In the previous chapters I forgot to mention that I do not own these characters, which is a shame.
Thanks for reading and please review!
3. THE DIFFERENCE
Since they had broken up, and especially since Van Pelt had started seeing FBI agent O'Laughlin, whenever she and Rigsby were alone, there were these awkward silences, which one of them would try to break with some kind of small talk to show the other that they were all right. This time, however, they were both concerned about Patrick Jane and the effect that the new lead might have on him. Therefore, that was the subject while they drove back from the suspect's house.
"Do you think he would have the guts to kill Red John?" Van Pelt asked.
Rigsby thought a little, before answering. "Well, he has killed someone before."
Van Pelt looked at him. "But that was completely different." She shifted in the passenger seat. "He killed that guy to save Lisbon's life. He didn't have any time to think; the guy was going to shoot her and kill her unless he pulled the trigger first."
"Is that too different from shooting someone who has killed someone you cared about?" Rigsby asked, and it seemed like he didn't quite know the answer.
"I don't know," Van Pelt said, confused. "I can't imagine being in his place."
Rigsby reduced the speed and took a right turn to pull up in front of the diner where they were meeting Lisbon, Jane and Cho for lunch. He and Van Pelt got out of the car and approached the door, which he opened for her. Their three colleagues were already sitting. Jane seemed to be distractedly looking out the window, while Lisbon sifted through some papers and Cho drank beer from the bottle.
"Nothing," Rigsby announced, pulling a chair for himself while Van Pelt did the same. "Not even furniture. There was absolutely nothing in Andrea Weiland's place."
Jane looked at Rigsby, not really surprised. Then he looked at Van Pelt, who looked back at him and seemed to be analyzing him. There was also guilt in her eyes, probably for not having brought good news. He smiled at her.
"We're on to something, though," Lisbon said. "The guy who interviewed her quoted something she said and it pretty much sounded like the same crap Rebecca said about Red John." After saying the words, Lisbon shuddered with the memory of the woman who had infiltrated the CBI and killed four agents, including Sam Bosco. She looked down, remembering Bosco with sadness.
"About serving a higher purpose, about destiny," Cho said, and Jane thought that if the subject wasn't Red John, he would have grinned disapprovingly.
"None of the neighbors remembers her," Van Pelt said, "they said that she never came home, and, when she did, they never saw her arrive or leave, they only saw the lights on and then off again."
"They never heard any sounds coming from her house, either," Rigsby added.
"The colleagues who remember her say she was an ordinary woman, who only spoke when necessary and never stood out for any reasons," Cho commented.
"A woman said that she had a boyfriend," Lisbon said, "but she only saw him once, when he picked her up in his motorcycle. But she doesn't remember anything else about him. Only that he drove a noisy motorcycle. She can't describe what he looked like, nothing. She can't even say for sure that he was Weiland's boyfriend, since he only picked her up, they didn't do or say anything."
"She just hopped on the motorcycle and they left, that horrible sound," Jane said, the right corner of his mouth curved in a shade of a smile, reproducing the witness's words and speaking for the first time since they had arrived at the diner.
"Here are the resumé and letters of recommendation. Van Pelt, I want you to check if these places and people exist and know anything about her, but I don't think anything will turn up."
"Yes, boss," Van Pelt said as she picked the papers Lisbon was handing to her, as well as the small computer she brought with her. She intended to start digging immediately.
Lisbon shut the folder closed, impatiently. "Damn it," she murmured.
Soon, the food arrived. However, except for Rigsby, no one was very hungry. Lisbon was still paying close attention to the quiet, pensive Jane, and she almost missed how, in normal cases, he would drive her crazy with the most irritating jokes.
Back at the CBI headquarters, Lisbon sat in her office, unsure of what to do. What had looked like a good lead had turned out a waste of time, and the case was stuck again. This Andrea Weiland, and that wasn't even her real name, seemed to be involved, no doubt, but she had disappeared, leaving no trace behind. All they had was a photo provided by the cable TV company; all the rest was bogus. She sighed, wondering if Jane was in his new found hiding place, since he wasn't lying on his couch. She lay back on her chair, feeling useless.
Jane was lying on his improvised bed, looking away. He felt he should be doing something, but he didn't know what to do. He was back here, thinking, waiting. He positioned the pillow on his face, trying to block his mind from thinking so much, about everything at the same time. He tried not to think about anything, and he continued with that exercise until he ended up falling asleep.
Night was about to start falling when Lisbon decided to check on Jane, since she hadn't heard about him for hours. She went up the stairs and walked up to his improvised abode, knocking first and, since there was no answer, opening the door. She looked around and saw him lying on his surrogate bed, looking fast asleep. She sighed, at least he was here, not away, doing God knows what.
She walked further into the room, towards the window, hearing the faint sounds of traffic coming from outside. She looked around at his mess. A couple of suitcases, shoes lying around, papers scattered across the floor. Then, she noticed something inside the overnight bag he usually carried when they traveled, which lay open on the floor. It was a wooden box. She kneeled to take a closer look, wondering what was inside. She thought maybe it was an object that had once belonged to his wife or daughter, something that reminded him of them. She was tempted to open it and look, but she felt like an intruder for even entertaining the thought.
Lisbon stood up again. She looked at Jane. His expression was serene, his breathing even. He slept on his side, with his arms crossed. She looked around and then out the window. The city lights starting to stand out in the falling darkness didn't tell her anything. Nothing was telling her anything, except for a voice in her mind, screaming that she had to do something. Anything. Restless, she looked around again, at his clothes, at the papers, at the shoes. Nothing gave her any clues on what to do.
She thought she'd better leave, but then her mind focused on the wooden box again. What was inside it that he needed to take with him wherever he would go? In an impulse, she got down on her knees and took the box into her hands. It was heavier than she would have expected, and that was weird. Any personal objects from his wife or daughter would have been lighter, she thought. Maybe a doll, earrings, she didn't know what else it could be, but she couldn't think of anything that heavy.
"Screw it," she whispered, opening the box for once. Her mouth fell open at the sight of what was inside. It was a gun. Jane hated guns, he didn't even know how to deal with weapons. Well, he had found a way to shoot one once, when he saved her life. Horrible thoughts started to fill her mind, about how long he could have had that gun, about how he might have always faked his distaste and clumsiness around guns. She had to lean a hand on the floor to keep from falling, because she was starting to feel dizzy with the scenarios she was visiting in her mind.
"What are you doing?"
She jumped at the sudden sound of his voice behind her. She realized she had been caught searching through his things, and maybe he had a right to be mad at her because of it, but right now she was the one mad at him.
"No," she said, standing up with the gun in her hand, leaving the box on the floor. "What are you doing? With this?"
Jane sighed, rolling his eyes. "It's a gift."
"A gift?" her tone was incredulous. "What kind of person gives somebody a gun?"
"The kind of person who also seeks revenge," he said, with a twisted smile. "I got it from Max Winter, remember him?" His tone was casual.
"Max Winter," she repeated, a bit relieved, but still distrustful. If that were true, he would have had the gun for a couple of months, only.
"Yes. He told me shooting helped him cope, that it was a release. That he would shoot at targets imagining they were his wife's killer, and then, with time, they went back to being only targets." He paused, then chuckled, looking away. "Of course, he was lying, he actually shot his wife's killer after all."
Lisbon was silent, as though paralyzed. Jane stood up and approached her. "He gave it to me and I kept it, that's all."
"You've been taking it with you in your overnight bag," Lisbon accused.
"No, I haven't," he corrected her, a finger lifted. "I took it with me today, for the first time," he said, sincerely, with a hint of a smile.
"Well, you're not taking it anywhere else," she said, starting to move on her way out, taking the gun with her. He held her by her arm.
"Give it back to me," he said, serious. "You know it's useless. Wherever you put it, I'm going to find it."
She stared intently into his eyes.
"Start sounding like a criminal and I'll take you off the case," she threatened.
"I'll never be off this case. I'll be in it until I find him, whether I have your permission or not," he said, grimly, a piercing look in his eyes.
Lisbon couldn't contain a shiver. He was getting scarier every day. He still held her arm, but he loosened his grip and his expression. He didn't want to scare her. Maybe he should want to.
"You'll never see this gun again," she challenged. Jane smiled.
"Winter told me it was worth it to kill his wife's killer," he said, as though trying to justify himself.
"Yeah, well, have you considered that he didn't actually kill him?" she asked, furiously. "When he arrived to shoot the guy, he was most likely dead or far gone on his way to dying, with a gunshot wound to the head. For all he knows, he shot a dead body. That doesn't count as killing. He doesn't have it in his conscience; he knows he's not a murderer."
"I have killed a man," he said, "you have killed people. Aren't we murderers?"
"Those are different situations, you know that," she retorted, her voice a furious whisper.
"They don't seem all that different to me," he said. "Anyway, I'd be killing a murderer. Someone who deserves to die. Like the man I killed and the people you killed on duty."
Lisbon forcefully removed her arm from his grip. "I'm sad for you," she said. "This is a very sad way to live."
He chuckled, grimly. "Well, I have my reasons."
"Can't you see? You're concentrating all your energy into bad feelings, into bad things. That can't be good!"
Jane sighed. "You don't understand."
"Oh yes, I do," she said, approaching him. "I might not behave like I see myself as a victim, but I have suffered loss. Life hasn't been fair to me either." She looked at him defiantly. "My mother was killed in a stupid accident, hit by a damn drunk driver. Because of that, not only I had to deal with not having a mother when I most needed one, but I had to become a parent for my brothers, because we could only count on our dad to beat us up!" She had started to raise her voice until she shouted the last part.
Jane looked down, guilt washing over him. He knew all that about her, but he had never seen her demonstrate how painful it was for her.
"Oh I wanted that guy to die," she said, a weird smile contracting her face muscles. "I saw him at the police station, giving his statement. I wanted to kill him right there and then, with my bare hands. But I knew that my mother, wherever she was, wouldn't want me to turn into a monster. To fill my life with rage, with hatred." Her voice cracked. "She'd want me to move on."
Jane wanted to apologize for saying she didn't understand, but not for wanting his revenge. Also, he considered it quite hypocritical of her to be so mad about him having a gun in a box when she carried one hooked up to her hip.
"And you moved on to become a cop, instead of a monster, so you'd have license to kill without being a killer?"
Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, and one jumped off without even rolling down her face. That made him regret his words instantly.
"How dare you?" she asked, in a low tone, deeply hurt, and then looked down so he wouldn't see the tears rolling down her face.
He sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry," he said, shaking his head. Unsure of what to do, he took a step forward, saying, "I didn't mean to hurt you. But it's true, isn't it?"
She wiped her tears with her sleeve and looked up at him as he continued. "What happened to your mother was what ultimately drove you into this career path. You wanted to make things right, to put away all the bad guys who took away innocent people's mothers, isn't that right?" He smiled. "And, of course, control freaks tend to seek authority positions."
Lisbon didn't find any reasons to return the smile. Or any arguments against his theory. His own smile disappeared, slowly.
"It's the same thing I want to do," he said, in a soft voice. "I want justice for what happened to me, too."
"Becoming a killer just like him is not the way to do that," she finally managed to say.
"Well, what if you killed him?" he asked, genuinely curious. "Would you become a killer?"
"I would only kill him if I had no other choice," was her answer. "It's my duty."
"I have no other choice," he retorted, trying to make her understand for once.
"You know what I meant, and yes, you do," she said. "It's one thing to become a cop. Another thing, completely opposite, to become a killer."
Jane stared at her, seeing there was a true difference between those two things in her eyes. Both were silent for a while. Lisbon turned away from him, took a few steps around, put his gun away in the back of her jeans and then spoke again, starting cautiously. "I know you don't believe in an afterlife, but what if your wife and child are somewhere, and they're seeing you and the way you're choosing to live your life and that's making them suffer?"
Jane's expression changed completely into an undefined mixture of anger and guilt.
"They're not anywhere," he said, his voice cracking. "They're gone, they don't exist anymore, and that's because of me!"
"All right then," Lisbon raised her voice, impatiently, "they're gone, disappeared, not a trace! Okay?"
"Okay," he said, going back to his normal tone and relaxing his posture as well, as though she had finally started to make sense.
She measured her words, asking herself whether to say them or not. Then she decided to do it.
"Let's talk about people who still exist, then," she said lightly. He faced her again, looking puzzled. "People who are alive and care about you." She paused, looking deep into his eyes as he looked deep into hers. "Me, for example."
Those words made him smile a crooked smile which expressed angst, as he shook his head, looking down. "Well, you shouldn't care about me," he stated simply.
"But I do," she raised her voice a little, making him look at her again. "And it hurts me to see you want to become a murderer." Before he could reply, she posed a hand in front of her, so as to make him hear her out before he spoke. "I care about you and I don't want you to live your life like this. Do you want to hurt me?"
He took a deep breath, and shook his head while answering, sincerely, "No, I don't."
"Then stop," she said, and tears started to shine in her eyes again. "Stop saying things like that, stop acting like your life is over," and to continue, she took a deep breath and fought hard to keep herself from crying, "because it's not. You're still alive and you still have people who care whether you're all right or not!"
He took a step forward, feeling really confused by her crying, not knowing whether to comfort her or not. He decided, however, not to get any closer.
"Well, like I said, you shouldn't care," he said. "Because I'm not all right, and I won't be. I don't want to be."
Tears finally got the best of Lisbon as she said "You think you're punishing yourself, but you're punishing others too. You're punishing the people who are beside you, trying to help you, trying to be there for you!"
"I don't want people to be there for me," he said, harshly. "You should know that everyone who cares about me ends up being punished for it."
"Well, do you realize that that's a pretty ego centered way of looking at things?"
"One more reason you shouldn't waste any time or energy on me," he said.
"You know what, I agree," she said, really hurt by his coldness. "But it's not like I can decide!"
Lisbon regretted having told him that she cared. She thought that, if she could take those words back, she would. She was so mad that she wanted to tell him he was right; he didn't deserve to have anybody who cared about him. But she couldn't lie. That was not her true opinion, even though she did hate him for trying to push her away like that. So, since she had already said too much, she decided to say even more.
"You see," she started, in a normal tone now and winning the fight over her tears, "you can try as hard as you can, but you're not succeeding in pushing me away. I'll do what I think is right, so I won't go anywhere, no matter what you say to try and hurt me."
Jane took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, there was a heart-shattering sadness in them, and he said, with sincerity, "I wish you would. For your own sake, not mine."
"Shut up, you're being stupid," she said, abruptly, but he approached her and continued speaking.
"I am stupid. I've always been. And I wish you didn't care about me, I wish I was nothing for you, because I don't deserve to be something."
"Do you think that's something I can control?" she asked, with a hint of desperation in her voice, "can you control who you care about?"
He stopped for a moment, weighing what to say. Then, he gave up filtering and spoke exactly what he was thinking and feeling, something he never did. "No, I can't", was what came out, suddenly and harshly, for he was irritated to admit it. Moving his hands in a sign of despair, he continued, "what do you want me to say? You want me to tell you that I care about you in a way that makes me feel guilty? That makes me feel like I'm betraying my dead wife?"
When those words reached her, Lisbon needed to catch her breath and her whole body shuddered. Jane was similarly shocked by his own words. She looked down, but he held her by her arms to make her look at him again as he went on.
"You want me to tell you that seeing you cry because of me hurts me in a way that I imagined nothing could anymore?" He tightened his grip on her arms as he said the words.
The sadness and sincerity in his eyes caused hers to water once more and right now she just wanted him to stop. She just wanted him to let that sadness vanish and replace it with one of his usual smug smiles. With tears rolling down her face, she just shook her head, looking down, and then freed her arms just to throw them around him in a hug, burying her face in his chest and letting the sobs escape her. She felt his arms holding her tightly and it was like they covered her whole body.
"Lisbon…" he breathed in her ear, while one of his hands moved through her hair and the other held her even tighter.
She took deep breaths to calm her sobs, until they stopped altogether. She noticed that the fabric in contact with her face was wet, and murmured, "your shirt…"
"It's ok," he said, and his voice wasn't louder than a whisper.
Lisbon couldn't say, if somebody had asked her, how long she stood there, in Jane's arms. But when she decided to leave, she simply removed herself from his embrace and left, without looking back and carrying his gun away with her. She went to her office and put it away in a locked drawer while she tried to think of a place to hide it. She went to the kitchen, in serious need of a cup of strong, hot coffee to help her think. A few minutes and half the coffee later, she had an idea. She went back to her office and opened the drawer, only to find that the gun was no longer there.
