I knew you before
Fic: I knew you before
Author: de_cendres
Summary: Based upon my movie synopsis meme. During a murder investigation, PI Patrick Van Zedde (M.Fassbender) goes to a psychiatric center to confront a key witness. While he’s heading for the exit, he comes to meet a young man (J.McAvoy) flanked by two auxiliary nurses and captures his empty stare. His blue eyes seem to be so dead that Patrick is overwhelmed by sadness. Putting his feeling aside, he continues his path. In the following seconds, the young patient freezes and begins to come back, hurrying on Patrick, holding him with despair and whispering nonsensical words. The auxiliary nurses bring him under control and free Patrick. The PI leaves, more troubled than ever. Days pass by but Patrick can’t take this stranger out of his head. Moreover, he starts to make always the same kind of dreams. Dreams where he lives in the nineteenth century a secret and forbidden passion with the young man from the psychiatric center and ending in blood and death. Unable to stand this restlessness, he decides to search after the patient’s identity and is determined to find out if he’s drowning himself in madness or if a previous life may come to haunt him. Haunt both of them.
Note: Hey guess who’s going to a psychiatric hospital. Thank again californiacorps , you are amazing. I love you. (no, it’s not her who’s going to this hospital) I hope you’ll enjoy.
Instead of entering the building right away, Patrick preferred to light up a cigarette, trying to postpone the confrontation with the witness. The more minutes ticked by since he had learned her existence, the less he wanted to confront her on what had happened. Usually, he had already some troubles dealing with the feelings of the victims, so how about a victim who apparently suffered from serious psychiatric problems because of the attack. His back leaning against the wall, he watched in silence the ballet of the visitors. He could not imagine what they must have been feeling. Having a relative locked up here would have been beyond the limits of what he could have born. Fortunately he had never had such problems in his family. They were obviously not perfect, far from there, and, of course, he had sometimes wondered about the sanity of his younger brother when they were teenagers, but at that age one was supposed to do stupid things, wasn’t it? Nevertheless, he had a great-uncle who had been mentally retarded but had been kept within the family until the day he died, a few years ago. Patrick had never been totally comfortable in his company. Mental disorders were not for him, and he thought that the ones who wanted to work with such people ought to be slightly crazy. No sane person would seek a permanent contact with this kind of person. He sighed deeply, watching the smoke coming from his lips and flying up to the sky.
"Strange place, right? "
He jumped when he heard a male voice close to him and examined the silhouette of a man who was certainly in his sixties.
"Are you here to visit someone from your family? "
Patrick shook his head, taking another puff of nicotine. "You? "He asked because of the incumbent conveniences that coerced him to make the conversation.
"My son." Then, in front of Patrick’s silence, who did not ask for that much, he pursued. "He tried to kill himself again. My wife and I decided to send him here. "
The inspector simply nodded. There was not much to say in a situation like this, as well as in any situation, he did not really want to continue this discussion.
"If you'll excuse me... "He bowed before dropping his cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out. Had he ever given the impression of looking for a discussion about psychiatric disorders with a stranger, seriously?
"Mr. Van Zedde, it’s a pleasure to meet you. "
"Same here." Patrick stood up and shook the outstretched hand of the director of the institution.
It had only taken him a few minutes to find his office and his secretary in the maze of corridors of the building. Rather than bringing him directly to the owner, the secretary had made him wait in the waiting room for long, painful, minutes, indicating that Mr. Wilson was with a patient at this very moment.
"Please, come with me. "
The young man nodded and followed him, while the deep voice of the psychiatrist echoed in the halls, answering the questions of the detective.
"Has she said anything about her attacker? "
"I'm afraid not. Unfortunately, she only shared some incoherent words about the weather, which would prevent us from hunting. "
"From hunting? "
"Among other things, yes. She also wanted to go swimming, as she told us. Because, as she said, salmon shall soon return and it’s going to be less pleasant and especially inappropriate if they’re there. "
"Salmon? "
"Salmon. "
Patrick frowned. It was going to be more difficult than he had imagined.
"Do we at least know her identity? "
"Ava Fitzgerald. A history student. Some of her friends and family told us she was some kind of medium and that was caused her to put herself in danger the night Belinda Rice was murdered. "
"Incredibly stupid. "
"I would say reckless. "
"You don’t believe that, do you? "
"That she is a medium? "Mr. Wilson sighed as he opened the door to the garden where some patients were walking along with hospital orderlies or relatives. Patrick could not help but observing them with an indescribable fear and a disgust difficult to hide. The director noticed it and gave him a quick tight smile before answering. "I have a couple of Abraham Lincoln, real artists who can compete with any Renaissance painters, a dozen patients who claim being in connection with higher authorities, and some others who say they hold the key to Humanity, Mr. Van Zedde. I do not usually lend credit to what my patients say. Their madness is the only way they have found to solve their unspoken problems. My job is to help them coming out of their cocoons. Not to judge them. "
Aware of what had clearly been pointed out to him, Patrick felt his ears redden for having been put back in his place but added no further answer.
"I leave you with her. If you need any help, the orderlies are never very far. "
"Why would I need ..." But Mr. Wilson was already gone.
He watched the silhouette of a young woman, slumped on a brown bench. Her gaze was firmly kept on the fountain that flowed in front of her.
"Hello, Ava. "He said, moving to her side. He even sent her a smile, the kind of smile he only had the secret of. But she did not give him the slightest attention.
"Are you ok? " It was a rhetorical question that did not need any answer. How could she be fine when she had been attacked by a brutal killer? Again, the silence was her only answer. Patrick waited a moment until she decided to open her mouth but, clearly, she did not want to pursue the talk. All he could do was keeping on his one-way conversation.
"If you’re fine with it, I’d like to talk about what happened two weeks ago. Do you remember? "
She looked down and jammed a strand behind her ear while her hands clasped on her laps. But she continued resolutely to ignore his presence.
"Did you see his face? Do you know who he was, by any chance? "He heaved a deep sigh of annoyance and frustration as she steadfastly maintained her silence. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, he grabbed and shook her hand as he knelt before her, forcing her to look him in the eye, preventing her to escape his gaze. "Ava, I need your help. "
The young woman suddenly stopped staring into space and she sat up, frowning. She withdrew her hand and snapped his own. And, for the very first time, she opened her mouth, her voice filled with anxiety: "You shouldn’t be here. "She cast glances all around her, as if she was making sure nobody was listening to them at that very moment. He followed her gaze, but no one was paying any attention to them. Patients were wandering in the garden, the orderlies were watching. Nothing really special. "Go away, sir. I have nothing to say to you. "
She stood up and motioned to an orderly that she wanted to go back to her room. The PI watched her rise and could not help but notice the grace that emanated from her, in contrast to the way she was holding herself a few moments earlier, before she woke up.
He could not say how long he stayed like this, on his knees, before finally passing a hand through his hair and getting up to find the exit from this place where he could feel a pain that became, every minute shattering, a little more present. He might have been outside and felt the wind against his skin, he felt like suffocating and as if he was in a place where the walls were inexorably getting closer and closer to him. He had to go out. He had to leave. He cast a last look around him, desperately seeking for answers to his questions. It was not just for Belinda. Her killer had to pay. Her family had to find peace, at last.
He felt someone grabbing his coat and laid down his eyes on a patient, crouching to his leg and about to lick the back of his raincoat. Disgusted, he withdrew his hands before leaving at a rapid pace, his eyes staring vaguely in front of him, aiming stubbornly on the building and behind which he would find his car and go away as soon as possible.
As he headed towards the exit, he crossed the path a young man who was walking slowly, his look into space. Without understanding the reason, Patrick slew his pace down, somewhat in order to secretly cross the eyes of the young man. Immediately he felt a dam break in him and a torrent of undetermined, strong and interwoven emotions spreading through his whole body. His heart contracted with grief as if he was in pain for the young man and himself. An insidious thought moved him without him understanding neither its origin nor its meaning: he was sad of what had happened to this young man. It was a sadness he had never known before. A sadness that was so overwhelming that he almost drowned in it. A sadness that was hopeless and of which he could never escape. A sadness that made him tear up and tied his throat without any tangible or objective reason.
It was stupid because he did not know him at all. He had never crossed his path before, of what he knew. If he had, he was sure he would have remembered him. That kind of blue eyes, as clear and transparent as his, nobody could miss or forget them. The work of a lifetime would not even succeed. Now he was clearly choking, so he resumed his brisk, sure that once he would arrive at his car, he would be able to breathe normally again. It was only a matter of time but he should move away as quickly as possible.
He slipped feverishly his hand into his inside pocket to take his cigarettes and did not notice immediately the rapid footsteps approaching him, the crunch of gravel featuring a race between individuals that were coming closer to him; the weight of a body sticking to his and clinging firmly made him drop his packet of cigarettes. The first few seconds, he wondered what had just happened, not understanding anything until his brain had analyzed the situation. Someone had literally thrown himself on him and was holding on to him, gripping with all the strength he had, circling him with his arms and dragging his face onto the crook of his neck, muttering incoherent and senseless sobs. "I'm sorry. Forgive me. I should have listened to you, on this day of May. Why did I not? I’ve been regretting that decision every minute since the time I took it. I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me? I beg of you: Forgive me. "