Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist, any of the characters or any of its related themes.
A/N: This is my take on the first few days after Red John murdered Jane's family… how he handled it … and why he finally ends up where he ends up.(Spoiler: 1x10)
Dandelions
"Thank you very much for all your hard work," Patrick said, shaking the hand of the caterer with a smile.
The elderly man cleared his throat and returned the smile with some reluctance, "Angela was one of our regulars… she was part of our family too…" he said and motioned towards one of the caterers loading up the last of the serving trays, "She even managed to scrounge up enough funds to send Thomas to Culinary School… he starts next semester on his Pâtisserie".
"That's fantastic…" the recently former psychic replied, ushering out the caterers. "Thank you for coming…" .
They said their final goodbyes and the white van exited the driveway of the Church hall.
Taking a deep breath in, Patrick set out to settle with the florists and hire of the hall. The final arrangements had gone quite smoothly, with minimal hassles and trouble. It really was an asset that his wife had been so involved in the community. Everyone knew her.
As he passed a few guests he paused to shake a few hands and share condolences, smiling comfortingly. He could hear the cutting voices of some of the women in the courtyard, 'He's taking it well…' …
… 'I can almost swear he doesn't look like he even misses them'
… 'With the money he makes… you'd think he'd at least arrange for crystal glasses'.
He swallowed dryly and cleared his throat as he walked on, blinking rapidly for a moment before settling back into his normal façade. He wasn't sure what kept him so calm… he had started wondering if he was still stuck in denial…
Patrick checked his watch briefly before settling on his plan of action. Time was ticking on and the final commiseration for the loss of his wife and daughter were dragging on too long. He just wanted everyone to leave.
He managed to herd the florist and cleric together to pay them at the same time, nodding and smiling as he finished the respective cheques. The florist had left quite promptly, but the cleric had stayed on.
A young man, looks almost to be barely twenty, was the cleric of the church. "Sir, are you alright?" the young man asked, obviously unsure whether actually physical contact or even friendly gesture would be inappropriate or would invoke an unsavoury reaction.
"I'm fine, thank you," Patrick replied automatically, motioning to the cheque again, "I addressed it to the church… I hope that would be satisfactory".
The cleric lowered the cheque to his side and frowned, "Thank you …" he said with a slight tone of aggravation in his voice at Patrick's dismissal, "But, I want to know if you are alright".
Patrick sighed, he knew just answering the damned question will be better than trying to play ignorance with this boy. Stubborn, childish and unrelenting. The pest would badger him until he got a reaction. "Of course I miss Angela…. And Charlotte… it's not something you can prepare for… but, it's something that happens eventually," Patrick said, his skill at cold-reading helping him to steer the conversation effectively. "It would either be now or later… at least, I had said goodbye that morning…".
The young man's voice cracked as he finally replied, "I am so sorry, Mr. Jane… ".
Patrick had put his hand on the young man's shoulder and nodded, "I appreciate your concern… it's always difficult to lose someone you love," he stated, his voice still as smooth and even as ever.
The cleric suddenly excused himself and headed to the backroom, his shoulders trembling beneath his rabat.
Deciding it was time to finish, the former psychic headed to the courtyard. His head was held high. He was still breathing deeply to control his emotions. He could still hear his daughter reminding him to smile and 'be nice'.
"Thank you all for coming, I really do appreciate all your support… " he greeted all Angela's friends and family. She had been everywhere. No just turning the world into a better place… but making him into a better man. She had been the one to turn him into an honest man.
Angela's mother headed towards her son-in-law. She stood in front of him for a moment, surveying his creased forehead, dark circles under his eyes and tired expression. She also had known him too well. Angela's whole family just took him in. He never was a son-in-law… as soon as he had met them, he had been integrated into their close-knit family. They all knew him well enough to know when he was lying and why. They were the ones who never asked questions, only accepted and move on.
"You look awful," his wife's mother had said. She smiled and pulled him into a crushing hug. The first physical contact anyone had given him since her last embrace for him three days ago.
"Thank you for coming," he had repeated that line so much the past few days, he wasn't sure if it was intentional anymore or not.
"You should get some sleep, son… " she advised, adjusting her cane with a slight twinge of her shoulder. It had been a long day.
"I'm fine, thank you," he answered automatically, still smiling as if he were the guest to the funeral.
Patrick Jane's father-in-law…. Charlotte's grandpa … who rarely displayed any type of physical affection, had drawn his little girl's husband into a hug. He had told Patrick to call if he needed anything, needed to talk or just for them to visit him.
The young man had patted the older man's shoulder, "I will" he assured falsely honest.
As he sent them on their way, he felt a slight tug on his trouser's leg. "Excuse me…Uncle… Patrick?" a young girls' voice had called.
Charlottle.
He looked down. He was instantly disappointed.
The little girl stood back for a moment before going up on tippy-toes, "Here you are," she said, holding up a half-withered dandelion.
Patrick opened his mouth to protest, but he couldn't start to form the words around the lump in his throat.
"I'm sorry it looks so bad… I had it in my pocket all the time since we went to the church this morning…" the young girl explained, as if that was the reason for his strange expression, and waved the flower towards him. "I picked it just for you".
She looks so much like Charlotte.
He wasn't sure if he wanted to take the flower from her. He was worried about what he would do if he accepted anything… anything that really have him realise that his wife and baby girl was gone, and that he will never be able to see them again.
"You looked sad…. I thought this make you feel better…" she said, her brows furrowed with sincere concern.
He let his fingers drift to the flower. "T… " he cleared his throat hastily, loosening his tie slightly, "-Thank you…".
The young girl nodded and held her arms behind her back as she watched him tuck the withering flower in his vest pocket with great care. "It reminded me of Auntie Angela and Charlotte…" she said, pointing to the flower again, "I thought it would make you smile again".
Patrick stopped. Reminded me of Auntie Angela and Charlotte…
Withering.
Dying.
…Dead.
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