Lisbon knew she should think better than falling for such a simple trick and yet, she just couldn't restrain herself. This might be her only chance to get to the serial killer she was chasing, and far away from Jane's eyes too; the fact that Red John had decided to send her a message was utterly suspicious, but in the end she didn't have anything to lose.

Dearest Teresa, I'd like to have a word with you.

Let's meet at your old house.

Come alone.

R.J.

She read those words all over again, no matter that she'd already learned them by heart; then she dug out her old key and pushed the door open. The house was dark and silent, and a shiver ran down her spine at the thought that her daughter's presence was still lingering among those walls. A moment later she quickly pushed the ridiculous idea to the back of her mind; she'd never believed in ghosts, and had faith that the only place her child could be was heaven.

Dust had gathered over every piece of furniture; as far as she knew no one had been there during the last year, but she still suspected that her former husband had spent more time in the room upstairs than she was comfortable to think about.

That was when a quiet laughter finally caught her attention; there was someone sitting on the armchair, and even though his face was still hidden in shadows she could easily guess who it was.

"Well met, my dear," the man said at last, and her hand instinctively went to her side. However, she could see the light reverberating on the barrel of his gun, so she simply let her hand drop.

"Who are you?" she asked, as she desperately racked her brain for some brilliant idea.

"I'm sure you already know the answer. You're a smart woman, Teresa."

"What do you want?"

He shook his head, his lips curling in a cruel smile. "My beautiful plan seems to have backfired in ways I wasn't expecting. I wanted to tear you and your precious husband apart, but it seems that I only managed to get you two back together instead."

A cold hand of fear settled over her heart; Red John knew about the night she'd spent with Jane, and he didn't look pleased at all.

"We're not together, it was just the one night," she shot back defiantly, though her voice trembled a little. "I don't think I could ever forgive him."

He shook his head once more. "Teresa, Teresa. Don't lie to me. I know you still care for him; that's why you have to go."

She all but shrugged. "I'm not going anywhere."

With that she jumped at him, but he was quicker than she expected; a searing pain shot through her head as he hit her with the back of his gun, then everything went black.

xxx

The only reason why Jane hadn't succumbed to a panic attack yet was that he had to find Teresa before it was too late. He was deeply grateful that Cho had got the wind up about what was going on with their boss, and decided to track down her cellphone. Now they were driving at breakneck speed towards his old Sacramento home, the one he still owned because he simply couldn't bring himself to let it go; it seemed that Red John had chosen to end this right where it had started, the very idea hitting him like a punch in the stomach.

"Breathe, Jane," Rigsby instructed him. "We're going to find her."

The house was eerily quiet, just like the night they'd come home to find their daughter dead in her bed; he whispered a silent prayer to a God he didn't believe in, hoping that they were going to make it in time.

His heart leaped in his chest when Cho and Rigsby emptied their guns on the dark figure that was looming over Teresa's recumbent form. He didn't dignify Red John with a second glance, his full attention focused on his wife and the gushing wound just below her collarbone. A wave of nausea rushed through him as he noticed that the madman had started painting his trademark signature right on her face, while his hands instinctively sought to stop the blood that spilled from the deep cut.

"Stay with me, Teresa," he begged as he desperately tried to discern her breathing.

He only stepped back when Cho gently pulled him away, so that Rigsby could give her some assistance while they waited for the paramedics to arrive.

"Red John's dead," his friend told him. "She's going to be alright."

However, he wasn't entirely sure about that; once again he was incredibly close to losing someone he deeply cared about, and to the same monster as well. If Teresa wasn't going to make it through, then neither would he. It was all his fault; he should have run as far from her as he could, so that the serial killer would have gone after him, leaving her alone.

When the paramedics finally got there he refused to leave her and was eventually allowed to ride with her in the ambulance. He held her hand the whole time, praying that she would wake up so that he could beg for her forgiveness.

"I'm sorry," he whispered for what felt the umpteenth time, as he tried to wipe the dried blood away from her face. He couldn't manage to do it, and tears started trickling down his cheeks at last.

First Kaitlyn, and now Teresa. He should have learned his lesson, but he was always a stubborn, self-centered man who just couldn't bring himself to. If Teresa was going to survive, then he would do exactly what he should have done right from the start; he would give her back her freedom, so that she could pick up the pieces of her life and hopefully find some happiness with a better man than he could ever be.

As for himself, he could always look over her from a distance, until death came to mercifully release him from the misery that was his life.