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The mother, Marissa Cargill, was a mess. Her face was streaked with tears and she could barely stand upright. Her husband had his arm around her and was holding on to her protectively.

"In here Mr. Cargill", Abbott said gently. He ushered the two into the conference room, followed by Jane and Vega.

"Michelle, get the Cargill's something to drink, will you?" She nodded and quickly left the room.

"Can you find my baby", the wife asked, a sob in her voice. She looked hopefully at the FBI agents. "Please? He's only little and he'll be so scared."

"We'll do everything we can Mrs. Cargill", Abbott told her. "My agents are already looking into all the evidence very carefully. We just need you to tell us everything you know." He glanced over at Jane. "This is Patrick Jane. He's a consultant who works with us and is very good at finding answers so anything you can tell him will be helpful."

"Mr. Jane", Brent Cargill acknowledged the consultant with a quick nod. "What do you need to know?"

"Tell me about your son", Jane said gently. He glanced over at the wife and wanted to tell her it would be okay, even though he knew the chances were it wouldn't be.

Brent swallowed. "Liam is – six, just six. He started first grade this year and he loves it. He's always happy." His face crumpled slightly but then he took a deep breath and pulled himself together. "We love him so much – please find him for us."

Patrick nodded. "I'll do what I can. Tell me how he disappeared."

"He was playing in the back yard", Mrs. Cargill said softly. "He was just outside - just playing. I could see him from the window in the kitchen. He was running around – he was wearing his Avengers costume and playing make-believe. The phone rang and – and, oh God, I answered it. It was a friend – we both volunteer at the school. She was telling me about an upcoming fundraiser and we were going over plans. I couldn't have been on the phone more than ten minutes – just ten minutes", she cried. "When I went back to the window I didn't see Liam. I thought he must have come inside so I called for him. When he didn't answer I just thought he was hiding – he sometimes likes to hide." The tears started to flow again and her husband reached out and put his arm around her and pulled her close. "I got so mad at him. I thought he was playing. It's all my fault", she cried.

"When did you realize he was gone", Jane asked gently, leaning forward.

"It was – after I looked and looked and couldn't find him. I went out into the back yard and that's when I saw that the gate was open. But it wasn't just open. We have it locked so Liam can't get out. The lock was broken."

"And you're sure this happened today?"

Brent nodded. "Yes. I was out there this morning and checked it. It was locked."

"So do you have any idea who would have done this or why?" Abbott asked. At that moment Vega returned with bottles of water. She placed them on the table and then sat down.

"No – none at all", Marissa Cargill answered. "We don't make a lot of money so it can't be for a ransom."

"Any enemies? What about old boyfriends, girlfriends? Anyone who holds a grudge?" Patrick looked at both of them carefully to see their reactions.

Brent frowned. "None that I know of. I mean, we all have people we don't like and vice versa, but there's no one I know who would do such a thing."

"No", Marissa shook her head. "No one. Who could have done this? Why? My poor baby."

"Do you have a picture of your son", Jane asked. He waited while Marissa opened her purse and pulled out her wallet. After fumbling for a moment she handed a picture to the consultant.

Patrick reached out for it – and then almost dropped it as soon as it touched his fingers. No on else seemed to notice and he took a deep breath. He felt strangely dizzy all of a sudden but forced himself to look down at the picture.

The smiling face of a little boy was looking up at him. Liam had blond hair and big blue eyes and an impish grin. "He's an only child", Patrick murmured.

"Yes", Brent nodded. "We wanted more but haven't been able to get pregnant."

"Liam wanted a brother or a sister", he continued, still looking down at the photo. "He's been praying for one, every night."

"Yes", Marissa breathed, suddenly staring at the consultant.

Jane nodded. "He really wants a little brother to play with, but he thinks a sister would be okay too. He also wants a puppy and he's going to name it Thor, after the Avengers."

"My God – how do you know all of this?" Brent Cargill suddenly stood up, looking down at the man still holding the picture.

"Huh?" Patrick blinked and looked up, not quite sure what was happening. "What?"

"How do you know that?" Cargill asked again.

"Know – what?"

Abbott leaned forward slightly, a puzzled frown on his face. "You just told the Cargill's some things about their son. They're wondering how you knew."

Jane got that strange feeling again and suddenly dropped the photo. "I'm sorry. I was just – guessing. I'm good at that."

"But how would you know what he wanted to name a puppy?"

"Uh – your wife said he was wearing an Avengers costume and what little boy doesn't want a puppy named Thor – or a brother?"

"Oh", Brent continued to frown, but he sat down slowly. "I thought you were going to say you were a psychic or something. I've heard the police sometimes use them and we uh - don't really believe in that sort of thing."

"No, neither do I", Patrick agreed.

Abbott regarded Jane, a strange look on his face. He noticed how pale the consultant was. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

"Hmm? Oh – yes", Patrick smiled. "I think that's all I need". He stood up slowly. "Agent Abbott will be able to help you. I'm going to go and just – uh – think about things for a minute."

"Jane?" Abbott asked, still puzzled as to what was going on.

"I – should go. You don't need me right now." He turned sharply and headed out the door, needing to get away quickly.

"Paddy! Where are you going?"

The voice of his mother stopped him cold. He was going insane, he was suddenly sure of it. He'd dreamt of her but had never had any waking visions, or in this case waking conversations.

"Where do you think you're going Patrick Alexander Jane", her voice scolded him. "You get back in there. You have to stop this! It is time you accepted who you are and help those people."

"I'm trying", he answered, leaning against the wall. "Going back in there isn't going to make any difference."

"Yes it is. You can find that little boy Paddy – before he gets hurt. You know you can. Just go and talk to them. Use your gift. You can do it."

Jane suddenly closed his eyes, feeling like he was about to pass out. Suddenly all sorts of memories and visions flooded into his mind, things he hadn't thought of in years. He remembered his mother telling him, teaching him that he had a precious gift that should only be used for good. "You see things Patrick", she'd told him gently, "things others don't see. Use that to help people. Use it carefully and never to hurt or for selfish purposes."

"But I don't wanna have it Mama", his young voice had cried. "I don't wanna be diffewent."

"But you are my son, there's no changing that. Come on – I'll help you learn to use it. My Mother had the gift as well and so did your great-grandfather."

In his mind flashed pictures of his mother helping him understand, explaining to him, showing him how to use the gift. She also made him promise not to tell his father. "It'll be our secret Paddy", she'd whispered. He now knew why that was.

Because Alex Jane did know that his son was special, although he hadn't realized how special. He simply thought Patrick was observant. As soon as his wife had died he'd begun to exploit his son for his own profit.

Jane had, at the young age of eleven, known that he had to keep his gift a secret but he'd been terrified that he couldn't – that someone, most probably his father, would find out. The only thing he'd been able to do was to shut it down, to pretend it didn't exist, to stick it in a room in his memory palace and bolt the door shut – never to be opened again.

He couldn't shut the gift down completely however, but instead had turned it into something less - less mystic. He'd claimed, at least to himself, that it was nothing more than his keen intellect, his sharp observations skills. That's all it was and that is all he used but not, like his mother had taught, for good – but for his own profit. H

It was only with the death of Angela and Charlotte that he'd realized that using his gift the way he had had led to their deaths. Once aware, he'd stopped and focused all his energies on capturing murderers – especially Red John.

But now – for some reason everything had begun to come back to him. The dreams – they were obviously the opening of the door. He began to gasp, his carefully built picture of himself beginning to crumble.

"Jane?" He heard Teresa's concerned voice and felt her hands on his back. "What is it? What's wrong?"

He stood quickly and threw his arms around her, needing her desperately – needing the safety of her presence and her love and her arms.

"No", he cried into her shoulder. "No."

"What is it? Is it the little boy?" she asked, worried. "Did they – did they find him?" She felt him shake his head no. "What is it?"

"I remembered", he whispered. "I remembered."

"Remembered what?"

"No – I don't want it. I can't – I won't."

"Jane, what is it?" she was really worried now, and also noticed they were attracting attention. "Come with me." She led him into a small interrogation room. "Now tell me, what is the matter?" She sat him down and then pulled up a chair and sat in front of him.

Jane lifted his head and she was shocked at the fear and anguish in his eyes. "I've remembered – my – my gift", he said bitterly.

What did he mean? She stared at him, worried about his reaction. "What gift Patrick?"

He laughed and leant forward, his head in his hands. "The dreams. The dreams were trying to tell me – she was telling me."

"Who?"

"My mother. Teresa, what am I going to do?"

"Patrick, I don't understand. What are you talking about? What is this gift?"

He shook his head slightly, not wanting to tell her, not wanting to face it. But he had to. A little boy's life was at stake. He slowly sat up, dropping his hands to his sides. He stared at Teresa and prayed – for the first time in many years – that she wouldn't leave him over this.

"I –", he closed his eyes. "When I was little – my mother said it started happening when I was about three years old – I would see things."

"See things? What do you mean?"

"Things that others couldn't see", he answered, his voice so low she could barely hear.

"Yes, we've all seen you do it for years", Teresa told him, still puzzled as to what was going on.

"No, you don't understand. I could see things – things that – weren't there."

"That weren't – you mean you imagined things?"

"No – they were real – just not visible."

"Patrick, I don't understand what you're trying to say."

He laughed softly, bitterly at that and stood. He walked a few feet and turned his back to her. "I could see – visions – hear people and things that weren't present. I sometimes saw things that hadn't even happened yet. It – frightened me – no it terrified me. It was my mother who explained that it ran in our family and that it wasn't something to fear, but rather something to respect. She taught me how to – use the gift – and how not to use it."

"Patrick – are you telling me – oh God, you mean that you're -"

"Psychic?" He laughed again and then turned. "Yeah, I guess so – whatever that means. Ironic, isn't it?"

"But you said you don't believe in psychics."

"I don't – didn't. At least – most of them are nothing but charlatans, con-men or women. But maybe – maybe there are a few that do have a 'gift'. My mother told me I was one of those people."

"But why did you say all these years that you didn't believe in them?"

"Because I denied it", he said simply. "After my mother died, I knew I had to hide whatever it was from my father or he'd exploit it – and that would have killed me. Instead I buried it down deep and simply used my powers of observation – I as always good at that. Unfortunately I followed in my father's footsteps and used that for personal gain." He stopped and took a deep breath. "But now – it's all coming back."

"Did something just happen to make you remember this?" she asked, knowing it must have been something.

"I – the parents of the little boy who's been kidnapped gave me a picture of him."

"And?"

"And when I touched it I could see him. It was as if I knew him."

"Wow." She regarded him closely, seeing how distressed and pale he looked. She stood and walked to him and again put her arms around him. "It'll be okay", she whispered.

"No – I can't – Teresa, I can't do this. I don't want this."

"Then lock it back up", she told him softly. "You've been able to do it for years now. Just put it away and forget it." She smiled and reached up with her hand to touch his face. "It's your choice Patrick. And whatever you decide won't matter to me. I'll still love you – psychic or not."

He leaned forward until his forehead was touching hers. "Can I? Can I just lock it back into that room and forget about it?"

"You can do whatever you want", she whispered.

He nodded and allowed himself to relax. Her words had driven the panic away. It was true – it was up to him to decide whether or not to allow his gift free reign or to put it away again and continue to use his powers of observation and deduction. After a moment of calm reflection he realized that that's exactly what he wanted. His gift really wasn't a gift at all – it was a burden – a burden he did not want.

He lifted his head and smiled down at the beautiful woman in his arms. "Thank you", he told her.

"Feeling better?" she smiled, taking this in her stride, just as she had taken so much from him over the years.

"Mmm – a bit."

"Good." She reached up slightly and kissed him. "You're a good man Patrick Jane – and whatever you decide I'm here for you."

"Thank you", he said again, this time with a bit bigger smile. "I – don't want this", he confessed. "I'm fine the way I am and I plan to stay that way so – this gets locked away again."

She nodded, feeling slightly relieved although she tried not to let him see that. She'd been honest when she said she'd be there for him whatever he did.

"But – not right now", he told her gently.

She frowned, wondering what he meant. "What do you mean?"

He closed his eyes for a second, and then opened them and looked directly at her. "We have a little boy to find and maybe I can use this – whatever it is – to find him."

"Do you think you can?"

"I don't know. It's not an exact science and it's not something I've even tried since I was a child. I don't want anyone else to know about it though, especially since it might not work."

"Of course not", she nodded. "How do you want to do it?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember back to when he was a child. He hadn't done much – his mother had protected him too well – but there had been times when things came to him anyway. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath. "I think – I think it helps to have an item that belonged to the person. Once I have that then – I'll just have to play it by ear."

"Okay – I can check with the parents. If they don't have anything with them it may mean going to their home to get something."

He nodded. "I'll wait here."

After Teresa had gone he stood there thinking of all that had happened in the last few minutes. It wasn't just remembering his abilities – his gift - he was suddenly flooded with memories of his mother. He had never realized before, but by locking everything away he'd also locked her away. He had to swallow the huge lump that appeared in his throat and blink his eyes quickly to avoid tears from falling. He'd adored his mother – she had been his life – and he was only just realizing how he'd cut her off when he'd cut off his abilities.

"That's what you were trying to tell me", he whispered. He felt a sudden flood of anger towards his father but then realized that wasn't fair. His father had been a weak and selfish man, but not an evil one. Patrick knew that his father had loved him, even if he put his own desires first. There was no point in blaming him – not now. Instead he wanted to remember his father the way he was before his mother had died. He had too many tragic memories in his past – he didn't need to add more.

He didn't want to think about this new thing – this thing with which he'd been cursed. He had a sudden memory of Kristina Frye telling him that his daughter hadn't suffered when Red John had killed her. For the first time he allowed himself to maybe believe that her words were true, that she really had spoken to Angela, that she too had a gift.

"Here." Teresa had walked in without him even realizing and he started at her voice. "Sorry", she told him with a worried frown. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine", he smiled. "You just startled me." He looked at what she had in her hand and then looked up at her. "Is that -?"

"Yes, it's Liam's. His mother had it in her purse." She handed over the small car to Jane, who put out his hand slowly, appearing reluctant to touch it. "Isn't this what you wanted?" she asked when his hand stopped inches from hers.

"Yes", he whispered. "I just – I don't know what's going to happen."

"I'm here Patrick. I'll watch out for you."

He nodded, although he didn't tell her that what he was afraid of was what he would see when he took the small toy, not what he'd do. He reached again and this time Teresa dropped the small toy car into his hand.

The feeling was immediate. It was a feeling he couldn't even describe to himself although the closest he came to it was that it felt like an electric shock running through his entire body.

He held on to the car, even though he really wanted to let it go. Instead he closed his eyes and forced himself to breath slowly. Images began to appear in his mind. At first they were fuzzy and moved too quickly for him to comprehend. Slowly, however, it was as if the film were slowing down and coming into focus. Eventually he could see something clearly. It was a small yard, with green grass and a few trees.

Suddenly a small boy buzzed past, making noises and twirling what looked like a small shield in his hand. It was Liam.

Jane watched as the little boy imagined himself in the midst of an adventure, with superheroes and villains. He made noises and shouted out at the bad guys and was clearly having a wonderful time.

He felt a momentary sadness as he remembered his daughter at about this age. It was such a precious time – a time of adventures and imagination and joy. He swallowed. There was no way he was going to let another child lose out on all the joys of childhood and then growing into adulthood.

His vision suddenly shifted and he was watching the gate. Someone reached over and pried off the lock. The next moment the door swung open and a man walked in – an average looking man with a pleasant smile on his face.

He wished he could hear – or even read the lips of the man as he spoke to Liam – but the vision again grew fuzzy. All Jane saw was the man approach the frightened looking child and then the whole scene disappeared.

"Damn it!" he muttered, blinking furiously. "Who are you? Where did you take him?"

"Jane?"

"I saw him Teresa", he turned to her. "I saw the man but I didn't recognize him and I don't know exactly what happened. This isn't helping at all!" he cried.

"Yes it is. You saw him – that's a start. We'll get a sketch artist in here and you can describe him. Maybe the parents will recognize him."

"That'll take too long!" he paced around the small room. "Why can't I figure this out? What good is this if all I see are glimpses?"

"Patrick stop!" Teresa stood in front of him and held his arms. "You have to stop this. You know that it always takes you a while to figure things out. That's normal. Don't let this – this thing you have get in the way of what you know you can do. You're brilliant and figuring things out – not by seeing visions, but by using your mind. So use it. Use your powers of reason and deduction to figure it out and forget about the visions. Be the person whose solved dozens – hundreds – of cases because of that, not because he's a psychic."

He stared at her, his chest heaving with deep and quick breaths. After a few seconds his breathing slowed until eventually he was calm. He then nodded. "You're right." He gave a crooked smile. "I'd better not start getting caught up in all of the things I've denied for so many years. I'll just use good old fashioned -"

"- Jane sense", Teresa said smiling.

He grinned at that. "Jane sense – I like that."

"Yes, well, it's much better than nonsense – which is what you pull out sometimes."

"Ouch! Come on Mrs. Jane – let's solve this crime!"