Today, Patrick Jane was able to spend a few hours with Charlotte. His daughter, his little girl, who he never thought he would see again. If he had known that there was a chemical out there that would allow him to see her, he would have done it years ago. Especially if that chemical could be found in a cup of tea. He knew it wasn't really her, of course. She was only a figment of his imagination, and one that he didn't even believe in at first. He tried to convince himself that she wasn't real. But, once he realized that he was having drug-induced hallucinations, it was easy to accept the cheeky teenager in front of him as Charlotte. If he was honest with himself, he had known it was her all along, right from the moment he first laid eyes on her. He just hadn't wanted to admit it to himself, knowing that it couldn't actually be true. He was instinctively trying to protect himself from the pain he knew he would experience when she inevitably disappeared again.
Charlotte was a wonderful girl. "Do I meet your approval?" She had asked jokingly, as if anything could take away from his pure joy at seeing her. But of course, she was perfect, exactly as he had imagined – and hoped – that she would grow up to be. He knew that she wasn't real, but he allowed himself to pretend, just for a little while, that he had his daughter back. He was happy, truly happy, for the first time in years, just as long as he pushed away the nagging voice in the back of his head that warned him this wouldn't last.
And then, almost without warning, she was gone. He had asked her if she would come back, and with a pitying look, she told him that she loved him. He turned around only for a second, and she vanished. She vanished, just like that night so many years ago when he had come home to find the real Charlotte dead, gone, before she even really got to start her life. All of his dreams for her had been brutally shattered because of a few stupid sentences he had said on late-night television.
So that is how he ended up sitting alone in the CBI attic, holding a teacup filled to the brim with the sweet-smelling belladonna that he had so effortlessly nicked from the crime scene. Belladonna was such an appropriate name, Jane thought. Teenaged Charlotte certainly was a beautiful woman. In a few minutes, he would be with her again. The knowledge sustained him, gave him hope, and filled him with warmth even in the dead of night. He only hoped that this time, she didn't vanish so quickly. He knew she couldn't stay forever, but maybe – just maybe – he would be able to say goodbye.