On Wednesday, Lisbon got stuck working late. After a long ad hoc meeting with her boss, she finally left at eight and was anxious to get home and check on Jane. She decided against calling on the way in case he was asleep.

"Hi, Jane. Glad you're up." She closed the door, shed her jacket and put down her briefcase. Jane was sitting on the sofa. "How are you feeling?" She was pleased to see he had both shaved and dressed. Plus he was reading. Good signs.

He looked up. "Hi, Lisbon. Better." He sipped tea. "Not a hundred percent, but I'm tired of being in bed."

She stepped over to give him a kiss. He turned his head, ensuring her kiss landed on his cheek. "You don't want to get this."

"Too late. I would have been infected before your symptoms even appeared, not to mention the last five days. I think I dodged that bullet." She kissed him again, reinforcing her point. She put her hand on his forehead. "Looks like your fever broke. Can you keep anything down?"

"Toast. A muffin."

"You're staying home the rest of the week, right?"

He tilted his head noncommittally. "Thought I might go in tomorrow. I am supposed to be consulting with the Marin County PD on a case."

"Reality check: Bored isn't the same as recovered. Remember when you got really sick a few years ago?"

"It's not that bad. And I'm over the hump with this."

"Stubborn as usual." She put her hand on his shoulder. "It's time you remember everything, not just the version you'd like to be true. Last time, you didn't give yourself long enough to recover and ended up with walking pneumonia. That dragged it out another two weeks. Be reasonable!"

Jane said nothing, suddenly distracted, attention wholly elsewhere.

"Jane? Hello?"

After a moment, "Hmm? Uh, just something I can't quite remember–" He shook his head sharply, dismissing it. He got up with his cup and saucer for more tea. "Have you eaten?"

Feeling better, Jane joined Lisbon for dinner. After dinner Lisbon showered and washed her hair–always a major undertaking because it took so long to dry–and decided to turn in early. Having gotten up late in the afternoon, Jane wasn't sleepy and stayed up. Neither well nor sick enough to stay in bed, he turned down the lights and listened to jazz.

~.~.~.~

An anguished cry startled Lisbon out of a sound sleep. She reached the bedroom door before being fully awake. Jane stood in the living room, stiff with tension, face marred by grief.

"Jane, what's wrong?"

"I remember. I remember everything," he said, voice rough with emotion.

"What is it? Are you okay?"

Jane slowly sank down to the sofa. "My god." He looked up at her. "It's all made up, Teresa. Red John. I can hardly believe it."

"What's going on?" Dazed, he didn't reply. After a moment, "I'll get tea. Then you tell me what's going on." Lisbon heated water for tea and instant coffee. She brought their drinks into the living room and set them on the sofa table. Jane was calmer but still seemed stunned.

He sipped the tea. "You stumbled on the trigger for a post-hypnotic suggestion."

"Suggestion to do what?"

"You said, 'time to remember everything'–or close enough. That was the trigger."

"You remembered something?"

He stretched, trying to relieve suddenly-painful tension in his shoulders. "A post-hypnotic suggestion made me forget certain things for the past 10 years."

"You've lost me."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and rubbed his forehead. Slowly, "Angela and Charlotte weren't killed by Red John–"

"What?!"

"–They were in a car accident. They came to LA for dinner with me after I was a guest on a show. We drove back separately. A tire blew out and their car crashed." He swallowed, unable to continue as he re-lived the memory. He wiped tears off his face and went on. "They died instantly. There was nothing I could do. It was horrible." He had to stop. He got up, went into the kitchen and splashed cold water on his face. After regaining his composure he returned to the living room.

"I'm sorry, Jane." Lisbon hugged him. "How is that possible?"

"The Red John murders were a cover story."

"Walk me through this because it isn't making sense." She looked at him closely. He seemed lucid, clear-headed despite having been sick, despite the fantastic story.

Jane paused to organize his thoughts. "Teresa, I am what you–we–thought. There's just more to the story. Everything about my past till age 13 is the same."

"Then what happened?"

"Remember our conversation after Virgil and May's dinner? You had a lot of ideas to hash out."

"Yes. So?

"You were right. National security agencies do–or at least did–systematically identify teenagers with special talents. Good catch."

"What agencies?

"CIA."

"You're involved with the CIA? Oh my God."

"Yeah." He closed his eyes, struggling to absorb the new bits of his past. "The CIA did contact me after I was in foster care. I didn't become an agent–not what they want-but I've done occasional jobs for them since I was 21. My life is pretty much what I had remembered, just with sporadic CIA assignments."

"What about being a psychic? What about all the things you know from that?"

"That's all real. Being a psychic–a fake psychic-comes from my carny days. That helped. I could travel and set my own schedule without anyone missing me." He drank more tea and half-smiled in sudden realization. "Huh. My drinking tea came from an assignment in England." He blinked, and re-focused on their conversation.

"What does the CIA have to do with California law-enforcement?"

"After the 9‑11 attack, all Federal intelligence agencies were put under Homeland Security. Homeland suspected widespread, organized corruption in California's law‑enforcement agencies‑‑the state FBI office, the CBI, and even local PD's. They're interested because corrupt agencies are vulnerable to blackmail and being co‑opted by terrorists."

"How does that have anything to do with the death of your family and Red John?"

"Homeland knew about the car crash within the hour. My CIA contact realized it was a unique opportunity for me to infiltrate the CBI."

"God, Jane. Your family died and your CIA contact is thinking about how to use that? Cold bastard."

"Somewhat. I went along because it was a way something good could come from their deaths. It was a distraction from what happened. I couldn't go back to life as usual."

"What was the plan?"

"Homeland covered up the car crash. I went on TV the next day to talk about Red John–"

"How could you even function?"

"I was numb. It was a way of not thinking, not feeling. After my TV appearance, Homeland staged the Red John murders at my house. As cover-ups go, it was pretty straightforward. Just a few people knew the truth and the deaths were sudden and real anyhow. Our friends and relatives just got a different story about how they died."

Lisbon didn't bother to hide her tears. "Jane, they used you, your tragedy. You've been left to think you caused their deaths for ten years. Ten years obsessed with a serial killer."

He shook his head. "It wasn't supposed to be for so long. I agreed to it. No one forced me."

"If you can own that you're a better person than I am. I think it's exploitation," she said fiercely, angrily.

"I agreed to be hypnotized to forget the CIA and the car crash. Instead, I 'remembered' the Red John murders."

"Then you managed to get hired as a CBI consultant to work with my team. —Was my unit targeted? Did they think my team was dirty?!"

"No. You just had the Red John case. That was my pretext for being at the CBI."

Her training kicked in and Lisbon ticked off the advantages. "I see how a CBI consultant is ideally positioned to investigate. You're in contact with all levels inside the CBI. You frequently meet with the FBI and local PD's. The agents and cops dismiss and underestimate you as an amateur and vigilante. You have a lot of unstructured, unsupervised time–no regular work hours. And you could investigate almost anything under the cover of hunting Red John."

"Minelli agreed to share information on the Red John case with the FBI, which passed it on to Homeland. That made the FBI less likely to separately investigate me. Plus, Homeland then knew what the FBI knew about Red John and me."

"Neat set-up. But what happened? You focused on Red John, not corruption."

"Something went wrong. Homeland lost control of the operation. Ultimately, I did uncover organized corruption but Red John was my priority. Remember, I didn't know the truth. Maybe they didn't understand how I'd react when I thought Red John killed my family. Sophie Miller did the hypnosis and was the link to my real memories. Perhaps that went awry even before she was killed. And Bob Kirkland had his own Red John agenda."

"So you ended up hunting Red John instead?"

"Red John knew my family's deaths had nothing to do with him. He must have figured out why I was at CBI. Maybe the corrupt law-enforcement group somehow threatened him so he tolerated me. Or maybe he just enjoyed the cat-and-mouse. It all got more complicated once I made progress toward identifying Red John."

"What a mess. You had two groups out to get you. And the CIA in the background."

"Now that both Sophie and Kirkland are out of the picture, I'm cut loose from any contact with the CIA or Homeland. We nailed Red John and the corruption is gradually being cleaned up. But the CIA has no way to get me back as a sometimes-useful tool."

Lisbon took a deep breath then asked quietly, "Do you want to reconnect with the CIA? I've heard it's ruthless–both against enemies and to its own people, especially if you cross any lines."

Jane leaned back and sat stone still. Lisbon left him be, knowing a lot of thinking was being done at lightening speed. Shaking his head slowly, he finally replied, "No, I don't want to reconnect with the CIA. It is ruthless because it has to be. I'm lucky the CIA didn't decide to cut its losses when it lost control over me."

Lisbon paled. "'Cut its losses'? Kill you?"

He nodded. "Like you said, ruthless. I'm not the same person I was ten years ago..." He drifted off into silence then came back to the present with a start. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. "I want to live my life with you and have a family. The work I do for CBI and other organizations is interesting and satisfying enough. If I want anything to do with the CIA, it needs to be a fresh start, as though I remember nothing."

Fear lanced through her. She whispered, "Do you have a choice? Will the CIA leave you alone?"

He slowly answered, "I think so or it already would have acted. I think I'm okay so long as the CIA believes I don't remember. I'm expected to keep my connection secret. What we've discussed can't go any further or I may have an unfortunate accident."

Lisbon's gaze didn't leave his face. Sounds like a bad movie but he's serious. My God. Suddenly paranoid, she looked around the apartment. "How do you know our place isn't bugged?"

"Because I check every week."

"What?!"

"After Red John and the FBI surveillance, I've gotten a lot more cautious."

Lisbon smiled through her concern, "I'd say 'paranoid' in any other situation."

"I think this is private, at least for today. We can't talk openly about this again. It will continue to be a threat– for a few years, anyhow."

"Years!"

"From what I saw, the stakes are ten-fold greater and the game is played way more viciously than anything at the CBI or even FBI."

"Jane, if you worked for them–"

Dismayed, "I did work for them. You don't believe me?"

She shook her head, "Sorry, that's not what I meant." She tried again, more carefully. "Having done work for the CIA, were you trained?"

"The CIA wanted what I already am for special projects–reading people, going places that regular agents would look out of place. I was a con man with a sketchy background. I don't have a college degree and could never pass the background check to become an agent. So, no, I didn't go through the regular training, whatever that is."

"You weren't even given basic firearms and martial arts training?"

He shrugged. "I learned the basics about firearms. I turned down the martial arts stuff."

"But you hate firearms!"

"That may be another post-hypnotic suggestion. A carny psychic wouldn't know about firearms or martial arts. That would have given me away at the CBI. Plus, if I'm not good at it, better to stay completely away from weapons and fighting or I'd get myself killed."

"Probably. Jane, how long are post-hypnotic suggestions effective? You surprised Cho recently by being more comfortable with guns than you used to be. And you were able to jimmy Cody Benbow's 9 mm so it wouldn't fire."

"Studies are all over the map. Most weaken in minutes. There are reports of some remaining effective for years–seven years, as I recall. Mine lasted ten years. Sophie was very good at what she did. But, yeah, the block on firearms knowledge might be weakening."

"You didn't have a nervous breakdown?"

'No. It was still a rough time. Sophie helped me come to terms with their deaths. I didn't have all the issues from Red John, of course."

Angrily, "You did have to cope with Red John issues once the false memory was in place."

"Don't be angry. I bought into it."

"Jane, I've seen you tortured with guilt for ten years over that. And you could have been killed many times trying to get Red John. Of course I'm angry." She took a breath and released it slowly, trying to rein in her emotions. She changed the subject. "How do you know there aren't more blocked memories?"

"I don't."

"Don't you want to know?"

Jane sat quietly thinking about her question. "I would like to know, but I'm not sure it's worth the risks. Also, with an ethical hypnotist, I would have approved everything beforehand."

Acidly, "I know she helped you, but Sophie committed fraud when she did research for Stutzer. This was for the CIA!"

Sidestepping arguing about Sophie, "It would take a top-notch hypnotist to even poke around and see if there might be more blocks. I don't know who to trust, especially if there was something more about the CIA or Homeland."

"Royston Daniels?"

"I don't trust him mucking around in my head. I don't trust him to keep secrets about the CIA. Too risky."

"Even if I were present while he worked with you?" Jane shook his head. "Then where do we go from here?"

"I think we just leave it alone. I don't see an up-side to opening that door." He sighed and closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted.

"Jane, you don't have to feel guilty anymore. You played no part in their deaths."

"Yeah."

"Don't just know it intellectually, feel it, too!"

"After all these years it'll take getting used to. Regardless, I'm a better person because of it."

"You're a fine person. With a little more time, I think you would have abandoned the psychic con anyhow. Angela encouraged you to give it up, right? She always brought out the good in you."

"Come here," he said softly. He hugged her tightly, glad to have someone as his life skidded into even more complexity.

"It'll be okay, Jane. I'm glad you know the truth about Angela and Charlotte. Now your good memories aren't tinged with guilt."

They sat quietly together in the dim living room. Jane mulled over the bittersweet fact of the accident in his mind. The room gradually brightened with the rising sun.