Title: Charlotte's Web (Chapter 57)
Rating: M for graphic violence and language
Fandom: The Mentalist
Summary: Patrick Jane has lived his life obsessed with the capture of Red John ever since finding his beloved wife and daughter slain by the maniac's hand. Now, 10 years to the day after that horrific night, a young woman appears in Patrick's life, someone who threatens to destroy everything his life has become in the interim… if not his sanity, itself.
Author's Note: Glad you guys are still hanging in till the end and I am glad this story still continues to entertain you guys. Thanks so much for the faithful reviews. -Lex
"It's only when you've lost someone that you realize the nonsense of that phrase "It's a small world". It isn't. It's a vast, devouring world, especially if you're alone."
― Clive Barker, Books of Blood: Volume Two
"The demon's target is not the possessed; it is us the observers..everyone in this house. I think the point is to make us despair..to reject our humanity: to see ourselves as ultimately bestial, vile and putrescent; without dignity; ugly; unworthy."
― William Peter Blatty, The Exorcist
Friday, August 1st, 2014
Charlotte went back to school. Jane suspected she was bored at home, bored and feeling lost. She took her ativan PRNs to school in a push pop candy tube after Jane phoned the school staff and explained his daughter's embarassment at having to carry meds with her. They phoned back and told him they understood, but the meds needed to come in an actual medication container with the standard child-safety lid and be stored in the nurse's office. It was a legal thing.
Jane took some of the medication in their original container and Charlie carried two 1 mg sublingual ativan tablets with her in a tiny pill bottle that had originally been an altoids mint tin.
She was trying so hard. Every day, she was trying to get through the day, to find meaning, to find stability and a sense of safety. She bitched about school, of course, and her teachers, and random kids in the classroom who said stupid things and wasted time, but Jane knew that bitching was part of the acting tough routine and normal for teenagers, so he endured it in good spirits.
He went back to consulting with the CBI from home and finally, on August 1st, went back to the office for half days to consult on local cases. His informal arrangement with Lisbon and the higher ups was that he'd only take cases that would allow him to get back to Charlotte and her school in the event of a "SNAFU" (situation normal all fucked up) within an hour. Any more than that and Jane began to feel too nervous. More than an hour's driving distance from his kid felt too unpredictable.
"Jane!" Van Pelt said brightly as he stepped into the bull pen of the CBI and their division. His couch was decked out with a brand new fleece throw and comfy looking pillows.
Jane grinned back at Van Pelt, wandered around the bull pen, picking up shit off the desks and reaquainting himself with the space.
"Hi, Grace," he said finally, like a man waking from a dream.
She got up from her desk and floated over to him, wrapped him in a friendly hug. Rigsby wandered over, too, grinning. Even Cho, sitting at his desk, had a distinct Cho-smile on his face.
"We've missed you, Jane," Van Pelt said, finally releasing Jane from the hug.
"I've missed you guys, too."
"How's Charlie?" Rigbsy asked hopefully as Jane wandered over ot his couch, inspected the throw pillow (it was Walking Dead-themed and obviously purchased to make Charlotte feel included when and if Jane decided to bring her into the CBI for visits). Jane grinned brightly at the gift, picked up one of the throw pillows which had been photo-printed with images Jane had sent to Lisbon over email. High-quality photos of Charlie and Dixon, two pillows. The Charlotte pillow featured his kid with a Dairy Queen spoon in her mouth, wearing a ball cap turned around, eyes lit up like pinball machine lights, face red with stiffled laughter. The Dixon pillow showed Dixon as a very young puppy, head tilted to the side, waiting a command from Jane with eager attentive love.
"This is great, guys," Jane said, actually smelling one of the pillows. They smelled good. Some sort of Febreze spray, mildly vanilla scented.
"That was Cho's idea," Rigsby said, nodding the couch. Cho ignored the comment, pretended to do paper work.
"Really?" Jane said, amused. "Really, Cho?"
"Your kid needs to feel accepted when she comes in here. I'm not chasing her around again, I'm too old for that shit," Cho said simply, but the corners of his mouth tweaked.
"I know you love us," Jane taunted, still grinning.
"So, Charlotte is back at school?" Van Pelt asked, almost shyly, drifted over to her desk and sat down. It was catch up time.
"Yeah. Not entirely happy about it, but I think she was becoming bored out of her mind at home and just didn't want to admit to it."
"I can see staying home all day watching Dexter being more than a little boring after awhile," Van Pelt agreed. Taped up on the wall next to her computer was a drawing Charlotte had done for her which Lisbon had brought Grace. It was Dexter Morgam from the Showcase series "Dexter" drawn in Anime style, holding a bloody knife in one hand and his infant son Harrison in the other. Written in dripping blood words above the scene were the words "Van Pelt, you're as cool as DEXTER".
"That's a little weird," Jane said, nodding his head at the Dexter drawing.
"Well, I know she means well," Van Pelt said good naturedly. Jane smiled back.
"Look who's back!" It was Lisbon. She had come into the bullpen suddenly, was looking around at her team, amused. Jane was still sitting on his couch, spinning the photo-printed cushion of Charlie in both his hands, smiling. Lisbon crossed the room to Jane, hugged him, kissed his cheek.
Even Cho smiled at that.
"You got her to go back? I didn't know you were coming in today. I thought you said Monday?"
"I figured I'd surprise you. Plus, I was going a bit crazy just sitting at home, riffling through my kids shit. Felt myself getting a little too close to throwing out all those nicotine juices, too."
"She's still using the vape?" Van Pelt asked from her desk, sounding mildly disappointed.
Jane nodded. "And the nicotine strength has gone up to 12 mgs. I found 4 new flavours too. Do you know they make an Oreo cookies flavour?"
"No shit?" Rigsby said, sounding excited, even though he didn't smoke or vape.
"No shit," Jane confirmed. "And people still act like the vaping industry isn't targeting kids."
"To be fair, if I used nicotine products, I might try Oreo cookies flavour," Rigsby murmured.
"To be fair, if somebody made it, you'd probably eat Oreo flavoured arsenic," Cho said dryly. Rigsby scowled.
"I thought you were going to stop dogging me when Jane got back?" Rigsby shot back.
"Okay, guys," Lisbon interrupted, unsuccessfully hiding a grin. "I know we're all excited Jane is back to enrich our lives, but we still have a psychopath using arson to cover murder to catch..."
"Arson and murder, huh?" Jane said, grinning a little too wide for comfort. "What do you want to bet our guy has a history of wetting the bed?"
Rigsby grinned. Cho shook his head, amused.
"You wanna come out in the field with us or hang out with Van Pelt and man the phones?" Lisbon asked Jane as she went to the coat rack and got her coat.
"It's local, right?"
"Local enough," Lisbon hedged.
"Sorry Van Pelt, but I am dying for a field trip," Jane said, finally putting the cushion with Charlotte's face on it back in its original spot.
"It's okay," Van Pelt sighed. "Cho is staying here with me..."
"Why? Does this case involve witchcraft?" Jane gloated, shooting a look at Cho.
"Very funny," Cho murmured.
"He's grounded," Rigsby told Jane, getting up to follow Lisbon. "Excessive force charge."
"Tsk, tsk," Jane mumbled, rubbing his pointer fingers together in the universal childhood symbol of shame. "You guys really did miss me."
Cho ignored Jane, Jane smiled anyway, and then Jane was following Lisbon and Rigsby to the elevators, then down to Lisbon's car. Time to hunt bad guys who weren't Red John.
Charlotte was fidgeting in her chair. Jane had bought her some kick bands off amazon, rubber bands that looped over the bottom of the chair legs which let her feet kick and fidget. She also had a fidget cube and a spinner and a weighted lap pad (according to the reviews, it helped to make kids on the autistic spectrum feel more grounded and secure, but seemed to help also with ADHD and anxiety issues).
Her teacher was rambling on about their upcoming book reports.
"You guys are all improving a lot, but there is no excuse for not checking for simple grammar errors and spelling mistakes," Mrs. Brannen said, writing "grammar and spelling counts" on the board in capital letters.
"No shit," Charlotte said louder than she needed to, and clicked buttons on her fidget cube, agitated.
She felt on edge. She knew it was anxiety. It was still hard.
"Charlotte, we're all very glad you're back and we know you have been under a lot of stress lately, but the rules concerning profanity in this class haven't changed," Mrs. Brannen said from the front of the class. Charlotte rolled her eyes, eventually nodded.
"Sorry," Charlotte murmured. She had a personal aide now, a young woman named Julie who was sitting next to her chair to watch her and help her when she became frustrated or overly anxious or seemed like she might want to go for an impromptu run.
"Okay, guys, so you should all be at least half way through your books by now, and have a basic idea of the plot and what your author is trying to convey in the story... that is, for the students reading fiction," Mrs. Brannen said, looking over at Charlotte. "If you're reading non-fiction..."
"Only Charlotte is reading non-fiction," a pale, sullen boy with dark hair named Alex said from the front of the class.
"If you're reading non-fiction," Mrs. Brannen continued, ignoring the outburst, "you should have a decent understanding of the subject matter being discussed in your book and be able to provide a coherent overview of that subject matter. Instead of writing about the traits fictional characters, I expect a brief overview of at least 1000 words on the background and history of the author and their credentials, as well as a coherent summary of their beliefs with regards to the subject they have written about..."
Charlotte had chosen to write her book review on "Man's Search for Meaning" by Viktor Frankl and logotherapy.
"These book reports should end up being no fewer than 2,000 words," Mrs. Brannen continued on from the board, "and show that you have each been working on your individualized vocabulary word lists and have an actual understanding of what each of your level six words actually means..."
One kid at the front of the class barked out "2,000 words!" in alarm and the teacher ignored him.
Charlotte's mind wandered. She already knew more or less what she wanted to say with her report and knew she could plow through it in a single evening, if needed. No problem.
The class continued to stretch on. Patrick was back on the CBI, and even though he had promised to only do "local" cases, the idea that he might wander a little out of what Charlie considered to be the "local" area nagged at her.
What if he got hurt on a case? What if he pissed off the wrong person and he got shot? Her mind kept coming up with scary possibilities, and the more she thought of them, the more nervous and fidgetty she got.
Finally her aide broke through her thoughts.
"Charlotte, I think we need to take a break, okay? Let's go for a run outside or shoot some hoops."
"Yeah," Charlotte mumbled, nodding.
"You want to run or play HORSE?"
Charlotte thought of Patrick approaching some random psycho, saw random psycho pulling a knife from their pocket and sticking it cleanly through one of Patrick's eyes before he could get out of the way. Could hear Lisbon in her daydream gasp and then begin to scream.
"Run," the teenager finally said, legs still hammering on the kick bands.
"Okay, let's go get your running shoes," Julie prompted patiently.
"Patrick went back to work today," Charlotte mumbled, and started her spinner spinning again.
"Yes, I know," Julie responded. "Come on, let's go for a run."
"What if somebody stabs him in the throat because he pisses them off?" Charlotte wondered aloud.
"Charlotte," Julie coaxed, voice firm, "we're going to go running now."
"Yeah," Charlotte acquiesced, and got out of her chair, wandered over to her cubby (essentially a locker without a door or lock), and grabbed her shoes.
Jane had just reached the crime scene with Lisbon and Rigsby and was approaching a badly-burned body on the ground cordoned off by local cops when his cell phone went off. The ring tone was a tinny version of the Walking Dead theme. He immediately answered the call.
"Hey, kiddo," he started.
"Patrick," Charlotte said, breathing hard.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I just went for a run because Julie thought I was distracting other kids with my fidgetting. Are you at a crime scene right now?"
"Yes," Jane said dutifully. Lisbon was watching his side of the conversation with a curious look on her face.
"Don't piss off anybody. Sometimes you piss people off, and if you piss off the wrong person, maybe they will stab you, or kill you," Charlotte said speedily. Jane nodded, even though Charlie couldn't see, and turned his back on the blackened corpse on the ground.
"I won't piss anybody off today, okay?"
"I think you're lying," Charlotte muttered.
"Charlotte, I'll be fine, okay?"
"What if you get hurt?"
"I'm not going to get hurt. Besides, Lisbon is here with me to make sure I am all safe and sound and snug as a bug in a rug," Jane said, grinning over at Lisbon. She smiled back but rolled her eyes a little bit at his comment.
"I want to talk to Lisbon," Charlotte said sternly, not satisifed with her father's glib responses. Jane's grin grew bigger and he shook his head, held the phone out to Lisbon.
"Lisbon, Charlotte wants to talk with you," Jane said, passing the cell to Lisbon. He watched Lisbon take the phone immediately, listen patiently for what seemed an awfully long time, occasionally looking back at Jane and nodding, a smile growing on her lips, now, too.
"Oh, I know he can be," Lisbon said, voice controlled and serious and Jane's eyebrows shot up.
"Yes, I promise to make sure he behaves," Lisbon said earnestly, directing her comment more to Jane than Charlotte.
There was another extended beat of silence as Charlotte chattered away back on her end. Lisbon kept nodding.
"I promise to shoot anybody who threatens his safety, yes," Lisbon said with as much self control as she could. Jane shot her a thumb's up sign.
"Yes, I know you love him. Yes, Charlie, I love him too. Yes, I will protect him with my life. Yes... yes, I am sure Rigsby will, too. Yes, I am sure Rigsby loves him."
Finally Lisbon hung up on the call, passed the cell back to Jane. Jane's expression was annoyingly perky and amused. Rigsby was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing and watching his feet between amused glances at both Jane and Lisbon.
"Your daughter wants you to behave so nobody stabs you in the throat or lights you on fire," Lisbon said, mildly amused. Rigsby, who hand wandered over for the last half of Lisbon's conversation blurted out "Holy shit!" and got a slight nod from Lisbon.
"Your kid, Jane... she's.. she has a pretty dark imagination, huh?" Rigsby said to Jane, and looked back at Lisbon as if confirming he wasn't out of line.
"She's a little scamp, that's for sure," Jane admitted. And then it was back to work.
The day went by in what felt like Jane to be a flicker of the eye. He interviewed several eye witnesses to one of the latest attacks, including a 9 year old who was related to one of the deceased and claimed a "man dressed in black" had run away from the apartment complex he lived in as he arrived home from a video game store and saw his balcony burst into flames.
"The man in black" bit hit Jane a little too hard, and he thought of Charlotte's desperate claims that a man in black had been following her around San Diego. He was intellectually certain this case had nothing to do with Red John or any of his so-called "eyes", but still, thoughts of Charlotte lingered.
The boy in question had been living with an abusive step-father, now deceased. His mother had died years earlier of a suspected drug overdose. No real loss here, but the kid's expression was still downcast and lonely.
Unlike the other murders, the abusive stepfather- now turned into a smoking, fatty blackened lump on the ground- had been removed from the crime scene somehow and dragged into the park. Strange, because police and fire had been there almost immediately, which supported Jane's initial theory that the man had been killed elsewhere and planted here, and then the apartment had been torched.
Rigsby nodded, crouching over the body, gloved hands pointing to depressions in the grass and traces of what he assumed both Lisbon and Jane were accelerants.
"Probably sterno," Rigsby said with practiced clinical indifference.
"See here, and here?" Rigbsy prompted and both Lisbon and Jane nodded, although the grass looked like regular grass to them.
"The kid just happened to be at the video game store when this all went down?" Jane wondered aloud and Lisbon nodded a confirmation.
"Why? You think he's involved somehow?"
"Nah, not at all. I think our killer is decent enough not to want to torch a 9 year old and waited until he was out of the place before setting it ablaze. But how did he know our kid would be at said video game store?"
"Uh... apparently he hangs out there a lot," Rigsby muttered. "They have video game consoles on display hooked up to flatscreens and the store owner lets the kid try out the new games for free, as long as he wants..."
"Can you get me a background check on the store owner?" Jane queried, looking towards Lisbon.
"He was working today, if you think-" Rigsby started.
"Can't hurt to get a background check on him and have all our ducklets in a row," Jane said mildly.
"Right... I'll call Van Pelt," Rigsby assured Jane.
Jane wandered over to the boy who was sitting on a swing in a far corner of the park, staring at his shoes and being watched by cops.
"Hey... you must be Cody?" Jane said brightly, and took a seat on the swing next to him. The kid looked over at Jane and nodded glumly.
"You mind if I ask you some questions about your step father?" Jane continued.
"If you want," the boy said in a shy whisper. Jane nodded, began to swing on his swing.
"What can you tell me about him?"
"What?" Cody's reply could have been the wind. He was still staring at his shoes.
"Did you like him? Get along with him?"
"Yes, sir," the boy said shyly in the same soft, subdued voice.
"Really?" Jane pressed, feigning surprise. "I heard he wasn't the nicest guy?"
"Who told you that?" The boy said softly.
"Just people. Police. Important people. You didn't really get along with him too well, did you, Cody?"
The kid shrugged. Began to swing a little himself, now.
"You know, if he had been my stepfather, I don't think I would have gotten along with him. I heard he liked to hit you-"
"He didn't hit me," the kid said, and Jane looked the kid over. He had what looked like fading fingerprint bruises on his shoulder, around his neck.
"How'd you get those bruises?"
The boy hunched his shoulders and tensed up.
"Bully," he finally said.
"A bully, yes. I agree. Your stepfather?"
"Kid at school."
"What kid?"
"Just a kid," Cody maintained and Lisbon watched the interaction, let Jane work his magic.
"You know, if it was your stepfather, you don't have to cover for him. He can't hurt you anymore. Tell the truth, Cody. You'll feel better."
"It was a kid at school," Cody maintained stubbornly. Jane sighed. This kid was too far gone. His conditioning went too deep. He wouldn't give up his old man, not even after the bastard was dead.
Jane showed the boy some magic tricks, made a silver dollar appear behind his ear, then made said silver dollar teleport itself into the kid's Star Wars-themed backpack. The boy was amazed, just as Jane knew he would be.
Jane let the kid keep the silver dollar, finally turned back to Lisbon and wandered off to talk to her as the boy was recollected by some social worker and herded off to wherever it was social services thought was an adequate placement.
"Were any of the other victims known to police or in the system for abusive behavior?" Jane asked Lisbon. She shook her head.
"No. We already checked when this kid's story came to light."
"Fire-starting is sometimes associated with early abuse. If our other victims were acting like beasts, we might have a common thread among victims," Jane insisted.
"Jane, we checked. This guy is a one-off," Rigsby assured Jane.
"Just because they aren't officially in the system doesn't mean they were saints," Jane vollied back and Rigsby nodded.
"Jane, this seems to be about hiding murders. Burning the bodies beyond recognition. But fire is also good for hiding actual thefts," Lisbon explained.
"Were any of these people particularly rich?" Jane wondered.
"Not really," Rigsby sighed. "At least, not according to their bank accounts
"It's not about hiding thefts," Jane insisted and Lisbon sighed.
"If you say so."
"I DO say so."
"I'll get Van Pelt to dig deeper," Lisbon assured Jane, and Jane nodded. Got up. It was time to question the other witnesses to the fire, and there were enough to last the rest of the afternoon. Back to work.
Jane was only ten minutes late picking Charlotte up. Julie was with her, and Charlotte was sloppily throwing a basketball at the basket with a bored look on her face, apparently indifferent to whether the ball went in or not.
"You're late," she told Jane sullenly, walking over to him, dribbling the ball.
"Not really," Jane said, smiling. Charlotte handed the ball off to Julie, picked her backpack up off the concrete ground near the tetherballs where she had dumped it and followed Jane to the Citroën.
"Did you bring Dixon?" Charlotte asked as she approached the car.
"I would have been a lot more late if I'd gone home to get Dixon," Jane said patiently.
"Why didn't you take him on your case?"
"As a general rule, the CBI doesn't like its associates bringing their kids' pets to crime scenes. Evidence contamination and all of that..."
"You should bring Dixon with you when you go to work," Charlotte continued, ignoring Jane's comment entirely. "He can protect you."
"Knowing Dixon, he'll piss on the corpses," Jane said, waiting until Charlotte had her safety belt on in the passenger seat before starting the car.
"You didn't piss anybody off at your job today, did you, Patrick?"
"I was good," Jane said brightly, speeding up as they exited the school grounds and got onto the actual street. "You would have been proud of me. How were you?"
"I was good, too," Charlotte said from the passenger seat, and began to unzip her backpack, pulled books out, random pieces of loose leaf paper, her nintendo 3DS, a koosh ball, a green trapper keeper with puppies on it she'd purchased used from ebay...
"You want pizza for dinner tonight?" Jane asked as Charlotte dumped half the shit in her lap onto the floor, reached forward and turned the radio on, began to flip through the channels.
His kid shrugged, not as impressed as he'd hoped.
"Yeah, okay. Why not?"
"Any particular place?" Jane said, pulling into heavier traffic now.
"Mr. Moto's or Papa John's," Charlotte said distractedly from her seat. She had already turned on the 3DS and was beginning to play.
"You get any letters today I am supposed to read?"
"Nah, but you can read in my log how awesome I was," Charlotte said distractedly.
Her "log" was a 48 page composition book with the top corners cut off to correspond with the current date. Every day her teachers wrote a basic summary of her day in the class, any problems or concerns, the night's assigned homework and additional comments they thought Jane might like to read. Stuff that applied to the entire class, like homework assignments, were pieces of photocopied paper with the assignment typed out and taped onto the appropriate page. Individual comments were written in with ballpoint ink by the homeroom teacher and the kid's aide (if they had one) an hour to 30 minutes before the end of the school day. If something important happened at school after the logs were written it was usually including in the following day's log, or, if significantly worrisome, was left as a voice message.
All the kids at Charlotte's school had a "log" and it helped keep parents in the loop and prevented kids from ditching important letters and notices in the garbage.
"You're always awesome," Jane assured Charlotte in response to her comment, but Charlotte just made a face. She was playing her video games, now, and didn't want to be distracted...
Friday, August 1st, 2014 4:12 pm
Jane watched as Charlotte played in the fenced-in dog park/tennis court a block away from their apartment complex, throwing Dixon his little rubber kong ball and encouraging him to bring it back. She didn't want to play with Dixon or take him for walks by herself anymore, and Jane knew she was terrified of the man she thought was Red John. He didn't mind coming along with her when she exercised Dixon. It was nice to see her somewhat relaxed, doing a normal childhood thing, playing with her dog... and yet, Jane was beginning to worry his kid was developing something of a phobia of being alone by herself outdoors. She would be 17 at the end of October, and emotionally she was more a young 12. She had a lot of time to heal and adjust and it wasn't as if she was going to be going (at least, right away) to college at 18, but still, Jane was aware of how easy it would be for her to develop avoidance issues with regards to being by herself.
Dixon presently was bounding around the tennis court, tongue hanging out, not a care in the world. Jane smiled, sun dappling his face, watching his daughter, her dog. This was a scene he never thought he'd ever see, not for most of the last decade at least. It was more than a little surreal.
Jane had been doing a lot of reading on stress disorders, depression and the need for a strict routine. He, himself was cavalier about routines and schedules, but the research made sense. For Charlotte, so much of her life had been without structure or a sense of purpose. She hadn't felt safe. Schedules that were regularly adhered to could make anxious individuals feel safe, feel like life was somewhat predictable. Jane had shared her thoughts with Charlotte and had coaxed her into agreeing with him that, yes, structure in her life was probably a good thing.
She'd been resistant at first, of course. A schedule, the idea of one, had seemed like a loss of freedom and autonomy to her, but even Charlotte had had to admit that yes, she often felt life was pointless. She was depressed, yes. And doing things in a fairly strict order, regularly, could keep one from having too much time to ruminate on unpleasant nihilistic thoughts, if nothing else.
Even if she didn't emotionally like the idea of a schedule, intellectually it made sense to her, and she was mature enough to agree to one.
So Jane had worked a basic schedule out with her. There was some wiggle room, of course, especially on days when he was a bit late picking her up because of CBI duties, but the basic schedule they worked out, printed out and had laminated was:
CHARLOTTE's WEEKDAY SCHEDULE
6:30 am- 7:00 am: get up, feed Dixon his breakfast, have shower, brush teeth, brush hair, deodorant and get dressed, make bed and take Dixon out to do his morning business
7:00am- 7:30 am: eat breakfast and take Flintstones vitamin, rinse mouth out with water and gargle, put dishes away in washing machine, double check backpack to make sure all homework and books are there, make sure I have my lunch, make sure I have my gym kit and my gym clothes are clean, go out to car with Patrick
7:30 am-7:45 am: get driven to school
7:45 am- 3:00 pm: day at school (see SCHOOL SCHEDULE), Patrick picks me up at 3:30 or as close to 3:30 pm as he can manage
3:30 pm- 3:45 pm: come home in car, discuss day with Patrick if I feel like it, otherwise can play video games in car or listen to music
3:45 pm- 4:00 pm: unpack backpack, have after school snack, give Dixon a Dentastix for his teeth, throw out soiled puppy pad if Dixon made a mess during the day
4:00 pm -4:30 pm: Take Dixon for walk or play with him in the tennis court, make sure he does his business!
4:30 pm-5:00 pm: check apartment manager office for Walmart deliveries, bring back to apartment, unpack and put away, take cardboard boxes down to recycling. If no deliveries, free time for half an hour, unless dirty laundry needs to be put in washing machine
5:00 pm-6:00 pm: work on nightly homework with 10 minute break in middle if needed. If done early I can read, draw, work on writing fiction, write in my journal
6:00 pm - 7:00 pm: have dinner with Patrick, feed Dixon his dinner, if there is laundry in washer that is done, put in dryer with dryer sheet during this time
7:00 pm- 7:30 pm: load dishwasher, take Dixon out to do his after-dinner business, walk Dixon around the neighborhood or play ball with him in the tennis court
7:30 pm-9:00 pm: FREE TIME, Movies, TV shows, video games, surfing the internet
9:00 pm-9:30 pm: Have evening shower (if I need one), put all dirty clothes in hamper, get clothes for tomorrow ready and put on top of dresser, brush teeth, make lunch for tomorrow
9:30 pm-10:00 pm: quiet time with Dad, take melatonin, have chamomile tea, talk or read, go over homework if I need to, if there is laundry in dryer, put it away
10:00 pm-10:20 pm: take Dixon out to do his business before bed and for a quick walk, come back, get pajamas on
10:30 pm: BEDTIME
It had taken 4 hours on a Saturday for Jane to work the schedule our with Charlotte. The idea was for every part of her weekday to be busy with something, except for a small window for movie watching or free time in the evenings, and for everything to get done to reduce stress.
So far the schedule was mostly a success. Jane was a bit surprised, but Charlotte was often pickier about sticking to the schedule than he was (one copy was laminated and stuck to the fridge with a magnet, another laminated copy was kept inside her trapper keeper with her school work).
In order to save time on the weekends, Jane and Charlotte had decided to purchase stuff they used regularly from Walmart online and have it delivered. Everything from toilet paper, tampons, fluoride-free toothpaste and shampoo to Charlotte's Cookie Crisp and Chef Boyardee Mac and Cheese to Dixon's dry kibble and dentastix treats were regularly delivered to the building. To make sure the deliveries didn't go to the post office and weren't stolen from in front of their apartment door, Jane had worked out a deal with the apartment manager to the tune of 10.00 a week which included said apartment manager signing for the deliveries when they came in and storing them in a storage locker in the building's storage room. Charlotte and Jane both had a key to the storage room and it was one of Charlotte's daily chores (along with doing her laundry, loading the dishwasher, making her bed, making her lunch and doing her homework) to check the storage room every day and put away any deliveries as they came in.
On the weekends his kid did vacuuming, cleaned the bathroom, mopped the kitchen and bathroom floors and put away whatever toys and books had managed to find themselves scattered around the suite.
Jane was amazed at how much time this arrangement saved him in terms of shopping and only had to go to the grocery store to pick up perishable items like eggs, bread, butter, milk and vegetables. Everything else was delivered and handled by his kid.
As a reward for sticking to the schedule Jane gave Charlie an allowance of 25 bucks a week. He'd also worked out the nutritional requirements she needed every day and had worked to plan her daily breakfasts and lunches.
She seemed to gravitate towards sugary junk food most of the time, but was slowly getting better. Her daily breakfast was usually eggos and fresh fruit and almond milk or cereal with toast and a banana and a class of orange juice or coffee.
For lunch she ate basically the same thing every day- a can of chocolate Yoohoo, a Capri-Sun juice pack (fruit punch flavoured), an unsweetened apple sauce cup, a Fiber one brownie or Pop-tart for morning snack, a grilled cheese or peanut butter sandwich with either tomato or vegetable soup stored in the thermos and veggies with ranch dip. Not perfect, by any means, but a very real improvement from Charlotte's original plan of eating nothing but pudding, soda and Totino's triple cheese pizza rolls.
Life settled into something of a rhythm and even Charlotte's fear (which had started out as a very real terror) of the undead Red John seemed to settle down.
And the days flickered by, one by one, more and more predictable and "normal" as time passed. Red John's influence and the terror he had caused in his child's life seemed to shrink until on most days Jane could go almost an entire day without worrying about Charlotte's future.
Sure, she still needed a night light on in her room, she occasionally woke with a scream of "NO!" gasping in the early hours and she continued to be afraid of being too far from Jane, especially outdoors, but those things were acceptable.
They would resolve in time.
By the time September rolled around and even the "normal" schools were back in session, Charlotte was managing to go days at a time without bringing up questions pertaining to evil, or murder, or Hell.
That had to be considered a win.