Thanks for all of the reviews! Hopefully this chapter lives up to your expectations.
Disclaimer: I own nothing (if I did, season 2 would start right now)
Brief Recap: Lisbon is buried alive somewhere, and three days before that, the team came across what they believe to be a Red John case (I'm not admitting to anything!), where Jane found a little blond girl murdered in her bed.
PRESENT
As a teenager, watching cop shows on TV, she had decided that if she was ever locked up all by herself, she would sing to pass the time. It would prevent her from totally losing her mind, or thinking negative thoughts, and, as an added benefit, would probably drive her captor crazy, since she was as good at carrying a tune as Patrick Jane was at following rules.
Now, she was too worried about preserving air to start singing, and there was no captor anywhere near to bother with her nails-on-the-chalkboard voice. Still, anything was better than thinking of her impending death and imagining that the walls were closing in on her (she had never been claustrophobic, but it was amazing how quickly that changed once she was actually in a tight space). She begged her mind to dredge up lyrics of some song or another, but the only thing she could think of was the alphabet. ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYandZ now I know my ABC's, next time won't you sing with me, she thought desperately, pushing back tears. ABCDEFGHIJKLM…
THREE DAYS EARLIER
The silence seemed to stretch on indefinitely. Finally he spoke, his voice husky, as if it hadn't been used in months instead of just a few minutes. "Where's her mother?"
She kept her voice soft, afraid that if she spoke too loud it would break him. "In the bathroom."
He tore his eyes from the limp frame of the little girl and led the way into the bathroom, where a woman was resting. She was fully clothed, except for her feet. Both socks and shoes had been removed, to reveal bright red nails, painted in blood. The tiniest whimper came out of Lisbon's mouth, but Jane barely heard it. While the child reminded him of his own daughter – the curls and blond hair matched perfectly – the woman reminded him of someone else entirely.
Her hair was dark brunette, curled, and cut short. Judging by the slightly strange angles, her hair had once been longer, which meant that Red John had cut it himself, for a reason. The young mother's eyes were wide open, staring at Jane blankly – a verdant green.
"Jane?"
He turned and saw Lisbon, holding a piece of paper shakily. His apprehension grew. Since when did Lisbon get shaky?
"I found it on the back of the door."
Dear Mr. Jane,
Does it bring back memories? You don't know how hard it was to find them. You're lucky that I am very patient. I thought the eyes were a nice touch. You don't need me to tell you, but I'll say it anyway – one from your past, one from your present. I look forward to finally meeting her.
"No! No, I won't let him. He can't – not you too."
"Jane," she began. The note fell to the floor and he wrapped his arms around her, as if holding her close would somehow protect her from the man who had eluded the police for years.
"He can't have you. He can't. I can't lose someone else. I'll die first."
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