Broken Ties: Prequel to The Mentalist Series

ONE

Paul

Have you ever felt trapped by your own existence? Knowing nothing you do or say can change your messed up situation? Yet, knowing the change you desire will only lead to pain and loss. It’s a far more unpleasant sensation than I’ve described; and once the feeling sets in, it’s pretty difficult to shake.

I’m not usually this dramatic.

Scratch that.

I’m never dramatic. The truth is, I can’t afford to be theatrical about life with the fate I’ve been allotted. But, sometimes, finicky emotions sneak up on you and a guy can’t keep his head up like he knows he should.

Like the first day I caught a glimpse of my future. I was six years old when my father had the grossly uncomfortable conversation about the birds and the bees with me. Probably a bit young for such graphic talk, but when you’re not like regular folk, some things had to be broached earlier than others. That way I wouldn’t get the option of dreaming about a life that could never be.

After my initial dismay at the thought of never marrying my seven year old freckled neighbour, Susan Riley, things swung into full gear with my training. In the ten years which followed that eye-opening conversation, I tried not to look back on what could have been (it helped that Susan moved on to some other guy once I began ignoring her), or to look ahead at what I’d be missing out on.

That was the more difficult feat. Who wants to live life knowing every detail has already been planned out for you? Living in a large city, I noticed pretty girls all the time (it was impossible not to); but with my father drilling tenets of look-but-don’t-touch into me for years, I got by okay.

Sort of.

Like I said before, it wasn’t an easy task.

I remember the moment when I started thinking of my life like it was a load I was dragging towards a dead-end. One which I’d hit in five years when I’d turn twenty-one and have to take on my real responsibilities. I wasn’t afraid of what was to come. Having a child with a stranger to keep a bloodline intact isn’t an uncommon practice. Royalty has done it for centuries and no one seems to balk at the idea, so there was really nothing odd about our kind trying to preserve our heritage.

There was nothing unusual about the night everything changed. No flashing lights in the sky, no searing fire in my belly; no sign whatsoever to suggest the shift which was to come. It was late May, summer beckoned and the sky was light, despite the lateness of the evening. I’d just finished a long shift unloading deliveries at a local supermarket. Crate lifting wasn’t fun but it beat the alternative, tagging along with Dad on his handyman job for half the pay. It wasn’t that I didn’t like spending time with my father; I just wasn’t as good with tools as he was.

On my way home I always stopped off to clear my head at the back steps of an old court building the city council had shut down a few years ago. Three hours of walking down packed aisles was almost as bad as a full day at school. I’d had a fairly good day because nobody had needed any special attention from me. I didn’t particularly mind what I had to do with my abilities; I just wasn’t always in the mood to carry out my duty when I was exhausted and irritable at work.

Taking a long drag on one of the cigarettes I’d pilfered from Dad’s stash, I watched as the evening breeze reduced the grey wisps of smoke I’d exhaled into nothing. One second, smoke, next thing, gone. Despite a long term acceptance of my fate, I occasionally allowed myself the vain thought that one day I could fade into nothingness too. Just float up and be carried away with the wind. Maybe I’d not dissipate like the smoke; instead I’d be deposited in a place where none of this mattered. A place far away from my reality, a place with no one to save from themselves.