Chapter 8
Teresa
A door banged, wood crashing on the wall.
"Hands in the air!" Kimball shouted.
Muffled sounds of protest. More shouting. A woman's voice mixed with a man's. The unfamiliar voices made my skin crawl. Suddenly, a blast, as if from metal connecting with bone. The woman uttered a half-cry before a second blast came.
"Really? A fireplace poker?" Kimball asked.
"Seems pretty effective," answered another voice.
Jane?
Metal clattered on the floor, footsteps rushed up stairs. A desperate cry shaped my name, echoing in the building. The sound of his voice was familiar and foreign at the same time, for I had never heard it so brittle, so deep with worry.
"Teresa!" This time he was closer and I had no doubt it was him.
Slowly, I opened my eyes.
Pain shot through my skull and I winced, sitting up. Jane's hand was on the side of my head at once. His face came into full focus, leaning over me with care, his gaze perusing my eyes.
"Jane," I mumbled.
He softly tugged at the skin under my eye with his thumb, while waving his other hand, a movement that vaguely reminded me of the family doctor that used to check me whenever Uncle Virgil's training lessons proved too harsh for my youthful physique.
"It's alright, you're alright," Jane said, and it sounded as though he was reassuring both me and himself.
He pulled me forward and gently squeezed me into his arms. My limbs moved as though of their own accord and tied around his back. I sighed. It was such a relief to see him.
Then, slowly, I remembered why I felt so relieved. I blinked, looked around. I was sitting on a cold floor, in a small, darkening room. Dusk light penetrated from a small window on the far wall. The smell of human sweat and spice was in the air.
"Wait," I started as I pulled myself out of his embrace. "How did you get here? Where are the Carters?"
As I uttered the words, I heard sounds of footsteps and clatter coming from somewhere underneath me.
"They're unconscious for the moment. Mr. Cho is searching the place downstairs."
"Kimball is here?" I asked, not sure which parts of my dream had been reality.
He nodded. "We arrived just in time. Come, let's get you out of here."
"Annabeth. We have to find Annabeth."
Something moved in one of the shadowy corners then. I took in a sharp breath and fixed my gaze in the direction.
"Oh," Jane uttered and it was evident in his reaction that he was only now registering the full scene in the room, which was so unlike him.
There, curled in the corner, lay a woman in a decaying state, her blond hair dirty, her skin bruised, her clothes torn in places. She returned my gaze with hollow, half-lidded eyes. Her lips opened and a croaky sound came from within. She was trying to say something, but it took all her effort.
"Uh, Mr. Cho?" Jane shouted. He got up and leaped to the door to get the man's audience.
"Annie," choked the woman finally.
Oh, no. It couldn't be.
I studied her characteristics with a new understanding now. Blond hair, a petite form, and underneath all that maltreatment, a woman no older than her twenties. There could only be one explanation.
"Ms. Edgecomb," I uttered in realization.
The young woman nodded, attempting a painful half-smile.
Kimball barged in before I could get any conversation out of her. His eyes first met mine. A brief sigh of relief, before he noticed the other hostage.
He ran to her aid.
"It's alright," he comforted her, carefully placing his palm on her clothed shoulder. "We're here to help. Can you stand up?"
Summer, as I remembered the nanny's first name was, shook her head negatively. The next instant, Kimball was lifting her up in his arms. The woman cried out, pain shaping the words for her.
"It hurts, it hurts!"
Kimball adjusted his arms, but Summer kept groaning.
"We're going to get you out of here, and then we'll stop the pain, okay?" Kimball promised her.
The woman bit her lip and nodded. Kimball turned to me then.
"There's no sign of your niece here. We'll have to question the Carters. Can you walk?"
I nodded, then looked at the nanny. I asked her if she knew anything about Annie's whereabouts. But Ms. Edgecomb only shook her head negatively again. It was doubtful that she would be able to talk to us before she received proper treatment.
I rose to my feet, immediately losing my focus. Jane caught me by the waist before I could trip over.
"Are you sure you can stand on your feet?" Kimball questioned.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," I reassured both of them. "I just got up too quickly."
Jane dropped his hand and let the other rest gently on the small of my back as we rushed down the stairs together. I managed to take a glimpse of the kitchen as we were exiting—the room was close by the entryway.
Sally and Timothy Carter lay tied to adjacent chairs, leaning sideways in deep unconsciousness.
The murderous rage that ignited inside me found me unprepared. The fury invaded my mind, blinded my sight. The vile, despicable animals, they would not get away with whatever they had done to Tommy's daughter!
Jane must have sensed my sudden tension. He stopped and cradled my hand with both of his, held my gaze softly, a promise in his eyes.
It was hard to believe that only hours ago we had been so intimate with each other. Annoying that his touch made my heart flutter even in such a gruesome predicament.
"You needn't worry," he said. "I will get the truth out of them."
He let my hand drop. I hardly had time to realize his words meant he was staying behind, before he left my side.
We walked out into the drizzle without Jane, our shoes making squishy sounds on the muddy road. I could not wait to escape this bleak environment.
The carriage was waiting for us on the other side of the street. I wondered fleetingly how they had managed to convince the driver to stay. They must have promised him an outrageous amount of fare.
Kimball handed me my gun once me and Ms. Edgecomb were safely seated inside the vehicle.
"I believe this is yours," he said.
I placed it carefully in my coat pocket and then quickly trained my eyes on my childhood friend.
"Kimball, you should join Mr. Jane," I asked him on an urgent note. "He mustn't be left alone with the Carters. They are of the conniving sort."
"I'm sorry, milady, but I can't."
His answer was quite unexpected.
"What? Why?" I demanded.
He hesitated. "I promised him not to."
I gave him a sideway look. "I don't understand, why would you make such a promise?"
"He asked me to."
I leaned back to take a better look at him. "You can't be serious."
He glanced toward the Carters' residence, then back to me, clearly questioning his own decision.
"He hasn't given me reason not to trust him," he defended.
I shook my head. "You and I are going to have a serious conversation on the subject of trust once this is over."
Kimball pressed his lips, biting on the inner of his mouth. It was clear in his rigid posture, however, that he would not break his promise. I huffed and rolled my eyes, feeling betrayed by him for the second time that day.
Jane was gone for what seemed like an eternity. I started praying. When there were no more prayers to tell, I pulled my gun out of my pocket, checked the barrel and then placed it in my lap. My hands were jittery and I couldn't be sure whether it was fear or anger causing the tremors. Whenever I thought of the Carters, I felt the same whitehot rage that had taken me over while standing on that staircase, looking at their unconscious figures. I wanted to kill Timothy and Sally Carter, I wanted to make them suffer. But I knew better than to condemn my soul for the sake of some low-life criminals.
This made me think of how Jane had made the exact opposite choice. He didn't care about a soul, all he wanted was his revenge. It was the main difference between him and me. And not for the first time, my heart clenched for him, for the horror and tragedy that had driven him so far over the edge. Would I have the strength to act as noble if I had found Annabeth brutally murdered? I shuddered at the thought.
"Alright, I'll go check on him," Kimball said finally, interrupting my thoughts. His eyes wavered on Ms. Edgecomb. "Can you keep an eye on her?" he asked me.
The woman had curled against the cushions, feet scooped up. She was watching us calmly and barely managed another painful half-smile.
"Don't worry, Mr. Cho," she choked. "Go help your friend."
Kimball nodded and headed back to the shack. He had hardly taken three steps when three gunshots blared from the inside. I was off my seat and out on the pavement in no time. Kimball drew out his gun and started forward, but Jane appeared in the open doorway just then. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until I saw him standing there unharmed. I sighed, closing my eyes.
"Thank God," I whispered.
Then I noticed the gun in his hand. His eyes were cold, his features hardened. I didn't recall ever seeing such an expression on him. He'd just reached the road when a figure stumbled to the entrance of the Carter's house. When she shifted her weight into the light, I could see Sally Carter clearly. She was staring at Jane, her mouth twisted up in pure hatred, and when she raised her right hand, the shiny metal of a Colt gleamed in the twilight. She targeted Jane's back.
There wasn't any time to consider my next action. I knew that from the angle that Kimball stood from Jane, he couldn't have noticed the threat. I took aim just as Jane ducked out of the way. I shot Sally in her left shoulder.
But she kept coming.
My next bullet found her heart.
I stood frozen on the pavement, as Jane slowly straightened out and watched Sally's bloody figure slide down the door frame. His head turned and our eyes met in utter shock.
For one thing, because it had been too close and for another, because I had just, for the first time, taken another person's life.
He was the first to recover. He rushed toward the carriage, Kimball with him. He nudged me inside the vehicle and finally patted the driver on his shoulder, shouting, "The road's clear!"
No sooner had he hopped inside than the driver slapped the horses into a full gallop.
I didn't realize I was still holding my gun, aiming at a particularly precious part of my husband's anatomy, until he carefully reached over and took the gun away, before the vehicle fell into a puddle and made a eunuch out of him.
I watched him quietly. He put the gun in his pocket, then leaned back against the cushion and sighed.
"How did you know?" I almost whispered.
"Know what?" he asked in a clear tone.
"You ducked out of the way before I had even raised the gun. I didn't have time to warn you, but somehow you knew she was behind you, didn't you?"
"You did warn me," he said.
I tilted my head. "I'm fairly certain I did not."
"I was watching you. Your expression told me all I needed to know."
I nodded, then looked at my hands. "I killed her," I realized.
His hand touched my knee gently, his face dipping to seek my gaze. "It was self-defense," he reminded me.
I knew that I would suffer my fair amount of haunting from the events that had taken place today, but right now, I couldn't afford to lose myself. So I nodded, letting his strength and reassurance seep through me.
"What happened in there?" Kimball asked then. I realized I had forgotten all about the three gunshots we'd heard just before the horrifying incident. Kimball's tone was strict and professional. He had stepped out of his role as our companion and slipped into the one of authority.
"Timothy Carter is dead," Jane said matter-of-factly. He fixed his stare on Kimball. "I killed him."
The former steward did not lose his calm. "Was it also self-defense?"
"No."
"Why'd you kill him then?"
I was amazed at how well Kimball was handling this. My heart was hammering in my chest.
Jane hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "He claimed that he was Red John." All the while, he was studying Kimball's reaction.
"And you believed him?" asked Kimball.
"Wait," I interrupted, "Red John? You mean the man that murdered your family? That Red John?"
"Yes, that Red John. And I didn't just believe him, of course. He knew things that only the murderer of my wife and child would know." He addressed the last bit to Kimball.
"You were holding him at gunpoint," Kimball pointed out. "He must have known you would certainly kill him if he admitted such a thing, why would he do it voluntarily?"
"He did, because I was the one held at gunpoint."
I took a short breath.
"Explain," Kimball ordered.
Jane did. "Timothy Carter was a player and a showman," he started. "He wouldn't have willingly offered any valuable information while threatened. So I made sure he would get the upper hand first."
I couldn't decide whether he was a genius or just plain foolish.
Jane continued. "I waited until he managed to get free of his bindings. He then knocked me down and snatched the gun out of my hand. As I predicted, while he had me at gunpoint, he bragged about everything he had done, including the things he did to my wife and child. The gun he was holding was empty, of course. The one I was pointing at him through my jacket pocket, though, wasn't."
There was silence for a while.
"Why would he deliberately leave a trail that led you directly to him?" Kimball questioned then.
"That's an excellent question, Mr. Cho. I truly have no idea. Perhaps he didn't count on you having my back."
I didn't understand much of the last part of their conversation, but my mind was suddenly far beyond it. If Carter was truly who Jane said he was—I refused to think of him by the serial killer's name—then that meant… My legs had gone entirely numb, my stomach sick.
"Jane," I started, speaking slowly, frightened to hear the truth, "where is my niece? What did Carter tell you?"
He held my gaze steadily. "You don't want to know," he said.
"Tell me anyway."
He sighed and held my gaze softly.
"Several days ago, the Carters kidnapped your niece along with her nanny," he started, his voice calm.
He paused briefly to check for my reaction. I nodded to encourage him to continue.
"They took her to their house and kept her there for a while, until…"
He paused again, shook his head.
"Until what?" I asked, impatient.
A regretful look took over his expression. He reached out, squeezed my shoulder.
"Until they sold her."
Patrick
Teresa hadn't stopped praying from the moment she'd heard the news. If I believed in a higher power, I would join her right along. In any case, I was thankful that it at least gave her some comfort.
The carriage rolled quietly over the cobbled-stone road, the dangerous areas finally left behind. The other woman we had rescued, Summer, had fallen asleep. Kimball's firm, steady voice filled the silence.
"How long ago was she taken?"
"Two days past," I answered.
"Where to?"
"Cincinnati. There is a buyer there, waiting."
"Fastest way is by train," Kimball reasoned. "They would need at least forty hours to reach, which means they could still be on the way. I'll have to wire my friend."
"Right, your friend, why isn't he here already?" I asked, unable to hide the slight annoyance from my voice. Kimball had supposedly gone to meet him at the station earlier, which was the only reason he'd been absent during the most critical part of the evening. Luckily, he had joined me by the time I was done talking to the blind woman, Rosalind.
My thoughts lingered on her, as Cho explained about his contact. Red John had insisted that Rosalind keep his address. He had made sure that I would find him. Why?
"Wait—what did you say?" I asked Cho, suddenly caught on his last words.
"Rigsby's still in Ohio. His train was delayed."
My mind geared up. This was no mere accident, I thought instinctively. But why would Red John want to delay Rigsby's arrival?
Red John couldn't have expected Teresa, a woman all by her own, to take her own initiative and visit his house in the most dangerous part of the city. He would have expected someone like Cho. And Cho, being police, wouldn't have entered a dangerous area like Fort Hill without backup.
I turned to Teresa. "When you arrived at the Carters house, were they surprised to see you? Were they in any hurry at all to get rid of you?"
"The woman was, yes. She kept pleading with the man to get rid of me. But he insisted that I was alone and harmless. Why?"
Triumph rocked my heart. There was no longer any doubt that the man I killed was him. Red John had been so blinded by his arrogance and delusions that he had failed to understand Teresa's motherly instincts for her niece.
"Patrick?" Teresa called out. I realized I had left them waiting.
"You truly are a saint, aren't you?" I said, beaming at her.
She gave me a quizzical look, as though she was suddenly worrying whether I still retained my wits.
I turned to Cho. "He was about to flee. We were never meant to find him there. By the time we were meant to arrive, we would have probably simply found the nanny dead, murdered in his style, and no clue as to where the girl is. Teresa here must have caught him by surprise."
I smiled at her again.
She shook her head. "I'm glad that you got your man, I truly am, but this is all beyond the point right now," she said. "We have achieved nothing if we can't save Annabeth." She turned to Cho. "Ohio's not far from Cincinnati if I remember the map correctly. Your friend could catch the train she's supposedly being transferred in, right?"
"Possibly."
"What if they didn't go by train?" she asked.
"Then it would take them longer to arrive," answered Cho.
She sighed. "Right."
I squeezed her shoulder like I had done before. "We're going to find her, Teresa, okay? I promise." And I meant it. I had long realized that I would do anything for her.
Her green eyes were wide, fixed on mine. She nodded slowly.
"Rigsby is the best tracker in the states and the territories combined," Cho reassured her.
"Second-best," I corrected him.
There was a bit of quiet.
"If you know the first-best tracker, just name him, so we can enlist his help as well," Teresa said impatiently.
I rolled my eyes. "You wouldn't need to, seeing as that guy is me," I said.
She shook her head, then turned to Kimball. "While you wire your friend, I'll have the concierge purchase train tickets for us. We should leave with the next scheduled train."
"What about Grace?" asked Kimball.
"I will talk to her tonight." She sighed, closed her eyes, shivers rattling her body. "Why is there such evil in the world?" she whispered.
I stared at her for a long while. The angelic beauty of her chestnut curls. The honesty and kindness in her features. "Because there's such goodness," I said.
She opened her eyes and looked at me. "I don't understand," she said.
"Just a poem I heard once," I said enigmatically.
Tyger, tyger…
He was dead. Could he be? After all these years. I had to admit—I was a little disappointed. I hadn't had time to savor the kill. It was all over too fast. And despite the release that I felt now, bloodlust still boiled in my veins.
It didn't help matters that Red John hadn't departed without a farewell gift. He had kidnapped and sold Teresa's niece and if I didn't find her, it would be yet another thing I would blame myself for my entire life. It made me feel sick to my stomach. I should have never let her get close to me. He was gone, but the chasing was still on. He was gone, but he had left one last nightmare to haunt me.
"I'm not seeing any goodness now," Teresa muttered.
"I am," I disagreed, holding her gaze. "I'm looking at it."
I regretted the compliment as soon as the words were out of my mouth. She always made me say more than I intended to. She had that influence on me.
We sat in silence for the rest of the journey back to the hotel.
Teresa
That evening I kept busy by planning our journey. A messenger was sent to the station with enough funds to purchase our tickets. It was an utter disappointment that a train had only just left and the next one wouldn't be leaving Boston until the next morning. The manager suggested he wire their sister hotel in Cincinnati for reservations and I took his offer, thankful that at least we wouldn't have to search for new accommodation.
The case of Ms Edgecomb brought its own set of necessary arrangements. She was still in pain when we'd arrived at the hotel. I booked a room for her and asked the manager to find the best doctor he could as well as a nurse to stay with her during the night. Kimball wired his friend and then immediately took to looking after the ailing young woman. He always took an immediate affinity to those he found vulnerable and in need of his strength. So it was no surprise that he acted as though he considered himself personally responsible for Summer's condition.
It was midnight when I knocked on Grace's door.
"Milady, is everything alright?" she asked half-asleep.
By the time I explained everything to her, she was on full alert.
"I'm coming with you," was the first thing she said.
I never doubted that Grace would want to help me. She had proven to be a loyal and precious friend, one I would always count on. But I needed her to stay and deal with the luggage and any loose ends. I handed her our tickets for the trunks and instructed her to follow us on the next available train. I had already booked a room for her in Cincinnati.
"What else can I do to help?" Grace insisted.
"Go to the bank tomorrow and withdraw as much money as possible. Bring it with you. I'll sign a voucher before I leave in the morning. And don't tell Abbott or Wylie where you're going."
"Alright, I won't," she promised.
Just like on the deck that stormy night that I had saved her, Grace embraced me and wished me Godspeed.
"Try to get some sleep tonight," she said once we separated.
I pretended to agree to try. I couldn't imagine being able to sleep, but I wouldn't let her worry about me.
Once that was dealt with, I hurried up to our room and started packing.
Jane quietly slid to my side and handed me things to put in our bags, holding my gaze reassuringly now and then. I was so thankful and relieved to have his support in all of this. This wasn't his responsibility, he had certainly gotten more than he had bargained for when he married me. Now, with his revenge practically over and all contractual ties to me cleared, he had no more obligation to stay. And yet, he hadn't left.
"Jane?"
I realized as I called him by his last name that I felt as though I had done it a thousand times. Such was the ease with which it rolled off my tongue.
"Yes?" he asked, halfway as he was packing a sweater, his attention drawn from his task.
"Thank you."
He looked at me for a moment, not saying a word, then he nodded.
"This isn't your battle," I acknowledged. "And yet you're fighting it with me." I managed a smile. "In all the commotion, I forgot to ask you how you're feeling. I mean, you got what you wanted today, right? Red John is dead."
He pressed his lips into a warm smile. "Don't worry about it, Teresa. You've got a lot on your plate. We'll have time to talk about me once we find your niece."
I nodded, not wanting to make him any more uncomfortable.
Once we were done packing, Jane went into the washroom, stripping out of his jacket and vest. I walked over to the window behind the lounge area and stared out into the black night.
Jane found me there a few minutes later. Quietly, he moved to the other side of the window and joined me in my silence. We stood there for hours, motionless. I kept muttering prayer after prayer.
Please let her be safe. Please let no harm come to her.
"You need to get some sleep," I told him around three o'clock.
At least one of us had to be in full strength for the journey and whatever trouble awaited us in the other city.
"Maybe you should take your own advice," he commented.
I huffed a bitter laugh. "I wish I could."
"We'll find her, Teresa," he promised for the hundredth time that day.
My former curiosity surfaced.
"Why are you still helping me?" I asked him. "Of course, I'm more than grateful that you're staying, but I can't help but wonder as to your motivation."
"It's quite simple, really," he said softly to the night outside, then turned to me. "You need me. And so I'm here."
I tilted my head. "Just that? Nothing to do with this being the final game Red John set up for you?"
He smiled. "It wouldn't be much of a final game if I didn't care about it, would it?"
I was almost captured by this revelation, that he cared about me, about saving Annabeth. But then I realized the implication behind his words.
"Wait, you think this has happened because of you?"
"I don't just think it, I know it. He made sure to leave no doubt."
"What do you mean?"
"I knew you were in danger today, because he showed me. I found a doll looking exactly like you in a trunk with his signature drawn inside. I realized only after I found you that the doll wasn't meant to resemble you."
Tommy's words echoed in my mind like voices in a haunted house.
She looks exactly like you, Teresa.
I remembered Kimball's voice in the carriage earlier, saying something about Red John deliberately leaving a trail of clues that led Jane to his residence. I had assumed that they had found me because of Kimball. But of course, Kimball wasn't the one with the unique cunning to guess at one's whereabouts so quickly.
"I'm sorry Teresa," Jane said, his voice hardened, "but your closeness to me is what put your niece in harm's way."
I realized he had interpreted my own silence as regret for his presence in my life. I took an unbidden step forward, regretting it at once as it put my face in closer distance to his.
"I knew what I was getting into the day I married you. Madam said I should be prepared for this to end in a disaster. That's just the way it is."
His eyes briefly faltered to my lips and I wondered if he would kiss me. I knew that if he took the step forward to close our distance and take me into his arms, I would let him. His touch would be a welcoming distraction. The same dark desire flashed in his eyes for a moment, and then it was gone, his expression back to sobriety.
"Well, some people might ask why you married me in the first place then," he pointed out, his voice rough in the wake of the desire that had just ridden him. I tried not to focus on how it affected my stomach and answered him.
"Madam said you would protect Annabeth. That's enough for me."
He nodded, lowering his head.
So it was guilt that was driving his current actions, I thought. Well, if guilt would be the determining factor in him finding my niece, then I would embrace it, personal pride set aside.
A/N: Thank you for all the positive feedback! I appreciate it so much, really!
To answer the question about Teresa's age, in this story she's around 26. Patrick is about 31. So that would mean both Patrick and Teresa's younger brother had families around the age of 18, which is quite young, but that was pretty much the norm in those times.
