Violet.
Violet flowers, violet blouse, violet carpet patterns.
Violet nail polish upon a comforting hand.
"So," Sophie began. "Day 6 of therapy and...what? Nothing yet?"
Patrick remained in the common silence. He had no longing to speak to anyone still.
"Patrick, this is becoming a little bit ridiculous, don't you think?" She added, letting a breathy laugh escape her mouth.
Jane met her gaze, poisoning her with his contagious countenance of sadness. The joking smile immediately drained from her face.
"Alright, so no talking today. That's perfectly fine."
The one thing that appealed to Jane was that she couldn't force him to do or say anything. It was all semi-voluntary.
"Fine then. Let's play a game, shall we? You like games, don't you Patrick?"
Stop talking to me like I'm twelve. He nodded.
"Alright. I'll ask a question or say a comment, you nod 'yes' or 'no'. Sound good?"
Won't hurt anything. Won't be revealing anything. He nodded in agreement.
"Your name is Patrick Jane."
He nodded.
"You used to be a con artist."
Another nod, slightly more hesitant than the first.
"Specifically dealing with psychic abilities and contacting the afterlife...?"
Yes.
"Do you enjoy long walks on the beach?"
He laughed, nodding.
"Drink coffee?"
A shake of the head.
"Tea?"
He smiled slightly, nodding confidently.
"Your wife and daughter were murdered almost one month ago."
He felt all color vanish from his face. Didn't expect that one. He looked to the purple patterned carpet.
He nodded.
"This was a result of you sharing information over the media about Red John, yes?"
Yes.
"Do you feel responsible?"
Hesitant at first, but then a nod.
"You feel it's your fault that your family is dead."
Another nod.
"You wish Red John would have killed you instead of them."
He nodded. General psychiatric information. Anyone could have inferred these questions and known what the answers would be based on my circumstances.
"You've never trusted anyone, I mean really trusted anyone."
He nodded.
"Does anyone know who you are? Anyone at all?"
He thought for a minute, then sheepishly proceeded to shake his head.
"Do you want to get better?"
This one he needed to think about. Since his family was murdered he had been a wreck and had no desire to go on with anything. He had attempted suicide twice within the same week.
However, something about Sophie gave him a slight sense of hope. He couldn't put his finger on it and it wasn't like he was automatically healed by looking into her eyes or gracing her hand lightly, but he did feel like he could do more when she was around.
Hesitantly and shyly, he nodded slightly.
"Good," she said. "Because I want you to get better too. But you are only going to get better if you want to. So that's a start, okay?"
She smiled at him warmly. "I think we've had enough for today. Shall we call it a day?"
Patrick remained looking at the carpet as he nodded his head and stood.
"Hey," she placed a hand on his shoulder. "We at least made some progress today. That's good, okay? One step at a time. We'll get there." she reassured. "I'll see you later. George is waiting for you outside. I heard it was your last day on watch, is that right?"
Patrick nodded, one corner of his mouth slightly raising. He was quite excited to get rid of George stalking him. He made good company, however Patrick was much more used to being by himself. He knew he wasn't healed, but he knew he wasn't as intensively suicidal as he was a week ago.
The blonde haired man proceeded out of the therapy room to meet George, whom had caught on to how to communicate with Patrick. He asked the same question after every session.
"Did it go well?"
Patrick nodded, as he did every time George had asked that question.
"Good." He would always reply with an optimistic smile plastered to his face.
George led Patrick to the Common Room. He made eye contact with Peter who froze in his position on the couch where he was playing Candy Land with a few other patients. Needless to say Peter was slightly terrified of Patrick after he attacked him two days prior.
"Y'know, I know you aren't all for the whole talking thing yet but maybe you should talk to Peter to sort things out. I bet he'd be more comfortable knowing you aren't usually a savage." George chimed.
Patrick ignored the comment and retreated to the chair he'd made his home in the Common Room for the past few days. A round violet chair sat beside a window that welcomed in the sunlight and had a perfect view of a park at an elementary school across the street. Watching children enjoy themselves and play was something that Patrick found joy in. He was always envious of the innocence of the tiny humans. The weather had progressively gotten better as the week went on, making today a perfect fall day for the kids to be playing outside.
He eyed a certain girl on the monkey bars. Long, blonde, curly hair swung against her back as she adventured from one side of the monkey bars to the other. She wore bright violet boots. He could swear she looks just like...
"What is it about these kids?" George asked. He didn't know the entirety of Patrick's story, so he didn't understand the significance. "I mean, I know you won't answer me but I will never understand why you watch them like you do with such delight."
George allowed silence to pass through momentarily.
"Do you have kids?"
Jane didn't exactly know how to answer that question. He kept his eyes locked on the blonde girl, swinging blissfully on the swings now as her hair flowed gracefully in the breeze with a smile cemented onto her face.
"Patrick?"
Jane broke his glance to look up at George.
"Do you have any kids?"
Patrick slowly shook his head.
Not anymore.
"Do you want kids?"
Another shake of the head.
Not anymore.
They sat in silence, observing the innocent children play without a care in the world. How Patrick wished so desperately to be there with them.
"I don't have any kids, nor do I want any either." George admitted. "I grew up raising my little brother and he was a pest enough so I didn't want to have to deal with them anymore. Too much responsibility, you know?"
Patrick nodded, still watching the children.
"My little brother," George proceeded, "He, uhm...He had autism. A severe kind of autism too where he looked normal but his brain was all messed up. And my parents didn't care for him at all so I had to. I didn't mind it much. I think that's why I wanted to work and help with people in mental institutions." George was also looking out the window at this point. "Y'know with my brother I was someone who didn't give up on him and he needed that someone. Everyone needs that someone so if I can be that someone for you or for Peter, that's what I want. I don't know if I'm even making much sense and I know I just kind of said that but yeah. A lot of people wonder why people like me take these jobs. I guess that's why."
George looked up towards Patrick whose eyes still remained glued on the playground.
"Not that, you know, you care much anyways." he added.
Silence fell between the two for several minutes. In that instant, Patrick wasn't sure he wanted to be taken off of suicide watch. Peter was right. It was sort of like an automatic best friend.
"For what it's worth," George began, "The people here... we won't give up on you, okay?"
George awaited a response that seemed to not arrive. So when Patrick lifted his gaze from the school yard to look into George's eyes and smiled at him with gratitude, George was slightly taken a back. Following the gesture, Patrick resumed his watching. He rested his chin in his hand and leaned against the side of the window. Another moment filled with peace, quietness, and serenity that Patrick appreciated.
"Patrick?"
A female voice called after him.
"Patrick?"
Jane quickly unlocked the front door to his house to hear voices shouting at him.
"Patrick, help me!"
He stopped. Was that...
"Daddy? Daddy, help me!"
Angela? Charlotte?
In an attempt to scream, he fell silent. Patrick ran through his house and up his stairs as faster as he could. Following the voices towards his daughters room. He stood outside looking in.
There lay his wife and daughter.
Tied up, alive, suffering.
Tears rolled freely down the cheeks of his precious six year old.
"Daddy! Daddy, save me!" she pleaded.
"Daddy, help! Please don't let me die!" she cried.
Patrick ran towards the door of her room, just as a large man dressed in all black slammed the door shut and locked it in front of him.
"No! NO! Open this door!" Patrick pounded with every strength in his entire being. "CHARLOTTE? ANGELA?"
"Patrick, sweetie," Angela spoke, fear behind each word. "Patrick, please. Please, honey! Please!"
Patrick spoke frantically trying to find some way to bust the door down. "I'm trying!" he yelled. "I'm coming, Angie, don't you worry. You're going to be just fine, I promise. I'm here. I'm-"
Screaming.
Slicing.
Sobbing.
Patrick listened through the door to the sounds of his wife and daughter suffering and bleeding out. Breathing heavy with tears staining his face he pounded furiously on the door, unable to speak coherently.
A deep, malicious laughter came from the opposing side of the door.
Click.
The previously locked bedroom door now creaked open, revealing the fresh corpses.
Violet.
Violet walls, violet curtains, violet lamp shade.
Violet pajamas drowned in crimson.
Patrick awoke suddenly, breathing heavy with perspiration dripping freely down his forehead.
The bell had rung for the children to go inside.
George eyed the man carefully. "You okay?"
Patrick shut his eyes tight in attempt to calm himself down and steady his own breathing. With a careful nod (that was completely unbelievable to George) he took in a deep breath and exhaled, opening his eyes to an empty playground.
"C'mon. Group is starting soon." George mentioned as he rose from his chair.
Patrick nodded, taking one last glance out at the autumn day.
I'm so sorry, Charlotte.