Hey fanfiction! Jamhead here with a new installment of Halloween at the CBI—Chapter 11
I know its been along time and thanks for all the reviews..but I could still use more! Reviews = love…in my world and I send yu my love with these new chapters…and I PROMISE TO TRY MENTION ALL OF MY REVIWERS FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER IN MY NEW CHAPTERS…like below
Thanx to: missinquisitive, Agathanancy98, couchpotato565 who reviewed my last chapter..and all of my other fantastic reviewers..keep 'em coming…
Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist
Halloween at the CBI- Chapter 11
Pain; that was the first thing she felt when she woke up. Her back and spine ached with the realization that she'd probably been thrown on the concrete floor and beaten pretty well. Then her ribcage was screaming with an extreme stinging, shooting pain where the skin was tender. And—oh her head was throbbing too. Every movement, every breath shot a searing pain up her ribs and spine. There was no comfortable way to be conscious.
She tried to shift onto her side, but was immediately stopped by a hard tugging around her wrists and something around her ankles. Then she realized what she'd feared. Her hands were handcuffed to something hard and heavy beside her… some sort of metal bar embedded in the concrete walls of the room behind her back. She didn't even have to test it to know that her feet were chained at the ankles, as well. She could feel the aching bruises already starting to form there, from trying to break the restraints.
Where am I? she thought. Suddenly the memories came flooding back. She'd been at a party with Patrick. She remembered flashing lights: black and orange, music booming in the background…
Wait… was she imagining things or could she really still hear that music? Yes, she could, she could hear it! Wait, something was wrong. Hadn't she gone home? Yes, now she remembered. She remembered it all…
Driving home, crying, fumbling with the house keys, in need of a good stiff drink… and then… then….
Oh my gosh… Red John.
Lisbon sat bolt up right. BAD, BAD idea. The pain seared sharply up her arms like a thousand sharp needles piercing her skin. Lisbon had never really been one for metaphors, but that was literally how it felt. Pain; even worse than being beaten by her father when she was young.
What now? She couldn't scream or call for help, of course. The bastard had duck-taped her mouth shut.
She had to get out. But where was out? Where was she anyway? Looking around Lisbon squinted in the darkness. She clearly remembered leaving the party… that's how RJ had gotten her—at home. But then, how could she still hear the party music?
I must be going crazy, she thought recalling the bump on her head. What had he hit her with? Whatever it had been it must have been heavy. She remembered seeing him, well not really. She'd stepped inside her house and seen the gun. He hadn't even given her time to see him clearly… just the gun. That's what he must have hit me with, she thought. Then all she could see was black when it collided with her skull and knocked her out. Bastard.
Okay, so Red John kidnapped me from my house and… and what? Took me back to the party? She was sure she could hear the music and the faint sounds of people chatting someplace close. She had to be in the same building, maybe two walls or so away from the party.
Lisbon thought about the party, about the countless guests that were probably only two walls away, dancing and having fun, totally oblivious to the fact that a serial killer had her tied up in the same building.
But why? She couldn't even fathom what he was going to do to her. She had no means of escape. All she could do was keep her mind from reeling back to the countless Red John cases the team had, had. The images of Red John's victims and his signature killing procedure flooded their way back into her mind. At least he wasn't going to rape her before he killed her, like some serial killers did. Lisbon had always thought that being raped and murdered would be the worse way to go. Luckily that wasn't his style. Red John always chopped up his victims and finger painted with their blood—yeah cause that was sooo much better. What? she thought. She was going to die a horrible death… she could damn-well be as blunt about it as she pleased.
But she didn't please it. Just thinking that she wasn't going to see the faces of her team, her family, her friends and even her mailman again. How she would never get the chance to enjoy blueberry pancakes on Saturday morning with coffee again or spend Thanksgiving eating ice cream and watching old movies. She had to bite her tongue to keep from picturing herself lying on the morgue table and at the funeral; her brothers and their families paying their respects, Minelli, the team and Jane…no Patrick.
Her mind ached with the memory. Patrick was somewhere beyond those walls, enjoying the party, totally unaware that she was about to die. Why did she have to always be so damn stupid! She should have listened to what her mother always said—"Live everyday to the fullest Teresa and don't go to bed at night with any regrets." She could hear her mother's sweet, sensible voice in her mind. Why hadn't she listened? Instead she had decided to lock all her feelings away, her feelings for Jane particularly. Sure he still loved his wife, sure he would never return her feelings…but it was worse that she was going to die without really knowing what he'd say if she'd confessed those feelings.
"I love you Patrick." Four small words with only a billion pounds of true meaning. Breaking down doors, dealing with ruthless criminals, chasing down bad guys with guns…she could do that with her eyes closed. But tell Patrick Jane; the most annoying, self-centered, damaged, extremely handsome consultant to ever dark in her door,… to tell him how she felt—she just couldn't do it. Instead she shut off those feelings, denied them and locked them away.
And now she was going to die…alone.
Suddenly the door opened and Lisbon froze pretending to be unconscious. There was no light outside of the room. In fact it was almost as dark as it was in here, she observed. Two dark figures with flashlights entered the room, locking the door behind them, one taller figure and one shorter. Somehow she knew the shorter one was him. Shorter…but not by much.
They went over to the far corner of the room and placed the flashlights down on a large metal table Lisbon hadn't seen in the dark. She watched squinting as the two men whispered and produced a large briefcase, banging it onto the table as well. They opened it and Lisbon saw the glint of several knives. The slightly shorter man held up a knife and felt the tip of the blade showing it to the other, whom Lisbon observed to be less than excited about the whole operation.
Lisbon strained her ears in a desperate attempt to catch a part of their conversation.
"…are you sure he's coming?" asked the taller man gruffly as if trying to cover up some aspect of his voice.
Lisbon didn't understand. Who was coming?
"Yes I've taken care of that."
"What if—"
"No 'what ifs.' Nothing is going to go wrong as long as you don't let your emotions get in the way."
"But—" the taller figure began to take a step back as Red John gripped the knife with more anger.
"Why are we doing this? Huh? Remember that, okay? Think about the reasons why you came to me! Why we are such a good team? Why? Do you remember why?" roared Red John.
"Because that filthy bastard Patrick Jane needs to be punished," spit the taller man as if suddenly recalling the reasons for whole thing.
How is killing me going to punish Jane? Lisbon almost wanted to laugh and then of course…slap the two men silly. Sure he might notice she was gone seeing as she was his boss and she supplied his paycheck. But other than that?... Maybe they were right. Killing her would punish Jane. Once the team caught word of it, they'
d certainly kill him for her death.
"That's right. And why is that?"
"Because he thinks he's smarter than everyone else. He uses his stupid magic tricks to get in people's minds and he always thinks he knows what your thinking!" the taller man began to raise his voice with rage.
What had Jane done this time? Red John had obviously chosen this specific man to help him take out his revenge against Jane. The man had no doubt had his pride wounded by Jane some how…. but who was this guy? "Okay," Red John lowered the knife with a sigh of satisfaction. "Now go see if she's awake yet," he spat bitterly pointing the knife toward Lisbon.
Lisbon went absolutely still and completely closed her eyes so she had no hope of anticipating his next move. She heard rather than saw Red John's accomplice coming towards her, bending down and taking hold of her chin and tilting it towards his face. She held her breath.
Suddenly there was a bright light in her eyes and Lisbon instinctively twisted away. Crap, her cover was blown. The man laughed wholeheartedly, holding his flashlight in her eyes as she twisted away reflexively. "She's awake," he called to Red John.
Lisbon groaned and tried to see through the blinding light he held in her eyes. She couldn't, but she could hear Red John chuckle and then his footsteps edging towards her. "Perfect," he said his voice smooth and emotionless.
Lisbon gave up trying to wriggle out of the taller man's grasp as he held her still with one strong hand, his flashlight blinding her with the other. The light made it impossible to see whom either of the men was or what they looked like. But she did notice that both of them were wearing devil's costumes.
Red John bent on one knee beside her. He sighed with contentment and Lisbon saw something flash from the corner of her eye. It was the knife. Raising his hand and the knife to her throat slowly, Lisbon took in a deep breath, apparently amusing her captors. "Hello Ms. Lisbon," he said sending chills through Lisbon's body. Her heart raced as the knife rested against her throat gently and she could hear the evil smile in his voice.
"This knife, she is a beauty isn't she. I've had 'er for quite along time actually. In fact this here knife, I've had for oh…a good ten years." Lisbon swallowed. He was obviously implying she'd be killed by the same knife he'd used on his other victims; the same knife that had sliced through… Angela and Charolette JANe—Jane's wife and child.A small tear escaped across her cheek and Lisbon wanted so badly to scrub it away with her hands, (which were now being kneeled on by Red John.) More tears began to flow silently as her captors chuckled to themselves. Red John reached out and wiped away some of the tears with two fingers—the same two fingers that had painted all those bloody smiley faces in all those innocent people's blood; the sign that had haunted one Patrick Jane for so many years and taken away all his happiness. Lisbon wept again silently.
"Don't cry Agent Lisbon, we have a long night ahead of us and we wouldn't want you to get too tired now would we? Believe me you'll want to be awake for the show. In fact—" he paused removing his fingers from her cheek. "We'd better get going if we don't' want to miss it, the show I mean."
What? They were going to move her someplace else? But her ribs, her head hurt to much….Like they cared!And what did he mean by 'the show?'"
She groaned in so much pain. It hurt so bad, all over! Couldn't they just kill her already? Get it over with! The pain escalated in her ribs and her head throbbed 10x the headache she'd ever had.
"Right on time too. And I think you'll enjoy it. Your boyfriend will be there soon…Patrick Jane." Lisbon's heart fluttered. Not Patrick.
"But first.." he sneered sounding like a child who knew something she didn't. "Let's give him a call, shall we? I bet he misses you."
PLS PLS PLS REVIEW..I KNOW ITS BEEN REALLY LONG..SORRY YOU KNOW..SCHOOL :D
-jamhead