Disclaimer: no, i don't own the mentalist.
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(Aloe–grief Hemlock-death/evil Lily-beauty, purity, death lilac-first feeling of love)
Jane stood at the gate of the Los Angeles County fairgrounds. The smell of popcorn lingered in his nose. The joyful shrieking from a nearby roller coaster was mixed with cheerful carnival music. He headed towards the Carney housing; a village of tents and RVs set up in a small field, taking in the sights and smells along the way. A few familiar faces passed him by, but he didn't stop to dwell on them.
Patrick approached a colorful tent that looked like it came off of a gypsy caravan. He paused for a moment, thinking about what was inside. It was filled with childhood memories; the good and the bad. His controlling father, the con-man operation they had run, the family he had found among the carnival workers.
Next he came upon a blood-red tent surrounded by aloe plants and flowering hemlock. His face fell and dread filled his soul. This was Red John's tent; one he knew well. It was filled with dark things. Anger. Hatred. Revenge. Files from old cases. Every detail he had ever learned about the monster was carefully filed away there. Jane turned away slowly, trying not to focus on the pain. He passed Angela's trailer: painted a crisp white. He breathed in the fragrant smell of the lilies growing near the door as he hurried by. Charlotte's little trailer was a bright yellow. It was all sunshine, smiles, and flowers, just like his precious little girl had been to him. His mouth turned up in a bittersweet smile.
He sauntered by the dwellings that each held an important part of his life. Yes, this was his past. Spread out all around him. This is where he kept his memories; each in their own home. This was the most vulnerable stop on the carnival circuit that made up his memory palace.
Each stop on the circuit he had traveled as a boy meant something different in his mind. One was simply associated with the "psychic" aspects of his nature. It was home to his knowledge of the tricks and cons that had once made up so much of who he was. One was dedicated to facts about art and music, one to his knowledge about human kind, another to math and science. There were several; each unique to a part of who he was. But this one. Here at the Los Angeles County Fair Grounds was where the painful truth came out most often.
Focus. He told himself, feeling the images start to slip. He had yet to reach his destination. Ah. There it was. A large antique airstream with a dark green door. He headed up the steps and slowly turned the silver handle. The first thing that hit him when he stepped inside was the smell. Her smell. Like vanilla and cinnamon with the faint hint of lilac. He smiled as her image materialized before him. Her back was perfectly straight, chin raised, eyes blazing, gun drawn. Lisbon. Yes, he had an entire trailer filled with his memories of Teresa Lisbon. Jane tried not to analyze why that was, but his over-active brain knew the truth. He sat down on the white couch just inside the door and closed his eyes.