Chapter Two
Patrick Jane didn't make friends easily. For that, he was too introvert, too closed and too cynical. He didn't believe in friendship at first sight. Friendships needed to be worked on, to be built on a certain level of trust one should earn. Apart from that, he had always been too afraid to make friends, somehow sensing that any friendship could work against him and could be abused by others.
It had taken him more than three years to build a certain level of trust with the CBI-team he worked with on a daily basis now. He hadn't believed that they would ever become friends to begin with. He didn't deny that he had entered the CBI on a detailed and tuned plan, using all of his skills as a con artist to get what he wanted.
It had also taken him three years to realize that Teresa Lisbon, his boss, knew this. She wasn't a fool, far from it. She was in many ways cleverer than he was. They were equals and they both knew it. That level of knowledge had been the basis of their partnership and friendship. Technically she might have been his boss, in reality his wit and results had put them on the same level.
It was that level that made Patrick Jane confess that morning that he didn't feel like his normal self when he entered the office. Lately he had been feeling a bit out of it, like there was something brooding that wouldn't come out. So when he came in quite early that morning and found her at her desk, he sat down on a chair by her desk and told her how he felt. The fact that he did, proved to Lisbon that Patrick Jane had come a long way.
Lisbon knew her consultant well enough to know when to leave him alone. This morning was one of those mornings. His irritability shone off of him as soon as she cast a glance on his face.
"What's up?" she asked, putting down her pen. "Bad night?"
He just grunted and mumbled something she couldn't understand. She picked up her pen again, returned to her file and continued writing, ignoring him until he finally sat upright and half looked at her, waiting for her to ask more questions.
"Come on, Jane. Spill the beans. What's up?"
He just shrugged. "Bad mood day, I guess. I think I caught a bug."
"Not feeling well?"
"I don't know."
She raised an eyebrow. "Jane, you're not the type to get out of bed with the wrong foot or to be sick. What's going on?"
"Seriously, Lisbon. I don't know. I've been feeling off lately and I don't know what's wrong."
"Alright." Before he could stop her, Lisbon placed a hand on his forehead, like she would with a child. "You don't feel warm. Did you have any fevers?"
"I don't think so."
"Is it your head?"
He paused. "Good question. I have had some headaches but I don't think that I have a migraine."
"Your stomach?"
"A bit queasy."
"Did you eat properly?"
"Yes, mother."
She leaned back. "Jane, just spill the beans. What's going on? It's something else, isn't it?"
"Okay," he said, admitting defeat and knowing she knew him too well. "I've been having these weird dreams lately. I've been sleeping so badly that it affects my mood."
"You did seem to be a little bit off lately. What are your dreams about?"
He shrugged again. "Everything and nothing. The usual. Bloody smiley faces, dead people. Janet Gray."
"Janet?" With that, her attention was fully focused on him. "Why Janet?"
"I don't know, Lisbon. I just keep on having these thoughts about her. Like there is something that we've missed. I dream a lot about her."
"Jane?"
"Yeah?"
"You're not suddenly turning psychic on me, are you?" she asked cautiously.
"Lisbon, I said I'm dreaming about her, not talking to her. A slight difference, you know?" He finally rose and walked into the kitchen, glancing at his watch. It was nearly nine and for the first time in three weeks he stood alone to make his cup of tea. At that exact moment, every single hair on his body rose. He couldn't explain the how or why but he knew something was wrong.
As he looked up, the new woman stepped into the kitchen, nodded curtly at him and poured a cup of coffee, ignoring him. The feeling subsided just as quickly as it had come.
Jane shook his head lightly, pushing away the feeling and returned to his favorite couch, sipping his tea. Lisbon watched him intently, almost sighing in relief when he started to behave like he normally did.
"Jane."
"Yeah?"
"You know you can tell me anything, right?"
He smiled lightly. "Yeah, I know. Thanks."
It would be days later that Teresa Lisbon remembered this conversation. By then, she would think: If only I had listened better. It would have prevented a lot of heartache.
Life went its normal routine. Cases came and cases went, the CBI-agents were used to their hectic lifestyle and adapted quickly to new circumstances. After two weeks, it almost felt as if Janet Gray had never worked there. Her replacement took her place smoothly. Almost too smoothly.
The only reminder of Janet was a photo placed on the memory wall, where she lingered between deceased CBI-agents.
Every morning at 8.30 a.m., Kate Lomax, the new girl in town, walked into the kitchen where she took a cup of coffee and one biscuit (always the same biscuit, vanilla/chocolate mix) and chatted with her co-workers and agents about whatever came up.
It was the second day on the job that she met Patrick Jane for the first time, patiently waiting for the kettle to boil to make his first, perfect cup of tea of the day. She watched him intently as he took out his personal favorite flavor (English Breakfast tea with Jasmine scent), dipped it eight synchronized times into the water, added one small teaspoon of sugar and carefully mixed it. Then he would taste it gently, closing his eyes just for a brief moment as he savored the taste. He then took his cup of tea to an old, brown leather couch near the desk of Teresa Lisbon.
It was as for that brief moment he was out of this world and into another, tea-driven, universe, that she found herself watching him in awe. When he looked up, he saw her staring at him, but he didn't speak a word.
He saved that for her third day, when they again met briefly in the kitchen.
"Good morning," he said with a polite smile. "How are you today?"
"Fine," she said, taking the opportunity to introduce herself by offering her hand. "Kate Lomax."
"Patrick Jane."
"Ah, the infamous consultant."
He smiled. "Don't believe what you've heard of me."
"And what if it was nothing but good?"
He smirked. "I doubt that."
She laughed. "Well, I admit, it was fascinating to hear the stories about you. But I'm sure you know that."
"I haven't heard them, so I wouldn't know." With that, he nodded politely and returned to his couch.
The fourth day on the job, they chatted about the weather. The fifth day, about her family. On the sixth day, she found herself enjoying his company and he lingered about longer in the kitchen. She knew there was no romantic interest between them. After all, he was a widower and she was happily married and had no interest whatsoever in other men.
They were becoming friends though and because they were friends, she also became friends to the team he daily worked with, even the cool (or so she seemed) Special Agent Lisbon, who was the head of the team and had a lot of power at the CBI-office.
Kate Lomax felt comfortable in her new position and relished every minute of it. Little did she know that it wouldn't last long.
On the seventh day on the job, during her second week at the CBI, Kate Lomax started to feel off. She started waking up with a strong headache, combined with a queasy stomach and the feeling there was a bug lingering. Of course, with two young children in her household, illnesses were never far off. But this time, she really didn't seem to be able to shake it off.
When she told Patrick Jane about it, he looked at her intently. When she spoke, it was as if he was talking about himself. Even though he had felt better for some days, the headaches had returned. Whatever it was, it was lingering within the CBI.
On the ninth day at her job, Kate Lomax came home and found her house broken into. Her living room had been ransacked yet nothing seemed to be missing. Her husband and children were not home yet when she called the police with quivering fingers, explaining about the breaking and entering. They came quickly, found nothing missing, took photos and ran fingerprints but found nothing. Their theory was that Kate had come home too early and they had to run through the backdoor when she did with nothing.
The entire weekend that followed, Kate spent with fevers in her bed.
On the beginning of the third week of her new job, Kate Lomax, who was supposed to go to work that morning and had planned an early start, lay dead in her bed. She was found by her husband.