Trick House (prologue)
Trick House
Author: tromana
Artist: aprilvolition
Link to art: Here
Word Count: 19,848
Rating: R
Summary: Red John has lured Jane to a place where he has to revisit some of his deepest, darkest memories. The race is on for Lisbon and the team to find him.
Disclaimer: I do not not own the Mentalist. The artwork is courtesy of aprilvolition
Notes: With massive thanks to my beta, miss_peg and especially to aprilvolition, without whom, this fic would never have existed in the first place. Some fleeting spoilers for the 4x24 finale.
Prologue
He stared up at the house in front of him. The building was dilapidated, in a state of extreme disrepair. In fact, it looked like it should have been sporting a ‘Danger, Unsafe, Do Not Enter’ sign, though it was lacking on that front. That didn't put him off, however. Nothing would at the moment. The letter that lay in the pocket of his jacket felt more foreboding than a house that simply looked like it was in need of some love and attention. Though, it was not threatening enough to quash the incorrigible itch that had slowly driven him mad over the last couple of days. It was only now that his sheer intrigue had grown so unbearable that he had to find out exactly what the note was summoning him to, and why. Tentatively, he took a step forward and started trying to absorb it all in. Nothing much was coming to him, at least not yet.
Just as soon as he was going to head towards the porch, his cell phone starting ringing shrilly. With a grumble, he pulled it out and stared at the screen. He was completely unsurprised when he saw it was Lisbon who was calling him; the woman was predictable to the extreme. Still, he decided to answer the call. Jane knew that he might as well humor the woman; otherwise he knew that she would give him short shrift when he got back from whatever it was he was needed for here. Of late, she had been pushing him more than before, possibly as punishment for his latest antics. He couldn’t blame her for that; if anything, she deserved to push him away.
"Hey, Lisbon."
"Jane," she acknowledged quickly, before continuing, "where the hell are you?"
"Out," he answered back.
"Ha, ha," she said, sounding surprisingly wan. "We have a case."
"I know."
"Then why aren't you at work?"
"I'm busy."
"Doing what, exactly?"
"Stuff."
"Oh really?"
"Yes, really."
When he'd received the note, it had seemed suitably ominous. Jane had toyed with the concept of telling her about it. After all, he had had enough time and given enough thought to the matter. The fact that Lisbon had been prompted to ask him if he was okay on more than one occasion was evidence enough that it had made him start acting out of sorts. And besides, the writer had told to come alone and he always had a habit of being contrary to direct instructions. Instead, he had pushed aside his concerns and decided against it. For a start, he already knew that this had something to do with Red John, and if he was going to get any closer to the serial killer, he didn't want Lisbon or the team to get in the way. Not just because he wanted - needed to silence his demons from all those years ago, but also because he desperately didn't want to see her, or any of the others for that matter, get hurt.
Jane had already lost too many people he cared about to the serial killer. He wasn't about to add any more to the list. Anybody he grew close to ran the risk of being slaughtered by Red John; for their own protection, he had to start rebuilding the barriers that had long since crumbled down.
And besides, it just felt like this was a quest he needed to carry out on his own. He was perfectly capable of dictating anything he found out from this excursion to Lisbon or one of the others. Jane just wanted the space and time to really think about what it was he discovered first. He'd tell them in due course, it was just something that was going to take a little time.
“Doing what, exactly?” she persisted, as she had every right to do so. After all, she was his boss.
“Meh, it wouldn’t interest you.”
“Who says?”
“Do you really want to know the contents of my sock drawer?” he lied smoothly.
“Okay, I’ve heard enough,” she said and he could just imagine he scrunching her eyes up tightly and holding up a hand in protest. "Jane, we need you.”
He already had a hunch that she was just saying that to make sure that he sounded like he was wanted. There was just enough of a touch of fear in her voice to convince him that really, she just needed to know that he wasn’t in trouble, or causing it for that matter. After all, he knew for a fact that she liked having her own space once in a while, instead of having to endure having him in her hair.
"Can't I take some personal time?"
"Now, Jane, really?" she asked, exasperated.
"How important is this case?"
She remained silent for a brief second or so. That told him all that he needed to know. While his expertise would have been appreciated, they were perfectly capable of working this specific crime scene without him. As a consequence, it made his decision all the easier.
"It's work, Jane, of course it's important."
"And that, my dear, isn't exactly an answer."
"So?"
Jane almost laughed; if he was allowed to only give her half-answers to questions, then it was only fair that she had the same luxury every once in a while. After all, it was something he abused on a day to day basis, much to her irritation.
"Fine," she eventually said, relenting before he had even needed to say any more. "Just be careful, okay?"
"What makes you think I'm doing anything dangerous?"
"And call me if you need anything, okay?" she continued, not even listening to his previous question.
"Yes, boss."
"Shut up, Jane," she snapped, only half meaning it.
Ending the call, Jane returned his attention to the house in front of him. It didn't appear to be a particularly big house from the outside, maybe only had four rooms or so. As he walked up the steps to the porch, the wooden boards creaked angrily, not particularly happy to be used. The sun continued beating down on him and Jane was relieved to be in the shade. He allowed his fingers to run across the wood of the front door, intrigued by it all. Though it was firmly shut, it wasn't locked. Carefully, he wrapped his fingers around the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open.
It was now or never, he mused.
He hoped that he'd made the right decision when he'd considered coming out here on his own.
The first thing he saw, somewhat predictably, was a blood red smiley face.
And underneath: welcome to my memory palace, Patrick Jane.
To Part One
Author: tromana
Artist: aprilvolition
Link to art: Here
Word Count: 19,848
Rating: R
Summary: Red John has lured Jane to a place where he has to revisit some of his deepest, darkest memories. The race is on for Lisbon and the team to find him.
Disclaimer: I do not not own the Mentalist. The artwork is courtesy of aprilvolition
Notes: With massive thanks to my beta, miss_peg and especially to aprilvolition, without whom, this fic would never have existed in the first place. Some fleeting spoilers for the 4x24 finale.
Prologue
He stared up at the house in front of him. The building was dilapidated, in a state of extreme disrepair. In fact, it looked like it should have been sporting a ‘Danger, Unsafe, Do Not Enter’ sign, though it was lacking on that front. That didn't put him off, however. Nothing would at the moment. The letter that lay in the pocket of his jacket felt more foreboding than a house that simply looked like it was in need of some love and attention. Though, it was not threatening enough to quash the incorrigible itch that had slowly driven him mad over the last couple of days. It was only now that his sheer intrigue had grown so unbearable that he had to find out exactly what the note was summoning him to, and why. Tentatively, he took a step forward and started trying to absorb it all in. Nothing much was coming to him, at least not yet.
Just as soon as he was going to head towards the porch, his cell phone starting ringing shrilly. With a grumble, he pulled it out and stared at the screen. He was completely unsurprised when he saw it was Lisbon who was calling him; the woman was predictable to the extreme. Still, he decided to answer the call. Jane knew that he might as well humor the woman; otherwise he knew that she would give him short shrift when he got back from whatever it was he was needed for here. Of late, she had been pushing him more than before, possibly as punishment for his latest antics. He couldn’t blame her for that; if anything, she deserved to push him away.
"Hey, Lisbon."
"Jane," she acknowledged quickly, before continuing, "where the hell are you?"
"Out," he answered back.
"Ha, ha," she said, sounding surprisingly wan. "We have a case."
"I know."
"Then why aren't you at work?"
"I'm busy."
"Doing what, exactly?"
"Stuff."
"Oh really?"
"Yes, really."
When he'd received the note, it had seemed suitably ominous. Jane had toyed with the concept of telling her about it. After all, he had had enough time and given enough thought to the matter. The fact that Lisbon had been prompted to ask him if he was okay on more than one occasion was evidence enough that it had made him start acting out of sorts. And besides, the writer had told to come alone and he always had a habit of being contrary to direct instructions. Instead, he had pushed aside his concerns and decided against it. For a start, he already knew that this had something to do with Red John, and if he was going to get any closer to the serial killer, he didn't want Lisbon or the team to get in the way. Not just because he wanted - needed to silence his demons from all those years ago, but also because he desperately didn't want to see her, or any of the others for that matter, get hurt.
Jane had already lost too many people he cared about to the serial killer. He wasn't about to add any more to the list. Anybody he grew close to ran the risk of being slaughtered by Red John; for their own protection, he had to start rebuilding the barriers that had long since crumbled down.
And besides, it just felt like this was a quest he needed to carry out on his own. He was perfectly capable of dictating anything he found out from this excursion to Lisbon or one of the others. Jane just wanted the space and time to really think about what it was he discovered first. He'd tell them in due course, it was just something that was going to take a little time.
“Doing what, exactly?” she persisted, as she had every right to do so. After all, she was his boss.
“Meh, it wouldn’t interest you.”
“Who says?”
“Do you really want to know the contents of my sock drawer?” he lied smoothly.
“Okay, I’ve heard enough,” she said and he could just imagine he scrunching her eyes up tightly and holding up a hand in protest. "Jane, we need you.”
He already had a hunch that she was just saying that to make sure that he sounded like he was wanted. There was just enough of a touch of fear in her voice to convince him that really, she just needed to know that he wasn’t in trouble, or causing it for that matter. After all, he knew for a fact that she liked having her own space once in a while, instead of having to endure having him in her hair.
"Can't I take some personal time?"
"Now, Jane, really?" she asked, exasperated.
"How important is this case?"
She remained silent for a brief second or so. That told him all that he needed to know. While his expertise would have been appreciated, they were perfectly capable of working this specific crime scene without him. As a consequence, it made his decision all the easier.
"It's work, Jane, of course it's important."
"And that, my dear, isn't exactly an answer."
"So?"
Jane almost laughed; if he was allowed to only give her half-answers to questions, then it was only fair that she had the same luxury every once in a while. After all, it was something he abused on a day to day basis, much to her irritation.
"Fine," she eventually said, relenting before he had even needed to say any more. "Just be careful, okay?"
"What makes you think I'm doing anything dangerous?"
"And call me if you need anything, okay?" she continued, not even listening to his previous question.
"Yes, boss."
"Shut up, Jane," she snapped, only half meaning it.
Ending the call, Jane returned his attention to the house in front of him. It didn't appear to be a particularly big house from the outside, maybe only had four rooms or so. As he walked up the steps to the porch, the wooden boards creaked angrily, not particularly happy to be used. The sun continued beating down on him and Jane was relieved to be in the shade. He allowed his fingers to run across the wood of the front door, intrigued by it all. Though it was firmly shut, it wasn't locked. Carefully, he wrapped his fingers around the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open.
It was now or never, he mused.
He hoped that he'd made the right decision when he'd considered coming out here on his own.
The first thing he saw, somewhat predictably, was a blood red smiley face.
And underneath: welcome to my memory palace, Patrick Jane.
To Part One