It was strange how the sense of smell evoked memories more sharply than any of the other senses. He'd known instantly that he was home – or at least in his house in Malibu. He could no longer honestly call it home.

The first moment he's woken up he'd known. The smell – and if he thought about it – the sound of the place, told him where he was. So that was good. It meant he didn't need to open his eyes to check on his location. Because opening his eyes would cause his head to fall off and his stomach to push it's way out of his mouth.

He felt awful. His head felt as if someone were pounding nails into it and his stomach – he had to stop thinking about his stomach or he was going to throw up – which would cause his head to fall off.

So he was in his house. He didn't know why, but it was too hard to think about it so he just let himself be and try not to move.

It wasn't long – unfortunately – before a sense, a niggling sense of something started to bother him. That and the fact that he was lying on a cold, hard surface – not in his bed, made him start to wonder. Why was he in his house and secondly why did he feel so awful.

The reason came to him much quicker than he would have liked. A few more seconds of ignorance would have been kinder, he thought. Instead he wanted to groan. He was in trouble – serious trouble.

The three men who'd pulled up beside him – he'd found out their names were Ed, Charlie and Zack – were in trouble of some kind. What kind of trouble he didn't know, and frankly didn't care. But the problem was that they had been looking for a place to hide out – and then, conveniently, they'd come upon Jane.

He really did have the worst luck.

He'd tried to talk his way out of it – had even tried to hypnotize Ed, the clear leader of the bunch. Neither had worked and the next thing he'd known he'd been pushed up against his car and his wallet had been taken from his back pocket. Zack – or Mr. Backseat – had flipped through it until he found his license with his Malibu address.

"Hey lookie here," Zack had grinned. "He lives in Maaaaalibu. You must be rich huh?" He didn't wait to hear Jane's answer, instead he continued rifling through his wallet.

Much to Jane's dismay he found the picture of Angela and Charlotte – the one he kept hidden in an inside pocket.

"Who's this?" Zack had held up the picture with a smirk on his face. "This your wife and kid?"

When he'd refused to answer he'd received a slap across the face from Zack – who was quickly showing himself to be bat crazy.

"I'll ask again Curly," Zack repeated. "This your wife and kid?"

"Yes," he'd answered, leaving it at that.

"They back at your fancy Maaaalibu house," he's grinned, drawing the word out again.

"No."

"No? Why? Where are they? Maybe she left you for some other guy? Is that it Curly? Your wife off screwing someone else."

Again he didn't answer and the next thing he knew he was on the ground, gasping for air.

"When I ask you a question, you better answer me Curly – you hear me?"

This time he couldn't have answered if he wanted to. There wasn't enough air left in his lungs to make any sound. Fortunately Ed spoke up and stopped things.

"Leave him alone Zack." Which would have cheered him up except for what followed.

"We need him in one piece until we're in his house – then you can do what you want with him."

Charlie – the quiet one, and, Jane hoped, the sane one, then suggested they move it. "We gotta get inside somewhere. The cops will be out lookin' for us all over. And whoever this guy's meetin' with might show up any minute."

Jane was still lying on the ground – hoping that maybe they'd simply forget him and leave him there – when he heard the crunch of rocks as someone walked over to him. A moment later Ed had squatted down and was looking him in the face.

"So, Mr. Jane – how you like being named after a girl?" Ed grinned. Fortunately, he didn't seem to require Jane to answer, as did Zack. "So, are your wife and kid at home?"

For a moment he debated lying. Maybe if they thought there was someone there they'd leave him alone. On second thought they might just kill him- obviously they didn't want anyone telling the cops about them – or they'd decide to go anyway and plan to deal with his wife and child when they got there.

"No," he finally answered.

"No? Where are they?"

Jane briefly closed his eyes. What to say? In the end all he could say was the truth. He couldn't use Angie or Charlotte in any lie. "They're dead," he said softly.

There was a moment's pause and then Ed stood up. "We'll go to Jane's house," he announced to the others. Jane was grateful he hadn't said anything about Angela or Charlotte.

A second later he was grabbed and pulled to his feet – none too gently – by Ed, who was doing the pulling. He was then forced over to their car.

"You got anything to time him up with," Charlie called. So much for him being the sane one.

"No," Zack replied. He turned to face Jane and gave an evil little grin. "Turn around."

"Uh – I'd rather not," Jane answered. "This position is much too -"

"Turn around," Zack hissed. The next thing Jane knew, a knife appeared in the guy's hand. And not just any knife – it was switchblade with a long, and very sharp looking blade. Jane turned around.

And that was the last thing he remembered. From the pain in his head – and stomach – he was pretty sure he'd been cold-cocked. He figured he must have a concussion and just prayed he hadn't ended up with a cracked skull.

It was only then, once he'd figured out both where he was and why he was here, that he noticed the voices. As soon as he heard them he realized they'd been going on for quite some time, but he hadn't been paying attention. The miners with their pickaxes in his skull had distracted him.

" – nothing here," one voice – Charlie if he wasn't mistaken – was saying.

"Nothing?"

"Just a kid's tricycle and a few little odds and ends. The house in the back has a bunch of furniture but it's all covered. Looks like he's just movin' – in, or out I can't say."

"Where's Zack?" It was Ed – the leader of the little gang – who asked.

"He went upstairs to look around. Must have been a fancy place at one time. You can see the ocean from outside."

"Yeah? Well I'd suggest you don't go outside again – not unless you want me to shoot you. We're hiding you idiot. We don't want anyone to see us!"

"I'm not stupid, Ed. I know that. But there's no one back there. It's just a cliff that looks over the ocean. And it's dark out. Who's going to see me?"

Ed sighed. "Yeah – okay – but we can't take any chances. What if a neighbor was out walking or something? We have to stay close to the house."

"But what about food?" Charlie asked. "I haven't eaten since breakfast and I'm hungry – and thirsty. Man, what I wouldn't give for a beer."

There was silence for a few moments until Jane heard footsteps approaching. He kept his eyes closed, hoping they would think he was still unconscious.

Of course it was hard to pretend after you received a boot in the stomach. He gasped and curled over – and this time he couldn't stop his stomach from rebelling.

At least he'd been wrong about his head falling off. It was still firmly attached, although the more he wretched the worse the pain. Instead of falling off, it was exploding.

"Oh gross! Whatcha do that for Ed? Now he's puked all over the floor and it's gonna stink in here. God, now I feel sick!"

"Oh stop being a baby. We're safe here but we need food and Mr. Jane here is going to get it for us."

"I'm not hungry now – damn, that's gross!"

Jane had to agree, although the smell was the least of his worries. His stomach finally settled down – now that it had been pretty much emptied – but his headache was even worse, if that was possible. And his mouth tasted like a sewer.

"Get up!" Ed toed him again, although fortunately this time it wasn't enough to hurt.

"What?" he's gasped, his eyes still closed. He really wished he had remained unconscious. It was better than this.

"I said – get up! Or do you want me to kick you again?"

And that was just the incentive he needed. With another groan he forced himself to roll over, away from the disgusting puddle, and try and push himself onto his hands and knees. He was terribly shaky, and would have fallen, except someone grabbed his arm and hoisted him up.

And he almost threw up again. The world around him was spinning madly and he would have fallen if whoever – Ed he supposed – wasn't supporting him.

"Now, I want you to make a phone call," Ed told him softly. "And you're going to say exactly what I tell you to and nothing more – you got that?"

"Mmm – yeah," he answered, still swaying dangerously. "Uh – could I have some – water?" He had to get the taste out of his mouth and he also hoped it would settle him down a bit. The wooziness was causing the nausea to come back.

There was a pause but then he felt a glass being placed in his hand. He was glad he'd left a few dishes in the kitchen for the odd time he stayed here. He lifted a shaky hand and managed to down a few sips, although he also spilled a good amount.

"Okay – enough." The glass was taken away and he was pushed forward. He didn't quite know what was going on, although the next thing he knew he was up against the wall. Turning gratefully, he leaned up against it, which allowed Ed to drop his hands.

"Now, you're gonna order some food for all of us – and some beer. You got that?"

"Hmm? I – what?"

"I think you hit him too hard," laughed Charlie. "You've scrambled his brains."

"Yeah, probably. Still he's got enough of them left to order pizza and beer. Isn't that right Janey?"

He was too focused on staying upright and on not throwing up again, to really hear what was being said. He did catch that he'd been asked a question though, and to prevent any further abuse he hummed a reply.

"Good. Now here's your phone. I'm gonna turn it back on long enough for you to make the call. After I dial you're gonna order 4 large pizzas, loaded and a case of beer -"

"Two cases!" shouted Charlie.

"Two cases. And you're gonna use your credit card, okay? You got that?"

"Uh – yeah," he murmured. "Four large pizzas and two cases of beer."

"And have them throw in some brownies!" Zack called as he returned from upstairs. "Ooh – what stinks in here!"

"Janey boy puked. You got all that Mr. Jane?" Ed asked.

"And brownies." Jane murmured. He watched as Ed dialed the number – he wondered briefly how he'd found it – and then he was handed the phone. He almost dropped it, his hands still shaky and his eyes seeing in triplicate, but he managed to hold on and put it to his ear.

"Yeah," he said when someone answered. It took him a couple of seconds to remember what he was doing, but a not-so-gentle nudge from Ed helped bring him back to the present.

"Yeah – four large pizzas – yeah with everything. Black olives?" He blinked and then squinted over to Ed. "Uh – olives?"

"Yeah – everything!"

"Yes please. Everything. Oh and 2 cases of beer. What kind?" he swayed and leaned even more of his weight against the wall. "I – don't know – what do you recommend? Okay – that's fine-"

"No light beer!" Charlie called.

"No light. It's not? Okay, good. Oh and brownies. You don't have any brownies? Uh what – chocolate cake?" He turned slowly to where he thought Zack was standing, although he really couldn't see that far.

"Yeah fine – just order it. Asshole!"

Jane was very tempted to ask for asshole, but figured he'd pay the price so instead he completed the order. The next part was the most difficult as they asked for his credit card number, and for the life of him he couldn't remember it – nor could he see well enough to read it. Ordinarily he knew all his card numbers by heart – and was concerned that the knowledge wasn't coming to him. He wondered if serious damage had been done to his brain.

Eventually he was able to read off the numbers, but it took a long time and the pizza delivery guy was clearly getting frustrated. He probably thought Jane was either really old, or disabled. To give him credit he'd stayed on the phone with him and eventually the order was taken.

"Forty minutes," he murmured when he was done. Ed immediately took his phone and pushed him down. As he was still leaning on the wall he was able to slide down until he was sitting with his back against it and his knees up. He laid his head gently on his knees, closing them and wishing he would pass out.

"Hey Curly! What's with the drawing on the wall upstairs," Zack asked suddenly.

"What are you talking about?" Ed turned to him with a frown.

"There's a big red smiley face on one of the walls upstairs. It's weird."

"So – what is it?"

Jane assumed the question was addressed to him, but wasn't quite sure how to answer. He definitely didn't want to try and explain about Red John but wasn't really up to making anything up. Instead he stayed quiet.

Of course that earned him a kick, this time on his hip – one that was definitely going to leave a bruise. Oh well, at least it wasn't his stomach.

"What is the smiley face about?" Ed asked. "In fact, what is it with this place. You live here or what?"

"No," he murmured.

"You sellin' it?"

It was something he had never once contemplated. He knew he should – many people had told him that. But he couldn't. Not until he'd caught Red John – and then he'd destroy that wall upstairs and then he'd think about selling. For now this house was a monument to his guilt – and a reminder that he had a job to do to try and atone for the deaths of his wife and daughter.

"No," he said softly, too sick to even try and lie.

"You just movin' in?"

"Yes," he said. That was easier than explaining. "Haven't had a – chance yet."

"And what's with the smiley face?"

"Smiley face?" he asked, lifting his head slightly. "I – what?"

"He don't know," Zack said finally. "Someone must have broken in and painted it on the wall."

Oh, if they only knew, thought Jane. He hoped they'd quit talking about it. He just wanted to sleep. He lowered his head once more and let his eyes drift shut.

"There's something about this place that gives me the creeps," Charlie said after a moment. "I don't know what it is. It's almost like it's – haunted or somethin'."

"Don't be ridiculous," exclaimed Ed impatiently. "It's just empty."

"I don't know – you should go look at that face on the wall," Zack told him. "It's almost like it's – I don't know – painted in blood or somethin'."

"Now you're just being an idiot!" Ed told him. When the other two didn't answer, he sighed. "Fine. I'll go take a look. You're both a couple of scared little girls!"

Jane heard footsteps head towards the stairs. He wanted to call out, to tell Ed to stop. He didn't want any more people going into that room – defiling that space. It was his space – not for the eyes of anyone else.

"What are we gonna do with him?" whispered Charlie.

"Once things are safe we can get rid of him," Zack answered. "Just tie him up to somethin' heavy and throw him into the ocean."

"I don't like it," Charlie answered.

Yeah Charlie, thought Jane. You go!

"I don't wanna be responsible for killin' nobody!"

"You fool! We've already killed someone."

"I didn't," Charlie defended himself. "That was you. You shot that guy. Nobody was supposed to get hurt!"

"He was reachin' for a gun," Zack said. "And it doesn't matter who killed him. We all took part in the robbery so we're all guilty. And killing someone while doin' another crime will get us all the chair. So one more ain't gonna matter!"

Except it would matter to him Jane thought. Which was interesting, a small part of him thought. Since he'd first discovered the bodies of his wife and child he'd lost any real desire to live. In fact, for the first few months he'd actively wanted to die. He'd even tried to take his own life, which had ended up with him spending six months in a mental hospital.

By the time he'd come out he no longer wished to kill himself. Instead he'd decided to focus on revenge. He was going to kill Red John – what happened to Patrick Jane afterward he didn't know or care. His life had ended with the death of the two people he loved most in the world.

But right now – he knew he really didn't want to die. And interestingly enough, it wasn't just because he wouldn't finish off his quest to kill Red John. Instead he thought about Teresa, and the fact that he'd miss her. And he thought about Cho and Rigsby and Van Pelt and that he'd miss them. Honestly not as much as he would Teresa – but he refused to delve any more into that thought.

No, he didn't want to die – but unless something changed in the next few minutes, he was afraid he was going to.


"Did you try calling him?" Cho asked.

"No – I didn't think of that," Teresa answered, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "Of course I did. I've called him repeatedly."

"Maybe he just doesn't want to talk to you – or to anybody I mean."

Teresa sighed. "Yeah, that's possible. I was kind of mean to him earlier."

"He screwed up. It wasn't your fault and he deserved to know."

"I know. But I didn't have to be quite so angry at him. I think – Stan says he thinks -"

"Stan?"

"The security guard at the CBI. He saw Jane leave and said he looked really upset. Cho, I'm worried. He's not in his attic and he's not at his hotel. I've looked everywhere I can think of and I can't find him."

"Maybe he's gone to Malibu."

Teresa could have cursed. Why in hell hadn't she thought of his house? She knew he went there occasionally and if he really had been upset, that might have driven him there. In one sense she hoped he had gone to Malibu – she could stop worrying. But on the other hand, she hated when he went there. She knew he went when he had had a particularly bad time of it with Red John, or when he couldn't deal with thoughts of his wife or child.

"Why don't you call the Malibu police and have them drive by – see if he's there."

"Yeah, yeah that's a good idea. I'll do that."

"And if he's not, give me a call. We'll find him."

"Thanks Cho. I'm probably just over-reacting -"

"It's Jane," Cho replied. Teresa laughed softly. Nothing more needed to be said.

She hung up and then sat for a few seconds before picking up her phone again. A moment later she dialed the number for the Malibu police.

"He – my name is Teresa Lisbon. I'm with the CBI and we're looking for one of our agents. I wondered if someone could run by his house -"