A/N: A BIG thank you to everyone that reviewed! You really made my day. I'll reply to all of them later x

CHAPTER TWO

Jane drove recklessly through the Sacramento traffic desperate to reach Lisbon's apartment. Despite the age and size of the lumbering vehicle he chose to drive, he handled it with a practised ease. 'Hold on, hold on,' was the mantra running through his head as he felt the panic surge within him once again.

Red John taking Lisbon had always been his biggest fear and was why he'd resolutely tried to keep his distance from her. True, there had been moments when he simply couldn't help himself, when he'd needed her too much to back away, but mostly he'd thought he'd done enough.

Obviously he'd been completely wrong.

He took the corner into her road at such a pace, the old car skidded and lurched drunkenly before righting itself. It wasn't made for the kind of driving he was subjecting it to but he'd worry about that later. Reaching her apartment block, he went up the kerb in a semblance of parking then cut the engine and got out.

Breaking into a sprint, he was panting heavily from fear and exertion by the time he reached Lisbon's door, which was ajar. Hearing no sound from within, he pushed it open and entered quietly. The inside of the apartment was dim and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust properly. He walked further into the room then noticed a faint glow emanating from the stairs and headed over. Climbing them quickly he hastened towards, what he surmised, was the bedroom that the light was coming from only to stop suddenly in front of the slightly open door.

He'd been in this position before, many, many years ago. Dread seized him over what he knew may lay beyond and the palms of his hands suddenly felt damp. He automatically wiped them down his jacket and tried to get some kind of control over his emotions. He needed to be strong for her. He needed to be calm.

As if in slow motion, he reached out and pushed open the door then stepped inside Lisbon's bedroom. The lamp from the bedside cabinet gave off a muted glow from the far side of the room, the tendrils of soft light not quite reaching the walls, leaving them in darkness.

It was completely silent and there was blood. Lots and lots of blood.

Drawing in a sharp breath, his stomach rolled over queasily and he slumped heavily against the doorframe when he saw her petite body laying on the red, soaked sheets of her bed. Her feet were bare and she was still wearing the same clothes she'd had on when he'd last seen her. Her head was turned away from him, her mass of hair splayed out untidily across the pillows and obscuring her face.

Above the bed was Red John's bloody signature.

Closing his eyes against the sight, he bowed his head and tried to breathe. He couldn't believe it. This wasn't meant to happen. Not to her. Not because of him.

A soft sound came from behind and before he knew what was happening an arm wrapped tightly around his chest and a knife was placed at his throat.

"Oh dear, late again, Patrick?" came a nasally voice close to his left ear. "This is becoming a very unfortunate habit of yours."

Jane automatically grabbed at the serial killers arm, more for purchase than from any real thought of escape. He felt no fear, just resignation. What was there to live for now?

The murderer sighed. "It was always going to come to this, Patrick. You know that, don't you? You took my girl, so I took yours…turnabout is fair play, after all."

"She wasn't my girl," the blond denied, his eyes fixing on the farthest part of the room so as not to look at the bed…her lifeless body again.

Red John laughed softly. "Of course she was," he refuted lightly. "And I must thank you, Patrick. Teresa was the best I've had in years. So feisty and defiant. I can see your attraction."

"Go to Hell!" Jane retorted, feeling the first stirrings of anger at the careless use of her given name.

"There is no Hell, you know that as well as I do," he replied evenly. There was a pause, then his insidious voice continued to goad, "She smelled good too. Just like your wife and child, Patrick. And Kristina. Teresa was coffee and mint and…" he stopped again to inhale deeply before adding, "You."

Jane let out a small choking sound as the killers words brought a flash of he and Lisbon hugging right before she left, to his minds eye. He'd used a silly, nonsensical excuse to hold her to him just because he'd wanted to see her smile. It had worked and he realised that he'd been keeping the memory at bay all these hours just hoping against hope that it wouldn't be the last good one he'd ever have of her.

But it was.

The surge of rage that flowed through him suddenly at that realisation injected a burst of adrenalin that had him jerk his elbow back hard into the gut of the killer.

"I'm going to kill you, you sick son of a bitch," he ground out as Red John's grip loosened enough for him to break free and turn around. A trickle of blood rolled slowly down his neck where the tip of the blade had nicked him, but he didn't notice the pain. He only felt hate and desire for revenge.

Seeing the murderer doubled over from where he'd hit him, he took the advantage and shoved him hard back against the dark corridor wall, enjoying the grunt of pain the other man elicited at the impact. Just as Jane raised his fist and threw a punch though, Red John unexpectedly righted himself and simultaneously lunged with his knife. The consultant let out a hiss of pain as the blade sliced across the top of his forearm and he staggered backwards until he hit the opposite wall. The adrenalin evaporated just as suddenly as it had flared and he panted harshly as his limbs abruptly felt weak. Grimacing, he clasped his other hand over the cut to try to stem the flow of blood and looked up to see the killer advancing. Involuntarily, he pulled back, pushing himself flat against the wall, concern etching his features. Bracing himself for the worst, a detached calm overcame him as he watched Red John draw closer, knife raised.

Cho and Rigsby silently made their way through Lisbon's apartment. Up above them they heard the murmuring of voices and quickly made their way to the stairs. Just as they were about to ascend, the sound of a fight broke out. In the dim light, Cho indicated that he'd go first and hurried up the stairs with Rigsby close behind.

At the top they saw Red John come to a halt in front of Jane with knife raised. Cho touched his hand to Rigsby's chest so that he knew to stay put then stealthily moved towards the other two men. He took aim, ready to shoot if the need arose. Personally he hoped that it would. The psycho was going to die anyway, it wouldn't hurt if he were the one to carry out the sentence.

As he got closer, he was disappointed to see the murderer lower his knife then smile and begin to speak. His blood chilled at the obvious glee Red John took from baiting Jane.

"I'm not going to kill you, Patrick. You're too much fun to have around. And now Teresa's gone, you'll sink lower and lower than you ever have before and I'll be waiting to catch you at the bottom, my friend."

"Not if we catch you first, you won't," Cho interjected firmly. He couldn't watch the consultant go through anymore. He looked about ready to break as it was. "Put the knife down."

He moved slowly forward, his gun trained on Red John the whole time. He came level with the bedroom door and glanced inside, a slight tightening of his mouth his only reaction to what he'd seen.

Red John looked at the agent and grinned as he slowly made a show of holding up the blade. Seconds later, he brought it down in a vicious arc towards Jane's chest. Cho reacted quickly. Two shots rang out and the killer fell to the ground at the consultant's feet.

Jane looked down the Red John's body in shock. It was too much to take in. First Lisbon and now Red John. His body started to shake but he felt numb as his knees gave out and he slumped unceremoniously to the floor. Staring ahead vacantly, Cho's voice sounded as if it were coming from far, far away through loads and loads of cotton wool. He couldn't understand anything the agent said.

His mind was awhirl with everything that had happened over the past ten years. Dozens of thoughts tripped over each other in their desperate need to be addressed or, at the very least, recognised. Memories of his wife and child intertwined with those of Kristina Frye and Lisbon. The people he had cared for and hadn't saved. All the guilt. All the pain and denial. All the times he'd kept people…Lisbon at arm's length. What good had it done her? It was his fault. He should have been stronger. Shouldn't have fallen in love. It was pressing in on him from every side and his brain was starting to shut down under the massive emotional overload.

He sensed someone beside him, trying to get his attention. Right on the outer edges of his mind, he knew they were saying something very important but his brain was refusing to co-operate as it suddenly became focussed on one thought and one thought only.

'I failed.'

END CHAPTER 2

A/N 2: I think I'm going to run and hide now! ;)