A/N: It's Friday! I've been really anxious to post this one, despite the fact that I'm certain at least half of you will hate me for it. This is the very last chapter, so unless I write a sequel (not very likely, but you never know), this is the end. I hope you enjoy it, even if it's probably not what you were expecting.

Thanks to Iloveplotbunnies, Jisbon4ever, xanderseye, TeresaJane, Almena, 13 Jo, and Alice Hathaway for reviewing chapter eight! I'd also like to thank everyone who has alerted, favorited, or simply read this story at all - thanks for sticking with me! Hopefully y'all won't hate me too much.

Warning: Remember all those things I warned for at the beginning of this story? Well, they're all present here. Just know that this chapter is the reason the rating was bumped to mature.

Chapter Nine

Lisbon's eyes flicker, her body struggling to come out of its state of unconsciousness. She has absolutely no idea where she is, but she does know that it's dark, cold, and damp. The air is musty and reeks of dried blood. The semi-alert part of her mind comes to the conclusion that she must be in some kind of dungeon. She feels stiff all over, and a dull throbbing at the back of her neck already pesters her first waking moments. Though her brain transmits the signal for her to stretch, her body doesn't respond, and she begins to suspect something might be amiss. She blinks a few times, her sight still a bit fuzzy, but she doesn't need perfect clarity to see, and now feel, that she is shackled to a wall, still in her lingerie. She tugs at her restraints to no avail, desperate to relieve the tension spreading through her whole body. Panic sweeps over her as she looks around, eyes darting from left to right. Her vision is limited, as the room is pitch black. Her mouth feels as if it's been stuffed with cotton. She quickly shuts her eyes and takes a few deep breaths, but the attempt at calming herself down is completely futile. She thinks back over the last few hours, desperate to remember something, anything, about what happened and how she got here.

Her eyes pop open as random images come to the front of her mind: A masked man hiding in her bedroom. A vial of drugs injected into her arm. Everything slowly going blank. I was... kidnapped.

She flails her body vigorously, finding herself already low on energy. She can only presume that whatever drugs he used haven't quite worn off as she unwillingly loses her resolve to fight against her chains. Her breathing becomes rushed and heavy as her ability to function properly quickly dissipates.

A deep chuckle reverberates around her, the wicked sound seemingly echoing off of the walls and straight to her ears. Her skin begins to crawl, and she gives an involuntary shiver as goose bumps rise up on every inch of her body.

"Teresa, my dear, it's so nice that you're finally awake." An unfamiliar voice hisses, and Lisbon flinches at how close the man is as she feels his warm breath tickle her ear. He snickers under his breath at her reaction, backing away into the darkness only momentarily. With the flip of a switch, the room is illuminated and she finds herself temporarily blinded by the sudden brightness. Her eyes adjust after a moment, and the sight that greets her causes her stomach to twist into knots as a cool sweat breaks out over her skin. She flickers from intense rage to a panic-filled fear as she takes in the sight of the walls, all completely covered in smeared, bloody smiley faces.

"Red John," she manages to send a hoarse whisper into the ominously silent air, barely able to speak past the scratchy lump in her throat.

"You rang?" he calls out in a sing-song voice, emerging from the shadows. He's still wearing a mask, unsurprisingly, and is covered head-to-toe in form-fitting black.

She narrows her eyes, determined not to show the fear that's consuming her from the inside.

"Kidnapping? That's not your MO." She states what she knows to be true, and he seems amused at her observations. He inches forward, reaching out to her with his gloved hand. She jerks away from his touch, though she can't get far. Nausea sweeps over her as his hand caresses her cheek, and he chuckles at her.

"You're special to me, Teresa. You know that. Of course things are going to be different."

She does her best to keep her expression impassive, though there's very little she can do to prevent her face from paling as Red John takes a small step back and unsheathes a knife. He holds it up to the light, admiring the way it shines as he turns it from side to side.

"I picked this one just for you." He leans forward, pressing the knife tightly to her throat. "Perfect."

He fondles a lock of her hair, clucking his tongue before addressing her again, "My, Teresa. You've let your hair grow so long now." He poises the knife so that it rests at her chin, blade facing her brunette locks. "I wonder if your dear consultant has anything to do with that. I saw him earlier today; walking around downtown, happy as can be, arms laden with shopping bags. Tell me, Teresa, how do you think he will feel when he walks into your apartment and sees your bedroom wall, tainted with your own blood? He'll recognize my handiwork, I'm sure. I imagine he won't even remember what happy feels like. Poor. Mister. Jane." With each loathing, spite-filled word, he chops at her hair until it's shaped roughly into a short, wavy bob, the exact replica of her high school style. "Much better. Now where were we?"

He slides the knife unbearably slowly down her arm, and she bites her lip against the stinging pain to keep from crying out.

"One can never be too careful when it comes to avoiding major arteries. One false swipe," he pauses, striking swiftly across her wrist and reopening the tender wound, "and you would bleed out in minutes. But you wouldn't learn your lesson that way. And besides, we haven't even gotten to the fun part yet."

The blood drips down her left arm from where it's shackled high above her head, running sparingly over her shoulder and down between her breasts.

"Green is really a lovely color on you, Teresa." Bile rises up in her throat as he slides the blade under the strap of her bra, slicing through the thin fabric like butter. "It brings out your eyes."

Red John lightly glides the tip of the blade up and down her left side, as if contemplating his next move.

"Beg me, Teresa," he leans in close to her face, his voice rough and low as the blade continues to trace a path between her shoulder and her hip. "Beg me not to cut you apart."

"Fuck you," she whispers scathingly, eyes angry and defiant.

He grabs her throat whilst slicing through the skin along her side, causing her eyes to water as she bites her lip so hard that it, too, begins to bleed.

"Wrong answer. You should really be careful what you wish for, agent." He turns away from her and marches to the only corner of the vast room still cloaked in darkness. He returns only moments later, a new vial in hand and mask cast hastily aside. There's a spark to his deep blue eyes as he observes her shock at seeing his face. It's not that she knows him from anywhere, but the fact that he exposed his face to her at all - a death omen in and of itself, for he would never reveal his identity to someone who would live to tell about it.

He flicks the vial in his hand once, twice, smiling to himself as he plunges the needle into her skin, relishing the flecks of pain etched into her face as the drug rushes through her veins, taking control of her nervous system. He reaches up and unlocks her shackles, quietly chuckling at the pitiful image she creates as she crumbles helplessly to the ground.

Lisbon grimaces as cold seems to literally flow through her body, chilling her to the bone as her vision gradually begins to blur. Red John tears the rest of her bra away, his now-bare fingers running delicately over her tender skin. She silently begs for unconsciousness, anticipating the relief of not recalling anything that he may do to her as her limbs start to go numb. Her hearing fades out completely, and she's almost grateful when her line of sight finally goes black, already falling into sweet oblivion.

A scream is ripped from her throat as the distinct sensation of fingers dancing at the hem of her underwear tingles painfully under her skin - she can't see, she can't hear, and she can't move, but her sense of feeling is extremely heightened, and there will be no reprieve from Red John's touch.

Hot tears literally singe her cheeks as she spends the next hour simply wishing she were dead.

-xxx-

Lisbon closes her eyes as her vision steadily clears, not wanting to look at herself or the stains of her own blood on the floor. She concentrates on the feeling of the cold concrete wall against her back as she lays on her side, curled into the fetal position after a strenuous effort to adjust her body, still feeling weighted under the effects of the drug. She clutches her legs as tightly as possible to her chest, trying in vain to hide herself from the inevitable.

Footsteps echo across the floor, followed by chuckles of amused laughter. "You can't hide yourself from me, Teresa."

He grabs Lisbon by her hair and lifts her from the floor, slamming her back against the wall and forcing his lips to her neck.

"No. Don't. Not again," she chokes out, and his movements abruptly stop.

"Pardon me?" The slight pressure of his lips is replaced with the tip of his knife as he raises his eyebrows in mock disbelief. "Did you want to ask me something?"

"No more." Her voice is barely more than a whisper.

"You know how to properly form a question, agent. Ask me."

"Please..." she starts, but her quiet plea is interrupted when a shot rings out.

Lisbon collapses to the ground and curls into a ball as Red John falls back against the wall. Footsteps scramble across the floor, and Cho is the first one she sees, still holding up his gun. Rigsby and Van Pelt follow suit, sweeping the rest of the room with a mixture of disgust and apprehension in their eyes as they take in the blood-marked walls.

Jane brings up the rear, eyes wide when he sees Lisbon lying naked on the floor, barely recognizable in her current emotional state.

"Lisbon." His voice is filled with concern as he places a gentle hand on her shoulder, cringing when she flinches away from his touch. "It's okay, Lisbon. It's just me, Jane."

She opens her watery eyes, another tear spilling down her cheek. He carefully drapes his suit jacket over her shoulders before helping her to stand, clinging to her as she struggles to stay upright on shaky legs.

"How did you-" Lisbon starts, voice cracking before she can finish her question.

Jane softly fingers the blood-spattered cross pendant dangling from her neck, a bittersweet smile playing at his lips. "I suppose the idea of me always knowing where you are is a bit more appealing now."

A peal of laughter breaks the relative quiet, and Red John quivers as he rakes his eyes over Lisbon's form.

"It's not over, Teresa," he garbles past blood-filled lungs. "I win - it will never be over."

He sits propped up against the wall, surrounded by a pool of his own blood as his gunshot wound continues to bleed out. He stares at Lisbon as he stops breathing, his eyes permanently glued to her body.

Lisbon can no longer hold back the nausea his words cause, and as she wretches all over Jane's shoes, she can't help but think that he's right - even in death, he has won.

Life will never be anything short of miserable.

THE END