[the Mentalist, Big Bang fan-fic] Red Hair Black Heart - Chapter 7
[Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter two.Five] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six]
Chapter Seven
Jane’s eyes fall upon van Pelt, her hands pressed against her heart, her gulps of fear turning into proud determination, almost scary on her always unsure features. “You sure about that, Blackheart?” she kicks, slightly, the crystal at her feet, sending it in position, and as soon as she does that, she clasps her hands together, and light appears between the tiny space between them.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Light, and fire, and then metal. A sword, a sword that soon she plants in the pavement, without any effort, her eyes dark, almost black, completely, fire surrounding her like an aura, an angel of war, an heroine from some myth.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He doesn’t say a word, Patrick Jane, doesn’t even try. He isn’t even surprised, not that much. In the last few days, he has seen too much to be still surprised. Of one thing he is now sure o, though, he’ll never make fun of Lisbon for her beliefs. Or of van Pelt, whatever, or whoever, she turns out to be. Because it doesn’t count who or what she is, he just cares about Red John’s expression, he is delighted in his enemy’s fear, bath in his agony, one of the soul and not of the body, shaking like a frightened child, scared like he knew his time has come.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">The fifth Homo Magi is here, and it’s a woman. It’s Van Pelt. And he is scared of her like of no one else before, like he knew something about her he didn’t before, something the CBI definitely doesn’t know about.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“What, Blackheart, scared that I’ll do to you what I did to your predecessor? You should wish for his fate, the Sorcerer Supreme and I have been compassionate when we made him pay for his actions….”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“You can’t be alive! Belasco killed you! Belasco has the Soul sword! It can’t be you! You are dead! You can’t be Margali Szardos, you aren’t her!” he falls on the pavement, scared out of his mind, panicking, and lights appears from the crystals, uniting them with the sign that once belong to white magic alone, now shared by both parts, the same image that shines in fire and energy, burning him alive, on the chest, naked, of the man known as Daimon Hellstorm, like himself was connected to the pentacle.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He may have chosen the pact of the hero, decided to walk the road of the good fight, but Daimon Hellstorm is, and remains, a child of Hell, an “Hell’s son”, and what is happening plays with those energies that contributed to his birth, that makes him what and who he is. Doesn’t matter who he is, doesn’t matter what he does, that’s what he is made of, those energies are at work, and he just feels them. And, for once, he doesn’t care. They can see it in his features, agonizing, in his strong behavior. He does what needs to be done, doesn’t matter the price. He is ready even to lose his life, everything to stop his brother.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Survival may be a luxury he’ll never have, not again, and mostly not now.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">The brothers cry out in agony, while chains of fire and of living energy appear in the hands of the Rider, the so-called “Soul sword” finding its way back again in the hands of her mistress, the trident shining, lifted in the air, in the trembling hands of its guardian, all of them, a small dagger in the hands of the young faery, a small soul sword of her own, different from the one of the woman knew among them as Margali Szardos of the Winding Way, and Stephen Strange, blessed once again, just for once, with the power of the Eye of Agamotto, one of the most powerful artifacts that magic gave birth to since man walked the Earth.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Five Homo Magi, five artifacts, and Carter studies, frantically, his surroundings. He knows it, he is well aware it now, gets that he was wrong. He’ll not win this one, he understands it the moment the artifacts take life, shining in a blazing glory, in all their mighty power to stop him, erase him from the world and to bring not destruction but… definitely not the world he was dreaming of, the one he wanted to built upon the ashes of the old one, of this evil, corrupted and sick reality. He wanted to be a savior, a purifier, wanted to make everything and everyone equal. But now he knows he’ll not be able to, now he knows he’ll go down. But he’ll not go down alone, that’s for sure, he’ll take as many of them with him as possible. They can bet on it. Or maybe… maybe he can still stop them, he can still have time to end the ritual. He may still have time to bring Hell on Earth, literally.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He looks around, crawling to the soil, sweating, dilated pupils, heartbeat and breathing erratic, and that’s when he sees it, in a corner, a gun. Lisbon’s? Jane’s? That sorry excuse of a woman he dared to call a wife? He doesn’t know.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">And he doesn’t care. If not for the fact that the gun is there, inside the pentacle. And it means… it means he is the one not allowed outside. The rest…
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He crawls, nobody giving him any attention, not the one needed, everybody thinking he is only a desperate trying to change his fate. And he is. Only, not like they think. And besides… besides, they are all concentrating their energies on keeping him inside, on keeping the artifacts going on…If he takes one down now, he is free as a bird.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Then… everything happens in a blur.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">The sound of five shots fills the air all around them, and they all shudder, but nobody fall. Not a single one of them. There’s no blood leaving their bodies. No people dying among them. Still, there’s the sound of a body falling, there’s blood leaving a body, there’s a man losing consciousness.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Margali can’t help the gasp of horror, the silent scream, as she sees Cho, with Rigsby’s head on his belly, the younger cop’s chest destroyed by the bullets, blood soaking wet his once immaculate white shirt.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">She loves that shirt, always had, and has always been delighted he loved it as well, still did, also because…it was a gift, from her, something she took for him in the early days of their relationship. That he was still wearing it meant the world to her, and now… now their shirt is soaked wet with his own blood..
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Don’t you dare, Margali, concentrate on the spell!” she hears loud and clear the orders in Daimon’s words, and she knows she has to do it. If not for her or for Wayne, maybe because, with everything he is going through, Daimon is showing how brave, how strong he can be, and she doesn’t want to be considered lesser than him.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Besides, if she dies, she’ll not be able to help Wayne out.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">The chains take life, and they hold Carter hostage, stopping him from going any further, immobilizing him in what had probably been once upon a time a torture position; the Eye flies to him, and shines in all its glory upon the body of the small and cruel man, freeing something from it- some form of energy becomes visible around the “creature”, nothing human about him, and sword, dagger and trident start attacking it, the energy and not the body, hacks trespassing from side to side, the body convulsing under them, until the energy erupts is a scream of agony, nothing left of it, and, for a sec, carter open his eyes, dribble at his mouth, the body arching in the air, lifted from the soil, keeping convulsing, stronger and stronger with the onslaught of battle.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Until he stills.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">For the first time, Jane dares to let it go of Lisbon, and moves, going closer and closer to the body, the shield not done for him, allowing him to pass, his companion, his trusty partner in crime, holding her breath while she looks at the man kneeling at the side of the notorious killer, fear in all the fibers of her very being.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Because this is Red John. And Jane hates Red John, turns into another man when Red John is involved, he turns into the man one should never be, and he is scary, it’s scary what this monster, what this devilish creature, did to him, what he still does, hunting his life even after he has destroyed it, and Lisbon, she can’t help but asking if Red John will keep torturing him even from the grave, or if… if, maybe, just maybe, they didn’t kill him, because that was never part of the plan, they just wanted to do to him what it has been done by him to Kristina, and if he is still alive, and he can’t defend himself, and Jane is so close…
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">She closes her fists, arms trembling at her sides, the breath dead in her throat. She doesn’t move, and she doesn’t know why. Is it because she wants to trust he’ll do the right thing, God’s answer to her prayers, or is it because she already knows that he’ll never listen to her, that he has already made up his mind, already took a decision and will carry on, will put an end to all of this by killing the man who, by killing his family, killed him as well? Does she want and need to believe that she made it, she took control of the situation and drove him to change his mind, or that, maybe, he cares enough to not do it, not in front of her at least, because he told her, he promised her to always save her, always be there for her, never hurt her?
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Were those just other empty promises in the book of Patrick Jane?
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“He.. he…is dead. There’s no…. breath, or beat, and I don’t feel anything on his pulse point…” he turns to look at Lisbon, still standing on his knees on the cold marble pavement. His eyes are void, his voice is broken. It’s not that he seems the shadow of the man he used to be, because it’s not the case. He seems… different, small, unsure, and for the first time, honestly scared. And she knows why.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">It’s over, he didn’t kill him but he is dead, and Patrick Jane has no purpose left, only chaotic thoughts are invading his mind. He doesn’t know what he should do with the rest of his life, and he is scared, because he has never honestly thought about it, about a post Red John life, he has always imagined himself dead, in jail, or who know what else. A lot of scenarios have filled his mind in the long eight years following the tragic loss of his beloved ones, following that letter on the door, and he has never really thought about anything that could be like that. He is free. He is alive. And he doesn’t know what to do.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He stands, slowly, and makes his way to Lisbon, his moral compass, his rock, slowly, so slowly it seems he is moving in slow motion. He stops in front of her, and studies her. She hasn’t moved yet since he has gone to examine the body, hands on her face, not to feel her features like that day, when he was blind, few years prior, but to wipe out the tears, hot and burning, marking her face.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">She takes a big breath as he erases them with his thumbs, a slight smile, unsure, gracing his lips. She didn’t know she was crying. Crying out of fear.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He embraces her, for real, maybe for the first time in his life, his new life, after his world has ended almost a decade ago, and sobs in the crock of her neck, tears of fear, tears of relief, tears of happiness, he doesn’t really know. Not now, not yet, at least.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Maybe it’s just because once again he saved her, once again she is still with him, and this time there will be no Red John’s servants trying to kill her because of who she is and what she is for him, even if she doesn’t know it yet, even if he is the first to be unsure of his own feelings.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He forgot what it is like, to have feelings, to feel something so strong, a connection so unbreakable, for someone else- for a woman. He smiles a little, still sobbing in her jacket, wondering where this will lead him, where it will lead them. The CBI once more? A life lived together in the security and happiness of a house that will be, once again, for the first time after so long, a home as well? Or maybe, nothing will come out of this, and they’ll keep being simply the amazing crime fighting duo, Lisbon and Jane, and not Patrick and Teresa.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He doesn’t know, and frankly, he doesn’t care too much, can’t care too much. He prefers to savor the here and now, holding her strongly, inhaling her scent, so fresh, even after a fist-fight, and alive, enjoying her warm body pressed against his own in all the right places, the way she embraces him back, the tears they are both crying, him on her neck, her on his shirt.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">There is just them. The rest of the world is gone, doesn’t count. They don’t see the Lords of the mystic arts, they don’t even see their teammates. For a while for now, just for an interminable instant, it’s just the two of them.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“His body probably couldn’t survive without his soul, which we banished into the Light Dimension, and died as soon as it was out of reach. Or maybe… maybe, our combined spell was so strong his body want into shock, and didn’t survive the experience.” With these words, Stephen lets it go, and the Eye of Agamotto vanishes, ready to seek out his new master, the new worthy. They let it go. With the exclusion of Van Pelt. She keeps her rigid, strong posture, and doesn’t allow herself to give up, to break down, to stop standing on her feet, facing the monster now gone, the sword still between her hands.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">She does it only when she knees in the soil, taking Wayne’s head on her lap.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“No, No, you stupid idiot, what have you done…..” she cries silent tears, a small smile of sadness on her subtle lips, low sobs, while holding his body into her arms, their colleagues now all around them, looking with tears in her eyes, barely going on, barely resisting the need to break down in front of everyone, Daimon kneeling at her side while Megan, her beautiful wings now gone, cries all her tears, hidden behind Stephen Strange.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Margali, you have to stop it… he is gone” the half-demon begs her, a reassuring and comforting hand on her shoulder, but she doesn’t listen. If anything, her grips gets stronger, and suddenly, her eyes are wide-open, not only tears, but full of resolve, of a strength like she has never had before, not even when Blackheart took her child, a long time ago, when she wasn’t Grace Van Pelt yet, when her body was another one, another one the face she wore while walking the world.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">She shakes her head, stubbornly, and before Daimon could realize what is going on, before any of them could understand what is going on, the blade used to stop the monster finds somehow its way into her skin, on the palm of her right hand, and she bleeds, a deep rivulet of crimson and alive liquid leaving her skin, her being, falling into huge drops onto the soil.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Daimon does his best as soon as he sees the smears of blood, tries to stop her, but she is quicker. She puts her palm flat on the cold pavement of the mansion, where the blood fell, a light coming from the point of union, forming a circle of light all around her, all around Wayne.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">She has to act now, has to be quick if she wants to have the upper hand, if she doesn’t want to lose her only chance. Of saving him, of bringing him back. If she has a chance at all, that it is.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“What the hell does she think she is doing?” Lisbon somehow gets an hold of herself, and leaves Jane, running at Daimon’s side, petrified, studying carefully the body engulfed by the light, the energy, understanding immediately that, whatever Grace is doing, it’s not good, and can’t be stopped. And that it should have never happened.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Not hell, agent Lisbon, “HEL”, with just one L, it’s quite distinct” the redhead man says, frustrated, turning away as the light eats everything, and the witch disappears, along with her precious love, her former lover, words unknown whispered to the lost souls of the ones who once were. “the words your agent just said? It’s a dead language…”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“I know dead languages, never heard of that before. The Doctor taught me all of them, and I didn’t recognize those words. Of course, I am young, and I am just a beginner, but still, I think that…. ”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“… as in, a language spoken and understood by the not living anymore, to ask for access to a “HELFOR”, a ride to Hel girly girl, not a language not spoken any more” he hisses, almost fighting the need to run away. Also because, why should he stay? There’s nothing left to do for Daimon Hellstorm, Red John is gone, his brother has been defeated once and for all, and it’s not like he can go where “Van Pelt” is right now. “AND STOP to be such a petulant, unnerving child, for God’s sake, you are royalty, behave like you are supposed to!”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Hel, Grace van Pelt, our Rookie agent, has gone to Hel…” Jane looks around himself, running his hands through his curls like when Johnny changed in front of him, then, his eyes fall once again on Daimon. “But… I don’t understand… how is it possible…” they are all in silence, eyes focused on the soil, where a tiny flame is being extinguished in the same spot where Grace was until a moment before.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Hel with an L part, that’s right, Mister Jane . Hel, is where they are going; the underworld of the Asgardian gods, where only true warriors dead in battles were and still are allowed inside. Just like probably your teammate did… or will don, since his body is no more. And the reason she has done that? Because, otherwise, Valkyrie would have come to take his spirit away and bring him to a certain part of Hel, the Valhalla, where there’s not running back!” the half demon keeps hissing, and scratching the back of his head, kicks the cold and deadly gun, still there. He pauses, this time it’s the half-demon’s time to run his fingers through his hair. “But… there’s something you are partly wrong about. It’s not exactly your “rookie agent” the one who went there….”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Margali. Red John, he…” Lisbon interrupts, joining into the conversation, a bit worried, and yes, shocked. Because one thing is believing in something, another one is seeing that something coming to life at full force right before your own eyes. “Red John called her that way, saying she wasn’t supposed to be there. That she was supposed to be dead…killed by… a Bellasio?”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Strange smirks, quite happy with himself, but fascinated as well with the young man’s plan. He had… considered the idea that Daimon could have called in the Rider, in honor to the their shared connection with Hell and their common past, especially when it come to fighting Black Heart, but Margali Szardos of the Winding Way… not even in a million of years he would have thought of her, especially because, last time he checked, Daimon still owed one to the woman. Now, it looks like it’s two. “I assume she was one of the figures working angles for you, Hellstorm. My compliments on that, to the both of you. I didn’t predicted your choice of allies, and I didn’t detect her presence, even if…” he pauses, massaging his chin. “Do I have to assume it was really Grace Van Pelt the one we saw here, while Margali Szardos as we knew her is no more, killed by Belasco like your brother told us?”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“So, Grace Van Pelt does exist, that’s what you are telling us? That she is just… possessed by this Margali?”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Daimon shakes his head no to Jane’s question. “Grace Van Pelt was into deep with troubled people, basically, people like me and my brother. Occultism, Dark Magic, esoteric sciences… until she took the final straw. And decided to offer herself up willingly for a sacrifice to get to see what was on the other side of the rainbow. Or to get something in exchange on this side, I don’t know. We haven’t understood exactly yet the how or why, but, in the moment Grace Van Pelt stopped to exist on the mortal plane, the same was happening to Margali in Limbo, and somehow, they… kind of switched bodies. It was at the time that I got an hold on my brother’s plans, around the same time Margali come to me to ask for help. I didn’t have an answer for her, mostly because we didn’t know what had exactly happened, but we agreed that Blackheart and father’s plans were to be stopped at any cost, and since Van Pelt was already part of law enforcements, we decided we could take advantage of the situation, by infiltrating her in your team.”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Oh my God…” Lisbon whispers, getting paler and paler, Jane holding her, keeping her up for her shoulders, grabbing her so strongly he suspects there will be bruises, his own mind going through the same road as her own, his heart suddenly filled with a brand new appreciation for the redhead agent who, without knowing, basically saved his own life. “That’s why I’m still alive. The doctors, they said there was so much blood, and that… there was no way to know how I managed to survive such a nasty wound. But… there is, isn’t it? Because she did it, she healed me…” memories fill her mind, as she sees it, every single second of what has happened back there in that place, that secluded cabin where Madeline Hightower was held along with her family, where she almost found her own death. She remembers everything, and sees everything with a new pair of eyes, including Grace, kneeling at her side, touching the wound gently, almost skimming over the tissue, and… whispering something. Something she tough she couldn’t understand due to shock or Grace’s low voice. They told her there was no way she could have survived with such a blood loss. They told her there was no explanation, that the wound was almost inconsistent, and now, she knows why. She wasn’t meant to survive. She did because… she did because of magic… a charm performed by her own agent, Grace, Margali, or whatever her name is, whoever she may be.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> Her eyes meet Daimon’s, and the half demon just nods in understanding. “Damn woman, if she is in a bad mood over there, the redhead is worst than dead…” he mutters, looking at nothing in particular.
He hopes they didn’t hear what he just said. Because if he is right, it means that they haven’t just lost one team-mate, but two.
Chapter Seven
Jane’s eyes fall upon van Pelt, her hands pressed against her heart, her gulps of fear turning into proud determination, almost scary on her always unsure features. “You sure about that, Blackheart?” she kicks, slightly, the crystal at her feet, sending it in position, and as soon as she does that, she clasps her hands together, and light appears between the tiny space between them.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Light, and fire, and then metal. A sword, a sword that soon she plants in the pavement, without any effort, her eyes dark, almost black, completely, fire surrounding her like an aura, an angel of war, an heroine from some myth.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He doesn’t say a word, Patrick Jane, doesn’t even try. He isn’t even surprised, not that much. In the last few days, he has seen too much to be still surprised. Of one thing he is now sure o, though, he’ll never make fun of Lisbon for her beliefs. Or of van Pelt, whatever, or whoever, she turns out to be. Because it doesn’t count who or what she is, he just cares about Red John’s expression, he is delighted in his enemy’s fear, bath in his agony, one of the soul and not of the body, shaking like a frightened child, scared like he knew his time has come.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">The fifth Homo Magi is here, and it’s a woman. It’s Van Pelt. And he is scared of her like of no one else before, like he knew something about her he didn’t before, something the CBI definitely doesn’t know about.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“What, Blackheart, scared that I’ll do to you what I did to your predecessor? You should wish for his fate, the Sorcerer Supreme and I have been compassionate when we made him pay for his actions….”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“You can’t be alive! Belasco killed you! Belasco has the Soul sword! It can’t be you! You are dead! You can’t be Margali Szardos, you aren’t her!” he falls on the pavement, scared out of his mind, panicking, and lights appears from the crystals, uniting them with the sign that once belong to white magic alone, now shared by both parts, the same image that shines in fire and energy, burning him alive, on the chest, naked, of the man known as Daimon Hellstorm, like himself was connected to the pentacle.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He may have chosen the pact of the hero, decided to walk the road of the good fight, but Daimon Hellstorm is, and remains, a child of Hell, an “Hell’s son”, and what is happening plays with those energies that contributed to his birth, that makes him what and who he is. Doesn’t matter who he is, doesn’t matter what he does, that’s what he is made of, those energies are at work, and he just feels them. And, for once, he doesn’t care. They can see it in his features, agonizing, in his strong behavior. He does what needs to be done, doesn’t matter the price. He is ready even to lose his life, everything to stop his brother.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Survival may be a luxury he’ll never have, not again, and mostly not now.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">The brothers cry out in agony, while chains of fire and of living energy appear in the hands of the Rider, the so-called “Soul sword” finding its way back again in the hands of her mistress, the trident shining, lifted in the air, in the trembling hands of its guardian, all of them, a small dagger in the hands of the young faery, a small soul sword of her own, different from the one of the woman knew among them as Margali Szardos of the Winding Way, and Stephen Strange, blessed once again, just for once, with the power of the Eye of Agamotto, one of the most powerful artifacts that magic gave birth to since man walked the Earth.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Five Homo Magi, five artifacts, and Carter studies, frantically, his surroundings. He knows it, he is well aware it now, gets that he was wrong. He’ll not win this one, he understands it the moment the artifacts take life, shining in a blazing glory, in all their mighty power to stop him, erase him from the world and to bring not destruction but… definitely not the world he was dreaming of, the one he wanted to built upon the ashes of the old one, of this evil, corrupted and sick reality. He wanted to be a savior, a purifier, wanted to make everything and everyone equal. But now he knows he’ll not be able to, now he knows he’ll go down. But he’ll not go down alone, that’s for sure, he’ll take as many of them with him as possible. They can bet on it. Or maybe… maybe he can still stop them, he can still have time to end the ritual. He may still have time to bring Hell on Earth, literally.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He looks around, crawling to the soil, sweating, dilated pupils, heartbeat and breathing erratic, and that’s when he sees it, in a corner, a gun. Lisbon’s? Jane’s? That sorry excuse of a woman he dared to call a wife? He doesn’t know.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">And he doesn’t care. If not for the fact that the gun is there, inside the pentacle. And it means… it means he is the one not allowed outside. The rest…
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He crawls, nobody giving him any attention, not the one needed, everybody thinking he is only a desperate trying to change his fate. And he is. Only, not like they think. And besides… besides, they are all concentrating their energies on keeping him inside, on keeping the artifacts going on…If he takes one down now, he is free as a bird.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Then… everything happens in a blur.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">The sound of five shots fills the air all around them, and they all shudder, but nobody fall. Not a single one of them. There’s no blood leaving their bodies. No people dying among them. Still, there’s the sound of a body falling, there’s blood leaving a body, there’s a man losing consciousness.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Margali can’t help the gasp of horror, the silent scream, as she sees Cho, with Rigsby’s head on his belly, the younger cop’s chest destroyed by the bullets, blood soaking wet his once immaculate white shirt.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">She loves that shirt, always had, and has always been delighted he loved it as well, still did, also because…it was a gift, from her, something she took for him in the early days of their relationship. That he was still wearing it meant the world to her, and now… now their shirt is soaked wet with his own blood..
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Don’t you dare, Margali, concentrate on the spell!” she hears loud and clear the orders in Daimon’s words, and she knows she has to do it. If not for her or for Wayne, maybe because, with everything he is going through, Daimon is showing how brave, how strong he can be, and she doesn’t want to be considered lesser than him.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Besides, if she dies, she’ll not be able to help Wayne out.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">The chains take life, and they hold Carter hostage, stopping him from going any further, immobilizing him in what had probably been once upon a time a torture position; the Eye flies to him, and shines in all its glory upon the body of the small and cruel man, freeing something from it- some form of energy becomes visible around the “creature”, nothing human about him, and sword, dagger and trident start attacking it, the energy and not the body, hacks trespassing from side to side, the body convulsing under them, until the energy erupts is a scream of agony, nothing left of it, and, for a sec, carter open his eyes, dribble at his mouth, the body arching in the air, lifted from the soil, keeping convulsing, stronger and stronger with the onslaught of battle.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Until he stills.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">For the first time, Jane dares to let it go of Lisbon, and moves, going closer and closer to the body, the shield not done for him, allowing him to pass, his companion, his trusty partner in crime, holding her breath while she looks at the man kneeling at the side of the notorious killer, fear in all the fibers of her very being.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Because this is Red John. And Jane hates Red John, turns into another man when Red John is involved, he turns into the man one should never be, and he is scary, it’s scary what this monster, what this devilish creature, did to him, what he still does, hunting his life even after he has destroyed it, and Lisbon, she can’t help but asking if Red John will keep torturing him even from the grave, or if… if, maybe, just maybe, they didn’t kill him, because that was never part of the plan, they just wanted to do to him what it has been done by him to Kristina, and if he is still alive, and he can’t defend himself, and Jane is so close…
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">She closes her fists, arms trembling at her sides, the breath dead in her throat. She doesn’t move, and she doesn’t know why. Is it because she wants to trust he’ll do the right thing, God’s answer to her prayers, or is it because she already knows that he’ll never listen to her, that he has already made up his mind, already took a decision and will carry on, will put an end to all of this by killing the man who, by killing his family, killed him as well? Does she want and need to believe that she made it, she took control of the situation and drove him to change his mind, or that, maybe, he cares enough to not do it, not in front of her at least, because he told her, he promised her to always save her, always be there for her, never hurt her?
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Were those just other empty promises in the book of Patrick Jane?
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“He.. he…is dead. There’s no…. breath, or beat, and I don’t feel anything on his pulse point…” he turns to look at Lisbon, still standing on his knees on the cold marble pavement. His eyes are void, his voice is broken. It’s not that he seems the shadow of the man he used to be, because it’s not the case. He seems… different, small, unsure, and for the first time, honestly scared. And she knows why.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">It’s over, he didn’t kill him but he is dead, and Patrick Jane has no purpose left, only chaotic thoughts are invading his mind. He doesn’t know what he should do with the rest of his life, and he is scared, because he has never honestly thought about it, about a post Red John life, he has always imagined himself dead, in jail, or who know what else. A lot of scenarios have filled his mind in the long eight years following the tragic loss of his beloved ones, following that letter on the door, and he has never really thought about anything that could be like that. He is free. He is alive. And he doesn’t know what to do.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He stands, slowly, and makes his way to Lisbon, his moral compass, his rock, slowly, so slowly it seems he is moving in slow motion. He stops in front of her, and studies her. She hasn’t moved yet since he has gone to examine the body, hands on her face, not to feel her features like that day, when he was blind, few years prior, but to wipe out the tears, hot and burning, marking her face.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">She takes a big breath as he erases them with his thumbs, a slight smile, unsure, gracing his lips. She didn’t know she was crying. Crying out of fear.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He embraces her, for real, maybe for the first time in his life, his new life, after his world has ended almost a decade ago, and sobs in the crock of her neck, tears of fear, tears of relief, tears of happiness, he doesn’t really know. Not now, not yet, at least.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Maybe it’s just because once again he saved her, once again she is still with him, and this time there will be no Red John’s servants trying to kill her because of who she is and what she is for him, even if she doesn’t know it yet, even if he is the first to be unsure of his own feelings.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He forgot what it is like, to have feelings, to feel something so strong, a connection so unbreakable, for someone else- for a woman. He smiles a little, still sobbing in her jacket, wondering where this will lead him, where it will lead them. The CBI once more? A life lived together in the security and happiness of a house that will be, once again, for the first time after so long, a home as well? Or maybe, nothing will come out of this, and they’ll keep being simply the amazing crime fighting duo, Lisbon and Jane, and not Patrick and Teresa.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He doesn’t know, and frankly, he doesn’t care too much, can’t care too much. He prefers to savor the here and now, holding her strongly, inhaling her scent, so fresh, even after a fist-fight, and alive, enjoying her warm body pressed against his own in all the right places, the way she embraces him back, the tears they are both crying, him on her neck, her on his shirt.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">There is just them. The rest of the world is gone, doesn’t count. They don’t see the Lords of the mystic arts, they don’t even see their teammates. For a while for now, just for an interminable instant, it’s just the two of them.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“His body probably couldn’t survive without his soul, which we banished into the Light Dimension, and died as soon as it was out of reach. Or maybe… maybe, our combined spell was so strong his body want into shock, and didn’t survive the experience.” With these words, Stephen lets it go, and the Eye of Agamotto vanishes, ready to seek out his new master, the new worthy. They let it go. With the exclusion of Van Pelt. She keeps her rigid, strong posture, and doesn’t allow herself to give up, to break down, to stop standing on her feet, facing the monster now gone, the sword still between her hands.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">She does it only when she knees in the soil, taking Wayne’s head on her lap.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“No, No, you stupid idiot, what have you done…..” she cries silent tears, a small smile of sadness on her subtle lips, low sobs, while holding his body into her arms, their colleagues now all around them, looking with tears in her eyes, barely going on, barely resisting the need to break down in front of everyone, Daimon kneeling at her side while Megan, her beautiful wings now gone, cries all her tears, hidden behind Stephen Strange.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Margali, you have to stop it… he is gone” the half-demon begs her, a reassuring and comforting hand on her shoulder, but she doesn’t listen. If anything, her grips gets stronger, and suddenly, her eyes are wide-open, not only tears, but full of resolve, of a strength like she has never had before, not even when Blackheart took her child, a long time ago, when she wasn’t Grace Van Pelt yet, when her body was another one, another one the face she wore while walking the world.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">She shakes her head, stubbornly, and before Daimon could realize what is going on, before any of them could understand what is going on, the blade used to stop the monster finds somehow its way into her skin, on the palm of her right hand, and she bleeds, a deep rivulet of crimson and alive liquid leaving her skin, her being, falling into huge drops onto the soil.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Daimon does his best as soon as he sees the smears of blood, tries to stop her, but she is quicker. She puts her palm flat on the cold pavement of the mansion, where the blood fell, a light coming from the point of union, forming a circle of light all around her, all around Wayne.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">She has to act now, has to be quick if she wants to have the upper hand, if she doesn’t want to lose her only chance. Of saving him, of bringing him back. If she has a chance at all, that it is.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“What the hell does she think she is doing?” Lisbon somehow gets an hold of herself, and leaves Jane, running at Daimon’s side, petrified, studying carefully the body engulfed by the light, the energy, understanding immediately that, whatever Grace is doing, it’s not good, and can’t be stopped. And that it should have never happened.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Not hell, agent Lisbon, “HEL”, with just one L, it’s quite distinct” the redhead man says, frustrated, turning away as the light eats everything, and the witch disappears, along with her precious love, her former lover, words unknown whispered to the lost souls of the ones who once were. “the words your agent just said? It’s a dead language…”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“I know dead languages, never heard of that before. The Doctor taught me all of them, and I didn’t recognize those words. Of course, I am young, and I am just a beginner, but still, I think that…. ”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“… as in, a language spoken and understood by the not living anymore, to ask for access to a “HELFOR”, a ride to Hel girly girl, not a language not spoken any more” he hisses, almost fighting the need to run away. Also because, why should he stay? There’s nothing left to do for Daimon Hellstorm, Red John is gone, his brother has been defeated once and for all, and it’s not like he can go where “Van Pelt” is right now. “AND STOP to be such a petulant, unnerving child, for God’s sake, you are royalty, behave like you are supposed to!”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Hel, Grace van Pelt, our Rookie agent, has gone to Hel…” Jane looks around himself, running his hands through his curls like when Johnny changed in front of him, then, his eyes fall once again on Daimon. “But… I don’t understand… how is it possible…” they are all in silence, eyes focused on the soil, where a tiny flame is being extinguished in the same spot where Grace was until a moment before.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Hel with an L part, that’s right, Mister Jane . Hel, is where they are going; the underworld of the Asgardian gods, where only true warriors dead in battles were and still are allowed inside. Just like probably your teammate did… or will don, since his body is no more. And the reason she has done that? Because, otherwise, Valkyrie would have come to take his spirit away and bring him to a certain part of Hel, the Valhalla, where there’s not running back!” the half demon keeps hissing, and scratching the back of his head, kicks the cold and deadly gun, still there. He pauses, this time it’s the half-demon’s time to run his fingers through his hair. “But… there’s something you are partly wrong about. It’s not exactly your “rookie agent” the one who went there….”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Margali. Red John, he…” Lisbon interrupts, joining into the conversation, a bit worried, and yes, shocked. Because one thing is believing in something, another one is seeing that something coming to life at full force right before your own eyes. “Red John called her that way, saying she wasn’t supposed to be there. That she was supposed to be dead…killed by… a Bellasio?”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Strange smirks, quite happy with himself, but fascinated as well with the young man’s plan. He had… considered the idea that Daimon could have called in the Rider, in honor to the their shared connection with Hell and their common past, especially when it come to fighting Black Heart, but Margali Szardos of the Winding Way… not even in a million of years he would have thought of her, especially because, last time he checked, Daimon still owed one to the woman. Now, it looks like it’s two. “I assume she was one of the figures working angles for you, Hellstorm. My compliments on that, to the both of you. I didn’t predicted your choice of allies, and I didn’t detect her presence, even if…” he pauses, massaging his chin. “Do I have to assume it was really Grace Van Pelt the one we saw here, while Margali Szardos as we knew her is no more, killed by Belasco like your brother told us?”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“So, Grace Van Pelt does exist, that’s what you are telling us? That she is just… possessed by this Margali?”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Daimon shakes his head no to Jane’s question. “Grace Van Pelt was into deep with troubled people, basically, people like me and my brother. Occultism, Dark Magic, esoteric sciences… until she took the final straw. And decided to offer herself up willingly for a sacrifice to get to see what was on the other side of the rainbow. Or to get something in exchange on this side, I don’t know. We haven’t understood exactly yet the how or why, but, in the moment Grace Van Pelt stopped to exist on the mortal plane, the same was happening to Margali in Limbo, and somehow, they… kind of switched bodies. It was at the time that I got an hold on my brother’s plans, around the same time Margali come to me to ask for help. I didn’t have an answer for her, mostly because we didn’t know what had exactly happened, but we agreed that Blackheart and father’s plans were to be stopped at any cost, and since Van Pelt was already part of law enforcements, we decided we could take advantage of the situation, by infiltrating her in your team.”
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Oh my God…” Lisbon whispers, getting paler and paler, Jane holding her, keeping her up for her shoulders, grabbing her so strongly he suspects there will be bruises, his own mind going through the same road as her own, his heart suddenly filled with a brand new appreciation for the redhead agent who, without knowing, basically saved his own life. “That’s why I’m still alive. The doctors, they said there was so much blood, and that… there was no way to know how I managed to survive such a nasty wound. But… there is, isn’t it? Because she did it, she healed me…” memories fill her mind, as she sees it, every single second of what has happened back there in that place, that secluded cabin where Madeline Hightower was held along with her family, where she almost found her own death. She remembers everything, and sees everything with a new pair of eyes, including Grace, kneeling at her side, touching the wound gently, almost skimming over the tissue, and… whispering something. Something she tough she couldn’t understand due to shock or Grace’s low voice. They told her there was no way she could have survived with such a blood loss. They told her there was no explanation, that the wound was almost inconsistent, and now, she knows why. She wasn’t meant to survive. She did because… she did because of magic… a charm performed by her own agent, Grace, Margali, or whatever her name is, whoever she may be.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> Her eyes meet Daimon’s, and the half demon just nods in understanding. “Damn woman, if she is in a bad mood over there, the redhead is worst than dead…” he mutters, looking at nothing in particular.
He hopes they didn’t hear what he just said. Because if he is right, it means that they haven’t just lost one team-mate, but two.