A/N This is mostly Patrick Jane wumph and involves no real case. There are some gruesome parts but I think they're mild enough to be rated K+. If you disagree on the rating I'd be happy to change it to T. The first few paragraphs start out slow to bring you in so be patient please. I admit this isn't my best writing, I'm just trying my hand out on wumph. Cheers.
A setting sun in the California mountain tops found Patrick Jane resting against a tree along a narrow hiking trail. The sun's orange glow illuminated his blonde curls and made the miniscule beads of sweat on his forehead shine. At least he had the sense to change into jeans and sneakers for this expedition. He still wore the baby blue button down shirt and unbuttoned waistcoat from earlier in the day when he was there with the CBI investigating a double homicide.
Being stubborn, Patrick returned to the mountain, sure he would find a piece of evidence that he and the team missed the first time. Just a little higher up the hill and he could find the hiker's missing camera. Just a few more steps, he kept urging himself.
He cut off from the trail a few feet for a shortcut. He made some headway into a clearing. Patrick put his palm on the trunk of a bristlecone to steady himself, and feet placed unsteadily on…wooden planks? As Patrick realized this and look down there was a creak and the ancient wood boards started to split. A retired mine shaft sat below those boards! Paniced he tried to hop off the breaking boards. Only one foot managed to touch stable ground when the entire covering gave out.
Like a switch, gravity turned on, yanking Patrick down the now revealed mine shaft. Down he fell. Chunks of wood and earth followed his flailing arms and strangled cry. He crumpled under his own weight.
Still conscious he dared to open his eyes. Dust and debris settled around him in twisted, mangled body. Up, up, far above his head a square of light filtered through barely lightening the narrow shaft.
"Maybe this isn't so bad." Patrick said aloud, checking his injuries. "Nothing too serious.
He spoke too soon and when he looked up again one last piece of timber tumbled down. Closer it fell, closer…until.
"Da, da, da, daaa." Beethoven's Vernalise ring tone played on Patrick's cell for the thousandth time.
With a groan Patrick sat up. Bright spots danced everywhere in the dark shaft. Purple and yellow…and the music.
"It's a symphony in my pocket." He chuckled stupidly as he fumbled for his phone.
Dazed, he glared at the screen. Incoming call, Lisbon.
But Lisbon is right in front of me. He thought. She's wearing a cocktail dress. "Da, da, daaaa…"The incessant ring tone continued.
The hit to his head must have been damaging. His body was trashed; cut, mangled, but the pain hadn't reached him yet.
"What is it Lisbon?" He asked the dressed up Lisbon while massaging his temple. But the ring tone kept playing and the hallucination of Lisbon remained silent.
He dropped his hand from his head and pressed answer. "Going to a fancy dinner or something?"
"What are you talking about Jane? I'm working, and you should be too. Now where are you?" The purple dressed Lisbon seemed to say without moving her lips. Patrick simply brushed off this contradicting detail. In his mind she was there and solid.
"Jane? Didn't you hear me? Where are you?"
He looked around as much as he could. "I fell and now I'm in hell. I was wrong Lisbon, there really is an afterlife."
"Are you drunk?" Concern was now etched in her face, or at least the facsimile's make-up coated face.
Patrick looked down at his bare arms which looked like they'd been through a food processor. Little bits of flesh shredded on raw meat. He winced. "I wish."
"You don't sound right, I'm coming to get you." The real Lisbon stood up from her desk and started to put on her jacket.
"But you're already here. Don't waste time on me; go to your dinner party." He argued, allowing himself to fall back down on the rubble.
The hurry to put on her jacket greatened. "You said you fell. Where did you fall from?"
"Dunno."
"A window, a roof?"
The pain was starting to become evident suddenly. It was too much. Searing pain, and he closed his eyes and clenched his fist around the phone. His head throbbed and it felt like a thousand pound weight was on his chest, was on everything. Lisbon could hear his breathing quicken over the phone.
"Patrick! Stay with me. Where did you fall from?" She kept her cool as she started to use the department computer to track the GPS in his phone.
"I fell from the ground." He managed to gasp, his voice nasally. His nose started to bleed.
The bitter metallic taste dripped down into the back of his throat. He didn't have the strength to sit up again. The blood choked him. If only he could sit up. He had to swallow the mixture of saliva and blood. But he just couldn't breathe. Air! Please! Air! The weight on his chest increased. He began to drown in his own blood.
Help! He cried in his mind, for he couldn't say it. His eyes searched frantically for the dressy hallucination of Lisbon. He saw her watching from afar, polishing her nails. Help me!
Patrick blacked out, just as the phone did.