Ok, I made some changes to this chapter. Not plot- but style-related. Hopefuly it flows better. First version bugged me.
**Once again, thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you are enjoying the story so far. This is too much fun :)**
Jane grabbed a black bag from the backseat and was halfway to the motel office door before Lisbon recovered and stepped out of the car to retrieve her own luggage.
A bell tinkled brightly as they entered the check-in area. The desk clerk was an older man - not old-old, but beyond middle-aged. Jane took one look at him and decided he was probably the owner. He seemed genuinely happy to see them, taking more of a personal interest in their arrival than they would have expected from a regular employee. It was also obvious that he had been sleeping, presumably through the doorway that led off the front desk area.
They exchanged the usual formalities and signed up for separate rooms. The clerk made a bit of small talk, asking where they were from and how long they they might be staying. Jane replaced his wallet and answered tiredly.
"Just for tonight, as far as we know."
The old man's eyes were kind as Lisbon handed him the credit card she always used for CBI expenses. She liked to keep her finances in order, and paying for things the same way every time helped her to keep track of the reimbursements she was due.
"Well, you're always welcome to stay a little longer if you like." The clerk smiled again and held out their room keys. "As you may have guessed, you are our only guests tonight."
They had realized as much from the parking lot. Even if this hadn't been the town's only public lodging, they were too tired to go anywhere else.
"Er, would you like some assistance with your bags?" the clerk offered. His white hair was sticking up a bit in the back.
Lisbon smiled tiredly in return. "No thank you, this is everything." She rolled her shoulder to indicate the strap of her CBI-issued duffel, and Jane saw her wince at the motion. The bells jingled again as he held the door for her on their way out, and they rounded the corner to their neighboring rooms. The keys they'd been given were well-worn and made out of real metal, and they almost couldn't get them to turn in the locks. After fiddling with them for a few frustrating moments, they bid one another "Goodnight."
Jane flipped up the light switch on the wall beside the door and took in his small room. He had passed an appalling number of nights over the last several years in surroundings such as these. This particular room was decorated in the dusty blues and mauves of two decades past. The furnishings were minimal, as expected: double bed; night stand on either side of it with two drawers; small, round table with a couple of mauve-cushioned chairs. An artificial ficus hid in the corner in a rose-colored pot that matched the floral bedspread; and the only wall hanging was a photo of a sunset seascape in a cheap plastic frame that had most of the gold laminate peeled off.
One of the windows wore a dusty-blue valance that also matched the bedspread. The other window held an old air conditioner, and Jane could see from across the room that the setting indicators had been manually repainted after the originals were rubbed away from use.
He dropped his bag on the end of the bed, and moved left toward the small bathroom. There was a loud thump from inside the wall behind him, followed by the sound of water running through rickety pipes. He drew the shower curtain back and twisted the temperature knobs. The same thumping sounded, this time from the opposite wall; but nothing ran out of his faucet beyond a small stocatto drip. He turned the knob marked "H" all the way to the right, and the flow of water did not change. He twisted the cold water knob and still nothing happened. Best to wait for Lisbon to finish her shower first, and then try again, he thought.
Knowing he was going to be awake for longer than he'd planned, Jane stood up and left the bathroom to pace around the room. He might have been about to fall asleep on his feet, but there was no way he was crawling into bed until he had washed off the day's strange smells. The Emergency Room had contributed its share of offensive olfactory experiences, but even beneath the memory of all of those, he was certain he could still detect the sharp scents of stale ice and frozen raw meat. He shuddered as his body physically recalled the stinging cold that had accompanied those odors. Poor Lisbon! he thought. She had told him once, a few years prior, that anything below fifty degrees was physically painful to her.
He remembered pulling her close inside the cold storage room. He remembered that she hadn't pulled away. He remembered that he couldn't afford to remember those things.
To pass the time more constructively, he considered the details of the homicide case that had led them from Sacremento to this sadly declining section of the state. The victim was twenty-two year-old Katie Boren, a resident of St. Clare County, California. Her body was found on the highway a few counties over. The scene was about 90 minutes from CBI headquarters. After their initial assessment, Lisbon's team had split up to cover more investigational ground. Rigsby went back to Sacramento to work from the main office. Cho and VanPelt started out the area where the victim's body was discovered, to trace her steps from that end and seek out local leads. Jane had accompanied Lisbon to the girl's hometown after Rigsby spoke with the mother.
They'd learned a good deal before they set out on the road: The victim had been home from college for about a month, working odd jobs to pay for next semester's books. She was picking up waitressing shifts at Pete's BBQ on the weekends. So far, Pete's was the last place she was seen... before the last place she was seen. It was run by a family friend, the victim's "uncle," Pete Sims, Jr. VanPelt had arranged for him to meet Jane and Lisbon at the restaurant later that day, but things had not turned out as planned.
Jane's mind wandered from the case almost as soon as it had set on it. He knew why he was having trouble concentrating; the same train of thought had haunted him since the cold storage accident. He had almost been prevented from ever having the chance to realize his life's goal: killing Red John.
Though today's case felt totally unconnected with the infamous serial killer, Jane had spent the last six or seven hours thinking more about him than anything or anyone else. Almost.
He'd been keeping a closer watch on Lisbon lately, ever since Red John had added their young Chief to his long list of violent killings. With Wainwright's shocking death, Red John's message to Patrick Jane, the CBI, and the FBI, had been clear: No one is untouchable. No one is out of my reach.
It was rare for Jane to find himself powerless to get any leverage to manipulate an undesireable situation. As always, Red John had proven himself the greater exception.
Being locked inside that freezer was an accident. No one had been pulling any strings behind the scenes. It had happened many hours ago, but for Jane there was still an odd sense of time around it. He hadn't slept on it yet; it had happened, and it could have been gravely important - could have killed him. But it hadn't. He was still alive, and many years ago he'd come away from the greatest trauma in his life with a fierce determination to be well and to remain focused until he faced Red John. Hopefully after I face him, too. He was thinking more along the lines of 'after' these days.
Now, sitting on the wooden arm of a worn-out chair, Jane wondered for the ten thousandth time just when and how his life's vendetta would finally end. Would the deadly standoff ever take place? Would he survive it? He couldn't afford to acknowledge the possibility that the answer to either question was anything but affirmative.
The old pipes whistled and banged around inside the wall he shared with Lisbon's room, and then the noises stopped altogether. Jane waited a moment before running through the same fruitless efforts with his shower plumbing.
He sighed, weighed his options. He could ask for another room, but then Lisbon wouldn't know where to find him in the morning. He'd just go over and tell her first.
Lisbon hastily snatched the towel draped over the shower rod and wrapped it tightly around her body. With sincere reluctance, she drew aside the plastic curtain and released the lovely warm steam from its cocoon. She pulled on a t-shirt, pajama pants and - miracle! - socks; worked her towel into a turban; and opened the bathroom door to let in some lighter air.
She wondered if she should have brought along some hotel shoes. That was what her school-days neighbor had called flip-flops. Just a basic barrier between bare or stocking'd feet and the slightly smelly, sticky dampness that often accompanied cheap carpet that was frequently cleaned.
Before she could give too much thought to the flooring, a loud knock came at her door. She nearly jumped out of her skin until Jane called out: "Lisbon? It's me."
"Jane?" She hurried across the carpet, happily noting that it didn't stick to her socks as she went to the door. Why isn't there a peephole?
"Is something wrong?" She unhooked the chain, turned the button lock and opened the door.
He was standing there looking sheepish with his overnight bag. He grimaced, sort of. "My shower is broken. Do you mind if I use yours?"
She was temporarily thrown by her immediate impression that he was genuinely embarrassed. She couldn't recall when she had ever thought he looked that way. He waited patiently for her answer, though he knew it would be 'yes.'
"Yes, of course.' Even to her own ears, she sounded flustered.
"If you'd rather I didn't, that's fine." he assured her. "I can go back to the office and ask for another room, but then I'd have to knock on your door again so you'd know where I'm staying." He spoke as if it didn't matter to him at all, but she knew better. She also noticed that he'd brought along the towel from his room.
"No - Jane, it's okay. Really." She backed up and pulled the door wider, inviting him in. "Only you might want to give it a chance to clear out in there; it's still pretty humid." She stepped into the small bathroom and began to wipe the water off the sinktop with a washcloth she'd seen hanging on an aluminum ring.
Jane was not surprised that Lisbon's room appeared identical to his own. Except that the color of the curtains and the color of the ficus pot had traded places. And maybe that was a different sunset seascape.
"Okay. It's all yours, Patrick." Lisbon came into the main room again with her hair dryer in hand, trying her best to appear nonchalant. She smiled at him for a second too long, then gave a fair performance of being distracted by searching for an open outlet.
"Thank you, Lisbon."
He ducked into the bathroom and the door swung shut softly.
Lisbon sat down on the edge of the bed with her hairdryer plugged into the wall by the nightstand. This has been the craziest day! she thought. The shower started up, and she hoped she had left some hot water in there for Jane.
For his part, Jane hoped he wasn't inconveniencing her, or keeping her up too long. They'd had a non-stop, stressful day, and he really had expected to be in bed himself by now. Oh, well. It couldn't be helped, he reasoned. And he would have done the same for her, if the shoe had been on the other foot. That would have been more interesting, he thought. Lisbon would have blushed clear down to her toes if she ever worked up the nerve to ask to use his shower.
He chuckled at that image, then threw his towel over the shower rod and stepped into the tub. The next instant, he registered the smell of her shampoo, and he couldn't fight the something that suddenly came over him. Relief, unbidden, flowed through his entire being; wholistically, like a long-awaited balm. It was so delicious that he stood for a long time with his shoulders under the running water, breathing in her clean scent.
Lisbon listened to the creaky pipes and turned down the covers on the bed. She wondered how much longer Jane would be. She wondered if she would sleep at all now. The warm water had nearly succeeded in lulling her body to sleep, but her brain was threatening to keep her awake. She couldn't wait to crawl under the covers, even as she realized that it might take her a while to drift off now.
At some point the water stopped running, but she was lost in thought. When the bathroom door opened, she turned toward it reflexively, as Jane stepped out wearing damp hair and striped pajamas.
"Feel better?" she smiled tiredly at him.
He didn't have a straight answer for her, but stood very still, his hand on the doorknob.
"Lisbon." He drew in a deep breath. "Can we talk?`"