A/N: Woo my second fanfic is complete! And hopefully good ;D (Oh and I will be submitting chapters in batches over the next week or two, so if you want the next one, let me know!)
Disclaimer: The usual "I unfortunately don't own The Mentalist or any of its characters" mumbo jumbo.
Rated M for violence and minor language later.
"Jane, can you stop it?" Lisbon stared at a file on her desk intently, trying to ignore Patrick Jane's incessant talking. She was tired. It had been a long day - a killer on the loose, no leads, countless dead-ends, and to top it all off, she now had Jane badgering her about her being stressed and needing to relax.
His smile spread as he leaned closer over her shoulder, his warm, minty breath lightly blowing her hair. "Come on, Lisbon," he urged. Lisbon's grip on her paper tightened. "Just five minutes. Five little minutes. It won't take any time at all and it won't hurt. I promise." His grin got progressively wider as he became more amused.
Lisbon threw her arms up in the air, sending the paper she was holding flying. "For the last time, Jane, I'm not letting you hypnotize me! Go find some other guinea pig to de-stress!" She held her face in her hands and slumped low over her desk, letting out an aggravated huff of air.
"It's not hypnotism actually. Just something that can help calm you down." Jane persisted, but Lisbon dropped her arms rather forcefully onto the desk and turned her head to glare at him. "Fine! Fine." Jane relented, stepping backwards with his hands up in surrender. Lisbon bent to pick up the paper, set it on the desk, adjusted herself, and resumed her study.
"At least let me make you a cup of tea. It always works for me."
"Jane." She groaned, exasperated.
"Leaving," he quipped, plopping himself down on the sofa. Only a couple seconds of silence passed. "Tea…me...tea…me," Jane chuckled. "I'm a poet and I don't know it, Lisbon."
He managed to dodge the stapler just in time.
About an hour later, the rest of the team returned to the CBI office from investigating a victim's home and interviewing possible suspects. Although they did arrive with some helpful information, it wasn't enough to put anyone behind bars. They didn't have all the pieces.
"What do you think Jane?" Lisbon asked, glancing over to the sofa where Jane still lay. He had dozed off, one arm over his face, the other hanging off the side of the sofa and gently brushing the floor. "Jane!"
"Hmmm," he responded, lifting the hand on his face and craning his head slightly to look at whoever had just woken him up. "Did you just say something Lisbon?"
Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Do you mind waking up for a minute? We are in the middle of a case and we have nothing to go on other than an angry ex-girlfriend who was half-way across the state when the victim was killed. Your input would be nice."
Jane swung his legs off the couch and stood sleepily, yawning greatly and reaching his arms to the ceiling.
"Right, the case. Sorry. What were you saying?" His question drifted away as the lights suddenly flickered off and the building was shrouded in complete blackness. Jane couldn't even see Lisbon who was only moments ago clearly visible in front of him. There was a collective gasp that pierced through the darkness.
"What the hell?" Rigsby muttered from somewhere to the right of Jane.
"Stay calm everyone," Lisbon's calm, reassuring voice called out in an attempt to ease the panic that had ensued within the building. "I'm sure the problem will be fixed as soon as possible. Just stay where you are."
Suddenly, a florescent light along the wall opposite Jane and the team flickered on and cast a pale, wavering light on a picture that had been freshly painted there.
Jane felt a tremor rock through his entire body, his mind raced, and his hands shook. There was no doubt about what was painted on the wall. Everyone knew what it was, what it meant, what it foreshadowed. Patrick's legs gave out from under him and he fell back onto the sofa. His breath caught in his throat and he found it difficult to swallow.
The light had brought slightly enough light for the figures of Lisbon, Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt to become faintly visible, however Jane's eyes were blind past the sinister image that burned into his eyes.
"L- Lisbon," Jane croaked, pointing to the terrifying portrait. "He's here- in the building. We have to get out."
She turned towards him, her face frozen in disbelief, and held up a hesitant hand. "Stay here. Don't move… Jane?"
Jane was looking at her, but not seeing her, hearing her but not listening. Lisbon thought he looked like he was in a trance.
"Jane, promise me you won't move."
Finally, he registered what she was saying and nodded slowly. Convinced that he wasn't going to do anything stupid, she faced her other coworkers, said a few words, and watched as they scurried off to investigate the disturbance and namely, find Red John.
The blood-red face dripped slowly and ominously towards the ground, every inch the drops slid a warning that something awful was inevitable.
Jane sat on his sofa, knees pulled up to his chest, his eyes never wandering away from the familiar bloody omen. Images of his wife and daughter swept through his mind. His wife's beautiful eyes. His daughter's innocent smile. Those red eyes. That dark bloody smile. No. That was wrong. The room swam around him, a blur of chaos that seemed far away. Lisbon had left his side moments ago. He didn't want her to leave. He was afraid for her.
"Mr. Jane," a voice crackled from an intercom in the ceiling, only faintly audible through a haze of static that was also being emitted. Jane didn't hear it at first. He stared on. His name was repeated again by the haunting voice, slightly louder. This time he heard, along with everyone else who was still in the room. Everyone froze and gaped at the speaker, and then their heads slowly turned to look at Jane. The hair on the back of his neck and arms stood on end. The voice- it had to be Red John. And he was talking to Jane.
Lisbon heard the voice from another room. Jesus, she thought.
"Patrick Jane," the speaker voiced once again. With a surge of energy that was not his own, Jane raised himself shakily to his feet.
With impeccable timing, Lisbon flew into the room. "Jane, don't listen to anything he says," she commanded as she strode towards him through the mass of people standing in disbelief. "He's broadcasting himself throughout the entire building. He's probably trying to lure you out. We're searching everywhere but we haven't found him yet."
At that moment the glow illuminating the crimson face flickered out, once again enveloping the room in darkness. Lisbon took charge. "Hold still, be on alert." She drew her weapon, hesitantly holding it at her side in realization that if she fired a shot, she risked hitting an employee... or Jane.
Jane heard a shuffle of noise behind him, a muted footstep, a rustle of paper…a gust of air. He started to turn towards the sound, but before he could do so, a shadow shot up out of the dark, collided with his jaw, and sent him spiraling towards the ground and crashing into its solid, unforgiving surface.
"Jane?" Lisbon was alerted to some movement near her and a sound that resembled a grunt of pain. She groped the air where Jane had been previously standing. Nothing. Still conscious, Jane groggily tried to lift himself up. His jaw throbbed and he tasted blood.
"Lisbon," he coughed.
"Jane! Where are you?" came Lisbon's frantic reply. She continued to feel around in the dark, but it was useless.
Another shadow whipped through the air and came down on Jane, this time grasping him around the ankles and dragging him roughly across the floor.
"Lisbon! Lisbon, help!" he screamed in fright. He reached out desperately to grab onto something, but his fingers groped helplessly at thin air. They brushed against familiar leather, but his couch couldn't save him now. "Lisbon!" came one last terrifying scream. And then everything was silent.
"Jane!" she dropped to her hands and knees, reaching as far as she could and traveling as quickly as she could to find her coworker and friend. She screamed his name over and over again until her eyes welled up with blossoming tears. But she couldn't see a thing.
As if signaling the conclusion to the horrific transaction, all of the lights flicked back on and shed a harsh, florescent glare on the room. Once Lisbon's eyes adjusted, she franticly swiveled around in search for Jane, but the only sign of him was a small puddle of blood about a yard from her feet.