Stephanie dropped to the floor and Jane rushed to her side, shouting, "Why did you do that?" to Gary.
Very calm now, Gary said, "The aliens like you. You like her. They aliens will help her. They won't let her die."
She felt cold and hot at the same time. Voices came at her as if through glass and her vision was clouded with a gauzy haze. Is this what dying is like? Stephanie wondered.
Horrified, Jane knelt next to Stephanie. She was having trouble breathing and blood was pouring from a wound in the center of her chest. He put his hands over it to try and slow the blood flow but it was too fast. "Bring me the first aid kit," he commanded Gary.
Stephanie gave him a faint smile. "There's nothing in there that will help me…" she coughed.
"Don't try to talk," Jane told her. He looked back at Gary. "Move," he yelled at him.
Gary had lowered the gun to his side but stayed in place. "What's the matter? You said you believed the aliens would help her. Don't you believe?"
Patrick stared at Gary but the basement dissolved around him and he was suddenly back in his home 5 years ago having just opened the door to his bedroom. All he could see was the bloody smiley face illuminated by the toppled lamp. Paralyzed with terror, Patrick whispered, "Oh God… Oh Jesus, please help…" But no help came.
"Why are you upset?" Gary demanded.
Patrick was pulled back to the present. Still covering her wound with his hands, he leaned over Stephanie. "You hang on how, do you hear me?" he told her fiercely.
"Shot doesn't mean dead," she whispered.
"No, it doesn't," he said.
Standing over them, Gary said, "The aliens will help her. You just have to believe."
Stephanie's eyes focused on Patrick's. "Do you believe?" she asked him.
Patrick met her gaze. He forced himself to say, "Yes."
Stephanie stared right through him and whispered, "Liar." She closed her eyes.
"You are a liar," accused Gary angrily.
Patrick was still for a moment while he fought back fury and tears.
Gary aimed his gun at Jane's back. "You're a liar! You didn't believe and she's dead and Steve's dead and now you're going to be dead and then I'll be dead too!"
With ultra-calm composure, Jane said, "Then who will tell the story?" He released pressure on Stephanie's wound and straightened. "That's what Steve wanted. He wanted his story told and I'm the only one who can tell it."
"It doesn't matter," said Gary. "Steve's dead."
Jane stood up, bloody hands at his sides. He faced Gary and said, "It does matter. A person's story lives on after their dead. As long as there's someone alive to tell it. Let me tell Steve's story."
Gary began to cry again. "No one will believe."
"I'll make them believe," Jane said, taking a step toward Gary.
Gary startled when Jane's phone began to ring from Gary's pocket.
"Give me my phone," Jane held out his hand.
"No," said Gary, backing away.
Jane followed him. "Give me my phone," he said firmly. Gary began to shake. Jane calmly walked up to him. "It's over, done. Give me the gun and give me my phone."
Gary took the still ringing phone out of his pocket and handed it to Jane, the pointed the gun at his own head. Jane snatched the gun from Gary's hand with no resistance. "No one else is going to die today," Jane said. He looked at the display on his phone and felt a rush of relief. It was Lisbon. He flipped open the phone and said, "We're going to need an ambulance here."
* * * *
A day later, Stephanie lay propped up in a hospital bed in a room with several vases of flowers surrounding her. At her side was Benson Bowman. The two of them had just finished giving their statements to Theresa Lisbon and Kimball Cho when a huge bouquet of flowers and balloons tried to fit through the door. The four of them watched incredulously as the arrangement twisted and dipped and finally managed to clear the doorway. In the middle of it all was a radiant Patrick Jane.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," he said upon seeing Lisbon and Cho.
"We're just finishing up here," Lisbon said, ducking out of the way as the flowers approached.
"These are for you," Patrick told Stephanie.
"No kidding," she said. Her voice was soft but strong. "Thanks… but I don't know where you'll put them…"
Jane searched momentarily for an appropriate spot then set the arrangement on the end of Stephanie's bed. Lisbon rolled her eyes and picked up the arrangement to move it to a more stable surface as Jane maintained a smile and decorous distance from Stephanie. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Like I was hit by a truck," she said.
"She was very lucky," Benson said. "A little to the left or the right and the bullet could have hit her spine or her lung."
Stephanie said, "Patrick, this is Benson Bowman."
Patrick stepped up to shake hands with Benson. "I'm very sorry about your uncle," he told him.
"Thank you," said Benson. "And thank you for saving my friend."
"You're welcomes," said Patrick. "She's got a quite a story to tell. This one in her own name."
* * * *