Disclaimer: The Mentalist is mine, haha no bad joke.
A/N: This story is not very believable, but it's not really meant to be. I don't think I like it very much myself, but I finished it so I uploaded it. If you don't like it either I don't blame you.
All John ever really wanted was friends. Friends who understood him and supported him no matter what. Sometimes he wondered how everything had turned out this way. Here he was a thirty-something year old man, with no wife, children or any other family to speak of and to top it off he was stuck in a dead-end low paying job. He was not a fool, unlike his other colleagues, who couldn't put two and two together, much less challenge him on an intellectual level that he could relate to. He had an IQ of 120, for God's sake, so how did he end up here? Here, where he on a daily basis was mocked by his inferiors for not fitting into their narrow perspective of the world.
XxX
All John ever wanted was a little respect. And lucky for him he got an epiphany one day on just how to get that. It was a gorgeous sunshiny Sunday and he'd decided to eat his lunch in the park. As he was sitting on the sun heated oak tree bench, enjoying his homemade BLT sandwich - and soaking up what would probably be one of the last sunny summer days before the grizzly days of fall set in - he noticed a small group of children running around and playing together. In particular his gaze was drawn to a scrawny little ten-eleven year old boy, whom the others kept teasing and running away from. 'That boy is me' he thought.
But then the other kids found a wounded bird. Not knowing what to do, a heated argument started. The girls wanted to find an adult, get it to a vet. The boys said that no vet would ever treat a common pigeon, and that animals died in nature all the time. In the end they settled on agreeing that it was awful that it had to suffer like that for who knows how long until it eventually died.
And that's when the little scrawny boy, who had been standing in the outer circle, of the ring of children that had formed around the injured bird, casually squeezed his way past the others and into the center of the circle. Picked up the greyish bird and without a second thought wrung its neck, killing it instantly. John observed as shock settled on the little group, it decreased fast again though, as the girls more or less left, appalled by the scenario they'd witnessed and the boys clapped him on the shoulders saying stuff like 'way to go' and 'good job'. John wasn't sure if they really meant it - putting that poor animal out of its misery was surely a kindness - or if they were just scared of him now. Whatever the case, the boy had earned the respect of the others through his actions, which John would have condoned had he been asked, no need for any animal to suffer unnecessary pain if it can be avoided.
In that moment John knew what he had to do to gain the respect of his peers, he needed to make people see the truth, no matter how hard a truth it was, and it should be done by any means necessary.
XxX
All John had ever wanted he got now. Ever since his change in outlook and attitude towards the world, he'd learned that the world consisted of two kinds of people, the ones that worshipped the truth and the ones that couldn't care less. And those last people needed to be led the right way, or stopped all together. And like the little boy who killed the pigeon, people either flocked around him or were appalled by him. He found many ways to get his points across, and found that men were more susceptible to his views, and hence women became his obsession. The ones that needed to be won over.
The first time he took a life, John didn't feel the least bit guilty. It was what needed to be done. The rush he felt was unlike any other. He was cleansing the world, making it a better place for likeminded people. Hearing the disbelievers beg for mercy and seeing the fear in their eyes as he cut them open was exhilarating, making him feel like a God. This, this was better than respect, this was power, raw unpolished power.
As years went by he perfected his execution style, to the point where his work was recognizable to outsiders. He even got a nickname, coined together by a clever journalist, 'Red John', after the crimson mess he left behind and because it was believed he was male, an unknown male, to all but his followers, which he'd manage to gather quite a few of. He quite liked it, 'Red John' it felt intimidating and powerful and the fact that his name actually was John amused him to no end. He also got to play a game of cat-and-mouse with the law enforcement which was only mildly challenging, those doughnut-eating justice seekers couldn't find a whale in a bathtub, even if it was staring them right in the face. He'd left clues before, but it wasn't until that fake psychic was brought on that he'd found someone enlightened enough to really let the mind games begin.
XxX
All Red John did was successful. The old John was all but gone, consumed by this new identity, and he enjoyed every second of it. After all these years he'd finally found what he'd been looking for. A friend. Someone who understood him. Sure he had needed to teach him a lesson. More than once. But in the end he would come around, see that there was no other way, he was absolutely certain of this. Until that he'd just have to wait.
A/N: I have absolutely no idea what kind of wood, tree benches are made of and I totally got in the mood for a BTL sandwich while writing this.
I realize his name most likely Roy and not John IRL, but it is here.
I started out wanting to make RJ likeable, but that wasn't in the cards, RJ is a psycho that's just how it is.
For the record I have no idea how RJ came to be, and I don't think it was like this at all.
As the story progressed I kinda wanted to make it into a ying/yang story with John/Jane, but I just couldn't get the Jane side down on paper(digital paper). So it ended up being a RJ story only. Hope you enjoy it anyway.