OF INNOCENCE AND EXPERIENCE
Chapter Two: A Heap of Broken Images
Lisbon entered his bedroom where she had left him hours before. Jane didn't appear to have moved a muscle the entire time she was gone. Still clad in his tieless three-piece suit and brown dress shoes, Jane remained motionless as she came into the room. She wasn't sure if he hadn't heard her or was too sick to acknowledge her.
"Jane! Jane," Lisbon shouted as she knelt down by his side. She could tell that he was still breathing. Reaching forward to physically move his head toward her, Lisbon saw that classic Patrick Jane smile come to light on his face.
"Hi Lisbon," Jane casually said in a soft tone.
"I know you didn't call me out here in the middle of the night just to tell me hello," Lisbon snapped. Her façade showed what she hoped would be a cool and calm woman, but she knew that of all people, Jane had the uncanny ability to see through the surface and into her core being. She was concerned about him, and she hoped he wouldn't probe any deeper to see that.
"Lisbon, Angela and Charlotte are here. They are here. I know I'm not dreaming. You are you. Right?"
"Yes," Lisbon answered.
"I am not dreaming, and I am not crazy," Jane stated matter-of-factly. A moment later the tremor on his arm became visible to Lisbon. He had been able to hide it from her up until that point in time.
"Jane, what's going on here? I don't know what to do," Lisbon gently responded.
"You don't have to do anything. That's the beauty of it, Lisbon," Jane answered.
"Jane…." Lisbon said but was promptly cut off by him.
"Here they come. You can see for yourself. Okay, Lisbon?"
"Okay, Jane, why don't you sit up," she said as she physically moved him into a seated position, which just happened to be directly underneath the macabre symbol of Red John on the wall. Lisbon moved to be able to sit beside him on the mattress. She could see Jane's reaction to what must have been his visualization of his wife and daughter at the doorway of the room. The peaceful and grateful expression on his face at that moment was one she had never seen on his face the entire four years they had known one another.
"I don't want to die, Lisbon," Jane acknowledged.
Lisbon looked at the profile of his face as he continued to stare at the doorway.
"They are here. I know that, and yet I don't know that. I don't want to die, and yet I feel this urge to end it all. I'm so confused, Lisbon. I need your help. My mind won't clear up no matter what I do," Jane said.
"I understand," Lisbon reassured.
"Do you?" Jane eagerly asked.
"Well, yes," Lisbon answered, "You're confused, and we need to fix that. We can fix that, ya know?"
"No, I don't know. I can't remember what it felt like to have a clear mind, to be able to think straight…to be able to see straight…to trust what I am seeing."
Several soundless moments surrounded them.
Lisbon then saw Jane smile larger and make motions toward the door for someone to enter and come sit down with them. "They want to be here with us," Jane said.
"Jane, they are not here. Angela and Charlotte died by Red John's hands nine years ago. You were in the hospital to learn how to cope with their deaths…."
"No, not cope," Jane screamed. Lisbon hardly ever heard Jane's voice this loud.
"Okay, not cope, but regardless, you needed help, and I think you need help right now," Lisbon said, stroking his quavering arm to see if her touch would ease up the tremors.
"Lisbon, are they here right now? Do you see my wife and daughter, too?"
Lisbon dropped her eyes. "No, Jane, I don't. I think you need help."
Grabbing his face in his hands, Jane shouted, "Lisbon, I think I'm becoming unhinged!"
Lisbon had no idea how to respond to such a statement. If he had in actuality gone off the deep end, then he certainly would not be sane enough to comprehend that.
"We're going to get to the bottom of this, Jane," Lisbon reassured.
"I see them everywhere," Jane whispered.
"Okay, Jane," Lisbon said, "It's going to be okay." She stood up, took out her cell phone, and called 911.
"What are you doing?" Jane calmly whispered.
Lisbon didn't answer him. Her words were focused on the 911 operator to relay the information of what she needed to say to get an ambulance to Jane's house as quickly as possible.
"I trust you, Lisbon, but I don't understand what's happening," Jane spoke through his hands.
Lisbon ignored him until she was done with the 911 operator. "Okay," she finally said, "I think something has happened to you…I don't know what…but something. We must get to the bottom of this. Please trust me. I would never do anything…."
Jane cut her off, "I know, but they're so real. You're real, aren't you? How do I know if any of this is real?" Jane asked.
"I guess you don't," Lisbon answered, "You'll just have to trust me, okay?"
"I can't eat, can't sleep…can't even stop my damn arm from shaking. Why's it shaking, Lisbon," Jane asked.
"I don't know, Jane, but I promise you that we will get to the bottom of this," Lisbon said, running her hand up and down his arm.
20 minutes later the ambulance arrived, and Lisbon led them to Jane's bedroom where he was still sitting on the mattress in the floor. When Jane recognized what was happening, his facial expression turned to fright.
"I don't like hospitals, Lisbon. Why are you doing this to me?" Jane yelled.
Lisbon had no words to wrap around the thoughts in her head. She remained silent while they put him on the stretcher and fastened the leather restraints on his arms and legs. "Careful," Lisbon offered, "He's got a slight tremor in his left arm. Please take it easy."
Jane repeatedly asked, "Why are you doing this to me, Lisbon?" He would interject incoherent babble between that repeated question. Lisbon believed he was having intermittent conversations with the figments of his insanity. They slammed the ambulance doors, and Lisbon started her car to follow them to the hospital.
At the hospital, she approached the ambulance and waited as they lowered the stretcher where the tethered Patrick Jane lay babbling louder and with more agitation. As they wheeled him in, she walked behind the attendants. Once inside, Jane's voice was louder and more hostile. A nurse with beautiful silver hair and a gentle motherly touch approached Lisbon.
"I know you're worried about your friend. Your friend, right?" the mother nurse asked.
"Ugh, yes, yes, we're friends. We're good friends. There's something wrong with him, and I'm scared," Lisbon unloaded.
"Now, now, dear. He's in good hands. We'll take extra good care of him. Now I need you to wait right her," mother nurse instructed while pointing to the Visitor's Lounge. "And I'll come check on you as soon as we can settle him down and can get some answers."
Lisbon backed up to the first chair in the lounge without taking her eyes off the beautiful silver-haired nurse. Lisbon leaned the back of her head against the wall and closed her eyes. She just realized how tired she was. At some point in time later—Lisbon wasn't sure how long she had been out—the mother nurse awakened her.
"Is your name Teresa Lisbon?" the nurse asked.
"Yes, yes," Lisbon said, clearing the sleep from her throat.
"He's asking for you. We need to draw blood and are afraid to give him a sedative in case there are drugs in his system," mother nurse said as she ushered Lisbon to the room where Jane was being kept.
"What time is it?" she asked the nurse.
"It's almost dawn. Why?" the nurse asked.
"He's still in his clothes? Have you even done anything yet?" Lisbon snapped.
Showing Lisbon the irritated expression on his face, the doctor answered, "Ma'am, we're doing our very best. He's so agitated that we're afraid to remove the restraints."
"Sorry," Lisbon answered.
"We understand, dear," mother nurse interjected, patting Lisbon on the back.
"Do you think you can talk to him to see if that might calm him down long enough for us to get a blood sample? Our hands are pretty limited until we can run some tests to see what's going on in there," the doctor instructed Lisbon.
Lisbon approached the bed. Jane's wrists were raw and a deep red where he had been fighting against the leather straps.
"Lisbon, tell them. Tell them! I'm not crazy. I don't like doctors and hospitals. I'm not crazy. You're you, right?"
"Jane, I really need you to relax. Can ya do that for me? Can ya, Jane?" Lisbon asked calmly as she grasped his shoulder above his collar bone.
Several moments later, by the touch of her hand and the sound of her voice, Jane released his tension on the leather straps and folded down into the bed. He continued looking at Lisbon. His face relayed to her the fear that he was feeling. The doctor approached from the opposite side with a large syringe.
"Let me tell him before you do anything. No surprises," Lisbon glared at the doctor. He held up his hands to indicate to her that he was retrieving back.
"Jane, they need to get some of your blood."
"My blood! Why do they need my blood?" Jane frantically asked.
Lisbon made eye contact with the doctor and stated, "So they can check to see what's going on with you. I need you to relax," she peacefully spoke, locking eyes with him once again. She had seen him do this trick hundreds of times with suspects and victims. She didn't know if it would work, but she thought she'd try.
"Shhh, just relax. Feel all the anger and fright leave your body. Picture yourself in the sun. You are on the beach. Try and relax. You're okay. I'm here with you. I'm real, and I'm here with you," Lisbon quietly said as she kept the pressure on his shoulder.
Within five minutes, Jane's eyes dropped.
"Can you still hear me?" Lisbon asked, using the same calm tone of voice.
"Yes," Jane barely whispered, his eyes still closed.
"There's going to be a small sting on your right arm. It won't last very long. Just relax and try not to move," Lisbon instructed. She thought to herself how proud Jane would have been of her. That thought made her want to cry.
In several minutes, Jane was in a deep sleep-for the first time in two weeks. The rattle of his breath concerned Lisbon. "Why is he breathing that way?" she asked the mother nurse.
"He has a multitude of symptoms. It's too early to say what's going on right now. When he first came in here, his blood pressure was unusually low, his eyes were dilated, he was agitated, and he seemed very confused. It appears that he's experiencing hallucinations."
Lisbon felt the lump form in her throat.
"I really can't say…" the doctor began but was hastily cut off by Lisbon.
"Can't or won't? Doctor, I am an agent with the CBI. This is my consultant, Patrick Jane. He was perfectly normal two weeks ago…well, normal for him. But my point is this: something has happened to him. If you know or suspect something, I want to know now," Lisbon yelled.
"Well, it's either a mental breakdown or drugs," the doctor bluntly asserted. "He has a history of mental illness, so the odds are…"
"Okay, then," Lisbon interrupted. She knew Jane didn't use drugs and had no social life. He spent practically all of his time at the CBI office or with one of them. A drugging—whether intentional or not—would be extremely challenging. That's when it hit her. He had finally broken; the doctor might be right. She might not ever again see her Patrick Jane. Being strapped down to a bed in a mental institution might just be his fate. She stared down at his sleeping form and knew she couldn't hold back her emotions much longer.
The doctor and mother nurse continue standing beside her. The nurse reached out to take Lisbon in her arms, but Lisbon ducked back. "I gotta go. I need to be at work soon. Please call me as soon as you know something definitive," Lisbon instructed. At that, she abruptly turned and retreated to her car in the parking lot, heading to the CBI office. She allowed tears to escape her eyes in the privacy of her vehicle as she continued to remind herself that she had done the right thing getting Jane to the hospital. She had done the right thing. She had done the right thing.
TBC
