The Guy Next Door (Chapter 7)

[little_firestar]

As they left the flea market, Lisbon couldn’t help but think, at every step she took, that she was forgetting something. It was just a sensation, and even if she thought it had to be somehow important, she couldn’t point for the love of God what it could be.

She was so distracted by her own thinking- and by the burning feeling of Jane’s hand on the small of her back- that she didn’t even notice when he guided her in a small bistro. Like out of the blue, she found herself sitting in a secluded alcove, right in front of Jane, two cups of tea (that she would have never ordered in a million of years)between them and a window that looked at the Capitol Building at her right.

Right. I work for a living- and I happen to work for the government. She suddenly remembered, her eyes going wide at the sight of the building. She wondered if Bertram was on the job today. Who knew, maybe he would be passing by and spot her. Please no. she thought. She had been great PR for the bureau with the Red John investigation, but she was well aware that there were few small things that her big bad boss in charge didn’t appreciate about her. She was doing her best to make him forget her past mistakes, and, she didn’t know why, but she felt that being seen with a man like Patrick Jane lazing around couldn’t be good for her career.

“Ah, Lisbon, Lisbon, you shouldn’t always think about work. Isn’t it better being here, drinking the best tea in Sacramento, than all alone at home, thinking about only work?” he asked, with his ever-present grin.

“Sure.” She answered at low voice, with a tone that couldn’t have been more sarcastic even if she had tried. She rolled her eyes, and took her Blackberry from her purse, but he stole it as soon as the devil’s trap was in sight. He tsk-tsked, shaking his head, and hid it in his breast pocket.

“I just wanted to check the time.” She justified herself, blushing. She hid with her shirt and her hand her wristwatch, as he grinned, again, at her blushing. She wasn’t stupid, she knew she had been caught red-handed while checking if she had emails or missing calls. Of course, he has seen the watch. After all, he had told her that observing people had been his line of work, a long time before.

“Oh, really?” he asked, lifting a blonde eyebrow. “Are you going to abandon me, Lisbon? Did you arrange a date with your Ray and forgot to mention it to me? I’m wounded, my dear.” He added, with a hand on his chest, faking she had wounded him for real. She felt like laughing looking at him; his pout was so false and childish that remembered that of a five years old girl who wanted a new doll.

“Ray’s away on a case.” She told him, lying through her teeth. She wondered if Jane had seen through it, and if he did, if he knew why she had felt compelled to lie, because she didn’t. After all, what was wrong with admitting that Ray had asked her out and she had told him that she didn’t feel like it?

Even if even that wasn’t the truth. Ray had asked her out, but she had told him she wanted to work on some reports. Only, she hadn’t- as she was spending the day with her neighbor.

Jane sighed, feeling like Teresa Lisbon was a lost cause. But, he wasn’t ready to give up on her just yet. Even if at a great cost, he had  found redemption, after all, and there was still time for her to learn to enjoy life before it was too late. “Lisbon, it’s a nice day. It’s the weekend- a day you aren’t’ supposed to work on. So, I’ll keep your phone for the remaining of the afternoon, and you’ll live in the moment.”

She groaned. She had never liked Dead Poets Society that much, and if he believed that a quote from the movie, or what it was, was going to make her change her mind, he didn’t know her very well.

“Jane, Listen” she said, taking a big breath and looking at him with her best puppy dog eyes. “It’s been… fun.” She admitted, and saying the words out loud was almost painful, given the man’s arrogance. “But I need to go back home and start working on my reports, or I’ll have to stay up all night today and tomorrow if I’ll want to have a chance of finishing them for Monday.”

He smiled, and she shivered. She already knew that that expression could mean only one thing: Trouble. With a capitol T. “Not unless I find a way to corrupt you this evening as well, my dear.”

She studied him, and the appreciation in her eyes wasn’t lost on them. She didn’t have any trouble admitting that he was handsome, and she was pretty sure that he knew it too, that it was something that more than once in his life he had used at his own advantage. “With all due respect, but it’s hard to believe that a man like you has nothing better to do on a weekend evening than trying to corrupt” she said with air-quotes. “me.”

“I didn’t say I have nothing to do on a Saturday evening.” He tapped his lips, studying her. She hated when he did that. With a passion.

“You told me that you wanted to corrupt me.” She said lifting her eyebrows up to her hairline. Something was way wrong there- and she felt like she was getting herself in trouble by just talking with that handsome blonde devil.

“Interesting, Lisbon. I wonder if, deep down, you want to be corrupted.” He paused, and looked at her with mischief and intent. “by me.”

She blushed, and looked everywhere but him. She didn’t know what he meant by his words, but she knew what kind of images his innuendos awoke in her. She couldn’t help it: he was a good-looking man after all, and he was there, with her, something that had rarely happened in her life.

“I didn’t say that I want you to corrupt me.” Even if the thought of being seduced by Jane over a meal had definitely crossed her mind-more than once, actually. “I was just observing that your first statement seemed to imply a lack of plans, but then, you denied it.”

She smiled. She liked being professional and in charge, and putting Jane back in his place was something she was rather enjoying. She hoped that she was going to get many other chances to do so; it made her feel like a very good cop.

“Oh, but I do have plans.” He chuckled, sipping his tea like a gentleman from an old novel. “And they include a fire-cracker of a cop.” He paused a second or two, looking in the void, then, like he was wondering something out loud, he asked. “What does it mean, a man like me?”

She blushed, and once again tried to evade him. He was a dangerous man, and his expression- that said that he knew exactly what kind of man he was- was even more so. “Uhm, where’s the waitress? I need to order and get home ASAP if I want to get something done today.” She played nervously with the hem of her shirt, fumbling with a strand of loose fabric. Jane looked at her with something she couldn’t define; he seemed sorry, but whether it was for her or him, she didn’t know. He seemed so deep in that moment, lost in his thoughts, his gaze faraway. She gulped down a mouthful of saliva, and felt a surge of affection for the mysterious man. She wanted to reach out, cup his face, hold his hand and comfort him. But she knew how dangerous that could be; a man like Patrick Jane could be poison for her plan.

“Someone, Teresa” he told her, using her given name and with a soft voice that remembered her of her father when she was still a little child. “Someone should teach you to stop to enjoy life.”

Again, she got lost in his low, sad eyes and barely stopped herself from reaching out for him. He was trying to tell her something, she knew it. But she wondered if he was aware of it too. “Why do you care so much, Jane?”

He looked outside, trying to dismiss either her question or his answer, she wasn’t sure. “Well, what can I say, I like to save damsels in distress and I hate to see a woman who spends her days and nights closed in an office working on paperwork, while she could be outside having fun and work only on working hours and days.” 

“Is it the only reason?” She tried to force him, because she knew there was much more and maybe that was his way of trying to share it, because alone he couldn’t say the words out loud.

“Why can’t I have only one reason?” he asked, defensive. She was pretty sure it was the end of it, as she had been told that when suspects answer a question with another question, it’s their way of deflecting the detective, changing subtly subject.  But she wasn’t going to give up yet. If he wanted to get involved with her life, change her, then, he had to give her something in return. She didn’t break eye contact, knowing that it would show him that she wasn’t stopping, that the silence would unnerve him. And after few minutes, he took a big breath. “You remember me of someone.” He admitted with a small smile.

She didn’t say anything, scared of committing some gaffe. She knew it wasn’t his mother, as he had told her himself not long before, but other than that… it could be a friend, a relative, his father, or maybe, and that was the real reason she kept her mouth shout, his late wife.

“Sometimes…” he said, and he took a big breath, his eyes again somewhere far away from there. “Sometimes, you remember me of… me.” he looked again in her direction, and smiled a bit when he noticed her surprised and skeptical expression. She even seemed a bit offended by his admission. “I used to be like you. I only thought about my work, I was always on call, always ready to receive a client.”

“It’s not that bad…” she tried to say, but it wasn’t the full truth. Yes, she appreciated that he had been a man dedicated to his job, but she still believe that his line of work was a bit… questionable. He had told her he had been a sort of life-coach, and that he had experience with profiling, but she knew that there was something he wasn’t telling her, something he didn’t want to share, out of shame or fear, she wasn’t sure.

But God, she wanted to know it- and moreover, she wanted for Jane to tell her.

“Sometimes it is.” And his tone told her it was the end of the conversation. And, just in case she didn’t get it and wanted to ask any more questions… “Oh, the waitress! We can order now.” Talking about changing topic to drive her attention away from the main subject.

“Jane….” She tried to say, because she knew he needed to talk. She had been closed off for way too long to not know the feel, the need to share but the fear hidden behind every words, fear of being judged, dismissed.

But Jane was Jane, and he read people for a living- or at least, he used to, according to his words- and knew what she was doing, and didn’t want to play her game. He wasn’t ready to talk with a stranger about his past and his faults, maybe he never would be, and Lisbon didn’t deserve to be the Mother Teresa of the situation.

“Ehy, you know, I looked at some old projects of the building when I started to work on my apartment, and there’s a passage between your apartment and my own.”

“A secret passage?” she asked, thrilled, and he grinned. Teresa was a real detective, and her youthful mirth, her natural curiosity was probably the main reason behind her chosen profession. I bet she is a fan of Sherlock Holmes, he wondered.

“Nothing so fancy, just a communication door of some kind.” He paused, and played with his tea. He had started to talk just to distract her, but now he was getting interested, and he liked seeing that light in her eyes, the sparkle of curiosity that showed how much she still enjoyed life underneath her façade of boring professionalism.  “Our apartments seem a little smaller than in the original projects, so I think that the passage hadn’t been walled up, but that the walls had rather been built around the passage.”

She looked in front of herself, lost in her thought, concentrated. “So, if someone would bring down the walls, the passage could be used again…”

Jane didn’t know if cough or laugh at her sudden idea, whatever it could mean. “Why, you want to make a midnight booty call? I have to tell you, Lisbon, I’m feeling rather used right now. Like a boy toy.”

“Don’t.” she simply said, stern, although with cheeks in flames, pointing a finger at him. She was scared, he knew it, and it amused him to no end. He simply adored seeing her losing her cool, and all because of him.

“Too late, Lisbon. Tomorrow morning I’ll start looking for the walls and then I’ll proceed to bring them down. And you’ll not be allowed to say a word about it, because remember: it was your idea.” He pointed his own finger at her in answer, his eyes amused. Teresa didn’t know when he was at his most charming, when he was happy and carefree, or when he seemed dark, lost, in need of protection and saving.

Teresa groaned, shaking her head at closed eyes. “Why, why do you always have to transform every word we share in something sexual?”

“Because I find you to be a very sexual woman, hidden behind the tough cop and the Catholic guilt. And,” he admitted with total nonchalance, like he was talking about the weather or what was in at Broadway nowadays. “Because I’m attracted to you.”

“Sure….” She said, her voice dripping sarcasm, despite her sparkling eyes.

“Listen, I know you think, and say, that we are very different, but let me assure you something: it doesn’t mean anything. You are a very desirable woman, and I am attracted to you. That’s it.”

She shook her head. She wasn’t stupid, she knew in what kind of word they lived- and she knew that she wasn’t his type, couldn’t be. So, there had to be something there, something he wasn’t saying, that he couldn’t bring himself to tell her- ergo, the deceiving. “I think you are just trying to distract me. I don’t know from what yet…”

He stopped her with a nervous laugh. “You think I have some secrets.” Which was true, but it wasn’t like he was going to share them. Not with Teresa, and not when it was still so painful.

“I think you were much more than a profiler or a life coach, I think there’s something you aren’t telling me,” she paused, her eyes low, sad, but sweet. She felt like salvation, forgiveness, like second chances, and he didn’t’ know if he deserved her. “And I think there is a reason why you left it all behind.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but then, he didn’t. He tried, again and again, not because he wanted to, but because Teresa’s voice and her desires were like a siren’s call, but not a single syllable was heard. Feeling that he was close to a panic attack, and that he needed some kind of comfort, Teresa took his hand in her own, and massaged the callous skin. Traitorous tears left his eyes, and Teresa believed that he wasn’t going to talk with her, but then, he did.

And she couldn’t believe what he was telling her, with a voice filled with hate, regret and sadness.

“It’s my fault if my wife… my daughter… are dead.”

“Jane…” she said. She didn’t know what else she could add. She didn’t know what he meant. She knew he was a widow, but she hadn’t asked him what had happened to his wife (frankly, he was so… carefree that she had believed she had been sick, and that he had had time to adjust to the idea of her being gone) and that was the first time he was talking about a daughter. A daughter. My god, she felt like crying. Whatever had happened, it had probably broken his heart- she had seen many men surviving their children in her line of work, and knew how devastating it could be.

“Jane, are you…” She grimaced as she didn’t end the sentence. She was probably going to ask him if it was a dramatization of some kind. Everybody would have said that yes, it was and he was exaggerating- even his in-laws had said so- but he had never seen it that way.

“You see…” he started, and then he paused. Speaking about his past was never easy, and he hated himself in that instant. He couldn’t understand why he had hinted about what had happened. But now… now, he had told Teresa he didn’t have any secrets. And if he wanted for her to believe him, and if he wanted for her to understand why for him it was so important that she understood that there was more than money and work in life, then, he owed her an explanation. The truth.

“I grew up in the carny circuit, and since an early age it was clear that I had a particular… sensibility, let’s say. My father built a show around me, Patrick Jane, brain boy, psychic kid. Then… I grew up. And I met Angela.” He paused. “My wife. She was carnie material too. We got married as soon as possible, and escaped together. But… there wasn’t a lot we could do. So we keep doing what we had done until that day.”

“You conned people?” she asked, but there was no judgment in her voice. Only softness, and sadness for him- for his past.

He nodded. “After a while, things started to go pretty well- more than well, actually. From carnie kid, I became a small celebrity. I had it all, Teresa. The look, the name, the money… so much money, more than I could have spent.” He shook his head, disgusted with himself. “Long before I hit 30, I had a vintage car collection worth of millions, I wore only Armani and Calvin Klein and that picture you saw at my place?” he asked. “That was my house. That’s where I lived.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her. He shook his head, and went on with his story. “But it was never enough. I was raised in poverty, my father drinking away all the money we made, and I didn’t want that for my daughter, but it was all a lie. I just never had enough of it, the more I had, the more I wanted.” He paused again. “Angela asked me to stop conning people. She told me that I could keep helping the police, like I sometimes did, but telling them the truth. That I didn’t need to pose as a psychic any longer. But… I couldn’t stop, Teresa, and whenever someone asked me to… I was always there for them, complete strangers, and when my family needed me…”

“Oh, Jane…” she said, her voice soft. If he didn’t want to keep talking, it was enough for her. She didn’t want to see him suffer furthermore, she didn’t want to add more pain to his suffering soul.

“One evening, Charlotte had gone to see a friend. I was supposed to get her and then come back home, but a woman called. She wanted to know what her late husband would have said about her entering in certain businesses. So I called Angela and told her that I wasn’t going to be home and to think about Charlotte. We argued, she told me she didn’t recognize me any longer, that I wasn’t the man she had married. Bad things were said.” He took a big breath, like to give himself courage, like saying those words our loud was causing him physical pain, like he needed strength and  courage. “Bad things were said on both sides, and I hang up on her. I was so angry... I felt like she didn’t understand me. That I was doing it all for her. For them. ”

“Jane… I’m so sorry…” she murmured, holding his hands with even more strength. She didn’t know yet what the outcome of his story was, but she felt a familiar pain in her chest. It was an old pain, something she had struggled with in her whole adult life. Here, she saw the pain she had once felt reflected on his handsome, sweet features; it was something she would have never wished for to her worst enemy, let alone someone… someone like him.

“Angela… she took one of my cars and went to get Charlotte, but… it had rained that afternoon, and the road was still wet. And she, she had never been a good driver, but I thought… I hoped…but…” Struggling with words and the pain that had never left him for over two years, he paused again, and cried. She didn’t remember another time she had seen such an heartbreaking image, and she felt like crying, too. A part of Lisbon wanted to open up to him, share her own experience, because in that moment, she felt like there was still good, hope in the world. Not all the men are the same, she thought. Not all of them choose a bottle. Not all of them make other suffer because of their pain.

“She called me, but I was busy with this client, and so, so mad… I screened my calls, Teresa. I didn’t answer her… and… and…” He closed his eyes, and it felt like yesterday, like some out-of-body experience. Here he was, chatting with this old, rich client of his, with Angela’s name flashing on the display. He grimaced as he imagined, remembered himself refusing the call, and a part of him, every time he revived the experience, wanted to reach out for his old self, and beg him to just change his mind, show the love he felt for her. But it was stupid, and childish. That wasn’t an out-of-body experience, and he couldn’t change the past, nor get in touch with that man. Angela and Charlotte were gone: and a part of him with them.

“A cop I used to work with showed up at my study not long after, and told me of the incident. I talked with the paramedics, and… they told me that Charlotte didn’t suffer, and that… that it was a good thing that I didn’t answered the phone and talked with Angela, that it would have made it just worse. That she couldn’t’ be saved, and that listening to her dying wouldn’t have done me any good.”

As he said the last few words, Jane concentrated all of his attention on his cup of tea. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Teresa. He felt physical pain, and a fresh gush of rage filling his whole being. She was going to look at him with those huge green eyes of hers, and she would condemn him, hate him. And he couldn’t have that. He hated himself enough, he accepted if others felt the same, but not Teresa. He could have never endured it.

“Jane. It wasn’t your fault.” She said, cupping his cheek. It was more than a statement, more than affirmation, and even if it was the same thing that many others had told him, even if Danny repeated it almost once a week, he had never believed it. How could he, after all, when he was the kind of man who was eaten alive by the need of fame and money who refused his wife’s call?

“The next day I found in my mail the check from that woman. I threw it away and left everything behind.”

“It’s horrible, Jane.” She said, closing her eyes. One of her hands was still holding his like for dear life, and finally she understood it all. The reason he still wore his wedding ring. Why he, sometimes, seemed lost and sad. She understood it, oh, how she understood it all! “I’m so sorry for your loss, Jane…” 

“They lost their lives.” He said, firmly. With a sudden movement, he regained control of his hand. He didn’t need her pity right now. Now, he wanted rage and hate, wanted for her to tell him that she agreed with him. He didn’t feel like listening to her talking about her Catholic upbringing, how his little girl was in a better place, looking from afar at her daddy.

But Teresa shook her head. She knew the feeling, and she knew that in that story, like in her own, everybody had lost something. For the first time, she saw him all, and she felt like she could finally know him, the real Patrick Jane, not just a hot guy flirting with her every chance he got, but a man with an heavy burden on his heart, haunted by the same ghosts that visited her soul every change they got. The kind of man who could steal her heart away- that could take it and break it. A man who, just like the red dress, wasn’t suited for her.  

As they walked back home, she shook her head. Jane wasn’t right for her and her plans; he wasn’t looking for an adventure, just like she did, but at the same time, he wasn’t ready for commitment, and she would have never lived with the fear of being second best, a replacement for him. Ray was the kind of man who was right for her. Her attraction for Jane was just that, simple lust.

She turned to look at him, and saw that he was lost in his thoughts. She wondered if he regretted having shred his history with her, such private and personal details.

“Thanks for lunch.” She said, trying to get him back there. She didn’t wanted him there for her- but neither she wanted to see him hunted by his past. “Even if it’s almost dinner time.” She sighed as she realized the time. She already knew that she would have to stay up all night and work nonstop on Sunday.

“You are going to work all night long.” Jane simply stated. They had known each other for less than two weeks, and yet, he already understood her- even if he didn’t seem to appreciate too much her dedication and her crazy schedule.

“Yeah. I just hope that Bertram will remember that I’m off-duty today and will have mercy on me for not having answered to all the calls I’m sure he did despite knowing that I already worked overtime this whole week so I should be allowed to rest for few hours.”

Jane lifted his eyebrows. “Is he the guy who kept calling you the other time?”

She nodded in conformation, her hands crossed at her back like a schoolgirl. “Yeah. And, oh, DA Ardilles too. We closed few huge cases, and there’s a lot of pressure for the trials.” She paused, sighing. “Also, Bertram forgets that people are allowed to have a life, and that the world doesn’t resolve around him. Guess who got a knife wound while stopping a serial killer, and who, instead, behaved like a peacock for the press?”

If she expected compassion, pity, she didn’t have it. Instead, Jane went from brutal sincerity. “Yes, he probably did it. But you allow him to get away with this every time, don’t you?” She didn’t need to answer: they both knew the truth, and to her ears it felt like an insult.

“It’s his job. More than an agent, he is a politician. If and when I’ll be in his position, I’ll probably do the same. That’s life.” She didn’t meet his eyes as, once outside their building, she blindly looked for her keys in her purse, she didn’t want for Jane to see the real truth in her eyes, that she was sick and tired and scared that Bertram saw her as a chess piece, an obstacle and a means at the same time.

But, there was something she needed to tell him, before they parted.

She turned to face Jane, and with the breath dying in her throat, she admitted to herself, and him, how sad she was that the day was over. “Thanks for the abduction, Jane.”

He tsk-tsked her, his back against the wall right before their apartments. “Be careful what you say, Lisbon, or people will assume you’re suffering from Stockholm syndrome.” He joked, his smile still in place. But now she knew the truth, and could see the deep shadows underneath his eyes, the sparkle not so vivid as she had previously assumed. She suddenly wished to have meet in his previous life, just to see how he was.

“Don’t hold your breath.” She said, smiling. She didn’t want to admit to him that yes, he could be the kind of tormented man she could fall easily for.

Jane looked at her with such an intensity that no man had ever felt for her, and the breath died in her throat. He got closer and closer, and without breaking eye-contact, he arranged  a runaway lock of hair behind her right ear. She closed her eyes and felt his warmth, his finger lingering on her skin, skimming her cheek, her lips, her neck, the tender spot where it met her shoulder.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked. His voice was husky, and she could feel that it took him some effort to talk.

She opened her eyes and stared at him. He was still touching her, and she didn’t know what to think. Or feel. “I… Grocery Shopping?” God helped her, she didn’t know why it had come out as a question.

“Can I come over and do some work on your kitchen?” he asked, lazily playing with the fabric of her blouse on her shoulder. His touch was electric, and she couldn’t concentrate. She knew and saw only his lips. Did he want to kiss her again? Because, even if she had forbidden him from doing so, she was tempted to allow his mouth to descend upon hers. “And maybe… I could show you where I think the passage is.”

Ah. Dangerous, dangerous waters. She could almost see herself struggling for air, strong waves bringing her far away from the seaside against her own will. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good.” he said, gripping her shoulder. “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good Night, Teresa. And try to get some rest.”

She saw Jane getting closer and closer, and waited for his kiss, but after a lingering peck of his lips on the corner of her mouth, he was gone. He turned, and went to his own apartment, leaving her alone and unsatisfied. She tried to call him back, but her voice failed her, and not a single word left her mouth.

God, she was in serious trouble.