Chapter 3

Teresa

The hurricane had come suddenly and violently, and now it was sworn to rock the vessel to destruction. I had wedged myself in the corner of my bed and pressed my shoulders against the wall, cradling my cross in my fingers. I prayed for forgiveness and for peace. I prayed that my niece would be in safe hands and that Grace and her baby would at least survive.

I could not see for it was completely dark. I did not dare light a lamp for fear it would fall on the floor and light everything on fire. My trunks slammed against one wall, then the other.

Oh God, I thought. It wasn't fair for me to die like this—alone, in a sea storm. I had so many things left to do. So many people that depended on me.

Still, despite my precarious circumstances, I didn't feel like crying. It wasn't like my tears would stop the ship from sinking. Madam would be pleased, I thought. Even in my last moments I had not appeared weak.

The door opened with a bang, startling me. Mr. Jane stood in the entrance, his figure a distinct shape against the light from the hallway.

I stared at him, my breath caught in my throat. The way he had appeared—so suddenly, and bringing light to the darkness—it was almost like an angel had rained from the sky. He was soaked to the bone, his hair clasped to his forehead, his shirt and blue trousers pressed to his body. I had not been aware of his well-sculpted physique. Now it served as a distraction.

His mere presence soothed my terror. We were going to die still. But at least, I wouldn't be alone.

"Hell of a wind kicking up," he said casually, walking inside. He held my eyes for a moment—if he'd spotted the terror in them, he'd pretended not to—and licked the rain from his lips. "I'm soaked through." He tossed his bedroll and his discarded vest in the corner of the room, then shook his head like a dog.

The ship tilted and I'd forgotten to hold. I slammed my hand back on the wall, grabbed the bedframe with the other, preventing myself from an embarrassing fall.

He whistled nonchalantly, his hands moving to the buttons of his shirt. He hesitated, his gaze wavering between the open door and his body. He turned to me.

"Do you prefer sitting in the dark?"

I struggled to find my voice, opening my mouth several times. I shook my head, "No, I don't. It's just the lamp might fall and light the cabin on fire."

He nodded, then patted his lower lip with his finger. Abruptly, he turned toward the entrance.

"Where are you going?" The question came sharper and shakier than I intended. How pathetic I must seem to him, I thought. Though his opinion should matter little at this hour. Still, I didn't want to show weakness.

"Just getting the lantern from the hallway," he explained, already having returned to the room by then.

He closed the door and secured the lamp on a wall hook, as one of my suitcases went flying again. My grip tightened on the bedframe.

Mr. Jane sat down on the trunk that had just flown to his feet. He acted as though the ship had just offered him a seat—such was the negligence of his manner. He carefully took upon removing his shoes and his socks. His nonchalance was almost admirable.

Or incredibly foolish.

"Aren't you at all concerned?" I wondered.

He shrugged, not looking at me. "It's just a little rain and wind, Teresa."

He started unbuttoning his shirt. My eyes traced the line of skin he slowly exposed, almost of their own accord. I found I was curious to see what he would uncover.

"Have you been in many such storms?" I asked, dazed.

His attention moved to me then. I quickly averted my eyes from his bare chest.

"Certainly," he said, holding my gaze firmly.

His expression reminded me of my brother when he lied to my face. He would always hold his features in control, not even batting an eyelash.

I turned my head to the side, narrowing my eyes. "No, you haven't," I accused.

He frowned. "Yes, I have."

I shook my chin. "I can tell that you're lying," I reassured him.

His frown deepened. "No, you can't possibly tell that."

My voice grew thin. "So you admit that you are in fact lying."

He stared at me in what I registered as a shock. I almost expected him to deny my accusation anew, but to my surprise, he owned up to it.

"Alright, I haven't," he admitted. "But still, I don't think we are in danger."

"I wonder if I will be asleep when I drown," I muttered to the ceiling, ignoring him.

"You won't drown, Teresa," he stated firmly. The intensity in his words had my face turning. I looked at him, bewildered. He'd said I wouldn't drown, but his eyes told me something different. They told me that he wouldn't let me. And even though I knew he couldn't fight a hurricane, I felt calm and reassured all of a sudden.

I nodded, realizing he expected an answer from me. Warmth climbed in my cheeks, as I suddenly became more aware of his half-nakedness.

He stood up and my eyes trailed to his narrow waist, inadvertently. I flipped my gaze upwards just as it was about to wander further down. He gave me a look then and said, waving a hand, "You might want to look elsewhere."

It took me a moment to understand. I blushed vividly, feeling like an idiot. My head snapped toward the opposite wall. "Yes, of course, I'm sorry." What was I apologizing for? Gawking at his manhood? I closed my eyes, wanting to drown already.

It seemed the ocean might have obeyed my wish, because right at that instant the ship dived and this time, I didn't manage to brace myself soon enough, lost as I was in my feelings of embarrasment. I went flying. He caught me in his arms before I could roll down to the floor.

I froze, as his face came inches from mine. He was warm and wet under my fingers. His touch radiated his strength into my being. His eyes bore into mine. The usual control I saw in them had vanished, revealing softness and vulnerability. Abruptly, his gaze trailed to my mouth and back. I couldn't breathe. He was diverting my thoughts. I was picturing him kissing me.

It felt like we were staring at each other for an eternity. Thankfully, his words pulled me from my trance.

"I should probably sleep on top of the covers," he suggested, his warm breath washing my face. Despite the upheaval in his eyes, his voice was steady. "That way it will be more comfortable for us to share the bed."

I nodded. Of course, he wouldn't be sleeping up on deck tonight, as he had done the previous nights. And even without his wet bedroll, the suitcases would drive him insane on the floor. His offer was sensible enough, and quite the act of a gentleman. I didn't expect him to be so considerate of my maidenhood. It was rather sweet of him. And at the same time, it made me wonder whether it meant that he simply didn't find me attractive.

I was annoyed at myself. Whether he did or did not find me attractive should not be a matter of significance to me at all.

He let me go and I rushed back to my side of the bed, pulling up the covers. I closed my eyes. I heard him as he took off his pants, then walked over to his trunk to put on fresh clothes. I pressed myself still when I felt the mattress give under his weight.

There was a perfect line of space between us and for that I was grateful. Then, the ship lurched and I fell on his back. I apologized, turning as red as a beet, and scooted back to my place, only to fall onto him again a while later.

I sighed. If, after all, we didn't drown, this was going to be a long night.


Patrick

She kept slamming onto my back. I came to expect her groans and consecutive apologies each time the ship swayed. She'd be black an blue by the morning, I thought.

"Perhaps it will help you to sleep on your chest," I mumbled against my pillow.

I waited, then heard her toss to adjust her position. I felt her shoulder barely touch my back and so now I was certain there was no space for her to fly over. I waited for her breathing to relax, but it never did.

"I can't breathe," she complained after a while, turning over to her side again.

I started counting.

One, two, three, fou—

Her groan came before I could utter the number in my mind.

Before she started pulling herself away, I turned over. I felt her go completely still, as I threw my arm around her waist and pulled her up close to me.

"Whatever are you doing?" she demanded.

"Helping you sleep," I replied.

She lay tense for a moment. I half-expected her to push me away, but then she exhaled. She softly nudged my head out of the way to gather her hair and put them on the other side of her neck, then moved to make herself comfortable in my arms. I heard her yawn, a sound that made me smile. She finally relaxed.

Her scent blocked my senses. She smelled so good. Like cinnamon. Her body felt soft and silky in my embrace. Just like before, when I'd held her in my arms, inches from my face, I had the urging desire to lean in. I wanted to bury my face in her hair and inhale her sweet fragrance.

But deep down I knew I was lying to myself. I wanted more. I wanted to taste her, I wanted to—

I controlled myself. I couldn't let her drive me to distraction. She was nothing but a means to an end, I reminded myself. A necessary bargain that would lead me to Red John.

"Mr. Jane?" I heard her whisper. I flinched at the formality.

"Yes?"

"Are you sleeping?"

"I believe I'm not," I answered.

"Ha-ha," she mocked.

I had the impression she wanted to chat to take her mind off of the storm. In truth, I had qualms about it myself. But the terror I'd discerned in her eyes when I first walked into the room had prevented me from sharing them. The last thing I wanted was a hysterical woman on my hands.

But she hadn't gotten hysterical at all. In fact, I'd been surprised to not see a single tear on her face. Teresa Lisbon was terrified and yet still acted noble and succinct at the face of death. And she maintained enough of her clarity of mind that she'd gone and seen through my lies.

For some reason, I wanted her to not be afraid and so I indulged her.

"Something you wanted to discuss?" I asked.

She didn't answer immediately. I realized whatever was in her mind had to be of certain significance. Her voice was barely audible when she spoke.

"Have you ever had a fear so unrealistic, it almost consumed you?" she asked.

Blood, red and fresh dripping from the wall, shaped in the form of a smiley face with slanted eyes. It flashed in front of my eyes suddenly. A closed door hiding a tragedy. A dreaded note heralding death. The smell of blood mixed with strawberry and cream. My wife and daughter brutally murdered on their beds.

I felt the beast inside me growl with its need for vengeance. The need was so fierce and so wild, it blackened my sight for a moment. Oh the things I would do once I found the monster—the beast calmed at the thought. It was willing to be patient. It would play along.

"When I was a little girl, I was afraid of a falcon my father brought home," Teresa's soft voice broke through my reverie.

Her childish fear held such contrast to my own bloody nightmare that it instantly sparked my interest.

"It didn't matter that it was in a cage," Teresa continued, "I wanted the bloody thing gone. Have you ever noticed how sharp their claws are?"

"Why were you so afraid?" I asked her, genuinely curious.

"My uncle Volker told me the falcon liked green eyes." A shiver shook her body. "I still get the shivers when I think about it."

I had a suspicion her uncle was involved somewhere in this.

"Your uncle had a cruel sense of humor," I remarked. Then, I added, "He's also one of your fears." It wasn't a question.

I felt her stiffen, confirming my suspicion. I wished I'd gotten the chance to meet her relative, if only to understand what sort of man he was. If I was to judge from her reaction, he wasn't anyone kind. Her complete silence told me she wasn't keen on enlightening me either.

"What other unreasonable fears do you have?" I asked, not ready to let go of our nightly conversation.

"Right now?" she started in a humorous tone. "I am afraid of getting seasick."

I smiled at the back of her head. "You're right," I agreed. "Totally unreasonable."

"Actually, it's not," she defended. "My great uncle Virgil travelled on the original Emerald. He never stopped telling me how much he hated the journey, as he was nauseous during the entirety of it. I could have easily inherited his vulnerability."

The loving manner in which she spoke of her great uncle told me she held him in high esteem. "What was your great uncle's reaction when you told him you would be travelling on yet another Emerald?" I asked.

"He wished me luck—" she started with a smile in her voice, which quickly faded. "Wait, how did you know I told him?"

I shrugged. "Obviously you're close. My guess is he was the kind of father you never had. That's where you were before coming to your grandmother's, am I wrong?"

She cleared her throat. "Uncle Virgil lives in the Highlands of Scotland. Madam was always worried about the influence he had on me."

"Why is that?"

"My great uncle, he... has taught me many valuable lessons," she said enigmatically.

"Care to elaborate?"

She hesitated. "He taught me all about guns and rifles, Mr. Jane. He trained me well and so now I can aim with accuracy."

"Could you shoot a man?" I asked, smiling.

The thought of Teresa aiming and shooting a gun was beyond entertaining. It was also kind of arousing, I noticed, carefully putting some distance between our lower bodies.

"Perhaps. It depends."

My smile broadened. "Depends on what?"

She tensed. "If I was protecting someone I love, I would definitely pull the trigger," she stated, her tone suddenly defensive.

I realized my smile had given her the wrong impression. She thought I was coddling her.

"I am most certain you would," I told her sincerely. What had she told that woman? She had justified her shooting her lover as an act of self-defense. Teresa was not entirely against the concept of murder. Not when it meant justice.

The question was, would she also indulge killing for revenge?

But that shouldn't matter, I reminded myself. Her opinion on my motives was of zero significance to me.

My answer seemed to give her pause.

"What about you?" she asked then.

"What about me?" I returned, raising my guard. I had no desire to turn the conversation to myself.

"Would you shoot to kill?" she asked.

I stared at blank. "Without blinking an eye."

The words hanged in the air between us for a moment, charging the atmosphere.

I didn't know what had goaded this kind of reply out of my lips. But I did not regret it. Part of me wanted to see her reaction.

Her breath was even, her shoulders relaxed.

"Mr. Jane?" she whispered.

"You know, I do have a first name," I reminded her.

"I'm sorry... Patrick."

I liked the way it rolled off her tongue, in her unique raspy voice.

"It occured to me that we never finished that conversation in the carriage," she pointed out.

I shrank, not at all fond of where this was leading.

"Which conversation?" I asked, playing the fool.

"I think you know," she replied firmly, once again seeing through my facade.

"I think I don't," I insisted, hoping she would simply quit.

"Seriously?" She pushed herself out of my grip and sat up to face me. "We might not exist tomorrow and you want to play the secretive and mysterious now? You'd better start talking."

I rolled my eyes. "We're not going to die, Teresa. Go back to sleep."

She shook her head. "You don't know that."

I frowned. "What does it matter?" I tried a different approach then. "Our ways will part in one way or another."

Her eyes were fierce. "I think I deserve to know the truth about the man whose name I will be carrying for the rest of my life," she stated.

She was quite convictive, I had to give her that. And she was right. She deserved to know.

I sighed, scooting upwards. I fluffed up my pillow and leaned back. Teresa tuck her knees into her arms, her eyes wide and attentive.

I held her gaze firmly.

"I quit the carnival when I escaped with my wife, Angela," I started, carefully monitoring her expression.

Her eyes widened with surprise, then shrank with suspicion.

"We lived at my ranch in Montana for nearly ten years, where we had our daughter, Charlotte." I struggled to keep my voice even as I uttered their names.

"Three years ago, the serial killer named Red John murdered my wife and child after I slandered his name over the newspaper."

Her mouth gaped open. "Dear God, that was you," she said in realization.

"After I dealt with the grief of their loss, I decided to hunt him down."

A furrow developed between her brows, one she seemed unaware of.

"Last year, I broke into the police quarters in New York in order to get information about his last whereabouts. Unfortunately, a police officer caught me and threw me into prison. I escaped in a matter of days and had been on the run until your grandmother made contact with me. She would help clear my record with the police and in addition, provide me with helpful information regarding my mission."

She shook her head. "I don't understand, how could Madam chance upon such information?"

"That is also something I question myself."

She stared at me quietly for several seconds, considering my explanation. Then, she narrowed her eyes.

"A complete stranger tells you to sail across the seas under the claim they have information you desire and you simply believe them?"

"She made a compelling case," I defended. "The man who delivered her telegram to me was police, he could have simply arrested me, but he didn't. And if she was Red John's accomplice, it meant he had reached out to me, how could I deny the opportunity? Whatever her motives were, she went through a good amount of trouble to find me and I admit, she sparked my curiosity."

"You said 'if she was', does that mean you no longer believe she could be working with your nemesis?"

"If she is, she's very good at hiding it."

She frowned. "Do you think I could be working with him?" Her voice raised up a notch.

"I don't know, could you?"

She gasped. "Is that a serious question?"

I didn't answer immediately—her vexation was entirely fascinating. Then I smiled. "Relax, I am just messing with you."

She huffed. "Very funny."

We eased into silence, staring blatantly into each other's eyes. I was surprised to find comfort in our state. I felt no need to withdraw my gaze or fill the quiet with words. It was as though our thoughts simply picked up from where we left off.

Her look was bewildered, but not scared. What did it mean? Did she condone my intentions? Did she feel disgusted by them?

"What will happen when you find the man?" she asked then, confirming that our thoughts were in fact on the same wavelength.

I didn't answer for a long while. I have every intention of killing the monster, I wanted to tell her. But that was already evident enough. I was certain she had figured out the answer herself and simply wanted to hear it.

"I will finish what he started," I said.

She weighed my answer for a moment. "You can't let vengeance rule your life, Patrick," she said. There was sincere care in her eyes.

I smiled, shaking my head. "I appreciate your concern."

"I mean it, you should let it go, move on with your life."

"I can't," I said, all humor lost from my voice. Then I shrugged. "Now you know everything."

"Thank you for being so honest with me," she almost whispered, staring right into my soul.

"Sorry I kept it from you."

She nodded.

There was a bright side to the odd turn in the conversation. Teresa was so caught up in her bewilderment over my life's tragedy that she had forgotten to be afraid of the storm.

We spoke little after that. She slipped back into her sleeping position and I adjusted mine as her anchor. She was quickly lulled to sleep, something I envied about her. But I didn't have to feel envy for long, for her sweet aroma and pure innocence enveloped me, keeping my nightmares at bay.

I slept like a baby.

When I woke at dawn, the ship was finally at peace, and the light from the lantern had almost died out. I realized my nose was directly over Teresa's neck and my thigh had found its way over her legs. She was flush against me.

I wanted to wake her up and make love to her. I wanted her with an intensity that terrified me.

I jerked away as though someone had splashed cold water all over me. My sudden movement made her stir. She tossed around and cuddled up against me in a brazen manner, while her arm caged my chest.

Could someone be both in hell and in heaven at the same time?

Her eyelashes softly curtained her cheeks, her lips were slightly parted. The air was sodden with her perfume. She was so peaceful. And damned beautiful.

For a long while, I battled with my lustful thoughts. What was wrong with me? I was normally more disciplined. She was a seductive woman alright. With her damaged intensity, her round emerald eyes that could command any man to his knees and her small, sensual lips that compelled me to kiss her whenever she used her authority on me. And currently she was only wearing a thin nightgown. It was natural that I'd gotten hard and wanted her, I reasoned with myself. In the morning haziness, wasn't one woman as good as the next?

But I knew I was lying again to myself.

The last time I'd felt any attraction for a woman was... Instinctively, I rubbed the ring on my finger.

The memory of my wife came to haunt me. I couldn't lose sight of her, I couldn't allow myself to move on. Not when her murderer ran loose out there, laughing at my shortcomings.

Carefully, I disentangled myself from Teresa's clasp.

In truth, I hadn't been intimate with a woman ever since my wife and so perhaps the answer to my temptation was to simply stay away from Teresa.

Satisfied with my conclusion, I paced to the corner of the room to retrieve my vest and jacket, before I sneaked outside.

The morning dew purified and ordered my thoughts. I stopped in the middle of the deck, turned my head to the sky and closed my eyes.

Eleven days were only left now until we reached Boston.


A/N: Thank you again for your lovely comments and for your continued interest in the story. More characters from the show will certainly make appearances. I can't wait for you to meet them in this AU.