Author's notes: Thank you to all those who reviewed the last chapter. I hope you like this one. It's mainly the last chapter from Jane's perspective. Ihaven't included any of the dialogue from the last chapter so you may need to read it to remind you of what was said. Here's hoping I made this chapter believable.
To Patrick it feels like his mind is filled with cotton wool, blocking his memories so they can't link together, and he can't make sense of everything. Like the picture he has in his mind of his wife and daughter brutally murdered, blood everywhere, their blood. His mind won't co-operate, no matter how hard he tries, there are no connections, no answers to his questions. Why are they dead? Who killed them? How did he get here?
It's a hospital room, that much he knows, that and his family are dead. Or is his mind playing tricks on him? Are they alive? Is this some fantasy he's created? Has he gone mad somehow? But if they're alive, why is he alone?
He turns as he hears the door open, maybe finally he will receive some answers. One is obviously a doctor, the woman…the woman is familiar, but from where? He concentrates on her, fighting to find the answer, she's obviously a cop. He hears the doctor ask him if he knows who he is. He has no idea so ignores him. Yes definitely a cop. Not in uniform, so a detective. No, that's not right, what else? An FBI agent maybe. Agent that's it! On cue the doctor asks who she is and should he really be this proud of himself that he can answer?
"Agent Lisbon."
His mind makes a connection.
A cop! Red John! My wife and child are dead! They really are dead! So much blood…so much blood.
He hears the doctor demanding he looks at him, but she's the cop, she's the one with the answers.
But what is that he's talking about? A long time ago, an accident. Forgotten. He reluctantly turns from Agent Lisbon, he needs to listen to what the doctor's saying. Luckily he repeats it, but it still doesn't make sense, it can't be true. It sounds a fantastic story, but the doctor looks like he's telling the truth. It would explain things. Explain why he's here, why his mind isn't co-operating. But he just hugged his wife and his daughter, gave them each a kiss goodbye as he went to the television studio. It wasn't years ago, He looks towards Agent Lisbon, he's certain she'll tell him the truth.
She looks so sad, she nods her head.
How can this be true? He has to ask the obvious question.
"How long?"
She checks with the doctor before answering.
"Nearly twenty years ago"
He's stunned, why would she say such a ridiculous thing? They were alive, they were just alive. He can still feel them in his arms, hear their voices. Why is she lying to me?
He feels a hand on his arm and turns to look at the doctor.
He tells me to stay calm. How can I stay calm, my family are dead and everyone's lying to me! But he makes sense. I know the mind works better when calm, and I need it to work better.
As he copies the doctors deep breathing, he feels some of the tension leave his body, his mind relaxes, expanding. He thinks of a babies cloth building block held tight in the hand, and when the hand opens it slowly relaxes back into its original shape. The doctors right he must stay relaxed, connections will be made.
The doctor saying she's not lying, he wants to know what I remember.
The blood that's what I remember. They're lifeless bodies, eyes open in death, it was my fault!
He knows I held them. I held them for a long time, I kissed them, pleaded with them, told them I was sorry, over and over again. A nightmare, he says, he has no idea. He talks about it so matter of fact, as if it's a fact of life, not something that's tearing me apart. He wants to know what I did next. I don't know, my wife and child are all I can think about.
He's waiting for an answer.
What would I do next? The police, I would call the police. That will satisfy him.
As I say it, there it is, I did call the police, but it wasn't Agent Lisbon.
She smiles when I say it, she happy I remember that. Sacramento she says.
Yes. Sacramento. I went looking for Red John, Red john killed my family. She was younger then. It did happen a long time ago.
I guess she's right, I must be older too. I like her. Yes I liked her immediately on meeting her.
He asks what I remember.
She was kind, she didn't want me there, not because I was a nuisance, but because she cared, she felt I should just get on with my life, she felt sorry for me, she told me I looked a mess. I liked that, blunt, forthright, I can trust her.
I made her laugh. She has beautiful eyes, she knows me. I worked for her. She liked me working for her. We were friends. Yes I was a detective, of course I was good.
As I look at her images flash through my mind of dead bodies, car rides, chats stretched out on a sofa.
I wish that doctor would leave me alone. He wants one memory, but they fleet in and out so fast it's hard to capture one. It's hard. I must apologise to her, I know she wants it more than the doctor.
Thank goodness they're talking about leaving me alone. She's right, rest is what I need. Sleep is a great healer. I close my eyes but my mind is holding on to something that didn't seem right. She called me Patrick, she's never called me Patrick. How do I know that?
Connections are being made everywhere, so many memories, it really was a long time ago. I feel like I was an empty, inflatable dummy that's being pumped full of air. Like that old cliché of finding oneself. I am Patrick Jane, I went looking for Red John and found a best friend.
"When did you start calling me Patrick?"
She returns my smile, she likes it when I smile.
"You're remembering."
There's still a sadness there, she looks at her hands and I follow her gaze. She's twisting a ring. I ask her in wonder.
"When did you get married?"
As I give her a closer look I realise something else.
"You have children too."
She's hesitating answering, she looks uncomfortable, she's avoiding looking at me.
"What's wrong? Don't I like him?"
Finally she looks at me.
"You're suppose to be getting some rest. We can talk about it later."
She stands up. I ask her surprised:
"You're leaving?"
She plays with getting her bag on her shoulder.
"I need to get home."
"Ah to the family."
She walks to the door. After opening it she turns to look at me.
"Goodbye, I be back later."
I smile at her, because she likes it when I smile.
"I'll be here."
She flashes me the saddest smile before closing the door. I look to the ceiling. There's something I'm missing but it hurts to think. I let myself relax hoping that sleep will help make everything clearer.