FIC: Duplicity (6/7); 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.
5-
Out of his little blue car and into the bright Nevada sunshine, Jane carried the brown box that contained Lorelei Martins’ “head” toward the lone basket attached bike that sat on the sidewalk. He glanced around the eerily silent street, before he fingered the note attached to the bicycle handlebars.
Take bike to 5071 Keston Dr.
Bring Martins.
Jane nearly shook his head. Teresa had beautiful penmanship, but the idea of placing any head in a metal basket was odd, even for Red John.
“And the game continues.” Jane muttered to the team, who remained streets away to help him catch Red John. Nobody from the team said anything in response, and Jane hopped on the bike.
The wind in his face felt nice, as he peddled toward the address. He glanced down at the box with a grim smile; Red John wasn’t around, Martins was listening, and he wanted to have a little more fun with her.
“Hey Martins,” Jane said, lowly, “does your boyfriend take you for rides on the handlebars of his bike?”
“Jane.” He heard Martins’ voice through the earpiece in his ear; she sounded annoyed with him. “Knock it off.”
“If your boyfriend was here, he’d probably think this could be considered a date; you know, the wind in your hair…” Jane couldn’t stop poking fun at her and her semi-mysterious boyfriend of eighteen months, who had seemed to be weary of he and Martins even being in the same room together.
“You’re sick, Jane.” Martins retorted and he chuckled. “Do we need to get you checked out?” Jane lost his grin to scowl. He had been of perfect mental health, fake breakdown or not. He didn’t respond back to her, as he glanced around for the address atop the bike, which he eventually found.
Unfortunately, it was an empty lot.
“No one is here.” Jane told the team. He glanced around within the grassy area, a distance away from the highway, before he heard the sound of a vehicle pulling into the dirt area. “There’s a long black limousine.”
“We’ll be there shortly.” Martins responded. She had never been one much for words. “Stay alive, okay?”
“Wait.” Jane stopped her. “Let’s see if this is Red John.” He had no doubt that it was Red John, but he wanted to bide himself time; he wanted to kill Red John himself and if Martins showed up, she’d never let that happen. The limo came to a complete stop and outstepped the driver-a rather menacing fellow, who Jane knew he already wouldn’t like. “Large man with a gun,” Jane informed the team quietly, “Red John’s girl.” Teresa had stepped from the limo also-she had her brunette hair down around her shoulders, a formfitting green t-shirt on, and a pair of dark jeans that sat low on her hips. “This is it.”
Jane pulled the box from the bike and kicked the bike over with his foot, which told the team he was in need of their assistance. “We’re moving in.” He heard Martins breathe into his ear and he hoped she’d make it before Red John killed him or Teresa.
“Hi.” Teresa greeted with a small wave, before she tucked her hands into her pockets.
“Hi.” Jane responded.
“Is that the gift?” Teresa questioned, with her complete attention on the box. Jane glanced toward the vehicle.
He met her question with a question of his own. “Is Red John in there?”
“He’s looking forward to speaking with you.” Jane stepped closer to Teresa, who beckoned him toward the limo. “You know,” she spoke again; “there’s a childish hope about you that really is quite adorable.” He nearly grinned. Under hypnosis, it was almost impossible to lie, which meant Teresa thought he was adorable. He thought she was adorable also, when she wasn’t playing Red John’s game. “Put the box on the hood.” His heart hammered within his chest, as he sat the box down atop the heated metal. He obviously hadn’t shot Martins (or killed Special Agent Wayne Rigsby either) like the news had said, but he had thought that the serial killer wouldn’t catch onto their entire act. After all, Red John only saw what he wanted to see. “So, what is it?” Teresa asked, as he leaned against the limo.
“It’s the severed head of Lorelei Martins, Teresa.” Jane answered her. Teresa scoffed. “You told me to bring her head and I brought her head.” Jane wiggled the box around and Teresa shook her head, a slight smile at her lips. “What else could it be?”
“Did you use a football? A cabbage?” Teresa asked. Jane frowned. Had had the man known? He and Martins had planned her “death” so carefully and everybody on the unit had been so quiet about the subject also. Jane shifted his eyes, as he responded back. “A melon. A honeydew. It’s organic.” Not that Teresa or Red John would care much for his gardening skills, but still.
The large man with the gun opened the box, which revealed Martins’ “head”: a yellowish-green melon with a short, brunette wig and one of Martins’ various guns.
“You’re adorable.” Teresa stated, before she glanced at the large man with a rather twisted smile. “Frisk him, and then beat him.” She pulled her hands from her pockets to hold up a single finger. “A little though. Red John doesn’t appreciate damaged goods.” Jane slowly raised his hands, had the surveillance equipment taken from him, before he was punched in the abdomen. Teresa tsked lightly, as he clutched at his abdomen. The large man clipped him in the side with his fist and Jane inhaled sharply; the pain, both at his abdomen and at his side, was barely manageable. “Stop it! We haven’t got much time; put him in the passenger seat.” Teresa stepped past him, as the large man grabbed him by the collar and threw him into the passenger seat. Teresa climbed in next to him and he groaned lightly; not only did his abdomen and side continue to throb, but so did his head-the large gorilla with the gun had shoved his head against the roof of the vehicle. Jane panted silently, while Teresa stared on. Concern wasn’t written across her face at his disheveled state, as she glanced toward the steering wheel-her face completely free of all emotion.
“Hello Patrick,” Red John’s breathy voice greeted from the back of the limo. Jane thought about turning his head around to glance at Red John, but he had a feeling that Red John had instructed Teresa not to allow him to turn his head. Jane moved his hand toward the mirror and pulled it down, so he could see the silhouette of the killer-Red John, Jane knew from the word of Rosalind Harker, was of about an average build and an average height. The man before his eyes was of both.
“Hey,” was all Jane could say, as he gave the man a half nod. “How are you doing?”
“Small talk won’t get us anywhere,” replied the voice in a small chuckle. The silhouette remained oddly still, which made Jane nervous.
“How did you know?” Jane asked, while he shifted his aching body.
“Oh, you strung me along for a good while. Well done.” Red John congratulated him. “Luckily, I have a good friend in the FBI, so I found out when the FBI found out.”
Jane felt ill to his stomach. Another mole? He only knew Agent Susan Darcy and he doubted she was Red John material, considering the woman was by the book material. He kept his eyes on Red John. “Cat got your tongue, Patrick?”
“I have nothing to say.” Jane had plenty of things he could have said, but he just didn’t feel like voicing them to the serial killer.
“Really?” Red John sounded amused. Jane opened his mouth to tell the man to go to hell, when Red John continued on. “I want to think you for giving me back my Teresa,” Jane indiscreetly glanced at the woman, who a bright smile at the praise her “master” was giving her, “before you entered the picture with her, I had feared that I would need to kill her. Now,” Jane could hear the smile in the killer’s voice, “she’s perfect. Aren’t you, Teresa?”
“Yes, sir.” Teresa stated, as if she were out of breath. “Perfect.”
Red John chuckled. “She really is something else, isn’t she?” Jane couldn’t disagree with the murderer. Brainwashed or not, Teresa still puzzled him. “If you and I were friends, we could share her. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, she has particular…” Red John paused and Jane thought he was fishing for the right words. “…qualities, which made her extremely desirable.”
Jane clenched his teeth together.
Red John used Teresa purely for pleasure and her feeling him out had been Red John’s way to seed out her wavering loyalties. Jane realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, that if he hadn’t hypnotized her, Red John would have slaughtered her for her transgressions.
“Go to hell.” Jane spat and Red John sighed.
“As you wish.” Red John replied. “Teresa,” the serial killer addressed and Teresa pulled her eyes away from Jane, while she still wore a smile, “cut off two of his fingers, you choose which ones. Then, we should go.”
“Yes, sir.” Teresa responded, before Jane was yanked from his seat, only to be thrown against the hood of the vehicle. His body and head continued to ache, as Teresa grabbed onto his ring finger-her touch, soft and achingly familiar-and she pressed the sharp scissors against his skin. “Having fun yet, Patrick?” Jane cried out. If Teresa had been of her sound mind, he knew, she wouldn’t have done anything like that. Just as he had been about to lose a finger, the FBI came to his rescue. The large man with the gun threw him from the roof of the vehicle and he rolled off into the dirt.
Jane merely watched at the limo with Red John and Teresa sped away; he only hoped that she wouldn’t die.
+
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