Chapter 16
Thankyou LouiseKurylo for a warm welcome. Your reviews always help me with clarity and trying to write in better ways.
This is a favourite episode of mine, a turning point (that's what i like to think) between Jane and Lisbon snd the team's relationship. Enjoy!
The quote elaborates about the part of the episode where these insights start.
I do not own The Mentalist and make no money from this.
Season 2 Episode 3
"It's been dry this fall, huh? No rain." Jane smiles.
"Like tinder.." Says Lisbon.
"That's why those ants are looking for moisture wherever they can find it." Jane points.
"Then why aren't the ants in the wet stinky dumpsters?", mutters Lisbon.
I have a desire to cut down this dreaded task of Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt going dumpster- diving for the mysterious body. It's amazing sometimes to think that I experience a level of comfort with the po-pos no less. But then if it hadn't been Lisbon, Cho, Rigsby or Van Pelt, then I would like to think this would never have happened. My old acquaintances from the nomadic life would have scoffed, disbelieved if I ever admitted as such. I must be careful not to. But it doesn't take away the pure joy of the banter Lisbon and I share. Reminds me of a grizzly bear alongside a crane whose leg is raised, don't know why. Don't want to.
Lisbon, always resilient, poo-poos at my attempt to avoid getting her hands dirty and wants to get donuts after seeing the dead body of a convicted pedophile. I get it though, wouldn't waste much breath mourning this one's death… Me, I don't feel particularly like eating. The second- hand cigar smoke and line in between Lisbon's eyebrows is quite irksome. Can't put a finger on what it is but something unsettling niggles in the red-bricked corner.
"Name as many 20th century presidents as you can." Jane's soothing voice slides.
"Coolidge, Wilson, Roosevelt, Eisenhower, Truman, Kennedy, Nixon, LBJ." Recites Lisbon.
"Good, take another breath in… and out." Says Jane.
My breath is synchronised completely with Lisbon's. I have known her every single day of the seven and a quarter years since we have met. By this time, I am more than well aware of a person who's such a part of my regular life, in a capacity that I can map their future actions and have answers that guide their lives. In my 'pretend psychic' days, I would generally try to steer most money from their banks and sprinkle a little bit of a placebo effect on personal wishes in their general perspectives towards life. It has always been infallible that I catch hold of one link in their vertebrae and the entire network follows into illumination. There have never been exceptions to this rule - not even Angela. The anomaly has never occurred to be a bother. I try to keep my finger on the pulse of this green-eyed saint. It is a bewitching spell, hard to dismiss. I know that the tempest inside her gives power to get through any crisis that makes the mistake to stand in her path, but it's too personal a revelation to present her at this stage. Makes me feel uneasy because it pokes of immorality. It's a secret I will take to my miserable grave if need be.
"Our minds are in sync. In fact, right now, I'm feeling something, I'm getting it right now. It's a nickname- Saint Teresa. How come you never told me how you know Agent Bosco?", Jane fires rapidly.
As for anyone else, I weave and lay a trap for Lisbon to fall through in case she has struggled to be dishonest. But I needn't labour over taking up circuitous routes, her expressions are written in every line that falls over the face. It almost makes me feel guilty for doubting her. It might have been her strict professionalism that sees everything objectively, which could've stopped from divulging into their shared history. I expect after my irate departure from the conversation when the Red John case was taken away, they must have had a tiny exchange that revealed their association. Of course, the key to me worming back into the investigation was ironically right in front of my nose.
Van Pelt confronts her of being a superhero with a secret identity, the admiration breaks out of all professional walls and brims, soaking Lisbon, easily brushed off like dust by her humble modesty. She is embarrassed to recollect the case that 'made' her career. I hurry to turn a corner of my mouth downward lest I appear to have been smiling. The report I had read is easy recollection but Bosco rudely interrupts us. It's not just the barb about putting together an act that stabs me, there's something else but I don't try to peek into that well. Lisbon's strangely intimate reply sours my mouth a bit. Bosco's 'for old times sake' is another painfully provocative jab. A day where irritation keeps piling. I need to get out of here, fast.
"Those charges in San Francisco were totally bogus, anyway. That b*tch cop had it in for him. A vendetta is what Bill called it."
Given three, no a mere one and a half minutes I can shear her off to shreds, like tearing into soft freshly baked bread. I wanted to get away from the vexation but it still follows me here. Her brother interrupts and it's a chance to breathe in an endeavour, calm. Then Mcteer's motive to remain with this self-loathing woman comes running in, finally. I take in Grace's horrified glance. I acknowledge unmoved, vigilant. Grace's assumptions about grooming and the extent of abuse need alleviating so I'm relieved after finishing a chat with the fiancé's little girl.
"Lately, he had been asking to take Emily away on an over-night trip, maybe camping. A little father-daughter bonding. He'd been pressuring you to say yes, just a little. But just enough to start to nag you. A tiny little scratching nag that maybe what you felt deep down was right- that William Mcteer was too good to be true." Deconstructs Jane.
I forgo gentility or sympathy. She already has good instincts but her arc of self-destruction- a relic from her own abusive childhood spurs most of her choices in men. She knows she shouldn't do it but goes ahead to do that precise thing. I tell her any normal person deserves another one instead of imposing a destructive, self-fulfilling prophecy. It's evident that she loves her child and that softens my words automatically. But I do ignore her chin pushed up defiantly in the air, hiding a treacherous tremble, so does Grace. Because there was simply no need to have sworn in Lisbon's name!
Tanya needs to do better or at least pretend for the girl's sake.
"Hey, everybody. Huh, well, I bet you wish you wore some gloves, huh?"
"So you have some input here?" Growls Bosco.
"No, just nosy…" Jane declares flippantly.
Looks like they were just about to start, now I regret wasting time after McTeer's fiancé. There's something wrong with this picture, it has been right from the beginning, can't figure it out. Yet. Lisbon takes my insouciant joke very sportively, if I may say so. When they ask her a question she knows is coming, Lisbon tries to hide what she really did. Strange. I hurry to assuage her confusion and agitation stemming from probably the absence of memory and Bosco's unrelenting gaze.
"Is anybody going to go after this case as hard as us? I don't think so." Cho tries to set a tone.
"Well, you're assuming Lisbon didn't kill him. What if she did kill him? What would you do?", says Jane.
If I believed in a god, I would swear on him that I would let Lisbon go if she had actually killed him. There's a faint scratch that comes with this decision, always a possibility in the future that she might kill another particularly grotesque criminal or worse but I vacuum the thought the out. Her heartbeat stopped a second when they asked to do a polygraph, strange if she's sure she didn't do it but also her exasperated walk out of Minelli's office was a sign of innocence. Talk about mixed signals… Cho's admiration has risen well above the average after reading Lisbon's articles and he has an iron sense of loyalty so his concurrence to let Lisbon get away scot-free is easily predictable. Van Pelt's is surprising but obvious when you think about it, she would go to battle, spear, shield and horse for Lisbon. The only real female role-model she has had in her life, as of yet, Grace can't afford to lose her. That Lisbon is a person the people close to her wouldn't want to lose, is no surprise, a warm fact. Rigsby has the same vein as well but he would rather she pay for her crimes than have a guilty conscience for the rest of her life, Lisbon does seem very in line with this premise. I am selecting the team's cards to avoid reading my own because I'm afraid of the personal prejudice that might cloud my judgement. So I wait to let the final conviction form later, possibly never.
"Now this is insulting. You gonna continue lying to me?", presses Jane.
Lisbon gives in, "I can't remember…"
I'm relieved that she can't lay on a good deception, even now. This is what I wanted. It's more comfort that she thinks it strange that the memory's a blur. Lisbon's folding of cards has given strength in my veins and now I can handle everything that comes after. I ask for permission to put her under, for the allowance is important, gives me a better chance and I wouldn't feel guilty as opposed to simply doing it here and now. Her habit of intense privacy is another mark of an innocent person. But she needs to be sure, the team requires it. I bury my own need far away. I should be the least affected, can't keep a hold of my objective frame. A thought connected to the well, the existence of which I want to collapse away, tries to enter but I refuse the ingress. I should thrive here but the word 'strange' keeps on barging and takes a seat in the corner of my mind, smoking rings of pipe.
"It's kind of a mess" Lisbon opens door to her tiny flat.
"Not at all. It's nice. I like those pictures."
"Those are mostly from the last tenants."
Lisbon has hit dead ends and dead air at the end of the phone line, she has so desperately wanted to grasp as a lifeline. She voluntarily went to the shrink whom she hated with such ferocity, I would have thought she would much have preferred my gentle allusion and guess to his persistent vexing stings. The day has strung high, her nerves in progression. A simple failure to recall has messed with the innate self-confidence she has built over there years. Her growing desperation and anxiety only force a cloud of composed serenity in my mind. Three young faces peep. I suppose Lisbon misses her brothers but hasn't been to visit since years on account of either the work she has taken upon herself or a sense of personal guilt of the past. I rue the latter knowledge and bury it. I know later, I will regret entering her sanctuary, Minelli's 'Kool-aid' comment is still fresh but right now, I am gluttonous, ravenous, voracious and this is a cornucopia.
"No. I'm not going to hypnotise you Lisbon. You're, you're too stressed." Says Jane.
"What? Are you kidding me?" Protests Lisbon tiredly.
How long have I known that the easiest way to put Lisbon in a trance is always telling her it's not going to happen? It has been refrained upon, this temptation, to be indulged in, for years. I always try not to scratch the itch but it's there, evermore because as solemn the emeralds in her eyes are, the fact that there depths are unknown, is always the elephant in the circus. But now that an opportunity has presented itself, I can't help but be on air for a second. She's under within five, putty for me. It's a dangerously delirious predicament. I must exercise this with caution, no need to have needless peeks into the well of abyss. If an acquaintance would have been present by some miracle, they would have noticed how the pat is unusual, but this is Lisbon. I have a feeling that the anomaly I had been catching since the start, is about to vanish off the face of the earth.
"The new guy in the mailroom is hot." Admits Lisbon.
"Is he? Let's fast-forward a little." Says Jane hastily.
There's an irk but I shirk it off. I have given her what she always craves for- control, because in a way it is true. She is the one exercising it. The Spice Girls quirk is just a tender morsel to file away but I do it carefully nevertheless. She's speaking her mind here. The reason and atmosphere is too serious to relish anything. Maybe later. She's obviously toughest on Van Pelt because she cares enough. Then the stumbling starts.
"I can count on you not to tell anybody about this, right? On the team?" Pled Lisbon.
"Oh, Lisbon! Hey…", Jane tried to comfort.
"Jane I just need you to leave, okay? Could you just, could you please go?", Lisbon asked.
The blank inside her memory took my hypothesis to a new location. In my own speculations, I didn't see that it was all taking a toll Lisbon's confidence. Saliva fills my mouth in regret. My jaw is locked shut but I try to animate it in a movement of comfort for Lisbon. It's pathetic and awkward, my gesture but it isn't needed. Lisbon needs her own space, the shutters close down, almost kicking me out. I curse at myself almost hundred times a day but this time it's for real. This is Lisbon, her tears are earnest, almost like a lost little child. Today, I hate myself for another reason. I should have noticed it quickly. The drug they used, when I find this person, I would love to have my sweet time of revenge and make him dance to my beat. But this person would have to be near her either mandatorily or friendly. I will know for sure when the trap is laid. But there's an irrational part of me that hopes it's the shrink. He always put Lisbon in a horrible mood and I hated his cigar smoke on her.
"What's that? Lisbon?", says Jane.
"She's freaking out." Says Rigsby. "Oh come on, it's just Lisbon…" Jane waves away.
And then the chair smashes over her cabin window. I must say, didn't see that coming. But this is merely a tiny part of the storm inside, out in the physical form. I won't ever admit as much to Lisbon, she would hate it. But Bravo! What a performance! Hits a nerve and also sells everything beautifully. A fun little trap this is turning out to be! If anyone is observing Cho's stance and muscle form, he isn't putting much force into restraining her. The consideration is appropriate even in these circumstances. His gentleness makes me wonder if I should have let the team in on it. Bosco seems ready to fly off the hook, completely buying the primitive reaction, a mistake he can't afford to show or make, here. I hold our secret happily, cat with cream.
"Well what did she say, exactly?" Says Minelli.
"Well, I didn't actually talk to her. She... she wouldn't let me in." Answers Jane.
"You're worried about her." States Minelli.
It's part of the strange feeling, what Minelli only guesses but for completely wrong reasons. I am angry for whoever has framed Lisbon. I want to nail them firmly and punish thoroughly. It makes me rise, remembering how she cried in a place she's supposed to feel safe. Those are the reasons that I am laying this trap for. Is that worry? Concern? I never wanted to be in this position again. Ever. I pause. I suppose worry for a person who's part of your team is legitimate, human even. So that is what this is. I accept it, maybe slyly reserving the right to retract it later…
"Surrender Dororthy, we got you. Brilliant, though. Made Lisbon come back week after week." Crows Jane.
Victory. Glee. Triumph. I snatch these goddesses everyday but this one is thrice more powerful. Very satisfied that my groundless hunch turned out to be spot on. It's a sight to behold, Lisbon in her high school Baseball jersey, the tiny hurricane arresting a man twice her size at least… You don't get to see that everyday.. Besides, very satisfying to watch.. I can only imagine what filth he must have spewed to Lisbon in lieu of her childhood traumas, the blank confusion and utter pain she must have suffered be it for only a moment, only interred in it's aftermath.
"Not interrupting anything now, am I?" Strides in Jane.
Woah, woah, hold up your horse, Bosco. Ah, of course, the worry, the intimacy, he seems a man of restrained passion, Samuel, old school, can't help it, but there's just so much of it for Lisbon that in moments like these, it can't help but spill out. The hand on the cardboard, I should've gotten it way before. The Red Jon case is reason enough to hold a grudge but I sit on the fence for this, besides, it's sort of personal. I thought I could put the irritation past, miles behind but there's still some left, just near the well. I turn away. But trace a step back, sneak a peak. Lisbon, eating a humongous bite of Marie's Donuts and replacing all her things in the cabin she has worked for till her life right now. A wonderful, liberating sight. A sight I fought to keep, a vision, tender that I bury away in the well of abyss.