Chapter 8.

Teresa Lisbon.

"…as we forgive them that trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, amen."

Those words have seemed to calm me down for now, as they have done so many times before; but that feeling of pure fear from the bottom of my stomach will rise again soon. Even in the confines of this so called 'blanket', which is old, worn and smells disgusting, there is little protection from the bitter cold, as well as the fear. Just as the terror subsides, a chasm has formed from hunger; if this guy thought that I would last a whole day on a single sandwich, he'd better think again – mind you, on some cases, I've gone whole days without a single bite to eat, but none of those times were in the depth of winter. It's definitely got colder and the person who abducted me hasn't appeared for hours; if I'm lucky, they'll be back in the next hour. But what if he doesn't? the voice of doubt rears its ugly head again.

"No, they want me alive," I say to myself out loud, "if they were going to kill me, then they would have done it as soon as we got here; secondly, they wouldn't feed me in the first place and they are not torturing me – thank goodness – so it's for ransom."

"Very impressive Agent Lisbon!"

The soft male voice startles me; it's coming from the other side of the door.

"Who is there?" I ask, hoping for some kind of engagement from this character.

"Oh, you know who I am, Teresa, and I know you," he almost sniggers, "yes, I know you very well indeed."

"Well, if you're not going to tell me who you are, then answer me this: where are we?"

"Don't worry, we haven't left the state," he replies casually, "let's just say we are not in your usual neck of the woods."

"Why? Why am I here?"

"One step at a time Teresa," his voice is extremely patronising, "are you hungry?"

"Starving," the words come out before I can stop them.

"Are you cold?"

"Yes," I tell him reluctantly, I hate being interrogated.

He knows your weaknesses… the voice whispers.

A bolt slides across and the flap opens; a tray with a plate of hot pasta and a can of cola on it scrapes across the cement floor a few feet, followed by a thick blanket.

"Is that all you require?"

"One more thing," I answer.

"Oh," his voice a little higher with interest.

"What is this about?"

"It'll all become clear very soon," his reply is very light hearted, "sleep well Agent Lisbon."

The flap shuts and the bolt is slid across again, locking me in once more. The smell of the pasta is too good to ignore; though the sauce is a little bland, it doesn't take me long to devour the whole plate and empty the can of cola, beggars can't be choosers I guess. The blanket is also extremely inviting, it's a lot thicker than the rest of the collection on the bed and it's big, I'm able to wrap myself in multiple folds before retreating to the comfort of the bed. With one hand, I manage to find my mother's crucifix hanging around my neck, and much like I did when I was younger, I clasp it tightly and say a short prayer to God; asking Him to keep Jane and the others safe, and to send some sort of sign to them telling them that I am alive. If there was a time that I need to ask a favour from Him, this would be it.

Being in a room with no notion as to where I am or what is going on, with the addition of no way of tracking time, is exhausting. At this time of year especially, I have no way of knowing how long I have been here. It's hard to conceive that, at one minute, I was with Jane, and the next, I'm in a totally different world. That exciting buzz of the Christmas spirit isn't helping, that mixed in with uncertainty about everything is making my stomach churn like a washing machine. I just want to be home with Patrick, surrounded by the team and my brothers, eating a well-cooked Christmas dinner and wearing those ridiculous paper hats. In a few days, we'll celebrate some more with the arrival of a brand new year, hopefully one that will contain fewer cases for us to solve and the upcoming nuptial of a certain couple. I wish that it was as simple between Patrick and me as it is between Grace and Wayne; from the first time that they set eyes on each other, there was something there; neither knew what it was until…well, that's really none of my business. But Jane and I…we have too much baggage to just be together, we both have our demons, but we're too stubborn to admit it to each other…things are just never that simple, or go like they do in the movies – seriously, is anyone ever that perfect? Jane and I battle on though, it's one of the things that I love about him: his drive, his passion for justice; I just hope that one day, he will be able to have his own and not be haunted by his past. One day, he'll be able to move on, and I'm going to be there for him. I would never desert him, admittedly at times, I've felt like it, but we're in it together.

"Jane, if you can hear me…I love you," I whisper, "I love you Patrick Jane, I always have and I always will."

I hope he knows that, no, I'm sure that he knows that, but the next time I see him, I'm gonna make sure that he knows.

My train of thought suddenly diverts back to what my captor and I discussed.

"Ransom?" I whisper. But what for? We've haven't exactly a string of cases lately; just ones that were easily solved within a day or two and that's pretty much it. Nothing that stands out to me anyway. I wonder what the team is doing at the moment; do they have a case? Are they relaxing? Do they know what has happened to me? Is that the fear that every abductee has – the fear that no one knows that they are gone, or they have been assumed to have abruptly left town for no reason in particular? Jane's a smart guy, he'll know that something is wrong, and so will the team, if there is anyone that I can trust…it's them.