Lisbon sat on the couch beside him, and took the notebook from her handbag. Her heart pounding, she took a deep breath, in a vain attempt to feel less tense.

"Yesterday, I had an interview with Rosalind. She's in a mental facility."

Jane sighted. "Poor Rosalind. Some idiot from the FBI told her about the smiley, I suppose ? She'd never really believed that her Roy was Red John. I should have found a way to wipe it from her wall."

"Don't start to blame yourself for things you're not responsible for", said Lisbon. "Rosalind has been very ill for two years, but now she's better and that's why she asked me to come. I didn't tell you because she had expressly asked me not to."

"Why ?" Jane's eyes fell on the notebook. He blanched suddenly.

"This comes from him, doesn't it ?"

"Yes, it does", said Lisbon softly, "it's Mc Allister's diary, he wanted you to have it. But there isn't anything inside it about the death of your family", she added quickly. "He torn off the pages that were about it. And no, it's not me who did it", she added before he could interrupt her, "and no, it's not Rosalind who asked someone to do it for her. She urged me not to tell you about the diary because she thought there might be something hurtful for you in it. She received herself a very cruel CD in which Red John explained her that he didn't kill her mainly because her eyes couldn't look at him in terror."

Jane was staring at her as if he had been petrified. She took hold of his shoulders, her eyes boring into his. "Don't you understand what it means ? Mc Allister sent a letter for you with the diary, just before the meeting of the five suspects at your house. He was so sure he would win the game and would disappear from the country that he wanted you to know all his schemes, assuming you would be overwhelmed by his brilliancy", she added with a snort.

"He wanted you to feel desperate, not to feel better. Don't you see that if he torn off these pages, it probably means that he had to… to be more hasty than he wanted to ?"

His didn't even seem to hear her, his face livid, his eyes glazed. Her heart was aching to have put him again on the path of his terrible memories. He tried to grab the diary, but she kept it firmly in her hands. He cast her a look with a mix of surprise and anger. He was shaking badly, and just for a second, he seemed poised as if he was about to try to snatch the diary from her. But he didn't, and deep inside her Lisbon knew that he would never do any kind of agressive gesture toward her, whatever happened.

"Lisbon", he said softly instead, eyes pleading.

"Please, Patrick", she replied, "there is no need for you to read it all. There are… many other atrocious descriptions, it would only do harm to you. Mc Allister really seemed to enjoy boasting about his hellish deeds, and it's another reason to be sure it's a good sign that he didn't want you to read the pages about Charlotte and Angela. But there is one passage you must read. Read that one first, and I'll let you read the rest if you really want to."

She carefully opened the diary at the page she had marked. And put it on his lap.

Her eyes didn't leave his face as he was reading. She knew how terrible it must be for him to live again, through the vile murderer's own words, the tragedy that had shattered his life. Her breathing labored, her hands like ice, she hadn't felt that bad since the night she had led him back to his house, to the fatal door, and to himself, after his dissociative fugue.

He had finished now, his eyes motionless. He didn't make any movement to go on reading the diary. Then suddenly, he put his head in his hands, his shoulders quivering. She had never seen him cry, not even that terrible night in his deserted house, in front of the red smiley. Without even thinking, she wrapped her arms around him, and he buried his face in her shoulder, abandoning any attempt to repress the violent sobs that were shaking his whole body. Out of pain or out of relief ? Probably both. Her heart was bleeding for him. She stroke his hair, whispering soothing words. She never knew how long they had stayed that way in each other's arms. Eventually his sobs subsided, but he didn't move, his face still against her breast, and she did her best to breath calmly, evenly, hoping to make him find some measure of peace in the very fact they were together, the same way she did.

"You see", she said at last, in a very low, soft voice, "it was not your fault. He had planned this all along, even before you went on that show."

"If I had not appeared in all these shows"…he croaked

"No", she cut in firmly, "he had noticed you before he watched any show. He heard about your abilities from a cop, because you had started to help the police". And it was Angela's idea, not yours, she thought but didn't dare to add, knowing he could think about it by himself.

"Angela knew I would have some fun doing it", he whispered, "she wanted me to be an honest man, but to be happy as well."

"And she was right", answered Lisbon. "But helping the police doesn't go without risks, and she knew it as well."

"Why did she have to pay such a price for trying to make a better man of me ?", he said with a sight that was nearly a sob again.

"Why did my mother die so young ? She was the kindest, sweetest of all women. Why young Miranda Martins or Emma Plaskett had to die ? They had done nothing wrong. Nor did Rosalind, who might never completely recover. Life is not fair. You know that."

But even if he knew it, thought Lisbon, she had always had the impression that deep inside, Jane was not completely ready to accept that truism. It was part of the childlike charm he had sometimes, that belief that somehow, it was possible to set things right, to have the bad guys punished, and good people helped or rewarded. It explained many of his acts, from his obsessive hunt for Red John to his anonymous gifts to people in finantial distress they had met during some of their investigations. And, of course, part of his meddling in his colleagues' life.

"What is important for you now is to be well aware of this : what made Mc Allister decide to kill your family is not what you said during the show. He had already planned to make a disciple of you and for that, he wanted you to be alone. He used the same leverage with Lorelei. He had reached the area of your house long before the show had begun. And he had to, considering how far from it he lived. We should have thought about that as soon as we learnt that Mc Allister was Red John. But you were too used to believe in your own culpability. And yet, what were the odds for him to be there by chance and to watch this particular show?"

Jane nodded slightly. A call on his sense of logic was a good mean to help him to calm down.

"It was not your fault, she added, not your fault at all, no more than it was Bosco's fault if he was killed. You're not responsible for Mc Allister's obsession with you, unless you think that all brilliant people should refrain from using their abilities in case that a serial killer would notice them. You didn't deserve the twelve years of misery he made you live", she added, feeling a new burst of pure hatred for Mc Allister.

Jane took a deep, shuddering breath. "They were not just years of misery, not with you at my side", he whispered. "I suppose you're right", he added after a pause. "But it'll take me a while, I think, before I can figure this out completely."

She stroke his hair again, lightly. "In time, you will. Should I leave you alone for a while ?", she asked. She assumed that he would need some time alone to sort things out, to ponder over that huge, overwhelming change in his perspective of what had been for twelve years the one pivotal event of his life.

For him, time had been stopped as if he was a broken clock, always showing the hour when it had been thrown to the ground. Now he could learn again how to look at a possible future. Or so she hoped, with all her heart.

TBC