The city still buzzes with life even after midnight, and Patrick Jane can't sleep with all the noise.
Though, truth be told, it isn't the noise of Sacramento that keeps him awake. He hasn't been able to get a good night's sleep in almost eight years. He just likes to have something to blame his sleepless nights on, something that isn't the truth.
He listens to the hum of cars as he lays in bed, eyes fixated on the dark ceiling above, the only source of light in the room coming from the window, where streetlights pour in through the drapes. His cot is lumpy and uncomfortable, but it isn't like he sleeps on it anyway, so there's no point in complaining.
When he does try to sleep, the monsters in his head swirl around, devouring his thoughts and replacing them with guilt and grief. They tend to be so loud; it's like sirens are screaming inside of his brain, slowly eating him alive. It is torture. But he supposes he deserves it after the damage he's caused.
His mind is the deadliest of weapons, but lately he hasn't been able to use it, not like he used to. He's a psychic, as most people call him, no matter how many times he claims that there is no such thing as psychics. His brain is practically the only thing that keeps him alive. He has a heart, of course, but it doesn't beat for anything anymore, it's just like a heavy stone sitting in his chest.
At this time of night, his mind is corrupted with thoughts, as if it were on overload. Memories flip through his head like a picture book. Images of his wife and daughter flash before his eyes, smiling pearly-white smiles and laughing with their chests. For a moment, he lets himself smile at the memories, feeling happy for once until the images shut down and he is once again reminded of the fact that they are gone.
And it's his fault that they are gone.
Pain flickers in his chest, the kind of pain that constricts his lungs and has him unable to breathe. He gasps for air, sitting up and tugging at the collar of his shirt. It's too tight, it's too hot, he feels like he's suffocating.
Sweat pools above his brow as if he's just woken up from a nightmare. It would've been one, had he have been asleep. But he is as awake as the cars whirring by on the street, as alert as the moon watching over him.
Trying to sleep is laughable now. He needs a distraction.
He grabs his coat on the way out the door along with his keys, the warm air spraying his face as soon as he steps outside. He inhales the pine-scented air as he walks to his car, allowing it to clean out his lungs and make his chest feel ten times lighter.
He slips into the vehicle and starts the engine, pulling out of the driveway with absolutely no destination in mind. He has nowhere to go, at least nowhere that would get his mind off things. Maybe he'll just drive around for a while, see where fate takes him. He doesn't typically believe in that sort of thing but he decides to humor himself for the night.
As he drives, stars sprinkle the sky and the moon follows him. Cars zoom past him and the streets are lit up with different colors. Hues of red, green, and yellow flash in his face.
He doubts he'll ever get used to the city life.
Growing up in a small town with only a handful of people, he never had to worry about running into a stranger or the noise of cars speeding down the street. All he heard was peace and quiet. He spent most of his days alone, racking up ideas to put his so-called psychic skills to the test just to please his father. And when he was with his father, they'd be at the town's county fair, ripping people off with a mountain of fresh lies.
He didn't necessarily have the best childhood, but he could've turned out a whole lot worse, so he guesses it hadn't been too bad. It definitely screwed his head on straight, made him see the world for what it truly is. The world is a cruel, cruel place- he'd figured that out years ago when his family was taken away from him.
The voice of Elvis blares through the car's radio, adding to the rustling noise inside his head. He's just about to swerve into the left lane when he notices a car stranded on the side of the road, a figure standing beside it, clearly trying to catch someone's- anyone's- attention.
He can't make out what the person looks like due to the darkness overhead, but what the hell, he isn't the type of person to leave someone stranded when they clearly need help. His mother's words replay in his head.
When someone needs help, you help them, no matter what.
His mother's words in mind, he swivels to the right and stops his car, killing the engine before stepping out onto the road. The stranger doesn't seem to notice him until he gets closer and his voice drifts through the night.
"Excuse me," he says, "need any help?"
The stranger's head snaps in his direction, and he can finally make out the face of a woman, a short woman who looks distressed if the wrinkles etched into her flawless face say anything. Her eyes are huge, though he can't make out the color of them. She's clutching a BlackBerry in her hand and her breathing is slightly erratic.
"God, yes," she answers him, sighing in relief. "I've been trying to get help for ten minutes now but nobody's stopped. My car isn't starting and I would call someone for help but my phone's dead." She waves her phone to prove her point, the screen remaining black as she pushes the button to turn it on.
"Hm." He isn't good with cars, but the woman needs a way home and she can't stay out here waiting for a tow truck for the next hour. She is clearly exhausted. "Do you want to use my cell? I don't know if a tow truck will be quick but maybe you have someone who lives nearby who can help you out? I'm sorry, I'm not very good with cars."
She shakes her head. "It's fine. And a tow truck will have to do- I don't have any family in the area."
He frowns. A tow truck would take ages. It seems like he'll have to offer her a ride, but if she was smart she'll tell him no. He is a stranger, after all. Why would she accept a ride with him?
His better judgement gets the best of him, and his voice was gentle as he asks, "do you want me to give you a ride home?"
The woman shoves her hands into her coat pockets, staring at him apprehensively. "I don't know. I don't even know your name."
"Patrick," he relents, holding out his hand for her to shake. "Patrick Jane."
She eyes his outstretched hand for a moment before accepting it. Her skin is cold against his and her hand is tiny. "Teresa Lisbon."
"Teresa," the name easily rolls off his tongue. "Well, Teresa, I'd be happy to give you a ride, but you can just use my cell if you'd prefer a tow truck. It might take a while for one to get here, though- we're not exactly in a sensible area."
She seems to think about it for a minute, pondering her options. He waits patiently, letting the air kiss his face and blow through his hair. If you ignored the sound of traffic, it could actually be quite peaceful out here.
"Okay," she finally agrees. "If it's not a bother, I'll let you give me a ride. But," she purses her lips, glancing towards her car for a split second. "It's not only me you'll be taking."
Patrick follows her gaze, unaware of what's inside her car. It's too dark outside and the windows are too tinted for him to tell.
"Do you have a pet?" He asks obliviously, still staring at her car.
Teresa merely chuckles and shakes her head. "No, not a pet." She inches towards the vehicle and he watches her, utterly confused as to what she's talking about. If it isn't a pet, then what is it?
Her back is to him so he can't see what lay inside, but when she turns, his eyes widen in surprise.
There in her arms is a child. A little boy. He can't be more than four years old.
Shaggy brown hair falls into the boy's eyes, his pale skin illuminated by the moonlight above. He's dressed in green dinosaur pajamas and he wears a pair of worn-out Nikes on his small feet.
Wherever they had been going, they'd been in a hurry. It makes him wonder why, but he quickly pushes the thought away. It isn't any of his business.
"Mama," the little boy whines in her arms, his own arms wrapped securely around her neck. Patrick watches him rub his eyes with a tiny fist, showcasing how tired he is.
Teresa pats the boy's back and murmurs into his ear, just loud enough for Patrick to hear her. "I know, baby. Mama's car isn't working so this nice man is gonna drive us home, okay?"
Patrick blinks. Okay, so his psychic skills have betrayed him this time, which rarely ever happens. How had he not realized a child was in the car? He must've been too tired for his senses to peak.
Teresa seems to have sensed his bewilderment because she lightly touches his shoulder, bringing his attention down to hers. "It's okay, right? Sorry, I guess I should've told you sooner. It's perfectly okay if you can't take us both, I'll just call for a tow."
She has a child, for gods sake. He can't deny her a ride home. It's most likely that no one else would stop for them, at least not for a while, and it is nearing two in the morning. He needs to get them home.
It isn't that he dislikes kids- he finds them adorable and amusing, but seeing a child just sends a pang of grief through his chest. It reminds him of what he used to have: a family of his own. But he doesn't have that anymore.
Still, it is unfair to bare his true emotions just because the woman has a child. All they're asking for is a ride home- and so he obliges.
"It's perfectly okay," he reassures her, flashing one of his famous smiles, though he isn't sure if she can even see it through the mist of darkness surrounding them. "You just caught me by surprise, that's all. Let me grab the car seat for you, if that's alright."
Even through the dark, he can see the smile that spreads across her face. "You're a lifesaver. Thank you so much."
He waves her off. "No need to thank me. You head to my car and I'll bring the car seat."
She nods, carrying her son over to his car while he collects the car seat from inside her own. He brings it to them and sets it in the backseat, making sure it's secure before letting Teresa sit the boy down in it.
As she buckles him up, Patrick hears him ask, "who is he, mama?"
"His name is Patrick," Teresa answers softly. "He's just gonna drive us home. He's nice, I promise."
"Can I sleep in the car?"
"Yes you can." She presses a soft kiss to his forehead before shutting the door.
Patrick is already sitting in the driver's seat, and he pretends not to have heard anything as Teresa slips in beside him, setting her purse down at her feet.
"Thank you again for giving us a ride," she tells him sincerely, and due to the light in his car he can finally see the color of her eyes, which are a beautiful shade of green. "I really appreciate it."
Up close, she's stunning. Pale skin littered with freckles, emerald-green eyes, raven hair tied high up in a ponytail. She has a small button nose and pretty pink lips, and a cross necklace hangs around her neck, settling against the column of her throat.
"It's my pleasure," he says with a polite smile. "What's your address?"
After she rattles it off to him, he starts on the journey to her house, which isn't very far from where he lives. In the rearview mirror he can see that the little boy in the back is fast asleep, clutching a stuffed bear close to him.
"What's his name?" He finds himself asking the woman next to him.
"Theodore, but he prefers Theo," she says. "It's easier for him to say."
"It's a wonderful name."
"It took me a while to come up with the perfect name for him," she admits aloud, smiling a shy smile. "Eventually I just looked up names online and fell in love with the name Theodore."
He mirrors her smile. "Well, you definitely made the right choice."
His eyes unconsciously cast a glance at her hands, finding no wedding ring on her finger. She doesn't seem to be in a relationship either; wouldn't she request to call her partner instead of a tow truck?
So, she's a single mother, he thinks to himself. Just by doing a read of her he knows she's good at it. Theo seems to adore her and she adores him as well.
The rest of the drive is silent, nothing to be heard other than the soft breathing of Teresa and Theo. Ten minutes later he arrives at her house, parking along the curb and staring out at a cottage-like house with a freshly mowed yard and a mailbox out front.
Teresa unbuckles her seatbelt and turned to him. "I don't know if we'll ever see each other again, but if we do, I'll owe you."
She gets out of the car and gathers Theo into her arms, taking hold of the car seat in the other, then shut the door. As he watches her walk up the steps and disappear into the house, he lets a puff of air slip from his lips.
This hadn't been the distraction he'd had in mind, but it certainly did the job just fine. He smiles to himself and drives away, wondering if there is a chance he'll see Teresa again.