Donna tells me she's been getting a lot of PM's and tweets about the progress of this story. Please redirect your ire to me; the hold up is my fault. I hope this chapter at least partly makes up for the wait. Be warned, there is fluff and angst galore.
Chapter 9
"Visualize," Jane repeated, slowly, as though rolling the word around in his mouth to see how it tasted. "So we're talking modern-day cult…enigmatic leader with massive political pull…creepy drawing of an eye for a symbol, that Visualize?"
"You heard me," said Lorelei. "Witness protection. And I want top-grade security status and I want it today. And I swear to God, if anything else happens to me, if I so much as skin my knee before I get into WitSec, the deal's off."
"We will protect you," he said, confidently. "He's going to come at you with everything he has, but he won't succeed. I'll see to it. "
"You're a fool," she said, now no longer tearful, but her voice shaking. Her shock and despair at Red John's attempt on her life was now giving way to an all-encompassing fear. "You of all people should know exactly what he's capable of, and how far his reach extends. You'd better be as clever and scheming as you think you are, Patrick or this is going to end very badly for me, for you, and for your beloved back there." She glanced up at the mirror.
"Why don't you just worry about yourself for now?" he said. "Let me handle the rest."
"Patrick, you need to understand something," she said. "If he finds out what's going on here, if he thinks I've aligned myself with you-" she broke off, taking deep gulps of air in attempt to stave off what seemed like an intense wave of panic, "- we all go down the sinkhole together. He'll kill me-" she gulped –"he'll make a point of killing everyone you've ever cared for, and then –"
"-He'll kill me," Jane supplied, dully. Far from chilling his blood, he couldn't help thinking that death would easily be preferable to facing a lifetime without Lisbon.
But Lorelei shook her head. "No, that would be too easy," she said. "He'll fade into the woodwork. He knows you'd spend your whole life trying to hunt him down, especially if he took someone else away from you." She flicked another glance at the mirror. " He knows you. You'll search for years but you'll never find him. He won't need to kill you but the hopelessness will make you wish you were dead."
"I've been at this for nine years," he said, with a grim smile. "Still alive and kicking."
She gave a weak, sarcastic chuckle. "Look at yourself, Patrick. I've seen footage of your act from back in the day. You played your audience for a bunch of fools. You were suave and so sure of yourself, and now look at you. You're a shadow of what you once were."
"That's a matter of opinion."
"Can you keep this relentless quest for revenge up for the rest of your life?" she asked. "Because that's what it could easily come down to, if you're not careful."
"Let me ask you a question Lorelei. Do you really think I haven't considered every possible outcome over the years I've been doing this? Do you think I haven't planned for every eventuality? I can get us out of this unscathed, Teresa and I can go back to work, and you can get your life back. Don't you want that?"
"What life?" she whispered. "He was my life."
Jane registered the usage of past tense, and resisted the urge to punch the air in celebration. Instead, he reached across the table and took her hand again.
"What am I supposed to do now?" said Lorelei, fretfully, hanging her head. "Everything I am is what he made me. I don't know how to be without him. I don't even know who to be."
With the hand not clutched in hers, Jane gently tilted her chin upwards, forcing her to look straight into his eyes. Her gaze bored into his, and they were as lifeless as the first night they had met, in the dingy back room of the casino. Even as they had joked around over their drinks, her mouth had smiled, but her eyes had not, trained by her master to displace herself from that human weakness of emotion.
Ninety-nine percent of him couldn't care less what happened to her after this was all over, but the other one percent almost hoped she'd find what she was looking for.
"That's the best part," he said, eventually. "You're finally going to get the chance to find out."
"Only if you get us all out of this mess, Patrick," she said. "I'm going to trust you, because I don't have any other choice, but I won't be holding my breath."
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"It's an act, it's all an act."
Lisbon replayed the words in her head like a silent mantra, as she watched Jane comfort the disillusioned and frightened Lorelei. She recoiled as he took her hand, cringed when he touched her face, and shivered as he bestowed that intense gaze she adored on the woman who had been Red John's tool of choice to take him away from her forever.
No matter how often she saw him do this, she never failed to marvel at what a superb actor he was. Once, out of curiosity, she'd Googled a few of his old psychic performances and watched in silent awe at his charisma, his command of the stage, and his ability to connect with the audience. It was exactly the same thing as he was doing now, albeit on a much smaller scale; the same qualities too that made him such a good lover, he seemed to look inside her, and know her deepest desires better then she knew them herself.
She watched him weave his web, slowly and delicately, with the unsuspecting Lorelei at its centre, with no idea of what was happening to her. The same woman who just days ago had them all stymied, was crumbling in front of her eyes.
Darcy let out a low whistle. "You know, I never appreciated before how good he really is at this. Hell, I'm almost buying it."
Lisbon forced a little smile as Jane released Lorelei's hand.
"Kind of frightening though," Darcy went on. "How easily it comes to him." She turned to Lisbon. "How can you tell the difference between when he's lying and when he's not?"
Lisbon merely grunted in response. The way he was treating Lorelei right now was almost the exact way he was with her when they were alone. But she wasn't about to admit that to Darcy, and give her yet another reason to look down on her.
Darcy gave a tiny cough. "I'm just saying," she said. "I don't know if I'd be as OK with my man making eyes at another woman as you seem to be." She eyed Lisbon shrewdly.
Truth be told, Lisbon wasn't OK with it. She wasn't OK with the touching, the tenderness, the 'sweetheart,' any of it. But to say it out loud would make her seem petty, or perhaps even insecure when she had no valid reason to be so. By her side all day, and in her bed all night, they'd spent every moment together over the last few days, and had he not taken any opportunity to tell her how much he loved her? He'd been like a broken record, for God's sake, telling her when she woke up, as she fell asleep and a million times in between.
They should be enjoying the honeymoon stage of their relationship, riding the wave of pure bliss that came with new love. Instead, she was here, watching him play cat-and-mouse with a criminal. They should be spending time together, talking, laughing, making love, anything but this.
She just wanted it to be over.
"I trust him," she said, resolutely. She refused to pander to her girlish fears; to be paranoid just because she saw him doing what he did all the time. In order for the plan to work, Lorelei had to be fooled; manipulated, and he held the key.
Darcy looked as if she would have liked to say something else, but then shrugged, and then turned back to the window. "Fair enough," she said, instead. "You know him better than I do. Oh, looks like he's done with her, here he comes."
Turning around herself, Lisbon saw Jane smile once at Lorelei, and rise from his seat. "I'm glad we could come to an understanding," he was saying. "I'm going to go hold up my end; you just make sure you hold up yours."
"When I'm in the comforting arms of WitSec, Patrick," she said, firmly. "And not a moment sooner."
Jane signalled the guards to take her back to her cell, and then strutted into the viewing room like a peacock, victorious, and practically glowing with pride.
"Tell me the truth, ladies. Was I good, or was I good?"
Lisbon rolled her eyes, but Darcy chuckled a little under her breath.
"I'll bet there's an Academy Award out there somewhere with your name on it, Patrick. And I'd like a mention when you make your acceptance speech."
"Naturally," he said, beaming at her, but sobering immediately when he took in Lisbon's icy look.
"Who gave you the authority to make deals with her?" she demanded. "That was never part of the original plan."
"I have to give the impression that I'm in control," he explained. "So I had to play along when she started talking deals. How would it look if I'd had to go consult with my handlers? Hardly a promising sign."
"You made promises to her that you may not be able to keep. Do you realise what's she's asking for? Full immunity. The one Red John associate we've managed to keep alive in custody for longer than a nanosecond, and if we play it your way we let her off scot-free, without even so much as a testimony to show for it."
"Lisbon," he began, soothingly, reaching for her hand, which she whisked away from him. "This is what we wanted. She's going to talk. She's going to give us Red John and all the rest of his network. This is a good thing. Why is it upsetting you so much?"
"We discussed this, Jane!" she snapped. "We agreed on the plan, and now once again, you're twisting things around to suit you."
Ignoring the presence of Agent Darcy, and her small sigh of exasperation, he gently brushed a strand of her hair away from her face, and tucked it behind her ear. Though intending to flinch away from him, she closed her eyes briefly at his touch, and let out a sigh of her own.
"At the risk of being called 'psychic', he said, at which she couldn't help but smile, "something tells me my disregard for our agreement isn't the only thing that's bothering you. Am I right, sweetheart?"
That word. The endearment broke the spell, and she jerked her head away from him.
Sweetheart, indeed. He'd never called her anything like that before, had the time spent with 'Lover' Lorelei inspired him to loosen his tongue?
"We'll talk about this later," she said, brusquely.
Beside them, Darcy cleared her throat and gave a little wave. "Hi guys," she said, sarcastically. "Still here." When she'd regained their attention, she clasped her hands together in a business-like sort of way. "Jane, this is your idea. What's our next move?"
"Simple. We give her what she wants. She named her price, I agreed to it, and now we need to honour it."
"I was afraid of that." She rolled her head from side to side, the bones clicking in her neck as she did so. "I'll see what I can do, but I have to warn you-"
"Susan, you managed to convince an innocent man to willingly take a hit from a Taser this morning. I have complete faith in you."
There was a pause, before she gave a little smirk. "Yeah well, I always thought Anoatubby was a whole lot stupider than he looked."
"That's the spirit," said Jane.
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There was nothing left for them to do at the prison until Lorelei's deal had been finalized, which Darcy had said would take at least a couple of hours, so Jane and Lisbon returned to their motel.
Their evenings had formed something of a routine over the past few days revolving mostly around hot showers, sex, food, and more sex, but upon their return to Jane's motel room which had the advantages of a slightly bigger bed, and curtains that actually closed properly (a most important feature) Lisbon disappeared into the bathroom at once and locked the door behind her She'd never done that before, literally shut him out, and it concerned him. Still, he put it down to her wanting a bit of space and tried to put it out of his mind as he switched on the TV and poured them both a glass of soda (the only beverage stocked in the mini-fridge.)
She emerged some time later, fully dressed in her football jersey and sweatpants, another ominous sign. In the heat, she usually favoured the jersey with just panties underneath, (or as in the case of last night, nothing at all, which had proved beneficial when she'd slyly revealed this piece of information to him.)
She sat next to him on the couch (not as closely as usual, he couldn't help thinking) and accepted the proffered soda, taking several gulps.
"What do you feel like for dinner?" he asked. "Not that the café provides a huge amount of options-"
"I'm not hungry. But go grab yourself something if you want."
She hadn't moved her eyes from the TV. He picked up the remote, gave it an irritated click, and the screen went blank.
She made a small noise of displeasure, but said nothing, taking another sip of soda.
"So are you going to tell me why I suddenly feel like I'm sleeping with the Snow Queen?" he asked. "Or am I just supposed to wait till the frostbite sets in?"
Finally, she looked at him, eyebrow raised in a perfect arc. "You mean you don't already know?"
He knew perfectly well that there were a whole host of reasons why Lisbon would be grumpy. He knew she wanted to be back home, that she was missing the team, her office, and her job. She was scared about the possible retribution from Red John, angry with him from deviating from the plan and still a little mistrustful of Agent Darcy. He also knew that she was hungry, whatever she might have said, and probably tired as well for they hadn't been getting a lot of sleep recently.
He ran all of these theories past her, studying her reactions to try and figure out when he hit the right one, but to no avail.
"Don't tell me the great Patrick Jane is stumped?" she said, in tones of mock-horror.
"I'm not stumped," he protested. "I'll figure out what it is soon enough."
She shrugged. "Well there's no hurry, we've got all night sweetheart." The venom in her voice was disproportionate to the endearment, her eyes were narrowed and she wasn't smiling at him so much as grimacing. He eyed her uncertainly. His knowledge of Lisbon told him that this couldn't be the problem, even as his knowledge of body language indicators was telling him he was right on the money. It was a fifty-fifty shot, so he steeled himself and took a guess.
"You're mad about how I questioned Lorelei."
"Congratulations," she said, coolly. "Though I'm not sure 'questioned' is the most accurate term. I haven't seen that many interrogations featuring hand-holding, meaningful silences and-" she made a face –"sweetheart." The word hung in the air between them like a loaded gun.
"Teresa, it was a ruse, a ploy. I thought we already discussed this. I thought you understood."
"I do. But that doesn't mean I have to like standing there watching you work your magic on someone else. Especially her," she spat.
"My 'magic?'" he repeated, not quite able to bite back a smile.
"You know, that thing you do when you convince people that you're their knight in shining armour, that you're going to slay the dragons and make everything OK."
"Sweet-" he cut himself off swiftly at the expression on her face –"Teresa, I've been doing that for years. It's never bothered you before."
"Things are different now. You're mine," she blurted out, hating how childish it sounded. "And only mine."
Her green eyes flashed defiantly at him, daring him to laugh, and though he did have to fight off the beginnings of a grin, there was nothing but seriousness in the way he threaded his arm around her waist and drew her into him. After a moment's resistance, she relaxed against him, laying her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh.
"That's right," he said. "I'm yours."
He could have prattled on for hours about his love for her, could have promised not to so much as look at another woman again, but the utter finality with which he said those four words reassured her more effectively than anything else could have.
"But don't you go getting ideas about going all caveman on me," she said, some of her good humour now returning. "You start going around telling people you have some macho claim over me and I'll shoot you."
He did laugh at this; she felt his body vibrating pleasantly with chuckles.
"Hypocrite," he said, running his thumb back and forth along her hip. "And since when have I ever been macho, in any sense of the word?"
She considered this for a moment. She pictured him sipping tea from his favourite blue cup, diving behind her at the slightest sign of guns or violence, reciting a sonnet from Shakespeare without so much as blinking.
"Point taken," she said. She'd always liked that about him, there were more than enough Neanderthal men in her life to be going on with, all of whom seemed to be overcompensating for something anyway.
"How come you're allowed to go all primeval, and I'm not, anyway?" he asked.
"I'm not going anywhere."
A shadow crossed his face at these words. Did she think for one moment that he was less serious about them than she was? Hadn't he already proved that his life took a dive in every conceivable way when he was away from her?
"Well, neither am I," he said.
"Promise me something," she said. "If you ever get tired of this, us, I mean, promise me you won't play me like you did Lorelei. Don't pretend you still care about me if you don't; tell me straight."
"You really think I'd do that?" he asked, sounding hurt.
"Not to be cruel," she said. "But maybe to try and spare my feelings. I'm a big girl. I'll be able to handle it."
"Take it from me, it's not going to be an issue."
"I really hope so," she said, vehemently. "But still."
He sighed. "Fine, I promise. As long as you do too. What?" he added at her questioning look. "You think you're the only one at risk here?"
She placed a soft kiss on his cheek, and another on his lips, an unspoken promise, before reaching over to take the TV remote from his hand.
"Lets see if there's a movie on cable," she said. "Kill some time until Darcy calls."
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Not for the first time, Susan Darcy cursed Patrick Jane and his big mouth. She honestly didn't know how Lisbon could do this day in and day out, trailing along in the carnage he created, hoping to get something worthwhile out of it, all the while keeping her superiors and other naysayers at bay. She found her esteem for the CBI agent was rising with every passing hour; perhaps when this was all over they could have a drink, maybe even be friends. Heaven knew she could do with a few more of those.
Maybe even Patrick, under Teresa's calming influence, could be a friend sometime in the future. She could see the difference in him already since she'd found out about their new relationship, not quite as manic and driven as he was when she'd first met him, but more composed, and even a little happier.
She smiled to herself. Against the rules it may well be, but she could tell that Patrick and Teresa were just what each other needed. She didn't consider herself romantic or idealistic, but she knew two people who were right for each other when she saw them.
She scrolled through the contacts in her phone for the next ADA on the list. The first three had practically laughed her off the line when she outlined the proposed deal to them.
"If you think I'm going to take that to the DA, you're crazier than Jane and that's saying something," the last one had crowed as he hung up.
She'd known going in that this was going to be a hard sell; but she also felt that Jane's plan, however risky, was also likely to work. He'd certainly managed to scare Lorelei enough to ask for protection, a feat that none of the FBI's top interrogators had been able to achieve. Patrick Jane was certainly a formidable force to have on your side, and an equally menacing enemy. Lisbon would certainly have her hands full.
She stopped on the highlighted number of the next ADA, Holly Richards, took a deep, steadying breath, and dialled.
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"Tell me, is there a cop alive who hasn't seen this movie?" asked Jane, as he and Lisbon watched the opening credits of 'The Shawshank Redemption.'
"I'm pretty sure it's required viewing at the academy," she replied. "Well, this and 'Police Academy' of course."
"Of course," he agreed. "It's important to cover all bases of crime and punishment."
Somehow she'd gone from sitting at his side to lying across him, her head on the armrest of the couch, his fingers had crept under her jersey and now lazily stroked her abdomen. His touch was soothing, rather then erotic, and once or twice, she'd caught herself just in time as she almost fell asleep. Darcy could call at any moment. She must not sleep.
"What was your favourite movie growing up?" she asked.
"I never had time for that kind of thing when I was a kid," he said. "The carnival was always on the move, and I was doing my act twice, or sometimes three times a day. On the rare occasion that I did get some time to myself, the last place I wanted to be was in the van."
"What did you do?"
"I just wandered around the area," he said with a reminiscent smile. "I'd give myself two hours to try and get as far away from the fairgrounds as I could, and then try to find my way back again. I think I've seen more of the wilderness of America than most people."
"And you did this alone?" she asked, picturing a boy with golden curls walking across an empty plain. She had no idea what Jane might have looked like when he was young, but she was sure he'd been just as handsome then as he was now.
"At first," he said. "But after a while, someone joined me."
The trace of sadness in his voice made it clear who that 'someone' was. No doubt he and his wife had shared their first kiss, and perhaps even fallen in love on one of those lonely ramblings. The story would have been romantic, were it not for the bloody ending that was to come.
She turned her head, and glanced up at him. His eyes had a faraway look, and he stared at the television without really seeing it. She felt sure he was revisiting one of those afternoons of his youth with his true love. The part of her not paralysed with fear of losing him wished he could have those moments again, even just once, because she knew in her heart that he'd never love her the same way he loved Angela.
He came out of his reverie and smiled down at her. "I don't know what I did to deserve her and you. I think in some former life I must have been a saint."
"I know my saints pretty well," she said. "And I'm pretty sure there's no patron saint of pains-in-the-ass anywhere in history."
He leaned down to kiss her, and she kissed him back, feeling herself being tilted from her lying position, cradled in his arms. She took hold of his shirt and held it fast; lest he try and break it off before she was ready. He didn't.
"Besides," she said, after they eventually did break apart, her death grip on his shirt, loosening slowly. "Saints don't kiss like that."
The movie kept playing on, and although she was trying to pay attention to it, her mind kept wandering to other things; from wondering how Darcy was proceeding with the plan, to how Jane expected her to concentrate on anything if his hands kept brushing against her breast, which she was sure he was doing on purpose.
"What do you think is going to happen?" she asked him, after fifteen minutes of silence. He'd now progressed to rubbing her shoulders, massaging away the tension of the last few days, and the last six months when he'd been gone. "With Lorelei."
"I think Darcy will get us our deal," he said. "And that Lorelei will go into witness protection and tell us something important. I think we'll take down Red John and all his minions. And then it'll be over."
"This plan could still go seriously wrong," she pointed out. "It could fail on any number of counts; we're leaving so much to chance."
"I have to believe it's going to work. Because only when this nightmare is over can you and I truly be free. We can be happy, maybe we can even start making some plans of our own."
"Like what?" she asked. Normally such 'plans' involved things like moving in together, marriage, and children. Her insides twisted with fear. She hadn't been ready for that years ago with Greg, and she wasn't sure she was ready for it now.
"Anything we want," he said. "Even if we decide just to keep things exactly the way they are, at least it'll be our decision and no-one else's."
She relaxed, glad that he took this view of things. They'd only just found each other after years and years of circling. There was no need to rush the rest of it.
"That sounds good," she said.
"Just think," he said. "Things will be just like they are right now, only better. No more plotting, no more scheming. Just you-" he kissed her nose –"and me."
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Darcy put down her cell phone, after finally having negotiated the deal with Holly Richards. It had taken all her powers of persuasion, the redemption of an owed favour, and a sworn promise that Jane's involvement would be kept to a minimum from here on in, but the ADA had agreed to support her motion. Now all she had to do was wait for the say-so of the DA himself and they would be ready to proceed.
With luck, Lorelei could be moved into witness protection as early as tomorrow morning, Jane would have her talking by noon, and that bastard Red John would be in custody by nightfall.
She felt a savage pleasure at the idea of slapping handcuffs on the man that ruined so many lives. She had no doubt that Lisbon would be just as eager to add the serial killer's scalp to her collection and Jane perhaps a little too much so. But she'd see to it that they'd all have their chance to take a piece of the monster that had made their lives hell. Legally of course.
There would be payback for Jane's wife and child, payback for Sam Bosco, Kristina Frye, Luther Wainwright and all the others she'd read about in his file that had fallen victim to him. For Wainwright, she carried her own personal guilt. Though many had told her that there was nothing she could have done, no possible way she could have known what would happen when she and her team opened fire on that limousine, she felt the weight of his death on her shoulders every day.
His autopsy report had arrived in her office yesterday, but so far she hadn't been able to face opening it. The bullets in his body would have been matched by Ballistics to all the agent's weapons, and she didn't think she could handle seeing black-and-white proof if she had fired the fatal shot.
She had stayed much later than usual tonight, wanting to get everything sorted out so she could call Jane and Lisbon right away and get the ball rolling. Besides, she was in no hurry to get back to her own motel room. Unlike Lisbon, she did not have any ridiculously handsome men for company. (Yes she was always professional around Jane and Lisbon, but she wasn't blind, after all.)
Somebody passed by the door of the room she was in, momentarily blocking the light from the hallway. She raised a hand in greeting, but the passer by ignored it, and continued on his way. Whatever. It was getting late, and it couldn't be all that stimulating standing guard over a jail that held only one prisoner.
She placed her cell phone next to her, so she could grab it the moment it rang and then turned unenthusiastically to the large pile of paperwork stacked beside her. No matter where she went, it always seemed to follow, like a bad smell.
Some things never changed.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Despite her best efforts, Lisbon made it through only two-thirds of the movie before she fell asleep. With great difficulty, Jane twisted and contorted himself out from under her without waking her, and put a blanket from the bed over her, smiling at her quiet snores. He had half a mind to put her cell phone somewhere out of the way so it wouldn't disturb her but thought better of it; she'd murder him if she missed the call. So he put it on the coffee table beside her and went to take a shower.
When he returned, it was to find the couch empty and clattering sounds coming from the 'kitchen' or rather the tiny area comprised of two cupboards and about five inches of bench space. Knotting his towel more securely around his waist, he went to investigate the source of the noise, and discovered Lisbon flinging open first one cupboard, and then the other, with snorts of annoyance.
He leaned against the wall, watching her.
"Teresa, what are you doing?"
"Tap dancing," she snapped, without looking at him.
"There's no need for sarcasm, dear."
"Looking for coffee," she said. "I have to stay awake. Although, God only knows how I managed to fall asleep on that couch; it's so uncomfortable. How do you do that every day at work?" she asked. "My neck is killing me."
"Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the couch."
"Ha ha," she said, blankly. "You could at least be helpful instead of standing there making stupid comments."
"I'd love to, but I'm not sure I'm dressed for it."
She turned around at these words, took in his lack of clothing, and he saw the familiar gleam in her eye. He was coming to love that little gleam as much as he loved to watch her in a blazing temper.
The moment however, was truncated by the unmistakeable sound of her cell phone, from the living room. She nearly bowled him over in her haste to answer it, snatching it up on the third ring.
"Lisbon…Cho?...No of course I want to hear what you found, I'm just expecting another call…"
The conversation continued in this vein for another minute before she snapped her phone shut again.
"They got a hit on Corbin Miller's juvie record. Turns out he was put in there for beating a guy half to death."
"Really?" said Jane, with interest. "Red John does look for violent tendencies in his protégées."
But Lisbon shook her head. "The guy he bashed was attempting to rape a fourteen year old girl at the time. If Miller hadn't walked by when he did-"
"He's not the one, then," said Jane. "If there's one thing Red John doesn't value in his minions, it's respect for women." The last few words came out as a kind of snarl.
"So we're back to square one," she said, listlessly.
"Guess we are," he agreed. "But not for long."
Darcy unfolded her rigid limbs from the chair she'd been sitting in for the past three hours, and lurched out the door in search of the vending machine in the breakroom. This expedition took her past the elevator to the floor where Lorelei was being kept. Perhaps she'd drop in and check on her, see if she might want to chat a little earlier now the deal was officially on. She doubted she'd get the same kind of results as Jane would, but it was worth a try.
She rode the elevator down and beat the now-familiar path to Lorelei's cell. Upon arrival, she was unsurprised to see Lorelei curled up on her cot, apparently asleep.
She tapped on the window, but the prisoner didn't stir. She knocked again, louder now, and called her name, but was again met with no response. She kicked the steel door, so the ringing crash echoed down the hall. Still nothing.
A chill that had nothing to do with the air-conditioning swept through her body, making the back of her neck prickle with foreboding.
It took only one call down the hall to bring a guard running.
"Open the door!" she commanded, and as soon as it was done, she rushed into the room.
Lorelei had made no reaction at all to the sudden entrance of Darcy and the guard. With an increasing feeling of doom, Darcy approached the cot, as other guards began to pile into the room.
And then she saw it. The smear of green gel on Lorelei's forearm, this time not harmless aloe vera, but the lethal poison used by Red John to silence those who dared betray him forever.
"Don't touch her!" she barked at the guard to her immediate left, who was stretching out his hand towards her. "Do you plan on living longer than the next thirty seconds?"
"Someone hit the lights!" came the cry from behind, and then the cell was flooded with illumination.
It was clear that Lorelei's last moments had been the stuff of nightmares. Her mouth was fixed in a silent scream, her eyes glazed over but still retaining the last vestiges of horror at what had happened to her.
"This door was locked from the inside!" The warden had just arrived, looking in, shocked, at the chaos. "How could this have happened?"
Still shaken by the gruesome discovery, Darcy took a step back from the cot, and with a jolt, spotted the drawing etched onto the wall behind it, so tiny, she'd have missed it if she hadn't known what to look for.
Jane had been right. She realised with a sudden thud of comprehension. There was a traitor in this prison. But who? And why?
"Hey!" she roared, over the clamour of the warden and the ten or so guards that had managed to squeeze themselves into the tiny cell. "This area is now a crime scene. I need to go to my office and make a phone call, and while I'm gone, everyone is to get the hell out of this room and seal it off."
"Aston!" barked the warden, and a tall, weedy guard near the door, snapped to attention, "Go with her," he said. "Whatever psychopath did this could still be here."
"Yes, sir," said the guard called Aston, ushering Darcy out of the room, who hurried to keep in step with him. She needed to alert Jane and Lisbon as soon as possible, while hopefully not ending up dead herself. Her fingers closed around the Taser at her hip as he pummelled the button for the elevator.
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Peace was restored in the motel room, after Lisbon located some instant coffee and Jane had dressed. They returned to the couch, phone in hand, staring at it as though willing it to ring.
"She should have called by now," said Jane. "It's been hours."
"Patience," said Lisbon, in faint amusement "Getting reasonable people to agree to your ideas takes time."
He got up from the couch and began pacing the room.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," he said. "We need to get to the prison. Now."
As he flashed past her, Lisbon reached out and caught his hand in hers. She squeezed it.
"Patrick you're just nervous because you're not doing it yourself. Darcy's got this. Trust me."
He looked down at their linked hands. "Teresa, do you remember years ago when Minelli said that we shouldn't act on a hunch? Do you remember what you told him?"
"It's a Jane hunch, sir. You keep him around for a reason," she recited, with a slight pang at the thought of her old friend and mentor.
He nodded. "Teresa, I've got a hunch right now. A bad one. We have to go. Trust me."
They heard the commotion at the prison long before they reached it. Sirens were wailing, lights flashed from at least a dozen squad cars, people dashed here and there, and the floodlights at the gates bathed the area in brilliance.
Lisbon had barely stopped the car before she and Jane were out of it.
"Agent!" The panicked voice of the warden was just audible over the furore. He shoved his way through the crowd to get to them. "She's dead!" he shouted. "Martins is dead!"
"What?" Behind her, she heard a metallic thud and guessed that Jane had fallen against the car, staggered by what he had heard. "How?"
"That green stuff you pretended to put on her earlier, but the real thing this time. Agent Darcy went to look in on her and she was already dead."
"A face," Jane's voice, somewhat smaller than usual, but still commanding, came from the vicinity of the car. "Was there a smiley face?"
The blood drained from the warden's face. "On the wall," he said. "Behind her. So damn tiny I almost missed it."
Lisbon felt as if she'd just had the wind knocked out of her, and found that she too, needed to lean on the car for support. The shock of what she'd heard hadn't fully sunk in when something else occurred to her.
"Agent Darcy. Where is she?"
The warden looked confused. "She said she had to make a call. I assumed it would have been to you. You haven't spoken to her?"
Jane's head snapped up, from where it had been leaning on the doorframe.
"When was the last time you saw her?"
"About half an hour ago. She said she was going to her office, I sent one of my guys with her."
"Take us there."
Despite the ruckus outside, the hallways of the prison were as eerily silent as ever as Jane, Lisbon and the warden strode through them, setting a cracking pace, with doors flying past them. With every step, the dark feeling of dread inside Jane seemed to intensify, until it threatened to consume him, but he held it at bay with the last faint ray of hope he had left. Darcy knew what they were up against; she was prepared. She'd just gotten busy with crime scene procedures; that was the only reason she hadn't called…
"It's up here," said the warden abruptly. "Last door on the right."
Together, Jane and Lisbon broke into a run, outstripping the warden, and reaching the door within seconds, and into the room beyond.
Lisbon let out a gasp of horror. The warden, catching up, clapped a hand over his mouth, retching at the sight.
Dominating the back wall of the small office, a perfect circle, glistening red, and drops of red substance making their slow way to the floor, staining the surface as they went.
The eyes, hellish red and seeming to burn through him, and the mouth, curved into a mocking smile. Red John's calling card.
Jane didn't need to look to know what came next, but as if of their own accord, his eyes were drawn to the dark shape sprawled upon the floor. He fell to his knees beside the body of Susan Darcy, ripped and slashed almost beyond recognition, a Taser gun still clasped in her hand, terror on her face. There was barely an inch of her that not been violated, either by a knife or something even more sinister.
"Jesus Christ," said the warden, under his breath, and he heard Lisbon bite back a sob. Blindly, he stretched out a hand behind him, and immediately felt her seize it as she too knelt beside the corpse of their dead friend. Not caring how it would look, or who might see, he pulled her toward him in a tight embrace.
And then, there was burst of music, seemingly coming from Darcy's left pocket. He and Lisbon exchanged glances, as it rang out again. Ignoring her strangled cry of protest, he reached into the pocket muttering 'I'm sorry,' as if someone might care.
He drew out Darcy's cell phone. On the screen flashed "One New Message." He opened it.
Patrick,
Close, but no cigar.
John.
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It was several hours before Lisbon had a chance to speak to Jane alone. They'd been forced to separate and answer hundreds of questions, about Lorelei, about Darcy, but mostly about Red John. The crime scene techs were processing both the cell and the office, a BOLO had been put out on Sam Aston, the missing guard who had been the last to see Darcy alive, and the coroner had arrived to pick up the bodies. She turned away as the black bag was loaded onto the gurney and wheeled away.
It took a while to find Jane, what with so many people and so much activity, but she eventually located him in a bathroom just off the main corridor, clutching the sides of a sink, and staring into a grubby mirror.
His shoulders tensed when he heard the door open.
"Patrick?" she said, uncertainly, lingering on the threshold. She never knew how he was going to react over something like this.
"It's OK, Teresa." He sounded as close to his usual self as could be expected under the circumstances, so she carefully approached, seeing her own reflection getting bigger and bigger as she did so.
"We'll get him," she said, feeling inadequate, but that it had to be said.
"Yes we will," he said. "I guarantee it."
She put both her arms around him, holding him to her, because there was nothing else she could do.
"Something else I can guarantee," he said, presently. "He is not going to take you away from me. Even if I have stand in front of you with a gun for change, even if I have to stay by your side non-stop for the next decade. I'm not losing you."
"I already told you once, I'm not going anywhere," she said, with an attempt at a smile. "I love you."
"I love you too. So much."
"There's nothing left for us here," she said. "Come on, let's go home."
He slipped his hand into hers and allowed her to lead him out.
Donna and I only planned this fic to go to ten chapters, so this is probably the last chapter I will write for this story. Thank you all for the support and reviews you've given us throughout this venture. Hope you'll be back for the finale!
Last but not least, I also want to thank Donna herself, the best writing partner I could have asked for. The success of this fic is all down to you.