madimpossibledreamer

the main thing I like about this part is that I was entirely vague about whether it really was just ghosts at the end. there's a very surreal atmosphere there that's kind of the opposite of lisbon's dream in part i because it's more happy/peaceful in feel. as peaceful as the mentalist can get, anyway

Main Points:
Mentalist AU
Chapter Summary: This is the investigation part of it.
Word Count: 1648
Rating: Teen
Warning: Actual suicide. Or murder. Unclear & I never made up my mind which. Either way, Red John was involved. I think. (I'm thinking I intended to wait to finish the story until Red John was dealt with in the actual show, but fell out of the fandom before I got there, which. From what I heard, was not a bad thing.) If you're suffering, please reach out to a professional or one of the hotlines and get help.
Found the overall story summary at the very end of the doc: She goes into the office and acts strangely toward Jane. He senses something wrong and then her body shows up. She supposedly committed suicide. He doesn’t believe it, looking for the killer. Nice funeral scene. The others don’t believe Jane’s theory, but he won’t give up- Red Rain-Peter Gabriel

“I’m not kidding, Virgil.” For once, there was no play in his manner. He was utterly, completely serious, not even smiling. Suddenly he was a man with a purpose-especially as he was raging inside about the idiocy of authority figures who refused to listen.

The survivors of the CBI team were sitting outside the glass, watching Jane gesture as he argued with their superior.

Rigsby shifted uncomfortably, wanting to speak but unwilling to be the first one to break the silence.

Cho had no such qualms. “He’s been in there a long time.”

“He’s pretty worked up about Teresa.” Somehow, Van Pelt had lost the rule that they only spoke her last name.

“I can’t blame him...” Rigsby shivered, and he felt a familiar hand on his arm raise the frequency of his heartbeats by at least fifty. “...How long again?” he wondered, trying to focus on something that didn’t have to do directly with death.

“Two hours and fifty four minutes. So far,” their colleague muttered matter of factly.

Minelli paused a moment, staring at Jane, evaluating him. “I can see that, but what can we do? There’s not enough evidence to open this on a case-either CBI or local.”

“She wouldn’t commit suicide.” He’d said that so many times that it seemed like a mantra, the one thing he was holding on to to remain sane in this mad world of theirs.

“I would have agreed with you, but that’s what the evidence says, Jane. You said so yourself-she’d seemed depressed, odd. She wouldn’t talk to you, not because she was mad but because she was hiding something. They’d argue that that’s because you tend to see everything, that you appear ‘psychic’. Something that big, and you’d have figured it out, so she avoided you.”

Jane looked away, stung, and saw the rest of them watching him. Their faces were stark with grief, although all but Cho suddenly got busy, embarrassed by their interest. He’d failed. He was supposed to see everything, but why could he never see what he needed to see to save those he’d cared for very much?

“Jane, look at me,” the man was trying very hard to convince him, to turn him away from this path. “The door was locked from the inside. She depressed the syringe herself. It’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. Jane-we’re keeping you on as consultant, but you’re going to have a new boss and not as much leash as you’re used to. They’ll probably be evaluating your record, and there’s nothing I can do to help. So I want you to behave yourself, if that’s possible. And whatever else you do, stay away from this. It’s clear what happened, and if you keep chasing ghosts they will get rid of you.”

He shook his head, feeling that nagging doubt at the back of his mind-the idea that he’d seen something wrong, but couldn’t tell anyone what he’d seen because he didn’t know himself. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it-the strongest I’ve ever felt about anything. This wasn’t suicide.”

Virgil stared at him uncertainly. “This is what I’m talking about, Jane. No more talking like a psychic. You aren’t one, and pretending you are will only get you kicked out of this place quicker than you can tick somebody off.”

“You’ve listened to me before now-you’ve followed my leads. Then listen to me now.” He felt his ability to get people to listen dissolving in his anguish, in his need to have someone-anyone-hear him and believe.

Minelli squeezed his shoulder, a move which he shrugged off. The man sighed. “She’s not your wife. I’m sorry, and I wish there didn’t have to be so much tragedy in your life, Patrick Jane. But the truth, whether or not you want to hear it, is that she took her own life, and that is that.”

Jane shook his head, knowing that he was only wasting his time-time that was better spent in pursuit of the truth, the last investigative service he would ever render to Lisbon. He gathered up his jacket, and without another word walked out of the office. “Jane, you can’t...” Minelli began, but was cut off when he closed the door behind him.

“Jane...” Van Pelt spoke, a cup of tea in her hands-a peace offering.

“Sorry, can’t wait. Maybe later,” he spoke absentmindedly, trying to get away from these people and clear his mind so he could actually think.

“Jane...think about this.” That was Cho, lounging near the door, the closest thing to a best friend he had here at the CBI-and he was about to walk away from it all.

He shook his head, knowing that Cho would understand, even if he didn’t believe. “I have to do this, for Lisbon.”

Cho’s eyes stared at him, sorrowful but acknowledging the fact that his old friend wouldn’t let this go. He moved out of the way and muttered something in Chinese, knowing full well that Jane knew other languages-at least, enough to be able to realize that he was being wished good luck.

When Jane went outside, he felt freer than he could remember in a long while. He was free to wreck whatever havoc he wanted, could go wherever he wanted. And with his charisma, he could keep himself out of certain trouble-enough that he could make it through this, anyway. He was free of the burden of the past, and was working towards his debt of the present. If he could just figure out what had happened to Lisbon, he would feel at peace. He’d already begun feeling the echoes of that peace. For once, thoughts of killing Red John had been blown out of his mind, and he didn’t crave revenge, just justice. For a long time, he realized, the two had been the same. Now they were separate again, distinct, unique. It had been so long since he’d known any kind of peace-since Red John. But now he had a new mission-a more redeeming one, he hoped, though he knew one thing for certain. If Red John had been Lisbon’s killer, too, there was nowhere he could hide.

Jane attended Lisbon’s funeral twice.

The first time, he figured out pretty quickly, was merely a dream. He looked at the sky, and as the priest began to read, the rain began to fall, drenching everyone. It must have been near sunset, because the sky was tinged a pretty, depressing red, as if the sky itself were dying like his heart.

By the time Lisbon found him, he was ready for any sort of oddity.

“Hello, Lisbon,” he stated, hoping for a second that it had been merely a dream, that this was the real world, but then he noticed that she was somewhat translucent and his hopes were dashed. Again.

“So much for there not being an afterlife.” She smiled, and he smiled with her, finding a challenge in her words.

“Oh, you’re not real. You’re just a projection of my consciousness, come to say what I think she would say and nudge me along the correct path.”

“You are such a pessimist.” She shook her head at him, still smiling.

“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t stop the words-they tore themselves out of his mouth.

Lisbon rolled her eyes. “You can’t help who you are...”

He cut her short. “I’m not referring to that. I’m referring to...well, everything.” He took a deep breath, let the dream air fill his lungs with fresh confidence. “I...should have been able to stop it. I should have been able to save you. I saw everything, but I couldn’t put the clues together fast enough...”

Jane felt the touch on his lips, the ghostly, teasing touch that he’d never feel again, not in real life. The hand over his mouth, quieting him.

“Jane. I hate telling you this, because you have a big enough ego, but...you’re right. About my death. Not your part in it-it’s not your fault. You love to blame yourself, but you’re not responsible for everything that goes wrong in my life-despite how often it seems like that’s true.”

Despite himself, he felt the beginnings of a smile twitch over his face.

“They’re right, though. How is it possible, with the circumstances, that it could be anything other than a suicide?”

“I’d been feeling weird all day,” she reminded him, as if of something he’d forgotten.

“You weren’t drugged, though. I would’ve noticed.” He shook his head, ignoring the strange looks they were being given by the other funeral-goers. He wondered, for one, irrational second, whether anyone else knew that she was the woman supposed to be buried in that grave, before remembering they were only dream people.

“You were just trying to figure out what was wrong with me. Not why,” she told him.

He blinked several times. “Then...”

She nodded, only confirming his fear that she was only, literally, a figment of his imagination. “And-Jane-you don’t have to say it. I know.”

He shook his head, half-turned away. “Part of you will never know, and I’m sorry. I know, but that’s not really enough-shouldn’t be really enough. But there’s nothing I can do, so I’ll have to learn to live with it.”

Then he heard the voice that he hadn’t heard for years, that he’d begun to forget despite himself. “We’ll always be with you, Jane. You’ll never be alone.”
He half-turned to look, and thought he saw two shapes in the fog before the landscape turned to red mist, everything obscured, nothing left but the crimson tinted liquid falling from the sky and dissolving the world, until a red and white haze swallowed the world.

He sat up in bed, suddenly with a direction for the first time in a long time.

He pays an illicit visit to the morgue. the guy knows him and doesn’t mind.