I've had several comments that the last chapter was confusing, and I apologize for that. It was meant to be a hallucination sequence where Lisbon and Van Pelt are overly medicated. I believe that there should be less confusion from here on in, as far as referencing different shows will be minimal. Anyway, I'd just like to say thanks now to everybody who's stuck with me this long. It's beginning to wind down (somewhat) and the end is in sight. Hope you enjoy!
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A mysterious dark-haired man stood over Teresa Lisbon's sleeping body. His gaze traced the way her long dark hair fell across her forehead and lay gently against her neck. He could see the veins in her neck, the blood so easily spilt. She was a tygeress in waking, but sleeping she seemed vulnerable, a lamb ready for the sacrifice. Her eyes flickered under their lids; he wondered what she was dreaming about. Lisbon shifted in her sleep, as though sensing his presence and burning thoughts.
He turned slowly away from her and walked to the bedside of Grace Van Pelt. There was a smudge of white power in the corner of her mouth; no doubt from the donuts that Patrick Jane had brought in to the agents earlier in the day. Her brilliant red hair swept over her face, fluttering as she breathed. Carefully, he reached out and touched those crimson locks, the sudden thought of another red-head coming to his mind. He had to return her tea cup.
The hospital was dark, the curtains drawn against the California night. He could hear the pulsing of machines around him and the idle chatter of nurses down the hallway. He looked once more at Lisbon, the tygeress and the lamb, and back to Van Pelt, so pale and delicate she could have been a marble statue.
Two roses bloomed on the stand between their hospital cots. The man touched the petals, the soft, smooth velvet crushing between his fingers. Their delicate fragrance was all too easy to destroy. Beauty was so fragile, so easily destroyed… a knife, a tragedy… life was beautiful. Life was fragile. He picked up the terra cotta pot that held the white rose in his left hand, the red rose in his left. Then, with one last look at the sleeping women, he left the darkened hospital room.
The mysterious dark-haired man smiled as he stepped into the elevator.