FIC: Duplicity (1/7); The Mentalist
Title: Duplicity
Disclaimer: Nope.
Rating: T
Summary: AU 4.24- Her last words, much like the temptress of a woman who had spoken them out loud, could have held more meanings and there was only so much time left for them both. J/L.
Author Notes’: I want to thank loveconquerallx for all of the handholding and encouragement while writing this fic, I would have never gotten anywhere without her. I also want to thank justlook3 for the amazing artwork, which you can find HERE, and for just being awesome! :D The fanmix helped so much! Also, bits of dialogue taken from 4x24…so spoilers!
Prologue:
Five minutes after Patrick Jane had met Teresa Lisbon and she had flashed him a coy smile from across the room; he had known exactly who and what she was.
With her pinned-up brunette hair, her pale unblemished face, her brilliant smile, and her sparkling green eyes, which revealed something far more sinister brewed beneath the surface than what anybody else could see. Teresa Lisbon was the devil’s advocate, gifted to him by the devil himself: Red John, the infamous serial killer of his wife, daughter and other countless individuals.
Although, just weeks prior to their first brief encounter in Vegas-Jane had accidentally bumped into the woman, much to his chagrin-he had been fired from the California Bureau of Investigation by Special-Agent-in-Charge Luther Wainwright, and he hadn’t looked back since. He had a feeling that the Senior Agent of the Serious Crimes Unit-his “boss” and friend-Lorelei Martins was probably tearing her hair out looking for him, as he had completely disappeared from her radar to find Red John.
However, when Jane had faked his public breakdown within the CBI to find the serial killer, he hadn’t exactly expected Red John to send one of his own, to see if his desire for revenge was truly gone.
Teresa, he had assumed from their first chance encounter months ago-her, dressed in the form-fitting red cocktail waitress uniform of the Crimson Hat, which had put several of her assets on display for everybody to admire-had been used by Red John for more things than just “testing the waters” of his misguided revenge.
Jane slyly grinned into his scotch on the rocks, as he remained seated at the brightly lit bar. Six months of staying on the down low, cutting off all contact with the CBI, and going back to his conman roots in Vegas had resulted in Red John’s scarlet woman popping up on occasion, usually whenever alcohol was involved. Jane doubted Martins would have been too thrilled with him or his plan, especially if she ever found out that he had taken to drinking copious amounts of alcohol and dealing drugs to catch a serial killer; after all, the senior agent already disliked most of his actions pertaining to the Red John case. And if he had to be completely honest with himself, six months away from Lorelei Martins to catch Red John in his own way had been a total relief.
He heard Teresa sit down in the vacant chair next to him and from the corner of his vision, he notice her pull out her Blackberry phone with her black-gloved hands; he kept his face completely passive, even though he was highly amused by her choice of phone, as he continued to fiddle with the coin in his hand. The bartender (also dressed in red and black) brought her a drink (tequila), which she immediately downed, before she sat the glass back down and looked to him with a small smile.
He waited for her speak first, as she always usually did.
“Magic?” Teresa’s voice finally asked and he glanced up at her in faux surprise. He had the vague feeling that the green-eyed woman didn’t believe in magic, but he let it slide for the sake of a conversation.
“Magic?” He repeated, lowly; the silver coin still sat in-between his fingers.
“What you do with those coins.” Teresa’s full attention was on the casino coin in his hand. He doubted the short brunette cocktail waitress would be hard to hypnotize into giving him answers, but he wasn’t about to press his luck with her (or Red John, for that matter). “Magic.”
“I’m not a magician; it’s not really magic in what I do with those coins.” Jane answered, before he took a sip of his glass; the bitter liquid felt coarse against his throat.
“No?” She was obviously playing with him, which oddly amused him again. It wasn’t too often (with Martins excluded) that someone would willingly ask questions they already knew the answer to in jest. Teresa was good at what she did for her master, but he was better at the game. He always had been. “You seem like one, with all of the coin tricks and the evasiveness.” He raised both of his eyebrows in her direction; evasiveness was a requirement for most jobs anymore. “I’m saying you seem to be a man of many secrets.”
If only she knew, he thought.
“Aren’t we all?” Jane asked her and she laughed, softly. Teresa, he silently realized, had a beautiful laugh and a beautiful smile.
“I’ve brought you drinks a few times. I’ve also seen you do a few tricks, you’re pretty good.” Teresa responded and he brightly grinned.
“Ah, yes. I remember.” He shifted to point his finger at her. “Teresa, right?” Teresa nodded, as she moved her arms to cross against her semi-exposed chest with a smile. “How are you doing? I’m Patrick.” He extended his hand toward her, which she carefully took and shook. Teresa had a stellar grip and he wondered if Red John had ever used her for any other business type deal.
“Hi Patrick.” Teresa greeted, while she pulled her hand from his. “You’re not a magician?”
“No,” he said with the slight shake of his head. Honesty was the best policy, after all. “I’m a conman and I steal from people.”
Teresa shifted in surprise. “I’m honestly surprised. I don’t know what to say to that.” Oh, yes she did. She probably had a million things to say on the tip of her tongue, but she wouldn’t risk blowing her cover. He glanced away from her. “You act as if it’s the most normal thing to say.”
“It is.” Jane said. He glanced back at her. “If you know what you’re doing, of course.”
“And you know what you’re doing?” Teresa asked him and he nodded; most of the time it was guesswork, but he had always been gifted in the department of deductive reasoning. “That doesn’t make it not wrong.”
“There’s no such thing as wrong.” All of the CBI would have probably disagreed with that statement, because even he disagreed with it. What Red John did was wrong, but he couldn’t say that to the killer’s helper.
“Last time I checked, society still had laws to follow.” Ah, so Teresa had a conscience? The idea that anybody within Red John’s clutches had a conscience made him weary; how did her presence of a conscience not bring Red John’s wrath upon her? He had killed other hands for much less, and they hadn’t even had consciences.
“Well, they do.” Jane agreed with her. “There’s legal or illegal.” He paused to catch his thoughts; he had to pull this con off, or nothing involving Red John was going to come from it. “There’s happy or sad, rich or poor, alive or,” Jane briefly glanced at his captivated audience of one with a soft smile, “dead, but there’s no wrong or right.” He gave a slight shake of his head to make a valid point. “Stuff just happens, that’s all. One damned thing after enough.”
Jane grew silent. One damned thing after another was right; Red John had murdered his wife and child nearly nine years ago, had indirectly attempted to kill Martins twice (Once by Dumar Hardy-one of Red John’s accomplices, who Jane had promptly shot dead-and once by a bomb strapped to her chest), Red John had indirectly killed Bosco and his team almost three years ago through Rebecca, he had brainwashed Kristina Frye into thinking she was dead, ruined Junior Agent Grace Van Pelt’s chance of happiness via her now dead fiancé, and the serial killer topped everything off by sending one of his many friends to keep tabs on his mental state.
He watched Teresa open her mouth again; his face still passive.
“Right or wrong exists, you do know that.” Teresa continued on. He took a slight breath, before he glanced at her; her green eyes glued to his face, her dark hair pinned to the top of her head in a messy bun.
“I killed a man last year.” Timothy Carter’s death had almost cost everybody on the unit everything. Martins had almost lost her senior agent position and while she had seemed okay with that, he hadn’t been able to just not help her with Bertram. “It turns out; he wasn’t the man I wanted to kill.” He pretended to hesitate with a flourish, while Teresa leaned closer in interest. “Anyway, now when I recall shooting him dead,” he took another slight pause, building suspense, “it still feels good.” Truthfully, it didn’t. Even though Carter and his wife had been psychopaths themselves; killing someone without feeling guilt was never an easy feat.
Teresa blinked at his confession.
“It’s a happy little memory to cherish, like Christmas.” Jane grinned at her, as she turned her head slightly at his unobvious lie.
“If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working.” Teresa responded; her green eyes back on his. “I don’t scare that easy.”
“I wouldn’t dare try it.” He answered back, still with a fairly wide grin across his face. He had absolutely no doubts within his mind that Teresa was almost fearless, as he doubted that Red John would keep anybody around, who was fearful of their own shadow. Teresa laughed again, which prompted his next question. “You seem like a happy soul, Teresa. Are you happy?”
To the untrained eye, Teresa’s brief pause would have gone completely unnoticed, but he wasn’t untrained. “Yes, I am.” She gave with a nod and he could immediately tell she was lying. If it hadn’t been for her momentary pause; it would have been her green eyes-the woman, he continuously noticed, had honest eyes.
“Well, that’s nice.” Jane played into her lie. “What’s your secret?” She said nothing for a moment or so; her thoughts, he could see, were turning in her mind.
“Faith.” Teresa said, with a faint smile on her face. It was then, he noticed with a slight look of disdain, the golden cross necklace that hung at the base of her neck.
“Oh.” Jane responded, amused. Religion had never been his cup of tea, especially as he was a self-proclaimed atheist. “Yes, yes. I’ve heard that.” Martins and Van Pelt were devout Christians, which he had often poked fun at. Both women had killed men with guns, yet they still went to church every Sunday, as if it were fine? He couldn’t voice his thoughts out loud to Teresa, but he wondered why Red John kept a woman of great faith and conscience around within his organization. Did the serial killer not worry that she would run to the police, before he could kill her?
“Patrick.” A male voice interrupted their conversation, as the voice's grubby hand reached past them both at the bar. Jane grinned at the familiar arm of Oscar, even though he was highly annoyed that his talk with Teresa had been cut short. Oscar grabbed ahold of his shoulders tightly, as he brought Teresa into the conversation about his various accomplishments. On the outside, she seemed amazed that he could “reach beyond the veil of death”, but he knew she didn’t believe in that kind of nonsense from her body language.
Jane quickly motioned for Teresa to hand him a set of matches, which she did without a word or argument, before he set Oscar’s lackey on fire with his own shot of alcohol and ran from the bar. As his feet hit the black pavement outside of the Crimson Hat and he started down one of the various dark alleyways to escape, he couldn’t help but briefly ponder the enigma that was Teresa Lisbon.
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To Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Epilogue