FIC: Acrimonious (13/21)
Title: Acrimonious
Author:
sirenofodysseus
Disclaimer: …it’s probably better that Bruno Heller owns The Mentalist, really.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: After FBI Agent Susan Darcy is overheard telling Special-Agent-in-Charge Luther Wainwright that Patrick Jane may be working with Red John, Red John steals Jane’s body and begins to destroy the team’s lives one-by-one.
Spoilers: Brief spoiler for Crimson Hat (4x24), but the rest of this story is set after Something Rotten in Redmund (4x20).
Warnings: Violence, language, drug use, sex, non-con situations, mentions of child abuse/domestic abuse, negative character portrayals, major and minor character death.
Pairings: Red John/Teresa Lisbon, Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon, Wayne Rigsby/Sarah Harrigan, Kimball Cho/Summer Edgecombe.
13-
Red John studied Grace from behind his desk; her body language screamed worry from the way her posture had slumped over the course of twelve hours to how her long red hair, even in the ghastly night lighting of the Serious Crimes bullpen, gave off the appearance of being rather lank.
He doubted that she could feel his consistent stare as her fingers tapped against her computer keyboard. Except for a few bathroom breaks from the excessive amounts of coffee or the other beverages that she had consumed throughout the day and the fifteen minute lunch break that Rigsby had forced her to take, Grace had been behind her desk all day with the intentions of trying to figure out the origin of the bomb.
Even in her worried and fatigued state though, he could tell that the young agent was starting to feel ill also.
Grace had her jacket bundled tightly together, the dark fabric strained against her shoulders as her body shivered in the heat. He had watched her head start to slowly slump toward the surface of her desk while the sounds of her fingers typing against the keyboard diminished greatly and he merely smiled from behind one of Patrick’s books.
Grace’s illness wasn’t because she hadn’t been getting enough sleep or because she stressed to the point of exhaustion and it certainly wasn’t because of the lack of food within her stomach.
No, he thought with a smile, it’s because of me.
After Teresa and Rigsby had left for the night, both of them unsuccessful in getting Grace to leave for the night and leave her research for the morning, he had kindly offered his assistances to fetch her cups of coffee or cups of anything else that she wanted to drink while she was working. Naïve little Grace had appreciated his thoughtfulness and in the empty kitchenette, he had used his thoughtfulness to top each one of her drinks off with small amounts of liquidized GHB that he had smuggled past the CBI security guards in a small clear vial.
On their own, the small amounts of the GHB that he had poured into her drinks wouldn’t do much of anything. However, the amount of drinks that she had consumed and the overall amount of GHB within each cupful had ultimately added up to Grace starting to feel the effects of the drug over her body.
Her movements had grown sluggish and every so often, he noticed that her hands would leave the keyboard and touch against something on her person; he had automatically assumed it was the stomach, because GHB in large doses made the individual nauseated.
Of course, he might have helped the effects along.
In her last cup of coffee, he had ignored his previous pattern of small amounts to top each of her drinks off with and he had just finished off the entire vial with a flourish. Red John only had so much patience and while he didn’t fear anybody from the Serious Crimes Unit returning for the night-Teresa had probably found the meal that he had thrown together for her, laced with another sleeping pill as he planned to keep her far away from the CBI and from Grace. Rigsby had briefly mentioned that Benjamin was sick and Sarah was with her mother for the weekend, leaving both father and son to bond.-he still couldn’t risk Wainwright showing up and spoiling all of his plans.
Red John set Patrick’s book down upon his desk with a certain amount of heaviness within his chest. If everything went according to plan, he wouldn’t be stepping into the CBI anymore; the endless days of solving cases and getting in Teresa’s pants would be over and Red John knew he would miss that.
He enjoyed the freedom that being Patrick had brought him; the chance to stroll down the street without worrying that someone knew his secret, the chance to see what things life held other than just abuse and murder, or the chance to look in the mirror and see an actual face instead of a black mask.
However, Red John knew that he would never truly have freedom until the moniker of Red John was long gone and for that to happen, somebody-Patrick Jane-had to take the fall for it all. He would miss his favorite nemesis, of course, but everything was already cemented in stone.
The image of Patrick in an orange jumpsuit, rotting away in prison for something he couldn’t even remember doing, made him feel no guilt. Patrick, if the man had continued on with his quest for vengeance, would have eventually become the one thing he despised: a serial killer. Red John was merely helping the man along and by doing so, Patrick would be doing him a favor; Red John would no longer have to seclude himself away from the world. He would be able to reveal his true identity to the world and he would be able to have the submissive wife, the 2.5 kids with a dog, and a white picket fence to keep them all safe from the demons of the world.
But he wondered if having everything would be enough to make him forever retire his name, his signature-the last thing he had of his mother’s-and his knife, which had been with him from the age of seventeen.
After all, as he had figured out, he would no longer have someone to play mind games with or have the thrill in knowing that Patrick Jane was chasing him down again. He would have to make do with a boring life and if he couldn’t do that, everything he had planned for Patrick and his unit was entirely moot.
With the shake of his head, Red John stood from Patrick’s seat and approached the redhead, who had her hands pressed against her stomach.
“Are you okay, Grace?” Red John asked, feigning concern for her. “You look ill. Is there anything I can do for you?” Grace turned her head slightly to stare at him; the slut’s brown eyes were wide open and she wore a silly smile across those dirty lips of hers, as she stared at him.
“Jane!” Grace replied back, brightly and he continued to frown. “I am feeling fine! Better than fine actually! How are you feeling? Good, I hope!” He didn’t answer her. “Well, I should get back to work! Lisbon will be angry with me if I don’t and I want to impress her.” Red John was almost disappointed that the GHB within her system hadn’t made Grace aggressive, although the slightly larger grin on her lips amused him; it most certainly did not match her words, but he thought that the temporary euphoria from the drug was to blame.
“And you’re doing an excellent job of that, Grace.” Red John told her and she continued to smile. “But maybe Lisbon wouldn’t mind you taking a break, hm? She gets awfully concerned about her employees, who don’t rest themselves after working hard all day.” His placed his hand to Grace’s shoulder and moved his thumb in circles upon her jacket, while he could feel her muscles trembling from the effects of the drug. Grace stared up at him with those wide eyes of hers and her behavior reminded him of a little doe: innocent, naïve and waiting for the next move. “I’ll take you home, what do you say? You just have to give me your keys and we’ll be good to go. I’m sure you doing this will make Lisbon extra impressed.”
Grace blinked as if she was trying to process his words, before she slowly nodded and he watched her hands gingerly move to remove the car keys from within her desk drawer. She handed them to him and in return, he helped her from her chair-Grace swayed slightly in her spot and he threw his arm around her waist to support her on their way from the bullpen.
Leaving everything as it had been, he and Grace stepped from the CBI.
She was unconscious before they even left the parking lot.
He took a moment to appreciate his helpless prey, as he stared down at Grace’s exposed body with a soft smile. Her long red hair fanned out all around her ivory skin from how he had gently placed her atop Patrick’s white sheet, a peaceful expression upon her pretty face, her toned arms attached to her broad shoulders, her rounded breasts that moved with every breath that she took, her flat stomach, and her slender hips that extended into long, toned legs that seemed to take up the entire length of Patrick’s queen-sized bed.
Long before he had bedded Teresa, Red John had conjured up the fantasy of an extremely willing Grace in front of him: his hands caressed her magnificent breasts, his tongue lapped at her warm juices that seeped from her and her tongue, once he had given her permission, licked at his dick like a lollipop.
The conjured up Grace with her large tits and obedient behavior had always been the center of many of his sexual fantasies. He had always wanted to decorate her body with strawberry glaze, before he would use his tongue to lick her out and clean. He had also always wanted to use her handcuffs to force her hands behind her back, before he would have ordered her down on her knees with the instruction to call him, “master”.
However, Teresa had come along with her voluptuous breasts with their wet, rose-tipped nipples that he could taste for hours and the juices between her legs that tasted so sweet on his tongue and the brown-haired woman had replaced Grace in most of his sexual fantasies.
Red John’s smile became a grimace. Grace had nothing on Teresa, but he had her body in front of him like a rag doll and he had learned never to let anything-especially youthful women-go to waste.
He quickly dropped his pants and boxers to the floor before he lowered himself down on her; she smelled faintly of lilacs and sweat, which he despised with every fiber of his being. His mother’s funeral had been adorned with lilacs and the smell; he associated with her dead body. With a grimace, he impaled her with his dick and tried to ignore the sickly sweet smell, as he pounded himself into unconscious body without a condom to protect either of them.
She remained completely still as he continued to pin both of her arms to the bed, just in case the drugs wore off; in the faint light of the room, he watched her chest rise and fall gently while he continued to have his way with her.
Red John wanted her to feel every little ache and pain come morning. He wanted her pupils to dilate out of pain, he wanted her vagina to burn from his violent thrusts, he wanted to make an example out of her by highlighting her fragile skin with black and blue splotches, and he wanted to leave her with a daily reminder that she would never be able to escape him or the things that they had done together.
Unfortunately, the drugs that coursed through her veins would make her forget about the lovely time that they had both shared together, which angered him and in response, he drove his teeth into her neck.
He pulled away from her neck with the metallic taste of her blood in his mouth and he spat it on her chest; the glob of rosy red liquid that glimmered upon her rising chest delighted him and before he could control himself, he continued to draw blood from both of her breasts and her abdomen. The sanguine liquid filled his mouth and the strong coppery scent of her life, as it pooled upon her body in the indent left behind by his teeth, expelled the scent of lilacs from the room. He briefly smiled, as he felt her blood run down his chin and he watched the droplets plop onto Grace’s bare chest, before he spat the liquid out onto the confines of Patrick’s white bed sheet.
He glanced back at the peaceful expression on her face and he grew angry. He wanted her to react. He wanted her to wake up. He wanted her to scream and beg for him.
“You stupid bitch.” Red John muttered into her ear, before he let one of her arms go. She didn’t move. “Did you see what you made me do?” Out of anger, he balled his lone hand into a tight fist and slammed it into her abdomen, her legs and her arms.
Red John imagined her screams as he continued to slam his fist into her abdomen every time he jerked violently into her, until he was certain that the heated and bright-red colored flesh would bruise beautifully. Her imagined screams that echoed in his head combined with the slick layer of blood that he felt coating his dick from his actions between her legs sent him over the edge, as he let out a great cry and climaxed within her.
The lingering explosion of ecstasy allowed for him to push his rational thoughts aside, as he pulled himself out of her with a lazy grin and straddled her hips before he took his dick in his hands; the head was covered in both blood and semen, which made him shudder in pleasure. The same liquids, he noticed, seeped from Grace’s nest of red downy curls to pool between her parted legs and he wanted her to clean his dick with her body.
He slid his hand down his dick in one swift movement and collected the blood and semen, before he smeared it all over her reddened stomach.
He sighed, inaudibly at the sight before him.
“As much fun as you would have been to kill,” Red John whispered into her ear, before he stroked her cheek lightly and removed the rest of her blood and his semen with his motion, “you’re really not worth my time anymore.”
Finally bored of her, Red John knew exactly how to finish. Naked, he stood from the bed, stepped toward Patrick’s bathroom, and grabbed the container of petroleum jelly with a matching pair of black gloves from atop the white sink. He briefly spared the medicine cabinet’s reflective surface a glance; Patrick’s naturally blonde curls had matted flat against his head, his pupils were dilated, his complexion was sheen with sweat and the large smile that had yet to disappear upon his face.
Slowly, he pulled on his pair of black gloves and tossed the lid of violet-colored jelly aside, before he returned to her. Grace still slumbered on and he glanced back down at her; her abdomen, legs and arms remained colored a bright red from where he had repeatedly slammed his fist into her, her neck and chest that he had decorated with blood and the soft flesh around her opening had a combination of the colors, red and white.
“This will hurt.” Red John told her, softly, before he scooped out a small amount of the violet-colored jelly onto two of his gloved fingers and shoved them into her clitoris. He rubbed his fingers roughly against her inner walls with a smile; his potassium permanganate and petroleum-based mixture would give her something to really complain about, as it would severely burn the inside walls of her vagina. The intense pain from the mixture, he had ultimately decided after many hours of research, would take her mind away from the bomb for a little while longer too.
He pulled his fingers out of her and discarded his black gloves onto the floor, before he turned to the bedside table and opened the drawer. Inside, buried amongst Patrick’s journal, remained a lone pair of sharp scissors, two Ziploc plastic bags and the last kitchen knife he would ever use to mar a body.
Carefully, Red John pulled out both instruments and set them down on the bed. He said nothing else to her as he brushed his fingers over the knife and settled on picking up the scissors. With his other hand, he grabbed a fist full of her red hair and yanked her toward him. Her head came and with a brief snip of the scissors, he cut half an inch off.
The locks of her precious red hair floated to rest near his bare legs, before he let her head collapse back onto the bed and he quickly separated the locks of red hair between two of his Ziploc bags. Red John set the scissors back down, satisfied with his work on her hair-he didn’t want her or anyone else to notice that she was down an inch or so of hair-he grabbed his kitchen knife and pressed the tip of its sharp blade to the base of her neck.
Blood welled up from the shallow cut and surrounded the tip of the blade, before he pressed the blade deeper into her creamy flesh. Red John wanted to see more of her blood and he wanted to leave her with a more permanent reminder of his presence on her body. He watched the blood run from her neck and pool on her shoulder for a moment, before the droplet eventually landed on her chest.
The shallow cut and the amount of pooled blood slowly became larger, as he dragged the blade across her neck-deep enough to leave a scar, but not deep enough to kill her or to do any lasting damage.
Satisfied with his work on her body, Red John placed his bloody knife down on the sheets, which had become stained semi-pink from the mixture of her blood and his semen. He stepped away from her body and turned around to pick his boxers and pants off the floor. His business with Grace was finished and he hurriedly redressed, mindful of the fact that the unconscious Grace could wake up at any moment to find him in the bedroom and he most certainly didn’t want that.
Not yet, anyway.
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Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five 1/2 - Part Five 2/2 - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine 1/2 - Part Nine 2/2 - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Fourteen - Part Fifteen - Part Sixteen 1/2 - Part Sixteen 2/2 - Part Seventeen - Part Eighteen - Part Nineteen - Part Twenty 1/2 - Part Twenty 2/2 - Part Twenty-One