Chapter 22

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.

"Would you tell us why and how a psychic becomes a CBI agent?", poses the interviewer.

"I'm not a psychic. No such thing as Psychics", says Jane as he picks a fight with the camera. Lisbon cuts in, "And he's not a CBI agent. He's a consultant. Big difference."

Jane wrestles his hands with themselves.

"No such things as psychics, care to elaborate?", wonders the interviewer.

Pause.

I see the Red light and a vermillion mania blooms, stretches and unfurls, pumping ferociously along with my heart beat. Sweat has sprouted over my palms, salt water that I haven't manifested by controlling any bio-feedback. This nondescript person with hair indistinguishable from blonde or brown has his hands at my throat. His throttle vanishes when I try to breathe. The ruthless wire around my tongue has grown along every other limb and can easily smash this camera's lens, maybe the entire equipment. Right now, it merely squeezes my skin, I bleed gladly. So I throw an excuse I can't understand, only for Lisbon's benefit and try to walk upright till a chair in the bullpen. No idea how many grains of sand have fallen but simple deep breaths are only piercing my chest so I swing arms as nonchalantly as I can to the men's washroom which is thankfully on another floor. It is paramount that notice escapes me.

Only when I empty my abdomen and maybe some half of my bowels in addition, does an uneasy shaky relief come. Why did I agree to this? I had assumed that this stage had already passed by but here come the shivers again. Exhaustion makes my body go through it again and again, perhaps once again.

Since the CBI bathrooms are always out of tissues, I have kept a habit of handkerchiefs. Today's pastel blue is soaked as I inspect my face for any moisture. The shirt sleeve will have to do for now. Can't go and remove my coat for the whole day, I remind myself. My stomach feels heavy when it has nothing in it. The lines on my reflection spell- War.

I go to it.

Jane scoffs, " 'I am legion', that's just silly…"

Mayor Shannon slices, "Silly? He murdered Martha!"

Jane replies, "Well you assume,.."

The Mayor steamrolls, "Yes, I do. The body was buried at the site for god's sake. Is that not a clear sign?"

What's clear to me is that Melba here is more capable of homicide than this 'eco activist/terrorist Jasper, who just might be a local college kid with particular love for highbrow enunciation masqueraded by threats. Melba, dear Melba, started out with intention good enough but the system was too corrupt and now power and money are the only desires that dance in her eyes. Shame, she could have worked on her young naïve dreams with the level of experience she has in politics. The urge to goad, prick and sting or prod, itches and I care not to restrain it, especially now. I get comfortable on Melba's desk and disregard Lisbon's head hung low, the only warning that makes me inject any civility with this shark. It is such essential fun as stimulus gets a rise out of Melba, like the toast, pretence of affability now in tatters, but Lisbon pulls me back before I get too far. So I heed but not before slipping the pink note in my vest. Outside, when Lisbon accuses me of needing medication, it hits too close so I have her ricochet. I can't afford to let it show, even to Lisbon.

"Do you enjoy police work?", asks the interviewer.

Long pause. "Patrick?", asks Brewster.

Irritated, Jane says, "Uh yeah, I'm thinking. Uh, mm, yes and no… Uh sometimes… Sometimes not…"

Brewster rolls his eyes away, "Forget it Steve."

I thought my leather couch would be a better place where answers could fly from wit to tongue, a bit easier; if only the Red Light was out of my sight, if only this guy would not possess such a journalistic vulture's tone- why was he carrying on like this anyway?! Brewster assuming and analysing about my character, the team's state of nature as a whole, it rasps, scrapes and gnaws. If he only just stays still for a day to understand what sort of dynamics we share as people and as professionals instead of barging in like a peacock, would it not serve his purposes better? If his attitude and the eerie red light hadn't irked my cautious facade, he would have known why we 'as a team' don't like answering questions… Lisbon has set a tone from the beginning, even before I entered, and for better or for worse, we have been relieved (though Grace did try to break the wall to the personal as she still does). Lisbon's boundaries are used albeit, now flexibly, we have built our circle- Brewster or his cameraman Steve are simply not in it, they've hardly tried to understand the works and he has the nerve to roll his eyes and display derision.

I give him back spades and a due before I exit. But it isn't time for curtain yet, so my mouth sours.

"I know it hasn't been the most pleasant experience having a camera crew here. But you gotta co operate, deputy AG's orders.", Lisbon draws the line, placating.

Jane mutters, "I know, I know… Yeah."

"So what's the deal? You know I would think out of everybody, you would be the most comfortable with the cameras."

The Red Light is switched off right now. I killed it. Damn, I had hope that control could be sought, I could get through the day… So I follow Lisbon to doom, a lecture or a scolding, She has choice of range… But what she says in her unlit office, the absolute absence of malice or irritation even anger, it all undoes me.

When Lisbon is like this, when all she sees are the parts I let her and she finds even appeal, some sliver of worth in them, the depth of this awareness, the sorrow hits swift like the beat of a hummingbird wing, incessant and profound. It's in these tiny pieces of time that I feel overwhelmed even as my eyes turn to flint, my chin points haughtily refusing to admit defeat, denying the truth of what I think or feel. I look at the green no emerald could match, filled with faith in my person and certainty in my character, therefore incomprehension on her brow, so my own admission lands like the homeward flock of birds touching feet on a branch in the evening only to fly away and continue their journeys. The stone in my eye has crumbled so has the fragile point of chin. Her sympathy allows nothing except an apology. Though she has no cause to say them, their truth cuts me in double edges; I feel relieved and a savage gladness that she couldn't guess until I told her but the sincerity snaps me back to myself. Not her fault, never her fault; if she can look at me this way then I can always do better, be better, be worthy.

While I rush to offer an olive branch to Brewster and Steve, I wonder if the tinge of bitterness sitting in my throat, is regret at the admission or yearning for the unknown...

"No ransom. In actuality, just a simple message. I did NOT kill Martha St. Clare or throw that bomb in Krupp's office.", J rushes in agitation.

Oh dear. Wilson of the nervous hand at chest, assistant to Melba-like-the-toast Walker, I completely understand the anxiety gnawing him, poor guy he has no intention of killing me, he really does want to 'relay' a word. In the moment I kind of admire him for picking this dangerous position of stealing food from the shark's jaw and showing her human disguise… I feel bad that he slipped up and revealed himself so my guard slips a bit as well. For a moment, all is touch and go but I think how low chances are that the team will find me so I snatch calm and project it on Wilson.

The adrenaline has, I admit, been much needed. It's cleared the way to look correctly into this case… And since he has taken all this trouble to insert himself in the investigation and all, I intend to have my fun, just this once, in front of the camera, no less.

"How did you come to work at the CBI?", asks Brewster.

"You know how.", replies Jane curtly.

"Yes, but I need you to say it for the… camera.", rushes Brewster.

"I see, got it…", sighs Jane.

Other than the statement of fact, I stop, spurn the fake speech prepared earlier and begin to test out my theory. I take pleasure in it, delight and amusement much deserved, for how dare this man remain hidden from the camera lens and ask me to stay in my vulnerabilities much less display them for furthering his own career prospects?! With each word that disarms him, I see fear writhing with a thought that he could still get away from this, with his crime tucked and buried. Too little too late, Brewster. I am not letting go until a confession and today, I have an instinct that even the great Hermes will be tricked at my snap of finger and thumb. So what are you…

The tape, I lay claim in front of everyone, unhesitant. I want even one person on the scene to fight me, but no one says anything as I stride away thinking tonight is going to be more difficult than most others.

"No, you're not. A sexual relationship between fellow bureau agents is strictly against the rules." Stresses Lisbon.

"Which is why we kept it a secret." Grace says earnestly.

"But we don't wanna live a lie anymore, come what may.", Wayne stutters, also earnest.

"Well, it's a big secret well kept." Sniggers Jane.

Light bubbles seat me and we take off to see a porcelain blue...The glance I share with Cho is one of the few truly amusing moments in our almost seven years… I have not known the pleasure of sharing a mental landscape with anyone, such a forgotten delight. Lisbon's glare and general waves of vexation are well anticipated though I admit I have no knowledge of what she'll do next.

What I would give to be in such happy trifles… The two ghosts waiting in the curtain less window at home are not forgotten.