Chapter 3: Picking Up The Pieces
A/N: Dialog marked with an asterisk ("*") is directly quoted from The Mentalist Fugue in Red episode.
Patrick Jane's hospital room door opened with a soft swish.
"Jane?"* a quiet voice asked tentatively.
Jane rolled his head toward the sound, reluctantly surfacing from exhaustion one more time. He blinked slowly, licking dry lips. A woman – not nurse – walked closer, concern radiating from her. Dark, nondescript clothing, faintly smelling of – mildew? rotting leaves? She sat on the edge of his bed with an easy familiarity.
"How you feeling?"* Affection blended with concern.
Slowly, "Excellent, I think."* She knows me. Who is she? He came up blank.
"It's good to see you breathing,"* she said, smiling warmly.
He scanned her subtly. "It's good to see you, period."* Slender, elfin, huge green eyes. Ignores the implied compliment, dresses to downplay her beauty. Why?
Low key, serious, "We're doing everything we can to find your attacker. You didn't happen to see a face, did you?"*
Cop. And – and, girlfriend? "N-o-o. Not that I can remember."* Not that I can remember anything.
"What's the last thing you do remember?"*
That struck the heart of his vulnerability. Distract her till I figure how to manage this ... and maybe see what's under that cop persona. He leaned forward and motioned her closer. He asked tentatively, "Are we sleeping together?"*
"Excuse me?!"* she drew back, nonplussed, offended.
"Well, you're a cop, that's obvious, but you're not treating me like a suspect. And I can't see any other reason for a police officer–"* he chuckled and smiled, "to come to my bedside unless we're – unless we're sleeping together,"* helpless to make any other sense of his now-absurd reality.
She frowned. Doubtful, uncertain, "You don't ... know who I am."*
Polite and uncertain in turn, "Please don't take it personally. I'm sure you're quite memorable."* He mentally winced at echoing the lie every man told every casual liaison, even though he didn't mean it that way. "-I just – I – I've been through a lot ... apparently,"* resigned to having his vulnerability laid bare.
"No. We are not sleeping together."* She left no room for doubt.
Overly definitive. Denying her interest? "We're working toward it, though, right? So I haven't missed anything?"* He smiled and she rolled her eyes. "–What's your name?"* He teased and provoked, hoping to learn more. To his surprise, although he didn't remember, his body recalled ... some sort of connection. He tamped down the reaction.
Her attitude suddenly changed. Quirked lips curled into a grin, "Are you putting me on?"*
"I wish I was,"* he answered simply, drowning in uncertainty.
She unconsciously straightened, an aura of responsibility and authority settling over her. "Um, I'm Teresa Lisbon with the CBI. I'm a homicide detective. You're my consultant."*
"I catch bad guys? Wow, that sounds like fun,"* latching onto the only positive in the whole alarming mess. "I always wanted to pit my psychic skills against criminals."* Free publicity and credibility by solving crimes with the cops. Finally, something makes sense.
"You're not a psychic. You used to pretend to be one, but you–"* She stopped dead in mid sentence, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.
"But what? Teresa?"* Reality was spinning out of control again. 'Not a psychic'? If she thinks? – knows? – that, where do I stand, what–"
Her openness slammed shut. "Uh, I'm sorry. I should have talked to the doctor before I came in here."* She turned toward the door. "I–"*
Desperate to keep her talking, to get her to stay, "Whoa, whoa. Teresa, wait. I saw something during my attack."*
She turned back. Cop mode again, "What did you see?"*
Desperate to impress, convince her of his psychic talents, "A light."*
"What kind of light?"*
"White light. Intensely bright. And I walked toward it. There were people, lots of people gathered around, reaching out with their hands to me. There was a woman-"* He swallowed and paused a beat. Half convinced. "–a woman who knew you. Your mother."*
"Jane, I'm not impressed. I told you my mother died when I was a girl."*
Her disappointment and rejection stung. He doubled down. "Well, did you tell me that she gave you that cross? You touched it just like that when I was unconscious. –It's what led her to me. And now I can lead her to you."
Annoyed, unconvinced and increasingly angry, "You wanna put me in touch with my dead mother?"*
"I'm a psychic, Teresa. That's what I do."* The only person who knows anything about me, the person I need to figure this out, doesn't buy it. Where's my leverage if she doesn't believe in psychic insight – my psychic insight? He made damn sure his face expressed nothing but sincere conviction.
She unexpectedly put a hand on his arm, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Jane, you've had a helluva night. Whatever is going on, we'll sort it out. You need to rest." She bit her lower lip and added sternly, "For God's sake, do what the doctors say and don't give them crap." She lowered her head to look directly into his eyes, "I'll be back tomorrow before work, okay? Promise you'll stay here?" The last was almost pleading.
Enervated, "Yeah. I'll be here. Um, thanks." He wasn't sure why he thanked her. The door closed behind her and he was alone.
He sighed and shook his head tiredly, more confused than ever. He pulled the blanket up and slid down to lie flat, relieved when the lights dimmed. I 'consult' for Teresa Lisbon, a cop. She knows I'm not psychic. Why would cops hire a con man who they know has no supernatural insights? He snorted. –At least I'm not in trouble with the law ... so far as I know. I was attacked. And a cop rescu – a cop?! A cop smelling like rotting leaves? He pulled a lock of his hair to his nose and sniffed. Same smell. Teresa rescued me. He released a little of the worry. I was attacked because of the case, not me or my past. Geez, am I running cons on the side? How could I, surrounded by cops?
Fading fast, he took a second stab at constructing a narrative of his present. I consult for Teresa Lisbon, a cop, working for something called 'CBI.' Likely the FBI equivalent for California. She rescued me, so I was working on a, uh, a case with her. That explains why the doctor mentioned insurance and colleagues. Teresa knows me, likes me – more than 'likes' if she'd let herself – even knowing I'm a fake psychic. He scratched his jaw. Not my usual type, but she is beautiful. He half shrugged. Or would be if she stopped hiding it. A little older than– Oh, hell, I'm ten years older! He held his hurting head with both hands till the pain subsided. He dropped his hands. She's coming back tomorrow. Tomorrow... Sleep finally trumped worry.
RN Sarah woke Patrick Jane at 7 a.m., Thursday. He blindly cooperated as she took vital signs and only protested mildly when she drew a blood sample. His mind took a full minute to catch up with how he got there. He made a random choice of breakfast in hopes she'd leave so he could think, only to face Dr. Miller again. Miller checked his pupils and ran through an abbreviated list of questions. He was content no physical problem had arisen and that Jane was thinking clearly. Miller approved Jane leaving the hospital in the care of a responsible adult, and urged him interact with his normal environment. Miller instructed Jane to return in the evening. Jane didn't share his opinion of those instructions.
At last Jane was alone. His vision was cloudy, stomach queasy, and he started coughing as soon as he moved around, all of which made sense if he'd swallowed and breathed in dirty pond – was it a pond? – water. He made his way to the bathroom, coughed till he no longer felt he was drowning in mucus, splashed water in his eyes and cupped his hand to drink. He took stock of himself as he dried off after a long shower. He was in pretty good shape for being in his 30's instead of 20's. His face had a few more lines, as would be expected. The complimentary toiletry kit included a disposable razor, which he gratefully used.
Dressing was more problematic. Clothes are dry. Must have been rinsed because they don't smell like pond water. Shirt's hopeless, but suit's almost wrinkle free. Vest will cover the worst of it. He shrugged and donned boxers, shirt and socks, feeling slightly less vulnerable with each additional piece of clothing. He fingered the fabric as he looked over the suit. He snorted. Probably look like a banker in a three piece gray job but, damn!, it's a nice suit. A silk square embroidered with 'Patrick Jane' was hand-sewn to the lining instead of a store or designer label. He was certain the instant he put it on. Perfect fit. Bespoke suit. Guess I'm not working crappy bars anymore after all.
Cleaned up and dressed he had nowhere to go and nothing to do. He sat on the bed and fidgeted from nervous energy. The situation was ridiculous. Nothing keeping me here ... except there's equally no reason to be anywhere else. Don't know where I'm s'posed to go or who to go to. If anyone. Everything he knew about himself came from his clothes or last night's brief conversation with Teresa.
And she's the only one I saw – a cop I work with. Wouldn't expect Pete or Sam to call. Who's even in touch after all that time? I plan ... He blinked and swallowed a lump. I was planning to get Angie out of the carnival. That was ten years ago, he thought with a pang. Guess it didn't happen. He swallowed again. Girlfriend? I mean, I'm in my 30's now. Anything, anyone more ... permanent? Where do I live, is the cop thing all I've got going?
He exhaled in frustration. Twisting the gold band reminded him it was on his finger. He took a breath and pulled it off. The inscription was a simple cursive, 'Love you forever.' Could be anyone's. He wondered whether it was part of a scam, why he'd chosen to use it. No one came or called other than Teresa so I'm not with anyone – much less married! Maybe it helps the illusion. Safer. Less player, more 'meaningful relationship.' Or maybe it's part of a con. Damn, if I've got something underway I'll blow it for sure unless I get my memory back and soon. The enormity of ten blank years began to sink in. I need to find out somehow. Forget waiting for my memory to magically fix itself! Where's my billfold and-
"-Mr. Jane, here's breakfast," Sarah interrupted cheerfully as she nudged the door open with her hip. She put the tray on the moveable table.
"Thanks. –Say, do you know who rinsed my clothes out? Would the night shift have done something like that?"
"Sorry, I don't know. Not a nurse. Wouldn't have time with the lean staffing levels."
"Appreciate the information. Do you know what they did with my wallet and things?" he asked sweetly.
"Personal effects are sent up from the ER with the patient. They're locked up at the nurse's station for security. Once I get the other patients their food I'll bring you your things. Dr. Miller said you'd be out for awhile today. Glad you're doing better." She threw him a smile and left.
Hurry up and wait. That hasn't changed. Jane pulled over the table and picked through the food: Fruit, pancakes, yogurt, bacon – though he suspected it was some sort of 'healthful' imposter. It was passably good and he was hungry. The nurse returned with his things just as he finished, and replaced the food tray with a metal box. Another smile and she was gone, door closing quietly behind her.
Jane took a deep breath, equally eager and apprehensive. He picked up his clip-on CBI badge and studied the photo. This is pointless. Yeah, it's me and I look like me. Older me. Turning it over was more rewarding. Date. S-o-o, I've been working for the CBI four years. That's a long time. He set that aside and picked up a ring of keys. Car key to a foreign make I don't recognize, gym locker, hotel key?! And what looks like house keys. Apartment, condo, house? Can't tell. He took disproportionate pleasure in a few favorite, long-time possessions: Lockpick set, double-headed coin, and a hopelessly soaked deck of trick cards which he tossed in the wastebasket. The solid gold, antique pocket watch was expensive. And clogged with sediment. No inscription unfortunately.
Last and most threatening/promising was his billfold. Jane took a moment to look over the outside. Old, Hermes – several hundred new. Must be making money somehow... Jane gingerly opened the sodden leather. Though, as he pulled out a five, two dollar bills and 13 cents, I'm certainly not keeping it in cash. Driver's license, mostly intact except, he grimaced in frustration, the address is a smear of gray ink. Great. He could read only, "–u, CA 90265." Have to look up the zip code. Least I know I stayed in the state. –But why not Sacramento if I'm working for the cops here? He shook his head at another unanswerable question. Platinum American Express card, expired. Debit card. Tells me nothing. Insurance card – super, won't have to donate a kidney to pay for my little stay. His pulse spiked at sight of the shiny edge of a photo. He delicately tried to extract the soaked paper ... and ended up with a pile of minuscule, glittering fragments separated from the backing. He swallowed his disappointment that the thing that would have been the most telling was rendered useless. He clenched his jaw. I have – had – a photo worth keeping. Sure as hell wouldn't be Alex so who? Angie? If we broke up why would I keep it?
He emptied most of a box of tissue, laid out each item and blotted the water as best he could. By the time he finished, the billfold and surviving contents were merely damp. He had just slipped his billfold into his breast pocket when there was a knock and the door swung open.
"Jane," called Teresa Lisbon walking in. Approvingly, "You're up and dressed." Warmth and concern were easy to read. "How are you?"
He plastered on a smile. "Better." As she opened her mouth to ask he answered, "No, don't remember anything more. Unfortunately." He bit his lower lip, needing her to invite him into his ... life, but not wanting to ask.
"Dr. Miller says you should be in familiar surroundings. What do you want to do?" she asked gently.
"Come to work? I mean, that's the only thing I know about," he said uncertainly.
"That's fine. You're part of my team and we have a case."
"And I help with that?"
"Normally. Feel up to working?"
"Yes." Determined, "If that's the best way to remember, the sooner the better."
She glanced at her watch. "Um, I have a meeting with Wainwright–"
He tilted his head, reading her. "–Your boss – who you don't much like."
Her eyebrows knitted and she rubbed her forehead, "–Um, anyhow I have a meeting with him and the hospital wants your insurance information. A bit anxiously, "Can you get to the CBI on your own?"
He grinned, "I lost my memory not my mind, Tere–"
"–Lisbon," She interjected. At his fleeting look of hurt she rushed to explain, "Standard cop speak. Everyone uses last names."
"Oh."
"The address–"
"–is on my CBI ID." He frowned slightly, "How much is a cab from here?"
"It's not far. No more than five dollars." She nodded to reassure him or maybe herself. She looked at her watch again. "I've gotta get going." Before turning away, she put her hand on his arm. Softly, "It's gonna be okay, Jane. We'll all do whatever you need." She flushed faintly and left.
He watched her hurry away. This had better work. He opened the door and was startled at the cop posted outside. What? Am I under arrest, was she–
"Morning, Mr. Jane," the officer said courteously as he stood. He extended his hand, "Officer Riley McIlwain."
Jane automatically shook his hand. Uncertainly, "I'm supposed to go to the CBI once I give the hospital my insurance info."
"I'm just finishing my shift. I'll give you a lift. The CBI's on the way."
"O-kay. I don't know where–"
"Patient accounting's this way. Spent way too much time here when my mom was sick," he explained. McIlwain walked toward the elevator. After a moment of indecision, Jane followed.
The short drive was long enough for McIlwain to wax eloquent.
"...can't say how much I appreciate meeting you."
"Yeah?"
"A bunch of us have worked cases that went to Agent Lisbon's team. SacPD butts heads with the CBI, but your team gets the job done. You really have a 100% close rate?"
"That what you hear?"
Darkly, "– I mean, almost. You know." His cheerful demeanor returned. "Even if you don't always do things by the book, your cases hold up and get the perps off the street. You're damn near a legend, Mr. Jane. Wait'll I tell my partner."
"Can't take all the credit," he replied, hoping McIlwain wouldn't press for details.
He laughed, "That's news. Never heard you were modest."
Jane shrugged. "Got me."
McIlwain pulled up to the manned gate. "Tommy, just need to drop off one of yours."
"'Kay, Riley." The security guard peered into the squad car. "Oh. 'Morning, Mr. Jane. Glad to see you're okay."
"Thanks, Tommy," Jane replied, echoing the name McIlwain used.
McIlwain pulled over and parked beside the "Fire Lane - No Parking" sign. "I need to go up. Forgot to get Agent Lisbon's signature to bill the CBI."
Jane just nodded. They passed through Security's metal detector. The gaggle of arriving CBI employees was like running a gantlet. Most obviously knew him and he could read their strong opinions. Now I know how a monkey at the zoo feels. They boarded an elevator. A burly man in his 50's rushed to get on then noticed Jane and pointedly chose to wait, his sneer reinforcing the sullen dislike in his eyes.
After the elevator emptied out on the third floor McIlwain commented, "I see Hannigan's still an ass. You know he transferred here from SacPD. Rumor has it he couldn't stomach working with you after you made him lose his temper. He whines about how he was shafted when he stops by the station."
A man around 30 who would always look like a teenager got on. "Jane!"
Jane nodded, wondering who the hell he was.
"Lisbon said you'd be in. I understand you're working the case?"
"That's right." He caught sight of the man's clip-on photo ID.
"Well, I'm happy to be a sounding board if my expertise can help you with your – situation."
"Not necessary, Agent Wainwright," Jane replied easily. Wainwright looked at him oddly. Missed that one. Probably call him 'Luther.'
They arrived on the fifth floor and McIlwain stepped closer to the doors. Jane had positioned himself so McIlwain would exit first, not wanting it to be obvious he didn't know where to go. McIlwain got out and Jane followed. Me, law-enforcement legend, that's a laugh! Only – what the hell do I know about law enforcement? B&B – bluff and bravado. McIlwain reached a group seated around a conference table with Lisbon and stopped. Showtime.
