A/N: Only one more chapter after this! Thanks for sticking with me for the ride. I want to thank everyone for following, favoriting, and reviewing along the way. I have been awful about review replies with this story, for which I truly apologize, but please know that I really do treasure each one. Your feedback means so much to me. Thanks for reading!
A/N 2: Seems a little late to be giving out warnings, but this chapter does contain some violent content. Consider yourself forewarned.
A/N 3: I just have to thank Chiisana Minako again for being such a fantastic beta reader- you're the best!
xxxx
Jane was snuggled quite comfortably against Lisbon's small frame, so he felt the exact moment that she tensed in his arms. To this point, she had been positively relaxed in his hold.
"Do you hear that?" Lisbon said, her voice tight with tension.
Jane listened and heard the unmistakable grind and pop of tires on gravel as the car turned. "We've turned onto a gravel road," he observed. "We must be close now."
"How long do you think we've been in here?"
Jane wasn't sure. Time flew when one had a warm, complacent Lisbon in one's arms. "Two, maybe three hours?"
"Where do you think we are?"
"No clue. We'll be able to tell better when they let us out."
"Helpful."
"Lisbon, I've been locked in a trunk for over two hours," he pointed out. "How on earth would I be able to tell where we are without at least seeing something of our surroundings?"
"All I'm saying is, it will be easier to plan an escape if we know where the hell we are."
"An escape?" Jane said skeptically. "Do you really think that's even a possibility at this point?"
"Not really," she admitted. "But if there is an opportunity, I don't want to miss it. This isn't over yet."
He smiled. "My eternal optimist."
"I'm going to fight, Jane," she said quietly. "I know that we're going to be outmatched, and that the chances of us getting out of this whole situation alive are pretty much nonexistent. I'm prepared to face death, and I can accept it. But I want you to know that I won't give up. Do you understand?"
He buried his face in her hair. "I understand that you have the most beautiful, pure soul of anyone I've ever met."
He felt her flush, close enough that the warmth of her skin transferred its heat to his own. He absorbed her warmth, reveling in it. "Always with the hyperbole," she managed to say.
"I meant it," he said quietly. "You have given me so much, Lisbon. I don't think you have the faintest idea how much. I'm just sorry I never acted in a way that might have made me worthy to deserve it."
"I hate it when you talk like that," she said, exasperated. "Yes, you're a pain in the ass, but you're not the only one who has benefited from this relationship. You've given me things too."
"Ah, yes, that incipient ulcer you mentioned."
"You've given me other things, too."
Yes, like a one way ticket to a serial killer's lair, Jane thought. "Name one."
"Laughter."
Jane hadn't been expecting that. "Laughter?"
"There were a lot of late nights at the office and awful, soul-crushing cases before you came along, Jane. Most of the time, laughter was in short supply. You changed that. You saw the funny side of things, and you helped me see it, too. You went out of your way to make me smile. No one had done that for me in a long time."
"Doesn't seem like much," Jane remarked.
Lisbon smiled in the darkness. "Well, there's also the emeralds. No one else ever gave me jewelry that expensive."
"You gave them back," he pointed out.
"That doesn't mean I didn't appreciate the gesture."
"You should have kept them," he murmured into her neck. "Van Pelt wanted to keep hers, but she wanted to be like you, so she gave them back when you did."
"They really were beautiful," Lisbon sighed.
"I still have them," he informed her.
"You do?" she said, startled.
"Sure. They're in my attic."
"Why didn't you return them?" Lisbon said, scandalized.
He nuzzled her neck. "Maybe I thought someday I would be able to change your mind about keeping them."
Lisbon shivered at the feeling of him nuzzling against her neck like that yet again. He'd kept them that long? "Well, if by some miracle we actually get out of this mess alive, I'll take them," she decided.
"Really?" he said, delighted.
"Sure. I have no idea what I would ever wear them to, but that's hardly the point, is it?"
"If, as you say, by some miracle, we get out of this mess alive, I will make sure you have an occasion to which you can wear those emeralds," he said fervently. "Multiple occasions, even."
"Why is it that you sound so much more optimistic about our chances of escape now that jewelry is involved?" Lisbon wondered.
"Perhaps it's merely that your optimism is contagious. Ever think of that?"
Jane felt the car come to a gentle stop. They truly didn't have much time now.
His arms tightened around her involuntarily. "That's the greatest gift you've given me, Lisbon. Hope. The thing for which I can never, ever repay you."
She half turned in his arms. "Jane, I—"
The trunk popped open and Gregson peered down at them. Jane squinted up at her. "Do you mind? We're kind of having a moment here."
"So sorry to interrupt," Gregson said mockingly. "I'll just tell Red John you're having a moment. I'm sure he won't mind being kept waiting."
"Thank you, that would be much appr—"
Gregson grabbed Lisbon and hauled her out of the trunk. Once standing, Lisbon shook her off with a glare, and Gregson gestured for her to walk forward. Lisbon lifted her head and strode forward purposefully, looking for all the world as though she were the queen and ruler here, and Gregson nothing more than a slightly unfortunate lackey.
"—eciated," Jane finished. He climbed out of the trunk hastily, not wanting to give Red John's friends any opportunity to separate him from Lisbon if there was any earthly way to avoid it.
Yager reached for him, but he ducked under Yager's outstretched arm and caught up with Lisbon easily. He was a bit stiff from being in the trunk, but overall his journey hadn't been nearly as uncomfortable as it might have been without Lisbon to mold his frame to. He slipped his hand into Lisbon's and looked around him as Yager and the two unidentified henchmen from the parking garage closed ranks and fell into step beside them.
They were at a mountain cabin in the woods.
Jane was using the word 'cabin' loosely. He supposed the wooden monstrosity before him might be considered a cabin, if one could call a mansion a cabin merely by dint of being in the woods and being built from the timbers of pine trees. To his mind, it more closely resembled an old-fashioned hunting lodge, though some of its more modern features dated it as having been built no more than twenty years ago.
Jane breathed in the cool air. It was perhaps five to ten degrees cooler than it had been in Sacramento when they'd left it. Judging by the difference in temperature, he guessed they were at an altitude of perhaps a thousand feet higher than Sacramento's elevation of thirty feet above sea level.
Jane didn't have a chance to deduce any more than that about their location, however, because their escort herded him and Lisbon into the house without a formal tour of the grounds. What little they saw of the ground floor of the house was elegantly furnished. Here, too, they did not linger. Instead, they were ushered down a long flight of stairs at the back of the house into the basement.
Russo was waiting for them with two more henchmen in attendance. There was an air of barely suppressed excitement about him, rather like a little boy who had gotten up too early on Christmas morning and was trying to restrain his glee for the benefit of two grumpy parents who had been woken up at an ungodly hour.
"Welcome," he said, flashing his too-white teeth. "I'm so pleased you could join me here."
"Where the hell are we?" Lisbon demanded immediately.
"You are at the Cabin. It is a very special place." He spared a smile for his henchmen. "I only bring my closest friends here."
The henchmen preened under this sign of favor.
"Take them inside," Russo told his men, gesturing to a door off to one side.
That couldn't be good, Jane reflected as the guards seized him by both arms once again. He resisted on principle, knowing that once he and Lisbon went into the room that lay beyond that door, it was very unlikely that they would come out of it alive.
It was no good. Despite his twisting and squirming, he was unable to wriggle out of the iron grips of Yager and his companion.
Lisbon fared rather better.
As Gregson and a second goon stepped towards her, she watched for her opportunity. Before anyone else had time to react, she turned and dealt Gregson a swift jab to the solar plexus. Taken off guard, Gregson doubled over. Lisbon disarmed her deftly as she wheezed in pain. The other guard reached for Lisbon in a panic, but Lisbon was too quick for him. She raised the gun and shot him point blank in the chest. He dropped like a stone, dead instantly.
Lisbon didn't hesitate. Before the dead man hit the ground, she pivoted, swinging the gun around to point it at Russo, all as part of one smooth movement. Jane saw her squeeze the trigger, but Gregson, recovering, let out a shriek of rage and dealt Lisbon a powerful blow to the side of the head. Lisbon staggered to the side and her shot went wide, missing Russo by several feet. The two other henchmen sprang into action, grabbing Lisbon and wrenching the gun out of her hand.
They twisted her arms behind her back, holding her fast to prevent any future attempts at rebellion.
Russo stared at her, fascinated. He stepped over the body of his fallen servant without giving him a second glance. He stepped close to Lisbon, his eyes alight with excitement. "My, my," he said admiringly. "You almost had me there. How very thrilling."
He reached out and drew a finger down the side of her face. "You are quite the spitfire, aren't you?"
Lisbon met his gaze, her eyes snapping, but said nothing.
He chuckled. "Oh, yes. Truly, now I can see why Patrick is so drawn to you."
Lisbon drove her knee upwards, intending to knee him in the groin, but he stepped back, avoiding the kick easily. He was still smiling. "Oh, this is going to be fun," he remarked.
He waved negligently to the guards. "You will take them inside now."
The guards propelled them forward, and Jane leaned close to Lisbon as they were frog-marched into the next room. "You decide not to attack when the odds are two to one, but when they're more than three to one, that's when you make your move?" he muttered under his breath.
She shrugged, unrepentant. (Well, as much as one can shrug with both arms restrained, anyway). "You saw the place. There's not much chance we're getting out of here alive," she said in a low voice. "I only had one opportunity to make a move, and I wanted to make it count. If I'm going to be killed, I'd like to have something to show for it at the end of the day. Why would I settle for a couple of minions if I had a shot at taking down the state's most notorious serial killer once and for all?"
"Well, just—" Jane trailed off as they entered the next room.
It was painted from floor to ceiling in a hue of darkest blood red.
This was the Red Room.
Jane looked around. There was no furniture in the room. Only a few support beams relieved the unrelenting flatness of the red surrounding them. These were painted red, too. Jane spotted several cleverly concealed lenses along the walls near the ceiling, and guessed they were projectors, or video cameras, or both, based on Drake's description of Hardy's clumsy imitation of his idol's methods. This was the room Hardy had used as a model for his attempt to lure Drake into the fold.
"So this is where you brainwash your followers," Jane observed, addressing Russo.
"This is where my friends first begin to find their true home," Russo corrected him. "This is where they take the first step to Exaltation." He smiled at Jane. "I can't tell you how pleased I am to have you here, Patrick."
Lisbon was looking around, unimpressed. "So did you decide to go with red because it makes it easier to hide the blood stains after you've killed someone in here?"
"I've never killed anyone here before." Russo smiled at her. "You will be the first."
"It's so nice to be special," Lisbon said sarcastically.
"You are that, Teresa," he said softly. "Never doubt it."
He surveyed the room, considering. After a moment, having made his choice, he crossed to the middle of the room. "You will bring Teresa here," he said, beckoning to her captors.
They dutifully brought her to the spot indicated, the disgruntled Gregson trailing after them.
Russo took several steps away. He tilted his head to one side, appraising Lisbon from where he stood. "Yes, this is the perfect spot," he said, almost to himself. "Close, but just out of reach. An excellent view." He raised his voice. "Patrick, you will stand here."
The two men holding Jane dragged him over to where Russo stood.
Russo stepped out of the way, walking back towards Lisbon. "She really is lovely, Patrick," he remarked. "Tell me, now that you see her like this, do you regret that she never dressed up like this just for you?"
Jane looked away and didn't answer.
"God, what is the point of this?" Lisbon burst out. "He doesn't care what I'm wearing. You're the only one who seems to find all this amusing. What is this obsession you have with making him miserable?"
"As I said," Russo said coolly. "He presumed to make a mockery of me."
"It's not his fault you have self-esteem issues," Lisbon said, unsympathetic. "Ever try looking inward instead of always casting about for someone else to blame your problems on?"
"I have few problems which cannot be dispatched with a simple command or a sharp blade," Russo said sharply.
Lisbon shook her head. "I don't think so. If that were true, Jane and I wouldn't be here. You'd be content playing your little games with your usual playmates—you'd be happy being king of the playground. But that's not enough, is it? The truth is, you need Jane. You used his insults towards you as an excuse for your insistence on toying with him, but that's not why you've held onto him so long."
"I refuse to suffer criticism from those who are less than me," Russo said tightly.
"So you took your revenge," Lisbon agreed. "You destroyed his life. Why not let it go at that? Better yet, why not just kill him, and have done with it years ago? Why prolong the game?"
Russo didn't answer.
"He fascinates you, doesn't he?" Lisbon said knowingly.
Russo looked at Jane. Jane stared back at him, eyes wide. He was unsure where Lisbon was going with this, but he was determined to stay silent, unwilling to upset the precarious balance Lisbon had struck as long as Russo wasn't actively hurting her. "I recognize something in him that we share," Russo said at last.
"What's that?" Lisbon wanted to know.
"Hunger," Russo responded, sounding almost reverent. "An unwillingness to be satisfied by the common." He nodded to Jane. "Patrick has that hunger. It was one of the first things I noticed about him."
He regarded her. "You do not. You have a different kind of hunger. A more common longing for love and acceptance. And perhaps even more than that, for purpose in your life."
"Interesting interpretation," Lisbon remarked. "I don't think he hungers for the same things you do, though. He's never killed someone for pleasure."
"Pleasure? Perhaps not. But personal gratification? He has done that. He killed dear Timothy without a moment's hesitation when he thought Timothy was me." He watched Lisbon closely. "That smarted, didn't it? After all you'd done for him, all the faith you'd placed in him, and he didn't even hesitate? There you were, on the other end of the line, shot. Because of him and his plan. Did he even wait five minutes after you'd been hurt before he turned around and shot a man in cold blood for his precious revenge?"
Lisbon refused to rise to the bait. "At this point, to be honest, I'm just sorry he didn't get you for real back then," she said coldly.
"There was very little chance of that, I'm afraid," Russo said with an air of indifferent amusement. "Poor Patrick. He always does seem to be two steps behind when it comes to unraveling my little puzzles."
"But you still can't let him go," Lisbon persisted. "You've grown dependent on him. You know what I think?"
He arched one elegant brow. "Do tell."
"I think you aren't going to be able to kill him at all," Lisbon said. "I think you need him. You need the battle between you to give you a sense of self, to give you a sense of purpose. Because without him, you run the risk of drowning in your own thoughts with no one to distract you from them."
Russo's fingers twitched. He didn't look so amused now—he was angry. "Time will tell, Teresa. But you… I will not have any trouble spilling your blood. We'll see if you have such a smart mouth once I have had my fun with you." He stepped closer to her, and wrapped strong fingers around her neck. "You know what I'm most looking forward to?" he whispered.
Lisbon gagged a little as he applied pressure to her windpipe with one hand. "What's that?" she gasped.
He tightened his grip slowly, but unrelentingly. "Listening you beg him to help you, and seeing the looks in the eyes of both of you when you realize that there is absolutely nothing he can do to stop me." He released her suddenly and Lisbon's head fell forward as she sucked in several lungfuls of air, trying to recover her breath.
Russo turned to his followers. "You will leave us now," he said abruptly.
Gregson looked crushed. "But… you said we could watch."
"You will leave," he snapped.
Gregson looked at Lisbon with loathing. "They're dangerous."
"Leave that to me," he said impatiently. "You will bind them before you go, and then you will leave us."
With ill grace, Gregson did as she was bidden. She produced a pair of zip ties and roughly bound Jane to a support beam, his hands cinched tightly together behind his back with the thick plastic ties. She did the same to Lisbon, her mouth twisting with vindictive pleasure when Lisbon winced slightly as the ties pinched her skin.
When she was finished, Gregson and the other cronies left, none so reluctantly as Gregson herself. She cast a doleful glance behind her as she pulled the door closed behind them, clearly disappointed to be missing out on the fun.
Russo watched them leave. Once they were gone, he drew in a deep, cleansing breath. "And now," he said, turning back to Lisbon. "We will feed my hunger."
"That hunger you speak of," Lisbon said slowly, watching him warily. "It's changed, over the years, hasn't it? It started out so simply, killing young women. Women you found attractive. You didn't know how to act on that attraction, though. Killing them was the only way you knew how to feel close to them."
"There's no way to be closer to a woman," Russo rejoined, tracing his index finger down the side of her neck. "What could be more intimate than feeling life's blood drain from their bodies?"
Lisbon jerked her head away. "That intimacy wasn't enough, was it?" she said shrewdly. "After awhile, it wasn't as satisfying as it used to be."
"It's to be expected," Russo said. "It was too easy, after awhile. One does need new challenges to stay stimulated, after all."
"So you turned to the revenge game," Lisbon concluded. "You'd already tried it with Kellan Howard, and that had been every bit as satisfying as you'd hoped. And it wasn't easy. It would be that new challenge you sought. So you started to think about who else had done you wrong, over the years, to see if you could recapture that feeling. That was when you started to think about taking revenge on Tom Cassidy and Noah Plaskett. That was when your hunger changed."
Jane, desperate to distract Russo's attention away from Lisbon, picked up the narrative here.
"Deep down, you were still a little scared of Cassidy and Plaskett, weren't you? They'd stood up to you once, and they might do it again, if they discovered your plan. So you decided to build a network of followers to help you, to keep you removed from the dangers of discovery. And that was its own challenge in and of itself, wasn't it? Finding men and women to follow you, the time and effort it took to persuade them to follow your will. It prolonged the game, kept you entertained while you waited for your opportunity. You placed one of your followers in San Angelo to help you identify that opportunity. And it worked. You killed Tom Cassidy, and got Hardy elected as sheriff. But still, it wasn't enough. Cassidy's death was disappointing, wasn't it? A let down."
"Cassidy was hardly a worthy challenge," Russo sniffed.
Lisbon interjected once again. "Luckily for you, that was when Jane came onto the scene. Here's this handsome, charismatic guy who reminded you of yourself. You could see at once he was used to being the cleverest person in the room. And conveniently, he happened to insult you on national television. You had a perfect new victim. But he was too interesting to kill, wasn't he? So you killed his family instead, to see what he would do."
Russo was watching Jane with something almost like nostalgia. Jane looked back at him with an expression like stone, letting Lisbon carry on with the story as long as Russo's focus was on him.
"And he fell apart," Lisbon continued. "That was fascinating to you, wasn't it? Watching him unravel. But then he put himself back together and he was even more interesting to you, because now he was obsessed with bringing you down. No one else ever came close to succeeding at that task, did they? Because you're the king of the jungle. The tiger from the Blake poem."
She fixed her gaze upon him, boring her green eyes into his as he turned to look back at her. "It gets lonely up there at the top of the food chain, doesn't it? Not after you found Jane, though. Once you had him, you finally had an enemy strong enough to face you on your own terms. Even a companion, of sorts. An opponent worthy of your mental acumen."
Russo smiled sardonically. "Been reading up on your classic poetry, have you, Teresa? I'll remind you that no one ever defeats the tiger, in the end. He remains a symbol of dark and dangerous beauty."
"Tyger, Tyger, burning bright," Lisbon recited. "You know, when I first heard about you quoting that poem to Jane, I figured you were just an egomaniac, enamored of his own mystique. But that's not exactly right, is it?"
Russo raised his eyebrows. "You have a new theory now? Please," he said dryly. "Enlighten us with your interpretation of the works of the great William Blake."
"'What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry?'" she quoted. "That's the question it all comes back to, isn't it? How could God have created a creature like you?"
"There is no God," Russo said harshly. "It is a beautiful poem, nothing more."
"Yes. Your favorite poem. A story without resolution. That's the point." She looked at him almost pityingly. "You have no idea who you are, do you?"
Russo's fists clenched at his sides. "I am the man who will destroy you both, in the end. I have destroyed you. You are only here at my mercy."
"More scare tactics and bluster," Lisbon said without heat. "I suppose I shouldn't expect anything better. Not from you. You've cast about for something to cling to all your life. Your career, the killing, then hypnosis, revenge and the development of a cult following… you're like a teenager who can't decide which tie to wear to prom."
Russo looked at her sharply. "I evolve, as we all must."
"You aren't evolving," Lisbon said dismissively. "You're turning in every direction looking for answers."
She nodded to Jane. "And now you've pinned all your hopes on Jane. You've never met anyone before who challenged you. If you can take him apart, learn to understand him, maybe you can finally know yourself."
"He's like me," Russo told her. "I recognize myself in him."
"He's nothing like you," Lisbon contradicted him.
"Isn't he? We both have our demons, after all."
"He's not a coward and a bully," Lisbon said forcefully. "He's willing to risk everything for the people he loves. Everything you do is to serve yourself."
"He is the same arrogant, self-aggrandizing confidence man he's always been," Russo snarled. "You're just too blind to see it, because you fell for his tricks, too."
Lisbon shook her head. "He's changed. You haven't. Your hunger, as you call it, has changed and grown over the years, but you yourself haven't changed at all. You're still that same scared little boy you were when you lost your mother, too clever and too self-indulgent for your own good."
"Lisbon—" Jane began, fearful of what would happen if she succeeded too well in provoking him, but Lisbon overrode him.
"He knows that his wife and daughter were the best part of him, and he's chosen to carry them with him every day, to keep them alive in him. You, on the other hand, ran away from the one good thing you ever had in your life."
Jane had no idea what she was talking about, and Russo, too, looked blank. "Just what is this one good thing you imagine I've run away from?" Russo asked curiously.
"Rosalind." Lisbon said simply.
Russo's expression changed. "Don't mention her name," he hissed.
Lisbon ignored the directive. "She wasn't part of your plan, was she? At first I thought you targeted her for a specific reason, but that wasn't it, was it? You really did come across her by accident. And once you found yourself in her home, in her heart, you found you didn't want to leave. You were your best possible self when you were with her. But you threw it away because you were afraid of letting her see your dark secrets. You weren't willing to give up your little hobby for her. You were too scared to find out who you could be, without that to define you."
"She was an amusing diversion." He tried to sound offhand, but fell short of the mark.
"You were in love with her," Lisbon said calmly.
"I desired her, nothing more," Russo corrected her, and Lisbon almost believed him. Almost. "She was a beautiful jewel that I wished to possess. I enjoyed my time with her, but I had other pursuits to follow. New heights to ascend. She was a distraction I couldn't afford. True mastery of one's self requires focus and discipline."
"True mastery of one's self," Lisbon repeated, not buying it. "If you ask me, you're a long way from that. You kill off your followers when they displease you, even when they could still help you, and call it a 'needed sacrifice.'" She shook her head. "You should have stuck with Rosalind. You'd have been far better off. You never learned impulse control at all, really. You've just learned damage control."
"Call it what you will," Russo said. "I've eluded you and your comrades in law enforcement this long, haven't I?"
"Yeah, by hiding yourself like a little boy," Lisbon said scornfully. "But your little drama class here is destined to be the last bit of fun you ever experience. Because we've caught you."
He arched an eyebrow. "It would seem that it is I who caught you, my dear."
"True," Lisbon said, unmoved. "You won this round. You've got me and Jane. But we'll win in the end. You know why?"
He indulged her. "Why is that?"
"Because we outnumber you," she told him. "If you kill me and Jane, it doesn't matter. Our side will always win because there will always be more people like us ready to step up to fight people like you. We know who you are now. You're done. We will win because you're stuck moving in the shadows. We move freely in the daylight and at night, we can always shine more light into the darkness."
He made a violent movement towards her, as though determined to quash the triumph in her voice through physical means, but before he reached her, there was a sharp knock, and the red door opened.
Russo turned, infuriated at the interruption. "I do not wish to be disturbed right now," he snarled.
Yager, the unhappy messenger, ducked his head. "Sorry, sir. One of the alarms went off near the perimeter. We thought you ought to know."
"Whatever it is, take care of it," Russo ordered frostily. "You have been trained for such an event, have you not? I am not to be disturbed again, do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir," Yager said. He retreated, and closed the door behind him.
Russo turned back to Jane and Lisbon. "Now, where were we?"
"Lisbon was just telling you how we'd defeated you," Jane said helpfully.
"Ah, yes," Russo said, his lip curling. "Well. Comfort yourselves with those words if you can, but the fact remains that I have you in my power. You will not escape my hold, now that I have you in my grasp." He breathed in deeply. "Story time is over. I'm ready for the main event."
He approached Lisbon once again, more controlled this time. "Watch closely, now, Patrick," he instructed. Without fanfare, he drew out his long silver knife, and slashed Lisbon once along the long, graceful arc of her collarbone.
Jane went crazy. "Lisbon!" he shouted, writhing against the ties that bound him. "Don't touch her, you son of a bitch!"
He was crying, he realized. He wriggled and squirmed and raged and fought with everything that was in him, but he could not free himself from the zip ties. God dammit, he thought, tears rolling down his face. If only he'd been bound in handcuffs instead, he would have been able to escape in a moment. Now, it seemed that the more he struggled, the more tightly the ties constricted his wrists.
Russo chuckled at Jane's distress. He had regained his equilibrium now that he was the one in control again.
Lisbon kept her cool. The cut wasn't deep—a flesh wound, nothing more. "I'm okay, Jane," she said, in a vain attempt at reassuring him. She was worried he was going to dislocate his shoulder if he kept fighting his ties like that, twisting and writhing like a crazy person.
"Don't tell him such lies, Teresa," Russo said. "Even if you are now, you won't be for long."
Lisbon raised her eyebrows, determined not to show weakness until she couldn't bear it anymore. So far, she'd proven she could handle one shallow cut above her breastbone. She thought she could take quite a bit more, before she broke. In the meantime, she had one more play to make, and the only chance she had of making it work was to continue her careless defiance and not let him have the satisfaction of seeing her fear. "No? Won't it be more boring for you, if it ends too soon?"
"I trust it will feel long enough, to you, my dear," he said silkily. "I expect you will be begging me to end it once and for all rather sooner than you think."
Lisbon ignored this. "I'm just saying, everything else is going to be a bit of a letdown after this, isn't it? Face it, you're going to have trouble topping this in terms of entertainment value. Your next kill is bound to be a bit of a disappointment in comparison."
He flashed his teeth at her. "That's why I plan to prolong this particular event as long as possible."
"So what's your plan?" Lisbon asked conversationally. "Usually you subdue your victims with a taser, don't you?"
"A necessary precaution," Russo acknowledged. "When they fight back, there is always a chance they might inflict enough damage to leave some evidence behind."
"You're obviously not worried about that here," Lisbon observed. "You're not even wearing gloves. You plan to dispose of our bodies somewhere where there's no chance they could be recovered and examined for evidence."
"Usually I am forced to work within certain time constraints. Happily, here, on my own land, I have the luxury of taking my time." He stroked her arm, and drew the tip of the knife softly along the length of her upper arm.
"Lisbon!" Jane cried again, his voice full of despair.
Lisbon ignored Jane and the sound of drops of her blood hitting the floor. The cut stung, but again, it wasn't deep. It appeared he was serious about taking his time. If he continued on like this, it would be a very long time indeed before he inflicted enough damage to actually end her life. For now, though, he hadn't severed any nerves or muscle tissue, which was the main thing she cared about at the moment. She focused on keeping her voice cool and unaffected. "Wouldn't it last longer if you made it a fair fight? I mean, won't it be more satisfying for you if you can feel me struggling against you when the life drains out of me?"
Russo looked intrigued. "You really wish to engage in a physical altercation with me?"
"I almost had you, before. What was the word you used? Didn't you find it thrilling?" she pressed.
He looked amused. "You think you can beat me?"
She shrugged. "Maybe not. But at least I'd have a chance. Think about it from my perspective. Obviously I'm hoping I'll win the fight. But if I don't, there's always the possibility that I'll be able to force you to make a move that will kill me quickly and cleanly instead of the prolonged torture you apparently have in mind. And if not, at least I won't be any worse off than I was before."
"An interesting proposition," Russo commented. He looked at her, considering. Jane could tell he was tempted. Russo weighed the risk that she might actually be able to get the better of him. Apparently, he must have dismissed this as only the remotest possibility, however, because after a moment's consideration, he said finally, "Very well. I accept your proposal."
Jane couldn't blame him for liking his chances. Lisbon was a cop, and Jane had a tremendous amount of faith in her ability to defend herself, but Russo had a knife, and Lisbon was unarmed. Besides which, Russo had size and military training on his side. Lisbon, on the other hand, was probably somewhat worse for the wear after having been locked in a trunk for over two hours and having already felt the cut of a knife three times so far in the course of the day.
Russo walked around behind her. "You will wait to face me before you attack. I will not strike until then," he said graciously.
"Deal," Lisbon agreed.
He leaned in and sliced the ties binding her wrists.
Lisbon looked over her shoulder and rubbed her chafed wrists, keeping her movements slow and deliberate. She gestured to her consultant, tied to another support beam not far from them. "Can I say good-bye to Jane?"
"Go ahead," Russo said magnanimously.
No doubt the idea of witnessing a tearful good-bye appealed to his sense of theater, Jane thought furiously.
He turned his attention to Lisbon. She was doing marvelously, he thought. Outwardly, she seemed calm and collected. Only the slightest trembling of her hands gave her away as being the least bit nervous. He doubted whether anyone else in the world knew her well enough to see past her poker face in this last, critical moment.
Lisbon met his eyes and walked towards him. Halfway to him, she stumbled a little, teetering dangerously on the hated red heels.
Jane frowned. He didn't care what kind of shoes she was wearing- this was a curiously graceless movement for the athletically gifted Lisbon.
Cursing, she stooped and pulled off the offending shoes, tossing them to one side. She straightened and closed the remaining distance between them in three purposeful strides, wrapping her arms around his torso and pressing herself close to him. He screwed up his face and buried his nose in her hair, bitterly regretting that he couldn't wrap own arms around her and return the embrace.
She turned her head and lay her cheek against his chest. He felt something crack and break inside him.
Then she stood on tiptoe and pressed a long, lingering kiss to his jaw, just by his ear. "I'll hold him off as long as I can," she breathed.
Jane frowned into her hair. As parting words, they weren't doing much for his morale. Was a simple 'I love you' so much to ask for? Before he had even finished the thought, her fingers found his where they were tied behind his back, seeking to open his clenched fists. Jane opened his hands to her and hooked his pinky over hers, desperate to maintain his connection with her with even so tenuous a hold.
It was only when she pressed a small, hard object into his palm that he realized what she'd done. She'd faked the whole thing, he realized in shock. She hadn't stumbled- she had pretended to trip as a pretext to disguise the movement of extracting the pocket knife concealed in her bra. The pocket knife which she had just slipped into his hand.
"Act fast," she instructed him in a whisper that caressed his cheek where her lips had just been. She squeezed his hand over the knife and released him.
Then she turned around and faced Red John.
Jane stood there dumbstruck for a full five seconds before he processed the significance of what Lisbon had done. A knife. She had given him a knife. A means of cutting his way free. She'd given him a method of improving the odds in their favor.
He hastily fumbled to unfold the knife, nearly dropping it in his eagerness. His hands were clumsy and clammy as he tried to prise the blade from its casing. He forced himself to calm down, to move slowly and deliberately so he wouldn't drop this precious prize.
Lisbon stepped away from Jane and approached Russo slowly. Russo's eyes were alight with anticipation. She did not attack; instead, she and Russo circled each other warily, sizing each other up.
Russo made the first move.
He stepped forward, slashing downwards with his knife, but Lisbon sidestepped it, avoiding the downward thrust. She offered no counterattack, however, knowing that to bring herself close enough to land a blow against him would leave her dangerously exposed if he managed to recover himself more quickly than she anticipated. Her goal now was to prolong the combat as long as possible, which could be most effectively achieved through evasive maneuvers.
Jane pried the blade open.
Lisbon dodged another slash of the knife.
Jane frantically started to saw at the plastic ties but the angle was awkward and he couldn't get any purchase. The blade slipped and ended up flat against the edge of one tie.
Russo struck at Lisbon again, but she twisted to one side and avoided the knife once again. This time, he'd overcommitted with the move and Lisbon took advantage of him being temporarily off balance, darting forward and striking him with a forceful jab to the ribs. He hissed in displeasure and staggered to the side, his free hand fluttering to his ribs for a moment before he straightened and repositioned himself. He seemed more surprised than angry that Lisbon had actually managed to land a blow against him. Jane supposed that made sense. Russo was so used to controlling the risk in his usual methods of killing that he wasn't accustomed to the need to react quickly to a physical attack.
Lisbon didn't press her advantage. She fell back and assumed a boxer's stance, stepping lightly on the balls of her feet with her arms up in a defensive position.
Jane shifted his grip on the knife and angled the blade away from him, finally finding an angle which would allow him to apply the pressure he needed to sever the plastic restraints.
Russo drew himself up and centered himself once again.
The limited range of motion enforced by the ties meant that Jane could only rotate his wrists by a matter of degrees. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he drew the blade up and down as he attempted to cut through the ties.
Russo feinted with the knife, but then changed course and lashed out with the fist of his other hand instead.
Lisbon jerked her head back, but she wasn't quite fast enough and Russo landed a glancing blow against her jaw.
Dear God, Jane thought desperately. Was this the dullest knife in the world? He knew Lisbon was meticulous about cleaning her guns regularly—if by some miracle they actually got out of this nightmare alive, he was going to have words with her about the critical need to keep all her weaponry as well maintained as her firearms. Would it have killed her to sharpen the damn thing before marching off to confront a sociopath?
Russo followed the punch to the jaw with another swing at her head, but Lisbon danced out of the way, narrowly avoiding a blow to the temple.
Maybe it wasn't the knife, Jane thought in despair as he frantically continued to saw at his restraints. Maybe these were just the thickest plastic ties known to man, fortified with some special unknown substance with the properties of steel.
Russo lunged at her, apparently planning to tackle her to the ground so he could subdue her with sheer physical size and strength, but Lisbon anticipated his intent and leaped to the side. His momentum carried him past her. Taking advantage of their new positions in relation to one another, she pivoted smoothly on one foot and delivered a powerful roundhouse kick to the small of his back, her foot catching him sharply in his left kidney.
Russo roared in pain and fury. He turned and came at her again, less controlled this time. Lisbon ducked another blow and yet again managed to evade the knife.
Jane was close now. Very close.
Russo was no longer amused. He prowled like a cat stalking its prey, assessing Lisbon for signs of weakness. Jane could see he had underestimated her. He'd probably assumed he could use the altercation as another opportunity to toy with her for his own amusement. He hadn't expected to have to actually expend a significant amount of effort to subdue a woman half his size, no matter how well trained she was. He focused now, determined to win his prize.
He slashed at her again, once, twice, three times. Lisbon jumped out of the way for the first and second, but on the third pass she wasn't quite fast enough and she was forced to rock back on her heels to avoid the knife. The movement put her off balance.
Russo's lips curled in a grimace of cruel satisfaction at having forced her into making such a critical mistake. He cuffed her on the side of the head with his free hand, and Lisbon stumbled sideways for real this time. He grabbed her around the neck with one hand and flung her down on the ground. Lisbon tried to get up, or at least scramble out of reach, but he had her now. He stooped and pressed one knee to her chest, not resting his entire weight there, but applying enough pressure to prevent her from being able to get up no matter how much she struggled, pinning her there like a butterfly to a scientist's mounting board. Tragically immobile, with beautiful wings outstretched.
Now that he had her where he wanted her, Russo's movements became slow and lazy again. He had time now to savor every moment of her distress. He took hold of her hair and tilted her head back, exposing the smooth white column of her neck, stark against the backdrop of red, red, red. The silver of the knife glinted in the light as he raised it languidly, considering where to apply it first.
Success. Jane felt the last sliver of plastic give way, and the zip ties broke open with a soft snap. He was free.
There was no plan. No finesse. The instant he broke free, Jane ran at Russo at full tilt, intent on nothing but making absolutely sure that knife did not meet its intended target.
Jane felt his entire skeleton rattle from the impact as he slammed into Russo's body, tackling him to the ground.
Russo grunted in surprise as they crashed to the ground together. Cursing, he half rose and turned his murderous gaze on Jane. Jane, slower off the mark, stared up at him, eyes wide. The tiny knife was still clutched in his hand and he raised the pitiful object to defend himself. Russo had dropped his own knife when Jane tackled him, but he did not seem remotely fearful at the prospect of being unarmed while Jane faced him down with a blade of his own. Infuriated at Jane's unexpected interference, Russo knocked the knife from his grasp with a single blow. The pocket knife went skittering across the floor, beyond the reach of any of the combatants. Jane tried to lever himself up, but Russo punched him in the face, sending him back to the floor in a heap and nearly dislocating his jaw.
Lisbon meanwhile, scrambled for the other knife on the floor.
Turning with a snarl, Russo backhanded her with enough force to knock her down again. This threat summarily dispatched, he turned back to Jane.
Jane didn't think. He snatched up the silver knife. As Russo bore down on him, he drove the knife upwards, under Russo's breastbone, and didn't stop until he felt the tip of the knife pierce the soft mass of his beating heart.
