Jane was woken up by loud laughter. It took him a moment to remember where he was and what had happened. When he did he had to stop himself from groaning, instead letting out a deep sigh.
He was still on the floor of his house and the laughter was coming from one of the men who had kidnapped him. He opened one eye and wasn't surprised to find out that Zack was the one who was cackling as if the funniest thing in the world had just happened.
Jane moved carefully, curious as to what the most unstable of his captors had found so funny. He couldn't see Ed and wondered, briefly, where he was. He did catch sight of Charlie, who was cursing softly and trying to remove something from his shirt. For a moment Jane thought it was blood, which caused his heart to pound more quickly, but soon realized it was actually pizza sauce.
"Shut the hell up!" Charlie growled. "It's not funny. You knocked into me!"
"Na – it's just that you're a klutz!" Zack continued to laugh uproariously at his colleague.
Jane couldn't figure out why Charlie dropping pizza on himself was so funny, but then he saw the half dozen empty beer bottles sitting beside Zack and another one in his hand. The man was well on his way to getting drunk.
It worried Jane to see Zack, the crazy one, drinking so heavily, even if it was only beer. He was unstable as it was and who knew what he'd do with too much alcohol in his system. It also worried him that quite a bit of time must have elapsed since he'd fallen asleep – or had been unconscious. He couldn't tell if he'd been asleep or passed out.
"Hey – pretty boy's awake!" Zack called out, a silly grin on his face.
"I wish you'd stop calling me that," Jane muttered, pushing himself up so that he was sitting.
"What? You don't like to be called that? But you are – pretty I mean. Why look at all those girly curls! I bet your wife loved to put her hands through them!"
Jane didn't answer, not wanting to think about his wife in conjunction with the mean SOB across from him.
"So? Did she? Did she like your curls pretty boy?"
"Shut up Zack!" Charlie said, still working at the stain on his shirt. "Leave the guy alone."
"Why should I? And who the hell are you to tell me to shut up? I wanna know something about Mr. Jane – or should I say Missy Jane?" He laughed again and took a long swig of beer. "How come you got a girl's name?" he asked. "Hey, pretty curls and a girl's name – maybe you really are a girl? And I bet guys go for you, don't they?"
"God Zack – you're such an ass!" Charlie looked over at the other man and scowled. "Do you think you're funny? Cause you're not."
"I've had it with you asshole!" Zack got up and without warning launched himself at Charlie. Immediately the two men were fighting, rolling over empty pizza boxes and knocking down empty beer bottles.
Jane watched for a few seconds, idly guessing who would be the winner in this fight, when it suddenly dawned on him that he was missing his chance. Ed still hadn't appeared and neither of the two men fighting were paying any attention to him.
He got up – or at least he tried to get up. It was easier thought than done. It took him a few seconds to finally make it to his feet and he had to use the wall for support. Even when standing he was so dizzy he almost keeled over, and only stopped himself by lurching over to the kitchen counter and hanging on for dear life as the room tilted and swirled around him.
A few moments later the madly dancing black spots in his eyes slowly settled and he was able to bring the room into some kind of focus. Zack and Charlie where still fighting and he knew that he had to move now.
He forced himself to walk to the end of the counter and then decided to head for the back door. It was closer and there were more places to hide then out front. He pushed himself off and stumbled towards the back door, praying he would make it before Ed appeared or the other men noticed.
His head hadn't stopped throbbing since he'd woken up, but now his stomach decided to rejoin the Jane Torment Band. An agonizing bout of nausea almost derailed his escape attempt as his stomach decided it wanted to reach the door before the rest of him. Fortunately he was able to swallow it back down, although the feeling stayed with him.
At that moment a picture popped into his head – a picture of the one person who could save him from the present situation and that was Teresa Lisbon.
Damn – did he ever wish he hadn't ticked her off! She would be here for him now if she wasn't so angry at him. A moment later he frowned. No, if she hadn't been angry at him he wouldn't be here.
Right then he hit the door – literally hit it as his legs gave out. He managed not to ooze to the floor, but that was only because of the doorknob, which he grasped with everything he had left inside him.
Now to get out! He glanced over his shoulder to see the two men both lying on the floor, no longer fighting, although they were both clearly exhausted and panting deeply. Uh oh. They still hadn't noticed his – he hoped soon to be absence – but if he didn't hurry there would be no absence at all.
He turned the doorknob, thankful that the deadbolt had been left open – he assumed by the merry band of crappy criminals.
He grinned even as the door swung open – one Patrick Jane attached firmly to it. Crappy criminals! He liked that. He'd have to tell Lisbon, sure that she'd appreciate the alliteration.
The cold of the evening – or night, since he didn't know the exact time – hit him squarely in the very sore and bruised chest. It hurt – but it also brought him a level of lucidity he hadn't experienced since he'd been cold-cocked. It also made him realize he'd better move his butt if he wanted to get out of his present predicament.
He stood straighter and stepped forward, as quickly as he could while still weaving from dizziness and nausea. He frowned then, knowing he had to do something but – oh damn – the door. He turned and pushed it closed, stopping it just before it slammed and trying to close it as quietly as possible. He then turned back around and headed out into his back yard.
His first thought was to make it to the guest-house but then decided that that would be the first place that Ed and the others would look. He wondered briefly if he could make it to the street, but decided that too was a bad idea. His house, like most others in the area, was isolated. He was also pretty sure that none of his neighbors would open their gates to him even if he could make it that far. He didn't even know some of the newer neighbors since he hadn't lived in the house since the murder of his wife and daughter.
He finally decided to head towards the beach, hoping that the men wouldn't bother to try and find him in the dark, although he knew that was pretty unlikely. Still, there were a couple of good hiding spots in the cliffs. If he could make it that far, he might have a chance. The only problem was going to be the narrow trail down. It would do him no good to fall off and kill himself.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Ed practically shouted when he returned from his exploration on the second floor of the house. Both Zack and Charlie were just beginning to pull themselves up after their fight and things were strewn all over the floor, including smashed pizza boxes, beer bottles and a couple of slices of mangled and messy pizza.
"He started it!" whined Zack. "I was just talkin' to pretty boy over there when -"
"Over where? Where is Jane, you morons?" Ed hissed, his voice no longer loud, but as a result sounded all the more menacing.
"What?" frowned Zack in confusion. He looked around the room but didn't seem to see anything wrong. It was Charlie who finally realized.
"Oh shit! He's gone."
"Nice of you to notice!" Ed sneered. "Now where the hell did he go?"
"What are you – oh – pretty boy's gone," Zack looked around again his voice puzzled as he tried to figure out, through the haze of alcohol and post-fight adrenaline, what had happened to their captive.
"Where did he go," Ed ground out. "If he gets away and tells someone I'm gonna shoot you both!"
"He can't have gone far," reasoned Charlie, dabbing at his split and bleeding lip. "He was hurt too bad."
"Yeah, and you gave me a hard time about that," Zack said sarcastically. "If he'd been okay he'd be long gone."
"With the way you two assholes are going on, he probably already is. Charlie, check out front – and make sure no one sees you."
"How am I -?"
"Use your fuckin brains!" Ed yelled. "Zack you check out back – I'm gonna check the house."
"How come I gotta go outside?" Zack complained. "It's dark out there."
"What? You scared?" Ed sneered.
"No! I'm not scared – I just don't have a flashlight and don't wanna fall off a cliff."
"Right now I'm thinkin' of throwin' you off a cliff," Ed told him furiously. "Now go before the guy has time to walk all the way to New York!"
Zack continued to grumble as he made his way to the back door. Charlie was quieter – already realizing that pissing Ed off wasn't a good idea. As crazy as Zack seemed, he knew that Ed was the more dangerous of the two.
Charlie was regretting – had been for quite a few hours – getting involved with Ed Bigelow and Zachary Davis. He'd arrived in LA a few months previously, after having travelled across country from Philadelphia. He'd made his way by doing odd jobs, but mostly through petty theft and shoplifting. He'd been raised in a whole series of foster homes and at eighteen had been dropped off at a homeless shelter with a plastic bag full of used clothes. Since then his life had pretty much gone downhill.
He'd met Ed at a bar when the other man had bought him a drink. He'd seemed friendly and Charlie had appreciated meeting someone who knew the area really well. They'd spent the evening talking, until eventually the conversation had gotten around to money – and the desire to get it without working – something both of them had in common.
It was Ed who had told him about the bank – a small branch in Calabasas – that he'd been watching now for weeks. He planned to rob it after the delivery of a major shipment of cash that happened every couple of weeks. Charlie soon found himself part of the plot.
He was pretty sure the two of them could have pulled it off without a hitch – until the moment that Ed brought Zack on board. He still couldn't figure out why he had done it and was sure his partner was regretting it to this day.
But Zack had become part of their team – and had ended up almost getting them killed. What was almost as bad – almost but not quite – was that Zach had killed the security guard at the bank and they were now wanted for murder.
It wasn't the way that Charlie had hoped his life would turn out, although he knew that his background in the foster system – wanted by no one – was the purest training ground for his present way of life. He knew, and almost accepted, that a long life was not in store for him. No, he'd go down in a blaze of gory, when some cop decided to make a name for himself.
Charlie checked all around the front of the house, careful to keep himself hidden to potential passers-by. He was confident no one would be out at this hour and the property was secluded, so he didn't worry too much about being seen.
He felt kinda sorry for the man they'd kidnapped. He hadn't done anything wrong, poor bugger, but was probably going to end up dead as a result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. For a moment Charlie thought about letting him go, if he happened to find him, but then thought better of it. No – there was still a chance that they could get out of this mess, but not if Jane reported what – and more importantly who he'd seen.
So, as much as he didn't like it, he was gonna do whatever he could to find and return Patrick Jane.
Zack left by the back door, pissed at Ed for making him look outside for the asshole they'd kidnapped. It was Charlie's fault the guy had disappeared and he should be the one to find him.
It was dark in the back – the street lights totally obscured by the trees. Even the moon was hidden behind clouds. Zack would never have admitted it to a soul – but he was afraid of the dark.
It brought back memories of his father – the bastard who'd loved to play sadistic games with his only son, making him run away in the dark and then catching him and hurting him. Zack didn't like to think about his old man, although he did grin when he thought about the the fact that as of now he was burning in hell.
He'd made sure his father would never hurt him again – nor would anyone ever find his body.
Zack jumped at a sound, but then breathed a sigh of relief when he realized it was only some small critter. He was jumpy as hell and he hoped he'd come across blondie's body sometime soon. The guy was hurt – he'd bashed his scull in – and hopefully couldn't make it too far. The best scenario would be for him to fall off a cliff into the ocean – although on second thought, Zack didn't want to miss the chance of dispatching the guy himself.
He practically screamed when something brushed up against him, and cursed when he discovered it was nothing more than the branch of a tree. Fuck Ed for making him do this. He should be the one out here. He's the one who had insisted on bringing the guy. They should have shot him and dumped him where they found him. They could camp out in his house for days, until the manhunt ended.
Zack finally found a trail – a faint one that had overgrown – but it looked like it might head towards the ocean side of the house. He followed it carefully, relieved to be out of the woods – literally, if not figuratively.
He continued to move forward, carefully, hoping to come across their hostage. He grinned, thinking of how much he'd like to play with the guy, just like his father used to do to him. Yup – he was a pretty boy all right – pretty enough for some fun.
Jane made his way – lurched his way if truth were told – to the path that led to the cliff. He and Angela used to walk this way, down to the beach. During the day it was steep but not overly dangerous. At night it could be treacherous.
He'd put up a fence towards the end of the trail, afraid that Charlotte would try and get down on her own one day, and fall. He'd been frightened as she was an adventurous child. It was one of the reasons he'd taught her to swim at an early age.
Angela used to complain that Charlotte took after him – leaping into things before really thinking them through. Fortunately, she'd say, Charlotte was also like her father in that she always seemed to get out of trouble as easily as she got into it.
As Jane stumbled along the trail – hanging on to branches whenever he could – he allowed himself to think about his wife and daughter. He could almost hear his little girl's laughter as they set out on adventures together. She used to love to pretend to be a princess and to hide from the dragon (Patrick) and to be saved by the beautiful Queen (Angela). Sometimes he'd get to be the handsome prince, who would save the beautiful Princess Charlotte. He used to tell her that one day she wouldn't want her father to be her prince – she'd laugh and kiss him and tell him that she would stay with him and love him always.
He stumbled and fell to his knees, almost crying out in pain as his headache spiked and his knees were scraped. He didn't know if he'd fallen because of his injury, or because of the tears that were filling his eyes. He didn't allow himself to cry much anymore – but the head injury – and the day - had weakened his defenses. Right now all he wanted to see his wife and daughter waiting for him at the end of the trail and tell him how much they loved him.
He pulled himself to his feet, his stomach again rebelling. He forced himself forward, but suddenly began to retch and heave. The entire contents of his stomach – whatever was left after his last bout – came up in a violent spray. He coughed and choked, and would have fallen once more, except that he grabbed onto a young sapling and held on for dear life. He knew if he fell now, he wouldn't be able to get up.
Once his vomiting stopped he forced himself to move, sure that someone would be looking for him. He had to make it down to the beach – for some reason he felt that he'd be safe once there.
Although he was aware that the path ended suddenly, he had been expecting to come to the gate. It was only when he almost took one step too many – right over the edge of the cliff – that he remembered that the gate was gone. He'd torn it down in a rage after the murders. It had been a reminder of his failure to protect his little girl – not from the dangers of nature, but from the dangers of a self-centered and arrogant father.
He balanced precariously on the edge, managing to pull himself back at the last minute. He had thought about throwing himself over the cliff, many times, but only the realization that it wasn't quite high enough to cause a sure death – possibly only severe injury – had caused him to hesitate.
When he finally had decided to take his own life, it had been by walking out into a highway in front of a fast moving car. Unfortunately – although he only came to believe that much later – the car driver had had incredible reflexes and had managed to swerve and only clip him. He'd ended up slightly hurt but nowhere near death. He'd also ended up in a mental hospital for six months.
But now he certainly wasn't looking to die. In fact he was doing everything in his power to survive. "Pay attention Patrick," he whispered to himself. No one was going to come and rescue him –not after the ass he'd been. So now it was up to him and he'd better get his head on straight and do what he had to do.
He looked around – although his eyes couldn't quite follow the motion of his head. He wanted to groan, but instead took a few deep breaths to try and steady the dizziness. Once everything had settled he carefully sought the beginning of the downward path.
"There you are," he said softly, heading carefully over to the path now almost made invisibly by bushes, which had grown up. He pushed aside the branches and carefully took a step down. He'd have to take it carefully.
It was as he took the first couple of steps that he heard a noise and saw a light shine through the trees. Someone had come outside, which probably meant they were looking for him.
"Damn," he murmured. He'd known it would happen, but he'd hoped for a few more minutes. He began to move more quickly, trying to ignore the pain and dizziness. He couldn't afford to think about anything but survival.
"Where the fuck are you!" Zack swore as he pushed aside more branches. He hadn't seen anything of Jane and was about to turn around and head back to the house when he got a wiff of something. He stopped dead and then took a step forward. It was only when he slipped and fell to his knees that he realized.
"Oh shit! Gross!" He put his hand down to help get to his feet and felt the slippery, slimy mess. The smell hit him again. He had just fallen into a puddle of vomit – which was disgusting, but also meant that Jane had been here and had to be close.
He furiously wiped his hands on the ground, feeling like he wanted to throw up himself. As he pushed himself to his feet he decided he really wanted to kill Jane now. He was going to stink of puke!
He moved forward more rapidly– less worried about the dark and more determined to find blondie. He was looking forward to having some fun and then paying him back for the puke.
Jane was a third of the way down when he heard a voice. He didn't know who it was, but he could tell the person was angry – so probably Zack or Ed. He began to hurry, hoping that the path was much the same as it had been the last time he'd been down. He had to rely on his instincts and on his memory because he could barely see more than six inches in front of his face.
The moon had gone behind some clouds – clouds, which were rare in California. Jane didn't know whether to be happy for the protection of darkness or angry that he couldn't see where he was going.
But the guys behind you will have even less of an idea, he told himself. That thought kept him moving forward, even though everything in his body was telling him to stop and rest.
He almost did a face-plant again when he reached the bottom of the cliff before realizing it. Thinking there was another step down, his foot hit solid ground where he wasn't expecting it, causing him to lose his balance. He managed to save himself at the last second.
Tottering uncertainly, he gave himself a few seconds to rest. But then a sound from the top of the cliff scared him and he began to move. Someone had found the trail and was coming down. He had to get out of here and get to safety.
Zack had found the trail – the overgrown, steep trail down to the beach. He could hear the waves from here and smell the sea air. He'd always like the ocean. Maybe after they killed Jane they could just stay and live here. They'd just tell the neighbors that Jane had sold them the house. What wouldn't he give to live in Malibu!
Getting down the cliff was hard – much harder than he'd thought it would be. He continually slipped and almost went down the hill on his ass. The one thing that kept him going was the belief that he'd find Jane at the bottom.
In fact Jane was no longer at the bottom of the trail. Instead he'd made his way to the cave – Charly's and his cave. The two of them had discovered it on one of their adventure walks and they'd turned it into their secret hiding place. Although Angela had known were it was, they'd kept that fact from their daughter. She'd loved the idea of a secret place that only her Daddy knew about.
The only problem with the cave was that it was hard to find if you didn't know where it was. That was a good thing as far as the band of criminals was concerned, but Jane worried that he wouldn't be able to find it in the dark. It had been years since he'd been here, and if it had been for anything other than to save his life, he would have avoided it like the plague. It brought back too many memories he didn't know if he could handle.
He continued to walk along the bottom of the cliff, stumbling over the rough stones. The sound of the ocean drowned out most other sounds here – and he worried that someone was closer behind him than he knew. He could feel his heart beating furiously and he found it hard to breathe. The fact that – at the least – he had bruised ribs didn't help.
He almost walked right by the mouth of the cave. The entrance was hidden by a rock which jutted out into the path. To see the entrance you'd have to turn around and look back, which most people wouldn't do as the trail at this point was treacherous. There was another sharp drop, which, at high tide, was right into the churning water. He'd had to carefully guide Charlotte with him at this point.
It was only when he'd taken a few steps beyond the entrance, missing it completely, that the moon came out from behind a cloud and the beach was suddenly lit brightly. He had to shade his eyes, and his headache spiked but a moment later he blinked and suddenly knew where he was.
With a sigh he took a few steps back and pushed himself into the opening. He had to bend down – it was shorter than him – which also created problems when he grew dizzier. He also suffered a fierce flashback – remembering how Charly would giggle over the fact that she fit through the entrance perfectly, while he had to squeeze himself into it.
After a few minutes of struggle, the feeling that he wanted to vomit again, and the strong desire to pass out, Patrick made it inside the secret cave. He stumbled back and then sat down abruptly. A strangled 'grunt' came out of his mouth as his right buttock landed on top of a sharp rock. He'd have a lovely bruise.
He took a few deep breaths and then carefully, slowly leaned back. He just needed to pass out for a few minutes, a few, short min -
Zack was cursing up a storm by the time he reached the bottom of the hill. The going down had been a pain and his arms and legs were scratched. He'd almost fallen off a couple of times, swearing at the man who had caused this situation. God – if he found him he was going to cut him up as slowly as possible and then feed him, one part at a time, into the ocean.
Zack reached the bottom of the cliff and looked both left and right. He was sure that Patrick couldn't be too far ahead of him. He didn't really have anywhere to go. Zack was sure he would find the man somewhere close by.
He took a step forward, and then another one, and was soon following the bottom of the cliff. There was no way in hell that Patrick Jane was going to escape!
