Whatever Happened To Patrick Jane?

My friends and I were in the middle of a horror movie marathon a few nights ago when this idea came to me, inspired by Stephen King's 'Misery'. If you haven't already, I recommend reading it. :D So I suppose its sort of a Mentalist/Misery crossover… but not really 'cause I made my own characters.

The title, of course, takes its name from 'Whatever Happened To Baby Jane', though this story bares no resemblance to the movie.

Prologue

Teresa Lisbon stormed out of Her boss's office, closely followed by her teams consultant. It had been another difficult case and the ever-present Patrick Jane had not made anything any easier. Once again he had gone behind her back with one of his "full proof" plans, and she could actually feel herself doing air- quotes in her head. Of course they had caught the guy but Jane had also succeeded in getting her a weeks suspension, effective immediately.

"Honestly Lisbon, I really am sorry. I never meant to…" Lisbon spun around to face him, her fists clenched at her sides. Jane skidded and had step back slightly to avoid crashing into her.

"No, you never mean for these things to happen," she said sarcastically, "bad things just seem to happen on their own accord when you're around." She turned away from him again and continued to stride across the bullpen and into her office, presumably to collect her things.

Jane stood where she had left him and ignored the questioning looks he was receiving from the rest of the team. When Lisbon returned a few seconds later she was carrying her bag over her shoulder and her jacket over her arm.

"Well," she addressed the team, "After Jane's latest escapade I've been given a weeks suspension."Their eyes went wide, even Cho looked a little shocked, though he covered it well. "Cho, you're in charge. I'll see you all next Monday," Lisbon murmured as she left, self-consciously adjusting the strap of her bag. The team watched her leave, then turned their hard stares on Jane, and this time Cho made no effort to conceal his emotions.

Jane spent the remainder of the day lying on his couch. They didn't currently have a case and he was finding that the CBI was rather dull without Lisbon. Of course It didn't help that no one had spoken to him since Lisbon's departure, and they didn't even look up when he left work early. Not that he wouldn't return later, over the past few months he had taken to sleeping on the couch in the bullpen. He rationalized that it was more convenient.

When he left, Jane had not quite decided where it was exactly that he was going, but by the time he reached his car he knew he had to find Lisbon. He was confident that he remembered where her apartment was, pretending he hadn't memorised the rout long ago. He reached into his pocket for his keys and was about to unlock his car when he thought he felt someone watching him. It was that strange, unnerving feeling of someone's eyes focused on your back.

He started to scan the parking lot, with the hope that maybe Red John was watching him from the shadows, but he only managed a brief glace of the row of cars in front of him before he felt a large, heavy object collide with the back of his head. There was sharp pain and he thought he might have managed to cry out before he hit the ground.

Then everything went black.

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Chapter 1

As he opened his eyes he was immediately aware of a sharp pain at the back of his head. Wincing, he reached to cover it with his hand, feeling dried blood around the wound. The events of the previous day started to drift back to him like dead leaves down a river. Getting Lisbon suspended, leaving work to find her, being hit with something hard in the parking lot.

He instinctively reached for his cell but found that it wasn't in his pocket, in fact, he didn't find a pocket either. His hand brushed his bare thigh and it occurred to him that he wasn't wearing any clothes at all.

Looking round the room, he first thought he might be in a hospital. He was lying in a bed, the walls were pure white and it would make sense considering his injury. Though, if he was in hospital, they would have covered the wound by now… and he probably wouldn't be naked. Taking a closer look at the room, he noticed a few pictures on the wall, a desk at the far side of the room, a bed side table and an ugly green and yellow patterned carpet. The only other piece of furniture was an old wooden chair in the corner, which Jane doubted would be of any use to anyone wanting a seat.

The room had an unpleasant musky quality which didn't just apply to the smell. It was like the air within the room was solidifying, almost too thick to breath. He could feel it pressing in around him, smothering him with dust in such quantities it was almost visible, and was in fact visible when it passed the window and caught the light.

He could tell by the soft yellow light streaming through the window that it was early morning. He must have been here all night. Though the pain was beginning to subside a little, he was still aware of a faint throbbing at the back of his head.

"Oh, Mr. Jane. I'm so glad you're awake." His overly cheerful welcome came from a rather large woman who bumbled clumsily thought the door carrying a white plastic tray. She wore a loose blue dress covered with a red floral design and a pair of fluffy pink slippers. Her hair was a dark muddy brown which hung lifelessly over her face and her nose appeared to be pushed back, giving her face an overall pig-like quality. She set the tray down on a small bedside table next to his head and looked at him with a warm smile.

At first, Jane found himself beginning to smile back, but then it occurred to him that this woman must have been the one to knock him out in the first place, and his smile froze. However, she didn't seem to notice his sudden discomfort.

"I brought you some homemade soup," she said, gesturing to the tray, "and some orange juice. I hope you don't mind pulp." Laughing a little at her comment, she helped Jane into a sitting position, adjusting his pillow and placing the tray on his lap.

"I cleaned you head wound as best I could but I'm afraid there's still quite a bit of dried blood in your beautiful golden hair." She continued, tentatively stroking his hair as she spoke. "My name is Megan. Megan Duruy. I'm a big fan of yours."

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The team had not been surprised when Jane had left early, nor had they been surprised when he had not shown up the following day. But by Wednesday, Van-Pelt was beginning to worry. Not that it was unlike Jane to go swanning off on his own without telling anyone where he was going. Still, she felt she should check if Lisbon had heard anything from him.

"Lisbon," Van-Pelt heard the sharp greeting almost before the phone had even had a chance to ring.

"Hey boss, its, um, Van-Pelt," She started awkwardly. She really shouldn't be bothering Lisbon while she was suspended, especially not regarding the reason for her suspension. She was more than likely over-reacting anyway.

"Hey Van-Pelt, is there a problem?" Van-Pelt noticed the more friendly tone in her boss's voice, probably relieved it wasn't Jane with another half-assed apology… and maybe a little grateful for someone to talk to. Lisbon didn't really strike her as someone with a very active social life.

"No, I don't think so. It's just that Jane left early on Monday and no ones seen him since. I was just wondering if you'd heard from him." Even though she had convinced herself there was nothing wrong, the trace of hope was evident in her voice. Just as worry was evident in her boss's response.

"Um… no. I haven't heard anything from him."

"Well, I'm sure its nothing to worry about," Van-Pelt continued quickly. "You know how he is."

"Yeah," Lisbon replied quietly, obviously not convinced, and Van-Pelt immediately regretted phoning over something so trivial, having known that Lisbon would be concerned.

Lisbon hung up the phone, not waiting to see if Van-Pelt had anything else to say. When she had heard the phone ring she thought it would have been Jane, and had to admit she was even a little disappointed when it wasn't. She had told herself she didn't want to talk to Jane, and had refused to analyse why she sat so close to the phone.

She had expected him to call, thought he would at least attempt a half decent apology, or try to rope her into one of his schemes. But Van-Pelt was right, Jane could look after himself. After all, this wasn't the first time he hadn't turned up for work, although usually he'd call at some point. Often having gotton himself into a mess that she would then have to clean up.

But what if his mess went further this time. If she put a penny in a jar every time someone swore revenge against Patrick Jane then she would have to build an extension to put the jars in. Lisbon quickly pulled her cell phone out of her jean pocket and scrolled though her contacts until she found Jane's number.

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"I'll leave you with your soup," Megan said, fluffing his pillow for the fourth time since he had woken up. "Call me if you need anything." Shed left before Jane even had time to formulate a response, waddling awkwardly through the door.

He had remained uncharacteristically silent throughout their one-sided conversation, and guessed that had something to do with the fuzzy feeling in his head. The pain had diminished slightly and he found it quite easy to ignore.

Looking sceptically at the oddly shaped lumps floating in the soup in front of him, Jane thought about what Megan had said. She claimed to be a big fan of his. Must be from his days as a psychic. He had had a regular show on ESPN each week, had done a lot of interviews, and was close to going on tour. Naturally there would be people who would recognise him, and it suddenly struck his as surprising that no one had until now.
Though, there were many TV psychics, and if one dropped from the scene now and then there were another three to take their place. No one would notice the difference, no one would even remember him after a week.

But Megan obviously did, and he wasn't so sure hers was the sort of attention he was either accustomed to nor comfortable with. He had briefly encountered such fans on a few occasions but had always been able to escape by calling security or simply legging it and hiding behind some trash cans.

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There was no security and he was in no shape or state of dress to run even if he hadn't been certain Megan had locked the door several times behind her. He felt his eyelids begin to droop again and hazily wondered if she had sedated him before he slid further under the covers as his eyes closed.

Megan walked over to her kitchen table where she had neatly folded Patrick Jane's clothes, now slightly irritated by an incessant ringing coming from one of the pockets. She fished though his jacket and then his pants, finally finding the culprit of the offensive noise. Flipping open his cell phone, she read the caller ID.

"Teresa Lisbon," she read out loud.

Well, whoever she was, she wasn't going to be coming anywhere her Patrick.

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Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. It would mean a lot to me if you could tell me what you thought. *hint, hint* ^^