A/N- This is a creepy one. By creepy, I mean "do not read before bed." By the way, look up "Strychnine poisoning" before you read. Yes, I'm forcing learning down your throat. You're already on the internet anyway, stop your whining. :D

Disclaimer: If I owned The Mentalist, the beach scene in Redwood would have probably been topless. But I don't own it. Damn!

Sweet Dreams

"So what is your choice, Mister Jane?" the faceless creature asked him.

An impossible situation faced him. One that he had imagined many times, many ways, but never like this. Not with these people, resting in his hands.

He was standing in a void, white-walled and bright. The team- his team- was bound around him. Red John held a knife to Lisbon's throat, and sneered. Yet no matter how hard Jane stared, he couldn't quite make out the killer's face. It seemed to be just out of sight, enticing his mind.

"You choice. Your life or theirs?"

Jane looked down at his hand. A bag marked "strychnine" was clutched in his hand.

"Just think, Mr. Jane. Kill yourself, and all the carnage will end. Refuse, and many more will die." He jerked the knife against Van Pelt's throat, eliciting a stifled shriek.

Lisbon gritted her teeth. "Don't do it, Jane." Van Pelt couldn't speak, but her eyes agreed with Lisbon.

Jane looked at her, then at the rest of the team. They were valuable. They were pure. He was an empty worthless shell. He was responsible for three deaths. Three! He was nothing compared to them. Maybe he deserved to die. Maybe he didn't. But one thing was for sure: His selfish grip on his life would cost four others.

With trembling fingers, he tore open the bag. Inside, his death lurked. The white powdery substance looked like snow. Snow…

Instantly, he was standing outside in the winter cold, with his daughter at his feet. "Daddy!" She shrieked joyfully.

He picked her up and spun her around. She squealed with laughter, and hugged his neck. "Daddy, don't listen to him. He's bad." The scene dissolved, and he was back with the team.

"Make your choice. You or them." The faceless creature was breathing down on him, intimidating Jane with his evil. Jane shrank to the floor.

"No, please, don't!" he begged. Not them. Not this way.

Red John began drawing the knife slowly across her throat as if he was playing a violin. It made a shallow cut, not enough to kill. Just enough to be painful.

Van Pelt gasped, and Rigsby flinched. He started to struggle, ready to rip the man apart.

"No!" Jane acted without thinking, reaching across the floor to the bag, and swallowing mouthfuls of the stuff.

Red John began to laugh. "I forgot to mention that your suicide bought them only three hours. They'll be able to watch you suffer."

Jane felt numb. He was sorrowed because of their deaths, but strangely euphoric. The farce of his life would be over.

Lisbon gasped in horror. "Jane!" It wrenched his heart, to hear her like that. "JANE!" He was slipping, falling…

"Jane! Jane?" Lisbon shook him awake.

"Wha…?"

"You were having a nightmare," she told him softly. It was dark out, and the CBI was empty.

Jane pulled himself to a sitting position. "I know. Did I say anything?"

"Yes. You were begging someone to stop. Want to talk?" This was a different side of Lisbon. The caring, warm side. The side that made Jane go mushy inside.

"No, thanks. Just my imagination working overtime." He got up, and headed towards the kitchenette. As he passed his desk, his phone began to ring. Lisbon looked at him quizzically.

"Who could be calling so late?" Jane shrugged as he picked up the phone.

A soft chuckling could be heard. "Hello, Mister Jane. I have a question for you." Jane's blood ran cold. "More of a choice, really…"

FIN

This will not be continued. Ever. Write the ending yourself, lazy people. (Kidding!)