Trigger warning: stalking plot. References spoilers for season 7.
Chapter 2
"And then, according to Mike over there, the dang cat ran out of the truck and up a tree." Deputy Caulfield hooked a thumb over towards a firefighter standing idly by, a three pronged scratch down his left cheek. He frowned and winced, skin pulled taut. She had just wrapped up her seminar on developing secure relationships between law enforcement and the communities they served when the deputy had approached her to voice his annoyance over fetching family pets from trees. It reminded her of her days as a police chief in Washington when she would talk her officers through petty complaints. At that time, with her life in California shattered and Jane a man on the run from murder charges, a cat in a tree was a welcomed reprieve from the true corruption of the world.
Lisbon focused on the trail of an airplane as it cut through the crisp blue sky, and paid little attention to the deputy's dull story. Instead, she was thinking about the strange girl who'd fled from the tea shop that morning and the shadow that had loomed over Jane all during lunch. He'd done his best to seem jovial and light hearted, but after years of experience Lisbon knew when something affected him. A reminder of his past as a charlatan always affected him. The girl was clearly in some sort of trouble, and Lisbon said a quick prayer that she'd find comfort.
"Agent Lisbon?" She started, turning back to Caulfield. Now retired, she was no longer an agent, but 'Consultant Lisbon' didn't have the same powerful ring and they'd only called her 'Mrs. Jane' once during a fundraiser before she'd silenced them with a sharp glare. Jane had only chuckled, before taking a crisp bite into a pickle slathered with cream cheese and wrapped in cold cuts, amused once again by his pocket rocket and her way with local law enforcement. Caulfield cleared his throat. "Care to offer some guidance?"
"Well, Deputy, while I'm happy to offer insight on how to maintain relationships within the community, I'm afraid I can't offerguidance on how best to retrieve an aggressive cat from a tree." Lisbon refrained from openly rolling her eyes at the middle-aged man, but barely. "It looks like Mike managed just fine."
The deputy let out a huff and for a moment, Lisbon grew weary of the small town life. On most days, she loved it. Loved her home with her husband and their daughter. The quaint shop where Jane puttered around, restocking shipments with Nora strapped to him in her cloth carrier. But there were moments, out in the field, when she was corralling the good ol' boys into behaving like actual modern era officers of the law, that Lisbon missed the big city, missed the FBI. And, surprisingly, she even missed the CBI for all of its destruction and darkness. She suspected she would always miss it, however fleeting the feeling. She was a city girl through-and-through, but her quiet home with her family more than made up for the brief bouts of nostalgia. She'd give up any city in any state to come home Patrick Jane.
Caulfield watched her, eyes narrowed. Just as he was about to open his mouth and say something no doubt chauvinistic, a calamity behind them caught their attention. Turning, she spotted Officer Miller, an otherwise mild and sweet man, dragging a young woman behind him. With her long auburn hair falling in tangles over her face, she looked feral. Despite being cuffed and surrounded by police officers, the woman struggled and judging by Miller's sharp exhale she had landed the point of her elbow against his side. Exasperated, he looked up at Deputy Caulfield and Lisbon.
"She's been like this since we found her downtown," he started, bewildered. She continued to struggle and Miller tugged her again, trying to get her to settle down. "I've got the bruises to prove it."
Lisbon approached the pair, a sense of familiarity pulling her forward.
"We got a call about a disturbance down behind the strip mall. She was making a scene, throwing things and shouting. Rebecca Anne called it in, said she'd been wailing for a good twenty minutes. We got there and she was still going at it—almost chucked that ceramic goose Becca's got outside her shop, you know, the once she dresses up all the time? Anyway, she almost chucked it through a window. Would've too, if we hadn't pulled up in time." Miller sat the woman down in a plastic chair nearby. "She's been fighting us ever since. Hasn't said a damn thing though."
Lisbon reached out to brush the matted mass of hair from her face and the woman flinched. Once the hair was from her face, Lisbon realized it was the same woman who'd rushed past her that morning, fleeing Jane's shop in a hurry. She looked up at Lisbon, fear swimming in her wide blue eyes. Fear and something else… but before Lisbon could name it, the woman looked away.
"Well, hello." Lisbon straightened and forced a smile. "We meet again."
Caulfield, who had shockingly remained silent during Miller's story, frowned. "You know her?"
"Briefly. We haven't been properly introduced." She leaned down again, extending her hand out. "I'm Teresa Lisbon. …Teresa Lisbon Jane." She added her married name for affect, ignoring Caulfied's indignant exhale, no doubt remembering that icy glare she'd served him at that fundraiser all those months ago. But she'd added it for the woman's benefit, to gauge her reaction. She truly was a Jane, now, she thought, using a gentle touch and well-placed words to evoke reactions. "We met this morning at my husband's tea shop, do you remember?"
The woman inhaled sharply and looked up. And then, in the next moment, as the woman began to cry sharp but silent tears and her face turned an alarming shade of red, Lisbon realized her talents did not rival those of her husband's. Lisbon couldn't remember a time he'd actually made a suspect openly sob.
The men nearby took a collective step back from the crying woman as Lisbon pulled her phone from her pocket and pressed number two on her speed dial.
xXx
In the ten minutes it took Jane to arrive, they had brought the woman in to the front lobby of the station, uncuffing her and leading her to the worn out beige couch in the corner. Her sobs had lessened, and were now punctuated by a hiccup at odd intervals.
Lisbon paced back and forth along the high counter. Sighing with relief when Jane walked in, an awake and giddy Nora strapped to his chest, she quickly made her way across the office. Nora kicked her feet and let out a sharp squeal when she spotted her mother.
"So, our mystery woman didn't run too far, huh?" Jane glanced over to the beige couch where the woman still sat, a thick blue blanket over her shoulders.
"Miller brought her in for public disturbance, assaulting an officer, and a couple other things that I think were more to do with his bruised ego than anything else." Lisbon reached up and slipped Nora out of the carrier as Jane unhooked it from around his body. "I think there's a bigger story here than public disturbance, Jane. I think…" Lisbon trailed off, unsure what to say and Jane gave a quick nod of understanding. After an exhale, he reached into the diaper bag and pulled out a thermos.
With his eyes locked on the young woman, Lisbon watched as he shuttered a part of himself away. She'd seen that look countless times before, typically when he was gearing up to interrogate someone who had the potential to flay him open, had the potential to remind him of the unsavory things of his past. She wanted to pull him out of the station, secret her family away from these random reminders of their past lives. Hadn't she only just been nostalgic for their time with the CBI? The FBI? Now, watching her husband don his figurative armor for battle, she wanted to get him even further away from that life.
"Jane," she whispered, wanting nothing more than to reassure him in this moment. Catching his wrist, she ran her thumb in soft circles until he looked at her. "We'll be right over here. Whatever that's about, we'll be right over here. And then after, you can take us home. You can rock your baby to sleep, and then you can make love to your wife."
The corner of his mouth turned up in a faint smile and with eyes full of love and gratitude, he gave her a wink before making his way over to the couch. Lisbon watched him saunter over, his posture relaxed and fluid, and she knew her words had the desired effect. He looked less wound up and worried. She sighed. Maybe she was better at the Jane family tactics than she'd thought.
xXx
Jane exhaled a steady breath and perched on the coffee table in front of the sofa. The woman, Audrey, didn't look up. Instead, she seemed to burrow deeper into the couch, into the blanket.
"Well, what do you say we try this again, hmm, Audrey?" He held up the thermos and began to unscrew the cap, pouring a small amount into a paper cup an officer handed over. She glanced up, eyes wide and confused. "Now, remember, chamomile is soothing tea, meant to be savored and enjoyed." He spoke in soft, melodic tones, seeking to soothe with more than just hot tea.
It was clear, after both this morning's encounter and the public disturbance, that Audrey needed someone to talk to, that she was in great emotional pain. Jane knew something about emotional pain and feeling unable to share your fears. He took another breath before speaking again, reminding himself that Teresa and Nora were just over his shoulder, that tonight he would take his family home and tomorrow he would open his tea shop, and everything would continue on just as it was… Or maybe he wouldn't open the tea shop in the morning, and instead convince his wife to stay in bed for as long as the baby let them. He glanced up and the young woman trembled.
"This morning I asked if you needed an ear to bend, and that offer's still available." He took her shaking hand and wrapped her fingers around the paper cup. "Sure, I can't read tea leaves. It was always a little too old school for my taste, I always leaned towards grander theatrics. But you were right, I used to be make a pretty decent living as a psychic. None of that's real, though." He poured tea into a paper cup for himself and leaned back, posture relaxed and open.
"But I can read people." He took a sip. "And right now, I see a woman who is on the run. Obvious not on the run from the law, or you'd've slipped out of town without getting dragged to the clink. Hmm. From parents? No, you're, what, 23, 24? Old enough to venture out on your own. A husband? No, no rings. A boyfriend?" She flinched and he leaned in. "Audrey, you can tell me, you're safe here."
Again she flinched, then licking her lips that were cracked from crying, she struggled to find the words.
"He's not… Despite whatever he says, Teddy is not my-my boyfriend." She took a gulp of the cooled tea, rinsing the word from her mouth. Jane tapped two fingers on her wrist, a gentle reassurance.
"Then tell me, what is he?" He watched as she drew herself up, still cautious but ready to tell her story.
"He came into the office where I work—worked—back in Ohio. Seemed nice, polite. When you deal with scheduling appointments for a doctor all day, nice and polite are hard to come by." Jane only nodded, allowing her to continue. "But then he started showing up more frequently, for no reason. Sometimes he'd leave things at my station—flowers, candy. A note or two. Always with a line of poetry. The same poem, over and over. 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock'—have you heard of it?" Again, Jane nodded.
"It's horrible." She swiped angrily at a tear.
"It's a tragic sort of story, that poem," he offered.
"Tell me about it." Her laugh was mirthless.
"Then what happened?"
"He—what do they call it? Escalated. Would show up at my apartment, at the grocery store. Would stop at the café I'd go to for my morning latte and pay for my drink before I'd even get there. Weird shit like that. But when I told him to back off, well, that's when things…"
"Further escalated?" Jane poured more tea into her cup.
"Exactly." She took another drink. "A couple prescription pads vanished from work, only to fall out of my purse. I didn't take them,he did. I lost my job. Then, I couldn't pay rent, couldn't get another job. I lost my apartment."
"And the police said it was circumstantial, right?" Jane had seen dozens of stories like Audrey's. She met his eyes, relieved to be heard.
"Right. That until he made an actual… Until he attacked me, they couldn't do anything. But what was he doing? I lost my job, my house… I cry all the time, I don't sleep. What else is this if it's not an attack?"
Jane pressed his mouth in a firm line, and looked down to his cup of tea. "And me? What brought you to my shop this morning?"
She blushed, faintly embarrassed. "The police were no use, so I started going to psychics… spiritual advisors, or whatever. I'd hope they tell me how to get rid of him, that they would see an end to all of this… this horrible mess." She hiccuped, tears filling her eyes.
"For a while, it seemed to work. This old woman told me to wear a poultice around my neck, another told me to pour salt in a circle, sit in the middle and chant. And for little over a week, I didn't hear from him. But then my aunt's cat—I'd moved in with my aunt when I got kicked out of my apartment—disappeared. I found her two days later in my bed, her neck twisted. He'd rung her neck." Audrey shivered and pulled the blanket tighter.
"I freaked out. I couldn't take it anymore. So I did a Google search and your name popped up. Some article said you were some sort of a psychic detective, that you were the best there was. And I thought, no I knew, you were my best bet at getting through this, at finding a way to get Teddy out of my life."
Jane drew in a breath, leaning his elbows on his thighs.
"I'm afraid that article was misleading, or, at best, poorly written."
"I know, you said you're not a psychic."
"Mmm. There's no such thing. I did, once upon a time, help the police find criminals. I'm retired now—"
"Are you saying you can't help me?" A shadow crossed her features and Jane could feel the sadness radiate through her. Before he could reassure her that he wasn't going to hang a poultice around her neck or brush offer her concerns, Deputy Caulfield entered the station. He was panting and making a beeline for Lisbon, something in his hand. It looked thick and heavy, like a brick.
Caulfield leaned over to Lisbon, his head tucked down as he whispered over a sleeping Nora. He showed her a scrap of paper, no doubt a note attached to the brick. Classic vandalism. But it was the color draining from Lisbon's face that made Jane jump up and reach her in two long strides, his hand bracing her elbow.
"Jane," she started, her green eyes large and watery, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Someone-someone threw a brick through the shop window, and—"
Before she could finish, Jane snatched the paper from Caulfield's clutch. I am Lazarus, come from the dead/ Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all. It was a verse from the poem Audrey had mentioned, but it wasn't the two short lines of poetry that sent panic rocketing through Jane's body. It was the small, familiar smiley face drawn in red ink punctuating the verse that nearly brought Patrick Jane to his knees.
xXx
Note:
Well. I always loved The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock but it wasn't until Hayseed Socrates reminded me of that line that I realized how prefect it would fit with what we know of season 7. Eep!