A/N: Yay! Even longer chapter than the last, and even faster. Yes, I probably should have been writing a new chapter for Lash of the Whip, as this story was the one that was updated more recently, but I really wanted to write more to this one. There was something which was supposed to be in the last chapter, but failed, then I was going to put it in this chapter, but that plan failed too... I wrote too much about Van Pelt and Rigsby's whereabouts and adventures to be able to put it in this chapter XD Next chapter maybe. :P

Chapter 12. Her Dark Past.

I sat across the table from Rigsby in the waffle cafe just around the corner from Eleanor's psychiatric hospital, chewing a chunk of waffle, hoping to forget the nervousness that was flitting around in my stomach. I'd chosen a plate of two waffles, decorated with scrambled egg and maple syrup. It felt like I needed a bit more of a treat than my usual breakfast to try and calm my nerves. This was Red John's sister we were going to be talking to, and somehow, breakfasting on healthy cereal just didn't seem to cut the mustard.

I looked at Rigsby's plate, stacked with several waffles, a heap of scrambled egg, bacon and sausage, all finished with a thick drizzling of maple syrup, and I felt a little ill. It would never cease to amaze me how much he could eat in one sitting, and yet still be hungry afterwards. Looking back at my own plate, and becoming glad that my serving actually looked pathetic compared to his, I delivered another small square of waffle and egg into my mouth, chewing as I looked out of the window beside me.

I watched cars pass by slowly on the concrete roads, faintly shimmering under the increasing heat of the morning sun. The odd person meandered on along the sidewalks, phones to their ears or a coffee in their hand, or both. They didn't know what was going on. They were oblivious to the situation at the CBI, where a notorious serial killer was playing mind games from behind a variety of physical and electronic shields, and a soul-broken CBI consultant was lost in the midst. They had no clue. It made my heart, and my throat ache, as I held back any emotion that might be threatening to become visible. I tried to stifle it with another forkful of waffle.

While I may have stayed strong in front of Lisbon, I couldn't prevent myself from becoming worried and scared all the time. It wasn't my nature to be able to remain neutral and seemingly unattached. I couldn't not care. I took a gulp of my orange juice, drowning it all out as my gaze flickered to Rigsby. He'd nearly devoured all of his breakfast, and I'd got one or two mouthfuls left. Then it would be time; time to drive round to the hospital to meet Eleanor.

I finished in a matter of minutes and washed it down with the rest of the orange juice, finishing just a few seconds before Rigsby assassinated his last waffle.

'Ready?' I asked, though he was probably more ready than I was.

He chucked his napkin on the plate after wiping his mouth off and nodded. 'Let's go.'

We clambered back into the SUV, I no longer being bothered by Rigsby's grumbling stomach; it had somehow managed to unnerve me a bit more than I already was. I averaged that we were safe for another hour before it started complaining again. I pulled out of the car park and onto the road, waiting at a set of traffic lights for a little too long for my nervously tapping foot to bear.

Soon enough, however, we were parked up in the parking lot of Oaks Psychiatric Hospital. I jumped out almost immediately, observing the two storey building before us. It was pleasant looking, with light brick work and woodwork. I approached the hospital with caution, like it might bite if I got there too fast. Rigsby walked beside me; I could feel the back of his hand brushing against mine as we went.

'How're you feeling?' he asked softly.

'Nervous. You?'

'Something like that.'

The corner of my mouth twitched upwards in a brief, nervous smile. 'Do you think she'll have improved by now? It's been what...ten years?'

'I don't know...'

I blew out a long breath as we came up to the entrance. I felt Rigsby's hand touch on the small of my back gently just before I pulled the door wide open and stepped into the reception area. I looked around to the right to see a glass window in the wall, looking in at a room where the receptionists sat. I stepped up to the grill, briefly looking around the chair-lined room, and the two sets of double doors, one to the right and one to the left.

'Hi. My name's Grace Van Pelt and this is Wayne Rigsby. We're with the CBI,' I offered my badge forward, 'We have reason to believe that a patient, Eleanor Immerson is being accommodated here, and she is a key part of an ongoing case. We were wondering if we could visit her?'

The receptionist looked down at her computer, presumably checking that there was actually a patient there by the same name.

'She was transferred here in 2000, from Sacramento County Mental Health Centre,' I added.

'Ok...' the woman murmured, 'Eleanor Immerson...uh...'

My heart began to pound as the woman continued to search; voicing inaudible murmuring noises as she scanned over what I assumed were patient lists. I began to worry that she wasn't here anymore when the woman muttered, 'Ah...here...oh...no...' but just a few seconds after, 'Here. Eleanor Immerson.'

I let out a soft, 'Phew.'

'Yes, here she is. I'll call someone down to take you up.'

I looked back at Rigsby with an expression of relief before turning to watch the receptionist pick up the phone and make the call.

'...some visitors for patient 1109...CBI...yes...ok...' the receptionist replaced the phone and told us that someone would be down shortly to take us to the right place, so we should sign the visitor's book and take a seat. I signed the book that the woman handed through the hole in the window, and with a word of thanks, turned to walk to the chairs opposite the receptionist's office. I took a seat, letting out a long breath.

'For a moment there I thought she was going to say she wasn't here anymore,' I muttered as Rigsby sat beside me.

'Yeah, well at least we don't have to chase her down again on another three hour journey.'

I let out a soft snort of laughter and shook my head.

It was about fifteen minutes before a young blonde haired woman walked through the double doors on the right of the room, carrying a clipboard by her side. She smiled warmly at us as she approached.

'You're with the CBI?' she asked.

'Yeah. Grace Van Pelt,' I replied, taking her offered hand in a hand shake.

'Agent Rigsby,' Rigsby added in, taking the doctor's hand briefly as well.

She smiled, 'Well, I'm Dr. Newman. Nice to meet you. I understand you're here to see Eleanor Immerson?'

I nodded, 'Yes.'

'Right this way then,' she began to walk back to the door from which she had walked. Above the door in clear capital letters read the words 'Secure Patient Treatment.'

Once we were through into the corridor beyond, Dr Newman began speaking again.

'I should warn you now; Eleanor hasn't made much progress since she first came here. When she arrived, she didn't respond to anyone, or any treatment we gave her. We tried a variety of therapies; benzodiazepines, ECT, amantadine...but nothing worked. The strange thing is, when someone is present in the room with her, she won't respond in any way, or make any movement. It's like she's in her own world, and refuses to come round, but when we leave, and come back a bit later, we always find a new drawing on the wall and a bleeding cut on her arm, which she used to draw the picture, but she'll be sat in exactly the same place, and in exactly the same position we left her.'

I exchanged a worried glance with Rigsby as the doctor buzzed open a set of two gates with a swipe card and continued.

'Even when someone stands at the door, just observing through the window to see what she does, she won't move. It's like she can tell someone's there, even if she can't see them.'

'Has she made any improvement at all?'

'Not as such...'

'What do you mean?' Rigsby asked.

'Well she still doesn't really respond...but in the last couple of months, when we set someone up by the door to watch her, she knows they're there, and she just turns her head to watch the window.'

Just thinking about a woman watching me from a plain white cell, through a small glass window brought shivers to my spine. I rolled my shoulders back uncomfortably.

'Whenever she can see or sense someone, she watches them, like she's silently fascinated by them.'

'Creepy,' Rigsby murmured.

'Yes, it has unsettled a few of our staff. We've had to switch her doctors several times,' Dr Newman paused, 'So why do want to see her anyway?'

'Well we can't discuss the details, but we believe her to be connected to an ongoing case we've been handling.'

'Fair enough,' the doctor nodded briefly, 'But I'll say now, you won't get anything out of her.'

'We'd like to just see her. See her room. That sort of thing,' I told her. I was silently disappointed that we probably wouldn't get anything useful out of Eleanor, but the point was we'd found her, and we'd be able to see what she had been drawing on her walls. One way or another, she was the sister of the serial killer that the CBI had been hunting for so long, years before I'd even arrived, and this was an important link, no matter how unresponsive that link was. After a while, Dr Newman stopped outside of a white, metal doored room.

'Well this is it,' she announced.

A card was slotted into the door - Patient 1109 - E. Immerson. There was a small wired window in the top half of the door, just at my eye level, and a closed hatch in the middle of the door. I stepped round the doctor to look through the window. My breath seemed to catch in my throat as I met gazes with her.

The girl inside the plain white room was sat cross-legged on the bed, on the right hand side. She was slouching, staring at me through the window with big, round, almost black eyes; not like she had just turned her head to see me appear in the window, but like she had been watching me coming, through the walls. Short, scruffy reddish-orange hair contrasted against her pale face and small features. Her stare was not that of hatred or determination, but more that of a scared young girl. However, the longer that I met eyes with her, the stronger the shivers and ripples of cold were, running along my skin and standing the hairs on my arms on end. I could have sworn the girl had cocked her head to the side a little, but I couldn't quite tell.

It was only when I tore my eyes away from hers that I saw the crimson painted smileys littering the wall opposite her bed. Her body was faced towards them, like she had simply been sat there watching them before I had appeared.

'You want to go in?' I heard Dr. Newman ask from beside me.

I didn't really register what she had said for a few seconds. 'Yeah...yes please,' I replied slowly.

The doctor stepped forward, pulling a key card from her pocket and sliding it through the door's locking system. With a clunk, the door unlocked and swung open a little, allowing Dr. Newman to slip her hand behind the door and pull it open. She opened it wide, allowing Rigsby and I to walk in. Naturally, I walked in more cautious and careful than eager. My strides were slow and small as I slipped into the room, my eyes constantly fixed on the girl whose stare remained fixed on me. I smiled at her as confidently as I could as Rigsby studied the walls behind me, examining each smiley face in turn.

I heard the door being closed with a soft thunk behind us before there was an utter absence of sound again.

'Hey...Eleanor,' I murmured the quiet greeting, while my gaze was pulled to the variety of short, ragged cuts on her arms. Most were scars, almost blending in with the paleness of her skin, but others were more red; flared with pink. I swallowed nervously. I cast a glance around the room, seeing smileys covering practically every inch of wall available. I could see that some had tried to be cleaned off in the past, where the red of the blood had been faded down, yet a ghost of the rich crimson still remained, not completely removed.

'Jacob had to have sent her mad,' Rigsby murmured, 'Other wise she wouldn't be drawing the same smileys as him. These are the actual Red John smileys, not just her own smileys or his early ones.'

I looked over my shoulder at Rigsby, who continued to carefully analyse the widely smiling faces.

'How do you think he did it?' I asked.

'I...don't know. Maybe he forced her to draw her own with her own blood. The forensics report should tell us whether there was blood in some of the smileys and whose it was.'

I nodded. 'Well if she walked in on him, when he was drawing the faces, maybe she thought he needed help, and was going to bring him to a psychiatric hospital.'

'But he got there first, right? Sent her mad to protect himself.'

'Turned the tables,' I replied softly.

I turned back to Eleanor, and a sharp intake of breath entered my lungs. My heart was in my throat, pounding like a heavy drum beat. Eleanor was suddenly stood right in front of me. The tips of our noses were only inches apart. I could see nothing but her dark, wide eyes boring into me. I could hardly breathe. It was like there was no air between us for me to take in; no oxygen. Her head cocked to one side, as if she was curious about me.

'...R-Rigsby...' I whispered. The volume of my voice was probably on par with that of a pin dropping in a noisy room. Nothing. But somehow Rigsby heard me. He turned to see what was wrong. I could hear his breathing step up a pace as he found Eleanor stood right in front of me. I tried to see whether Dr. Newman was still outside the door, but my vision was limited, seen as I couldn't tear my eyes from Eleanor. I guessed if she was, and she was watching, she'd be in here by now.

My first attempt to speak to her was nothing more than a dry sound in my throat. My lips opened fractionally, before closing again.

'J-Ja-,' Eleanor's lips seemed to stumble over the speech, like they weren't used to moving - as if she'd had them permanently shut for the past ten years.

I stared, shocked, as she struggled to form the word that was obviously on the tip of her tongue.

'Jacob?' I murmured softly, trying to concentrate on Eleanor rather than the pummelling ache in my chest.

She tilted her head to the opposite side.

'...J...Jacob?' she mimicked my slightly heightened pitch of voice.

'You remember your brother?' I tried, touching my fingertips feather-light to her forearm.

But she suddenly recoiled, clambering back onto her bed. She curled up against the wall, pulling her knees under her chin and gripping her hair tightly between her fingers. I could hear her speaking softly, barely audibly, to herself.

I stepped forward, feeling Rigsby's touch on my arm, but shrugging it off gently. I crouched beside Eleanor's bed, laying my hand flat on the mattress. I tilted my head to try and see her face. I couldn't see her eyes, but I could see the glint of tears, tiny slithers of light just managing to touch the salty liquid and reflect a little.

'Eleanor...' I began.

Her right hand fell from her hair to begin running slowly along her left forearm, where my fingertips had just lightly brushed. I could see the tears tumbling down her pale cheeks as her left arm lowered a fraction from her face.

'What's wrong?' I whispered. I began to move my hand towards her a little, millimetre by millimetre. Her eyes snapped towards it, watching it move.

'What did he do to you?'

Her gaze abruptly returned back into her self-made cocoon.

'Go on Ellie, do it,' she whispered, 'Drag the knife across your flesh. You'll feel better Ellie...No!' she moved her arms down to tighten around her knees, 'No, you're crazy,' a soft laugh slipped in between her words, 'You need help...Come on Ellie, do it, just let the blade slide, open your skin, let it out...No! I'm taking you to hospital, you're sick...I'm not sick Ellie, come on, look, don't be afraid...JACOB!' she screamed his name, terrified. She scrambled beneath her blankets and hid away, like she was back in that moment, seeing her brother approach her with a shining blade. I carefully controlled my own emotion, holding back tears that were ever threatening my eyes.

I reached across, my hand softly curling around the corner of the blanket, slowly pulling it back from Eleanor's face. Her dark gaze flickered up to mine.

'Hey...it's ok, Eleanor, you're safe now. He can't hurt you.'

'H-He...he told me he loved me,' she whispered, so very quiet and vulnerable.

'Maybe he didn't mean to hurt you. Maybe he was just sick, like you said.'

She nodded fervently, her hair knotting as it rubbed against the bed sheets. 'He was sick, so very sick...but he wouldn't listen,' she spoke, a shining tear tumbling from her eye and dripping off her nose, dampening the bed sheet.

'What was he going to do, Eleanor, did he say anything to you?'

She shook her head softly, another tear following suit of the first. 'B-but...'

'What is it?' I asked, gently taking hold of her hand underneath the blanket.

'He said he was sorry...'

'When did he say that?'

'He came to see me once...he held me. Said I love you Ellie, and I'm sorry.' She bunched a corner of the blanket in her fists and pulled it to her face, almost hiding behind it.

'How long ago?'

'Long time,' she mumbled.

'Has he come since?'

'Nuh-uh,' she shook her head. Her deep black eyes snapped to mine, 'I...I want to see him.'

I frowned confusedly.

'I- I don't care he hurt me. Can you find him?' she looked at me hopefully.

'Well...we don't know where he is. We're trying to find him ourselves. You see...he's in trouble. He's done bad things.'

'Like what?'

I shifted my weight onto my other foot. 'He's hurt people.'

'Like me?'

'Well...sort of. But worse.'

She continued to stare at me, pressing me to explain.

'Eleanor...he's killed people. And he's taken one of our friends. Hurt him. Done something bad to him. We're trying to find them both.'

Eleanor swallowed down hard. 'I...I don't understand...why would he do that?'

'I'm not sure. That's what we're trying to find out.'

'Is it because of mom?'

'...Maybe.'

Suddenly, tears were tumbling down the girl's face, and she was pulling the blanket closer to her body as her shape racked with sobs.

'Hey...hey, come on, it's ok...' I reached my hand to her hair, gently, comfortingly smoothing it back for her. She let me continue for a while, salty tears covering her face in a moist layer. But then she quickly pushed herself off the bed and into my arms, wrapping her arms around me tightly, sobbing into my shoulder.

Initially, I was frozen, a little shocked from the sudden disappearance of space between us, but as it passed, I began to stroke her hair, whispering softly to her. I looked up at Rigsby, my eyes beginning to become tearful. He had crouched behind me, making sure I was safe. We shared a look, before I turned back to Eleanor, resting my cheek on her head.

'Shh...' I murmured, rubbing her back up and down, trying to soothe her, 'It's gonna be ok.'

A/N: Reviews are my oxygen...