Patrick Jane does not always cooperate. You all know this from watching The Mentalist. I am discovering that his POV in this alternative universe that I am attempting to construct is even more ornery and difficult than expected. I have been struggling and wrestling with this. I have been writing all sorts of other things, so it isn't writer's block. It's just Jane being himself at his obstinate, inflammatory, irritating, obnoxious worst. If I didn't like him so much I'd just let him end the episode the way it originally ended and leave it at that.

But then... one kind reviewer sent me an email earnestly requesting that I "keep writing" on this story. Evidently someone out there believes that I can bring this story to a satisfactory conclusion, for which i am grateful. And I know that it can happen, it's just taking way longer than I thought it would. This story, or at least the main character, needs a good swift kick in the pants. Or more time. Or possibly both.

So I am trying something that worked for me once before in this story, taking a step back and letting a different perspective set the stage. Two perspectives, complete strangers to us, actually. Please be patient with them and treat them with respect. They're going through a very difficult time at the moment. But their presence in the story is part of what changes the ending, so I thought I'd give them a chance to introduce themselves before introducing them to our team and especially to our mentalist.

I take complete responsibility for Tabitha and Samuel Towne, For Miss Leah, and the world that they add to this alternate universe. As for Patrick Jane and his cannon based friends, I am in no way responsible for their characters and circumstances, except insofar as I meddle with them to make the story my own.

Chapter 9: Second Interlude

He watched the spedometer climbing behind his mother's deathgrip on the wheel. He searched for a kind, respectful way to tell her that she was scaring him to death so that she'd slow down. He knew she was worried about Uncle Ay. But a high speed crash wouldn't keep her brother from going back to prison.

As usual, humor was his friend. "That's it Mom. If you want a police escort straight to the FBI, this will really get their attention."

He saw her jaw clench and he worried, for an instant, that she had passed into a mood where jokes would only upset her further. But she took a deep, slow breath as her foot eased off the accelerator. He saw her flex, stretch, and loosen each finger in turn. "Thanks, Sam." Her smile was slightly forced, but he knew she was making an effort rise above her fears so that she could think clearly. "How much farther to the next turn?"

He glanced at the smart phone, knowing that the exact answer would not ease her mind. "GPS says 25 minutes." He heard her breath hitch, saw her eyes blinking rapidly in the light of the dashboard. "It'll be okay, Mom. Miss Leah said she'll meet us there. She figured it would take her 30 minutes, tops."

"Father God, thank you for Miss Leah..." at the sound of his mother's whisper Sam closed his eyes and ducked his head. She usually kept such private moments of thanks and supplication silent. He would see her eyes closed or cast upward and see her lips moving, and he would know that she wasn't addressing him. Only in times of great stress would he hear the words.

Now he added his own prayers fervently to hers. Lord keep us safe. Give her peace and wisdom. Show me how I can help her. And please, please be with Uncle Aaron...

"Do you think the little ones will be okay with Mrs. Bell?" Sam looked up again. She was anxious for so many things tonight. He knew it was his job to reassure her and help her stay calm.

"You better not let Paul hear you lumping him in with the littles," he commented wryly. Noting her smile, he knew that he had lightened her mood a bit. "They all seemed okay when I dropped them off. Mrs. Bell says don't worry how long it takes, she can keep them through tomorrow morning, if need be." Privately he wondered what could possibly take that long. But then, at 15, he had never been to help a relative in legal trouble before. If they needed a lawyer or... what, bail money? That shouldn't require an overnighter, right?

"What about Pastor Dan, is he able to come?"

Sam had been wondering how long it would take before she asked. She had given him a list of things to ask Mrs. Bell when he brought the kids over. But in the urgency to get on the road she had evidently forgotten. "No, he's with the Sandersons. The hospice workers are saying Mayford might be going home soon. Mr. Ellis is sick, And Davis Tucker are seeing to the Stiller girl that was in the car accident yesterday." He took some pride in the fact that he had remembered all those details.

"With all these crises, it's a wonder that anyone was free. Well, if it couldn't be any of the elders, at least it's Miss Leah. Did you tell me she said her husband works there?" That bit of news Sam had delivered as soon as he got back to the house, where his mother was waiting impatiently for her navigator. It was comforting to note that this crucial and intriguing information had registered, even in the midst of his mother's distress.

"Yes, Mrs. Bell had me call her from their land line. Miss Leah was hopeful that she and Mr. D. Could help, but she wasn't promising anything. She said if we really wanted to see Uncle Aaron, she'd find out if it's possible. Might not even be in his department."

"Well, it's a providence that she knows anyone there. Mr. D. never does talk about his work. Who knew he worked for the FBI?"

Not Sam, that's for sure. "The Bells knew, I guess. Maybe the elders. Kind of hard to imagine Mr. D. as a big law enforcement guy. He just seems so laid back and friendly." Sam thought of the times Mr. D. had shown up at youth group, always unexpectedly. He would join the basketball game, even though he wasn't that good at it. Or he would help them set up a project for a work day. The man had complimented Sam's chili at the last barbecue, pushed his younger siblings on the playground swing. It had never occurred to him before to wonder why Mr. D's participation was so sporadic. Another new thought occurred to him. "Byron never mentioned it. You'd think that he'd have said something."

Tabitha Towne shook her head. "It wasn't his story to tell."

"Well, if my Dad worked for the FBI, you can bet I'd want people to know it." Sam had been tempted many times to tell people some such story. It would have beat letting the truth be known.

"Not if it might be dangerous, to him or to others, for people to find out. So keep this to yourself, alright?"

Figures, Sam thought to himself. Something really interesting and exciting to talk about, and he couldn't say a word to anyone. That was the downside of being the mature, responsible firstborn.

Actually, he was beginning to wonder if there were any upsides.

Trust! That's a benefit. If I am helping Mom in the middle of this crisis, she can't exactly refuse to share pertinent information!

"So did Uncle Ay say what he had done to be arrested this time?"

"No. He doesn't share details like that unless he has to." She sounded suddenly very tired.

"What was it last time? When he went to prison?" He had always wondered that. His mother didn't like to talk about it, either. But if ever there was a time to discuss it, now would be the time.

She hesitated, but not for long. "Assault." Her face was very grim. "I met the man that he... hurt. Tried to make amends. The damage was pretty serious. He was in the hospital for months."

Sam knew she was leaving out the gory details, and for once he didn't mind. Suddenly knowing all the facts didn't seem like such a perk. "Do you think he did it again?"

"I hope not. But given his history, it's hard to hold out hope. Aaron has been beating people up and getting beaten up since high school. When I was a kid I thought it was cool, because when people bullied me he could make them back off. I didn't realize that a person given to violence is his own victim. If you can't control your temper, you're always out of control. At the mercy of your moods."

Sam had heard this before, but now it had more impact. Now he knew where the lesson came from.

"If he did hurt someone, why are we helping him? Won't he just do it again?"

"We don't know that." Her voice quavered. "He seemed pretty broken up over it, really. He hasn't been in any trouble that I know of since he got out. But maybe he doesn't tell me everything." She drew in a deep breath. "What do I always tell Paul and Drew and the others when they get caught breaking the rules?"

"That it's better to get caught so you can make things right than to go on thinking you can get away with it," Sam recited promptly. "You always told me the same thing."

She smiled fondly at him. "I haven't had to lately. Not for a long time." Sighing, she continued, "I hate it when Aaron's in trouble. He was a good brother to me. He was kind, and he looked out for me after Dad went away. I hate the fact that he can also be cruel, and violent, and underhanded. Because I love him, I want him to have every chance to repent. Prison is a hard place to do that. So if he's finally hit rock bottom, if this could possibly be the chance to make the lesson stick, I want him to have the best support possible for that. I'm hoping if he does time he'll be close enough to visit this time around. And Pastor Bell works with prison ministries in Travis County. Maybe this could be the opportunity Aaron needs to turn his life around."

Her voice began to shake, and Sam squirmed in his seat. It was hard to hear when his mother, usually so calm and cheerful, got this emotional. He tried to sound off-hand as he asked, "If this is such a great opportunity, why are you so so scared?"

Her breath hitched, and Sam looked away hastily from the tears that caught the light of the dashboard. "Because...what if it's not? What if he's not going to change? What if all this hardens his heart even more? What if he gets hurt, or dies in prison... or what if he hurts more people... even kills someone..."

Sam could see that she was only getting more and more worked up, and they were still nowhere near their goal. He needed to calm her down, but jokes wouldn't cut it. Not this time. The first thing he thought of to defuse the what-ifs was what she always told him. "Mom. Are we in control of that?"

"No." She said at once, gulping down a breath and then struggling with a deeper one. "God is."

"And he's good, right? We can trust him to work things together for good?"

A deep inhalation, slowly released with her assent. "Yesssssssss.'

Sam put a hand on her shoulder. "Then all we have to do is trust him to help us do our best."

She took one hand from the wheel and grabbed his, brought it to her lips. Sam usually resisted such affectionate gestures, but he knew she needed it right now. So he squeezed her hand in return and let her entwine her fingers with his. He hadn't allowed that since he was 10.

"Thank you, Sammy. Thank God for you..."

And Sam gritted his teeth and wished for the millionth time that she wouldn't call him Sammy.

It seems that writing this has been helpful in getting my thoughts and plans in order for Jane's chapter. Actually, chapters, now. Our hero has too significant a piece to be contained in just one. But hopefully "The Best Laid Plans" will be complete by this weekend, with "Confessional" to follow soon after. If I'm very good, "Invitation" will be done before Christmas. And a Christmas miracle might set the epilogue under our collective tree, too. However it works, warm wishes for happy holidays to all who read this story. It is a joy to know that my efforts can brighten your season a bit.