The darkest hour is just before dawn.
It was one of those pithy, trite things well-intentioned people say to express comfort or sympathy. But Jane, who had been on the receiving end of this particular platitude once or twice found this turn of phrase particularly irksome.
For one thing, he thought, the idea itself was patently false. The hour or moments just before the dawn are only slightly less bright than the dawn itself, he reasoned. Anyone with a rudimentary understanding of physics or even 8th grade science could tell you this.
No, having spent the better part of a decade as a chronic insomniac, Jane knew that the darkest hours of night were those that lay smack dab in the middle of it- that time when night owls and early birds alike are deep in sleep; when it seemed the entire city around him was slumbering contentedly while he would lie awake for hours, kept company only by thoughts of revenge and the heart-numbing guilt that were his constant companions. It was during these hours as he stared at the inky black sky outside his window (whether it be the window of his dingy hotel room or one in the attic at the CBI) that he was most keenly aware of his hollow, solitary existence. As the morning rays would finally begin to creep over the rooftops of the city, they simply signaled the official end to yet another sleepless night, and it was a nocturnal pattern Jane had become accustomed to.
It was on the island where Jane finally found rest. Oh, he still had sleepless nights from time to time, but those became fewer and father between as the months went by. Every day he would wake early before the sun and make his way to the beach. He'd amble along for an hour or so, a regular habit that instilled in him a sense of calm and peace, yet like everything else in this supposed paradise, there was no real joy or excitement in it. His morning walk was just the first in a series of pleasant daily routines. But, without any deep friendships or real purpose to his days, island life was simply an existence that bridged him from the nightmare he had been living to something more resembling a normal life.
Now being awake in these early hours was something Jane treasured. He almost always woke before Lisbon, who was usually curled into the crook of his arm, snoring softly with her long hair tumbling in waves down her back or across his shoulder. They had spent nearly every night of the last five months together like this. Yet each morning as Jane first became conscious, it still took a split second or two for him to realize where he was, whose body was nestled so naturally next to his, and that the woman he had loved for so long was actually by his side at last. As Lisbon slept, Jane took this time to gaze down at her and marvel at her very presence. (Once, she had woken up early, caught him doing this, and jokingly deemed it "creepy".) He was still in awe of the fact she had chosen him, and while he wasn't entirely certain he deserved her love, he accepted and embraced it and returned it with equal fervor. No more keeping her at arm's length or punishing himself for the past. No more sleepwalking through life. He was finally ready to meet the dawn.