FIC: Acrimonious (3/21)
Title: Acrimonious
Author:
sirenofodysseus
Disclaimer: …it’s probably better that Bruno Heller owns The Mentalist, really.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: After FBI Agent Susan Darcy is overheard telling Special-Agent-in-Charge Luther Wainwright that Patrick Jane may be working with Red John, Red John steals Jane’s body and begins to destroy the team’s lives one-by-one.
Spoilers: Brief spoiler for The Crimson Hat (4x24), but the rest of this story is set after Something Rotten in Redmund (4x20).
Warnings: Violence, language, drug use, sex, non-con situations, mentions of child abuse/domestic abuse, negative character portrayals, major and minor character death.
Pairings: Red John/Teresa Lisbon, Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon, Wayne Rigsby/Sarah Harrigan, Kimball Cho/Summer Edgecombe.
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3-
Red John’s eyes slowly opened to near darkness, as he felt the downy pillows that his female accomplices had adorned his bed with, under his aching head. The familiar heavy, velvet red curtains around his bed were drawn together and the white ceiling was tinted a dull yellow, due to one of the many lamps spread around the room.
The master bedroom, easily the largest room in the rural hideout, had always been his favorite room for a few reasons. Firstly, the master bedroom was his and his alone. He had never allowed for any of his male accomplices to step onto the top floor of the hideout, where his bedroom had been situated and where his female accomplices often remained at night. Secondly, he kept all of his obtained trophies from his murder victims and accomplices (both male and female) stashed away in a clandestine safe; something he kept to himself, as he didn’t trust any of his accomplices with that knowledge.
He blinked and tried to lift his head from the pillows, but he was meant with a splitting headache, which caused him to groan. The moment the low sound left his mouth, he froze. The groan wasn’t his. The groan belonged to Patrick Jane.
Without waiting for an explanation as to why he sounded like Patrick, Red John brought one of his hands to his face and examined it in the dim light. The hand-elongated fingers, a wedding band on the ring finger-wasn’t one of his and he let out a loud cry in alarm, which had the heavy bed curtain being torn apart to reveal a slender brunette, who greeted him with a smile.
“Good morning, sir.” Lorelei said, as she pressed her lips to his forehead. Lorelei had been with him for a few months and he had planned on using her to lure Patrick away from Teresa, but things had changed. “How are we feeling today?”
“I’m fine, Lorelei.” He felt disoriented and confused, not that he would tell her that though. Unless he was giving specific orders, he gave short answers; it kept any of his accomplices from asking too much. Lorelei said nothing to his answer, as she sat at the foot of his bed and tilted her head slightly. Red John gritted his teeth at her questioning stare. “Is there something wrong? You seem perplexed.”
The youthful accomplice bowed her head, as if she were ashamed at her behavior. “I’ve never seen your face before, sir.” Red John remained quiet. “You are an attractive man.” He stared at her in surprise. When her lips had touched his forehead, he hadn’t felt cotton brush against his forehead and his eye brows shot up. Who had taken the mask off of his face? Lorelei kept her eyes down. “I shouldn’t have said that, sir. I’ll take any punishment that you deem necessary…”
“Silence, Lorelei.” Red John interrupted her and Lorelei fell silent. Craig O’Laughlin had apparently trained the cocktail waitress well, which pleased him greatly. If O’Laughlin had still been alive, the FBI Agent would have been rewarded for his good work. “Where is my mask?” Lorelei glanced up at him and her brown eyes met his.
“I have no idea, sir.” Lorelei responded. Red John knew she wasn’t lying, as the brunette blinked. “I heard you and I found you without your mask on.” Red John tried to remember what he had done last night, but his mind came up blank. He doubted he had been drinking anything last night, as he kept his drinking to a bare minimum, however the lapse in his memory troubled him. “Can I get you anything, sir?”
“Yes, you can get me a mirror.” Lorelei nodded and removed herself from his bed. Red John watched her disappear into the bathroom, before she came back to him with a mirror in her hands. He gingerly took the mirror from her grasp and held it up to see his reflection within the silver surface; he hoped to find some evidence of what had happened last night.
The person in the mirror made him inhale, sharply. The person had blonde hair, bluish-green eyes, pallid skin and his mouth was slightly parted in surprise and if Red John hadn’t known any better, he would have believed that somebody was playing a trick on him. He changed his expression from surprise to a faint smile and he watched as the reflection of Patrick Jane mimicked those same actions; the faint laugh lines, the pink lips, the crinkled brow, and the small dimples.
Everything belonged to Patrick Jane.
He was Patrick Jane.
“It worked.” Red John stated in a murmur, as he handed the mirror back to Lorelei. He had witnessed the results from Dr. Kraze’s first test years ago, but he had never expected that the results could have been duplicated from a few lab papers, a stolen machine, and one vial of Vicissivenom, which had allowed for the body swapping procedure to occur without risk of insanity or permanent brain injury. Red John glanced down at the crook of his elbow to stare at the two flesh colored bandages and he couldn’t help but smirk; if he had fared well enough, he could only imagine how Patrick had fared without the Vicissivenom.
If Thomas had executed his given orders perfectly, Patrick would be ill for days. Not having the Vicissivenom in the bloodstream fifteen minutes after the procedure held several nasty side effects, both mental and physical. They probably could have split the vial in half, but his mental health was more important than Patrick’s. Red John wanted to ask where they had put the man, but he knew Lorelei would be confused, as she was merely his exquisite plaything.
“You should inform the attendant that I request a meeting with AT in about thirty minutes.” Red John ordered Lorelei, who had placed the mirror on the bed with a nod.
“Right away, sir.” Lorelei hurried from the room and Red John threw the heavy comforter aside, only to glance down at Jane’s bare feet and long legs. With a shaky inhale, Red John moved himself from the bed and onto the cool hardwood floor of the master bedroom. It took him a few moments to feel somewhat comfortable in Patrick’s body, as the blonde consultant had been an inch taller and had weighed more than his own body.
The entire situation felt surreal, really.
Red John was going to sabotage his nemesis’s chances of happiness, all while discovering what made the man tick. He brought his hands together; he couldn’t wait to play cat and mouse within the hallowed halls of the CBI, using each of the remaining Serious Crimes Unit members as worthless chess pieces in his ultimate game.
But before he could do any of that, he had to change into something much more appropriate. Showing up to a meeting in nothing more than a pair of silk boxers would not have been looked upon very highly, especially as he was the man in charge. Red John moved toward his walk-in closet and pulled the dangling silver chain to allow for a dim beam of light to fill the space, he quickly grabbed a pair of blue jeans and a black, long-sleeved shirt, along with a pair of clean boxers from the wooden floor.
The gentle hum from the air conditioning met him, as he closed the closet door and entered the immaculate bathroom; marble countertops decorated with miscellaneous objects, a black porcelain bathtub and matching toilet, and a sink greeted him. Red John removed his boxers, the blue silk clashed against the speckled marble floor, as he stepped toward the full-length mirror on the back of the dark bathroom door.
The reflective surface of the mirror allowed for him to admire his new body, as he blinked and took in the sight.
Patrick’s shoulders were broad, his chest pale, hairless and contoured of bone and sinew. His abdomen felt flat beneath his own touch, as he trailed his fingers from Patrick’s chest, to Patrick’s abdomen, to Patrick’s thighs.
From Patrick’s bare thighs and hips, which he could tell had a small amount of muscle to them; his full attention was drawn to Patrick’s manhood. Red John had never found himself attracted to other men before, but the length of Patrick’s freely hanging shaft against his closed legs impressed him and he felt the aching desire to fondle the bulging penis.
Slowly, he touched the rigid flesh of his penis, the gingerly touch sent a shiver of unfamiliar pleasure through his entire body and his eyes widened. How long had it last been since Patrick had given into having sex with a human being or pleasuring himself with his hands?
Red John shook his head. Being without sex would just never do for him. He had never denied himself the three most important pleasures within his life; killing, money, and sex. And if Patrick’s pelvic area was in a general state of disuse, he knew he’d have to fix that with two hands and a mental image to help the body get started again.
With a sly glance at the circular clock above the door, Red John realized that he had fifteen or so minutes before he had to deal with Thomas and Andrews. Quickly, he lathered both of his hands in his own spit and clasped them around Patrick’s shaft. He rubbed his hands together, Patrick’s manhood in the middle, as he stared at himself in the mirror. He wondered what image would stimulate Patrick’s body into having a reaction, as the man clearly had a different taste in women than he had.
Would the image of Lorelei and her slick wet heat at the penetration of his cock into her folds do anything? Red John closed his eyes and tried to imagine the scent and taste of sex, but nothing came.
He frowned. He and Lorelei had just been together the night before last, and he couldn’t even remember the smallest of details? He gritted his teeth together. What did he have to do to get a damned reaction? Find Teresa Lisbon and stare at her?
A fleeting image of the brunette dancing around her living room, in a short sports jersey came to mind from when he had been surveying her in her home and he felt Patrick’s manhood twitch in response.
Red John opened his eyes and laughed, the loud sound filling the cavernous bathroom.
Of course Teresa Lisbon would get Patrick Jane off, he thought. He closed his eyes again and tried to remember when he had last been near the woman.
Patrick’s senses of the woman flooded his mind, which made him furrow his brows in confusion; her intoxicating scent of vanilla and cinnamon, the sudden warmth at her teasing touch pitted in his abdomen, the feeling of joy at her booming laugh, while his hands continued to work at Patrick’s shaft.
Red John wracked his brain for an explanation. He had never been close enough for Teresa to touch him, but Patrick had. He should have never been able to feel what Patrick felt; the sadness of not being able to love Teresa and the bitter resentment toward his nemesis for targeting those whom Patrick loved. However, he realized with the upturn of his lips, that the unintended side effect of Jane’s emotions (if that’s what it was) would help him out more than anything else would.
Eventually and without forethought, he abandoned himself to pleasure and the warm cum from his cock coated his fingers and squirted across the reflective surface, clouding Patrick’s body from his appreciative eyes.
He glanced back up at the ticking clock, before he sighed. He had so much more he wanted to do, so much more he wanted to explore within his new body, but he had eight minutes to ready himself for the next few hours of preparation and he had more important things to think about than sex or Teresa Lisbon. He did, after all, have lives to destroy and a new life to acclimate to.
Seated behind his clutter-free desk, Red John impatiently waited for either Andrews or Thomas to break the silence. Both accomplices, his most trusted and indoctrinated, sat in front of his desk; their heads bowed toward the wooden floor, as they tried to not stare at his new appearance. He flashed them both a slightly irritated smile, as his fingers tapped against one of his many books on parsing the human body language. Thomas, eventually, cleared his throat and gained the attention of both Red John and Andrews.
“Sir,” Thomas began and Red John nodded for him to continue, “how does it feel?”
“Offsetting.” Red John responded. He refused to tell either of them about his mishap in the bathroom earlier; although he had a feeling that Lorelei would find the yellow-stained wall above the toilet and come to the conclusion that he had not yet been able to control his own bodily functions.
Lorelei would never say anything about his lack of control to any of the men within his higher circle. The brunette beauty knew only how to pleasure him in bed, due to safety concerns.
Red John frowned. After he had made the mistake with Rebecca; he had confided in her, more than he should have done, he had realized that his women followers were more susceptible to Patrick Jane’s superficial charm. O’Laughlin had warned him of possible deflections due to Mr. Jane and his silver tongue, back when the FBI Agent had been a part of his inner circle. If the damned consultant hadn’t ousted him to his bitch, O’Laughlin wouldn’t have been buried six-feet-under with bullet holes through his chest from his overzealous ex-fiancée. “Where did you put our guest?” They all knew he was talking about Jane and further clarification would have been a waste of time.
Andrews’ lips titled into a slight smirk, until he cleared his throat to answer the question. “Mr. Jane is currently resting in a bathtub; he, as you should be aware of, is violently ill.” Red John let out a bark of laughter, which caused both Andrews and Thomas to join in. Laughter shook the room for a few more seconds, before Red John grew silent again.
“Good.” Red John replied. “You will keep me apprised of his condition, as I do not want him to die.” Andrews furrowed his fair brows, his pink lips pursed tightly together. “Is something a matter, Andrews?” He tried to keep his patience, but the stupidity of his accomplices ebbed away at his nerves. Andrews had to have some form of intelligence, didn’t he? If Red John, the infamous serial killer of California, said that he wanted Mr. Jane alive; it meant that he wanted the man alive and that it wasn’t up for a debate. Thomas remained quiet, which Red John highly approved of.
“Can I speak candidly, sir?” Andrews asked and Red John nodded slightly. Andrews took a shaky inhale, before he continued on. “From the research we conducted on the body swapping experiment, we discovered that the maximum amount of time that one can stay in the opposite body before going insane was seventy-two hours.” Red John made no movement, his eyes focused on the nervous Andrews without blinking. Whether Andrews thought him to be idiotic or not, he had seen those same reports ninety-two hours before the swap had occurred.
Red John knew the risks, but the outcome he hoped for outweighed the risks.
“Sir,” Andrews continued, “we weren’t made aware of your plans to remain in Mr. Jane’s body for over seventy-two hours…”
Red John fixed him with a steely gaze; the words from the idiotic accomplice made his temper rise. “Do I have to inform you of everything I do, Andrews?” Andrews balefully shook his head and glanced down at the floor in an act of submission, which sedated his anger for the time being. “You might be in my inner circle, Andrews, but that doesn’t mean you are privy to all of my decisions.”
“I apologize, sir.” Andrews said, with his eyes still on the hardwood floor. “It won’t happen again, sir.” Red John nodded, although he kept his eyes on the youthful accomplice’s bowed head. The young man, who he had discovered on the streets years ago, had never been so outspoken before and it troubled him. Why had the young man raised his concerns all of a sudden about the body swap, especially when they had all been working on it for weeks?
Thomas broke through the silence. “You plan on staying like Patrick Jane, sir?” Red John nodded.
Andrews glanced over to Thomas, who kept his attention on Red John. Andrews’ behavior irritated him. Had they completely forgotten that he owned them and that he could kill them in one swift move? “Sir,” Andrews addressed him again, “are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Murderous rage filled Red John, as his hand went for the red-stained letter opener atop his desk, before he stood from his desk and motioned for Andrews to stand. Andrews stood, only for the blade of the letter opener to be pressed against the youth’s neck.
“Are you questioning me?” Red John questioned, the sharp blade drew droplets of blood. Andrews sharply inhaled. “You fool. You don’t question me.” Red John dragged the letter opener across Andrews’ throat, without a second thought. Ecstasy flooded through his body at the sight of the vibrant scarlet liquid spurting from the gash across Andrews’ throat; he wondered how much of that ecstasy was of his own and how much of that was from Jane’s remaining emotions.
Nothing was said, until Andrews’ scarlet-drenched body dropped to the hardwood floor with a thump. Red John stepped away from the body and glanced at Thomas, who kept his eyes focused forward. Thomas had been around for enough executions of his various accomplices to know not to mourn the loss, visibly; as the death of an accomplice usually meant that they had crossed him.
“I think you can handle things yourself, Thomas.” Red John addressed his blank-faced accomplice. “You can do anything to Mr. Jane to keep him under and unaware, short of actually murdering him.” Thomas nodded and Red John heard the question lingering on the man’s thoughts. “You’re wondering what I’m doing too, aren’t you?” Thomas nodded, as he slowly stood from his chair and bowed his head; Red John pulled his lips into a faint smile. Thomas had never been disloyal to him and although, he had never answered questions unrelated to his orders, he felt the need to inform his loyal friend of his plans.
Red John made his way back behind his desk to place the scarlet-stained letter opener away, before he leveled the dark-haired, gray-eyed accomplice with a bemused look. “I have already killed enough accomplices today, Thomas.” Thomas’ head shot up, his eyes wide in surprise. “I do not plan on killing you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Thomas said. Red John could hear the light stammer in his voice, which continued to amuse him. Even under the guise of Patrick Jane, his accomplices and friends were still scared of him and what he could do to them; it was a good feeling.
He kept his eyes on Thomas, as he curled his lips into a slight smile and cleared his throat. Thomas met his eyes. “Ruining Mr. Jane’s life, of course.” Thomas remained quiet and Red John dismissed him with the wave of his hand; he no longer needed the presence of his inner circle, as the accomplice now had his orders and he had more important things to refocus his complete attention on.
Like the Serious Crimes Unit and how he was going to fool them, for example.
Destroying them, he knew, would be the easy part. None of the members on the unit were entirely too stable apparently, considering that all of them had followed Jane around for years with their tails tucked between their legs, while their precious consultant closed cases. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought that the Serious Crimes Unit couldn’t do anything without their so-called golden boy around. Fooling them all into believing he was Patrick Jane, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so easy.
Physical appearance and DNA was one thing. Red John had Jane’s fingerprints, the man’s unique scent of leather and mint, his type of blood, his blonde hair, and his perfect teeth. He had also obtained the material objects from the man’s unconscious form earlier: Jane’s car keys remained in the bottom drawer of his desk, along with the single key to his extended stay motel room, his laminated CBI Consultant badge, and his slender cellphone.
However, he knew he didn’t have all of Jane’s mannerisms down. Jane was both charming and egotistical, something he had never considered himself to be. If he stepped foot in the CBI building and he couldn’t charm or con anyone; someone would immediately become suspicious of him and his odd behavior.
Of course, Red John thought with the tilt of his lips, the Serious Crimes Unit would be naïve enough to conclude that Jane’s odd behavior had something to do with Amy’s suicide.
Either way, he also knew he that he couldn’t just jump into Jane’s life. Adjustment would take time, even though time wasn’t a luxury he could readily afford.
His hand went for Jane’s belongings.
If he wanted to lull the unit into a false sense of security, Red John would have to stop killing and he would have to emerge himself into Patrick Jane’s life; starting with where the man lived, when he wasn’t solving cases.
Driving Jane’s beloved vehicle turned out to be more of a headache than he had anticipated. The light blue death trap of a contraption had no seat belts and the doors often stuck, which had sent him into a fit of rage twice.
Jane had money, Red John was absolutely positive of that; the conman had taken psychic gig upon gig when he had been married to support his little girl and whore of a wife. Yet, the man still chose to drive around in a piece of shit? Red John doubted that mechanics in town could even find an oil filter for the damned thing within their shops, without charging hundreds of dollars to find the perfect fit.
Red John remembered the little blue vehicle, of course. How could he not? The damned little thing had traipsed from one crime scene to another; the dishonest little worm with his shiny suits and distasteful ties and slicked back hair had slandered him to the media and to law enforcement officers.
He has a small speech impediment that he’s deeply ashamed of.
In front of the Sacramento extended stay motel, Red John slammed his hand down on the vehicle’s steering wheel out of rage. Patrick Jane had only heard his technology modified voice, which sounded nothing like his real voice. The fake psychic had claimed that Red John had a small speech impediment, yet Jane had never met him before.
Whatever small speech impediment he might have had as a child, his father had beaten it out of him at a young age. His father had continuously preached the need of looking strong to others via his leather belt, while his mother had stared on passively. Red John scowled and hit the steering wheel again; he hadn’t thought of his asinine family in years.
Much to his relief, the blaring car horn put an end to his thoughts. Red John removed his hand from the steering wheel and threw open the car door, before he rested his feet upon the concrete ground and removed his own self from the vehicle. The door to the little blue vehicle slammed shut behind him, as he started toward the spacious motel.
The items that I brought from my rural home can wait until morning to be brought up, he quietly decided, as he ascended the open staircase in waning daylight to find motel room 239.
Room 239-aside from the leather bound journals that sat upon the dark window sill-looked as if no one had ever occupied the room. The small bathroom (with one white towel, adjacent to the shower and toilet) was spotless, the closet (filled to the brim with three-piece suits, which had probably cost Jane five-hundred dollars per suit) had a large hallow space of floor in the back where he’d eventually hide his safe, and the little kitchen (if one could call it that) held a small amount of edible food with a microwave and a portable stove. The living arrangements disgusted him, but he doubted he would be staying there for too long.
Red John stepped from the small “kitchen” and collapsed onto Jane’s queen-sized bed with a muffled groan. He wanted to do nothing but sleep, although his new body refused to cooperate with what he desired; his legs shifted restlessly and his heartbeat quickened within his chest. His eyelids refused to close, as he tried to make his body to shut down for the night.
With a frustrated sigh, Red John kicked off his leather dress shoes and reclined backwards on the soft bed to stare up at the white ceiling. He had known Jane was an insomniac, but he hadn’t expected that the man’s insomniac tendencies would linger post body swapping procedure.
Just like I hadn’t anticipated on the reaction from earlier, Red John thought. Jane apparently hadn’t been sexually active in so long that the very image of Teresa’s long legs had sent him over the edge in sexual pleasure. Maybe, Red John continued with his line of thought, I had mislabeled their relationship.
If he had mislabeled their relationship and they weren’t fucking each other, then he would need to change his plans slightly for the destruction of the team.
Red John had wanted to cheat on Teresa with Grace to hurt her, but if Teresa and Patrick weren’t together; it honestly wouldn’t matter who he screwed, as Teresa wouldn’t care. Which meant that his first course of action (besides getting used to Patrick’s body), would be to seduce the senior agent into his sheets.
The seduction would also be the easy part. Red John would feed the woman a few lines about how much he needed her and how much he couldn’t live without her and she’d part her legs for him. He’d manipulate her feelings with his words and special actions and just when she felt something beyond friendship for him; he’d destroy her by uttering the same exact words to Grace.
And if he had to be completely honest with himself, Teresa would be nothing compared to Grace. Grace wore the color red, quite beautifully; a color he had always found himself enticed by and fascinated with. He knew from Craig that Grace had once been in love with Wayne Rigsby, but now that the agent had a girlfriend and a little boy, Red John doubted he had anything to be worried about.
He shifted again, as he tried to lull his mind into a state of sleep.
Red John would have all of tomorrow to acclimatize to Jane’s body and give any last minute orders to his accomplices that he had neglected to mention before he had left. Tuesday, on the other hand, he would begin to integrate himself into the Serious Crimes Unit as the real Patrick Jane and he only hoped that everything would go without a hitch.
Or, his lips twitched into a slight smirk, the Serious Crimes Unit would all find themselves at the end of his blade and a scarlet smiley face above them to match.
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Part One - Part Two - Part Four - Part Five 1/2 - Part Five 2/2 - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine 1/2 - Part Nine 2/2 - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Thirteen - Part Fourteen - Part Fifteen - Part Sixteen 1/2 - Part Sixteen 2/2 - Part Seventeen - Part Eighteen - Part Nineteen - Part Twenty 1/2 - Part Twenty 2/2 - Part Twenty-One