Chapter 25 – Eightfold

A/N: Warning for extreme violence.

One hour earlier

Jane gulped down the fifth shot of tequila, slamming down the empty tumbler. Each time he held a finger-sized absorbent between his thumb and the rim of the glass, poured the liquid on it instead of his mouth cavity. He squeezed the tiny sponge over the floor, then raised a finger to the bartender.

"Another."

She gave him a side look, then shaking her head, she poured him the sixth shot.

It was two nights straight she had watched him repeat the same routine. Jane expected it would be several more. But the night had barely unraveled, before his contact arrived in the form of two alabaster legs draped in stockings and red leather. Her dress left nothing to the imagination.

His heart missed a beat, because he had expected nothing of the short. He had spent a night twisting and turning, considering options, until he had arrived to the most likely conclusion that they would approach him with another planted suggestion. So as to avoid any loose ends. The other scenario would have been to just knock him unconscious and shove him in a car, but he would never give them that chance. No, they would catch him by his own terms. A kind stranger that would offer to take a drunk man home.

But not a hooker. He hadn't expected a hooker.

She leaned on the counter beside him, flaunting her rich bosom, requested an "apple martini, no ice, short glass". Then, with the same confidence, she turned to face him. A slight nudge of her chin that let her cheekbones peek out from under her bow cut and ebony bangs.

"So, what's your name?" A sensual, simmering voice.

Oh she looked like her, he had to give them that. Aside from the eyes. A dull green where gold-flecked emeralds would have been.

He hesitated, kept his hands to himself, only flashed her a shy smile. It had never occurred to him that he would have to betray Teresa in more ways than one in order to gain a criminal's trust.

"Patrick. What's your name?"

He could simply not do it.

Her smile was friendly, summoning, but a long stare in her gaze informed him of her personal disengagement. The attitude of a hooker that had already pocketed the payment and now simply delivered the product, instead of one that was fishing for a client.

This was no Lorelai either. No hidden intelligence. No signs of loyalty to a master. Only the temporary kind that money earned.

He didn't spot a room card or a key on her. He only knew by the time they reached the lobby of the motel, texted Teresa right then.

Selena, as her name was, led him upstairs, pushed him down on the cheap, creaky bed, and started unbuttoning his vest, his shirt, shifting her body in a slow dance. When her hands moved to his slacks, he threw his head back on the pillow. He sensed her stillness, her quiet staring.

So he threw a snort right then, just to make her sure. He heard her curse, her heels on the floor as she walked to the door and left.

And then he waited.

And waited.

Until almost five minutes later, the door creaked open again, bringing a ray of light inside the room, and the twitch of a smile to his lips.

Heavy steps trampled the floor. Lots of them. Nathaniel ordered, "Lock the door," the anticipation in his voice hardly contained. He felt them round his bed one by one, tensed in the silence that followed. They wouldn't just kill him in his sleep, he reassured himself. Then a light switched open, and Brenda said,

"What are we waiting for? Wake him up, Demunn!" He sensed both fear and loathing surge in her tone.

He braced himself. Then his cheek sizzled with the burn of a slap. He gasped. Looked around until his gaze adjusted. Feigned a look of equal amounts shocked and disinterested.

Wagner's bony smile loomed into focus. "Hello, Patrick. It's good to know you no longer have trouble sleeping." That quiet hiss that was his speech. Jane fought a shiver.

He frowned, swaying his head like a drunken man. "What are you doing in my dream, all of you?"

"Cut the crap, you freaking moron," Marc spat.

"Easy, Marc," Lindsay said.

He'd almost not noticed her, as she stood quietly beside him. She and Linus were the calmest of the gang. The most self-assured. They had cornered their prey and now they could watch him squirm as long as they fancied.

"Mr. Jane thinks he's sleeping. Shall we fix that assumption?" Lindsay looked at Demunn.

The former prison guard shoved his hands on the lapels of his shirt.

"Whow!" Jane yelled, his hands flying forward in defense.

Demunn yanked him off the bed, first bringing him to his knees and then dragging him like a sack of potatoes over the edge and onto the floor. Jane slamped against the wall as the guard dropped him, his arm falling ontop of the wardrobe next to him, pushing some items down. He covered his face as they rained over him. Once the clatter stopped, he peeked slowly over his shoulder, saw Demunn's feet as he trudged to the bathroom, filled a glass of water and returned to splash it across his face.

He gasped from the freezing temperature. His heart hammered in his chest.

Where are you, Lisbon?

And then, to everyone's surprise, his body started shuddering, with laughter no less. It almost sounded hysterical to his ears. It was funny actually. After all his careful planning, after all the fights he had risked with Lisbon, if nobody showed up, this entire con would end up being his fifth symphony. He had elaborately planned his own murder.

His laughs vexed his companies, which only triggered more laughs.

Nathaniel was suddenly in front of him, pointing a penknife at his face. Jane choked a last laugh, then sobered under his stare.

"Everything's funny to you, isn't it, Mr. Jane?"

His lips moved of their own accord, shaping the answer that had become second instinct—"Only the funny things."

"Let's just hurt him already!" Brenda screeched, her red curls bouncing like springs as she jerked her head.

"Yeah, let's erase that smug face," Cooper concurred.

Jane drew his attention to her. "I'm sorry my imprisoning you turned you into this obnoxious old crow." He shrank his face in question. "Or were you an obnoxious old crow even before, I don't re-"

A punch caught him across the face, before he could finish his babbling.

"Ow!"

"You watch your tone," warned Demunn.

Jane rubbed his face, frowning. "Him?" he asked Brenda, pointing at Walter. "You managed to attract him? A rapist? Oh Brenda, it's sad, but I would expect no less-"

A longer scream escaped his throat as pain, sharp and concentrated, shot into his hand. Nathaniel had slashed a red slit across the back of his palm. Blood oozed, bringing him nausea. Terror kicked every sense of humor out of him.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry. Please, don't hurt me." His eyes opened wide, pleading.

Where was Lisbon?

He held his wound to stop the bleeding, tried to ignore the metallic smell and the dampness.

Nathaniel tilted his head. "That's better. Start begging."

"It looks that you've misjudged your odds, Patrick," Wagner said, a complacent expression molding his features. "There will be no one coming to your rescue this time. No Rigsby or Cho. Or Lisbon. They probably hate you as much as we do right now. You killed their friend after all."

Jane pretended to be shocked. "You planned this all along. Led me right through my demise so the path would be clear for you to approach me. And take your revenge."

Cooper smiled. "You're a smart cat after all."

And you're a dirty rat, Cooper, Jane thought, but decided against challenging his fate this time.

"I will have his face," Marc announced.

"No, I will!" Brenda intervened.

"Hush!" Nathaniel ordered. "We will all have a scratch at his face." He stroked Jane's shoulder with his knife. "After we ruin his arms." His knife slid to his bare torso. "And his chest."

Jane gave another scream as the detective marked the skin over his breast.

"Someone will hear him," Lindsay cautioned.

Demunn listened to her, fetched some tape to secure his mouth.

"My turn." Brenda sat right next to Nathaniel, holding Jane's gaze. He shook his head, pleading her with his eyes. But there was no mercy inside hers. Her wrist flicked in the air like a lash, and a new gush appeared on his chest.

He writhed in pain as the seven took turns peeling off his skin. They kept their cuts small and shallow, so that he wouldn't bleed to death before they sated their thirst for his blood.

Please, not like this. He couldn't die like this.

Marc eased his knife right in front of his eye. Jane went still.

"You have no idea how much I've dreamed of gauging those pretty blue eyes of yours out," he muttered.

The pause of a breath, and then the point of the knife moving. Jane squeezed his eyes shut, pressing as close to the wall as he could.

He braced for the pain, tried to imagine its sharpness before it came.

The sneaky sound of bullets firing through a gun silencer filled the room. He heard the commotion as his companies registered the sound, the abrupt movement toward defense and retaliation, and then their equally abrupt silence.

Someone gasped, though the sound came muffled.

He braved an eye open.

He saw the bodies first. Scattered around him like empty skinsuits, their limbs twisted in weird angles. Blood was slathered on the wall, where Nathaniel's body had crashed and slid. Wagner lay on the bed, blood gushing from his stomach and mouth, staining the white sheets. Marc had fallen right beside him, his knife in his fist.

The gasp came again, and Jane's gaze snapped toward the entrance. Lisbon stood there by the door. At first, her mere image soothed him, filled him with relief. Then he read her weird posture, her arched back, the warning in her eyes and the gag in her mouth. The fact that she held no gun, her hands actually tied behind her back.

The wardrobe hindered his view, so he helped himself off the floor, grunting. Lisbon gasped again, her eyes trailing his wounds. His chest would be soaked in blood.

His rescuer stood there, right beside Lisbon, pointing a gun at her head.

"Volker."

"Hello Jane. Let's go on a trip, shall we?"

Sirens blasted somewhere far away in the city.

Jane exchanged looks with Lisbon, then returned his attention to Volker.

"Police will be arriving soon, Tommy. I suggest you drop the gun and surrender," he warned him.

Volker twisted his mouth with hate. "I can shoot both of you right now and run away, unless you start walking." He waved his gun to highlight his statement.

Jane raised his palms. "Alright. I'll walk, don't hurt her."

Jane drove the car, while Volker held her at gun point on the back seat. He had removed the gag from her mouth now that she could neither scream nor bite him. It had left her mouth dry, with a sour aftertaste that triggered nausea.

She had been so horrored to see his blood-painted chest. Thought for a moment they had gutted him open. Had she been a little more late... Oh God. She could only look at part of his chest, as the light breeze from the window blew his shirt and vest on the side. Exposed in the purple shades of the night, his skin bore no evidence of trickling blood. The slit on his hand had solidified, but she saw him curl and stretch his fist every now and then.

"Volker," she tried the voice of reason. "He needs medical attention."

The vile man smiled. "Don't worry, sweet Teresa. He won't be in pain for much longer."

"Left on the intersection?" Jane asked.

"No, right," Volker corrected him, his voice firm again-a warning, Don't play games with me.

She prayed that Cho would smell Jane's involvement, that he would trace the license of the vehicle. But that hope died, when they parked the car on an empty place by the docks and took it on foot from there.

They were at an industrial territory. After about three minutes, they turned right into what looked like an abandoned warehouse. The moonlight showcased a frayed label. Milk Inc.

As soon as they were inside, Volker pushed her on the floor, waved his gun at Jane, ordering him to sit a few feet from her. He slammed a switch and a sort of electrical lighting whirred into life. He did it with such familiarity that it occurred to her that Milk stood for two things. The known dairy product and also, the name of Charles Milk, one of Volker's old associates.

Still, in the short instance it took Volker to retrieve his gaze and find the switch, Jane flicked his hand across the floor, hurling a small penknife right into her hands. She tried to conceal her surprise, focused on creating chit-chat instead.

"You won't get away with this, Volker."

Volker huffed a laugh through his nose, unfazed by her warning. He paced in a leisure manner, came to rest on his heels in front of her, matching her eye level. He patted the side of her head with his gun, making her flinch.

"You think you're so righteous, judging everyone else aside from yourself. Do you think I haven't planned this moment to the last detail? You and your friend here have done plenty to engage my interest. You managed to piss me off like no one else had in my life. From the moment you doomed me into hell, I spent every night and day planning this exact moment. The moment I would return you the favor."

He stroked her cheek with his finger. She looked at him straight ahead, unmoving and unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Do not touch her!" Jane ordered firmly.

Volker trailed the skin on her neck, opened his full palm to cap her, as if he would choke her. Only after he had his way, did he turn to answer to Jane.

"Or you'll do what?" he taunted.

It was all the distraction she needed. She drew her head back as far as she could, then threw it forward with all her might, crashing his skull.

Volker fell. Collapsed. His gun dropping by his side. She kicked it far away, then darted. With knife and claws. Straddled him with her weight. He was fast despite his surprise. Caught her wrist right as she was about to bury the knife into his flesh. Jane surged on his feet, went after the gun. They rolled on the floor fighting. He was on top of her now. Elbowed her wrist. She cried in pain. Lost hold of her weapon. Volker yanked her up from the floor, spinned her, and drew another gun from his back. Her gun. Put it on her head just as Jane had managed to retrieve the other weapon, point it at him.

Her heart sank. Damn it.

"Drop it," Volker ordered.

"Jane, no!" she shouted.

"Hush! I said drop it."

Jane let the gun dangle from his finger, slowly lowered it on the ground, then rose again.

Simmering laughter came from Volker's throat, shaking his body, rising to thunderous cackles.

"You think you're smart," he commented, growing serious. "Let's see, how will I punish you now?"

"You won, now let her go," Jane said calmly.

"Touching," said Volker. He looked at her. "You know, thinking back then, the signs were already there. That you two cared for each other more than just as colleagues. I just hadn't realized it."

She tensed, didn't like where this conversation was leading.

"You seem like a hardly satisfied woman." His attention returned to Jane. "It's too bad you will have to witness the only man that satisfies you die in front of your eyes." He moved the gun to Jane.

"No!" She reacted fast, pushing him off his feet, as gunfire blasted.

Volker tripped on the floor, and she whirled in time to see Jane catch at his shoulder, a shocked expression on his face.

"No!" she screamed, as his eyes rolled into plain whites, his body collapsing on the floor, his wild curls the only lively trait about him.

She turned her attention to Volker who was helping himself on his feet, laughing.

"You bastard!"

Her vision almost turned crimson. She swang on his back, dug her nails in the skin of his neck. They danced in the air, as he tried to spin and she tried to disarm him.

Suddenly, as if the fight went out of him, he threw his gun by his own will. She didn't have time to question the movement. He ducked, slipping out of her grip, and in a swift movement, he was the one behind her, locking her arms with one hand, and gripping her neck with the other.

Her chest rose and fell.

"Now, now," whispered Volker in her ear. "You're going to be a nice girl, won't you?"

"Just kill me and be done with it!" she chocked.

"Oh I will... Eventually. First, we are going to have some fun together."

His hand tightened around her neck. Her throat protested, struggling for air. He listened as she chocked quietly. It was as if she could hear the monster inside him growl with pleasure. Just as the air dried in her lungs, he let go. She gasped for air. But he hadn't satisfied the monster yet, his fist tightening once more.

She wouldn't let him have his way this time. She pushed him with her waist, giving herself enough space to dip her chin under his palm. She bit him hard. He yelled, softening his grip. She broke loose, spanned. Grabbed him by the shoulders for balance, as she gave him a sharp blow on the head and kneed him between the legs. He folded in half. Her gaze rummaged the floor for her gun. She could not find it. Panicked.

"Lisbon."

Her head swirled, her eyes opening wide at the sound of his strained voice. Jane had rolled on his side. Thoughts flashed through her mind like the light through the windows of a speeding train. He was alive. He was in pain. He shouldn't be moving. He was tossing Volker's gun at her. The metal skidded on the floor until it met her sole. She bent, grabbed it, just as Volker surged.

She pulled the trigger.

And heard the horrible click, click, clickof an empty barrel. No bullets. Which meant his threats had been empty. She could have ended this at once. And now it was too late.

Volker elbowed her. The blow brought her on the ground. She tried to gain momentum from the impact, but he grabbed her foot. She cried, felt the ground graze her head. He pinned her down with his entire body, locked her hands above her head.

His face was hovering inches from hers. "You know," he hissed, "not all the nights were filled with thoughts of killing you. Some I spent dreaming of your touch, your softness, your moans."

Before she could forsee it, he bent and licked her neck, her cheek, her ear. She made a sound of disgust.

"You're despicable."

He pulled her wrists into one fist, freed his other hand so he could unbutton her slacks. She started twisting and turning, decided she would make it as difficult for him as possible. Finally she managed to break one hand free. She slapped him across the face. He flinched, but did not stop, tugged at her belt instead. She fumbled on the floor, searching. Just as he was about to pull her pants off, she found the weapon.

She hit him so hard, he cried in pain. In the matter of seconds, their roles were reversed. She was on top of him, pinning his arms down with her knees.

With no bullets, there was only one solution. And the rage that boiled inside her didn't let her linger on the ethics. She gripped his neck with both her hands. Thought, For all the souls you took. For Amanda Shaw. And for Patrick Jane. Her strength doubled at the last thought.

"Die, you murderer!"

Volker's pupils turned backwards, his agony giving way to permanent stillness. She eased her grip a little, checking.

Tommy Volker's body lay dead underneath her.

She didn't let the horror of what she'd done sink. Instead, she fumbled for her phone in his pocket, then pushed on her feet. She dialed Cho as she ran toward Jane. Informed him of their location.

She almost crashed down by his side. "Jane, Jane!" Her voice came thin, pointed. She held his face in both her hands, shook him as tears stung her eyes. She pressed on his wound to stop the bleeding. "Jane, please!"

His eyes fluttered, a soft sound from his lips.

"Come on, we have to get you up."

She threw his good shoulder over hers and lifted him off the floor. He was half-conscious to help put one foot after the other.

They stepped outside into a night sky flickering with lights. The formerly empty roads filling with vehicles and blazing sirens.

It was over, she thought, exhaustion finally catching up with her.

A/N: Come back for the ending chapter to this long-in-the-making story.