Blood Music - Chapter 24

Was going to make it sort of an epilogue but, decided to put on a 'Hollywood' ending. Our hero really needed something other than angst . . . right? Don't be horrified. This isn't a romance because I don't write those but, it's as close as I ever get. Hope you don't find it too hokey. Let me know what you think.

Thank you all so much for enduring this too long and too slowly posted story. I loved hearing from you and thank you again for your reviews, alerts and favorites.

Disclaimer: Don't own it, never owned it, never made money from it and they never accepted my invitation to come live with me in my mansion in Beverly Hills. Perhaps the meds will kick in soon.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Et Voila

Lisbon badgered him into agreeing to stop for something to eat. He was exhausted but hadn't eaten since the night before. The wings and claws in his stomach had prevented him from thinking about breakfast or lunch before his appointment with O'Bannon.

Right now, he only wanted to go lie down somewhere and become oblivious to the world; to his world; to his past. If there was a way to excise his entire life's history except for his wife and daughter and the too brief time they had together, he would do it . . . in a New York minute.

Their first stop was the pharmacy to get his scrips filled. Doctor O'Bannon had only alloted him enough sleep meds to get him through until his next appointment on Monday. The man wasn't taking any chances.

Jane only smiled to himself. If he'd wanted to complete his original quest for oblivion he has a large enough stash of pills to get it done. The man was an amateur, he smirked.

Jane actually did realize he, himself, hadn't been the ideal patient. Thomas C. O'Bannon was a good man and a good doctor but, he'd have to be a little sharper. The good doctor has a way to go, smugly thought the blonde man.

Their next stop placed them at a 24-hour diner located on the main thoroughfare on the way to his apartment. It was a decent place for a meal. At one time, it had been part of a chain that sported a moose as its symbol. The new owners had kept the giant, plastic, illuminated moose head on the wall above the cash register and festooned its antlers with multi-colored Christmas lights. They stayed draped on the plastic animal year 'round. Jane believed it was to avoid any lawsuits over the trade-marked ungulate. He didn't know if the feeble disguise would cut it but, the whimsy of it greatly appealed to him.

The consultant had been disappointed the restaurant no longer made 'mooseburgers'. (He didn't think they were actually made of real moose) but, he liked the name anyway.

They settled for soup and salad. Their waitress a battle-hardened woman whose legs probably throbbed from varicose veins visible in spite of the almost opaque compression stockings she wore.

She smiled at Jane. Usually, he was alone and arrived quite late or in the early hours. They'd chat between her tending to coffee refills for the few customers who came in during those hours; mostly people who worked graveyard shifts or those who were awake for chemically induced reasons. She wasn't one to judge.

Through their ongoing conversations, Jane had learned she was from Minnesota. When asked if she missed living there, she looked at the blonde man as though he, himself, wore antlers sporting Christmas lights. Her exact words were "Why would I want to live in a place settled by nitwits who, apparently, were looking for a home with weather as fucked as where they came from?"

He found her observation amusing but, reminded her that the descendants of the original settlers of the area, mostly Swedes, would probably take exception to her belief about their forefather's and mother's pioneering skills.

She just laughed and told him her maiden name was Johansson which is the equivalent of Smith or Jones in Sweden. She married a man whose surname was Lindstrom and the two, without a pot to piss in, had escaped to California, never to look back.

Her husband had died in an auto accident a few years later and she stayed stayed on. "Besides", she said, "I couldn't leave Karl here alone. I go talk to him at the cemetery at least once a week and bring him flowers. You know, tell him the news about the family; weddings, babies, divorces. It's a different world now, sometimes it's babies, then the weddings.

He nodded in understanding. Several nights later, he gave her the 'Readers' Digest' version of his escape from the carny life with Angela. He only told her that his wife and daughter had died eight years ago, sparing her the details of their deaths. She could see the pain in his eyes and never asked him the manner in which they died. She knew about loss . . . too well.

Just two bereft people with sad stories here in the middle of the night with a plastic moose blinking cheerily over their heads.

She stood waiting expectantly after automatically bringing Jane a cup of tea; noting the striking woman with him. She asked what the petite woman wanted to drink and she answered; coffee, black. She looked like a no-nonsense sort of person who'd take her coffee black. She'd be good for the sometimes squirrely seeming blonde man. Much as she liked the man, in her opinion, he needed somebody strong enough to keep him grounded.

He and Lisbon placed their order and Nora brought them steaming bowls of soup and a basket of rolls that were made there in the restaurant.

Lisbon wasn't normally one to waste calories on bread but, the rolls were heavenly with a crispy outside and fluffy but substantial inside, not like the rolls one bought at the supermarket; tough on the outside and filled with honeycombed air. These were to die for.

"So," said Lisbon to the man across the table as she took a bite of the bread, "How are you feeling?" She felt, in light of all that had been revealed in O'Bannon's office, her question was tame enough.

"You mean now that I've discovered even more of my life was a lie and an incredible mess? Or that my supposed father had murdered my mother and her lover?"

He said it in a calm voice and didn't seem to need an answer; she thought the question only rhetorical. Lisbon sat looking across the Formica table at the man who met her eyes and didn't look away for a long moment.

"Definitely going to have to think about this for awhile. It's a lot more than I ever wanted to learn about my, so called, childhood." said Jane, lowering his eyes to his bowl of soup.

"We all have things we'd rather not remember. I know I do." she answered softly.

"Well, unless you were raised by wolves, I think I may win that particular contest." Looking up at her, he smiled without humor. "Actually, it would give perfectly lovely predators a bad name to compare them to my 'father'." Once more, he spat out that last word.

"I'll concede this one, Jane. Sadly, for once, you've got me beat." Lisbon replied with a humorless smile of her own.

He took that moment to reach into his pocket and pull out the gold band. He regarded it for a long moment, Lisbon mesmerized as well. Then, with a soft sigh, slipped it onto his finger. "For now." was all he said.

She didn't really know whether to be happy or not. Its return meant that he really hadn't gone any farther in his grief. It was a symbol of love but . . . not for any of the living.

He dipped his spoon into the soup and began to eat his dinner. After only a couple of spoons full, he paused with the utensil in mid-air.

"Teresa?"

"Yes?" she said, her eyebrows raising in question.

"Thank you."

...

As O'Bannon had told him they would, the sleeping pills did, indeed, knock him on his ass for several hours.

This was very strange; waking up without the 'start from minus' feeling which was his usual state when awakening. His normal sleep, if you could call it that, usually consisted of short periods between nightmares.

He no longer recognized this feeling of 'enough' sleep. Missing was the rawness of overly tired nerve endings that gave him the edge that prevented him from being too comfortable; too laid-back in his thinking. He didn't know if he liked it . . . it felt weird.

Lisbon had, thoughtfully, arranged for him to have the morning off. It was a good thing; he doubted he'd have been much good to anyone. He yawned and turned over, burrowing deeper into the warm bedding. Maybe he could get used to this.

...

Their mandatory sessions had come to an end and he hoped to get Patrick to agree to continue to see him. He actually looked forward to the sparring matches Jane still sometimes provided when he needed to confront an issue he'd rather avoid. The consultant seemed to veer from being brutally frank at times to not wanting to speak of the issue, at all. It was pretty much hit and miss, even on the good days.

The man had gone through nearly the entire library in the small office; devouring books like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

There were still many things Jane had to work out. He still continued to have regular conversations with his dead wife. It remained a little disturbing but, O'Bannon acknowledged; a good coping tool for the moment. Sleep was still a major issue. The nightmares needed to be dealt with. The drug that eliminated or reduced them was beginning to become ineffective.

Then, there was Red John. The very heart of his patient's lingering anger and self-loathing at not being able to protect his family. This obsession would never let him truly find some modicum of peace. Jane still swore to him the only thing that would stop his quest would be his own death or Red John's. Lots more work to do there . . . nope . . . definitely not healthy.

...

The attic was dim. Once again, he didn't bother to turn on the lights. He could hear the faint scrabble of mice in the darkness. He wondered if Lisbon knew about the rodents? If she did, she probably wasn't afraid. The woman wasn't afraid of much; certainly not of holding the hand of someone on his way to needing a rubber room.

He sat on his makeshift bed. He should go home but, he couldn't right now. He had to talk with her first. For some reason, she seemed to like the attic better than his apartment. She was truly an unusual woman and he would love her until his last breath. She'd witnessed him do things that would get most people strong censure . . . if not jail time. She knew of the ugliness of his past and loved him still.

She'd be here soon. He'd talk with Angela and get this sorted out. She'd know what to do.

...

The nights had lengthened. It was once again winter in California; a season that was pretty much the same as any other season in the Golden State, except one sometimes had to wear a jacket over one's board shorts and T-shirt.

Alone in his office, Thomas O'Bannon double checked his answers on the form before him. The one that would allow Patrick Jane to continue working for the CBI. Satisfied, he carefully signed it and slipped it into his out-box. Jane had a way to go but, for now, thought the psychiatrist, he'd remain functional and out of the hospital. A man with that much baggage in his past who could manage a, somewhat, 'normal' life was an extraordinarily resilient being. It had been close.

The touch issue was resolved or, at least, Jane didn't have a panic attack when anyone put a hand on him. The little doctor knew his patient still didn't much like it and possibly never would if the contact didn't come from someone he trusted but, he could cope.

He was an extraordinary person in other ways as well; incredibly perceptive of small, unconscious, mannerisms or 'tells' as he called them and ruthless about using them to his advantage. Jane had given his doctor a run for his money.

So far, the consultant had been gentle enough in his observations of his doctor.

According to the blonde man's conclusions, O'Bannon had come from a large family, very probably with many younger siblings as evidenced by his seeming natural ability to ignore the sometimes 'dramatically presented issues' of his patients. Parents or siblings in large families were much better at handling chaos and temper tantrums.

He also concluded, the little doctor had been married for many years. That one wasn't too hard to guess, thought O'Bannon. Jane said it was evidenced by his doctor's obvious lack of concern about his weight, as he had no need to compete for a mate. Also, the uneven thickness of his wedding band, (it had become quite thinner on one side than the other) took many years of wear.

He said O'Bannon had, not very long ago, come from a colder climate as evidenced by the fabric of his suits. It was much too heavy for California and since people with 'a little more insulation' on their bodies as he'd termed it, were prone to becoming warm very quickly, the good doctor hadn't had time to change his wardrobe to accommodate the milder climate.

Not startling revelations but, still kind of creepy. He would miss their contests if Jane chose not to continue the sessions.

The thing about the weight did sting a little though.

...

"Paddy, she's a good match for you. She's tough and she won't put up with any of your crap. She's fierce and loyal and kind . . . and she's quite attractive." (OK, that last part was probably mostly his input.)

"I've pleaded with you so many times to give up this quest for revenge. You know it can't make me come back to you; it won't make Charlotte come back. My love, you're only damaging yourself. You can't believe that your only reason for living is to make sure that evil is creature dead!" she said with exasperation, then adding, "That's just crazy."

"Yeah, that's what the doctor tells me."

"You have other things to live for. You have your work. You have your friends. If you'd get off your butt, you'd have Teresa."

"Let's not get carried away, woman!"

"Paddy, it's time to let us go. It's time to make another life. Remember us, yes, but, live your life! Don't spend it on something that will never ever bring you what you truly want or need. Teresa cares for you. Don't screw this up, Paddy."

"I'll think about it." was his only reply in the dark attic.

She stood in front of him; looking at him with her lovely but sad brown eyes. She shimmered with light. She was as beautiful as he remembered her. Then, his wife faded into the darkness and he was alone again.

...

Daylight was becoming shorter and the weather becoming cooler. It looked as though this was going to be a wet winter.

Steel grey clouds sailed the sky; the lower portions of the feathery formations gathered against the foothills and cloaked them in a mist worthy of the English moors.

Patrick Jane stood on the roof of HQ looking out over the city. It was still light out but, he actually couldn't see much of it. The glow of lights that filtered through the moisture laden veil made the cityscape look like a faded watercolor.

He loved the way it deadened sound; that it wrapped him in its cool, softness and made it seem he was the only one in the world who stood looking out at the almost invisible hills beyond the city as he pondered what the hell to do with his life.

The past few weeks had been brutal. O'Bannon had been absolutely correct in his statement about 'feeling worse before you feel better'. The man was relentless in prying out every miserable little detail of his miserable little life. Jane didn't think he could feel any worse . . of course he managed to do just that.

In the 'Worse' column:

To have it all but confirmed by DNA, he truly was a bastard in its original meaning.

To, finally, fully accept that the man in whose custody he'd been for sixteen years, (he would never again think of him as his father), was a malicious monster and none of the brutal behavior that had been directed at his 'son' was deserved. (Jane also recognized the irony of mistreated children is that they are like beaten dogs who still remain loyal to their master).

'Worse' certainly had to include the 'piece de resistance': the memory of being restrained while your, so called, father killed your mother and, quite possibly, your biological father in cold blood. Well, it was actually a crime of passion he supposed, that would be 'hot' blood wouldn't it?

In the 'Better' column:

He now knew his mother hadn't abandoned him. He hadn't done anything to make her go away, as the man who raised him had frequently told him he had.

The man who raised him wasn't his father. I know, he thought, I've also included this in the 'worse' column as well. Just depends on one's perspective.

There was even the possibility his biological father had actually cared about him enough to continue to visit and bring gifts for the son he couldn't raise. (Of course, it also brought up the possibility that he was the son the man didn't want to raise). Better move that last bit to the 'worse' category, was his thought.

Lastly and most importantly; 'Better' was the one, stone-solid, thing that couldn't be doubted . . . he had friends who cared about him . . . and he had Lisbon. He couldn't call her just a 'friend' she was more than that. He needed to speak again with Angela about her.

...

The rain came down in sheets. It was as though The Almighty, once again, had a plan to wash them away and start over.

Lisbon and her consultant were on their way back from Dr. Jerrold H. (Jerry) Miller's long delayed trial. It looked as though Lisbon may get her wish. Jerry may be going to jail for quite awhile; having been convicted of the attempted murder of one Patrick Jane, (among other things), in spite of his high priced defense team.

CBI's other three agents had give their testimony earlier in the week. The bartender, whose name turned out to be Alvin Godown, (no kidding), had already been convicted as an accomplice and had begun serving his time.

Teresa Lisbon squinted through the windshield; reducing her speed until it was no more than a crawl. There was too much water to either be absorbed quickly or to run off into the inadequate storm drain system without first pooling on the roadways.

There was almost nothing visible ahead of them. Her consultant leaned forward to try to peer through the cascade. He thought he saw the red glow of taillights ahead but, when he blinked and looked again, they'd disappeared.

Lisbon drove slowly forward; not wanting to go any faster through the almost completely concealing curtain of water.

"Lisbon!" yelled her consultant as he saw the road end abruptly before them.

She stepped on the brake pedal and the SUV slid forward a few more feet before stopping; its front bumper nearly at the edge of the broken concrete that would, normally, have been a small bridge spanning a creek.

As quickly as the car came to a halt, Lisbon yelled to him, "We've got to get this road closed off before someone lands in the creek!"

She maneuvered the large vehicle a few feet backward and to the side. Hurriedly, they both jumped out and shielding their eyes from the pouring water, opened the rear hatch and quickly pulled up the mat to expose the storage compartment in which some of the roadway emergency equipment was stored.

Taking the triangular reflectors and flares, they set them up several feet behind the SUV. As Jane set the last reflector onto the asphalt, he thought he heard someone calling. He straightened and listened more closely but, could only hear the loud pounding of the rain. Squinting his eyes, he could see nothing ahead other than the abrupt edge of the concrete. He turned back toward Lisbon to help with the flares.

He heard it again. Someone in the distance was yelling "Help us!" It came through loudly enough for him to locate its source. It came from beyond the broken bridge. He rushed to the edge of the bank and looked downward. He could make out a white van, mostly submerged in the narrow cement lined creek through which rushed an alarming torrent of water.

"Help!" he heard a woman's desperate voice. He could barely make her out on the other side of the creek; hysterically waving her arms and looking as though she was about to jump back into the swollen creek.

"Stay there!" yelled Jane to the distraught woman.

"My daughter! She's still in the car! She's still in there! Help us! Help us!"

"Lisbon! Come here quickly! Lisbon!" Jane yelled as he turned back toward the road.

Teresa Lisbon ran up to him and took in the scene. Thankfully, the rain chose that moment to lessen slightly; providing enough respite to see more easily through the downpour.

There, in the creek, sat a white van; nose down. Its rear window just barely above the rushing water. To her horror, she saw small hands pressed against the glass.

Before she could even react, from the corner of her vision, she saw a flash of someone leaping into the water. It was Jane.

With strong strokes, he swam toward the nearly submerged vehicle. She didn't know if he'd planned it that way or not but, he'd jumped in a little upstream and the torrent carried him against the side of the van. He caught the roof rack before he was swept away and using it for handholds, made his way to the back end and pulled himself onto its mostly submerged roof.

She gasped as he slipped off it but caught hold again and made his way back to his precarious perch.

By now, there were several others lined up on the banks on both sides, yelling encouragement. One of them rushed back toward his pickup and brought a coil of sturdy looking rope. He cast the end of it toward Jane who was now kneeling on top of the van.

There was a child looking up at him with huge, terrified eyes. He could see it was a girl of about four or five. Obviously a pocket of air keeping her from drowning.

He heard a yell and looked up to find a man on the bank above him about to throw a rope. He held one arm upward, using the other to keep hold of the roof rack to prevent himself from being swept off the van.

The first toss landed in the water. The small, dark man who threw it, quickly reeled it back in for another attempt.

The second toss was accurate enough but it slipped through Jane's cold and stiffening fingers.

People on the bank yelled their encouragement. The child's terrified eyes locked on his.

The third try was successful. Jane managed to grab the rope and hold onto it. He quickly tied its end to the roof rack; hearing faint cheers from both sides of the bank.

"Jane!" he now heard Lisbon's voice. "Hold on! Fire department on the way!"

There wasn't enough time to wait. He had to get the girl out before the van finished filling with water and sank beneath the surface. He had to find the opening through which the mother had escaped. It made the most sense that it was the driver's window. He took a deep breath and holding onto whatever he could, submerged himself to find the opening.

The water tried to tear him away but he held on tightly. He could see the window halfway open. It had been large enough for the woman to emerge but it wasn't large enough for him.

His lungs beginning to burn, he surfaced gasping for air. Climbing back onto the van, he yelled toward those anxiously watching, "Get me something to break the window! Hurry!"

Three of the people standing there scurried away and out of sight. The first one returned with a hammer. The second had a baseball bat and the third - a crowbar.

"Slip the crowbar down the rope!" he yelled as loudly as he could. The woman who held it heard him and hooked it onto the rope, quickly knotting around it another short piece of rope someone had handed her to make sure the tool didn't come loose and sink to the bottom of the channel.

Since the bank was higher than the van, the crowbar easily slid down the wet rope and Jane caught it. He used his teeth and the hand he wasn't using to hold on for dear life to untie the loose knot, thankful that the woman had sense to not tie it too tight.

Aware that if he broke out the rear window, the van would immediately fill with water, he tensed himself, nearly losing his balance again. He frantically motioned for the girl to move as far to the side as she could and was surprised when she actually did it.

He began swinging the crowbar as hard as he could. Initially, it just bounced off the safety glass. He swung it again, grunting with the effort. The glass starred and began to separate into jagged little pebbles. His next swing created a small hole, then with another swing, a larger one. He gripped the edges of the broken window and tugged, his numb hands not feeling the glass cut into them as he pulled outward. Water poured through the opening and the girl popped up like a cork. He quickly grabbed her and pulled her against him.

He heard the sound of sirens as a fire truck pulled up to the bank behind him and then, moments later, heard another on the opposite bank.

He could feel the child sobbing into his already sodden shirt as she trembled from fright and, probably, hypothermia as well. He could also feel the van sinking lower into the swirling water.

Aware of a loud pop from the bank on which Lisbon waited, it startled him and he almost lost his balance again.

"Hold on buddy! We'll be there in a minute!" yelled a voice that must belong to one of the firemen. Jane realized the pop was the sound of the device that propelled a line from one bank to the other. As soon as both ends were secured, two firemen; one from each side clipped themselves to it and traveled hand over hand toward them.

The first to reach them grabbed the girl who was now screaming for her mommy as she nearly had to be pried from his arms. The second fireman immediately grabbed him and held on while he fastened a rescue harness around him.

The first man secured the child and, with her clinging like a barnacle to his chest, pulled her back with him toward the bank and her distraught mother.

Jane didn't have to exert himself this time which was a very good thing because every muscle was trembling from the cold and effort. There was another cable attached to a pulley to which his harness was attached. He could see Lisbon standing on the bank and looking like a drowned rat. Her tense expression slowly gave way to a large smile as he came closer to her. He felt he hadn't seen anything so lovely in years.

Hands grabbed for him and he was settled on the broken asphalt. Someone put a blanket around his shoulders and many other hands clapped him on the back or shoulder in congratulations. He gritted his teeth and tried to smile at Lisbon. Her face had, once again, become tense. He knew she was waiting for him to freak. He took a deep breath and gave her a shaky smile. He was good for now.

...

She waited anxiously. She knew it had been foolish of him to jump in but, she knew he couldn't do otherwise. The dark-haired woman held her own breath as she saw him go beneath the water and only released it when she saw him pop up again to successfully scramble for purchase on the van.

For the child's sake and his own, he had to save her; if he failed, she didn't know what would happen to his hard-won and still fragile stability. It seemed she didn't breathe again until his feet touched the earth and uniformed people began to undo the harness. One of them threw a blanket over his shoulders as he sat abruptly on the ground, looking as though his legs failed to support him.

She fought her way through the well-wishers that surrounded him; clapping him on the back and shoulders in jubilation; finally resorting to yelling with authority, "CBI! Out of the way!"

They parted like a swath cut in a wheatfield and she knelt beside him and saw him grin when he realized who had plopped down next to him.

"You OK?"

"Of course Lisbon, just another day in the life of a superhero." he grinned, shivering slightly. "Do you think someone could get me a cup of tea?"

She held her arms out to him and he let her pull him closer, their clothing made wet, squishy sounds between them. The rain, once more, began to pour down in thundering buckets but, neither of them really noticed.

...

He lay contentedly on his couch. He was warm and dry. The girl from the creek was safely in the arms of her mother. His team bustled around him tending the business that kept them employed. He was enveloped in the warm and fuzzies.

In a little while, he'd go lie down on Lisbon's couch and pretend to sleep while she worked. Maybe he'd even sneakily lean over her to smell her hair. That would be nice.

Angela had given her blessing. As soon as the Red John thing was taken care of, providing he survived it, he'd maybe "Get off his butt" as she'd said. The woman was nothing if not stubborn but, to once again quote a very famous line,'Tomorrow is another day'.

...

He felt a hand on his arm. It didn't make him cringe or run or faint or anything like that. It was a small, strong hand. It belonged to a dark-haired woman who'd stuck by him in spite of everything. Who hadn't been scared off by the demons that sought to drag him back into insanity. She'd stood with him to fend them off. The woman was one tough little cookie . . . and quite beautiful, he thought.

With arms around each other companionably, they stood that way for a long time looking out out over the city which pulsed away in the darkness.

If she could wait for him, when next he took off his ring, it would be for her.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

I hope you enjoyed this. Let me know what you think even if you didn't.

New story should be up in about three weeks, possibly sooner.