Chapter 1
Deserted Rose
A thin smile twisted across his lips.
It had been so long. So long. He had been good. He had behaved. He had shown restraint. Saved himself. For this. For her. For him. But it had been too long and he needed this.
It was no longer just a casual longing. It had even gone beyond a fervent desire. It was a need. It burned within him. It was a hunger. As though he had not eaten for weeks and his body was turning on itself, devouring itself. He had not eaten in so long. And his mind had begun destroying itself. But now. Yes now he no longer had to worry about that. An itch that he had been waiting too long to scratch and now...Now...
He glanced down at her. Bound. Gagged. Helpless.
Stripped of her badge and her gun and the comfortable presence of her fake psychic she was just like the rest of them. Weak. Vulnerable. Pretty, no doubt. But disposable. Oh so disposable. And that's what she was.
The only reason she still breathed was because he let her. The only reason that blood still flowed through her veins was because, for now, she was useful to him. The only reason she could still feel her heart beating in her chest was because it beat for him. And that meant that he could use her.
He knew. He had watched them. And had perfected the art of reading people so long ago. His little hobby had depended on it. And he could read them like books. Two little bookends belonging on the one shelf but never being able to see past the baggage between them to see what was so obvious to an outsider.
And yet deep down they both knew it. What their eyes couldn't see their hearts would. And he would come. Wherever she was. Whatever danger she was in. However obvious the trap. He would come. Because he couldn't leave her. He couldn't let her die while he could do anything to save her. He would do anything for her. And that was what he was depending on now.
"Love is such a stupid thing..." he told her unconscious form as he paced around her, movements soft, practiced and deft, with an almost cat-like elegance. "Why human beings evolved to love I'll never understand..." he paused a moment, his steps matching his thoughts as he considered for a moment before going on, "They all tell you, all the books and the films, they all feed you the same lie, that love is strength, that love overcomes evil, always. It's all lies. Love is the greatest enabler in the world. A human being's biggest pressure point is to prey on the things that that person loves most. You find out what they are. And you take them away. And that person will do whatever it is that you desire in order to protect the things that they love."
He strode towards her, crossing the distance between them in three long steps,
"You understand that don't you Teresa? Or you will. Soon enough. Because he loves you. And once he finds out I have you, he won't stop until he has you. He won't think about what I'll do to him, because he'll be too busy worrying about what I'll do to you."
He crouched down beside her, eyes studying her face, barely inches from it as he whispered,
"Love is weakness. Love breeds weaknesses. And I love weaknesses Teresa. I love that you were his weakness. Because you were so easy to get to. So easy, and he won't think twice about moving heaven and earth to get you back..."
He stood up again and walked away from her, stretching and breathing in deep lungful of the sweet, sweet air around him. Indulging in his success. And it was sweet. Oh yes, it was almost too sweet. It almost sickened him. Almost made him gag. Almost made him wonder if it was too good to be true. But it was true. He had Teresa Lisbon. He had found Patrick Jane's weakness, and found what a weakness it was, before he ever understood.
And he had no idea what was going to hit him.
"You'll be sorry you ever loved anything Patrick..."He whispered softly to himself, "So sorry..." he trailed away before picking up the thread again and murmuring to thin air, "By the time I'm through with you, you won't even know what love is. Only loss. Only pain. Only pity. And all you will be is sorry..."
A second smile contorted his features and caused his eyes to slide open once more as the tender trill of a phone graced his ears.
Pitching back to his victim he approached her once more and reached into her pocket, allowing himself just a second longer than was necessary to linger over her, drinking her in, giving the beast within a chance to stir its ugly head and taste blood before pushing it back down.
"You don't mind, Teresa, do you?" he asked, removing the phone from her inside pocket, "Thought not." He smirked maliciously when his teasing question garnered no response from his limp victim.
Glancing down at the little screen that had lit up in response to the incoming phone call he grinned, not disappointed,
Caller ID: Patrick Jane.
This moment. This was what it had all led up to. Weeks, months years of slow and careful torment had led up to this. Finding that one thing that had loved almost as much as he had loved them, that thing that he had let himself love most in this world, and ripping it from him. And now. Now he got to savour that moment,
"Lisbon?" the voice on the other end of the line was odd. Somewhat surprised and relieved, yet almost expectant, with an undercurrent of guilt bubbling through it.
"I'm sorry Patrick;" he told him sleekly, "Teresa can't come to the phone right now."
He could see him. He could see his face fall. He could see every line and every shadow become exposed and revealed as his terror took hold. He could see the horror and the understanding and the disbelief in his eyes. He could hear the breath catch in his throat. He could feel the terror bubbling up inside him as the words sunk in and took hold, like a snake, wrapping itself around his heart and squeezing.
"What have you done to her?" he whispered finally, his voice leaden, yet hollow, and numb,
"Oh nothing. Yet." He assured him comfortably,
"If you hurt her-"he began, anger colouring the words that would have been so flat and empty otherwise,
"What?" he interrupted, giggling, "You'll do what you did for your wife and daughter, Patrick? Is that what you'll do?" he hissed, "You'll hunt me down and make me pay. You'll avenge her if it's the last thing you do? You'll get some sort of justice for the terrible, terrible things I've done? Or will you do what you've actually done? Nothing."
"I will find you." He told him pathetically, "I will find you, and I will hurt you if you lay so much as a finger-"
"You will strike me down Patrick? You'll cause me pain beyond my wildest imagination, and we both know that where pain is concerned I have a very vivid imagination. Is that what you'll do?"
"I will-"he choked, "I. You. Don't you touch her. Don't you even think of touching her."
"Of I've thought about much more than that." He smirked comfortably,
"I won't let you hurt her." He whispered softly,
"Really?" he asked in amusement, "What say we test that theory Patrick?" he smirked,
Striding over to Lisbon he kicked the bottom of the chair causing her to moan and stir, electricity shooting up her spine.
He grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched her head back until she screamed loud enough for him to hear.
"Stop!" The cry was strangled, cracked and full of pain and pleading, as he had known it would be.
He released her and walked away as she began to struggle futilely against her bonds,
"I have her Patrick." He whispered softly, "I have her here with me, and she's quite safe, I assure you, so long as you do as your told, and you understand one thing..." he paused for effect letting his words and their meaning sink in, "I have her. And I can do whatever I like to her. And the only way you can stop that is by doing exactly what I say. Do you understand?"
He could feel his hatred burning down the phone as he whispered, "I understand."
"Good." He answered, crisply, "I'll be in touch."
The line went dead then.
He swore softly under his breath and found the phone flying from his hand, mercifully landing on the chair instead of shattering against a wall. That was his only link to him. His only link to her. The only way he could make sure that she would be OK. He couldn't lose that. He couldn't lose himself. He had to pull himself together. For her sake if nothing else. He could not fall apart now. Not with so much at stake.
He raked his hands through his hair, seizing great fistfuls of it and tugging at it, causing pain to shoot through his nerves, leaving them raw and tingling, as he was.
He collapsed into the chair, mind racing, body slowly turning to dust.
"No..."He found himself murmuring under his breath, "Not Lisbon, not...No, no, no, no!"
He took several deep breaths and closed his eyes and, despite himself, as it almost always did, no matter how dire the situation, his guilt took hold and overwhelmed him and he found himself reliving their last conversation,
"Oh come on," he had snapped dismissively, "You are out of your depth."
He was out of his depth now. He had her. He had taken her. The one thing. The one thing he had left. And he had taken it.
All this time he had sworn to himself that he was doing this for his family. For his wife. For his daughter. Who had been brutally murdered in their beds by this monster. He was doing this for the family he had lost. But he had been so busy trying to protect what was gone that he had forgotten to protect the family he had found.
"Lisbon..."
Lisbon. His constant companion. The person who he knew, whenever he looked over his shoulder, would be there. His rock. For all that this department whispered, and they whispered a lot, that Lisbon and her team would be nothing without Jane, that they relied on him, and relied on him a little too much, none of them would ever know how much he relied on them.
How many times she had grounded him. How many times she had stopped him doing something reckless and stupid. How often she had been there for him.
Always. Every day. Every single day she was there. Just there.
And now she was not. Now she was gone. Now he had taken her.
Her reply struck him then, like a punch to the chest, forcing all the air out of his lungs and leaving him gasping and choking.
"And now you're out of line."
"Out of line? Lisbon, how can I be out of line? We are close. We are so close. And now you're telling me that you can handle this? That you don't want me involved, why Lisbon, why?"
"Because you are out of your depth." She had snapped, "And because if I let you do this, you will do something reckless and stupid and-"
"No, Lisbon, one way-"he had started but she had spoken over him, ignoring his words and acting as though she had not heard him,
"And you are going to get yourself killed."
That had silenced him. The look on her face when she had said that. The devastation and the horror at the very thought of that had struck him, as he remembered how he had felt when he had lost people close to him. He could see those very emotions echoed in her then. And so he had been quiet. And he had said nothing. And he had let her speak.
"And I don't want that." She whispered softly,
"Lisbon..." he had murmured, taking a step forwards and placing a soft hand on her cheek, "I...I have to do this."
"You can't." She said bluntly, "I won't let you." Her voice falling to a whisper as she spoke those words. The quietest command she had ever given him, and yet more powerful than if she had screamed at the top of her lungs.
"You can't stop me Lisbon." He told her gently, feeling her hand fall away from him as he spoke, he caught her wrist as she began to turn away from him, holding her in place, "You knew, from the beginning you knew that it would come to this. That I have to do this. That Red John might be your case but he is mine. He murdered my family Lisbon. My wife. My little girl. People that I loved. People that I cared about-"
"Yeah," she breathed, struggling with herself, "He did. And you are so caught up with them, so lost in the past that you are missing everything that is happening around you. You are missing that there are people here and now, who care about you, who want to help you, who want to protect you, who love-"
She had broken off there, tears that she refused to shed glinting in her eyes, catching herself and hastily wiping any expression form her face, realising she had said to much.
She pulled away from him, pausing only long enough to turn to him once more,
"You know what?" she breathed coldly, "You want to go and get him? You get him without me."
"Lisbon!" he called, surprised and hurt by this sudden turn of events,
"No." She said, shaking her head, "I'm done Jane. I'm done with trying to reason with you. I'm done with trying to show you that other things matter, that other people matter. I'm done with trying to stop you killing yourself while you're chasing ghosts.
You're on your own." She had told him before leaving, slamming the door behind her.
She had left him alone then. Left him standing there staring into the empty space where she had stood, lost. But he had not understood the true weight and meaning of her words until now. When he truly was alone. When he had no-one to turn to, because the one person he had always been able to turn to was no longer there.
He felt now, as he had felt then. He had finally regained enough of his wits to realise what had happened and had hurried from the building to the dust-filled car park outside. And that was all he had found. Dust.
She had left him. Jumped in the car with Van Pelt and left him stranded there. Washed her hands of him and the cruel words they had spoken.
He would usually have waited. Have expected her to regret her words, rash as they had been. To come back for him. And then they would sit in stony silence for half an hour as the thick deserted melted into roads and then buildings around them again, and as the scenery built upon itself to form a city from nothingness, so too would their conversation.
He would make a joke. Some light little comment or statement and watch as the corners of her mouth lifted as she tried not to smile, as she fought to remain impassive, still pissed off.
And then he would wait a little, testing the waters. And then he would say something else. Something he knew would work its way under her skin and fester there. Something that would leave an itch that she couldn't help but scratch. And, sure enough, whether it be five seconds, five minutes or fifty, eventually, she would turn to him and answer, usually indignantly. And then they would fall back into step with one another as though it had never happened. Water under the bridge. Forgotten.
This time however, he did not wait. He did not think of a little joke to tell her and he did not bother trying to find words that would get under her skin and produce some sort of response from her.
Instead, he had gone back inside and called a taxi.
And now here he was. At the CBI HQ, closeted away in his little attic. Except that now there was nothing underneath him but dead space. Where once there had been a foundation, a solid pillar that had kept him going over all this time, somewhere he could call home. Now there was nothing.
Because now he knew that he could not simply go back downstairs when he was done in here, when what happened in his head up here got too much, he could not just go down and find her and reassure himself that he had something that was certain and stable and safe. And now she was gone. And he had nothing.
He glanced out of the window and sank back into the chair, heart hammering, blood pumping, chest heaving and closed his eyes and tried to block it all out for just a moment. When he opened them again, his heart rate had returned to normal and he no longer felt the world spinning around him and yet, he could not force himself to think. He could not force himself to concentrate. Shock and numb terror had settled over him and had stripped away everything else, not leaving room for logic or reason. He had only the raw emotions that had taken root deep within him after hearing her scream.
And so he sat. And picked the phone up. And he waited. Waited for either the call to come and tell him what he had to do or for his wits to return to him. Waited until he knew how to save her. Because nothing else mattered to him then. That was all he was living for now. She was all he was living for now.
Just her.
And Red John knew it...
A/N: This is my first Mentalist fanfiction and I'm still finding my way around the characters so please, any and all comments and criticism are welcomed! Thank you for reading, please leave a review :)