FIC: Songs of Innocence (The Following/The Mentalist); 1/1
Title: Songs of Innocence
Disclaimer: When have I ever owned The Mentalist or The Following?
Rating: T
Summary: It's the last message, she knows, that will ever pass through her lips too.
Notes: I ignore canon, because the finale of The Following still has me depressed. *sobs*. Anyway, just be warned--cannibalism is mentioned. I also ignored the fact that Grace Van Pelt has to be older than twenty-one; and the fact that we know nothing about her family...aside from her father, who is a football coach.
I ALSO USED O'LAUGHLIN. (It really saddens me on how I used him, but hey...)
Um. Written for my Ladies' bingo square: Fusion with another fandom.
In the oblong mirror reflection of herself, she notices that her natural roots are beginning to show again and she grimaces in disgust. Joe Carroll, her good friend and mentor, once told her appearance was everything; and the fact that she finally gets to meet the Ryan Hardy in a tasteless orange prison jumpsuit and a pair of cheap handcuffs ruins the illusion that Joe enjoyed the most from her.
Grace doubts Hardy will buy her tears. He certainly doesn’t seem like one to be tricked by cheap theatrics, but she’s been wrong before; the last FBI agent bought her crying act and she never thought he’d be stupid enough to believe that Joe had kidnapped and brainwashed her. Of course, she wonders if the FBI has found his entire body yet. Before Agent Weston had arrested her, she had thoroughly enjoyed the raw taste of Agent Craig’s innards and she almost wants to ask the entering FBI bitch if she can have any of his leftovers for dinner.
But she doesn’t.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Van Pelt,” the FBI bitch’s casual tone (and subsequent use of her actual last name) fills her with a red-hot rage. Nobody calls her Van Pelt anymore. Her name is GRACE. She is GRACE. She is NOT Van Pelt. “How is prison treating you?”
She knows the interrogation process well. Her father, Amos, was interrogated many times throughout her childhood for the “mysterious” death of her little sister, Melody. A smile threatens to destroy her act of dismay as she remembers tightening the belt around her sister’s slender neck, the good voice (who she named Teresa) whispering in her head about how Melody deserved to die for being Mommy’s favorite.
“You don’t have to say anything, Grace,” the FBI bitch continues. “I just want to establish that the guards are treating you well there.”
“Why does it matter to you?” Grace doesn’t have to force her voice to sound scared or angry anymore. Being in prison scares the hell out of her and she doesn’t appreciate the presence of the other inmates, as they laugh at her for talking to Teresa (the only thing in her life, aside from Joe, that makes sense). “If I tell you the other girls are laughing at me, you’ll think I deserve it.”
The FBI bitch leans across the table and touches her hand, lightly. Grace tries to pull back, but she can’t. “Grace, no. I want to help you.” The agent scans her face with a frown. “You’re young, aren’t you?”
“Twenty-one,” Grace replies, bitterly. Joe once told her age shouldn’t matter in the ideals of “young” or “old”, because she wasn’t a “young” soul by any means. She hadn’t been “young” or “innocent” since the age of six, when daddy had taken her sunshine away and Teresa had started helping her. “I’m twenty-one years old. I am not young.”
“I suppose you aren’t,” the FBI bitch replies and Grace eyes her in distrust. The FBI bitch stares at her with a small smile. “I’m sorry for not introducing myself earlier to you, Grace. My name is Agent Debra Parker; I work with the FBI.”
“I know who you are,” Grace lies. In all honesty, she only knows Ryan Hardy. These other FBI agents and FBI agent wannabes are of no concern to her, even if it looks like Debra is packing under her outfit. “You’re one of the agents on the television.” Teresa always told her to pay attention, but everything she learned after the age of sixteen came from Joe. Joe wanted her to know who Ryan Hardy was; he also wanted her to know why being arrested was of the upmost importance to their good cause.
“I am,” Debra admits with a small smile. “I’ve been told you know who Joe Carroll is though.”
She forces her eyes to well with tears and prepares herself to tell the story that Joe gave her. “He…he kidnapped me.” She almost snorts at Debra’s softened expression. Joe saved her. How could anybody believe that Joe Carroll was a bad man? “He…he brought me to his home and told me that if I didn’t do what he ordered, he would kill my family. I didn’t want to kill that FBI agent, Debra. I…” She forces herself to burst into a frenzy of tears. “I’m sorry! Please don’t send me back to prison. Please!”
A second door opens and Ryan Hardy steps into the room. His movements are slow and calculated. “Parker, she’s dangerous.” Debra says nothing. “This bitch works for Carroll. She’s his little protégé; the one who simply wishes she were Emma Hill.”
At that comment, Grace snarls. How DARE Ryan Hardy compare her to Emma fucking Hill, the whoring tramp of their loving community. “I am Joe’s FAVORITE. He LOVES me. Emma is NOTHING to him.”
Teresa’s voice stirs in the back of her mind, ordering her to kill them all and she struggles against her restraints. “I’m going to kill you both!” Debra blinks and Ryan steps closer, leaning against the silver interrogation table.
“Now see, was it so hard to admit that you’re a member of Joe’s freaky cult?” Ryan asks and Grace glares. Joe doesn’t have a cult. He has a mission to change the world. “Now tell us where your master is, and we’ll let you go.” Grace says nothing, biding her time to parrot Joe’s message to Ryan. “This so-called innocent act makes you look cheap, Gracie. Does Joe tell you to dye your dark-hair red? Because I’m telling you, it makes you look cheap. It reminds me a lot of Emma, actually…”
Grace growls. “Stop it!”
“Oh, you want me to stop it?” Before she can jerk away, Ryan has her fingers twisted backwards and one of them pops. She screams. “Did you stop suffocating Melody at her cries, Grace? Did you stop carving your mother like a bar of soap at her pleas, Grace? Did you stop sharpening your axe when you chopped your father’s head clean off, Grace? Did you stop eating Agent O’Laughlin when he started screaming, Grace?” She whimpers and he moves in, closer and closer, until she can smell the vodka on his breath. “No, you didn’t. So, no. I refuse to stop, until I break every single one of your damn fingers and I get Joe’s location out of you.”
Grace trembles. Teresa tells her to cry out, but she can’t.
She can’t.
Debra’s eyes are on her. “Ryan…”
“Stay out of this, Deb,” Ryan growls. “She deserves this and more for everything she’s done to her family and to Craig…” He grabs another one of her fingers and twists it backwards; she screams again. “Two fingers down, eight left to go. You had better start talking, Gracie. Or soon, you’ll have no fingers left to pleasure your good buddy Joe…”
“Okay, okay!” Grace interrupts, trembling. He doesn’t let her fingers go, which makes her uncomfortable, but she knows she can’t do anything. “I’ll talk!” Ryan looks at her with a predatory smile on his face and she clears her throat, pausing for a moment or so, before she speaks. “Tyger, Tyger.”
It’s the last message, she knows, that will ever pass through her lips too before Ryan continues to break her fingers.
Disclaimer: When have I ever owned The Mentalist or The Following?
Rating: T
Summary: It's the last message, she knows, that will ever pass through her lips too.
Notes: I ignore canon, because the finale of The Following still has me depressed. *sobs*. Anyway, just be warned--cannibalism is mentioned. I also ignored the fact that Grace Van Pelt has to be older than twenty-one; and the fact that we know nothing about her family...aside from her father, who is a football coach.
I ALSO USED O'LAUGHLIN. (It really saddens me on how I used him, but hey...)
Um. Written for my Ladies' bingo square: Fusion with another fandom.
In the oblong mirror reflection of herself, she notices that her natural roots are beginning to show again and she grimaces in disgust. Joe Carroll, her good friend and mentor, once told her appearance was everything; and the fact that she finally gets to meet the Ryan Hardy in a tasteless orange prison jumpsuit and a pair of cheap handcuffs ruins the illusion that Joe enjoyed the most from her.
Grace doubts Hardy will buy her tears. He certainly doesn’t seem like one to be tricked by cheap theatrics, but she’s been wrong before; the last FBI agent bought her crying act and she never thought he’d be stupid enough to believe that Joe had kidnapped and brainwashed her. Of course, she wonders if the FBI has found his entire body yet. Before Agent Weston had arrested her, she had thoroughly enjoyed the raw taste of Agent Craig’s innards and she almost wants to ask the entering FBI bitch if she can have any of his leftovers for dinner.
But she doesn’t.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Van Pelt,” the FBI bitch’s casual tone (and subsequent use of her actual last name) fills her with a red-hot rage. Nobody calls her Van Pelt anymore. Her name is GRACE. She is GRACE. She is NOT Van Pelt. “How is prison treating you?”
She knows the interrogation process well. Her father, Amos, was interrogated many times throughout her childhood for the “mysterious” death of her little sister, Melody. A smile threatens to destroy her act of dismay as she remembers tightening the belt around her sister’s slender neck, the good voice (who she named Teresa) whispering in her head about how Melody deserved to die for being Mommy’s favorite.
“You don’t have to say anything, Grace,” the FBI bitch continues. “I just want to establish that the guards are treating you well there.”
“Why does it matter to you?” Grace doesn’t have to force her voice to sound scared or angry anymore. Being in prison scares the hell out of her and she doesn’t appreciate the presence of the other inmates, as they laugh at her for talking to Teresa (the only thing in her life, aside from Joe, that makes sense). “If I tell you the other girls are laughing at me, you’ll think I deserve it.”
The FBI bitch leans across the table and touches her hand, lightly. Grace tries to pull back, but she can’t. “Grace, no. I want to help you.” The agent scans her face with a frown. “You’re young, aren’t you?”
“Twenty-one,” Grace replies, bitterly. Joe once told her age shouldn’t matter in the ideals of “young” or “old”, because she wasn’t a “young” soul by any means. She hadn’t been “young” or “innocent” since the age of six, when daddy had taken her sunshine away and Teresa had started helping her. “I’m twenty-one years old. I am not young.”
“I suppose you aren’t,” the FBI bitch replies and Grace eyes her in distrust. The FBI bitch stares at her with a small smile. “I’m sorry for not introducing myself earlier to you, Grace. My name is Agent Debra Parker; I work with the FBI.”
“I know who you are,” Grace lies. In all honesty, she only knows Ryan Hardy. These other FBI agents and FBI agent wannabes are of no concern to her, even if it looks like Debra is packing under her outfit. “You’re one of the agents on the television.” Teresa always told her to pay attention, but everything she learned after the age of sixteen came from Joe. Joe wanted her to know who Ryan Hardy was; he also wanted her to know why being arrested was of the upmost importance to their good cause.
“I am,” Debra admits with a small smile. “I’ve been told you know who Joe Carroll is though.”
She forces her eyes to well with tears and prepares herself to tell the story that Joe gave her. “He…he kidnapped me.” She almost snorts at Debra’s softened expression. Joe saved her. How could anybody believe that Joe Carroll was a bad man? “He…he brought me to his home and told me that if I didn’t do what he ordered, he would kill my family. I didn’t want to kill that FBI agent, Debra. I…” She forces herself to burst into a frenzy of tears. “I’m sorry! Please don’t send me back to prison. Please!”
A second door opens and Ryan Hardy steps into the room. His movements are slow and calculated. “Parker, she’s dangerous.” Debra says nothing. “This bitch works for Carroll. She’s his little protégé; the one who simply wishes she were Emma Hill.”
At that comment, Grace snarls. How DARE Ryan Hardy compare her to Emma fucking Hill, the whoring tramp of their loving community. “I am Joe’s FAVORITE. He LOVES me. Emma is NOTHING to him.”
Teresa’s voice stirs in the back of her mind, ordering her to kill them all and she struggles against her restraints. “I’m going to kill you both!” Debra blinks and Ryan steps closer, leaning against the silver interrogation table.
“Now see, was it so hard to admit that you’re a member of Joe’s freaky cult?” Ryan asks and Grace glares. Joe doesn’t have a cult. He has a mission to change the world. “Now tell us where your master is, and we’ll let you go.” Grace says nothing, biding her time to parrot Joe’s message to Ryan. “This so-called innocent act makes you look cheap, Gracie. Does Joe tell you to dye your dark-hair red? Because I’m telling you, it makes you look cheap. It reminds me a lot of Emma, actually…”
Grace growls. “Stop it!”
“Oh, you want me to stop it?” Before she can jerk away, Ryan has her fingers twisted backwards and one of them pops. She screams. “Did you stop suffocating Melody at her cries, Grace? Did you stop carving your mother like a bar of soap at her pleas, Grace? Did you stop sharpening your axe when you chopped your father’s head clean off, Grace? Did you stop eating Agent O’Laughlin when he started screaming, Grace?” She whimpers and he moves in, closer and closer, until she can smell the vodka on his breath. “No, you didn’t. So, no. I refuse to stop, until I break every single one of your damn fingers and I get Joe’s location out of you.”
Grace trembles. Teresa tells her to cry out, but she can’t.
She can’t.
Debra’s eyes are on her. “Ryan…”
“Stay out of this, Deb,” Ryan growls. “She deserves this and more for everything she’s done to her family and to Craig…” He grabs another one of her fingers and twists it backwards; she screams again. “Two fingers down, eight left to go. You had better start talking, Gracie. Or soon, you’ll have no fingers left to pleasure your good buddy Joe…”
“Okay, okay!” Grace interrupts, trembling. He doesn’t let her fingers go, which makes her uncomfortable, but she knows she can’t do anything. “I’ll talk!” Ryan looks at her with a predatory smile on his face and she clears her throat, pausing for a moment or so, before she speaks. “Tyger, Tyger.”
It’s the last message, she knows, that will ever pass through her lips too before Ryan continues to break her fingers.