Title: Charlotte's Web (Chapter Three) by Lexikal
Rating: M for graphic violence and language
Fandom: The Mentalist
Summary: Patrick Jane has lived his life obsessed with the capture of Red John ever since finding his beloved wife and daughter slain by the maniac's hand. Now, 10 years to the day after that horrific night, a young woman appears in Patrick's life, someone who threatens to destroy everything his life has become in the interim... if not his sanity, itself.
Author's Note: Wow, a little bit of time to write! Yay! Hopefully I can have this chapter up relatively soon (sorry for the lags between chapters, my life is unpredictable time-wise right now). Like I said, I have only seen a handful of episodes so I didn't realize they were stationed at Sacramento. Thanks "Kat", for telling me that the distance between Sacramento and Beverly Hills would be 6+ hours by car. I have already worked it into the story and I hope it doesn't seem too crazy, working that little blip in. Hiccups like that... can actually be entertaining, but I have been doing a little bit more research so hopefully I don't mess it up again, although it actually doesn't impact the story and my original "vision". ;) Also, and perhaps admitting this isn't prudent, but... I can be a stubborn thing. I like positive reviews but if I feel obligated to do something I often lose interest (and time I have for writing is actually very limited). If you wait, you generally get a better quality story out of me, when I write because I feel pressured, you get anemic dish water. Oh yeah, the distance between Malibu (where Jane's house is) and Sacramento is 403.26 miles, about 6 hours and 17 minutes by car. The distance between Santa Monica (the crime scene) and Beverly Hills (where Jane woke up) is about 6 miles or 15 minutes by car. The distance between Malibu (Jane's house) and the crime scene (Santa Monica) is 35 kilometers (or 56 miles), about 32 minutes driving time. I am probably just going to buy myself a damn road map of the state of Califonia to write this story. I don't really know what the inside of Jane's house in Malibu looks like except for the flashback scene when he comes home to find the note from Red John taped to his bedroom door, so I am taking some liberties with the house (if you know what the house looks like in great detail and I have messed up, please accept that this is fan fiction and accept my apologies in advance). I just watched an episode of Hannibal last night called "Coquilles" in which the killer takes the victims lungs out to make "angel wings" and ties them up with clear fishing line to the ceiling (in the first murder scene, at least). I would like to be very clear. I wrote the Red John murder scene in the last chapter MONTHS before that episode of Hannibal aired. I did not copy it even though it is almost word for word (in terms of details) what *I* wrote months ago. My "story" was posted online way before "Coquilles" aired, so please, no accusing me of stealing. Review!
"People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf."- George Orwell
"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear."- C.S. Lewis
"It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It can not be taken from you, not by angels or demons, not by heaven or hell." - The Buddha
Wednesday, October 30th, 2013 1:48 P.M. P.S.T.
They'd been driving for 10 odd minutes when Lisbon realized, to her growing unease, that Jane wasn't speaking. She'd been running questions and information and the earlier horror show through her own mind, not quite sure how to address this situation, how to act around Jane and it took ten minutes- at least- to realize that he was quietly looking out the passenger seat window. Lisbon thought of the small (tired) smile Jane had flashed her, almost obligatorily, when she had entered the bakery and her fingers tightened subconsciously on the wheel.
"2,745 seconds," Jane said, then, and Lisbon darted a look at him. He turned to face her.
"Jane?" The line between her eyebrows knit together in worry.
"2,745 seconds. That's how long you've not been talking to me. 11 minutes and 45 seconds. I was counting. The crime scene can't be..." and he didn't finish whatever half-baked sentence he'd been thinking about serving her as conversation fodder. Lisbon sighed, put on her blinkers and turned off and onto a side road, eased the car to a stop but kept it running. Jane, who had returned to gazing out the window turned back to look at her once more. His pupils seemed monstrously huge, engulfing the sea blue of his eyes like expanding black holes. Lisbon felt a shiver run down her spine, the hand of a waking ghost. What was that ghost named? Angela? Charlotte?
"Lisbon? Why have we stopped?" His voice was slightly imperial, just enough to let her know she was talking to the real Patrick Jane, CBI Mentalist extraordinaire and not a pod person, one of those body doubles from "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" (She'd seen the 1978 version when she was little and still had the occasional nightmare about Donald Sutherland's slack face and nightmarish perm). Lisbon scowled at him, suddenly feeling a flash of anger. She reigned it in.
"Jane..." she started. stopped, sighed. Tried again. "You seem a little... off."
Jane smiled at the pronouncement dazedly and it did nothing to reassure Lisbon about his lucidity.
"I'm not off, Lisbon. I have never been more on in my entire life."
And yet his words, lilting and playful and undeniably Jane had a drunken slightly slurred quality to them. His eyes- staring at her fixedly like the eyes of a porcelain doll- the pupils still huge and monstrous and hypnotic. The term "dying supernova" suddenly came to her and she wasn't sure why.
"You seem impaired. Drugged or...something else. Your pupils are hugely dilated and you have no memory for the last... what? Twelve hours?"
"Something like that," Jane admitted in agreement, nodding his head in mock candor. "Although I suppose if I could remember when I lost consciousness, they wouldn't call it amnesia, now, would they?"
"I'm taking you to the hospital. I want a doctor to look you over."
"No. We need to go to the crime scene," Jane said determinedly, still staring at her.
"Jane you could have a head injury or some other medical condition possibly requiring professional assistance. I want you to see a doctor."
"Red John has sent me a message, Lisbon. What is obviously- given the date and the details as you have relayed them to me- a very important message. He is not a man that likes to play second fiddle to the medical establishment. And he would not have permanently hurt me, at least not physically, neurologically. You know that. And I know that."
"I don't know that!" Lisbon blurted, frustration bubbling over. "Jane," Lisbon breathed. (Stay calm, don't blow up at him. You know you don't want to blow up at him) "I want a doctor to look you over. After that, I'll take you to any crime scene you want but first-"
"Lisbon, if I am still giving off dead-head vibes after we see the crime scene you can drag me to any doctor you want, but right now I must insist that we accept this invitation. You know I am going there one way or another. I know I am going there one way or another. The only difference is whether or not you escort me." His smile was stupidly sweet, almost bovine.
Lisbon stared at him, at his too-black, too-glazed eyes and felt a swell of battling emotions: protectiveness, annoyance, amusement, concern, fear... and some indescribable amalgamation of all of them that managed to become its very own, unpleasant little thing; an emotional bastard borne of tragedy.
"If I take you to the crime scene, you promise to see a doctor after?" She could hear the pleading tone in her own voice and hated it. Jane smiled that dazed, drugged little smile and nodded. Crossed the front of his suit vest with his index finger.
"Cross my heart and hope to die, Lisbon."
Lisbon sighed wearily. "Okay." She pulled back into the road.
"You never did tell me what you are doing out here," Jane said after a moment.
"The crime scene is just outside Santa Monica," Lisbon admitted. "When I couldn't get you by phone this morning... we decided to come out anyway. Given the nature of the crime scene."
"It's... what? A 7 hour drive from Sacramento to Santa Monica? It's..." Jane glanced down at his watch. "Just after 2 p.m. now. So you left at... 7 in the morning?" Jane finished, inclining his head just a bit.
"I was informed of the case when I came in at 9. We tried you for about an hour and then, given the nature of the crime scene, decided to fly out."
Lisbon shot him a look. Usually Jane would have figured that out. The fact that he hadn't was unnerving.
There was another pocket of silence. Lisbon could feel Jane floating on the silence, contemplative, using the silence like an eagle uses air currents to rise higher and higher. The man seemed to soar his way through most conversations and the pauses and quiet spaces that most people used for quiet reflection, Jane used to rise, planning his comments and questions the way chess masters planned their end games. She wasn't even exactly sure how he did it, the small sleights of hand- or rather, tongue- he used in conversations to get his way, only that he was incredibly adept at... rising. She could almost hear the gears turning in his head and glanced over at him.
"Obviously not a coincidence I woke up a stone's throw from the crime scene," Jane finally said, feeling her eyes on him. Whatever smile had been playfully baiting her for the last few minutes was starting to dry up. Lisbon glanced at him, and felt another chill. The ghosts were indeed waking up today.
Lisbon wanted to ask him again if he would see a doctor. She knew that anything they could find relating to drugs in Jane's system or forensic evidence would only help him if his amnesia and proximity to the crime scene came into question. And even as she ran these scenarios through her head, she also knew what Jane had no doubt already figured out. Red John would not be stupid enough to leave drugs in Jane's system, at least not drugs that anyone would think to test for. There would be no forensic evidence Red John didn't want found. Worse, she had no doubt that Jane would make good on his implicit threat to take off and go to the crime scene alone and in his current state, the idea of him being out of her sight for even a few minutes made her feel a little queasy.
Red John had gotten to Jane, knocked him out or otherwise rendered him incapable of fighting back, removed his memory for the hours of the murders and left him in a park in Beverly Hills a good 7 hour drive from his home but only a 30 minute drive from their crime scene.
They had long known Red John was capable of just about anything he put his mind to, but until now he had seemed content to bait Jane and allow himself to be fruitlessly chased. The only times Jane had ever come close to Red John, physically, had been times Jane had intentionally and willfully gone after the man. Never before, since the deaths of Angela and Charlotte, had Red John physically encroached on Jane's territory unprovoked.
Lisbon glanced down at the wolf mask in Jane's hands, the expensive carnival mask with the amber glass-bauble eyes and felt the chills stroke her neck once again. This time she shuddered, and Jane caught her eyes.
"I know," he said, and his voice was unusually soft. "It's eerie, isn't it?"
Lisbon just nodded. What more could she say?
Lisbon pulled the car to a stop across the street from the little, shuttered bungalow with the yellow crime scene tape and gloomy atmosphere. Jane's eyes were already alight with fascination. Lisbon could remember Jane once asking a group of teens to tell him what animal they would be if they had to be any animal. He had used their responses to learn more about how they viewed themselves in relation to a girl in their social group who had been murdered. At that moment in time, she had contemplated what animal Jane, himself, would be and decided on a fox. Bright, alert, playful, friendly and loyal like a dog, but also stubborn, imperial and regal like a cat. Right now, Jane looked like a fox that had just glimpsed a mouse in a field, eyes zeroed in on the house, body poised to spring out of the car. And yet... he was still. Almost entranced.
Lisbon sighed, glanced back at over at the crime scene. "Jane, it's bad."
Something about her voice broke the trance and he pulled the door release and gracefully bounced out of the passenger seat and onto the macadam. Lisbon huffed and followed after him. She could see Rigsby standing in the yard, and his eyes seemed to swell with relief when he saw Jane. If Jane was a fox, Rigsby was a perpetual boxer puppy. He came towards Jane immediately and ducked under the police tape, reminding Lisbon ever so much of a little boy waiting for his friend on an elementary school playground. Despite herself and the immensity of the situation, she smiled a little, then remembered why she was here, at this location at this moment in time, and the smile dried up so fast it almost hurt.
Not waiting for her, up ahead, Jane was already entering the front door, being swallowed into the house like an insect being sucked up into the body of some giant, loathsome creature. Lisbon picked up her pace. As much as she despised the idea of seeing that crime scene again, the idea of Jane seeing it for the first time without her there, without her nearby for protection, was unthinkable. These thoughts came to Teresa Lisbon subconciously, gracefully firing off in neuronal synapses which pumped her heart a little faster and sent a slightly higher level of adrenaline and cortisol shooting through her veins. At moments in time like this, when she felt Jane was in danger, physically or emotionally or spiritually, her own body became enlivened with hormones and chemicals that likened her, despite her education and upbringing, to a mother bear with a cub in jeopardy. Lisbon flashed her CBI badge as she approached the tape, scowling at the officer for even thinking to question her authority, and charged up the steps and after Jane. He was halfway down that dreaded hall and she knew his eyes were locked on the smiley face taunting them both from the bedroom. His pace had slowed down. He was now approaching the den, the lair of the beast, and he was treading lightly, as if afraid of waking some ancient and profound evil. She fell into step with him and he glanced back at her and for the smallest of seconds he looked like a little boy, terrified and disoriented, a child trapped in the most fiendish of nightmares. That sense of little-boyness was gone as fast as she had seen it, replaced with a veil, with an emotional shield that slid down and over Jane's face and seemed to harden every one of his facial features like a mask. She saw him physically inhale, preparing himself. Others wouldn't have noticed, but Lisbon was so used to Jane's cavalier approach to most crime scenes that even a small change in behavior and body language was profound to her.
He looked back again, as if reasurring himself that she was still there, still following him into Hell.
"I'm right behind you, Jane." She said, softly, and then wondered why she had said it. Obviously, he knew she was there. He nodded, an almost imperceptible nod, and turned back. Crept down the final few inches of hallway and entered the room. She came in behind him, and the room, immediately, felt sour to her. Already the smell of death was profound in the air. She didn't know what properties in the human body were responsible for that smell (Jane had told her once... cadaverenes? Something like that...) and she didn't care. The smell was eerie, the sum total of a life that has been snuffed out and is starting to evaporate like fungal spores, sweet and sour at the same time, noxious... Lisbon did not look at the bed again. She did not want to look at it again. But after a moment she had to, she had to look because she had to keep her eyes on Jane. He was right by the bodies, crouching down, as close to them as he could be.
He was crouching and then rose a bit. Looked at her.
"Has anyone touched the bodies? Crime scene, whoever found them?"
Lisbon shook her head. Nobody had touched them as far as she knew. Jane bent down again. He was touching the child's face. The child's face was pressed to his mother's bosom, nuzzled against her naked, milk-white breast. Jane ever so gently turned the small head, the tiny, cold cheek. Lisbon watched, emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Jane's fingers were prying in the child's mouth, the pale, small lips, the tiny milk teeth... and... and he was pulling something out. A piece of paper... a piece of paper, origami paper it looked like, folded and stuffed in the kid's tiny little mouth like a fortune inside of a fortune cookie...
"It's dry. He must have... blotted up any moisture in the mouth with a towel, a rag, after the boy died and..." Jane trailed off, and unfolded the paper. Stared at the paper as if trying to figure out some extremely complicated cipher.
The words were written in the same hand as the words on the wall and the words on the back of the wolf mask and on the note Jane had already received. He held the note out to Lisbon, and she took it gently.
Scarlet letters screamed up at her: MISS ME?! I'VE MISSED YOU!
She looked back over at Jane. He had his arms wrapped around his middle, as if he was trying to keep his insides from spilling out. Mother bear mode screamed up inside of Lisbon and she suddenly felt like ripping someone limb from limb. Her cub was hurting and someone had to pay. But no one was around who was responsible and so she settled for the next best thing. Trying to shepherd Jane out of the crime scene.
"Jane? Do you need to see... any more?"
He glanced at the bed again. Finally shook his head and walked out of the room. She was glad he was leaving, that she didn't have to play games with him to get him away from this madness, but the look on his face almost physically hurt to witness. He'd entered the demon's lair slowly but he came out at a quick march. Half way down the hall he stopped, glancing around at closed doors.
"Which one is the boy's room?" Jane asked, and didn't wait for a response. He opened a door, found it to be an avocado green bathroom that had last been fashionable in the seventies, then opened the only other door that wasn't an obvious hall closet. A small pine, toddler bed. Duplo blocks and tonka trucks on a woven blue rug. The quilt on the bed was pastel blues and greens with rocket ships and stars. Shelves bolted to the walls, haphazardly stuffed with children's books, a ceramic piggy bank, toy matchbox cars, an ancient "speak n' spell" that had no doubt been liberated from a yard sale by overly enthusiastic parents, what looked like an old sea monkey "aquarium" (Lisbon had owned the exact model as a child, only her's had come with a green lid and the little boy's was red), stuffed animals... Jane froze, then gently reached out and picked up a plush orangutan. Smelled it. He looked very pale.
"Jane?" Lisbon ventured. Jane didn't say anything, just stuck the orangutan doll under his arm and left the room.
"Jane! Wait!" Lisbon called after him. She wasn't even sure if it was okay, him to just... take shit out of the house like this, but nobody stopped him. He spilled himself out of the house at a decent clip, all but running to the car.
Rigsby was still outside. Rigsby had been outside pretty much from the moment they had arrived, keeping watch over the property but not inclined to look at the bloody mess at the end of the hall inside. He hadn't even set foor in the room, had shot a quick look from the doorway and decided enough was enough.
"Boss?" Rigsby said as Lisbon passed him. He wasn't really asking a question, just trying to convey his support, his love, in his usual, clumsy way. She nodded at him. Jane was hurting. He had seen something evil, something meant to torture him and push him ever so slightly closer to the edge of the abyss and it had had its' intended effect.
Lisbon stared after Jane, keeping him in her sights. Tried to decide what to do right now. Rigsby was right. She was the boss. She was meant to lead. They all knew this was Jane's show, but she was the sane one, the controlled one. Rigsby was still looking at her, waiting for instructions, for something to do to make himself useful.
"We're not going to be leaving tonight. Can you get us rooms at a motel?"
He was already nodding, happy to have a task, something concrete to do.
"Where's Cho?" Lisbon snapped after a moment, feeling like a shepherd whose sheep are always getting away.
Rigsby shrugged. "He was here a few minutes ago."
"Find him, will you? Tell him not to wander off like that. Having to track Jane around constantly is bad enough. I don't need to be corralling you two. When you find him I want one of you, I don't care which, to go to a store and get Jane some stuff. Toothbrush, stuff to sleep in, mouthwash, all that stuff. Okay?"
"Got it boss." He was staring at her with questioning eyes, wanting to know why Jane needed toiletries and pyjamas, wanting to know what had *happened* to Jane and where he had been.
"He woke up in a park 30 minutes from here," Lisbon said, trying to ease some of the wild confusion in Rigsby's eyes. "I don't know anything more yet, and neither does Jane. I am going to try and get him to a doctor now. I want somebody to go and speak to whoever found the bodies, get her statement, get a read on her. Oh, and Jane's car is missing, so if you can call Sacramento PD and put out an APB on Jane's car, that would be appreciated." Her voice was slightly sarcastic, and she reigned it in. Stress did that.
Rigsby was nodding, mentally memorizing his tasks.
"His car?"
"Last thing Jane remembers he was driving home. In Sacramento. He has no idea where his car is, so put out a state-wide search. You know the plates, right?"
Rigsby nodded. Lisbon was silent for a moment, running through everything, trying to remember if she was missing anything.
"If they are done with the scene, tell them to check both the victims'.. orifices... for anything. They will anyway during the autopsies. But sooner rather than later?"
"Orifices?" Rigsby looked a little sick. "For...?"
"Whatever. You don't want to know. After they remove the bodies and have what they need, I want people going over the entire house with a fine tooth comb. Look for anything, not just the usual hairs and fibers, I mean, anything out of place. Look through the books. Look at the wallpaper. Look at everything, consider this house a puzzle box."
"Boss?"
"He is playing games with us. More than usual."
Rigsby nodded. Gazed around them like he expected to see aliens suddenly crawling out of the woodworks.
"Keep your phone on. Tell Cho to keep his phone on. I don't need any more stress today." She started to walk away from him, leaving him nodding.
"It'll... it'll be okay, boss." He called after her, before quickly shutting down, looking sheepish. She didn't quite smile at him, but nodded her head, thankful for his efforts.
Jane was sitting in the passenger seat, already buckled in. Lisbon got in, snapped her safety belt into place.
"I need you to drive me to my house," Jane said simply, looking across at her.
"Jane. You promised. You said you'd see a doctor if I took you to the crime scene."
"I said I'd see a doctor if I was still acting "off", as you so elegantly put it, after seeing the crime scene. Am I still "off", Lisbon?"
She looked at him. Wasn't sure. He smiled at her.
"You're always a little off," she said finally, and huffed. The crazy, wild-eyed stare didn't seem as pronounced now. He reached out, put a hand on her wrist.
"Lisbon, time is of the essence right now. I need to go home... I need you to take me to Malibu."
Lisbon shut her eyes. Mentally counted to ten. Exhaled slowly. Opened her eyes.
"What good will a doctor be in this situation?" Jane asked sensibly. He was holding that damned plush orangutan in his lap.
"It will make me feel better," Lisbon said tiredly.
"I will see a doctor, then. If it will make you feel better." Jane was looking at her wide-eyed. The innocent boy scout.
Lisbon stared at him. Stared at the plush toy in his lap. Silently swore.
"What's with the monkey?"
Jane glanced down. His features became serious again.
"Charlotte... Charlotte had this exact same stuffed animal. She got it in the mail. Day before she died. I didn't remember until I saw it."
Lisbon stared at him, stared at the plush ape.
"You're saying that doll is Charlotte's?" Lisbon's voice was exceptionally soft. Whatever annoyance she felt towards Jane was gone in an instant.
"It's either Charlotte's or one exactly like her's. I want to see if her's is still there." He was looking at Lisbon with giant eyes and she realized the innocent little boy routine wasn't a total act. He did, very much, want to go home. He wanted to see if his murdered daughter's stuffed animal- identical in all respects to the one he was currently holding- was still where he had last left it. Lisbon realized she suddenly wanted to know the answer to that question, too.
"Please, Lisbon."
Lisbon nodded. Jane was right. What good, really, would a doctor be in this situation? Lisbon inserted the keys, started the car.
Jane was eerily silent as they drove, conscious mind spirited away to a haunted realm where past and present were quickly colliding. Lisbon glanced over at him every few minutes, but other than that kept her eyes on the road. She didn't know what to say to Jane. Every combination of words she ran through the three pound computer behind her eyes sounded strangely glib or callous or woefully juvenile. What did one say to one's colleague and good friend when presented with a situation like this? Words were inadequate.
After ten minutes on the road, Lisbon's cell went off. She pulled it out, flipped it open. It was Rigsby.
"I found Cho. He went for a walk. Said he needed to clear his head," RIgsby said hurriedly. Lisbon scowled into the empty space.
"We got four motel rooms. All on the same floor," Rigsby continued. Lisbon decided now wasn't the time to chew him out about wasting tax payer dollars on seperate rooms.
"Anyway, we're at the dollar store."
"The dollar store?"
"Getting stuff for Jane," Rigsby said, as if it were obvious. "Toothpaste and what have you."
Lisbon rolled her eyes. "You went to the dollar store for that? Couldn't find a drug store? Or a Wal-mart?"
"This is cheaper, and just as good," Rigsby assured her over the line. "Brand names and everything. What sort of toothpaste does Jane use? They've got Aquafresh. They've got Crest..."
Lisbon glanced over at Jane. Despite all that was going on, he looked curious. A little less enthusiastic then usual, but still interested.
"It's Rigsby," Lisbon said, handing Jane the phone. "He... here, you talk to him."
Jane took the phone. Listened. Made a face.
"No. No. I do not use flouridated toothpaste," Jane said, surprising Lisbon. She had expected him to be more withdrawn right now. He still wasn't his usual playful self, but at least he was paying attention. There was another pause.
"Because flouride is carcinogenic and neurotoxic. It is banned in over 98% of Europe for a reason, Rigsby."
A pause. Jane was smiling. A sharky smile.
"Yes, and I am sure your dentist is a very nice man, and if he wants to use flouride I won't say boo, but I am not brushing my teeth with it."
The smile was growing wider. Lisbon had a sudden mental image of Rigsby and Cho in some overcrowded dollar store with one of those little plastic shopping baskets looking for toiletries for Jane and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
"Where do I get my toothpaste from? Usually Wholefoods," Jane said conversationally. He glanced over at Lisbon and rolled his eyes theatrically. Lisbon shot him a look.
"Yeah, any brand that doesn't have flouride, I'll use right now...and gluten-free toothpaste, I'm doing that now... yes, that's it. I am not going to make you jump through hoops on my account... what?" Jane had cocked his head. "No, I don't have any cavities. Not since I was 13 or so." Jane was quiet for a moment. Then he laughed.
"They're not actually all silver. They're amalgam... Silver and mercury, Rigsby... Yes... I know mercury is toxic," Jane's voice was amused. He lowered the phone an inch and smiled over at Lisbon. "Lisbon! Rigsby didn't know there was mercury in silver fillings!"
"I don't want to get involved in this," Lisbon said, keeping her eyes on the road. It occured to her that Rigsby might have phoned to distract Jane, and if that was the case, she would have to buy him a steak dinner. Of course, the idea that he really was at a dollar store, shopping for toothpaste and disposable razors was equally likely.
"Yes, Rigsby, mouthwash can have flouride in it, too, you're going to have to read the small print... what do you mean, you can't read the small print, you are a field agent... then get Cho to read it for you... yes, sodium flouride is the same thing... yeah, I don't care if it's only a little tiny bit...yeah... well, maybe I will just buy my own hygiene products..."
Lisbon reached over, flapped her fingers for the phone.
"I have to go, Rigsby, Lisbon wants to talk to you now," Jane said pleasantly, and passed her the phone. Lisbon took it.
"Why are you arguing with him? Just go to a health food store or Wholefoods or whatever and get flouride free stuff and gluten-free and not-tested-on-animals and... the health food store will know, just explain you are buying for someone very picky and very health conscious... well, then get whatever is most expensive..."
"I like cinnamon flavoured dental floss," Jane said, voice rising just enough to ensure Rigsby heard it. Lisbon shot him an exasperated look.
"Yes, just do the best you can. Yeah... thanks. Bye." Lisbon disconnected, returned her cell phone to her pocket. After a moment she glanced over at Jane.
"You're a brat."
Jane grinned back. Holding the orangutan doll in his hands, he looked surprisingly like a little kid.
"Gluten-free toothpaste, Jane? You were eating a bearclaw less than an hour and a half ago."
"I wasn't in my right mind, Lisbon." Jane said. She could hear the amusement in his voice. He knew he was bugging her, and he loved it. She supposed, considering everything that was going on, that Jane needed to poke her buttons more than usual. But it was still annoying.
"I'm ignoring you now," Lisbon said, turning her attention once more to the road. They were still a good 15 minutes from Jane's house and the memories associated with the place would no doubt dull Jane's playful spirit soon enough.
Wednesday, October 30th, 2013 3:13 P.M. P.S.T.
Jane was out of the passenger seat before Lisbon had brought the car to a complete stop. Lisbon followed suit and ran behind him as he took the front stairs two at a time. When he got to the front door he realized he didn't have the keys and came back off the porch as fast as he had gone up, walked along the weedy flower bed and and crouched in front of a stone frog, a large one with a giant, gaping mouth. It was attached to a dish and obviously meant to be a fountain. Jane curled his fingers up inside the stone mouth and dug around for a few seconds before pulling out a small house key. As quickly as he had retrieved the key he was back up the steps and unlocking the front door. the orangutan plush dangling in his left hand.
The house smelled surprisingly unstuffy. Jane seemed to know what Lisbon was thinking because he shrugged and said: "I have someone come and clean once a month. To keep the dust at a minimum."
Lisbon nodded and followed Jane as he mounted the first set of steps. The hallway on the second storey ran straight ahead (that way lead to the master bedroom and Charlie's bedroom), but also right (the bathroom and some other room Lisbon had never inquired about) and left. Jane turned was a door at the end of the hall which he promptly opened and inside, a set ot stairs, presumably leading to the attic.
The attic, like the rest of the house, was spotless. The floors were polished hardwood, the walls were stone.
"Your attic is nicer than my apartment," Lisbon said softly. Jane smiled back.
"We were going to turn this into a playroom..." His voice was distracted as he walked to a stack of some dozen odd cardboard boxes, labelled and dated. He pulled out an exceptionally large box which had originally stored a mini fridge with the words "Charlie-stuffed animals-2003" written in neat printing on the side and used the end of his house key to cut through the packing tape. Very gently he lifted the edges and began to pull out stuffed animals and dolls, his hands clasping first on an American Girl doll with blond ringlets and blue eyes. Lisbon watched as he carefully placed the doll on the attic floor with the utmost of care. She'd personally seen new parents treat newborn babies with less care. Next came four troll dolls with enchanting faces that were obviously not cheap plastic chinese knock-offs (no doubt these troll dolls were from Denmark and cost a good whack of money each), then a plush unicorn that looked like it had cost an arm and a leg, if not a small country. Jane blinked and made a noise of interest, and then carefully pulled out what he had been looking for. He was holding a stuffed orangutan with glass bead eyes and copper fur that was an identical brother to the one he had dragged out of the crime scene. He even double checked the tags. Both toys were made from a company called Hansa.
"What are the odds they both would have the same plush toy?"
Lisbon just looked at him. Jane's eyes darted back and forth between the stuffed animals, trying to suss out any differences.
"Lisbon? You have a knife on you?"
"A knife?"
"Yeah, a pocket knife or anything?"
"I don't carry knives on me, Jane."
Jane nodded, picked up the orangutan he'd "borrowed" from the crime scene, turned it upside down and bit into the fabric with his teeth. Yanked hard. The toy didn't rip.
"We might need a knife... this is too well made." He was already up, looking through the boxes. He made a pleased little cooing noise and returned with a box cutter. He expertly slit the toy between the legs and up the back, began to pull out the stuffing. Lisbon watched him silently. She knew better than to question his instincts. Then he found what he was looking for and pulled out a CD in a plastic protective case. There was no writing on the CD.
There didn't need to be.
They both knew who the CD was from.
"Jane, wait!" he had the CD and was half-walking, half-running out of the attic. He'd left the plush orangutan from the crime scene on the floor, leaking stuffing all over the hardwood, but had grabbed his late daughter's in its place and Lisbon could hear him on the stairs.
"Jane!" She followed after him, not-quite-but-almost-running and caught sight of him again just as the front door of the house began to close. Jane wasn't waiting for her to catch up, which was silly, because she had the car keys and he needed to lock up. He was already in the car, waiting for her to return, to start the car so he could use the car's built in CD player. Lisbon sighed, carefully shut the door and walked slowly over to the car. She got into the driver's seat and looked over at Jane.
"Where are the car keys?" Jane said. He wasn't quite manic but his cheeks looked flushed. Lisbon found herself feeling suddenly more worried for her colleague than she had all day.
"Jane," she kept her voice as calm as she could. "We don't know what is on that CD."
"It's a message from Red John," Jane said, exasperated, and held out his hand for the car keys again.
"Yes, but... we don't know what kind of message. Maybe we should wait before listening to it."
"Lisbon? The keys?"
"Jane, slow down. This all feels off to me."
That seemed to bring him up short.
"Red John isn't usually so secretive with his messages. He is more theatrical than this. This feels like...well, not like Red John to me," Lisbon said slowly. She felt uneasy, had felt uneasy all day, ever since she'd gone in to work and learned Jane was missing. Then the crime scene. Now, these weird bread-crumb-like clues scattered throughout the day, planted ever so carefully for Jane and Jane alone to find.
"What are you saying, Lisbon?"
"We should wait to listen to that. We don't know what's on it."
"That's precisely why we should listen to it right now," Jane said. He still had his hand out for the keys.
Lisbon sighed. Knew Jane would keep pressing the issue. Finally forced herself to speak.
"Jane, does this... all of this... feel like Red John to you?"
"Of course it's Red John. That crime scene was classic Red John."
"The crime scene, yes. The murders, yes. No question. But this CD, hidden in a stuffed animal in a dead little boy's room that just happens to be an identical replica of...of..." Lisbon trailed.
"Lisbon? What are you getting at?" Jane's usual playful tone was gone. He was thoroughly impatient now. On edge. She could see it in his eyes, in the colour riding high in his cheeks. She knew, without asking him, that he could feel it too. Something about this entire day and the crime scene and this anniversary was wrong. Was different, and wrong and off. It was hard to put into words, though. Lisbon felt like she had as a child, when she had tried to keep a dream journal. Invariably she'd wait too long every morning before sitting down to record the dreams, and by then they had floated apart like clouds and had been reabsorbed back into her subconscious, leaving only a trace of the emotions they had originally elicited. This time, the feelings and thoughts she was searching for were equally hazy and indistinct, but instead of beautiful dreams, what lurked in her subconscious were monstrosities. From the look of Jane, something similar was bothering him, some similar sense of this entire day being fundamentally different, fundamentally unstable.
"Jane, the little boy at the crime scene... his face was turned into his mother's breast." It wasn't a question, but it had nagged at her. If that crime scene had been a recreation of Jane's family's murders then... Lisbon waited for Jane to follow her logic. Asked him with his eyes to please slow down, but he no doubt had already thought these thoughts. For a second she saw a burst of panic, unrestrained, in his eyes and just as quickly Jane got control of himself back.
"I buried my daughter, Lisbon." He said, and his voice had a shrillness to it she had never heard before. He wasn't yelling, he was outwardly very calm (perhaps a bit too calm) but she could see he was ready to flip out.
"Did you see Charlotte's face?"
Jane blinked heavily and she saw him running back through the years; and there it was again, that little sliver of panic knifing it's way through his body, reflected in his eyes.
"It was Angela. It was Charlotte."
"You saw her face, Jane? Clearly?"
"I know my own daughter, Lisbon." His voice was resolute but that panic in his eyes was back and growing, like a fire spreading out of control. Lisbon considered his words, didn't bother pointing out he had had used the word "know" instead of "knew". Present tense.
Lisbon took a deep breath.
"Jane, you would have been in shock. This is Red John we're talking about! You told me yourself you had been drinking that night and had spaced on the time. When you entered that room you would have seen Angela, but not necessarily Charlotte's face... not if she was positioned like the little boy I saw earlier today. I am not saying you didn't bury Charlotte, but partially drunk and in shock..."
"Then what are you saying, Lisbon?" Haunted eyes gazed back at her, full of screams and tears and pain. So much sound in those eyes, so much movement and noise.
"Maybe Red John wants you to think Charlotte is still alive? To mess with you? I don't know, why does he do any of the sadistic things he does? When you buried Charlotte, was it an open casket funeral? Did you see her face at the funeral?" Lisbon had never asked. Had never seen any use in asking but now she realized just how important that question was.
"Shut up, Lisbon." Jane said, and it was totally unlike him to tell her to shut up. His voice was the voice of someone who is eerily outwardly calm because inside, they feel like everything is falling apart.
Jane was staring at her, nothing impish or playful left in his features. He looked ancient, drained of all his vitality. Also, at the same time, filled with adrenaline. Lisbon had a sudden sure thought that if she upset him any more Jane might just take off with his CD and his sadness to listen to it somewhere else, just take off at a sprint if he needed to, just to get away, just to do something with his body. He was still outwardly composed, but she could see he was breathing slightly faster than normal, his eyes were deep pools of uncertainty, alive and glassy with fear.
"We should have someone check the CD for prints, Jane. You know we should."
"Red John wouldn't leave any prints."
"Not Red John's prints, then? We should check first. This is unlike him, you have to admit that. He's never done this before." Lisbon sighed and searched out Jane's eyes. "Jane, please. We can't be too careful right now."
Jane looked down at the CD he was holding. His body held a slight tremor, almost invisible, but Lisbon could feel it coming off of him like she had been able to feel the power radiating off the electrified fence at her Uncle's cattle ranch as a kid. The air around Jane seemed charged, alive, ready to snap and pop.
"Jane, please let's do this by the book this time." Her eyes were full of pleading. Maybe it was his own fear of what the CD contained, or his fear at having been so recently abducted and moved across the state like a plaything. Maybe it was the profound realization that his family had been dead a decade and he was still nowhere closer to catching the monster called Red John. Whatever it was, Jane let out a sharp exhale and nodded, got back into the passenger seat.
Lisbon got in and looked over at him. "I think you need to lock the front door before we leave."
Jane glanced at the house, looked indifferent. Finally nodded and got out of the car and walked back up to the front door. Lisbon watched him lock the door, stop, check to make sure it was locked by tugging on the knob. He went and carefully returned the key to its resting spot, hidden inside the lip of the stone frog's huge, gaping mouth.
Jane came back towards the rental car then, walking rigidly, reminding Lisbon ever so slightly of a wind-up tin soldier. His head hung, his eyes were lost and searching, haunted. She watched him and thought, not for the first time, about the evil Red John had inflicted on her friend, the evil that he was in general, spreading from life to life like a virus.
"We'll get him Jane," Lisbon said gently into the empty silence of the rental car, watching Jane return so solemnly, looking so drained.
We'll get you, you son of a bitch.
Because they were staying close to the local crime scene, Rigsby and Cho had commandeered use of a local police station's "tech" lab. They had met Jane and Lisbon at the motel and spirited the CD away for fingerprint analysis several hours ago.
Jane was lying on the bed in what he had obviously already decided was "his" motel room. He'd taken off his outer suit jacket and draped it over his face like an eye mask, nose and mouth still exposed. After more than an hour of alternating between watching him "rest" and flipping through the stations on the little television in Jane's room, Lisbon had decided to go to her room and get some rest, too. The day and the grisly sights contained within had drained her as severely and physically as any antiquated bloodletting. She had arranged herself on top of her bed and was just getting comfortable and starting to drift into sleep when her cell phone rang out. The effect was like being hit in the heart with adrenaline. Lisbon was up immediately, had the phone out, was listening for news.
"Uh, Boss?" It was Rigsby. He sounded shaky, uneasy. Terribly uneasy.
"Rigsby? What is it?" She didn't bother with formalities at the best of times, and definitely wasn't going to start now.
"Where is Jane? Is he with you?" Rigsby asked tightly. Lisbon's heart sped up a good 30 beats a minute.
"He's in his motel room taking a nap," Lisbon said, and her words sounded so flat and dry and calm despite her emotions that she wanted to laugh at them.
"Okay. That's probably good. We got the fingerprint analysis back on the CD you and Jane found."
"You found prints? And they matched to someone in the system?" Lisbon prodded.
"Uh... not at first. I don't know how to say this, Boss, so I am just going to say it. The prints we found on the CD, inside the case? Outside of the case was clean, no prints besides Jane's and your's. Which makes sense, as you guys both touched it. Inside, on the actual CD though? This is so weird, boss, and I know he is messing with us so maybe we shouldn't tell Jane right away-"
"Rigsby, whose prints did you find?" Lisbon prodded impatiently. But she already knew in her gut.
"The lab tech says the prints belong to Charlotte... Jane's kid." Rigsby said this quickly, like a little kid who is being pressed for information by the principal and knows he has no choice but to speak. Lisbon felt her heart skip a beat at his words, an electric trill of horror shot through her like lightning. She couldn't speak. Then, she could speak.
"Charlotte? Are you sure?"
"We triple-checked, Boss. And before you ask, Charlotte was finger-printed in nursery school as part of a missing kid prevention program or something. I don't know if Jane even knows about it, the signature on the permission slip was Angela's..."
"And Boss? The scary part?" Rigsby's voice had fallen in volume, as if what he was about to say was scaring him badly. Lisbon didn't say anything.
"The fingerprints are larger than the ones from the nursery school program. Same prints, but larger fingers."
When Lisbon spoke it was only to swear lightly. Rigsby ignored it.
"Did you listen to the CD?" She already knew that they would have.
"Uh... that is audiotape of a young child, aged 4 to 6 according to the techs here, female, just talking. My guess is..."
"Yeahm" Lisbon rubbed at her eyes. She felt like she was dreaming. Maybe she was dreaming? God, she hoped so.
"Do I want to know what the child on that recording is talking about?"
"Uh... Boss? The kid... the little girl? This is fucked up. I mean..." Rigsby's voice had a tremor in it now, an honest-to-God tremor. "She is asking questions about death, about murder, all sorts of weird shit like that but the voice that is answering her... the voice that is answering her..."
Lisbon's blood ran in waves of hot and then freezing cold. She'd remembered her maternal grandmother telling her as a little girl that evil felt cold, not hot, that if Hell was real it was probably frigid and icy. That grandmother had been a spiritualist and an eccentric. She'd said when evil energies were present- dark spirits or vengeful ghosts- the air in a room could suddenly get cold spots. Lisbon had been fascinated as a little girl and had, over time, come to believe her grandmother had been suffering from some sort of dementia with psychotic overtones. But now, right now, the air she was standing in felt cold, alarmingly cold, as if something was sucking the energy right out of the atoms all around her.
"On the CD there are two voices. One is a little girl's. The other one belongs to..." Rigsby was trying to get the words out but he seemed unable to do manage it. Lisbon helped him.
"The other voice is Red John's." Lisbon finished for him. She could see his face, could imagine what he looked like right now: confused and scared, bewildered and guilty. Guilty that he was the one having to bring this information to her.
"Y-yeah."
-Chapter End- Please review.