AN: Thanks again for your reviews, follows, and favorites! In this chapter, Jane gets to explain himself a bit, so hopefully some questions will be answered...while bringing forth more questions, of course!
At the end of the week, they are no closer to solving the case than they were when they got it. It's almost a relief to get a call Friday afternoon sending them to the south of town for a new case.
This time, before they even approach the scene, they know Red John is responsible—first responders had reported his mark on the living room wall.
Jane sticks close to Cho, Rigsby, and Grace, all of whom are armed. The body was found in a rough neighborhood, and the approaching dusk doesn't do anything to calm Jane's anxiety. As the team walks across the street to the victim's house, the wind picks up a plastic bag and whisks it across their path; other pieces of garbage litter the street. Jane steps onto the cracked sidewalk in front of the house, careful to avoid tripping over where the weeds have crept up through the concrete. The house in front of them was once white, but without maintenance in years the paint has begun to fade and scratch away, revealing an ugly brown color underneath.
Rigsby holds the crime scene tape up for them, and they all duck under and walk up the steps to the house. They step inside, and Jane begins to breathe through his mouth at the smell of cigarette smoke that seems to have seeped into every piece of furniture and fabric in the house. He looks past the dark entranceway into the family room, where Red John's mark immediately catches his eye. It's somewhat larger than Jane has remembered seeing at any other scenes, and no matter where he looks, Jane cannot keep the mark from invading his line of vision.
A body is propped up beneath the mark on the couch, a trail of dried blood staining the off-white upholstery.
The victim is another woman, this one probably in her late thirties. Jane's attention is immediately drawn to her, and once again he feels panic begin to claw its way beneath his skin.
The patterning of the freckles is all wrong, of course, but the presence of the freckles themselves, paired with the victim's porcelain skin, sends a clear enough message to Jane.
"My god," says Grace, and Jane knows the similarity is striking enough that the rest of the team have noticed as well.
Jane takes a deep breath, forgetting for a moment to breathe through his mouth, and the intense smell of cigarettes combined with the sight of Lisbon's skin on a dead woman makes bile rise in his throat. He turns around quickly, brushing past Grace as he moves outside, and he takes several deep breaths of clean air after the battered screen door clangs shut behind him.
"You okay?"
Jane turns around to find Cho facing him from behind the screen door.
"When we get back to headquarters, I need to talk to you," Jane says. He'd thought it would be best to keep everything to himself, but now…he wonders if he's been doing the right thing. Two victims in a row, both with Red John's calling card, and both with physical similarities to Lisbon. He can't ignore whatever message Red John is trying to send to him any longer.
Cho nods and heads back to the family room.
The team is there for a little more than an hour, but Jane cannot bring himself to reenter the house. Instead, he talks with the victim's husband, who eventually joins him on the porch, looking like he too cannot handle the scene inside.
The husband is clearly in shock, and Jane gets very little from him. His wife was a school janitor who often worked night shifts. Even though their neighborhood could have been better, he believes most of the people there had genuinely liked his wife, and he can't think of any reason why someone would come after her.
Jane believes him.
They leave soon after, and they drive back into town with the sun sinking down to their left.
Cho tells Rigsby and Grace to head home for the day—despite the fact that it's the weekend, they will be in early tomorrow morning to begin pouring over case files and interview notes. Jane follows Cho back into headquarters, and they stand in the elevator in silence. The doors open with a ding, and Cho gestures with his head toward the observation rooms.
The bullpen is eerily empty at this time of day, and they walk through the darkened halls quickly, their steps echoing around them. Cho holds open the door to Observation Room 1, and Jane steps inside.
The door swings shut behind Cho, who flips on the light. "What is it?"
Jane breathes in deeply and leans against the two-way mirror. He glances at Cho. "When you asked me what happened at the mall after you left to go to Lisbon and Grace…I lied."
"I know."
Jane had almost expected this. Not much gets by Cho.
"I called Lisbon," Jane says, "and she was shot while she was talking to me. Then O'Laughlin got shot, and Lisbon told me she was alright." He gestures with his hands as he speaks, not able to keep them still. "I asked her to get his phone and dial the last number on his recent contacts, and she did. She told the man who answered that O'Laughlin was dead, and I watched as a man sitting across from me at the mall answered her. Lisbon got back on the line a few seconds later to confirm what he'd said."
Cho's face isn't stoic any longer. "Red John was in the mall that day?"
Jane nods.
"And you didn't feel it was necessary to get us a description of him?" asks Cho. "We could call in a sketch artist, put his picture everywhere." He looks livid.
Or as livid as Cho can get.
Jane rolls his eyes. "You know as well as I do that if we give his picture to the media, he'll disappear, and there's no way in hell we'll be able to track him down if he leaves the country. I need him here."
"What if we recruited the sketch artist but didn't give the picture to the media? It might be useful to have a reference sketch to show to people we interview. They might even be able to tell us where to find him if they recognize him."
Jane shakes his head. "Still too risky. I don't trust anyone in the CBI apart from our team—who's to say their forensic artists haven't been corrupted by Red John as well? If he sees us getting too close, he'll run."
"That's a bullshit excuse, Jane, and you know it."
Jane feels his pulse quicken upon being called out.
"Look, I'll describe him for you and the team—"
"Yes, you will," Cho interrupts. "But right now, I'm more interested in the real reason you don't want to pursue this lead."
Jane hesitates before remembering the whole point of this conversation was to be honest with Cho. "I'm scared that getting too close to Red John will provoke him," he admits.
"That's never stopped you before."
Jane meets Cho's eyes, and he knows Cho's determined expression mirrors his own.
"Yeah, well," says Jane, "that was before I spoke with him."
Cho's eyes harden. "You spoke with him? Face to face? Without any backup?"
"I did," confirms Jane. "Before you chastise me—yes, I know it was stupid. I realized that at the same moment I noticed he had a gun pointed at me. But at that point, I couldn't refuse anything he said, so I sat down across from him, and we chatted."
Jane very deliberately leaves out the fact that he himself was armed that day.
Cho's glare remains more impassive than ever.
Jane taps his thumbs together in irritation. He continues. "After I joined him, he told me that my life was precious, that I needed to find a woman to love." Jane avoids Cho's eyes, looking down at the floor. "I must have reacted poorly because he read me—he figured out that I had already found someone."
"Lisbon," supplies Cho, nodding, and Jane is not at all surprised that he has figured this out.
Jane looks up again. "I didn't realize it until Red John pointed it out," he says quietly, leaning the back of his head against the mirror. "And I don't think Red John knew for sure until the day at the mall. But now he does, and it's given him leverage."
"You mean it's given him ammunition to mess with you," Cho clarifies. "You think that's why he's killed recently—the young woman with Lisbon's eyes. And today—the woman with Lisbon's skin."
"Add that to the fact that the first victim was found in the park where Lisbon goes jogging on the weekends." Jane feels his shoulders tense up.
"So he's killing to deliberately remind you of Lisbon." Cho leans against the doorframe, letting out a deep sigh. "And that's why you don't want to provoke him. You're worried he's going to go after her if we get too close."
Jane lifts his shoulders in a helpless gesture. "I have no idea. I have absolutely no idea what he's planning. That's why I wanted to talk to you—I need your opinion on the matter."
Cho runs a hand through his hair. "The CBI doesn't have the resources to put protection on Lisbon all day, every day—and with what circumstantial evidence we have that she's possibly at risk, I don't think we'd have a shot of getting help anyway. Plus, she'd likely refuse the protection even if we could get it." He stares at Jane, and his eyes narrow. "I'm guessing you told me first because you'd like to avoid explaining all this to her?"
Jane isn't sure how to respond. After all, a part of him does want to tell Lisbon everything—exactly what he's feeling and why he's scared for her safety. But the voice that wins out is telling him to keep his distance, to never tell her the truth.
Anyone who gets close to me—bad things happen to them.
It's like a mantra, echoing over and over again in his skull.
"She's going to find out eventually," says Cho. "Might as well be on your terms."
Jane shakes his head at this. "If I play my cards right, she won't have to find out at all. That's why I'm asking you—I need a way to keep her safe without forcing my hand."
Cho gives him an exasperated look. "That sounds like playing your cards wrong to me," he says, and Jane stares at him, shocked.
Does that mean what Jane thinks it does?
But Cho is talking again, and Jane focuses on his words.
"Look," says Cho. "Lisbon will be coming back into work on desk duty next week. We'll be able to keep an eye on her better that way. But in the meantime, you need to tell her something so that she's careful. I don't want her leaving her house alone anymore unless she really has to—at least not until she's healed and we've got a better idea of what's going on. You don't have to tell her what Red John figured out, but you should tell her that you met with him. Tell her what he looks like. If she asks why you think Red John might be focusing on her, just tell her you're not sure."
Jane nods.
"Head over there now, alright?" says Cho, and he slips out the door, leaving Jane alone.
Jane breathes deeply and then follows him out.
He calls her on the way over to her house.
"Is it alright if I stop by in a few minutes?" he asks, slightly breathless.
"Of course," she says.
"See you in ten."
"I'll be here."
They sit down on her couch again, just like they did a few nights ago, and Lisbon reaches for the remote, turning off a news report about a college professor who'd just received a national award for his research. She shifts so that she is sitting closer to Jane than she had been before, and when he breathes in, he smells cinnamon and warmth.
She frowns at him. "Something happened today that upset you," she notes. "Did you find something on Red John?"
He holds her gaze. "Something like that," he says, and he begins to tell her everything—or nearly everything. He describes Red John and their conversation, but he leaves out what Red John had been able to read off him. After, he tells her about the latest victim.
When he finishes, Jane realizes Lisbon hasn't moved for the better part of five minutes. This eerie stillness reminds him of rigor mortis—when the muscles of corpses become immobilized—and he places a hand on her arm, concerned. "Lisbon?"
She shakes her head, coming back to him. "Why did you not tell me?" she asks. "You had new leads—and you didn't tell me."
He can't find the words to explain it, but she seems to gather enough from his expression.
"You're worried about what he will do to me if you follow those leads."
He gives an infinitesimal nod.
They are silent for a few minutes before she speaks again.
"You were right—about all of it," she whispers. "Of course you were."
He wishes he weren't.
She pulls her knees up to her chest. "You think this is his way of getting back at us for taking out O'Laughlin."
It's not a question, but his silence is answer enough.
"He's killing people who look like me—he's planning on going after me." Lisbon's voice is monotone, emotionless, and Jane wonders how well she's actually processing this information.
Jane leans toward her. "That is a very real possibility."
Lisbon's eyes are bright. "He's never shown interest in me before," she points out. "He's always engaged directly with you. Why change it up all of the sudden?"
Lisbon closes her eyes, and Jane wants so badly to take her hand. He resists.
"Red John likes to play games," Jane finally says, his voice low. "And he very much enjoys the game he has going with us. I doubt he would do anything to sacrifice that game, meaning I don't think his goal necessarily is to win—and that in turn means your life is probably not in danger. Rather than winning per se, I think it's more likely Red John wants to see me lose. Repeatedly. And he has it in his mind that the best way to make that happen is through you."
Lisbon's eyes flash open, and the genuine fear in them terrifies Jane. "Why does he think that?" she whispers.
"He knows me," says Jane simply. "We're too much alike. He also knows that every man has a weakness. And you're mine."
Her eyes become wide as his words sink in. Then she leans the side of her head against the back of the couch, brushing her bangs out of her eyes.
"You're mine, too, you know," she says quietly, looking away.
Jane chuckles. "Teresa Lisbon doesn't have a weakness."
Lisbon shakes her head. "Oh, I have many. And they all begin and end with you."
He makes a face at her and rolls his eyes, disbelieving.
"You don't believe me?" she asks. "Well, allow me to demonstrate." She reaches for his hand, finally staring right into his eyes. "Stay the night, Jane. Please. I don't want to be alone after this conversation we just had."
He concentrates on the warmth of her fingers—on the weight of her palm in his.
"Please," she says again, clearly begging this time.
He cannot help it—cannot restrain himself any longer. He leans over and places the softest of kisses on her forehead.
"I'll stay, Lisbon," he says. "As long as you need me."
Her eyes flutter closed at his words.