Hello hello hello! Me again, back with another chapter! I am pleased to see lots of visitors and even more pleased to see some new reviews. Please keep them coming, I am so grateful for each and every one of them. Thanks for all your support.
So here I am with an apology-in-advance, if you will. I'm going on holiday soon so alas, I will be unable to update for about a week. HOWEVER. Have faith. I shall be returning to you shortly, but in the meantime, enjoy this chapter!
Disclaimer- Almighty Bruno Heller owns all. I am merely an avid fan with internet connection and a creative imagination.
Peering over the photo of Don McHearty again, Lisbon squinted her eyes and rotated the image. He definitely looked like someone she recognised, maybe someone from her childhood, someone she couldn't quite place. Those eyes, vague and pale, his chin, grizzled from lack of shaving and lack of care. She knew he was relevant. She just didn't know why.
Without warning, her memories opened up a barrier and a torrent of unwanted recollections came pouring out. An article about a tragic motor accident that had gotten completely out of hand, a photo of a dark-haired little girl, crying into a bunch of flowers as she stood beside a grave in a black cotton dress that gently touched the floor, a picture of the convicted man, the man who had robbed her of so much.
Closing the case-file with a resounding thump, her heart pounded in her ears. She couldn't breathe. She was drowning in a thousand thoughts, each one more bewildering than the one before. It was as if a weight was crushing her, pushing her, leading her to collapse. She took a sharp intake of breath as her persistent thoughts lead her to realisation. It was him. She remembered his face from the newspaper cuttings all those years ago, and a montage of memories flashed before her eyes as if she was seeing them for the first time, watching them through high definition. It somehow made them so much more present, real and alive.
A 12 year old girl stands, clutching the hands of her two younger brothers, whilst another plays on the floor behind her, oblivious to the broken family he is now a part of. Two police officers stand in front of the little girl, who has long thick hair which curls into a fringe, framing her face, almost hiding her expression. Grief. Her once open, honest appearance becomes drawn and strained in an effort to keep a strong front for the sake of her siblings. A weariness way beyond her years settles behind her eyes and in that moment, she is no longer a child.
Although her ears can block out the rest of the officer's speech, her mind cannot deceive her of what she has already heard. Haunting words that she will remember for the rest of her life ring true and unfeeling. Sensing a tug on her hand, she masks her thoughts and looks down into the wide brown eyes of her brother, staring up at her with confusion. The officer pauses and looks at her, weariness and heart-felt grief is reflected in his expression.
"Reecy, why are these men here? What do they want?" Such sincerity in the eyes of someone so young almost breaks her. Forcing a smile, she buries her emotions and addresses her oldest brother. He wouldn't understand. They're all so young. Too young to understand reason, too young to realise, too young to experience loss. But loss had fallen upon them like a tonne weight, shattering their family. In that second, a 12 year old Teresa Lisbon realises she has to be the one to pick up the pieces.
"These men are telling us that Mommy's gone away for a little while, and we won't see her for some time." She says it almost too brightly; if her brothers had been older they would've recognised the falsity of her intonation. As it were, they regarded her trustingly and with utter faith. Swallowing, Teresa pushes away the urge to break down into sobs, and gets a hold on herself, for them, if for nothing else. Not here, not now.
"W-where's she gone? Why can't we see her?" Her brother James has piped up, panic and uncertainty etched in his eyes. She strokes his hand comfortingly and he relaxes, though she can tell his thoughts are still racing.
"She's just a bit busy, that's all. So I'll look after you all now, that'll be fun, won't it? We can play all kinds of games together, and Mommy won't be here to tell us off!" She bites her lip, fighting back the tears which threaten to fall. Behind her, her youngest sibling Joshua starts to whimper. Turning, she picks him up and sits him on her hip. She will have to get used to this.
The officers' faces are full of concern. "Miss, it's not your duty to look after your brothers. You have a duty of care only to yourself- you're far too young to hold responsibility over children so small. Where's your dad?"
The truth? 'My father is a juvenile drunkard with little or no respect for himself or anyone else. We see him about once a week, and when we do I am subjected to brutality and violence by his hand, usually because he refuses to blame himself for the way he is, so chooses to blame me instead.'
"My dad? He's.. well, he's just.. I.." Seeing the officers narrow their eyes, she panics and gushes, the words tumbling out her mouth. Lies, lies, lies. "My dad is just a little busy with work at the moment, he works for a law company so there's a lot of papers and he usually spends most of his time at work, but he comes home every night to see us and usually he brings us presents and makes us all dinner. I can handle my brothers until when he gets home, so really, it's fine."
She daren't look down at Tommy. She can sense his mouth is agape at this blatant lie from his big sister. He knows the truth. She knows the truth. But where does the truth get you? Nowhere at all.
A 12 year old girl sits alone in her bedroom. Tears fall down her face, wasted emotion on something that will never ever change. Her brothers are all asleep, blissfully unaware of the waking nightmare that is looming on their doorstep. Scrunching up her duvet in an effort to prevent herself from howling in agony, like a wounded animal, she stares into the blackness around her. The ache is a physical pain in her chest, only experienced by the loss of someone so close. Her protector. Her best friend. Her mother. The only person in the world who could keep her safe from him. And now she is gone. Now there is no one to keep her safe. Now she is alone.
A car accident. That's all it was. A drink driver collided with a pedestrian on a road and killed her instantly. There was no pain. Paramedics rushed to help the woman, but it was far too late. The car was long gone, but they later caught the driver and he was sentenced to 5 years in prison. 5 years.
He must have changed his name when he came out of prison. God knows how he could afford it. He could change his identity but couldn't change what he truly was. He came out of prison and sponged off his daughter for money simply because he was too much of a mess to do anything else: a man who had made terrible decisions, whose vehicle had collided into her mother before he drove away and left her to die. A drunk. A murderer.
Lisbon thumped her fist on the table in anger. People walking past the office looked at her, alarmed, but she was too busy watching the aftermath of her hit- the desk, trembling underneath her clenched fist. Cause and effect. Everything happens for a reason; sometimes the reason is unclear, others it is as clear as polished crystal. Simplicity seemed so far away, and she'd do anything just to get away from it all...
"Tea." A gentle voice startled her from her reverie. Glancing up, she saw Jane entering her office, a cup of tea in his hand and a concerned expression on his face. She mimicked his look of confusion as he watched her, puzzled, and knew it was only a matter of time before he came to question her sudden lapse of concentration.
"You look like death. What happened?" Taking the seat opposite, Patrick leant forward casually, placed the tea in front of her and clasped his hands around his knee as he sat back, waiting. She sighed heavily and watched him with disdain. He knew.
"Nothing happened. I just had a head rush. Must've been up on my feet too long, dehydration, I don't know. Either way I'm fine."
Jane cocked his head to the side. 'He looks like a curious puppy-dog', she thought to herself, infuriated by his questioning. She didn't need this, she was fine. He smiled at her winningly and she found herself distracted by it, if only momentarily, before proceeding to glare at her teacup challengingly, as if it were the one probing her. She was furious with him for being able to do that to her. Leave me alone, I don't want you to talk to me or smile at me or bring me cups of tea; I just want to be left alone.
He was still regarding her with that exasperating expression. "Why do you do that?" He was attempting to read her, she could tell.
"Do what?" Lisbon was aware she was behaving like a sulky teenager, but her thoughts and memories about her past were something she never shared with anyone, let alone her consultant Patrick Jane, obsessive revenge-seeker and over all annoyance.
"You shut people out. You realise people are getting too close to the truth and so you raise your guard, preventing them from getting any closer. You shouldn't do that, it's bad for your mental stability."
Lisbon suppressed a snort. Patrick Jane was lecturing her on mental stability. She managed to give him one more derisive glare before he was up and leaving her office with the trace of a smile on his face. Once he was gone, her office felt strangely quiet, the echo of his words still present in her ears, the ghost of his smile sitting behind her eyes. Shaking her head furiously, she banished her traitorous thoughts and opened the McHearty case file, ready to be consumed by hatred for the man who had robbed her of her childhood, her happiness and her mother.
