Title: Nobody By Your Side
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I don't think I could be as awesome as Bruno Heller. So no, I don't own The Mentalist.
Summary: One shot. "Daddy, listen."
Spoilers: For 4x23 – sort of. The promo mentioned that the anniversary of their death was approaching. None of us have seen the episode, but just in case you haven't seen the promo – I am warning you all now.
He sat at the foot of his bed. Well, it had actually been the hotel bed, but he had been staying there – indefinitely for the past eight years. He had no idea of how long he had been sitting there at the foot of the bed. The last thing he remembered had been a thirty-second phone call from Lisbon.
"Jane, we have a case. Get down here. Now." She had sounded quite angry on the phone. Jane had thought it had been because she had not yet had her morning coffee. Before he got out the door he noticed the date that had appeared on his cell phone and he had to sit back down.
He hadn't looked at his cell phone since. The day hadn't arrived, but it would, soon enough. He had almost forgotten for a brief moment. However, with Red John still on the loose he would never be able to forget.
As he sat on the bed his mind had gone back to many different memories. The one that had kept playing over and over in his mind had been of his wife, Angela, and his daughter, Charlotte. They had been playing the piano. Angela had been teaching her some of her childhood songs. They had been simple pieces and Angela had had confidence that Charlotte could play them easily. He had been walking through the door and had saw them playing through the window. Then he heard his daughter play.
"Daddy, listen." She had said with her soft, angelic voice. She had been so proud of herself for being able to play only a few notes. He remembered that after Charlotte's "performance" he had kissed his wife on the cheek and had given his daughter a hug. It had been one of the times that they all had been a happy family. The world and all of its problems had melted away.
Now here he sat, on the foot of a hotel bed, eight, almost nine years later. For hours, maybe days, he had been going over the past. What he could have done differently to change the course of events, but nothing, in his mind, could have stopped what had happened.
He had been a different person back then. According to Lisbon, the events of what had happened to his wife and child had made him a better man. He had just been wishing, for the past eight years, that his wife and child would re-appear by hide.
He knew, however, that would not be possible.