Hello! So here's Chapter Seven. This one's set post S3 finale, and you should probably assume that Jane actually did shoot Red John, and that now he's in prison for it. Thanks very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, also to Wldwmn who provided this quote. It's very angsty, for me anyway. I'll be sure to make next chapter a happy one, I haven't done that for a while. Anyway, it was a wonderful quote. Must be off to school now. Please R&R!

Nope. Don't own it.

Chapter Seven

'One sometimes weeps over one's illusions with as much bitterness as over a death.'- Guy de Maupassant.

Lisbon switched off the engine and sat for just a moment in the silence. Glancing to her right, she saw the empty passenger seat and remembered a time where she'd dreamt for this day, for an entire drive spent without wanting to bash her head against the steering wheel. It had been quite a nice dream, from a distance at least. But now that it was here, now that he no longer sat in the silence beside her, all it felt was wrong. Like she'd forgotten something.

A sudden knock on the window startled her. Through the evening fog on the glass, she saw red hair and Van Pelt stepped back as she pushed open the door.

'You alright, Boss?'

'Yeah, fine.' She was sick of the question and bored with the answer, having claimed it far too many times these past few months. Of course, it didn't help that she knew it wasn't true. None of them were alright. They went about their cases and convictions and pretended that they'd healed-some more convincingly than others-but just under the surface were the same old scars and time would not fade them away.

With a showing of her badge to the local police they were inside the house. A creaky door, a dark hallway. If he were here he'd comment on the drama of it all…but he wasn't, she reminded herself harshly. As they entered the living room, she pulled on the gloves she'd been given and her gaze fell immediately on the body sprawled on the couch, his face bloody from a nasty head wound. On the floor beside him was a leather wallet, and she bent to pick it up.

'Name's Eric Shroeder, 46 years old,' Rigsby informed her. 'His sister found him about a half hour ago, but the M.E. thinks he's been dead at least twelve hours, which puts time of death at 7am at the latest. Cause of death looks like blunt force trauma to the head.' Lisbon glanced around the room and saw only cleanliness, no clues to suggest a profession or a craft.

'What does he do?' she queried absentmindedly.

'Not much anymore,' she heard, a soft voice and then a laugh. Her heart stopped.

'What?' she asked, spinning to face Rigsby in the bleak hope that they were his words. But he and Van Pelt only gave her the same strange look, and she swallowed. She must be tired, hearing things. She really should work less.

'He's an insurance agent,' Van Pelt said cautiously. 'His clients include some of the biggest names in California. Leo and Sons, Geoffrey Harlan, Brighton Inc.'

'So, wealthy then.'

'Well, you'd think that, but according to his sister he's deep in debt.' Rigsby opened a little black notebook and read from his notes. 'He's a gambler. Seems he put his money on anything; football, horses, baseball…'

'And golf.' The familiar voice again made her breath catch painfully in her throat, and this time it continued as if prompted by scepticism. 'There's a glove tan on his left hand, and the slope of his handwriting indicates he's right-handed; hence, he's a golfer.' Lisbon glanced down at Shroeder's wallet, noticed the handwriting sloping to the right and concluded that for anyone to know that, they would almost need to be standing right behind her…suddenly there was a light brush against the back of her neck, and she jumped.

'Are you sure you're alright, Boss?' That damn question again. Lisbon ignored it.

'Where's Cho?' she asked loudly. She needed to get out of the room, away from this twisted game her mind was playing with her. It was making her nervous.

'With the sister, in the next room.' She left quickly, but not quick enough to miss the sudden concern burning into her back.

The kitchen greeted her with a nod from Cho and a glance from a tear-wrecked brunette. The sister, assumedly. Lisbon pushed all thought of familiar voices into a corner and as she strode over attempted to look calm, unfazed.

'I'm sorry, Mrs Boyd,' Cho was saying, 'but I'm going to have to ask you where you were around seven this morning.'

'Yes, of course,' the woman breathed. Her name was Tara, Lisbon discovered from a peek at Cho's notes. 'I was…at home, asleep. My shift doesn't start until nine-thirty.'

'Ma'am,' she said gently, 'do you know anyone who might want to harm your brother?'

'No, everyone loved Eric.'

'Any colleagues or clients that might hold a grudge?'

'No.'

'Liar,' she heard, soft yet self-assured, and as Cho continued the interview she closed her eyes. But no matter how hard she tried to block the voice out, she could still hear him, as clearly as if he were standing there beside them. 'Eric wasn't loved by everyone. You, Tara, for instance…you hated him. He had all the success in the world, all the money, and each day you would watch him throw it away. Everything you ever wanted, wasted on him.'

During the split second that she opened her eyes, Lisbon thought she saw a flash of blonde hair, grey vest, but it vanished before she could focus. Unsettled to the point of panic, she tried to concentrate on Cho's words but heard them as if from underwater. And over the top, that velvety voice again rushed mercilessly to surround her, continuing that routine of accusation she'd seen far too many times.

'You weren't asleep this morning, Tara.' The woman in question had her misty eyes on Cho, oblivious to the fact that she was about to be verbally charged with murder. 'You came here, to try and talk some sense into Eric before he left for work.' A dramatic pause. 'But he wouldn't listen, would he?'

Up until now, Lisbon had only been angry at herself for fabricating his presence, conjuring his words from other cases in her memories. But suddenly and viciously, her anger began to be directed toward him. After all, he was haunting her like a bloody ghost. He was only in prison. He didn't have the right. The fury built steadily inside her until it threatened to burst, waves of dizzying red in her throat, and she suddenly couldn't be damned holding it back anymore.

'You're not fucking dead, Jane!' she shrieked, and in the aftermoments of similar madness she waited for his reaction. Eventually, it dawned on her that there was only silence. Silence, and expressions of shock from Cho and Tara, and also from Van Pelt and Rigsby who had just rushed into the room. Most of her knew that she needed to take a deep breath, calm down, but the air wouldn't come and the fury wouldn't leave. She couldn't possibly do her job like this.

'Sorry, excuse me,' she mumbled and fled through the nearest door into what looked like the dining room. Suddenly, without warning or reason, she burst into her first tears since his arrest and once started she couldn't stop. Sinking to the floor with her back against the wall, she closed her eyes and began rocking herself back and forth as if it might keep the remaining fragments of her sanity from leaving. He's not here, she repeatedly told herself. He's not here, he's in prison, he's in prison. But slowly, the truth dawned.

He would always be there. If not in body, then in memory, and it was a recollection that hurt more to let go than to keep. A long time ago she had hoped than one day, after he'd destroyed or been destroyed, she could maybe cut a clean line between past and future and let life resume. Not this torn and damaging half-existence that infuriated her. She was free of the physical him, yes, but she wasn't free; no matter how far she ran, how much she lived, if she looked back she would always see his cocky grin and the illusions that would never let her escape.

When she opened her eyes, he was there in front of her. Not a glimpse of colour through her tears, but all of him.

'Haven't you read the instructions?' he asked softly, jokingly. 'You've got to let go for it to stop hurting.'

But that only made her cry harder.

There we go. I have a quote for Chapter 8, but after that I would gladly beg for some more. Please review!

TAJ :)