"JANE!"
Van Pelt looked up at Rigsby with alarm. "Did you hear that?"
Wayne nodded, with a look of concern.
"JANE!"
"Is that the boss?!" Wayne wondered aloud.
The scream was filled with such terror as to sound shredded… barely recognizable… a banshee-laced shell of the voice of Teresa Lisbon.
"It's definitely coming from her office." Grace said with surety. "Should we check in on her? The blinds are closed, but…"
"I'll go knock." Wayne offered. He knew - or at least he was fairly certain - that Patrick Jane was nowhere near Sacramento or the former CBI. The consultant had dropped out of sight ever since Red John had been killed. And even if he'd tried to reach out to Lisbon or the team, they wouldn't have known about it. Dennis Abbott's FBI had confiscated all of their cell phones and commandeered the CBI building, including all official and unofficial communications.
With a jolt, Lisbon sat up straight on her threadbare office's couch. Her heart was pounding and her hands were damp with sweat. She absentmindedly wiped at her flushed cheeks, which were quite hot, and also covered with anguished tears. She blinked, looking around to get her bearings, which took longer than usual due to the fact that her office no longer looked like her office. Federal agents had taken nearly everything out in cardboard boxes after Jane had mysteriously disappeared - suspiciously timed with the murder of Red John/Sheriff McAllister. She was just beginning to snap out of the fog her mind had been swimming in, when there was a knock at the door. Her head whipped around to look at the source of the sound, but her office blinds were closed.
Of course, she slowly remembered. She had needed a moment alone to ponder Jane's absence and to pray vehemently for his safety. But the exhaustion she was suffering, from everything that had happened in the last week or so (regardless of how many times she'd denied the existence of that exhaustion) had caught up to her, and she'd fallen asleep, mid-prayer, on the sofa. Slowly and suspiciously, she peeked between the blinds covering the glass door. When she saw Wayne Rigsby's familiar mug, she softened to a smile, rolled her eyes at herself and opened the door.
"Rigsby!" she croaked, immediately realizing how badly her throat hurt. Then subsequently remembering why.
"You okay in here Boss? Grace and I heard shouting?" Wayne stood patiently, with sincere concern in his eyes. The whole team had been worried ever since things had gone to hell. But they worried doubly for their beloved and respected leader. They knew any disdain they were feeling about the state of things at the CBI had to be at least double for her. And then on top of that, Jane was missing. No one knew if he was even alive. And Lisbon and Jane had been nearly connected at the hip. Some on the team had even speculated that the two had been on the verge of romantic involvement, they had so visibly cared for one another; theirs was such a firm partnership that it seemed almost like a natural next step if they had decided to take it. But Jane was missing, and they knew her worry had to be overwhelming, no matter how tough she was.
After a soothing sip of cold water, Teresa replied that she was fine, and was just unusually angry at her partner for disappearing, and incredibly frustrated with the FBI's involvement and lack of respect for her team - the team who had found and taken down Red John, no less. She claimed that she had needed some scream therapy, and apologized for alarming the agents. It was indeed late in the day and she told Wayne that she'd thought she was alone in the building or she wouldn't have followed through with the idea.
Grace heard the explanation from her desk and came over to peek in. "No worries, boss - glad you're okay!"
Teresa was further soothed by Van Pelt's warmth and sincerity. Grace had always projected an honesty and goodness that was a salve for Teresa in stressful situations. She was heartened to see her friend's smile, just then. It almost made her forget the sad truths in her life this week: Her home office for over a decade was non-existent. Her career was, at the very least, damaged - if not over entirely, thanks to this whole Red John mess. And Jane was God-knows-where; which was why her voice was so ragged and her throat so sore. Not from scream therapy as she'd told Wayne and Grace, but from the terrifyingly realistic nightmare she'd scared herself awake from.
In her dream, she had stumbled upon one last Red John murder scene… and it had been Jane's blood that painted the wall. Her dearest friend and partner's pale face, and bloodied neck on the floor. Her heart's wish, and secretly-beloved soulmate, Patrick's lifeless body at center stage. And she had reacted with all of the despair and rage that her twelve-year-old self had shown at the death of her mother. She had screamed in pain and shock and grief - so hard that her abdominal muscles were now sore, and her voice was nearly gone, from the taxing effects of exploding at the murderous bastard for hurting her Jane; and at Jane himself for running off and trying to fix things alone rather than trusting her to help him. And at God for allowing this to happen… as if Jane hadn't been dealt enough grief in his life… as if he hadn't deserved a chance at happiness or redemption… as if she hadn't deserved a chance at happiness beside him… at least she'd hoped to maybe get to that point someday. But now there were no more somedays. Jane was gone and most likely dead. Her head hurt almost as much as her throat did. She needed to get out of the building and think… get some perspective… maybe run away with the carnival… maybe fly back home to Chicago… maybe start looking for Jane on the sly…
Six months after her world had imploded, the CBI was no more. The Rigsbys had bounced back as private contractors working in digital security - and they were expecting their first baby together. Cho had taken Abbott up on an offer to join the FBI and had relocated to Austin, Texas. Kimball was always the rational, practical one. She couldn't hold it against him that he'd made a smart career decision for himself. She most certainly did hold it against Cho's new boss though. She wished she'd never met Dennis Abbott.
Still living on the paltry severance she'd been given when her agency had been dissolved, Teresa remained in the same Sacramento apartment she'd been renting since well before Patrick Jane had appeared in her life. Every day she argued with herself about it: She felt weak and defeated, just sitting around the house with no useful work to do. But she also felt like she couldn't leave; what if he came looking for her?
She felt pathetic about how the man was still in control of her choices somehow. Rolling her eyes, she remembered something the irksome Ray Haffner had once asked her: "Is it the job you don't want to leave, Teresa? Or is it Jane? Because someday he's gonna get bored or he'll get Red John and then he's gonna leave. And you'll still be here. Is that really what you want?"
She was just about to give in to tears, when there was a knock at her apartment door. To her surprise, despite having decided not to run away with the carnival, the carnival had apparently run to her.
Teresa was shocked into stillness, as she opened her door to none other than Pete and Samantha Barsocky, who wore tentative smiles and bore a mysterious envelope.
"Can we come in, Lisbon?" Pete asked, breaking the spell.
"I'm sorry, Pete," Lisbon shook herself back into lucidity, "Of course! Please, come in!"
The two carnies shared a quick glance of concern as they passed over her threshold, noticing how terrible Jane's other half looked. It was painfully clear how profusely the consultant's absence had affected the tough-as-nails agent.
"How have you been, dear?" Sam asked with great sympathy.
"How do you think I've been, Sam?!" Teresa snapped, having long lost any protective insulation on her frayed nerves. "My entire life has been pulled out from under me like so many trick carpets, and the one human who's been a constant in my life for years - and whom I've wasted a ridiculous amount of energy on, no less - is either missing or dead! I'm just peachy, thanks," the jilted cop deadpanned with a sour expression.
"I'm so sorry for this unfair hand you've been dealt, Teresa. Patrick really seems to have left a wake of chaos behind him."
"That's one way to put it," Lisbon spat.
"But Patrick is why we're here," Pete chimed in.
Lisbon's expression immediately shifted to one of hopeful concern. "What do you mean?"
"He's asked us to tell you that he's safe, and that he's so very sorry for the way things are right now… For you, and for the CBI… For the team… He's grateful that Red John can't hurt anyone anymore, and doesn't regret that monster's demise in the least, but he is greatly torn up that his actions have destroyed so many things for his family at that agency."
"So, he couldn't be bothered to tell me that himself?!" Teresa was infinitely relieved to hear Jane was okay, but that relief was quickly accompanied by fury. So, he was out there somewhere, and had simply left all of them to clean up his latest mess. And he couldn't make the effort to communicate on his own behalf?! Had to send messengers? What was he - royalty or something?! Lisbon felt completely played, and wanted to punch something.
"Go ahead." Pete said.
"Go ahead what?!" Lisbon shot back with irritation at her absent consultant and partner.
"Punch me in the arm. You know you want to, and you have every right to be angry." The carny Strongman rolled up his right sleeve and turned it toward her, in invitation.
Lisbon sighed powerfully, venting her anger and regaining her senses. "I'm not gonna punch you, Pete. You're not to blame in this. Besides, it wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as making contact with that conman's nose," she grumbled.
"Heard," Sam put a hand on Teresa's shoulder. "But he's not been a conman for many years, Teresa."
"Yeah, right," Lisbon rolled her eyes.
"I'm serious. Knowing you changed him. For the better."
"Wish I could say the same," she muttered under her breath, holding back the tears that threatened to expose the truth: she absolutely could say the same and she knew it. But she couldn't get past her deep sense of betrayal long enough to admit that.
"Well, regardless, he wanted us to deliver something to you." Pete held out a business-sized envelope, labeled "To Lisbon," in Jane's handwriting, on the front.
Teresa paused, looking at the delivery in Pete's hand with equal parts desperate longing and cynical suspicion. She was both driven to hold her handwritten name tightly to her heart, hoping to God the paper retained some of the scent of her magical partner AND was also tempted to snap the thing out of Pete's hand and into the fireplace, refusing to be a part of yet another one of Jane's unsavory tricks.
Pete raised his eyebrows and stretched his hand closer, hoping to nudge her to accept Patrick's peace offering.
"Fine, whatever," she finally grabbed the note with a sarcastic air, fully expecting this whole exchange would end up as a waste of time. Not that she had anything else to spend time on now anyway.
"Thank you, Teresa." Sam looked overly sincere, as if she hoped to melt Lisbon's obvious disbelief with the warmth in her eyes in that moment. "He really is heartsick over this. If you find it in your heart to read the words inside, you'll see just how true that is."
"And this isn't the last you'll see of us," Pete offered. "Patrick asked us to make future deliveries too. He's hoping to stay in touch, but has to remain untraceable for the time being. You know what the FBI and other cops think happened with him and Red John. He simply can't afford to be found right now… at least not until he has a plan in place for his safe return."
Teresa couldn't stop the chuckle that burst from her lips. "Now that sounds familiar." Jane was working a secret plan. Imagine that.
"Whatever else you're thinking, Teresa, know this: Patrick's biggest regret is hurting you, in this process. You have made such a deep impression on him that he has been forever changed. His top priority is finding a way back to you, and finding a way to right every wrong you've suffered from his actions." Sam remained quite serious, despite Lisbon's second burst of laughter.
"Every wrong he's done to me, huh? That could take a while!" Teresa couldn't stop laughing at the absurdity of such a promise. But she also felt a fond familiarity in her heart. Sam's words sounded just like Jane, and she couldn't deny how wonderful it was to hear his voice again, no matter how typically misguided his hopes may be. "But seriously, Sam, Pete, thank you. I don't know what's written inside this envelope, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't immensely relieved to know the idiot is safe. I've honestly been sick with worry ever since he disappeared."
"It's our pleasure, Lisbon," Pete smiled. "Like I said, we'll see you again."
"I look forward to that," she answered sincerely, as the two carnies took their leave.
The mystery envelope stared at her from the coffee table for hours.
Sam had said the note would prove Jane had been positively changed by knowing her. That had her insanely curious. But this was Jane, and he excelled at manipulation. Did she really want to get pulled back into his gravitational orbit? Pfft… as if she'd ever left it.
Resigned to opening the envelope - if for no other reason than to force herself out of her current stasis of indecision - she filled a glass with red wine, lit the gas fireplace, and pulled the envelope onto the sofa cushion beside her. With a long sip, and a deep breath, she broke the seal, unfolding the trifold page inside with tremendous care.
"Dear Lisbon,
I write in hopes that you are safe. That you are okay. As okay as can be expected after what I've left you and the team with.
My list of regrets is long. There are so many things I wish I could take back. Not the least of which is the time I abandoned you by the sea at sunset. That was selfish and wrong and it hurts me, knowing that I betrayed you in such a way. There were other times though, where I had to push you away in any way I could to protect you from the monster we were chasing. If he had killed you, then he would have won. Because I would have been destroyed. I would have never had the strength to stop him if he'd taken you. I wouldn't have even had the strength to live. You have been my light, my sounding board, my support, my conscience (yes, I have one of those) for all the years I've known you, Teresa. But more than that, you have been my heart.
The place where I live now is so beautiful, and I see so many things every day that I think you would enjoy. The only thing that makes it all feel sad and strange is that you aren't here with me. I wanted to ask you to come with me, actually. But that wouldn't have been fair. This isn't your fault and this isn't your exile. I was afraid you'd say yes, denying yourself the successful life you'd so diligently planned before I arrived on your doorstep like a lost puppy.
And I'm so sorry for the disastrous aftermath I've left you with there. You are worthy of so much more, my dear. I hope that someday you can forgive me, though I do not deserve your forgiveness. And for what it's worth, my primary goal now is to find a way back to you. You have impressed yourself onto the very fabric of my heart, and I have been forever changed for having known you. I will make all of this up to you, even if it takes a lifetime to do it. I miss you quite comprehensively, my dear. Despite being caressed daily by delicious tropical breezes, I find it hard to get enough air in my lungs, without you beside me.
Missing you so very much, Love, Jane."
Lisbon stared at those last two words for what seemed like hours, holding empty stemware in her other hand; the whole scene was suspended in a hazy daydream of Jane and tropical breezes. The wine had the effect of making him feel so intimately close, while also amplifying how infinitely far away he actually was, right now. She thought how Jane had been right to remain in hiding. Dennis Abbott was not to be trusted, for one thing. For another, she feared that if she, herself, knew his present location, she would likely sell her every possession, without a second thought, to travel to wherever he was, no matter the distance, in the quickest fashion possible.
"Stay safe, Patrick…" she whispered to God, and the crackling fireplace, feeling especially warm after experiencing the seductive delight of feeling Jane's first name as it caressed her lips. For as long as the wine encouraged her, she spoke imaginary conversations to her partner-in-hiding, finding a multitude of excuses to whisper his intoxicating name to the roaring fire.
