AN: I've had parts of this story written since August, but moving to a new city with the start of grad school put this fic on hold. At any rate, I finally feel like my life is somewhat manageable again, and that means it's time for a new multichapter!

As of yet, I'm not entirely sure how many chapters this will be or when I'll be able to update. However, the next two chapters are written, so at least those updates will be regular. After that, I'll post new chapters when I can.

Side note: this takes place sometime in late season 4. I admit to laziness and not looking up specific timelines for the show, so certain dates that the characters mention may be off. But since the writers on the show never kept an accurate timeline, I feel like I don't have to either!

I also want to say thank you to everyone who read and/or reviewed And We Can Light a Match. I was floored by the response to it. I don't know if I'll be able to continue to reply to every review because life has been crazy, but know that I read them all and appreciate that you take the time to tell me what you think of my stories.

Also: song lyrics and the story's title are from "Bring On the Wonder" by Susan Enan and Sarah McLachlan.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.


I can't see the stars anymore living here


The call almost goes to voicemail before he picks up.

"Hi Lisbon," says a sleepy voice on the other end of the line. "To what do I owe this very early morning pleasure?"

Lisbon smiles in spite of herself and blinks into the first streams of morning sunlight. She nods at one of the EMTs beside her and takes a step away from the ambulance, where a young woman is currently being checked out.

Lisbon fights the urge to yawn. Though it's barely 5 AM, it's already been a long morning.

"I'm sorry," she says sincerely. "Sounds like you actually got some sleep last night."

"It's alright, Lisbon," says Jane, and she hears rustling sounds, as though Jane is throwing back the sheets and making to get out of bed. "You're at a scene?"

Lisbon nods to herself. "Yes," she says. "Well, yes and no," she amends. "We have a witness but no body."

The rustling on the other end of the line stops. "Really?" says Jane, and she can tell his curiosity is roused. "A witness to a murder?"

"She seems to believe so," says Lisbon.

"You don't sound convinced," notes Jane.

Lisbon shrugs, trying to think of what to say. "I don't know if she's exactly a reliable witness," she says. "She seems to be suffering from some sort of amnesia—at any rate, she doesn't know who she is, and she doesn't have any memories of her life. I was hoping you could help."

"Where are you?" says Jane tersely, no-nonsense.

"Sac PD headquarters. The girl showed up on their doorstep just after four this morning."

"I'm on my way."


Lisbon watches as Jane's Citroen pulls into the Sac PD parking lot. To her surprise, he actually parks in a designated spot, and she jogs over to meet him.

"Young woman—if I had to estimate, I'd say she's sixteen, maybe fifteen," says Lisbon in a rush as they walk together towards the ambulance. The girl comes into view, and Jane's face is unreadable as he studies her for the first time. "EMTs checked her out and told us she seems perfectly healthy—besides the fact that she was in shock when she turned up. We got a cheek swab to run DNA, but something will only turn up if she's in the system, which seems unlikely, and it'll take at least 24 hours to get the results back." Lisbon pauses for a beat as they continue walking. "She says she saw a shooting a few blocks from here. We searched the area but didn't find a body, and we haven't been able to get anything else out of her," Lisbon says. Jane glances at her. "Like I said, she doesn't remember anything."

Jane's fingers brush her own. "Well, let's see what we can do about that, huh?"

They approach the girl, and Lisbon marvels at how strangely calm she looks. She's brushing her matted hair with a comb Lisbon had given her earlier, her long blonde waves tangled together. A blanket from the ambulance is draped around her shoulders, covering up a ragged t-shirt and ripped blue jeans. Jane shoots Lisbon a glance when he notices the girl isn't wearing shoes.

"Hi, sweetie," says Lisbon as they approach where the girl is seated at the back of the ambulance. The girl's gaze snaps up to look at Lisbon, and then she glances sharply over at Jane. Lisbon watches Jane's eyes narrow curiously.

"Hi Teresa," says the girl, her voice confident. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Patrick," says Lisbon, gesturing to Jane, who waves hello. "He's got a knack for figuring things out. I'm hoping he can help you."

The girl's expression turns wary. "You're a doctor?" she asks, eying Jane with suspicion.

Jane chuckles. "God, no," he says, and his words cause the tension in her shoulders to lessen.

"Then what exactly are you?"

Jane looks over at Lisbon, amused, then his gaze returns to the girl. "Teresa here would say a pain in the ass, but I don't think that would necessarily reassure you."

The girl smiles, and Jane sits down beside her.

"You like to write?" asks Jane, and the girl's brow wrinkles.

"I don't know," she admits. "Why?"

Jane points to her left hand. "You have smudges on the side of your palm that left-handed individuals get when writing. You also have small calluses on your index and middle fingers indicative of prolonged and repeated use of a pencil or pen."

"Oh," says the girl. "I guess I do. I'm a writer?"

Jane shrugs. "It seems likely. Are you a Jane Austen fan?"

"What?"

"Female teenaged writer…the next logical assumption is that you're a reader as well. What's your favorite classic?"

"Jane Eyre," she says without thinking, and Jane smiles at her.

He looks over at Lisbon. "Her memories are there, Lisbon. They're just hiding." He looks back at the young woman. "My wife liked Jane Eyre, too," he says. "We named our daughter after the author."

The girl looks from Jane to Lisbon and back again, apparently confused by his use of the past tense. "'Liked'?" she asks.

Jane nods. "My wife and daughter died many years ago," he confirms.

The girl's sea-green eyes mist over. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"It's alright," says Jane, a sad smile on his face. "It was a long time ago."


The girl refuses to leave Jane's side, so he drives her to the CBI in his Citroen. Jane rolls his eyes as he pulls out of the Sac PD parking lot—Lisbon is right behind him in her standard CBI-issue SUV, protective as ever.

"You like her," says the girl, her tone confident again, a gleam in her eye.

Jane glances over to the passenger side. "Of course I like Lisbon," he says automatically.

The girl shakes her head, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. "You know what I meant," she says, the corners of her mouth twitching up. "Not that it matters, but I approve—she's totally hot and seems like a freaking badass."

Jane's eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"Any idiot with eyes can see it," says the girl, with the air of explaining to a toddler that one and one make two. She shrugs. "You two would be good for each other. She's the control freak, obviously, and you're the rule-breaker. You complement each other. You know, like ying and yang."

Jane sighs. "The situation is…complicated," he finally says.

"How long has it been since your wife died?"

"About a decade."

"Then it's time for you to be happy again. Wouldn't your family want that?"

Jane stops the car at a red light and looks over at his passenger. "I have no idea," he says honestly.

The girl wraps the EMT blanket more tightly around her. "All I'm saying is, it's easy to tell she likes you. The way she stares at you when you don't know she's looking…"

The light turns green, and Jane speeds forward. "And what way is that?"

The girl smiles. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"

Jane chuckles. "Do you give your own parents this much lip?"

Her expression darkens. "I can't remember," she says. "I can't remember them at all."

Jane reaches over to touch her shoulder lightly. "We'll find them," he assures her. "I'm sure wherever they are, they're out searching for you."

Ten minutes later, they pull into the CBI parking lot, and Jane leads the girl up to the serious crimes floor. She heads to his brown couch without asking for permission, and her eyes are closed before her head hits the cushion. Jane takes the discarded blanket from the floor and drags it over her, covering her up.

He turns to find Lisbon staring at him, her expression unreadable.

"How is she?" Lisbon asks.

"Exhausted," answers Jane. "And understandably so—I think she's been up the whole night."

The sun is up now, and it floods the bullpen.

"And how are you?" Lisbon's voice is cautious, concerned.

Jane looks back over at the sleeping girl. "She's like a ghost," he whispers.

Lisbon nods. "You have precisely the same color eyes, did you see that?" She is standing next to him now, and he reaches for her hand. "And her hair—it's the same texture and color as yours as well. I'm sorry," she says suddenly. "I should have warned you when I called. I just didn't know what to say."

Jane shakes his head and waves off her apology. He swallows. "Charlotte would be sixteen next month."

"You think Red John orchestrated this? Found a girl that resembled Charlotte and then hypnotized her to forget her memories?"

"I think that explanation makes a hell of a lot more sense than anything else I can come up with. No way this is a coincidence." He glances at her, and she looks at him from the corner of her eye.

"She told me that you'd be good for me—we'd be good for each other," Jane says softly. "Sometimes, in my dreams, I imagine Charlotte saying that."

Lisbon opens her mouth to reply, but the elevator dings, announcing the arrival of the rest of the team, and the moment is lost.

Come late morning, there are still no reports of a missing person fitting the description of the girl. There is no murder victim either, despite the claims made by the girl earlier that day, and Jane wonders aloud to Lisbon.

"Maybe there was never a shooting at all."

She looks at him. "Is it possible Red John made her say that, knowing we'd get the call if a homicide was involved?"

But his eyes are locked onto the girl's sleeping form. "This is unreal," he finally says, and then, "I have an idea."


When she wakes, Jane ushers the girl into Lisbon's office and sits across the table from her. Lisbon is at her desk, typing away at her computer, and she watches as Jane deals a deck of cards.

"You know how to play poker?" he asks, and he pulls out a bag of M&M's he bought from the vending machine to use in lieu of chips. When the girl shakes her head no, Jane smiles. "I'll teach you. You'll be bluffing your way to millions in no time."

He begins to explain the game, and her brow furrows as she begins to concentrate. Lisbon stands up from her desk and heads towards them carrying a blank form and a pen.

"Sorry to interrupt, sweetie, but I need you to sign this form for the EMTs from this morning," she says, and the girl glances at her absently, grabs the pen, and scribbles on the paper.

Jane immediately stops talking. He lunges for the form.

At the top, in the box for First Name, is one word in neat, cursive handwriting.

Charlotte.

"Oh my God," says Lisbon, and the girl looks back and forth between them, confused.

Jane is frozen, his eyes unblinking, but he begins to speak slowly to explain.

"Your memories are still there," he says, "even if they're hidden. But muscle memory happens to be particularly strong. I thought if we could distract you, your brain wouldn't overthink things, and your muscle memory would take over." His eyes meet the young girl's. "It worked."

The girl looks down at the paper. "That's my name?" she whispers. "My name is Charlotte?" She frowns. "You had a daughter named Charlotte," she says with a look of dawning comprehension, and she is every bit as bright as Jane would expect her to be.

"Yes," he says.

"I'm your daughter?"

He shakes his head. "I don't think so. You can't be—my daughter was killed a decade ago."

"But…?"

Jane looks at Lisbon, lost. "I don't know," he says, pushing his chair away from the table. "I don't know."

Lisbon kneels in front of him and places her hands on his thighs. "Jane," she says, and her green eyes are bright. "Is there any chance…is there any chance she could be Charlotte?"

Jane's hands shake, and he puts them on Lisbon's shoulders to steady himself. "I personally ID'd the body," he says in disbelief. "She didn't have a pulse. There was blood everywhere—there was so much blood."

"Jane," says Lisbon forcefully. "Was she cold? Do you remember if she was cold?"

His eyes rove around the room, and she knows he is searching his memory palace. After about a minute, he meets her gaze. "I don't remember," he finally says.

"Her death could have been staged," says Lisbon. "There are chemical compounds which decrease metabolism and cause paralysis, and with the help of a makeup artist, it would have been simple to create fake wounds."

Jane's breathing becomes irregular. "Make a call to forensics, Lisbon. They'll need my DNA for comparison."

Lisbon knocks on the glass of her office forcefully to signal to her team in the bullpen, and Van Pelt appears in her doorway a second later. "Boss?"

Lisbon scribbles a phone number and a name on a piece of scratch paper and hands it to Van Pelt. "I have a friend in forensics who owes me. Tell her I need to cash in that favor," says Lisbon, and Van Pelt takes one look at her face before dashing away to make the call.

Lisbon turns to Jane again. "We're going to need to exhume their graves," she whispers.

"It was a closed-casket funeral," he says unevenly, his breath catching, and it's not difficult to work out why closed caskets were necessary. Lisbon had seen the crime scene photos—there wasn't a chance the bodies could have been shown to the public. "For all I know, the caskets could have been empty when they went into the ground."

Jane's eyes meet hers again, and she can see that he's barely keeping himself afloat. "You have to go into this with no expectations, Jane," Lisbon urges him. "As much as I hate to tell you this, you can't allow yourself to hope—because what if things don't turn out how you want?"

But it's too late, she realizes, as he looks over at the girl who may or may not be his daughter.

He's already in far too deep.