the veil that keeps me blind, 1/15
Title: The Veil That Keeps Me Blind
Chapter: 1/15
Notes: I’ve subdivided this story up into four separate ‘books’, each of which indicate a different section of the story. Just in case you were wondering what that’s about. It becomes more clear as you read on. Next chapter up on Friday, and then hopefully I can post a few extra over the weekend.
Book I
Chapter 1
xxxxx
Not two hours later, Jane finds himself tied to a chair in an abandoned old farmhouse, a position that is simultaneously strange and familiar; it had been just over a year since the circumstances, his own captivity, had been similar.
When he had arrived at the office, he had gone up to the attic to look over his notes before Lisbon got in. Instead of finding his notes, however, his attention was immediately drawn to an unfamiliar manila envelope lying atop the makeshift bed, addressed to him. Inside, he found four pages, each containing a separate riddle for him to decipher. The first was a message, the second a name, the third directions, and the fourth a warning.
It could only be from one person, and it could only mean one thing: Red John.
Jane had dropped everything immediately. This time, Jane had an advantage Red John didn’t know about: Max Winter’s gun. Jane was speeding down the highway before he was even aware of what he was doing.
The gun gave Jane the advantage for all of sixty seconds.
Then Red John made an appearance.
Or, that’s what Jane surmises. He felt one swift blow to the back of his head, and the next thing he remembers is waking up; bound and immobile, sitting upright in a chair.
“You couldn’t stay away, could you?”
The voice is deeper than he remembers, more restrained, in a manner that demands attention. His nemesis stands somewhere close behind him, and though Jane cranes his neck to see, his restraints prevent him from glimpsing anything more than shadows.
“No, Patrick Jane, I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. You simply cannot help yourself. You thought that this time would be different, but you never learn.”
Jane stills himself, facing forward once again, and simply lets Red John continue to talk. Though panic and fear swell inside of him, he forces them down, numbing himself to whatever is coming. Trapped alone with California’s most notorious serial killer and no one aware of where he’s gone, he has no hope except for the slight chance that Red John isn’t finished with him yet.
And for the second time in thirteen months, his life rests completely in Red John’s hands.
“You will always be weak, Patrick. And it seems I am going to have to teach you yet another lesson. This will be the third time. What do you have to say for yourself?”
It unnerves Jane, speaking in Red John’s presence for the first time with no idea of his endgame. Jane wills as much confidence as he can muster into his voice and challenges, “This is obviously your plan, so why don’t you tell me what I have to say for myself.”
“This has nothing to do with my plans,” Red John snaps back, anger evident in his voice. “You forced this on me. Kristina, she was supposed to be a warning. But you couldn’t stop yourself.”
With that, everything falls into place in Jane’s mind. Red John knows, and while that narrows down the possible outcomes, it makes any outcome that much worse because, no matter what, Lisbon will play an integral part in it.
Let Red John come after me. Her words echo in his head; her voice is clear and certain, fearless. He won’t know what hit him.
“Oh, don’t look so forlorn, Patrick,” Red John sneers, stepping in front of Jane for the first time. His body remains partially hidden in shadows and a mask obscures most of his face; still, Jane feels the involuntary shiver spread throughout his entire body. “I’m not here to finish things off, not today. I simply needed to leave you with a message for Teresa. She’s been missing something. I’m sure she’s noticed by now, and I think she might want it back.”
Before Jane can open his mouth to reply, Red John cuts him off.
“Don’t deny it. I know the truth. You were getting too close, even before this past year. I thought Kristina would serve as enough of a warning. Now, she made her own bed, but I won’t deny that knowing you would blame yourself didn’t make her situation even more enticing. I know you felt guilt, but in terms of actual loss, apparently it was not significant enough to deter you when Agent Lisbon made her offer.”
Jane’s heart beats faster at this, and he wonders briefly if anything that happened between him and Lisbon had been private. As if the mere thought of what might happen hanging over their heads hadn’t been enough.
“I know she can be persuasive, but you should have known better, Patrick. It’s your own inclination to create these personal relationships that makes you so weak.”
Jane ignores these words and changes the subject. “You said you had something,” he says, forcing bravado he does not feel. “Something you want me to give back to her.”
“Yes. I do.” Red John creeps closer and leans forward. “But the real question here is simple, you see; did she tell you what it was? Did even she tell you it was missing? She probably noticed it was gone, oh, I’d assume about three weeks ago. At first, she thought she just misplaced it, but it must be starting to worry her by now.” With a self-satisfied smirk, he adds, “Just what I thought; she didn’t tell you. That bothers you, doesn’t it? You still don’t know what it is. You can’t even guess.”
Before Jane has a chance to respond, there is a loud crash behind him as a third party flings the door open and bounds into the room.
“I’d be very careful with what you say next.”
When Lisbon’s voice first carries into the room, he is absolutely certain that it’s a figment of his imagination, some combination of adrenaline and fear that brought her voice to mind. But still, he cannot help himself; he turns his head to look, to see if the loud noise and the voice were real or imagined. He blinks three times in rapid succession and sees Lisbon standing in the doorway, her gun drawn, no hesitation. If not for the true shock that registers on Red John’s face, Jane would still believe her image nothing more than a cruel trick of his own mind, an image he conjured up simply to calm himself.
But Lisbon steps closer, her finger steady on the trigger, and one brief moment of Red John’s reaction tells Jane that this is no illusion.
“Why, Agent Lisbon. What a pleasant -- albeit unexpected -- surprise.” Red John recovers his composure quickly, while Jane still stares in disbelief at this sudden turn of events.
“You forgot something when you left those messages for Jane,” Lisbon says indignantly, narrowing her eyes. “You thought only Jane could decipher them, but you didn’t count on me.”
“I suppose I hadn’t.”
“Don’t move, or I will shoot.” Lisbon approaches the situation with a cool, confident precision that cannot be taught at the academy, and Jane suddenly takes the position of an outsider, as though he is watching the scene unfold in front of him from miles away instead of from the same room.
“I have something of yours, Teresa. How touching that you kept something of your father’s. Funny that you didn’t think to mention it to Patrick, though. Something as important as your father’s shield gets misplaced, and when it doesn’t turn up, one might assume you would at least let Patrick know it was missing.”
“Not one more word,” Lisbon scowls, inching slowly closer. “Put your hands where I can see them. You’re under arrest.”
“Not likely,” Red John replies, then reaches inside his jacket.
The next thirty seconds seem to speed up and slow down all at once. Jane holds his breath as a flurry of movement, punctuated by several gunshots, results in Red John on the floor and Lisbon crouching over him, checking his pulse before pronouncing him dead.
She abandons Red John’s lifeless body and quickly locates his knife to cut through the thick rope that binds Jane to the chair. Only when she finishes cutting him free does she come to kneel in front of him, tapping his forearm lightly.
“Jane,” she urges gently. “Jane, talk to me. Are you alright?”
Her voice reaches through the haziness that had settled temporarily over his brain, and it slowly pulls him back to himself enough that he can see her, bent over so that she is level with him. The first thing his eyes focus on is the blood that stains her blouse, deep red against pale blue. The panic that immediately rises up from the pit of his stomach must register on his face because she shakes her head and explains, “Not my blood. I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. You’ve got a bad gash on the back of your head; he must have hit you pretty hard to knock you out.”
“I’m okay.”
“No, you aren’t.” Lisbon takes both of his hands and helps him up from the chair. “I don’t know if Red John did anything else to this place, but I want to get you out of here. I’ll call this in when we get outside.”
Without another word, Lisbon supports his body with her own and leads him down the stairwell, the wood creaking under their weight from years of obvious disuse and disrepair. The early June sunlight greets them with a brightness that stings his eyes, and in spite of the mild midmorning temperature, shivers overtake his body. She settles him in the passenger seat of her car, locating a spare sweatshirt in the backseat to use to apply pressure to his head wound, and only then does she pull out her phone.
Jane watches, still mostly unaware of his surroundings and simply following Lisbon’s lead, as she dials with her free hand and then waits for the DOJ switchboard to connect her.
“Agent Hightower.” She takes a deep breath in and closes her eyes to steady herself, one brief moment to herself before she begins, “Yes, this is Lisbon... About that budget meeting at 10:30, I’m going to be a little late...”
xxx
Jane moves through the rest of the morning in a haze of numbness and disbelief. Lisbon does not leave his side until the paramedics arrive, but after she is certain he is adequately attended to, she disappears back in the direction of her vehicle despite the fact that none of the backup units have arrived on scene yet.
He is only vaguely aware when black government-issued SUVs begin to arrive and the team -- along with Hightower, the crime scene unit, and several other backup units that Jane does not recognize -- begin to materialize in the vast expanse that used to be farmland.
He cooperates fully with the paramedics, too drained to argue even if he wanted to, although Lisbon sends Van Pelt to ensure that he is not resisting treatment. Van Pelt follows the ambulance to the hospital and sits with him in the ER while the doctor reaffirms that his head injury is nothing serious. She is the one who pays close attention to the doctor’s instructions before signing Jane out and taking him back to CBI Headquarters.
Lisbon, Hightower, and the rest of the team have not yet returned, but word about what happened has spread quickly. Lingering glances and hushed whispers follow Jane and Van Pelt as they enter the building and make their way to the Serious Crimes floor. Jane immediately retreats to his corner and reclines against his couch, feeling something akin to relief wash over him at the respite, the familiarity.
Van Pelt has been mostly silent since they signed out of the emergency room, but as she approaches her desk, she looks at him earnestly and asks, “Do you need anything, Jane?”
He makes an exaggerated motion out of shaking his head and refusing her. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Grace,” he says. “But I’m just going to rest for a little while.”
“Not for too long,” Van Pelt warns. “Remember what the doctor said. When the others get back, you’re going to need to give a statement anyway. Boss said they were almost done at the crime scene, so they may not be far behind us.”
At this, he perks up slightly and sits forward. The last time he saw Lisbon, she left him with the paramedics, and that had been hours ago.
“You talked to Lisbon?” he inquires.
“I called when they took you to get your CT scan,” Van Pelt answers with a subdued smile. “She was juggling Hightower and the Crime Scene Units. She’s okay. She was more worried about you.”
Jane nods and swings his legs over the side of the sofa to lie down. He folds his jacket underneath his head and closes his eyes, startled by the barrage of images that threaten him, this time more insistent than ever before. He sees Angela and Charlotte, and he sees Red John, now more than just a dark figure hidden in the shadows. Finally, he sees Lisbon as he did just hours before, dark blood staining her shirt. The full weight of Red John’s words have not had a chance to sink in yet, but their implication was explicitly clear. She would have been at risk; she could have been next.
Van Pelt’s assurances are only so comforting, but exhaustion finally overwhelms him as he manages to will the unsettling images from his mind.
He sleeps on the sofa in the bullpen while the aftermath unfolds around him. For the first time in years, he does not dream.
xxxxx
Chapter: 1/15
Notes: I’ve subdivided this story up into four separate ‘books’, each of which indicate a different section of the story. Just in case you were wondering what that’s about. It becomes more clear as you read on. Next chapter up on Friday, and then hopefully I can post a few extra over the weekend.
Book I
Chapter 1
xxxxx
Not two hours later, Jane finds himself tied to a chair in an abandoned old farmhouse, a position that is simultaneously strange and familiar; it had been just over a year since the circumstances, his own captivity, had been similar.
When he had arrived at the office, he had gone up to the attic to look over his notes before Lisbon got in. Instead of finding his notes, however, his attention was immediately drawn to an unfamiliar manila envelope lying atop the makeshift bed, addressed to him. Inside, he found four pages, each containing a separate riddle for him to decipher. The first was a message, the second a name, the third directions, and the fourth a warning.
It could only be from one person, and it could only mean one thing: Red John.
Jane had dropped everything immediately. This time, Jane had an advantage Red John didn’t know about: Max Winter’s gun. Jane was speeding down the highway before he was even aware of what he was doing.
The gun gave Jane the advantage for all of sixty seconds.
Then Red John made an appearance.
Or, that’s what Jane surmises. He felt one swift blow to the back of his head, and the next thing he remembers is waking up; bound and immobile, sitting upright in a chair.
“You couldn’t stay away, could you?”
The voice is deeper than he remembers, more restrained, in a manner that demands attention. His nemesis stands somewhere close behind him, and though Jane cranes his neck to see, his restraints prevent him from glimpsing anything more than shadows.
“No, Patrick Jane, I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. You simply cannot help yourself. You thought that this time would be different, but you never learn.”
Jane stills himself, facing forward once again, and simply lets Red John continue to talk. Though panic and fear swell inside of him, he forces them down, numbing himself to whatever is coming. Trapped alone with California’s most notorious serial killer and no one aware of where he’s gone, he has no hope except for the slight chance that Red John isn’t finished with him yet.
And for the second time in thirteen months, his life rests completely in Red John’s hands.
“You will always be weak, Patrick. And it seems I am going to have to teach you yet another lesson. This will be the third time. What do you have to say for yourself?”
It unnerves Jane, speaking in Red John’s presence for the first time with no idea of his endgame. Jane wills as much confidence as he can muster into his voice and challenges, “This is obviously your plan, so why don’t you tell me what I have to say for myself.”
“This has nothing to do with my plans,” Red John snaps back, anger evident in his voice. “You forced this on me. Kristina, she was supposed to be a warning. But you couldn’t stop yourself.”
With that, everything falls into place in Jane’s mind. Red John knows, and while that narrows down the possible outcomes, it makes any outcome that much worse because, no matter what, Lisbon will play an integral part in it.
Let Red John come after me. Her words echo in his head; her voice is clear and certain, fearless. He won’t know what hit him.
“Oh, don’t look so forlorn, Patrick,” Red John sneers, stepping in front of Jane for the first time. His body remains partially hidden in shadows and a mask obscures most of his face; still, Jane feels the involuntary shiver spread throughout his entire body. “I’m not here to finish things off, not today. I simply needed to leave you with a message for Teresa. She’s been missing something. I’m sure she’s noticed by now, and I think she might want it back.”
Before Jane can open his mouth to reply, Red John cuts him off.
“Don’t deny it. I know the truth. You were getting too close, even before this past year. I thought Kristina would serve as enough of a warning. Now, she made her own bed, but I won’t deny that knowing you would blame yourself didn’t make her situation even more enticing. I know you felt guilt, but in terms of actual loss, apparently it was not significant enough to deter you when Agent Lisbon made her offer.”
Jane’s heart beats faster at this, and he wonders briefly if anything that happened between him and Lisbon had been private. As if the mere thought of what might happen hanging over their heads hadn’t been enough.
“I know she can be persuasive, but you should have known better, Patrick. It’s your own inclination to create these personal relationships that makes you so weak.”
Jane ignores these words and changes the subject. “You said you had something,” he says, forcing bravado he does not feel. “Something you want me to give back to her.”
“Yes. I do.” Red John creeps closer and leans forward. “But the real question here is simple, you see; did she tell you what it was? Did even she tell you it was missing? She probably noticed it was gone, oh, I’d assume about three weeks ago. At first, she thought she just misplaced it, but it must be starting to worry her by now.” With a self-satisfied smirk, he adds, “Just what I thought; she didn’t tell you. That bothers you, doesn’t it? You still don’t know what it is. You can’t even guess.”
Before Jane has a chance to respond, there is a loud crash behind him as a third party flings the door open and bounds into the room.
“I’d be very careful with what you say next.”
When Lisbon’s voice first carries into the room, he is absolutely certain that it’s a figment of his imagination, some combination of adrenaline and fear that brought her voice to mind. But still, he cannot help himself; he turns his head to look, to see if the loud noise and the voice were real or imagined. He blinks three times in rapid succession and sees Lisbon standing in the doorway, her gun drawn, no hesitation. If not for the true shock that registers on Red John’s face, Jane would still believe her image nothing more than a cruel trick of his own mind, an image he conjured up simply to calm himself.
But Lisbon steps closer, her finger steady on the trigger, and one brief moment of Red John’s reaction tells Jane that this is no illusion.
“Why, Agent Lisbon. What a pleasant -- albeit unexpected -- surprise.” Red John recovers his composure quickly, while Jane still stares in disbelief at this sudden turn of events.
“You forgot something when you left those messages for Jane,” Lisbon says indignantly, narrowing her eyes. “You thought only Jane could decipher them, but you didn’t count on me.”
“I suppose I hadn’t.”
“Don’t move, or I will shoot.” Lisbon approaches the situation with a cool, confident precision that cannot be taught at the academy, and Jane suddenly takes the position of an outsider, as though he is watching the scene unfold in front of him from miles away instead of from the same room.
“I have something of yours, Teresa. How touching that you kept something of your father’s. Funny that you didn’t think to mention it to Patrick, though. Something as important as your father’s shield gets misplaced, and when it doesn’t turn up, one might assume you would at least let Patrick know it was missing.”
“Not one more word,” Lisbon scowls, inching slowly closer. “Put your hands where I can see them. You’re under arrest.”
“Not likely,” Red John replies, then reaches inside his jacket.
The next thirty seconds seem to speed up and slow down all at once. Jane holds his breath as a flurry of movement, punctuated by several gunshots, results in Red John on the floor and Lisbon crouching over him, checking his pulse before pronouncing him dead.
She abandons Red John’s lifeless body and quickly locates his knife to cut through the thick rope that binds Jane to the chair. Only when she finishes cutting him free does she come to kneel in front of him, tapping his forearm lightly.
“Jane,” she urges gently. “Jane, talk to me. Are you alright?”
Her voice reaches through the haziness that had settled temporarily over his brain, and it slowly pulls him back to himself enough that he can see her, bent over so that she is level with him. The first thing his eyes focus on is the blood that stains her blouse, deep red against pale blue. The panic that immediately rises up from the pit of his stomach must register on his face because she shakes her head and explains, “Not my blood. I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. You’ve got a bad gash on the back of your head; he must have hit you pretty hard to knock you out.”
“I’m okay.”
“No, you aren’t.” Lisbon takes both of his hands and helps him up from the chair. “I don’t know if Red John did anything else to this place, but I want to get you out of here. I’ll call this in when we get outside.”
Without another word, Lisbon supports his body with her own and leads him down the stairwell, the wood creaking under their weight from years of obvious disuse and disrepair. The early June sunlight greets them with a brightness that stings his eyes, and in spite of the mild midmorning temperature, shivers overtake his body. She settles him in the passenger seat of her car, locating a spare sweatshirt in the backseat to use to apply pressure to his head wound, and only then does she pull out her phone.
Jane watches, still mostly unaware of his surroundings and simply following Lisbon’s lead, as she dials with her free hand and then waits for the DOJ switchboard to connect her.
“Agent Hightower.” She takes a deep breath in and closes her eyes to steady herself, one brief moment to herself before she begins, “Yes, this is Lisbon... About that budget meeting at 10:30, I’m going to be a little late...”
xxx
Jane moves through the rest of the morning in a haze of numbness and disbelief. Lisbon does not leave his side until the paramedics arrive, but after she is certain he is adequately attended to, she disappears back in the direction of her vehicle despite the fact that none of the backup units have arrived on scene yet.
He is only vaguely aware when black government-issued SUVs begin to arrive and the team -- along with Hightower, the crime scene unit, and several other backup units that Jane does not recognize -- begin to materialize in the vast expanse that used to be farmland.
He cooperates fully with the paramedics, too drained to argue even if he wanted to, although Lisbon sends Van Pelt to ensure that he is not resisting treatment. Van Pelt follows the ambulance to the hospital and sits with him in the ER while the doctor reaffirms that his head injury is nothing serious. She is the one who pays close attention to the doctor’s instructions before signing Jane out and taking him back to CBI Headquarters.
Lisbon, Hightower, and the rest of the team have not yet returned, but word about what happened has spread quickly. Lingering glances and hushed whispers follow Jane and Van Pelt as they enter the building and make their way to the Serious Crimes floor. Jane immediately retreats to his corner and reclines against his couch, feeling something akin to relief wash over him at the respite, the familiarity.
Van Pelt has been mostly silent since they signed out of the emergency room, but as she approaches her desk, she looks at him earnestly and asks, “Do you need anything, Jane?”
He makes an exaggerated motion out of shaking his head and refusing her. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Grace,” he says. “But I’m just going to rest for a little while.”
“Not for too long,” Van Pelt warns. “Remember what the doctor said. When the others get back, you’re going to need to give a statement anyway. Boss said they were almost done at the crime scene, so they may not be far behind us.”
At this, he perks up slightly and sits forward. The last time he saw Lisbon, she left him with the paramedics, and that had been hours ago.
“You talked to Lisbon?” he inquires.
“I called when they took you to get your CT scan,” Van Pelt answers with a subdued smile. “She was juggling Hightower and the Crime Scene Units. She’s okay. She was more worried about you.”
Jane nods and swings his legs over the side of the sofa to lie down. He folds his jacket underneath his head and closes his eyes, startled by the barrage of images that threaten him, this time more insistent than ever before. He sees Angela and Charlotte, and he sees Red John, now more than just a dark figure hidden in the shadows. Finally, he sees Lisbon as he did just hours before, dark blood staining her shirt. The full weight of Red John’s words have not had a chance to sink in yet, but their implication was explicitly clear. She would have been at risk; she could have been next.
Van Pelt’s assurances are only so comforting, but exhaustion finally overwhelms him as he manages to will the unsettling images from his mind.
He sleeps on the sofa in the bullpen while the aftermath unfolds around him. For the first time in years, he does not dream.
xxxxx