A/N: Love you reviewers :D xxx

Chapter 8. What Are You Trying To Do?

Pages upon pages upon pages of scribbles, scruffy writing, mostly indecipherable to me. That was what I could see before me, cradled in my cautious hands. My eyes went left to right, and right to left, trying to decode and understand what covered the crinkled creamy pages. Every now and then, I found a word among the snake pit of letters and pencil marks and drawings:

Red John. Kristina. Revenge.

My fingers ran lightly along the heavy pencilled letters. I saw a Red John smiley sketched roughly in the corner, slightly overlapped by words. Its ugly tormenting face smiled dangerously off the page at me. My eyes stung and I flipped the rough paper, finding the next double page spread of tortured scribblings. I stared down at them. Jane's personal nightmare.

I almost couldn't believe that this was his book. This looked like the creation of a madman...a crazed person, obsessively noting down every single thing, cramming it in the small spaces that the book provided. My heart ached in my chest, like it was feeling just a tiny piece of the pain that had managed to create what I saw before me. I managed to pick out some new words from the top of the page:

All my fault. I'm sorry.

And then the bottom:

Just give her back. Give her back...

I swallowed hard. How could he possibly have created this? Did he really manage to cover up so much emotion and feeling?

Now I began to wonder what had happened between us, when he obviously missed Kristina so much. I started to feel guilty. Had I really just got in the way of a man who was brokenly searching for the one he wanted back? Had I got in the way at his weakest point, when he was so vulnerable and lost?

I gritted my teeth against the tears that crowded my eyes. This was insane.

Suddenly, I heard a heavy drop on the page. I switched my gaze to the fat drop of moisture that had landed slap bang in the middle of the left hand page. I swore under my breath, pulling the end of my jacket sleeve into my palm and dabbing the page gently, trying not to disturb the pencil markings. The paper began to crinkle around the spot where the tear had fallen.

'Damn it...' I muttered quietly.

'Boss?'

My heart felt like it had stopped as I turned on the stool to find Cho in the doorway. I swivelled back towards the window to swipe away the tears on my face with the dry side of my sleeve.

'Yes?' I answered, as I dabbed the tears from my eyes.

There was a moment's silence, and I knew Cho was silently wondering why I was crying.

'Uh...we thought of somewhere to look.'

'What?' I twisted round so fast my spine could have snapped.

'Not for Jane directly.'

'Oh...What are we looking for?'

'We looked through the case file and the notes, and we thought of something else to do with the second note.'

I stood up, the floor boards creaking slightly beneath my weight. 'Ok...'

Following Cho back downstairs, I took a few deep breaths, looking down at the book I still had secured in my hand. I should have left it behind. It was Jane's, and it really should have been left untouched.

Just outside the bullpen, I told Cho to wait a moment while I went to my office. I carefully slipped the book into my top drawer, locking it up after, making sure it was secure, protecting it like it was a piece of Jane.

Slowly, I made my way back, meeting Cho, Van Pelt and Rigsby in the bullpen.

'What've you got?' I asked.

Van Pelt started. 'Well, the forensics from the police department didn't find anything, but we began looking through everything so far, to see if we'd missed anything. The second note, 'Here lies the soul' etcetera? We thought that maybe it had two meanings.'

I nodded, 'Go on.'

'Well, you and Jane saw the writing in his house, but what if Red John meant two places? Jane's house, and his wife and child's graves?'

'Because, you know, 'here lies' are words you'd find on graves...' Rigsby pointed out.

'And Red John could have tried to imply that Jane's wife and child were his soul.' Van Pelt finished.

I nodded slowly, 'That's good. Well done.'

Van Pelt smiled.

'But we don't know-'

'Already sorted,' Van Pelt interrupted, 'I found the names out of some original newspaper prints, and tracked them down using the records of all the graveyards and churchyards around California. Angela and Charlotte Jane are buried in a place called Cherry Hill Rest.'

Cherry Hill Rest; a tranquil, pretty little place where many loved ones were laid to rest. My eyes travelled across the rich green grass, spotted with well maintained grave stones and small monuments placed in remembrance of lost ones, with cherry blossom trees providing shade, watching over them. I didn't like graveyards, even if they were like this one. All of them automatically make you feel melancholy, reminding you of how much you really missed the ones that you'd lost, and if not, making you feel sad for the ones that had lost someone.

I don't think I'd visited my mother or father's graves more than four times. It too vividly took me back to the times when my father would hole up in his room with several bottles of brandy and hug my mother's pillow to his chest because it still smelled of her. If anyone interrupted, he would become violent; making me and my brother's feel like it was our fault. I still remembered the time where my youngest brother, James, too young to understand, had pushed the door open to the bedroom and had had a bottle blindly thrown at him. It had only just missed, smashing on the wall just beside his head, dribbling the remaining alcohol down the old wallpaper. He had come crying to me, pushing his way into my arms and wildly recalling how daddy had tried to kill him with a bottle of bad stuff.

I pressed down the emotions building up inside me as Cho called me up the road, a little way from where we'd parked.

'Found them, boss!'

I jogged up the road and fell to a walk as I moved up onto the grass, stepping around the headstones before me to reach the place where Cho stood. I found two simple, modest headstones before me. One marked 'Angela Ruskin Jane' and the other marked 'Charlotte Anne Jane'. I crouched slowly before them, simply observing them, finding myself imagining the funeral. I tried to imagine how Jane must have felt on that day. Robbed. Guilt-stricken. The worst pain imaginable filling him from head to toe. I silently paid my respects to the two people that he had loved the most. I couldn't come here simply to search for the next note. It wouldn't be right.

When I was ready, I looked away from the headstones, for any sign of a clue or a note. It was then that I noticed the single red rose resting between the graves. I leaned forward carefully, grasping the flower delicately in my fingers. It was fresh. I guessed it had been there around a day. That meant that it wasn't Jane who'd been here. Red John; had to be. I stood, the head clutched softly in my loose fist. I searched around the ground, for some other accompanying message with the rose, but I couldn't see anything. I quickly looked around the back, but still nothing. My eyebrows creased in mild frustration, and I let out a heavy breath. Staring down at the flower caught with its stem between my middle finger and ring finger, I wondered what was really going on; the purpose of all of this. And then something caught my eye. I carefully pushed my finger tips between the folds of the petals and caught the slip of red paper curled inside. I read through a single line of black writing on the thin strip:

See you soon, Miss Lisbon x

I stared, the soft breeze suddenly harsh and chilling.

'Boss?' I heard Cho from behind me.

'It's a note. From Red John,' I replied turning to face my colleague, 'See you soon Miss Lisbon.'

Cho stared at me with one of those seemingly blank stares, but I could see the concern in his eyes.

'What do you think it means?'

'I...don't know,' I replied, shaking my head softly, 'Uh...let's get out of here ok?'

With the rose still in grasp, I began back towards the SUV, my mind racing. Was he coming for me next? What was happening to Jane? I cursed under my breath. I climbed up into the driver's seat and took a few deep breaths, waiting for Cho to climb in. Once everyone was back, I began a slow drive out of Cherry Hill, wondering what was going to happen in the near future.

I sat snuggled up on my couch at home, my brother's old football shirt swamping my small form. While that note still haunted the back of my mind, I figured I could defend myself if needed. I didn't require protection. And I was too stubborn for anyone to persuade me otherwise.

So for now, cradled in my hand was Jane's book. I felt guilty just for removing it from the upstairs hideout, let alone the entire building, but I was too taken in, too absorbed in trying to properly discover Jane. I hadn't read all of it properly. I was just skimming over the pages, feeling more sympathy for my friend with each passing page. The obsession was heart-breaking.

I tried to imagine how hard it must be to lose your wife and child, then just as you move on, she's taken away too. But even though we now had Kristina back, we had lost Jane in the crossover, and I wasn't even sure Kristina was back in one piece. There was something strange about her. Her minimal amount of care for what had happened, and how she was more interested in telling me that I cared for Jane as more than just a friend. I wanted Jane to come back safely, and if he didn't, and Kristina had something to do with it, I would have no hesitation in arresting her.

I came to the final page in the book that had been used, and I sighed softly, letting my head fall back into the couch cushion behind my head before closing the book softly shut. But that was when I saw more in the very back, just before the cover slapped over the final page. Carefully lifting it open again, I saw the last scribblings, neat and organised compared to the rest. Butterflies were flittering in my stomach as I saw the word at the top of the page, underlined, drawn over several times to create dark messy pencil lines.

Lisbon.

I swallowed down hard, and just as I began to read the first line, there was a loud bang at the door. I jumped out of my skin, leaping up from the couch in shock. I looked back down at the cushions briefly, under which I had automatically shoved the book.

I lifted my eyes to the door as I heard another heavy bang. My heart was racing, pounding in my ears, almost deafening me. I tried to push it down as I called out, asking who it was. But there was no reply, other than the door receiving more of a battering.

I suddenly remembered. See you soon Miss Lisbon...

I panicked. I ran for my chest of drawers, where I kept my emergency weapon.

'Who's there!' I yelled over the racket as I yanked the drawer open, grappling up my gun. I fumbled with the safety, releasing it and steadily pointing at the door. Suddenly there was silence. My chest ached as it struggled to hold my heart in. My breaths were short, and I struggled to keep them quiet. I strained to hear anything from behind that door.

I began to think that they'd gone. It was starting to feel like an age since the banging had stopped. But then I heard a soft series of metal on metal chinks, and my eyes darted to the lock on the door. I heard the scraping inside the lock, trying to find just the right movement to spring the door open. I moved backwards slowly, my cell phone just behind me on top of the drawers. I kept my eye, and glock, steadily fixed on the door as I reached behind to grab the phone.

I stabbed one of the speed dial numbers while I watched the door, still holding my gun ready, hoping someone would pick up, whoever it would be.

I looked down at the screen briefly, and I realised that I'd pressed the speed dial for Jane.

'Crap...' I muttered, moving to end the call.

But then I heard something, above the scrapings at the door.

Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

My gaze shot to the door. My eyebrow creased. I looked to the phone, to the door, and back again.

Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

I stared at the words on my screen. Calling Jane...

My heart beating a mile a minute, I heard the sounds from the door stop. I tilted my head, gingerly taking an inquisitive step forward. The sound of the ringing phone grew minutely louder for a moment, before it was stopped. My hands shook, unable to hold my weapon steadily anymore. I looked down at my cell. The call had ended. I halted on the spot as the scraping started up again, followed by a soft click. The door swished inward just a centimetre. My heart was in my throat, and ripples of goosebumps flowed across my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

I watched a hand creep round, half way up, through the split between door and frame. I clenched my jaw tight, my whole body panicking.

I took back the step that I had taken forward. I sent my cell skidding across the carpet, freeing up my other hand to lift my glock, keeping it as steady as physically possible.

Slowly, the door creaked open bit by bit, the hand's knuckles white with the grip that it seemed to hold. My legs were growing weak with just the effort of standing.

And then the torturously slow movements stopped, and the door flung wide open, hitting the hinge's limits and bouncing back fractionally.

My heart stopped.

'Jane!' I cried. I lowered my gun quickly. 'You scared the shit out of me!'

He stared at me, deep and cold, like I'd never seen before.

'Jane...are you alright?' I stepped forward, reaching for his arm. I rubbed my thumb softly over his jacketed arm, examining his dishevelled hair and loose buttoned shirt, sticking out from underneath his waistcoat. The original clean light blue was stained with specks of blood and dirt. I looked worriedly into his deep green eyes, searching for something; some kind of answer.

His head tilted to one side fractionally. 'Lisbon...'

'I'm here Jane... what's wrong?' I stroked my hand up and down his arm gently. 'What happened?'

His brow furrowed as if he was trying to dig it up from some deep dark part of his memory.

'I...I don't...' He cocked his head, that same expression on his face. He looked up at me, his lips parting slightly. His brow unfurrowed, like he'd suddenly realised.

'Lisbon...'

I watched his hands travel behind his back, and my breathing quickened as one arm lifted and fell back round to the front, a handgun gripped securely in his hand.

I stared at the weapon, seemingly so comfortably held, despite his fear of firearms. He lifted it, pointing it loosely at me.

'Jane...' I warned, 'What are you doing?'