A/N: I will never be able to express enough thanks to thank everyone who has read WWW. I appreciate it more than you know! And please review even if you hate it. I would like to know how to please my readers and how will I know what to improve if no one tells me! I had someone tell me that they wished the chapters were longer, so we're giving that a go tonight. This chapter is a bit longer than others, so we will see how that goes. Thank you to those who continue to give me such helpful and encouraging feedback. I'd also like to mention I don't own any part of the Mentalist and write for sheer enjoyment. Enjoy!
Pink.
Pink lips, pink ribbons, pink cheeks.
Pink pills dancing in a small white cup.
The afternoon passed deftly for Patrick. After group session, he attended lunch. He sat with Marvin, Trevor, Peter, and a few of Peter's friends. Afterwards he retreated to his violet chair by the window to watch the kids as they left school that day. He remained there to witness the sunset, eventually being joined by George later on as the clouds turned pink and the sky turned dark. Dinner came next, then evening session with Sophie (which morphed into an interrogation more than anything).
With the slight bit of the smallest piece of progress made from his evening session, Patrick headed back to his room for the night. By now, most patients were in their rooms since lights out was in an hour or so. Plus, it was medication hour.
"These are your new medications." George stated, handing Patrick his small white cup with the medications in it accompanied with a cup of water. "They're trying out something new on you to see if it'll help improve your mood and your depression."
"I'm not very depressed anymore to be honest," Patrick confessed. He knew he wasn't back to one hundred percent, but he definitely was better than he was when he was first admitted.
"Most patients say that, however we still need you to be taking your medications. You're still on Atarax for your anxiety and Ambien to help you sleep, but they're switching out your Zoloft for Amitriptyline. These little pink pills should help stabilize your mood more effectively."
"Do you think my mood needs stabilizing, George?" Patrick glanced up at the nurse.
"Well...I...I really don't know about your, y'know, status as a patient and I don't want to assume anything so I really don't know. They just give me the orders and I follow them, Pat."
"I know. Just curiosity." Patrick smirked up at him, quickly tossing the small cup of pills to drown in the back of his throat. After swallowing, he opened his mouth wide, stuck his tongue out as far as he could, lifted his tongue up, and then relaxed his mouth. It was necessary for them to do mouth checks to be sure patients weren't saving them to over dose on.
"They said some side effects include headaches, dizziness, sometimes hallucinations, blackouts, things like that so be on the look out, okay?"
Patrick nodded obediently.
"How was group session today?" George used to sound obligated to ask about sessions, but he had slowly began to sound genuine with curiosity.
"As good as could be expected." Sitting in a room with 7 other depressed suicidal people talking about depression and suicide. Not sure what kind of response you're looking for...
"Well that's good to hear." He smiled at Jane. "I've got to go hunt down Peter to give him his evening meds."
"I've heard he's got a Ping Pong tourney with a few guys from his group going on."
"Yeah," George agreed. "Every full moon night after evening sessions." He headed toward the door. "Stay out of trouble, Pat."
"Can't guarantee anything." Patrick smiled, watching George leave the room. He exhaled and adjusted himself under his blankets and into his bed. He reached to the nearly filled journal and proceeded to fill out its last page.
Angela,
If I listen hard enough I can hear your sweet, sweet melodies singing our sweet Charlotte to sleep, playing over and over on repeat. I remembered the funniest thing today. How you used to listen to Josh Groban when his album came out last year. One of his songs came to mind today.
He hummed the tune as he wrote select lyrics down.
"Who can say for certain, maybe you're still here. I feel you all around me, your memory so clear."
"You are mine forever, love, and you are watching over me from up above."
I'm missing you.
I should have listened to you when you said I should stop my whole psychic business and find a more substantial job.
I'm so sorry. I always will be.
Love always,
Patrick.
He closed the filled journal and laid it back on the night stand, returning to his horizontal position on the bed. He interrogated the white ceiling with his eyes before gracefully drifting into the aided sleep.
"Princess Charlotte, would you like some tea?"
"No, Daddy! You have to do the voice!" the six-year-old protested.
Patrick smiled, repeating the phrase in a higher pitched, accented, feminine voice. "Princess Charlotte, would you like some tea?"
"Yes, I would! Thank you, Queen!"
The curly-haired blonde man pantomimed pouring tea into the two tea cups set out for each of them.
A feminine voice shouted from the hallway. "Alright your highness. Time for bed!"
"No! Not yet! We still have to finish our tea!"
Angela peeked into the doorway of the room. "Tea can wait until morning. It's past your bed time, darling."
"But, Mommy, it'll be cold by then!"
"Ahh! A dragon is setting out to attack the castle!" Patrick exclaimed, meeting Angela's gaze from across the room. "Hurry! We must get to Marshmallow Mountain to be safe!"
"Not the dragon! Ahh! Hurry, Daddy! Hurry!"
Patrick lifted the grinning blonde child into the air, exclaiming in terror! He flew her around the room, only to end up at her bed to toss her playfully into the pile of pink pillows. Angela proceeded to climb into the pile of pillows with Patrick as they teamed up and tickled little Charlotte.
"Ahh! Stop! Stoooopp!" the tiny human pleaded, giggling with every word. The parents retreated, smiles concrete on their faces.
"Come on, Princess. Under the covers." Patrick lifted up the blankets atop the bed and Charlotte scooted underneath them. Her brilliantly bright blue eyes stared up at Patrick in awe.
"Always remember, Charlotte," he began. "You are safe. You are loved. You are wise." He leaned forward to give his lovely daughter a gentle kiss upon her pale forehead.
Suddenly the young child gasped in panic, frantically searching the surrounding pillows and stuffed animals. "Where's Stella?!"
"Oh, honey. I think you left Stella down stairs." Angela cooed.
"Never fear! I'll run to rescue the lost hippopotamus!" Patrick leapt to his feet, jogging out of the room and down stairs. He found the pink stuffed animal hippo laying at the end of the couch in their living room. A smile plastered to his face, he grabbed the stuffed animal deftly and headed back up the stairs.
"I have returned with the animal!" Patrick announced as he reached the door, turning the knob.
Locked.
How odd. I don't remember shutting the door... or locking it for that matter...
He knocked gently on the pink door. "Your highness? I've retrieved your noble steed! Wouldst thou be so kind to let me in?"
Letting a moment pass in hopes of it being filled with a response, Patrick began to panic.
"Angela...? Charlotte...?" He dropped the stuffed animal, yanking and twisting the locked door knob as hard as he could.
It was oddly silent.
He raised his voice as loud as he could. "ANGELA! ANGELA, LET ME IN! CHARLOTTE?" His fists met the door with thunderous force, but the impact was not helpful. He placed his ear up against the door.
A low-pitched malicious laughter taunted him from the other side.
Click.
The previously locked door opened slowly to the young child's room.
All lights off.
Except one lamp shining onto the wall.
Blood stained the wall with a message.
You can't escape me, Patrick.
The blonde man jerked awake, his face soaked with perspiration. He felt his pulse racing violently beneath his chest, staring at the familiar white ceiling.
"Dude..." he heard from the side of the room. The voice startled him, causing him to jolt upwards and extend his arms for protection.
There stood Peter, armed in a back swing with a plastic green light saber staring wide-eyed at the panicked man. "You okay?"
Patrick swallowed a midst the furious panting. He shoved all the blankets off of him in hopes to help cool him down a bit faster. He spoke to Peter breathlessly, keeping his eyes on the floor in front of him. "How...How bad was it?"
Peter slowly lowered his light saber toward the ground, refusing to shift his gaze to anything but Patrick. "Uhm...not as bad the past few nights, but still kinda bad. You started shouting for Angela and Charlotte again."
Patrick nodded, still attempting to control his violent breathing. He laid back down on his side, holding the blue blankets tight to him. He met the gaze of the moon outside the window as he placed his head back on his pillow.
"Sorry, Peter." he meekly apologized.
"Hey, dude. It's fine. You...you know...don't really have much control over that, man. Don't even worry about it." Peter responded. "I had a cousin who had night terrors once and I had to live with that for a few months, y'know, with the screaming and the crying and all that stuff so this is totally nothing."
Patrick nodded, keeping his gaze with the full moon shining bright outside the window, the image of that phrase remaining prominent in his head.
You can't escape me, Patrick.
"What do you think that message means, Patrick?" Sophie interrogated at their morning session the next day.
"I'm not exactly sure." It means he will never leave me alone. He will never let me be. He will never let me move on. I got myself into this and he's not letting me out.
"You've got to have at least a slight hunch of what you think these dreams mean."
"I know what they mean," he confessed.
"You just said you weren't exactly sure, though."
He ignored her comment. "Each individual dream is symbolic in its own way. Every dream I've had represents these emotions I have towards myself and Red John and these circumstances."
"Have they given you any insight?"
Only that I need to find this son of a bitch and kill him. "Only to the possibility that I may never want to leave him alone."
"What do you mean by that?"
Patrick paused for a moment. "I mean that as each day goes by I grow slightly more obsessed with the thought of finding this man and getting revenge."
"Revenge how?"
Good god, Sophie. Do I have to spoon feed it all to you? "Not exactly sure yet." Killing him myself, you moron.
A look of concern immediately found a home on Sophie's face. "You've got a plan, don't you?"
"Not yet, no." This was the truth. Patrick knew somehow, someway he was going to get back at Red John and kill him. As to how...he wasn't entirely sure.
"On a separate note, how are you doing on your Amitriptyline?"
"Fine. Nothing different." Those little pink pills had only approached him twice so far-once last night and once this morning. They pay particularly special attention to potential side effects and basically try out each medication they can until they find the one that reacts with your brain the best.
"Are you feeling better? Mood wise?"
"Sophie, I've told you. I haven't been deeply suicidal or depressed much or at all in the past few days. I'm fine."
"Yeah, well a lot of patients say the same thing and then hang themselves with their sheets." she blatantly explained.
"I can assure you I won't be doing that any time soon. Rest assured."
I'm not dying until Red John is dead.
"Well, keep taking your medications anyways. We'll take you off of them if we see fit."
Patrick nodded. "Are we done for today?" he glanced up at the clock. Sophie followed his eyes to the clock as well.
"Why? Late for something?"
"The kids," he explained. "They're coming out for recess soon."
Sophie smiled, knowing that he enjoyed watching the innocent children play, worry free. "Yes, we're done."
"Thank you," he stood up and hurriedly exited the therapists room making his way to his usual spot in the Common Room Area.
To his surprise, a young blonde girl sat in the chair opposite to his purple one, staring out the window. Too young to be in this place. His pace immediately slowed to cautious steps, all color draining from his face.
The little girl looked up at him, brilliantly bright blue eyes gleaming in the pink filter of the sun behind a translucent cloud as her face lit up with a smile.
"Daddy!"