge or a gun to leave a mark that she was here. Coming, armed, into a church was against her moral conscious. Except for one thing she could leave behind in her wake, to prove nothing other than life.
Lorelei allowed her the simple act of finishing her prayer. And as Teresa Lisbon crossed herself, she yanked her gold cross from her very neck, gently laying it in the pew as she stood. Unseen and undetected by the vile woman behind her.
It was hard to let the tiny object go. It was her salvation in times like these.
She stood silently. Screaming would not save her. Lorelei stood up behind her, knife delicately pressed into her spine, left arm snaking around her shoulders, pushing her forward. Too any churchgoers or passersby, they would look like sisters in an embrace.
Teresa dipped her fingertips into the small glass of holy water, as Lorelei smirked, her deceitful, cunning gaze taking in the scene with confusion and question. She leaned in, her mouth pressed close to Teresa's ear, as if to whisper a sisterly secret touched with strange amusement.
"Holy water won't help you now, Teresa…"
XOX
He'd never really questioned what she did when she finished with work. Did she head home to a hot bath and a bottle of wine? Did she take a long drive to the beach, walk along the shoreline and listen to the ocean waves crest? Did she grab coffee at her favorite stand and read a book for hours to escape the dark reality he forced on her every day?
He doubted any of the above made their way across her mind. Baths took too long, and she rarely drank; a drive to the beach so late was too silly and preposterous for someone as constantly keyed up as she; and he'd never seen her pick up a book near him in the ten years they'd known each other. Not to say she was neither smart, nor did she read, but he was sure the titles she preferred were the kind that made one flush to read in public.
He smiled at the thought. Certain in the knowledge that a small collection of extremely overt romance novels littered her bedroom shelves.
He heard Van Pelt click the light of her desk lamp off, gathering her bag to depart the office. She'd been staying later and later. He'd waxed often that she was far too pretty to have no social life. She constantly shrugged him off; they'd become closer, more understanding after each losing apart of themselves to the serial killer that plagued them. They waged bets, played nicer with each other, and had become comfortable friends.
But she was far too lovely to remain here so late. The all-consuming need to be as dedicated as her boss and to prove she was worthy to the men that looked at her as nothing more than a playboy model—not including Cho, as he would never see her as such, or even Rigsby, though Jane knew the man still harbored feelings for the flame-haired beauty. He hoped the two would eventually get it together.
He had a heavy sum on a certain date seven months from now.
But he knew her efforts were well intentioned, if misguided. She did not want to become Teresa Lisbon, he'd seen it in her hazel eyes more often, lately, than not. And who would? Teresa Lisbon's reputation lay in direct correlation with that of Patrick Jane's. They were synonymous with trouble and lies and deceit. Ones actions affected the other, as did ones words.
And words were far, far more powerful than any action.
As it was, from his couch he half smiled and peeked out of one open eye, ready to repeat their usual exit speech.
"You shouldn't stay so late, Grace. You're far too pretty to gather wrinkles from straining your eyes with all of that paperwork."
She quirked her typical grin, "I get out, don't you worry about it. Besides, someone has to do it, and Boss needed the night off."
She didn't add, "Because of you," and he was grateful.
"Well…then go on and enjoy yourself. Perhaps our Rigsby could use some company, you know, what with Ben and all, you begin to forget what speaking to adults is like," he added, subliminally. But he knew she'd take the bait.
Her blush told him she would be taking that offer, or had maybe already planned it. "Alright, well, I'm out Jane. Seeya in the morning."
A thought crossed his mind. "Grace, a moment. Where do you think it is Lisbon goes off too when she actually leaves early?"
He tried to make the question seem aloof.
Grace bit her lip, knowing but not wanting to divulge. It was something, then, to do with the last six months he'd been gone.
She seemed to make up her mind after a moment of dawdling. "She used to…well…she started going to this church at night, after the hard cases, or when she missed…" she tried to catch her observations from tumbling out of her mouth. Thinking better of it, she finished, "when she missed you. I think it gave her comfort, she started going regularly."
He realized it was most certainly Lisbon-like. Simple, quiet, unbothered by him…except for that one time…
He smiled to himself, knowing where he was headed. "Hey Grace, wait up, I'll walk you out."
XOX
"So, Lorelei, all things considered, will you at least give me the satisfaction of knowing your real name?" Teresa asked, rather conversationally. She'd been waiting for this for a decade. That her time was up had no bearing on her small talk. She was so infinitely calm; she could have been in the passenger seat on a road trip with an old friend.
Lorelei made a small snort of a noise, casting her gaze to the agent carefully. As if she was sizing up her competition. Though Teresa knew there was none. Not now. The woman next to her had won him in the end.
"It's curious you want to know so badly. My name never mattered before, she's dead anyway. You didn't strike me as the type to forfeit so easily, Agent Lisbon. I thought you'd surely fight for you life? For his sake, at least."
It was Lisbon's turn to snort. "I've been preparing for this. I knew it would happen after Patrick came back, after the FBI conveniently 'lost' you in transit. Back when you demanded my head as a prize, I knew my time was running short."
Lorelei cocked her head to the side, as if too quietly agree. "That's very profound of you Agent Lisbon, or do you mind Teresa? Since you wish to know my name, I should call you by yours."
Teresa shrugged. It didn't matter, did it?
The younger woman smiled, biting her lip curiously. "Leah Monroe. My real name."
"Good to know," Lisbon said calmly.
The rest of the drive was spent in a soft silence. Nothing but the turning of wheels on asphalt, the rush of trees in shadow and dark landscape passing by.
Nothing at all.
XOX
He broached the church carefully, knowing it was her place of peace and he'd already somewhat desecrated it once before by screaming all bouts of obscene things. The memory itself, for him, was hilarious.
He had tried her patience enough for one night, though. Better to get back too good.
God knew, it had been a long time since they'd been able to really talk again. She had learned to close herself off while simultaneously gained the ability to read his body language. Reading her had become a complicated game now. Her eyes were shuttered; she was sarcastic and dismissive, as if in the end, she knew he would leave her again. Maybe she was right.
He'd never thought about after.
He pushed through the heavy, wide carved doors, making his way through the entry where candles flickered and the holy water cast small ripples with his gentle footsteps.
He could see the allure, despite his protests. It was beautiful, soothing, and a polite, wonderful, kind of lonely. It was her sanctuary, as his was the attic. He couldn't fault her for that.
Patrick Jane's eyes roved over the few late night churchgoing folk, searching out the petite raven-haired beauty as he trailed his fingertips over the rows of wooden pews. Perhaps he'd missed her, or guessed incorrectly. As much as he and Van Pelt were getting along, given his six-month absence, he wouldn't doubt her ability to mislead him just to give Teresa her space.
Something gave him pause when he reached the very pew she had been sitting in when he'd popped up behind her. Something glittered, bright and winking, in his eye line. It took him a moment to realize what it was. Another to understand its implications. His world seemed to slow and slant, the people around him disappearing.
His breath stilled as he picked up the little gold cross, dangling limply from its broken chain, speckled with flecks of blood and a few strands of dark hair, from her yanking it off her own neck. Red John, nor his minions, would have been so careless.
Her church was no longer safe.
Cell phone in hand, he didn't notice he was screaming into the phone until the nun in the corner looked up at him with concern and irritation, the sharp little cross violently biting into his palm.
He called Van Pelt first who relayed the information to Rigsby, followed by Cho, who in turn took over and demanded they all meet immediately at the scene. No sleep tonight. No time spent with secret lovers, Jane thought in passing, forgetting his bet entirely as Grace and Rigsby showed up together, toting Ben with them. Rigsby had an exhausted, rueful expression on his face, one that said he'd sent the nanny home, not accounting for their boss's abduction.
His world was spinning in wild circles. No struggle. He knew that, he knew whoever had abducted Teresa Lisbon knew she would concede. It was so un-Lisbon-like, he couldn't fathom why she'd go without a struggle. Even at knife or gun point, she would have been able to take her assailant. Another thought crawled across his mind, darkly. He had to get to her condo.
Red John would not go about marking a church—far too public for his taste. Surely there would be a bloody smile face awaiting them at her apartment. Perhaps her detour had saved her life. For now.
While the three CBI team members huddled around the empty pew, Patrick Jane vanished into the night with the gold cross clutched in his palm. He knew a message awaited him.
XOX
If this is the end, she thought, she was glad she'd spoken to each of her brothers in the past week. She was glad, whether she wanted to admit it or not, that Annabeth wanted to be just like her. Glad she had a wonderful team that proved to be loyal, brilliant, friends. Glad to have loved, even if she had not been loved equally, in return.
The car came to a stop, kicking up dust behind it. Teresa had not bothered counting how many hours they'd been on the road. The sun had risen. She'd probably be grabbing her morning coffee at her favorite kiosk right now. Jane would be asleep on his couch, or at least pretending. Van Pelt clicking away, trying to pretend she wasn't still in love with Rigsby, who was just as in love with her. Given Sarah had no intention of marrying Wayne, and they currently shared custody of little Ben, it had at least been an amicable split. Grace was there for him, especially with the recent bitter passing of his father. She could not, and would not, fault either for the comfort. She chose to turn a blind eye—mostly due in large part to Jane's gradual softening of her. Cho would be flipping through whatever book by a Russian author he had chosen for the week. The man had some intense taste, she smiled lightly to herself. She would not trade her team for another. No matter today ended.
"We're here Teresa," Lorelei said with a smirk. "You're the woman of the hour. But let's get you to change first—you don't exactly look acceptable in that. Not for this meeting."
XOX
He broke a multitude of speeding laws in his ragged pursuit. He broke more upon picking her lock, entering her home without consent.
There was nothing on the outside of the door, nothing in the living room or kitchen. That left her bedroom, which he had never seen. He climbed the stairs two at a time, pushing the door open. Sure enough, above her bed was the dark red smile. But who's blood was it? Surely she was still alive; she'd been abducted in a church, not her home. It was a scare tactic, and he knew it. He'd have Cho test it when they caught up. But it wasn't a priority. Not right now.
He searched the room with a trained eye, looking for anything out of place. She was a neat and orderly person, and of her entire apartment, her bedroom was the most personal. She may have kept the previous tenants art on her wall in the living room, but it was not the case here. Across from her bed were dozens of photos of family, of the team, of landscapes littering her wall. Her closet door was ajar, and he found amongst the casual work blazers and pants and jeans that she had a small collection of pretty, unused dresses that would surely bring out her stunning green eyes. He touched the silky fabrics longingly, knowing she must have done the same dozens of times.
Her side tables were covered with the essentials. A set of matching lamps, a small stack of books and magazines he never thought she'd bother to read. A coffee mug, empty of course. A photo that surprised him; one of Daisy the elephant, from when he'd had the trouble with Danny, his late wife's brother. "Pepper" as they'd called her, had become quite fond of the elephant. That's when he noticed the other little mementos, from him no less, that captured the inside of her drawer. Her Spice Girls CD. The small paper frog when he'd gotten on her bad side, a photo and an address of where she'd taken the pony he'd got her for her birthday. Little things that meant nothing to most, but plenty to him.
In the other bedside table drawer lay something that scared him more than the prospect of her disappearance. On the outside it appeared to be nothing more than a plain manila folder, unmarked. But it was the inside that captivated him, and therefore, frightened him.
He knew most cops had one, but hers had been recently updated.
A living will and a pile of sealed envelopes were neatly bound by a rubber band. She'd planned for this to happen. Planned, and knew she would not make it out alive.
He ripped the rubber band off, searching for the letter to him, sitting on her bed hard. It was at the bottom of the stack, and noting the indents in the envelope, figured it had been written some time ago. Unchanged, unlike the newer, brighter envelopes.
He knew it was not for him to read. Not unless she was truly departed. He could not help himself though; his curiosity would definitely get him killed. It would certainly kill her, he decided, tearing open the letter without a second notion.
XOX
The house was large and strange, sitting almost forlornly in the middle of nowhere, with scant trees and desert like sand. Red John was a wealthy man, whoever he was. She knew he had to have wealth to have the kind of connections and following that he did. But this was rather extraordinary.
Lorelei had led her up two flights of spiraling staircases, past three closed off rooms, into the room she stood in now. High ceilings, a carved canopy bed with draped curtains to block out the harsh afternoon sun, a wood floor with heavy Persian rugs adorning it. Lorelei had nodded to the wardrobe before leaving, locking the door in her wake.
Like Lisbon could actually leave.
Teresa Lisbon opened the wardrobe, finding a vast array of priceless gowns. If she were going to die, apparently it would be in style. For the life of her she couldn't figure out why. He had not taken care of his previous victims—male or female—with this kind of reverence. What made her so special?
She sighed, flipping through the rather expensive, decorative dresses. Each silk confection was red, she noted humorlessly. Her hand stopped on one, a deep divine scarlet, simple, no glitz or glam to it. The kind of dress she would wear to a black tie affair, or a CBI fundraiser, and return the next day. At least he, or his minions, considering the dresses were all her size and height specifications, had taste. She slipped the dress on; it practically dripped off her in all of it's silken glory—one shouldered, stunning in its simplicity, she knew she looked beautiful as the scarlet silk pooled at her feet, casting the illusion that the wood floor was covered with blood.
It probably would be soon.
XOX
Seven devils all around you
Seven devils in my house
See they were there when I woke up this morning
I'll be dead before the day is done…