FIC: Acrimonious (15/21)
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 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.
15-
Lisbon almost flushed the toilet after she had emptied her full bladder within the CBI bathroom, when she heard the sound of someone heaving in the stall next to her. The very sound-wet and throaty-nearly turned her stomach inside out, but she pushed past her own queasiness to flush the toilet. She tried to focus on the yellow-tinted water, as it swirled within the bowl and disappeared down the siphon jet, but the person’s continuous heaving made it hard to do.
“Are you okay?” Lisbon asked, after the woman in the next stall had quieted. “Do you need me to call a doctor?” She gained no response and Lisbon unlocked her own bathroom door, before she rapped lightly on the person’s stall door. She didn’t want to spend all day in the bathroom, trying to get an answer out of a sick woman, but it was better than sitting in her office all day worrying about Jane or dealing with Brenda Shettrick every five minutes or so.
“I’m fine,” a weak-yet extremely familiar-voice replied from within the stall moments later.
“Grace?” Lisbon asked with a frown. “What’s wrong?” She had been trying to keep more of an eye on her youngest team member after Wainwright had demanded answers out of her and she had burst into tears, but with everything going on, it was difficult to do.
“Everything is fine, boss.” Van Pelt responded, though she sounded on the verge of tears and Lisbon pounded on the stall door again. “I’m just sick. It’s the stomach flu.”
“Didn’t we talk about you lying to me a few weeks ago?” Lisbon questioned and she heard Van Pelt heave again. “Open the door, Grace.” After a few more moments, Lisbon heard the lock on the door unclick and she pushed the door aside with her hand to find the redhead on the floor with her chin against the toilet rim. “This isn’t what I would call fine, Van Pelt.” The young woman turned her head to stare at Lisbon with a grimace. Van Pelt had pulled her long red hair back into a messy ponytail, and even in the fluorescent lighting, she looked completely exhausted. “You need to go to the doctor.”
“I’m fine.” Van Pelt repeated with her brown eyes wide and Lisbon stepped into the large bathroom stall, before she locked the door behind her to allow them both some privacy. “Really, boss. I…”
“Cut the crap, Van Pelt.” Lisbon interrupted and the young agent turned away from her to rest her chin on the toilet rim again. “You’re not fine. You’ve been sick and exhausted for weeks. You refused to go on a stakeout with Rigsby, Grace.” Van Pelt said nothing and Lisbon sighed. “I’m really trying here, but you have to give me something to work with.” She watched Van Pelt’s shoulders start to shake and Lisbon hoped the woman wasn’t about the cry, as she would feel odd about trying to comfort her in a bathroom stall.
“I’m sorry…” Van Pelt started, before she heaved again and Lisbon continued to frown. Van Pelt had asked to take her lunch break almost twenty minutes ago and she had looked a little green, even then.
“Why are you apologizing?” Lisbon asked her a few minutes later. She watched Van Pelt’s shoulders move again.
“You have enough on your plate.” They all did, really. But that didn’t stop her from being concerned about any person on her unit.
In a dark long-sleeved sweater, Van Pelt glanced back at her with beads of sweat decorating her forehead and the young woman dragged one of her sleeves across her forehead. The dark sleeve rose up just enough for Lisbon to catch a glimpse of something yellowish-brown on her arm and before Van Pelt could put her arm back down; Lisbon had the sleeve pushed back.
“What the hell is this, Van Pelt?” Lisbon asked. She had her eyes focused on Van Pelt’s right arm, which had been covered in fading yellow and brown bruises. Van Pelt yanked her arm away and pulled the sleeve back down.
“It’s nothing, boss.” Van Pelt answered, still on the floor. Lisbon didn’t believe her for a second. “I fell last week and injured myself.”
Bruises lasted for two weeks. Van Pelt’s bruises looked nearly two-weeks-old and falling certainly didn’t cause a bruise pattern in the shape of a fist either.
“Who hurt you, Grace?” The answer was delayed with another round of heaving. Lisbon placed her hand on Van Pelt’s back awkwardly and she glanced up at the ceiling. Out of everything she had expected to deal with at work, a sick Van Pelt wasn’t even at the top of her list of things to do. “Tell me, Van Pelt.” Lisbon demanded after Van Pelt had pulled herself away from the inside of the toilet to stare down at the floor. “What happened?”
Lisbon heard the main bathroom door open and close again within the timespan of five minutes, before Van Pelt spoke again.
“I was sick.” Van Pelt started. She had her voice lowered into a whisper and Lisbon had to bend down to hear her clearly. “Jane offered to take me home and I let him.” Lisbon said nothing. From the way Van Pelt held herself though, Lisbon knew interruptions or a look of impatience to hurry up would do nothing but cause more problems. “I don’t remember the car ride. I don’t remember being taken out of the car.” Van Pelt continued. Her brown eyes wet and bright as Lisbon caught her eyes again. “I just remember waking up.” Lisbon watched Van Pelt glance down at her arms again. “I wasn’t wearing anything. Everything hurt; I burned all over.”
Lisbon stared at her youngest employee in masked horror. If Red John had been the one to steal Van Pelt’s vehicle with her and Jane in it, then it meant that the serial killer had also been the one to undress her and to rape her. She grew nauseated and then angry. Was killing innocent men, women and children not enough for the sick bastard that he had to change things up by kidnapping Jane-Amador PD had confirmed that the smiley face on the backseat of Van Pelt’s car had been drawn in his blood-and raping Van Pelt? Van Pelt, who had been trying to move past Craig O’Laughlin, hadn’t deserved what had happened to her.
“I pulled myself from the bed; there was so much blood.” Lisbon heard Van Pelt heave again, but she couldn’t bring herself to comfort the woman. After all, what was she supposed to say? I understand or everything will be okay, when she didn’t understand and when she knew that not everything would okay. At least whoever had bombed Cho would eventually be caught and Cho could put it behind him, while Red John would never be caught and even if he was, Van Pelt would forever be haunted by his demons. “Who was bleeding? Why were the sheets stained pink?” Van Pelt grew silent again. Lisbon waited, nervously. “I was bleeding. My blood stained the sheets, my blood decorated me. I was in my blood. In that moment, I felt small and worthless. Why hadn’t he just killed me? Why had God allowed him to do this to me?”
Her heart ached for Van Pelt, whose voice had remained emotionless up until her last sentence. She moved her hand toward Van Pelt’s back again, but she stopped herself at the last second; touch, if she remembered correctly, could trigger flashbacks and the last thing Lisbon wanted was for Van Pelt to have a full-blown panic attack.
“Do you know where you were?” Lisbon asked, gently. She didn’t want to push Van Pelt into remembering, but the location of wherever Red John had taken her would give them all a possible starting point to work off of toward finding Jane. Van Pelt grew silent again and Lisbon called out her name again. “Van Pelt? Do you remember anything about where you were?”
“It was a room, a small one.” Van Pelt answered with a small voice. “Red curtains. Two-toned walls. Several lamps. Two chairs. A queen-sized bed. A picture of two trees above the bed, done in white and green. Two bedside tables. A microwave. A television…” It sounded like any other normal motel room and in Sacramento; there were plenty of those to keep them all searching for the rest of their lives.
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” Lisbon hoped Van Pelt remembered more than just the inside of the motel room.
“Palm tree.” Van Pelt replied in a whisper. “There was a fake palm tree outside; I could see it from where I was.”
“A fake...” Lisbon started, before she trailed off in midsentence. Outside, Jane’s extended stay motel had a fake palm tree that she had remembered seeing months ago. Would Red John really be that reckless to abduct Jane and rape Van Pelt in Jane’s motel room? Killers had unusual amounts of hubris when it came to their crimes, but the idea of Red John making it so easy for them all-for her-made her wonder if he had something much larger planned. Fear danced down her spine. What if Red John came after Cho or Rigsby next?
Both of them could protect themselves; they had guns and confined to a wheelchair or not, Cho could handle himself. It just made her nervous that Red John continued to pull all of the strings on their investigations and in their lives, while he watched them from afar making foolish mistakes.
“I don’t know what to do.” Van Pelt interrupted Lisbon’s musing.
“We’ll figure it out, Van Pelt.” Lisbon promised. “You don’t have to do this on your own.” If Van Pelt didn’t want her help, she still had Rigsby to lean on; and Lisbon was absolutely sure that Sarah or no Sarah, Rigsby would bend over backwards to help her out as he would do anything for the first woman he had truly loved.
“You don’t understand.” Van Pelt responded flatly, before she moved to face Lisbon. Van Pelt’s eyes were still bloodshot and the smallest residue of vomit still clung to her pink lips. “I’m pregnant with his child. Of course, I have to do this on my own.” Lisbon stared at Van Pelt in shock, as the woman stared on without a trace of emotion across her face. “After all, boss, who is going to want a slut?”
Even with Van Pelt’s unofficial statement and Darcy’s push on the judge, it took them three days to obtain the warrant to search Jane’s motel room. Lisbon had tried to ignore the nagging thought that an additional three days was enough time for Red John to kill Jane’s body, as she and Rigsby sped down the road near the Parkway Extended Stay Motel.
Lisbon heard Rigsby tap his fingers against the armrest with a frown. After Van Pelt had dropped that she was pregnant, Lisbon had asked Rigsby if he and Van Pelt had been engaged in any romantic affairs lately, but the taller agent had denied any affair between himself and Van Pelt as he had Sarah and Benjamin to think about. She had felt horrible for asking him, but before they could approach a judge about getting a search warrant, she had to be 100% sure that Van Pelt’s story hadn’t been fabricated-Lisbon believed her, however, it was always possible that the judge wouldn’t-
She pulled into the Extended Stay Motel parking lot and parked in the front, before she undid her seat belt and left the vehicle in silence. Rigsby followed behind her, as they climbed the steps to room 239: Patrick Jane’s motel room.
“We might have to find someone to unlock the door.” Lisbon advised Rigsby, while she put her hand to the door handle and pressed down. It clicked and Lisbon went for her gun. With a gentle shove, the door opened and she stepped foot into the room which smelled strongly of bleach.
Bright lights flooded the room and Lisbon put her gun away after she had determined that the only two people in Jane’s motel room were herself and Rigsby.
“Someone cleaned up in here.” Rigsby commented from near the bathroom as she glanced around the room; Van Pelt had said there was a picture of two trees above the bed, done in white and green and a picture of two trees done in white and green sat above a stripped queen-sized bed. The floor was also clean of any blood traces. Lisbon doubted Red John had been the one to clean the room, due to the fact it went against his pattern; he wanted his crime scenes to be discovered, not make it look as if the crime had never happened.
Van Pelt probably cleaned it up, Lisbon thought. She wasn’t angry with her agent for trying to pretend it had never happened, but the thought of Van Pelt-down on her knees and in pain-cleaning up the evidence made her stomach clench in disgust. They all worked with the serious crimes-murder, manslaughter, assault and battery-and Lisbon still couldn’t understand why Red John did the things he did.
“Boss!” Lisbon shook her head to clear her thoughts and she ran into the small bathroom, where Rigsby had pulled back Jane’s white shower curtain. On the white porcelain surface of the shower remained a bleach-soaked bed sheet; the thin sheet was stained half-white and half-pink and Lisbon motioned for Rigsby to step back.
“We’re going to need forensics in here.” Lisbon told him with her eyes still focused on the crumpled sheets. Hearing the bare facts from Van Pelt had been one thing, but seeing the proof with her eyes was an entirely different thing. Rigsby didn’t seem bothered by the sheets and she envied his momentary innocence, as the imagined horrors that Van Pelt had gone through didn’t do anything good for anyone. She forced her eyes away from the blood-stained bed sheets and turned to the medicine cabinet, where she pulled on a pair of gloves to assess the objects inside.
A container of cotton balls and swabs lined the bottom row, along with a single blue toothbrush and a tube of half-used toothpaste. On the second row, Jane had stored a generic brand of petroleum jelly, which Lisbon quickly opened to find a violet-colored substance within the oblong-shaped container.
“This should be tested.” Lisbon said, sitting the container down on the sink. Petroleum jelly wasn’t supposed to be light purple; it was supposed to be a yellowish color. She went back to examining the contents within the small cabinet.
On the top row, she found a few generic boxes of sleeping pills, not that it surprised her at all. Jane was an insomniac, who probably used the sleep-aid on occasion to help him sleep without dreams. Lisbon also found a few unmarked pill bottles, which she set on the sink as well.
Lisbon closed the cabinet and left the bathroom to explore the small kitchen. On the plain counter sat a standard-issued microwave, a coffee maker and a lone teacup.
“Nothing on top of the counter.” Lisbon called to Rigsby. “I’m going to check underneath.” Lisbon bent down to open each one of the cabinets. The first cabinet held several hot plates and the second cabinet held the usual set of cooking utensils every kitchen had. The third cabinet though held many things that didn’t belong in a kitchen cabinet. Lisbon scanned the items with her eyes; an unmarked bottle filled with a dark liquid substance remained hidden behind the lemon-scented air freshener, the laptop Jane had borrowed from the CBI, and a kitchen blade hidden amongst the red, white and green pattern less kitchen mitts.
She removed the blade and set it atop the counter, before she went back to closely inspecting the kitchen mitts for any trace. The red and white kitchen mitts had nothing on them, aside from a stain of tea. One of the green mitts, however, had a blood-colored stain on it. Van Pelt had said nothing about a knife and Lisbon hoped the knife-if it was blood, anyway-didn’t belong to her.
“I found a half-empty container of bleach tossed behind the toilet.” Rigsby said.
“Anything else?” Lisbon asked, as she stood from the cabinets to face him. Rigsby shook his head. “I found a knife and a stain of what might be blood.”
Rigsby’s eyes went to the knife. “It’s a kitchen knife.” Lisbon nodded. Red John used a kitchen knife. “Do you think he…?”
“Red John,” Lisbon interrupted, “wouldn’t have had enough time to kidnap Jane and return to stash the knife.” Rigsby nodded. She hadn’t told him about Van Pelt, as the young woman had asked her not to and Lisbon respected her wishes. “Aside from that, why would he even give us his knife?” Rigsby didn’t answer her question. “Check the closet. I’m going to check under and around the bed.”
Lisbon turned toward the bed and bent down on her hands and knees to glance under the bed. The strong scent of bleach overwhelmed her senses again and she covered her nose with her hand, before she peeked under the bed. Darkness obscured her eyes but a flash of something caught her eye. She uncovered her nose and went fishing for whatever object was just out of her reach.
“I found nothing, boss.” Lisbon heard Rigsby’s voice as she grabbed the object under the bed and carefully pulled it out.
It was a single black kitchen glove, sticky with some type of residue and blood.
“Is that…?”
“Red John’s glove.” Lisbon muttered in surprise. Rigsby fell silent and Lisbon wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was.
With Red John’s glove, they were one step closer to finding Red John.
And one step closer to finding Jane, Lisbon realized silently as her heart collided against her ribcage in excitement and trepidation.
--
Part One - Part Two - Part Three - 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 Sixteen 1/2 - Part Sixteen 2/2 - Part Seventeen - Part Eighteen - Part Nineteen - Part Twenty 1/2 - Part Twenty 2/2 - Part Twenty-One