Thank you to Sue Shay and Cumberland River Relic for their detailed comments and helpful critique of an earlier draft of this chapter. Check out their latest stories – "White Out" and "Baby Blue Skies".
Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and make no money from fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.
March 23rd, 2014: Four months after McAllister's demise
Dear Diary,
It's 4.15am here on the Venezuelan coast. And surprisingly enough, I can't sleep. It's like my body's suddenly remembered that it should be on California time. And 1.45 in the morning was always a respectable hour to be pacing the CBI attic, especially after that damned CD of Lorelei turned up. Not to mention the times when we'd already be out on a case. The city never sleeps when you're working homicide.
I stretch and yawn. Too early to bug Alfredo yet so I'll dig into my meagre supply of tea bags. How I would love a nice loose leaf oolong right now, or even a mango and lime, but the local store doesn't stretch beyond the 'default' teabag box, covered in Spanish on a swirly yellow background. Tasteful. In more ways than one!
Okay, cup of liquid sawdust now in hand, I can be here for you, my confidant. It may taste awful but the tea is wet and warm, with enough caffeine to make it worth the effort of brewing it.
But, you know diary, I can't think of anything to write. My life isn't too boring – OK that's not strictly true – but nothing stands out.
You know, I think I'll take my tea and go down to the beach. Dawn should be breaking in another hour or so and perhaps the feral cats will be around. There's some fish that I want rid of and they'd enjoy it. Mmm, what do you call a group of wild cats anyway? Once I would have known, but now it seems unimportant. It wouldn't be a pride or a pack. Maybe just an association? That would be more like it. It's the best description.
The tide should be well on its way out. It'll be at its highest around 3pm I think because it was in just after lunch yesterday.
Yep, that's a plan. I can slip through the enveloping darkness again with the crescent moon to guide me down the main road. I'll settle on the sand in the glow of the harbour lantern for a while, or maybe find a sheltered spot and watch the stars. Last time I did that, I counted 134 of them. Then mapped them to 36 constellations using a book that I found at the schoolhouse. Perhaps I'll see more today.
After some quiet time cocooned in the pre-dawn darkness, I'll likely walk out towards the water as the dawn cacophony starts. As you know, that's the alarm for the fishermen to be launching their boats. They'll not bother me. Today they'll have quite a way to drag their craft to reach the tide, and they'll be too busy for social talk.
Mmm, let me grab my sweater…
5.50 am
Dawn is well underway. The horizon is streaking silver and the rising sun throws a straight path across the smooth sea surface. I sit by the water, watching the waves as they curl and crash, letting the swish and drag soothe me. Least that's the plan.
Restlessness has been building inside me for a few days now. And memories of Malibu – my mutilated girls and the psychopath's note – have escaped from lockdown in my memory palace. They're always there, front and centre, never giving me peace. The images haunt my waking hours as well as my dreams.
I should be used to the guilt. It's nothing new. But I guess that when you live in hell every day, the bad days aren't much worse than the other days. It's strange to find that when you improve in general, then the bad days become crippling. More devastating. Much harder to fight. I feel like I have lead blocks in my belly and the headache zaps from one side of my skull to the other and back again, threatening to split my forehead open. Not to mention that it's hard to breathe. Hotel California, huh?
It's no good, diary. I need to walk. And walk. And search for my darling Angela. I know she's not here, but I need to talk with her. Scream and beseech her till I'm prostrate on the sand with every muscle rigid. And even that won't be enough. I'm sorry, my love. So, so sorry.
7.15pm
What can I say? I'm drained. Exhausted and empty. I guess I should catch you up on the day's events. Then maybe I can sleep.
It was embarrassing.
I almost had to be rescued. As it was, I needed serious help.
For some reason, every time I find myself in a tight spot I hear Lisbon's voice berating me. I think eventually that she would see the funny side and laugh. At least she would after the usual lecture about irresponsibility and the senselessness of putting myself in needless danger. And after demonstrating her need to punch me in the nose, of course. I never did get that. Your reward for returning safely is physical abuse. I think it was usually payback for frightening her though. A Lisbon-like way to show she cared. But my hand goes up automatically to cradle the much abused appendage even if it's only remembered pain this time. For a small woman, she could certainly let fly.
So diary, what can I say.
After I left you this morning, tucked away in a recess under the back of Alfredo's cantina, I began to walk. And walk. And walk. Totally wrapped up in my head and my memories. I had no notion of anything. Just reaching out for Angela. Yearning for a connection.
Turns out I must have walked for five or six hours. I'd almost reached the next settlement, which is a good 20 miles or more along the coast.
So what happened? I remember feeling exhausted and sinking down into the hot sand, the sun boring into my back and unprotected head, and my throat feeling like it'd been slaked with brine. And I must have fallen asleep. I woke to one of the villagers kneeling beside me, shaking me and rattling on in frantic Spanish. The tide was on the march. We were surrounded on three sides, with the channel on the fourth rapidly filling. It was time to go.
I tried to follow my guardian angel back up the beach but I stumbled a few times, getting drenched in salt water. It was cooling but smarted on my sunburned skin, and I was still disorientated. Heat exhaustion I guess, and dehydration.
Mmm. Not really clear about what followed. Several people. Machine gun Spanish. I choked out the name of my village but I couldn't speak properly and they didn't understand. Someone appeared with a long glass of cool, clear water. I downed it in one, and they fetched me some more. And a bucket of well water to rinse the salt off my skin.
Eventually I was able to tell them where I was from, and a podgy lady in her 50's broke into a smile. "Alfredo? You know Alfredo?" she asked me, speaking slowly and clearly so I could follow the Spanish, though in my addled state it took me several attempts. When I nodded, she grabbed me in a bear hug. It took all my energy and focus not to faint away from the strain!
Lots more rapid fire Spanish, to and fro around the little group of my self-appointed protectors. Then I'm bundled into a Jeep, along with two crates of mixed spirits and a sack of some local produce, and driven back to Alfredo's cantina by a bear of a man. Huge but friendly. A bit like Rigsby but much rounder. I think I fell asleep again on the way back.
I'm still a little groggy, after enduring 2 hours of Alfredo's alternate cajoling and nursing. His wife, Anna, took me in and kept feeding me water, and they made me eat. I begged them for tea but they wouldn't hear of it. Meh! I'm OK. No need to fuss. Even if it was kind of them.
So diary, eventually I managed to escape and to retrieve you from where I'd left you. And we came home together. And that was that.
One good thing about talking with you. Whatever you think, you won't punch me in the nose, or yell at me for being an idiot. You're kinda nice that way. Though I do miss my angry little princess, and her Glock wielding skills.
Anyway, good night and sweet dreams. I'm off to bed.
March 24th, 2014. 11am
I've just crawled out of bed. Slept like a hibernating bear. And I feel so much better. Hope is welling up within me as a crystal spring, sluicing away my pain.
Water metaphors….. Probably cause I'm still thirsty.
I need to get me some eggs. And a pot of tea.
And to thank Anna and Alfredo for their kindness. One day I will find a way to return the favour. There must be something that they would like.
Okay diary, I'm outta here. See ya later.