I don't own The Mentalist or any of its characters, all belong to CBS and Bruno Heller.
I awake with my mind groggy and my head throbbing as if it will have an aneurysm. I've never felt this horrible emerging from sleep. So was I asleep? My vision slowly emerges from a blackness and my head lifts up, an awful soreness spreads through the back of my neck. As I begin to focus I am struck by the rich surroundings of a library. Books line the wooden shelves that continue to the far reaches of the high ceiling. I face a large ornate desk and chair. Behind it is a curtain that covers, what I can only assume is a window behind it. A sliver of light shines through and by the intensity of it I believe it is mid afternoon.
Trying to lift myself from the chair, my movements are hindered. For once in my life I am shocked and taken back.
My legs and arms seem to be tied with strong rope to an armchair, upholstered in red leather. The colour is unusual and as I look closer realization strikes me like a slap in the face. The rope is made of hair.
Human hair. Strawberry blond holds down my right arm. Chocolate brown holds my left.
Blood surges through my veins and tears threatened to spill over but I can't give in. That's the reaction he would want and likely relish from me.
Seven years prior…
I am jolted awake by my daughter who jumps on our mattress like it's her own trampoline. I'm unsuccessful at rubbing the drowsiness from my eyes but they see hers full of mirth. My wife's head shoots up in surprise and falls back on the pillow moaning that it is too early to be up. My arm curls around her in an embrace which she gladly accepts by rolling over.
"But it's Christmas day! I want to see what Santa brought me! Please, please, please, get up!"
She loses her balance and falls on my chest knocking the wind out of me.
"Whoa, watch it there darling or I won't have the breath to get up. Just a few minutes more of sleep…" My right hand affectionately rubs her back, the soft curls intertwining with my fingers and I cannot remember a time I felt at such peace.
Someone is breathing behind me; it is almost undetectable and I am fixed so rigidly in my chair it is impossible to crane my neck to see.
"Patrick Jane. Everything that has happened is a result of us meeting now. I must say that it was quite a battle of wits and you've made a fine opponent. I've always appreciated the challenge." The voice is calm, level and completely in control, I despise it because it reminds me of my own.
My reply is not without venom. "Have you brought me here to do away with me? Should I be flattered that you didn't do the honours right in my own home?"
The bastard chuckles. "Tell me Patrick, what do your astute skills of observation tell you?"
"You never kill twice in the same place."