A/N: It's probably useless to keep apologizing for how long it takes me to get a chapter together. I guess I can't make any promises of when the chapters will come, but I can promise I haven't given up on this fic, and will definitely finish it. Thanks so much for your patience, and also a special thanks to those who are reading, reviewing, and favoriting my old stories. That makes me very happy
Chapter 7
Lisbon found that her dreams since she became pregnant were generally much more vivid, and occasionally ran to the bizarre or disturbing. And so it was that she found herself in the middle of a dream about her first time making love with Jane. Just like when it had actually happened nearly a year before, she felt incredibly nervous, and equally turned on.
It was a few weeks after their first kiss in the TSA detention center, after they'd gone on a couple of actual dates—to dinner, to a movie. At the end of each, they'd necked in the car in front of her house like teenagers, both of them happy to take things slowly, to learn the shape of each other's mouths, the feel of hot hands over clothes, the soft, surprised moans that hummed in their throats. On their third official date, she invited him in.
They made out on her couch for several thrilling minutes, until, wordlessly, with swollen lips and rosy cheeks, she took his hand and led him to her bedroom. His usual sure, graceful hands shook as he slipped her peasant dress off her shoulders, bent his head to kiss the crook of her neck. Her hands wandered into his thick hair, holding him to her breasts. She could hear his heavy breathing even over her own, felt the need gathering in her belly, spreading to everywhere he touched, everywhere he kissed. Then they were naked and on the bed and he was inside of her at last. All the love scenes from those romance novels she still hid beneath her pillow were suddenly closer to reality than she could have ever dreamed.
As their passion built, she felt a sudden, sharp pain low between her legs, and she cried out, but not in ecstasy. Her eyes opened wide to find, not Jane, but Red John hovering menacingly over her, a linoleum knife in hand, her womb now full and tight with her child. She looked down to see blood—lots and lots of blood, and she screamed in terror.
Lisbon awoke, her breathing fast, heartbeat pounding in her ears in her empty room. She was disoriented, her nightmare warring with reality. Her hands went to the place that had been so painful in her dreams, and she felt a sticky wetness there. Hand shaking, she brought it to the light of the bedside lamp. When she saw her fingertips coated with blood, she really screamed.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Jane sat fidgeting in the back seat of the rented SUV. One leather shod foot tapped anxiously, and he had to lace his fingers together to stop them from moving. He hadn't felt clear headed enough to drive, so Cho had done the honors, Rigsby riding shotgun. Grace remained at home, watching over the kids and manning the computers should they need more guidance or information.
She had narrowed the Visualize-owned properties to three that fit Jane's suggested parameters. The most likely in Jane's mind was in Solano County, but the other two were along the way, and Jane wanted to be sure they had turned every stone as quickly as possible. The place they were heading to now was on the outskirts of San Francisco, up in the hills overlooking the Bay. It was supposedly empty, had once been a guest home for visiting Visualize dignitaries. In that part of the city, it was likely very posh, and Jane wondered why it hadn't been sold long before to fill Red John's coffers if it was no longer in use.
They arrived via GPS at a huge iron gate, the Visualize logo of the wide open eye recreated in wrought iron. There was a padlock on a chain locking the gate to the fence, but at one time there had been a key pad that would have unlocked it automatically with a code. Jane hopped out of the SUV, the gate by no means convincing him this was the wrong place. In a matter of seconds, he'd picked the lock with the small pair of picks he kept on his keychain and thrown open the gate. He got back in as Cho slowly drove down the long drive.
"When we get to the house, stay in the car," Cho was saying. "Let Rigsby and I check things out first."
Jane nodded, but his hand went to his suit coat pocket, feeling the comforting weight of the small pistol he'd borrowed (without asking) from the Rigsby home. They really should use something other than their anniversary date for their safe, he'd thought earlier. I thought they were security experts. They might have loaned him a gun had he asked, but some habits were just too hard to break, especially for Patrick Jane.
The house at the end of the drive was beautiful, a white stucco two-story with a Spanish villa flair, red tiled roof and all. The gardens around the home were lush and well-maintained—this didn't go unnoticed by Cho and Rigsby, who looked at each other knowingly. Cho backed a little into the cover of the eucalyptus trees that lined the drive. "Stay here," he said again to Jane. Jane, of course, answered in the affirmative, though of course he always looked at orders as mere suggestions.
Jane watched as the old partners stalked closer to the home, hiding behind trees and bushes, guns drawn, eyes shifting left and right. He almost smiled to see them fall back so easily into their well-practiced, familiar routine. They peeped into the low windows of the house, nodded to each other. Something was clearly off, Jane deduced, and he tensed, bringing out his gun just in case. After continuing their search by going around the back of the house, they disappeared out of sight, just as the man no doubt responsible for maintaining the garden came round from the opposite side. He wore sunglasses and a wide-brimmed straw hat, his face partly covered by a full, gray beard. He wore jeans, work boots, and a blue cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, showing tan forearms. There was something vaguely familiar about him.
Jane instinctively felt no fear of this man, and he got out of the vehicle, making no special movements to quiet his exit. He re-pocketed his pistol. Immediately, the man's gaze shot toward the strange car, and he stood there frozen, until Jane saw the undoubtable recognition in his stance. So, they did know each other.
Jane gave a friendly wave.
"Patrick Jane," said Jason Cooper.
It was Jane's turn to freeze. Yes, now he could see beyond his disguise, recognized the distinct voice, the hint of a Philly accent, despite having lived for years in California.
"Jason Cooper. You're supposed to be dead."
Cooper removed his sunglasses. "Yeah, well, you of all people should know that you shouldn't always believe what you hear."
Jane smiled. "Fair enough. So, you faked your death and have been in hiding here? Is anyone else here? Like perhaps…my wife?" His friendly smile turned steely.
"Your wife? I didn't even know you were married, Mr. Jane. Say, let's get out of the sun and talk. Would you like something cool to drink?"
By this time, Cho and Rigsby had finished their circuit around the house and approached the pair on the front yard with trepidation.
"You remember my friends, Rigsby and Cho," Jane said. "Guys, this is the illusive Jason Cooper."
The men squinted as they tried to recall Bret Stiles's old right-hand man. At about the same time, they lowered their weapons.
"You're not dead," said Rigsby.
"We just established that," said Jane pleasantly. "Jason here just offered me a cold drink. Shall we, gentlemen?"
Cooper let them to a small, covered courtyard to the right of the front door. Beneath the patio table, he kept a small ice chest, and from it he brought forth cold bottles of water. The men took them gratefully and sat in chairs around the table, the pleasant fragrance of various flowers hanging heavily in the air, mixing with the salty breeze from the Bay.
"Now what's this about your wife?" Cooper asked. He seemed somewhat unconcerned to have been discovered alive.
"Red John took her."
"Red John's dead, if I recall. You killed him, didn't you, not long after he killed Bret? Thanks for that, by the way." He toasted Jane with his water bottle before taking a big gulp.
Jane frowned. "What were you just saying about not believing what you hear? You know he's still alive. I'd hazard a guess that's the reason you're hiding out here. When Partridge showed up at Visualize to take over, you saw the writing on the wall and got out before he could take you out. He knew your loyalty to Bret-well, despite that brief rocky patch of the past—and rightly guessed you would try to kill him out of vengeance."
Cooper sighed. He realized there was no sense lying to Patrick Jane. They were going to do what they must, and he had no intention nor means of fighting them. He sighed, taking off his hat, wiping the sweat off his shiny, bald head with a red bandana from his pocket.
"You're right in all you've surmised, Mr. Jane. I arranged to die in a boating accident. They never found my body, of course. My ex-wife was unwittingly very helpful, calling the Coast Guard after I didn't return home from a fishing trip. All they found was my empty boat. Many blamed Visualize for my disappearance, but of course, nothing was ever proven. Even my former wife was a suspect, but they could find no motive for her killing me. Before my death, I had taken this house out of the Visualize database of properties. Bret and I were the only ones left at the church who would have remembered this place existed; it hadn't been used in awhile, was pretty run-down. I'd quietly transferred my personal savings to a foreign bank, and have been living here in peace the last few years, fixing things up, growing my garden, enjoying my retirement."
"Your aloneness," Jane added, and Cooper nodded in agreement.
"The house is still in the county records," said Rigsby.
Cooper shrugged. "I've continued to pay taxes on it, so it's kept the regulators away. I guess that oversight led you to me."
"We're not looking for you," said Cho. "We don't care that you're hiding out here. We want Teresa Lisbon. You know where Partridge might be keeping her?"
"You married Agent Lisbon then, Mr. Jane? Well, congratulations. Since you haven't been searching for Red John the past five years, I'm assuming you didn't know he was alive until that recent incident at a certain asylum. I'm sad he's come out of retirement, truly. He was always a thorn in Bret's side."
Cooper took another drink of water, suddenly feeling the deep need to confess—a tenant he'd become accustomed to when he'd been with Visualize.
"Red John broke away from the church long ago, wanting it to be more of a means of control and mayhem than as a religious organization. He had a strange fascination with Charles Manson and Jim Jones. He thought Bret was missing an opportunity, thought he was wasting his talent. When he started killing, Bret suggested he go out on his own, start his own following. A few original Visualize members went with him, and he formed The Blake Association, went by the name of Red John. Bret was genuinely frightened of the man, saw in him a dangerous, psychotic arrogance. He used the same methods he'd learned from Bret, but took them to a far more nefarious, and yes, evil level. He used hypnosis and mind control methods to keep his members in line rather than to help them find self-actualization. He formed a cult of murder and fear instead of inner peace. He even went by the name Brett in his cover occupation—an homage to his original mentor who he still, until the moment he murdered him, seemed to admire. He'd laughingly said the extra T in his name stood for Trouble. But his real name had been Roy, if I remember correctly…"
Jane's curiosity about Cooper's disappearing act was quickly giving way to impatience. Cooper was filling in a few blanks about the rise of Red John, about his connection to Visualize, but none of this was surprising now, and he pushed these new details to the back of his mind to contemplate later. Right now, Lisbon's whereabouts was the only thing he really wanted to know. Indeed, the clock in his head had begun ticking again, even louder than before.
"Where could Partridge have taken her," Jane demanded. "Tell us, and we'll leave you in peace. If you lie, I'll know, and Cho will haul you in for fraud, and whatever other crimes Visualize committed while you were in charge."
Cooper met Jane's eyes straight on. "I'm sorry, but I really don't know. We haven't exactly kept in touch, given that if he knew I was alive I'd soon be dead."
Jane stared into his eyes, felt his heart sinking as he saw the truth there.
"I really hope you find her, Patrick, and if I knew, I swear I would tell you. I would like nothing better than to see him wiped off the face of the earth—for good this time. Then, maybe I could come out of hiding myself, albeit under an assumed name."
"We have two more possible locations we've narrowed it down to," said Cho, as Jane sat back heavily in his chair, despondent. Perhaps there was still some valuable information the former cultist could share. "One, an old Visualize farm near Napa, and an old duck hunting clubhouse on Grizzly Island. What do you know about these places?"
Cooper cocked his head, considering, reaching back through the years to the familiar old places.
"The Napa place was a vineyard, another experiment Bret had tried, much in the same vein as the old Elliston farm that went under in the 80s. Members would farm it, and we had some success with wine production for a few years in the 90s. But a blight hit the grapes, and the soil around it afterwards was deemed unproductive. Bret still loved the place, and there was a beautiful house there, so he never sold it. Last I knew, there was a couple living there that took care of the place, but I have no idea what's become of it. As for the hunting club, it was converted to a facility for new members, to isolate them from the temptations of civilization, and we used it for about five years in the mid-nineties. But it turned out to be too impractical because we had to haul in drinking water since the tap was too briny, despite our investment in a filtration system, and supplies weren't readily available. But we hung onto the place. I think Bret went out there hunting every year still, up until his death. He loved roast duck."
"So both places are off the beaten path," said Rigsby. "Good hideouts for Red John?"
Cooper nodded. "Yes, I suppose they would be. Grizzly Island definitely more so, since the most direct route is by boat."
Jane's expression perked up at that. "That's what I was thinking," he said. "Let's go, boys. I think the duck club could be it." They all rose.
"Be careful," Cooper warned ominously. "You can hear a boat coming for a mile down the slough there, and you can bet if he's there, he'll have plenty of armed guards keeping watch."
"I wouldn't expect less," said Jane.
"I hope you find your wife, I really do. Red John has taken too many innocent lives."
Jane held up his hand in a Vulcan sign. "Thanks, Cooper. Live long and prosper."
Cooper's eyebrows shot up at his mocking. "And you all as well."
Back in the SUV, as they followed the curving street back down out of the hills, Cho glanced in the rearview mirror at Jane.
"You trust that guy?"
"He's telling the truth about this, if that's what you mean," Jane replied.
"You don't think he got on the phone to Partridge the second we left?" asked Rigsby.
"No. I believe him. He seemed just as afraid of Red John as Stiles had been. Afraid enough to have helped placate him all those years, then to fake his own death. He knew what the man was capable of, must have known he had people in law enforcement, so turning him in would have been a death sentence for them both. Stiles was no angel, but he didn't kill just for the fun of it, and I think the worst Cooper probably did was turn a blind eye."
"That's not nothing," said Cho. "I have half a mind to call Hightower and tell her where he is."
Jane shrugged. "You'll be sentencing him to death if you do. He doesn't seem to be hurting anyone anymore where he is now. If, however, we find out he was lying, burn the whole damn place down with my blessing."
Cho's lips quirked. "I'll keep that in mind."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
It was only moments after Lisbon's scream before her door was thrown open, and Rosalind and Muscles came in, concern written all over Rosalind's face, annoyance on the henchman's.
"What is it, Teresa? What's wrong? Is it the baby?"
Lisbon had had just enough time to sit up in her bed, and as her ability to distinguish reality from her dream increased, she looked once more at her hand. There was actually only a little blood on her fingers, not the carnage from her dream.
"I-uh, let me go to the bathroom a minute," she said, glancing self-consciously at Muscles.
"Are you hurt?" Rosalind asked anxiously.
"I'm not sure. Give me a minute, okay?"
Lisbon walked gingerly to the door, still afraid despite things seeming much less serious than she'd initially imagined. After a few minutes, she washed her hands and opened the door a crack.
"Rosalind, may I speak to you privately a minute," she said softly.
"I don't think—" began Muscles.
"It's a woman thing," said Lisbon firmly, knowing that if there was anything to get a man to back down it was to threaten to talk about "woman things" in front of them.
"I'll be okay," Rosalind said. "You can wait there."
Rosalind felt her way toward Lisbon's voice, pausing finally at the bathroom door.
"How can I help?" she whispered.
"I'm bleeding," Lisbon confided. "Not very much, but I think blood at this late stage is concerning. I'm not in any pain at the moment, but I think a pain woke me up in the middle of a nightmare, and that's why I screamed. I really think I should see a doctor, just to be safe."
"Oh my God. Do you think you could be losing the baby?"
Lisbon said a quick prayer against that suggestion. "No. I don't think so, but I'm not going to lie. I'm a little shaken by this." She thought of how she'd been grabbed so roughly that morning, practically thrown in the van, then jostled around like a penny in a tin can all the way to the island, not to mention the stress and fear inherent in the entire situation.
"I don't know," Rosalind said hesitantly. "I mean, Roy said we could have a midwife here when your time came. He was really trying to make sure this whole thing was a private affair, considering we'll be bypassing all the paperwork for the adoption and all."
Lisbon assessed the woman before her, saw the denial, the fear of troubling Red John, even for a possible emergency situation like this. She also spied a kind of way to get help, to get out of here.
"I don't want to lose this baby, Rosalind. Do you?"
"No. No, of course not. I'll do what I can."
"Please. I'm really scared. In the meantime, I'm gonna need some clean underthings, and also a change of clothes or two, if possible. And some feminine products. Can you help me?"
"Roy has someone coming from town bringing you a few necessities already, but I have what you need until then. Maybe you should lie down, take it easy, okay? I'll bring you everything, along with some tea."
Lisbon let Rosalind walk her back to the bed, hamming up her helplessness. Halfway there, she faked a sudden pain, pretended it nearly brought her to her knees.
"Oh my God, Teresa! Are you all right?"
"I think I'm getting worse," she said, forcing her voice to tremble. Jane would be so proud of me, she thought, and had to resist smiling about it. "I—I think I need to go to the hospital."
She climbed into the bed, leaning as heavily as she dared on the other woman's willowy frame.
"I'll go talk to Roy right now!"
"Thank you," said Lisbon weakly, and the two visitors left her.
Lisbon lay against the pillow and closed her eyes. The bleeding had already stopped before she'd left the bathroom, and she'd had no pain at all since she'd awakened. She'd recently read in her pregnancy guide at home what to expect in the fifth month, how if a woman were to have spotting then, it could mean a condition called placenta previa. If she remembered correctly, this was when the placenta blocked the cervix. If she had this condition, there was probably nothing she could do about it except rest, but she was afraid that it could mean complications during delivery. This was especially frightening if she was still imprisoned in this godforsaken place.
Please God, let me pull this off.
The door opened again, but instead of Rosalind with her tea and fresh clothes, it was her host himself. She felt the color drain from her face, her heart pick up its pace. She sat up in bed. It was still surreal to see Brett Partridge's familiar, benign face and know that he was a monster.
"What's all the hullabaloo, Teresa," he said, in a voice less whiny than she remembered. "Getting Rosalind all worked up about losing your baby. If this is a trick, I suggest you stop it now."
She shook her head. "No. No trick, I swear. I—I was bleeding. That's not normal for five months of pregnancy." She was blushing now, as she would discussing such personal things with any man.
He moved closer to her bed, his eyes cold and unfeeling, like a shark's, she thought. Why had she never noticed that before? And then, from his chino pants' pocket, he brought out the very knife from her nightmare, its curved blade kept wickedly sharp. She'd read all about his suspected weapon in nearly every Red John case she'd seen in the CBI file. When he lowered the knife to her belly, she could hear her own breathing in the quiet room. Darkness gathered around the edges of her vision, and she thought she might faint.
"Can a baby survive outside the womb at five months," he asked almost casually, the pointed tip of his knife barely touching the fabric of her top. He slowly drew it back and forth, just where a surgeon's caesarean cut would be. She was too frightened to answer.
"I know my way around a woman's body, Teresa, as well as inside of it. You're just a vessel; worthless to me without the treasure you carry. Remember that, won't you, before you attempt to outfox me. The great Patrick Jane wasn't successful, and your feminine wiles are certainly no match for me. I suggest you think about the life of your baby and gracefully accept your current situation."
Suddenly, he pressed down on his knife, and she felt the sting of the point through her blouse. She gasped. Without daring to look down, she knew he'd drawn blood.
"Are we clear, Teresa?" he demanded, with a macabre smile.
She nodded quickly, unable to speak had she wanted to. And then he was gone, the door closing and locking softly behind him. Lisbon proceeded to hyperventilate, lying in an exhausted stupor until Rosalind returned with tea.
A/N: Thanks as always for reading.