Standing on the terrace of his Malibu home Patrick Jane watched as his wife and daughter enjoyed a leisurely stroll in the sunshine. He knew that Angela wasn't exactly pleased with his upcoming television interview, but he was confident that she would come around at some point.
Being a guest in a popular talk show was good publicity, and that was precisely what he needed in his line of business. For all that his wife didn't approve of him making a living by pretending that he was a psychic, it was still better than their old life at the carnival; if conning rich people was what he had to do in order to secure the financial future of his only child, then so be it.
Charlotte surely deserved a happier childhood than either he or Angela had had, and he would make sure that she got it. The little girl was the light of his life, he loved her even more than his own wife and that was something Angela often teased him about.
With a smile plastered on his face he walked back into the house; any time was right for making a good cup of tea, and that was another thing he had down to a fine art.
He was about to put the kettle on the stove when he fancied he heard the soft click of a key turning in the lock and the front door creaking slightly before someone shut it again. It couldn't be Angela and Charlotte; he'd seen them walking along the seashore just a few moments earlier, and they would come back through the terrace anyway.
Wielding the kettle by way of a weapon he tiptoed to the hall and hit the trespasser with all his might. The man let out a yelp and fell to the floor, where he groveled helplessly clutching his injured head.
"That serves you right. Get out of here, before I call the police."
He was still brandishing the kettle at the stranger, but he dropped it in surprise as soon as he could see his opponent's face.
No. It can't be. I must be dreaming, or something.
The other man shot him a sarcastic grin. "I'm not sure that would be a wise choice, my friend."
A shiver ran down Jane's spine when the sound of that voice fell upon his ears. He couldn't keep his eyes from the man that was now sitting at his feet, his features so well known to him in spite of those unfamiliar lines that spoke of sorrow and the passing of the years.
"Who are you?" he let out in a cracked whisper, though he was well aware it was a redundant question.
How is it even possible that you're right before me – that's what I should be asking instead.
"Let's say I am the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come," the other retorted wryly, still rubbing the sore spot on his head. "We have to talk."
He shook his head in disbelief. "I'm having an hallucination, right? You're just a figment of my imagination."
"I'm as real as you are; even though I'm older now, as you can see."
"How did you get here?"
His counterpart shrugged noncommittally. "It's my house, I still have the key."
"I didn't mean that," he replied with more than a hint of annoyance to his tone.
Am I really this irritating? It's no wonder that some people feel the urge to punch me in the face.
"Scientists are wonderful people. They're going to create a real time machine in a couple of decades or so."
"Time travel? Am I supposed to buy this?"
"Do what you will, but you'd better listen to what I have to say. We don't have much time; the clock is still ticking."
He took a step back when the other finally managed to get back to his feet. While his instincts prompted him to accept what had just been said as a possibility, his brain still struggled to catch up with such a huge thing.
"Let's hear your message then. I can't imagine what was worth coming that long a way."
"Whatever happens, don't go to that talk show. Forget that you've ever heard of Red John. Don't even mention his name again"
He furrowed his brow. "I don't understand."
"I hope you never will," his interlocutor replied slowly, his eyes suddenly dark with grief and regret.
Jane hesitated when the other handed him a sealed envelope; his hand trembled ever so slightly as he finally closed his fingers around the thick manila paper.
"Here you'll find the answer to your question. This is what will happen if you go along with that stupid interview."
As if in a dream he watched himself walk out of the door and disappear from his own sight. He drew a deep breath, then proceeded to open the envelope.