Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, am simply borrowing them for the purposes of this story. Actually Jill does belong to me, but she is not really what you're here for.
AN: Sincere thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review this story so far, it makes me day whenever I get a review and I really appreciate it. I apologise for the length of time between updates, will try and ensure the next one appears much sooner.
Falling Slowly- Chapter 11
I always forget how much I loathe flying until I am back in the air and a complete stranger is asleep with their head against my shoulder. I don't even allow my husband to do that unless he has fed me first; so I figure this idiot next to me has about four minutes before I completely lose my patience with him.
Why are people so obnoxious when travelling on a plane, the couple across the aisle have been complaining for the last four hours about the quality of wine they've been drinking. One more word from them, and I'm bringing out my badge and ruining their day.
I hate everyone on this flight. Hate them. They're all being normal, all of them. There's a guy in the row behind me flirting with – what I assume to be – a pretty woman who happens to be sitting next to him. He's insufferable, but she seems to be enjoying it. It's simultaneously making me sick and want to yell at them. I can't escape as I am stuck here in front of them, with the added bonus of this idiot asleep on my shoulder.
I hate this.
I hate everyone on this flight.
I need this plane to land in Sacramento now. We're very nearly there, but the relatively short flying time has been an endurance test I could have done without. I need to be at the hospital now, or at least able to access my calls and find out what's been happening since I've been in the air.
I didn't expect to be going back to Sacramento this soon, and I certainly didn't expect to be heading back into such a devastating situation. I've been praying to a God I don't believe in that my friend has enough strength to survive whatever she has had to endure tonight.
I was at the store trying to decide between cheese and barbeque Pringles when I got the most horrifying call from my husband I hope I ever will. It had been a good day up until then, I shopped for clothes and we all had take-out for dinner – and I had been sent out on another junk food run. While I was wasting time at the store apparently it was all over the news, female senior CBI agent abducted and subsequently tortured by the serial killer Red John. The serial killer had reportedly been taken into custody and the agent to the emergency room. Sources close to the case have been speaking to one too many journalists.
My much loved and very practical husband was booking my flight to Sacramento while we were still talking on the phone. So I got in my car, got to the airport in one piece and now I'm here. I've been thinking too much the whole flight; thinking about how Teresa Lisbon could possibly survive an encounter with this sickening man.
The only thing I do know for certain is that I had to be in the same city as her to be of whatever use I can be to her and her friends. Goodness I wonder if her brothers know about this yet, she wasn't mentioned by name on the news so part of me hopes they have been spared this knowledge for a few more hours. Maybe it will be kinder for them to be updated when her condition is known, though I'm not sure they would agree with me.
Anyway to get through the hours of this flight I've been hating on my fellow travellers, it's easier to do that than sit here and worry and weep for my beautiful friend.
As we make our decent into the airport I must attempt to hold myself together. I should be Agent Barker, and be calm and level-headed and comfort those who also love Teresa. Unfortunately I know I'm going to be Jill, grief stricken friend. I'm not here to muscle in on the investigation; I don't care what happens to that bastard Red John. Actually, of course I care but I care about Teresa more – and I won't waste precious effort in worrying about him. She is the reason I am here, and all of my energy is going into being here for her.
I sleepwalk my way through Arrivals and with more patience than I realised I had in me I wait in line for a cab to take me to the hospital. A voice mail from my precious husband gave me details of where Teresa had been taken too. He had no more to tell me than that information, except of course his comforting words of love. I had three calls from colleagues asking if I had any news about Teresa and to call anything, and a call from my credit card company wanting to talk about upping my credit limit. Just shows if, as Teresa believes, He is looking down on us somewhere, he has a wacky sense of humour.
I can endure this cab ride because I know it's bringing me closer to my friend, and at least when I get to the hospital I can be of some sort of use -even if it's simply to buy coffee and horrible sandwiches for Teresa's team. I'll tip the cab driver more than I really should, because he seems like a sweet guy but I can't raise the interest to even attempt to have a conversation with him.
My hands are shaking I'm so afraid of what I'm going to find inside this hospital. There are reporters everywhere; I'm not sure what I can read into that. I hope it means they are waiting on an update on the status of the injured senior agent. I hope it means the worst possible outcome has not happened and she is fighting to stay with us.
If she hasn't survived tonight then I'm not sure I am going to be strong enough to be of use to the people who are going to need supporting.
I wonder about Patrick Jane, wonder if he is here keeping watch. I hope he is in this building because I think Teresa would need him to be, but if Red John is in custody somewhere then I suppose it's reasonable to assume he will be there to end whatever battle they have been engaged in all these years.
I produce my ID to gain access to the hospital, and nearly pass out with relief when I am told that Agent Lisbon remains in surgery. I know that means she has been badly injured, and that makes my heart hurt – but it also means she remains with us. I move quietly through the hospital corridor to the small room where I have been told her family are waiting for her.
As I approach the door I look through the glass, wondering which of her brothers has managed to make it to Sacramento so quickly. And selfishly wondering how I am possibly going to manage talking with them, while facing the task of being positive and encouraging.
I run my fingers through my hair, trying to make myself look as close to professional as I can. Which is stupid really, I'm in an old shirt and jeans so professional is the exact opposite of how I appear. I don't want to go in here, I want to run back to the airport and pretend everything is okay. I want to hug my husband and kids and pretend that I don't know about the existence of cruelty in this world.
But I need to stop this self-indulgence; I came here to help not feel sorry for myself. I push open the door and step through to face whatever comes.
I almost collapse to the floor in shock at what I find. The family waiting for Teresa is one man; Patrick Jane. He hasn't acknowledged my entrance to the room, I'm not even certain he is aware of me. He is sitting on a plastic chair, his hands clasped together almost like he is praying as he stares into space. He looks awful.
I want to go over and hug him but I'm not sure if that would be sensible. I need to make my presence known first, rouse him from his vigil. His clothes are covered in blood; Teresa's blood I would assume. This is too horrible to even contemplate. He looks like a different man from the one I had a dinner with so recently. He has aged, every line on his lovely face is now pronounced in agony and worry.
"Patrick, would it be okay if I came and sat with you for a little while?"
He looks up at me, and I see for the first time how truly altered he is by what has happened. As he looks in my eyes I can see his devastation and grief reflected in his, and I also witness his struggle to conceal all this from me. He tries to stand to greet me, but he collapses back into the chair almost immediately.
I move forward and sit beside him, not really knowing what to do or say for the best. I don't think I have the vocabulary to offer comfort to this man, I don't believe anyone else would either.
"Patrick, I'm so very sorry. Can I sit here with you for a while? I'd like to be here if that's okay but if you need quiet then I can find somewhere else."
"Of course you can be here, I'm sure Teresa would welcome your support."
His voice broke hopelessly when he said Teresa's name. This is heart breaking, and I am going to have to do something to reassure and comfort him if he will let me.
"Have they told you anything? They told me she was in surgery and that I could wait here. Do you know any more than that?"
He looks at me again but doesn't speak, just shakes his head to confirm he has no more information about her current status.
"I can leave you Patrick if you'd prefer, or I can listen if you want to talk."
"I'm not sure I would be entertaining company right now."
"Teresa would want me to make sure you were okay. Maybe you should get out of those clothes for starters."
"I know I should, but I can't leave here."
"I'll stay, and you only need to go for a little while – I'm sure you could persuade someone to loan you some scrubs."
He smiles sadly at me, and the weight of his sorrow is overwhelming to witness.
"I can't leave Jill, I'm staying right here till someone comes and tells me what is going on with Lisbon. I have been sitting here for hours, making all kinds of deals with myself. But the most immediate one is I will not leave this room until I know what is happening with Teresa."
"Okay, whatever you want is okay. Can I get you something to drink maybe, coffee or tea?"
He tries to smile again, but shakes his head in refusal. I have not felt this helpless in a long time, probably since I was an idiot rookie at work trying to cope with the managing the grief of victims' families.
"Can I ask you about what happened tonight, Patrick? If you can't talk about it that's okay – but I want to know about what happened to my friend. I'm not trying to intrude on your grief, or hurt you but I would like to know what to expect."
"I know you're not trying to intrude."
He speaks so softly I can barely hear him even though I am sitting right next to him. It's although saying the words hurt, and I suppose they probably do.
"Red John, along with several accomplices, took Teresa from her apartment with the intention of torturing and killing her."
Without thinking about it I reach forward and hold his hand, probably more for my own comfort than Patrick's if I'm being honest. It's perhaps an indication of just how distressed he is that he allows this connection to remain.
"He took her to the attic space where I work at the CBI building, he took her there to kill her and then leave her for me to find. He called to boast about him taking Lisbon, and she managed to make a slightly obscure reference that meant I was able to work out where he had her."
"Smart woman our Teresa."
He stays silent, but the he squeezes my fingers slightly in response and I hope agreement.
"He was going to crucify her. He tried his very best to."
I'm trying so very hard to be calm but to think of her suffering like this… My poor, lovely friend.
"You found her in time that has to count Patrick. You found her, and you know she knew you would."
"He was going to crucify her, that's all I know. He very nearly succeeded; he tried his very best to because it amused him. He liked the idea of torturing a woman of faith, of sacrificing Teresa in this way so he changed his usual routine when ending lives. Horrifyingly that's probably the only reason she is still alive. Instead of breaking into her home and killing her immediately she was brought to my pathetic excuse for a home to be left on display."
I'm letting him talk; it feels like he has been holding onto these words for hours. It feels like saying them out loud is offering some sort of relief. Or maybe I really am still that gullible rookie, and he is saying them out loud as another form of punishment for himself.
"Scripture tells the story that Christ was flogged before he was put on the cross, well Red John had his accomplices beat Teresa instead. She must have been savagely punched and kicked while she had little chance to respond as she had already been drugged out of alertness. Then she was stabbed in the side; I assume this was the work of Red John in homage to the crucifixion. Add this to the stab wounds that were inflicted on Lisbon at her apartment, she has lost a terrifying amount of blood. Earlier tonight when Agent Cho burst into the room where Lisbon was being held, Red John was in the process of leaving a message for me. He was using her spilled blood to write the words of William Blake poem."
Upon saying these words he seems to break down; or at least let go of a little of his self- possession and control. I watch helpless as he tries so very hard to keep the tears from falling. I believe I am making an already hopeless situation so very much worse with my presence here. I should leave him be, but that would mean I am leaving Teresa and I can't bring myself to do that either.
"Patrick, can I ask you something? And it should go without saying you can ignore any request I make, or indeed ask me to leave if that would be easier for you."
He releases a slow breath and rubs his hands against the knees of his hopelessly ruined suit trousers. I genuinely don't know how he is about to react.
"You want to know why I am here and not finishing what I have to with Red John."
"I'm sorry; I know that's unspeakably impertinent of me to ask."
"I understand."
He's turned to face me now, maintaining eye contact with confidence for the first time since I've come into the room. He has such very kind eyes, a ridiculous thing for me to notice right now but it doesn't make it any less true.
"Red John wrote poetry for me using Lisbon's blood. He believes we are having a dialogue; that we've been engaged in a twisted conversation for years – and I have perpetuated this belief."
"Patrick, I'm fairly certain you've been trying to capture a serial killer for years."
"Well that is true, but I have made it about Red John and I and our perverse battle against each other. I have needed revenge for my wife and my daughters' deaths, but I can't continue the battle with him if the consequences are such pain and suffering for those close to me now."
"But he is in custody now he can't hurt anyone any more. Unless you think it remains a possibility he could escape?"
"Anything is possible Jill, but Agent Cho is with him. I quite believe he will stay awake and conscious for a week if necessary to ensure Red John's continued incarceration."
The little I know of Agent Cho allows me to acknowledge the truth of that statement, and I am immeasurably comforted by the knowledge that he is somewhere in the city standing guard.
"I refuse to engage with him. I refuse. For the second time in my life I walked into a room where his sickening violence had taken place because of my actions… Well I withdraw from that, I give in. Lisbon and her life are more important than continuing my engagement with Red John. My memories of my wife and daughter while they were alive are more important than continuing my engagement with Red John. I'm not playing our game anymore; I refuse to be part of the game. I realise, shamefully, that's it's perhaps too late for me to have come to this insight but I have. He will be waiting for me to come and continue what has been going on all these years, but I choose to remain here where I should have been all along. I have no desire to share space with Red John, to maintain his belief that he is important to me. He is not, he is nothing. His actions are everything, but he is nothing. Much as I might wish it, I can't go back and undo what has been done – I accept I'll never hold my daughter again or spend an evening dancing with my wife. I know their suffering because of me is something I will never be able to completely lay down, but I have someone else to care for now. I want very much to be able to devote my thoughts, actions and attention to Teresa Lisbon. My thoughts, actions and attention therefore will never be on Red John again. I hope he is punished, I hope he is destroyed, and I hope he realises that he is ultimately powerless and alone and feeble."
He exhales when he finishes these words. I think he has found them as exhausting as I found them exhilarating. I smile at him, just the hint of happiness on my face; hoping that will communicate how right I consider his words to be.
"I'm glad you've chosen Teresa, Patrick. I think it might be the smartest decision you could ever have made. Now you just need to hear her say that."
"He has marked her so horribly, Jill. She is marked by him."
"I've always thought she was significantly marked by your presence in her life, and I think you might just need to be patient and wait and hear that from Teresa. We need to sit here and wait for them to come by and tell us that Teresa is recovering from surgery and that we can go and sit by her soon. I refuse to believe any other outcome is a possibility. She is the toughest woman I have ever met, and as heart breaking and sickening as what has happened to her tonight – I genuinely believe she will be strong enough to fight back against it."
"I hope so."
His voice is so quiet I have to strain to hear what he is saying despite him sitting directly in front of me.
"We're all marked in our own way Patrick; I can't pretend to know how you have been affected by the cruelty you have witnessed in your life but I do know how cruelty has affected Teresa Lisbon. She is a more than a little too self- possessed and hesitant to share herself with others, but despite all of that she has the gentlest of hearts and ridiculous capacity for kindness and love. Focus on that, don't think of anything other than that."
"I'll do that when I've spoken to her. Right now I am all too aware of the blood she has lost; and that I'm wearing a lot of it. Teresa thought was she was with her mother tonight, while she was still relatively lucid she spoke of going to church with her mother. I don't want to lose her and I am terrified I have accepted that as truth too late to make it count."
"You're here, that counts. You've chosen her, that counts for a whole lot too."
"I told her I would always choose her, I don't think I realised quite how freeing that choice would be. I wish I could be doing something to help her other than repeating 'please live, please live' over and over. Before you got here I said that to myself for two straight hours, I never thought I would be someone who prayed."
"Me either, but it can't hurt to try. And think how pleased Teresa will be when she wakes up and makes fun of us for doing it."
"Do you really think she will wake up?"
"I have faith in her and in her endless capacity for endurance."
"He hurt her so badly I'm afraid that she will be lost to us."
I can hear the tremor of exhaustion and defeat in his voice, and I realise that I need to watch him for Teresa until she is able to do that again. I refuse to believe that she won't be around to do that, I am convinced that even by sheer force of will she will come back to us. Maybe, despite my protests, I too am a woman of faith.
"Teresa isn't lost, and neither are we. We're just waiting Patrick; we're just waiting for her to make her journey back to us."
The tiniest hint of relief in his expression suggests he acknowledges the truth of my words.
I hope you can hear us Teresa because we're waiting for you to come back to us.