Look! A quick update! Probably one or two chapters after this. Whew! Thanks for the encouraging reviews—they really help. And thanks to Kathi-Ann for all of her support and opinions!
Chapter Seven: Choices
********************************************************
They entered the building slowly, carefully. Jane's eyes roamed almost frantically, but his movements were just as fluid as normal. Lisbon, for her part, was more tense than normal. Jane noticed that her taser was clipped to her belt in the front, where she would easily notice it being lifted.
If it weren't for the fact that he had ruined what was between them, he would almost laugh at her newfound suspiciousness. He had also noticed that she was very careful not to fully turn her back on him. The cleared the first floor of the abandoned building and headed up. Jane tried not to think about how similar this building was to the first one, to the building where he had betrayed and lost Lisbon.
Sure, she was alive. But not for him. No thanks to him.
As they cleared the second level, he felt his blood begin to pulse with adrenaline. Maybe he could finally put his demons to rest, finally rid the world of the scum that was Red John.
He hoped that Lisbon would be okay.
Another half hour and they only had two more floors to go. Jane knew that there was a trained team around the building. Something about that thought ate at his mind. There was something he was missing…
Lisbon gestured him up onto the last floor of the building before the roof. She was wavering between relief and disappointment. She really wanted to get Red John, but she knew—better than anyone—that once they did, the problems were just beginning. She'd have to turn on Jane. And, even though that's exactly what he had done to her, she wasn't sure she could.
But she would. She just didn't know what kind of person she would be after, how much of her would remain. She didn't know if she could let another member of her family slip away again.
She stifled a sigh as they reached the end of the floor.
Alcohol and serial killers. The bane of her existence.
She felt Jane stiffen next to her and glanced at him. He was staring down the last hall that led to the stairs of the roof. She reluctantly followed his gaze. A single sheaf of paper fluttered on the door. She turned back to her consultant—no, not hers. He worked for no one but himself—and grasped his arm tightly with one hand, her gun with her other.
She spoke low, urgently. "Jane. Listen to me. I am going to check it out first. Let me make sure it's safe first. I don't want to have to handcuff you to this door next to us."
She gestured to the door behind him. She could tell he wanted to protest so she rushed ahead. "Please."
Rarely did Agent Teresa Lisbon plead. Surprisingly, Jane found himself nodding. He owed her that much. More, actually. But he wasn't sure he would ever pay her back what she had given him, wasn't sure he could or that he would allow himself to.
She searched his face before nodding back. For the first time since they entered the building, she turned her back on the blond man and stealthily made her way down the hall.
Jane realized the last time he had fully seen her back had been right before he had knocked her out. Was she trying to tell him something?
She paused at the end of the hall and he knew she was skimming the note. He saw her body jerk and expected her to turn around, give him the go-ahead. Instead, she slammed through the door, going forward. His brow furrowed. She seemed almost panicked, rushed. He moved forward. He had let her go first, but something was off. He reached the door and his eyes read the note with a speed he hadn't known possible. He picked out the words that Lisbon must have seen:
I found us another pawn. I wonder if she will last until you make your move. Hmm?
He hurried up the stairs after Lisbon. Bursting out onto the roof, he spun around, searching for her. "Lisbon!"
"Over here, Jane!"
He turned and saw her dragging a two-by-four to the edge of the building. He was confused for a moment before he realized what had been bothering him since the note.
Red John had not asked for them to come alone. He didn't care if they brought the calvary. Because he was not here, surrounded by said calvary.
At least not in this building.
He hurried toward Lisbon. On the roof of the nearby building was a bound woman, looking terrified. Another figure stood in the shadows.
Red John.
With a strength that belied her small stature, Lisbon hefted the wood planks up and laid them as a makeshift bridge combining the two structures. A laugh rang through the air, taunting and familiar.
The same laugh that had drifted over the phone to Jane when he had lost his connection, when Renfrew had been murdered.
Jane jumped up onto the boards. Lisbon saw him move and she turned to grab her gun before following. Jane, heedless of his own mortality, made it across much faster than she. Lisbon knew that she had to be careful. She couldn't risk her own life as Jane had his. If she died, no one would be thinking of the girl. Jane would be after revenge and Red John obviously cared for no one's well fare.
It was Lisbon's responsibility, her job, to save the girl. As Jane neared, a hand reached from the shadows and dragged the girl back. The white of the hostage's shirt shone even in the darkness of the shadows. Lisbon froze. "Jane! Stop. Now."
She was shocked when her words seemed to make it through. Jane stopped in his tracks. Maybe, somewhere in there, Jane realized that he couldn't just let innocent bystanders be murdered for his revenge. Lisbon supposed it was different when it was possible it may occur directly in front of him.
Maybe.
"Who are you?" The words came from Jane, but his voice seemed to be someone else. Someone harsh, gravelly. Cold. Unfeeling.
Another laugh. "What are you going to do, Mr. Jane? Go through this poor girl?"
Light glistened from the silver of a blade that caressed the girl's throat. The girl trembled visibly, obviously trying to hold back sobs. The gag helped in that respect. Jane's hands clenched and unclenched at his side, but he didn't answer. Lisbon moved forward slowly.
"Shall we rid ourselves of the pawns and get to it, do you think?" Before Jane or Lisbon could say anything, the girl jerked in his arms. Lisbon saw the bloodied tip of the knife emerge from her side and knew that Red John had knifed her from behind. As the girl began to fall from the killer's arms, Lisbon started forward, raising her gun. Jane began to move toward his enemy, ready to tear him apart with his bare hands now that nothing stood in his way.
Lisbon saw the gun just a moment before it went off and she lurched to the side to avoid the oncoming bullet. Unfortunately, her sudden movement caused her loss of balance and, as the wood slid from the ledge of the building on its descent to the pavement below, she dove for the edge, hooking an elbow over it. One arm held her weight while the other dangled below at her side, gripping her gun.
At the sound of a gunshot, Jane had frozen. Now, he looked in horror at Lisbon, clearly torn. Red John was moving away from him, backing up slowly. Lisbon felt her grip loosen for a moment before she tightened it. If sheer force of will could keep her up here, then there was no way she was falling.
Only trouble was, lately her force of will hadn't been much of a force at all. Couldn't keep Jane from throwing his life away. Couldn't keep her from caring too much.
Jane felt his world crashing in on him. On one side, the murderer of his family, the man he had hunted for years, his reason for living. On the other, the one person who had tried to save him was dangling over her death.
Could he leave her to it? Just how badly did he want Red John?
He looked into her green eyes, remembering the way they sparked when she was mad, the way they softened when she was content, turned to green ice when she was stubborn, sparkled when she was playful. Now, though, he saw an expression he had never expected.
She knew she was going to die and she had accepted it. Had accepted that he would leave her there to die.
What did he expect after the way he had acted?
He didn't see anger or betrayal in her face. She was resigned to her fate and didn't blame him.
Red John watched the two and turned his back to them to hurry away. Patrick Jane was an idiot, but contrary to the words he had used to taunt the miserable worm, the psychic was too soft to leave her.
This wasn't quite the way he had planned it. He wanted Lisbon dead, but at his hands. He wanted to torment Jane with her death before killing the psychic himself. Eh, well, it had become a bit messy. That's what happens when you stray from your system. Maybe if he was lucky, Lisbon would fall to her death and take the irritating Patrick Jane over the edge with her…
Lisbon waited for Jane to turn away, to hurry after Red John. She looked away and saw Red John turn his back and begin to leave in earnest. She looked back to Jane to tell him to hurry and saw him hurrying toward her. She was sure her confusion shown on her face and for a moment she saw a flash of hurt in his eyes.
He was going to save her?
Why?
She didn't want to die. She had a lot left to do with her life. But she didn't know if she could be the reason Jane missed his chance to live his own life, to move on, move forward. With a Herculean effort she raised her other hand, feeling the cement of the building dig into her arm, bruising her. She aimed her gun as steadily as her shaking arm would allow.
Jane was still five feet away. As the gun went off, the slight kickback loosened her grasp and she felt the concrete wall scraping at her skin as she started to slide. She glimpsed Jane's panicked face before the world was tilting and her hand skidded across the surface of the building, unable to find purchase.
Everything seemed to happen so fast and yet time seemed to drag on.
Jane made a last desperate dive to the edge, frantic. He couldn't lose her completely. He may have to live without her in his life, but the world needed someone like Teresa Lisbon.
He needed to know that she was still out there somewhere.
He couldn't lose her to death, to his own darkness, because of his darkness.
He reached, hands grasping. He had chosen.
He needed her to live so that she would know that, when it came down to it, he chose her.
