AN: Bit of a short chapter here, but a lot happens!

Thanks so much for everyone who has reviewed this. Someday, I will get back to responding…but I figured you'd rather have another chapter than wait for me to message you back?

Without further ado… put your crash helmets on. ;)

The Art of Sanctuary

Chapter Fourteen

She woke up in a dark room, hands bound behind her back. There was a funny taste in her mouth, and her head was throbbing. Instinctively pulling at her bonds, she felt around the black space with her feet, discovering by touch that the room she was in was small. A closet, maybe? Her mind was taking a long time to shake off the lingering fuzziness.

Dimly, she recalled what had happened. She had been following Jane down a hallway, silently praying that this scheme was going to work. When she reached the fork in their path, she had gone one way and he had gone the other.

She tried to focus more. No one had been in the hall. The thing had seemed to go on forever, full of identical doors on either side. If she looked too long, it gave her vertigo. She had grit her teeth and pushed forward, keeping a sharp eye out for the room number Jane had provided her with. Sometimes his memory still amazed her.

Her footsteps had sounded outrageously loud in the empty space, like she was wearing tap shoes. Still, she had kept on. It had seemed like forever, but in reality was probably only a couple of minutes. The room she was looking for came into view, and, taking a deep breath, she'd opened the door. It was unlocked, which made her uneasy, made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

Three more steps and she realized she wasn't alone. Before she could spin around, face whoever it was, a glancing blow caught her across the back of the head. On her knees, she'd struggled to remain conscious, realizing that she was probably in serious trouble. A heavy, strong body knelt behind her, one meaty arm securing her flailing limbs, the other trying to press a sweet-smelling handkerchief to her nose.

Summoning what was left of her strength, she twisted, biting, until her mouth was free. All she had time for was one short scream before the grip on her became brutal and she was forced to breathe in against the chemical soaked linen. It had only taken a few seconds and the edges of her vision had started to blur into black.

She had a moment or two to think about Jane, and to pray that he somehow found a way out of all of this before the whole world shifted and went dark.

And here she was. Somewhere.

There were no indicators of where this particular closet might be located. She could still be in the heart of Visualize, or she might be in Antarctica.

Willing herself to stay calm, she directed all of her attention towards what held her wrists together. Zip-ties, by the feel of them. They were tight, the plastic already cutting into her skin, but she was a trained officer of the law and had been for years. The reason real kidnappers and criminals didn't use zip-ties was because they were possible to get out of, if you knew what you were doing. Fortunately, she did.

A few minutes later, she was chafing her hands down her arms, ignoring the residual pain her escape had caused, hoping to regain proper feeling in her fingers soon. The tips of them were totally numb, telling her she had been tied up for a few hours.

Alternately shaking each of her hands, she felt her way around the small room again. The walls were smooth and cool. They had a slightly bumpy finish, like normal wallboard and plaster, but they were surprisingly cool to the touch, as though they were backed with cement. It was an unsettling thought, but not as much as the fact that she was unable to find a door anywhere.

Hell, there wasn't even a crack or a seam or a dent in the walls. She fought the urge to scream and forced her police skills to take over.

Kneeling quickly, she scrabbled around the floor. It was totally even, too, no evidence of trapdoor or other opening.

The ceiling, then.

She stretched on to the tips of her toes, reaching upwards, but her fingers touched nothing but air. Whetting her dry lips, she let out a whistle and listened, estimating by the echo and the way the noise sounded that the room ended maybe ten feet above her head. That had to be where the exit was; there literally was no other option. She had to have gotten in here somehow.

Frustrated, she hammered her fist against the wall but stopped quickly. There was no telling when she was going to get out of here – it was stupid to waste her energy and strength on pointless acts of rage. Even if she really, really wanted to.

Keeping her breathing even, she slid down the wall to the cold floor, wrapping her arms around herself.

It was time to look rationally at the situation.

She was locked in a dark room in God-only-knew where, having been abducted by party or parties unknown. That was the extent of the actual facts she had in her possession. The rest was just going to be speculation.

Did Visualize have her? Or was it Red John? Were they one in the same?

And where did Robert Kirkland come into all of this? Just before Jason Cooper had been summoned from their meeting room, she had sworn she'd seen the man in all of his Department of Homeland Security glory, ordering the lesser mortals around.

Jane had seemed…unsurprised to see him, which told her that he had something planned. So Jane trusted Kirkland? It baffled her, but the more she thought about it, the more she figured it was probably at least a little true. Trusted him enough to use him, which was very characteristic of Patrick Jane.

A small, bitter voice in the back of her mind wondered if he was doing the same thing with her. Rationally, she knew her attitude was coming from her current situation, but it was difficult to shake her dark thoughts.

"Shut up, Lisbon," she hissed into the darkness, purposely using her last name. "Wondering about your relationship with Jane isn't going to get you out of here now. Stop acting like a moron. You can figure everything else out when you're not being held hostage."

Closing her eyes against the blackness that surrounded her, she slowly counted to ten, compartmentalizing everything emotional and personal, the anguish and the pain and the absolute, choking fear, just like she had been trained to do. Nothing mattered now except survival.

She would get out of this. She would.

Even if she wasn't sure how.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Jane woke up in entirely different circumstances, though, of course, he had no way of knowing that. His hands were free, and he was lying face-down on some dusty carpet which, at one time, was probably very nice.

There were slanted rays of sunlight hitting the wall behind him, and he stared a moment at the honey oak trim that edged the carpet, trying to get his mental balance. Something was itching at the back of his mind, a sense of familiarity.

Cautiously rolling, he sat up, and found himself in an entirely empty room.

Almost instantly, his heart caught, for this was not just any vacant room.

It was Charlotte's.

The walls were light pink, the ceiling fan blades done in shades of pastels. Without looking, he knew there was a stain in one corner of the room that had occurred courtesy of an unattended juice box.

Ignoring the familiar squeezing in his chest, he stood, hands leaving smudges on the pale walls. The door was unlocked, and he stepped out into the hallway.

There was nothing here either. The floor had been mopped, so there wasn't even another set of footprints that he could follow.

Out of habit, he checked the somewhat less empty room at the end of the hall, but there was nothing there except a discolored smiling face and a bare mattress.

Once he reached the main level, he remembered to check his pockets. Predictably, his phone was gone. The light streaming in through the grimy windows told him it was midday. He just wasn't sure of which day. Clearly not the same one he had been taken on, unless whoever brought him here had access to a rocket. A plane, maybe, but he thought it looked close to noon, and they hadn't even arrived at Visualize until after one.

He looked around the open space, wondering what he was supposed to find here. There had to be some purpose in this, bringing him back to where it had all started.

In the back of his mind, there was a growing fear for Lisbon's safety, and the rest of the team. Something had gone very wrong at Visualize, and he could only hope that he was the only one truly affected by it.

To his immense surprise, his car was parked in the circular driveway, keys in the ignition. As he turned them, he wondered belatedly if the thing was going to blow up, but the engine fired to life as it always did.

And then he saw the painted face on the glove compartment.

Fingers trembling, he flipped it open. On top of the owner's manual was an envelope made out of heavy stationary. He pulled the folded note out and began to read.

Dear mister Jane,

We have come a long way since you first read those words. I admit, I've had quite a good time watching you flounder about. However, like all good things, it is now time for this to come to an end. You have a choice to make now: your darling Lisbon, or your ill-advised quest for revenge. I'm afraid that you simply cannot have both. In fact, I've made sure of it. I told you I was changing the rules, and now I've changed them once more.

You have until midnight on the twenty first. At that time, if you haven't managed to find her, Teresa Lisbon dies, end of story. Of course, you can also use that time to make one last, sorry attempt to find me. The choice is yours. I would like to assure you now that even if you catch me, it doesn't guarantee you your partner lives. Far from it, actually. Perhaps you're wondering what happens if you manage to do neither? It's simple – once Teresa Lisbon's body is discovered, quite dead, you'll have a breakdown of biblical proportions and kill yourself. Or, if you wait just a bit, I'll come do it for you. Additionally, save Lisbon, and I still intend to come after you.

In the spirit of the game we've played for the past decade, I've decided to give you a sporting chance at accomplishing one of your two goals – naturally, I'm not telling you which one. You will find your first clue in the trunk. It is up to you what you do with it.

Tick tock.

The note ended there. He all but hurled it down, practically throwing himself out of the car in his haste to open the trunk.

There was a small box there. In it, he found a burner cell phone which told him it was the nineteenth, a day later than he remembered. He had just over thirty six hours to save Lisbon. Or to catch Red John.

He fumbled in the box again, and pulled out a small bunch of grapes. He stared at it for a moment, then reached inside once more, hoping for something else, something that he could decipher easier, but his fingers just touched the smooth sides of the cardboard.

"Shit," he muttered, peering at the slightly withered fruit in his hand. It could mean anything. It could mean that Lisbon was in wine country or that Red John liked to shop at the farmer's market or something so bizarrely obscure that he would never make the connection.

Abruptly, he felt the first waves of panic hit him.

Lisbon's life was on the line. It was utterly up to him to save her. And if he did, Red John would find him. Or perhaps he would be waiting. It didn't seem to matter.

He had been working towards his revenge for ten years.

But now he had to choose - love or revenge? Darkness or light? Loyalty to his past or hope for his future? And with every moment that ticked by, someone got closer to making that decision for him, only they weren't faced with his options. All they had to work with was life or death.

Who said he couldn't have both, though? Couldn't have Lisbon and catch the son of a bitch who murdered his family?

Angry now, he slammed the trunk down and got back into the driver's seat. Before he was even out of the driveway, he was dialing the CBI's number.

Cho answered.

"What the hell is going on in Sacramento?" Jane asked without preamble.

"Jane?" the other man said, and the laser focus in his voice was evident. "Where have you been? Are you with Lisbon? We've been tearing this city apart looking for you guys."

He pulled out onto the highway, turning north. "I just woke up in Malibu," he related. "I don't know how I got there. I'm not with Lisbon either, but listen, she's in serious trouble." Quickly, briefly, he summarized what was happening.

When he finished speaking, there were several moments of silence as Cho processed the latest turn of events. "Okay," he finally said. "What are you going to do?"

"Come back to the office," Jane said. He was going to waste time doing that, but he needed to start somewhere, and he didn't trust this phone. For all he knew, Red John had bugged it. In fact, he would be very surprised indeed if it was a clean line. He needed to see the team in person, needed to make plans where they couldn't be overheard.

It was a smart move on Red John's part – bringing him to Malibu had a double effect. For one, being here always played hell with his emotions, made it harder to think properly. For another, it put him almost seven hours away from the rest of the team, and Red John had probably correctly assumed that he wouldn't disclose any of his plans over an unsecured cell.

As he merged onto the freeway, he put his foot down on the accelerator until it hit the floor. "What happened with the whole Visualize thing?" he asked, remembering to use his blinker before changing lanes.

"It was a debacle," Cho said succinctly. "Before we got very far, the fire alarms went off. Looks like someone started one hell of a blaze on the inside. No one was hurt, but most of the structure got charred."

Swearing again, he passed a slow-moving Ford. "Focus on trying to find Lisbon," he said, "I'll be there as soon as I can." He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.

By the time he reached Sacramento, he would have less than twenty nine hours to rescue Lisbon and catch Red John. In that order.

His hands tightened around the steering wheel.

There was no other way this was going to work, and he refused to contemplate alternatives. However, he couldn't deny what Red John had written. If he lost Lisbon, that would be the end for him. He had used up all of his coping mechanisms when his family had been killed. He simply couldn't deal with anything else. There would be no putting him back together this time around.

Red John still might plan on killing him, but the man would have to hurry. It was damned difficult to kill someone who was already dead.