FIC: Mercurial (1/3); The Mentalist
Title: Mercurial
Disclaimer: I only own my insanity. ;)
Rating: T
Summary: If only he had been able to control Red John, "Jane" would have had a better chance of pulling himself back together.
Author Notes': miss_peg's banner gave me so many ideas for this piece with the 2012 Mentalist Reverse Big Bang, especially before I even knew I would officially be using her amazing artwork! I'm really into the field of Psychology, which is why this piece focuses heavily on Dissociative Identity Disorder. I also want to thank various others for title pickings, encouragement, and for just reminding me that I'm insane every day of my life. ;) All of the artwork within these chapters belongs to the wonderful miss_peg, who by the way, made all of these for me! You can also find more awesome artwork HERE.
Emotions, in his opinion, were meritorious tools; they could be used to deceive others, without even speaking a single word. Desire and anguish, two emotions on opposite ends of the spectrum, had similar body reactions. Most people, who witnessed these opposite reactions, saw only what they wanted to see-the trembling fingers, the lack of breath, the firm eye contact, and the hands clenching-but if they looked closer, they would see much more. They would see the slow relaxing of his posture, the upward tilt of a guarded smile on his lips, and if they looked any further, impatience would greet them. His impatience, was not related to the sight before him however, but more toward the sight around him.
The sight before him-a bloody smiley, drawn clockwise with three fingers on a white wall-made him smooth down his clothing and notice the quickening of his own pulse, before he turned to stare at Teresa.
Teresa, who had her entire attention on the gutted, lifeless body below them both. Teresa, who had her jaw set and a certain calm about her, as she ordered her subordinates to canvas the scene. Teresa, who he had often imagined at the other end of his blade, her life his and her warm blood spilled for all to see.
Of course, this crime scene belonged to him and the victim below them both-mutilated and reeking strongly of sweet death-he had carefully chosen. Her neck, pale and kissed by sunburn, had been swiftly slit and the eternal look of horror upon her soft features had been enough to placate him from taking yet another victim.
For you see, Red John only killed every so often. Red John didn't strike more than twice. Red John had a reputation to uphold, and while temptation danced around every corner, he couldn't allow himself to give into those fleeting temptations.
"Jane?" Red John heard Teresa's voice, laced with concern, and he turned to focus his attention on her. He tried to keep the cold grimace off his face. He hated being called "Jane", as he wasn't Jane. He was Red John. He was a feared serial killer, who merely continued to protect "Jane" from his fragile state of mind.
"Jane", whether Teresa knew it or not, was made up of many different faces and Red John, the one they had all been chasing for so long, was just one of them. Red John hadn't always been around, but years ago-fourteen years ago, to be precise-something terrible had happened to them all and he had been brought forth. He had been given the concept to protect "Jane" from his untamed anger and to protect him from the people, who ultimately wanted to hurt him or wanted to take things away from him.
Nine years ago, Red John had killed "Jane"'s precious wife and child. Out of sheer anger, he had taken a kitchen knife, donned a pair of black gloves and gutted them both. Angela-"Jane"'s wife-had wanted "Jane" to quit the psychic business and he hadn't liked that too much.
The psychic business had made "Jane" happy and "Jane"'s happiness was important. The other personalities, highly aware of each another, hadn't liked his quick decision-hadn't agreed with the much needed deaths, which had pushed "Jane" into a maddening spiral-and that had angered him more.
He knew what kept "Jane" happy and safe, they didn't. They didn't want his true happiness, as they kept trying to force "Jane" and Teresa together. Red John didn't like that. Red John had made it so "Jane" couldn't truly be happy until he had caught and killed Red John, but to do so, would ultimately mean that he'd have to kill himself.
He glanced down at the victim to hide his small smile. It wasn't that he wanted "Jane"'s death, he just didn't want the both of them together. To him, romance was vastly overrated. It was why emotions, the things that his fellow personalities couldn't see the complexities in, had a certain amount of dual deception to them.
When he felt euphoric at Teresa's calming touch, he could pretend it was out of love. He could pretend he was reforming and changing his angry ways, all thanks to her and her sweet ways. When really, his euphoria at her touch was merely his reaction to wanting to drag a blade across her throat and end her pitiful life. If he pretended he was in love and was changing, the other personalities would still let him kill and maim others, sign his bleeding signatures to walls, and watch over crime scenes to perfect reaction and hinder investigations, mainly because he continued to protect them all from the pain and the anger that they all witnessed every day. Underneath that unified sense of togetherness, he also knew that he protected them all from ever being truly whole again.
"Jane" didn't know about them and "Jane" was much happier not knowing about them. Red John protected "Jane" and if anybody ever suspected the chance of multiple personalities, he had no qualms about ending their lives. "Jane" saw what he wanted to see and if the idea of catching him kept them all alive, apart and happy; Red John would continue to add to his ever-so impressive body count.
He felt Teresa's hand touch his arm and he closed his eyes. She said nothing, but he imagined her screaming-her chest heaving with effort, the trembling throughout her entire body, the disbelief in her eyes, the soft gasp from her lips, the over repeating of no in soft breaths-he imagined the knife dancing across her skin, not yet drawing or ending life, just prolonging the inevitable and making her suffer.
She'd probably beg for her life, say she could help him and try to find logical reasons for what he was doing, but only her death would help them all. He'd be merciful; after all, Teresa was only human.
However, as he dragged his blade across her throat and claimed her life, he would set her straight.
"Jane" belonged to him, and no matter what anybody else said or did, Red John didn't like to share his things.
Disclaimer: I only own my insanity. ;)
Rating: T
Summary: If only he had been able to control Red John, "Jane" would have had a better chance of pulling himself back together.
Author Notes': miss_peg's banner gave me so many ideas for this piece with the 2012 Mentalist Reverse Big Bang, especially before I even knew I would officially be using her amazing artwork! I'm really into the field of Psychology, which is why this piece focuses heavily on Dissociative Identity Disorder. I also want to thank various others for title pickings, encouragement, and for just reminding me that I'm insane every day of my life. ;) All of the artwork within these chapters belongs to the wonderful miss_peg, who by the way, made all of these for me! You can also find more awesome artwork HERE.
Emotions, in his opinion, were meritorious tools; they could be used to deceive others, without even speaking a single word. Desire and anguish, two emotions on opposite ends of the spectrum, had similar body reactions. Most people, who witnessed these opposite reactions, saw only what they wanted to see-the trembling fingers, the lack of breath, the firm eye contact, and the hands clenching-but if they looked closer, they would see much more. They would see the slow relaxing of his posture, the upward tilt of a guarded smile on his lips, and if they looked any further, impatience would greet them. His impatience, was not related to the sight before him however, but more toward the sight around him.
The sight before him-a bloody smiley, drawn clockwise with three fingers on a white wall-made him smooth down his clothing and notice the quickening of his own pulse, before he turned to stare at Teresa.
Teresa, who had her entire attention on the gutted, lifeless body below them both. Teresa, who had her jaw set and a certain calm about her, as she ordered her subordinates to canvas the scene. Teresa, who he had often imagined at the other end of his blade, her life his and her warm blood spilled for all to see.
Of course, this crime scene belonged to him and the victim below them both-mutilated and reeking strongly of sweet death-he had carefully chosen. Her neck, pale and kissed by sunburn, had been swiftly slit and the eternal look of horror upon her soft features had been enough to placate him from taking yet another victim.
For you see, Red John only killed every so often. Red John didn't strike more than twice. Red John had a reputation to uphold, and while temptation danced around every corner, he couldn't allow himself to give into those fleeting temptations.
"Jane?" Red John heard Teresa's voice, laced with concern, and he turned to focus his attention on her. He tried to keep the cold grimace off his face. He hated being called "Jane", as he wasn't Jane. He was Red John. He was a feared serial killer, who merely continued to protect "Jane" from his fragile state of mind.
"Jane", whether Teresa knew it or not, was made up of many different faces and Red John, the one they had all been chasing for so long, was just one of them. Red John hadn't always been around, but years ago-fourteen years ago, to be precise-something terrible had happened to them all and he had been brought forth. He had been given the concept to protect "Jane" from his untamed anger and to protect him from the people, who ultimately wanted to hurt him or wanted to take things away from him.
Nine years ago, Red John had killed "Jane"'s precious wife and child. Out of sheer anger, he had taken a kitchen knife, donned a pair of black gloves and gutted them both. Angela-"Jane"'s wife-had wanted "Jane" to quit the psychic business and he hadn't liked that too much.
The psychic business had made "Jane" happy and "Jane"'s happiness was important. The other personalities, highly aware of each another, hadn't liked his quick decision-hadn't agreed with the much needed deaths, which had pushed "Jane" into a maddening spiral-and that had angered him more.
He knew what kept "Jane" happy and safe, they didn't. They didn't want his true happiness, as they kept trying to force "Jane" and Teresa together. Red John didn't like that. Red John had made it so "Jane" couldn't truly be happy until he had caught and killed Red John, but to do so, would ultimately mean that he'd have to kill himself.
He glanced down at the victim to hide his small smile. It wasn't that he wanted "Jane"'s death, he just didn't want the both of them together. To him, romance was vastly overrated. It was why emotions, the things that his fellow personalities couldn't see the complexities in, had a certain amount of dual deception to them.
When he felt euphoric at Teresa's calming touch, he could pretend it was out of love. He could pretend he was reforming and changing his angry ways, all thanks to her and her sweet ways. When really, his euphoria at her touch was merely his reaction to wanting to drag a blade across her throat and end her pitiful life. If he pretended he was in love and was changing, the other personalities would still let him kill and maim others, sign his bleeding signatures to walls, and watch over crime scenes to perfect reaction and hinder investigations, mainly because he continued to protect them all from the pain and the anger that they all witnessed every day. Underneath that unified sense of togetherness, he also knew that he protected them all from ever being truly whole again.
"Jane" didn't know about them and "Jane" was much happier not knowing about them. Red John protected "Jane" and if anybody ever suspected the chance of multiple personalities, he had no qualms about ending their lives. "Jane" saw what he wanted to see and if the idea of catching him kept them all alive, apart and happy; Red John would continue to add to his ever-so impressive body count.
He felt Teresa's hand touch his arm and he closed his eyes. She said nothing, but he imagined her screaming-her chest heaving with effort, the trembling throughout her entire body, the disbelief in her eyes, the soft gasp from her lips, the over repeating of no in soft breaths-he imagined the knife dancing across her skin, not yet drawing or ending life, just prolonging the inevitable and making her suffer.
She'd probably beg for her life, say she could help him and try to find logical reasons for what he was doing, but only her death would help them all. He'd be merciful; after all, Teresa was only human.
However, as he dragged his blade across her throat and claimed her life, he would set her straight.
"Jane" belonged to him, and no matter what anybody else said or did, Red John didn't like to share his things.