A long, narrow staircase tunneled out before her, leading to a dimly lit basement. She crept down the stairs, unconsciously holding her breath for fear of betraying herself with even so slight a sound. She hit the bottom step with a tread so light bats couldn't have heard it.
There he was.
The good news was that Jane was alive. The bad news was that he was tied to a support beam and Red John was standing over him with a knife in his hand.
The killer's back was to her. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders and slim hips. He had dark hair and pale skin, but she couldn't see his face. It seemed he was to remain an enigma even now.
She turned her attention to Jane.
The bandages for his forearms littered the floor around him; several new cuts had joined the jagged marks on his arms, as straight and vivid as shiny new ribbons. Jane's eyes looked empty, vacant. Lisbon's breath caught in her throat. God, what had this monster done to him?
She raised her weapon, prepared to end this hunt once and for all before Red John could do anything else to hurt Jane, but there were piles of crates obscuring her view of the scene; she didn't have a good angle on the killer from where she was standing. She'd have to try to get closer.
As she crept forward, Red John drove his left fist into Jane's ribcage without relinquishing his hold on the knife in his other hand.
Jane grimaced, but he didn't fight back, didn't try to twist away.
"Oh my, this is disappointing, Patrick," the man crooned. His light tenor voice raised the hair on the back of Lisbon's neck. "What fun will this be if you refuse to play?"
"Just kill me," Jane said dully. He lifted his eyes to Red John's. "Please. I just want peace, now."
"Oh, no, Patrick. You're far too valuable to me to give you up so easily."
Lisbon continued to inch forward, hardly daring to breathe lest she alert Red John to her presence before she had a clear line on him with her weapon.
Jane turned his face away in bitter resignation, but made no further reply. He looked utterly defeated, as though he knew his fate, but lacked the energy to resist it.
Red John stepped closer to him and caressed his cheek like a lover. "I can give you peace, Patrick. You know I can."
"By making me forget what I've lost?" Jane shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm not interested."
She paused behind one of the crates. Two more steps should do it.
"Why do you insist on holding onto them, when it can only bring you pain?" Red John sounded equal parts repulsed and fascinated.
"They are the best part of me. Would you willingly give up the best part of yourself, just to escape the pain?"
Red John shook his head. "A pity. I feel sorry for you, Patrick. It would be so much easier that way. I will admit this makes it more interesting for me, however. It's been so long since I've had a playmate who could keep me entertained for so long. I'm looking forward to many more hours of this. Possibly days. I will have you in the end, you know. What is that saying policemen are so fond of?" He giggled, a chilling sound. "Ah, yes—'I always get my man.' But first, a little more play time, I think. You'll start to enjoy it after awhile. I'm sure of it." He drew his knife lightly down Jane's arm, softly enough not to do any major damage, but with enough force that blood welled in its wake.
Lisbon stepped out from behind the crate, her weapon trained on his chest. "Step away from him," she ordered. She was pleased to note her voice sounded sure and strong, the way it usually did, as though she were used to giving commands and having them obeyed. Not like she was terrified that a sociopath with a knife was about to take someone important away from her.
He stilled, the muscles in his broad back tensing for the tiniest fraction of a moment before he relaxed again. He turned slowly to face her, a slight smile on his lips.
He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. High cheekbones, an elegantly carved jaw, and a cherry red mouth, all framed by thick black hair formed a picture that might have been painted by one of the masters. The only hint of imperfection in his face was his eyes. He had one green eye, one blue, but both were so piercingly bright that they only added to the appeal of his physical features rather than detracting from them. In addition, he exuded charisma and a peculiar kind of self-possessed grace she'd never seen before.
Lord help her, the man made even Jane look a little plain. No wonder he had no trouble attracting followers eager to do anything to please him. She knew what he truly was, and even she found his gaze arresting.
"Hello, Agent Lisbon," he said serenely. "Not as dead as originally advertised, I see."
The words tickled a memory in the back of her mind and Lisbon frowned, trying to remember why they sounded familiar to her. She brushed the thought aside impatiently. She could stroll down memory lane later. She needed to focus on the task at hand. "As you see," she said coolly.
"I must confess I'm not entirely surprised by your sudden resurrection. I did find it difficult to believe Patrick would be so careless with something so precious to him. It's not a mistake I would have expected him to make twice, at any rate."
He turned back to Jane, apparently having lost interest in her and the gun she had leveled at his head. His eyes were bright with energy.
"Well done, Patrick. Very well done. Oh, I am pleased," he said, sounding thoroughly delighted. "You really had me going. I didn't believe it at first, of course, but several of my friends told me they'd seen the body themselves. You must have had an unspeakable number of people in on it. Not your usual style, Patrick, but very effective."
"Don't look at me," Jane said tightly. "It was her idea."
Red John turned back to Lisbon, looking truly interested in her presence for the first time. "Was it now?" he said softly. "How intriguing. It seems I underestimated you, Agent Lisbon. I believe you'll be a much more entertaining playmate than I originally anticipated." He shook his head and looked back at Jane. "Still, it was you that made it work. A remarkable performance. You seemed truly broken by her death. And the suicide attempt—that was the most brilliant part. You gambled everything on that."
Jane lifted his head and stared at him with a familiar mulish look in his eye. "It worked, didn't it?"
He smiled. "We shall see, Patrick, won't we? Myself, I'm inclined to think that I have a little more playtime in my future."
"Your play days are over, you son of a bitch," Lisbon said evenly. "You're under arrest."
He laughed in her face. "Oh, I think we're past that, don't you?"
He made a gesture so quick and fluid Lisbon barely had time to react. Her brain processed the movement just in time for her to throw herself sideways to avoid the knife hissing towards her.
As it was, she wasn't quite fast enough. The knife buried itself in her left shoulder, its flight arrested by muscle and sinew.
She flinched, but managed to stay on her feet. Son of a bitch. And she'd thought being shot had hurt. She'd just gotten that arm back to full strength from the last round of physical therapy, too. She didn't have time to dwell on that, though. She returned her attention to Red John.
He moved with preternatural speed and grace. He produced another knife with a flourish Lisbon recognized. Oddly, it reminded her of Jane presenting something he'd had hidden up his sleeve as though he were a magician, the flourish meant to distract the eye from the reality of what was happening. In this case, however, the reality was clear enough. Before she could recover herself, he pressed the knife to Jane's throat and stepped behind him, using Jane's body to shield him from any harm she may have inflicted with her weapon.
God, she was an idiot. A procedure-following, consultant-endangering idiot. She should have shot the bastard when she had the chance. She assessed the situation. She had a line on his head, but Jane was blocking his body and Red John's face was pressed close to Jane's own. She was a good shot, but there was no room for error here, and with the wound in her arm, she couldn't even raise her left arm to steady her hand as she trained the gun on the killer's head. If she missed, she'd more than likely hit Jane. If she made the shot, she could lose Jane to a slip of the knife. Either outcome was unacceptable.
Which was exactly what he planned.
She kept the gun trained on his head. She was so sick of this shit. It was time to end this. "What's your endgame, here? We've got you, this time. You're not walking out of here free. Put down the knife, and at least you'll get out of here alive."
He laughed again, that horrible, spine-chilling sound. "I don't think so, Teresa. I've got grander plans for my future."
"Give it up," she said evenly. God, her arm hurt. "You're done. A SWAT team is going to be busting in here at any moment."
"I can still kill both of you before they touch me. Do you honestly think I'm going to allow myself to be herded like an animal into the back of a police car by creatures less than I am?"
"I think either myself or a member of my team is going to arrest you, and you're going to spend the rest of your life in prison like the common criminal you are," Lisbon said calmly.
"Just shoot him, Lisbon," Jane said harshly.
"I don't think so, Patrick," Red John said softly into his ear. "Agent Lisbon knows that even if she manages to put a bullet in my brain, the last firings of my synapses could cause me to jerk this knife towards myself – killing you with my dying reflex."
"Lisbon, just kill him. I told you a long time ago- It'll be worth my life if he's gone for good," Jane said, his voice desperate.
"Shut up, Jane," she said, without breaking eye contact with Red John.
Red John smiled at her. "That's your trouble, Agent Lisbon. You're so conveniently predictable. You won't risk this one life for the greater good, just because you care about him."
"Maybe she won't," said a voice behind them. Van Pelt descended a second staircase behind them, her jaw tight and her eyes glittering with rage, her gun trained on Red John. "But I will."