Today I discovered yet another wonderful perk to living so close to the Canadian border. Evidently CTV is showing the Season 7 Premiere TONIGHT! I am thrilled beyond words, but also a bit anxious. Some of the things I have read about this season and this episode could be bad news if the writers are not very, very careful. To channel my own worries about potential bad artistic choices, I found myself wondering how bad it could possibly be. The following satire is the result. Not my usual style and subject matter, maybe not to my usual standards of good writing, either. Don't anyone assume I am mocking you if I exaggerate approaches that you yourself use to the point of ridiculity. This is straight out writing as therapy. It is a release, it is whistling past the graveyard, and it is meant to be taken as not-seriously as possible. Unless I can exercise the restraint necessary to not post it.
You have been warned.
Good thing I don't actually own The Mentalist. I should be assessed punitive damages for daring to use it this way.
Nothing But Blue Lies Do I See
1.
Jane approaches Wiley at his desk, chortling over some video footage. He quickly minimizes the image when Jane's face appears above the monitor, looking down curiously.
"Hey, Jane, what are you doing here so early? You've been a late riser for a couple of weeks now. Since you came back from Mi..."
"Just wanting a talk with Fischer." Jane agressively redirects him. "Is it true she was promoted and transferred?"
"Uh, yeah, how did you hear about that? Abbott said she wanted it kept quiet."
Jane looks at him for a beat.
"Oh. Yeah." Wiley gapes, slack-jawed. Finally shakes himself and sputters, "You could try Abbott's office, they're both in early, too. By the way, where's Lisbon?"
"How would I know? Maybe she changed her mind again and flew off to DC." Jane leans in as if to whisper a confidence. "I do know that there is a kung foo fighting seminar being held in the gymnasium, though. They scheduled it early and kept it quiet so that only go-getter adrenaline junkies would attend."
Before Jane is halfway through the sentence, Wiley leaps to his feet and sprints towards the stairs. Jane shakes his head, smiling brightly as he looks around the otherwise abandoned room.
The clock reads 9:05. Where is everyone?
And what was Wiley so amused by on his computer? Why was he anxious not to let it be seen?
Jane slides into Wiley's chair and rolls it in towards the screen. He grabs the mouse and clicks on one of several closed tabs.
All over the room, computer screens blink to life.
Jane raises his eyebrows. He looks back at Wiley's screen. It shows the view from a security camera in Abbott's office. Jane notes Abbott standing at the window, his back to the camera, in his rolled-up shirtsleeves. He has on some latex gloves. Three fingers drip red as he reaches up and draws a near-circle on the window...
Jane pushes back from the desk abruptly, stumbling as he tries to gain his feet. Scanning the room again, he sees that the other screens show other security cameras in other locations around FBI Headquarters. The nearest shows the gym downstairs, where Cho is earnestly jogging on a treadmill. Until Wiley comes up behind him and hits him over the head with the butt end of a curved, serated knife of implausible length.
Jane's eyes drag him towards the image as Wiley turns, advancing towards the camera with an insane grin, and holds his knife up like a shiny new toy, running a finger lovingly down its edge. With a conspiratorial wink, he turns his head back towards Cho's inert form.
Jane turns and flees towards Abbott's office, sees the grisly face smiling blissfully at him from the window, above Abbott's high-backed chair facing away from him.
He knows what he will find in the chair. But not who. Three slow strides bring him close enough to swivel Abbott's throne to face him.
Kim Fischer's form blurs in his eyes as he rushes from the room, feet slipping on slick, warm redness. Blank screens rise up to meet him, red smiles dominating each. And as he reaches the elevator, he finds the smile again on the closed doors. His way blocked by his big leather couch, which is set up to face the elevator as if it were a huge tv screen.
His hands shake as he sets them on the arm of the couch. Wet and red. He doesn't remember falling, touching anything. The hideously tainted arms hold him up long enough to look at the couch cushions where Teresa Lisbon lies pale and quiet, as though asleep.
2.
He sits up with a start, eyes wild. Reaches back to the other side of the bed. A muffled voice protests as his hand closes on her face.
He expells a breath and flops back beside her.
"More dreams?"
He nods.
"Same kind?"
"Worse."
She sighs deeply. Rolls on her side to face him, propping her head on her hand. Eyes bleary, but alert. "Where?"
A long pause.
"The office."
She reaches towards him. Then pulls back.
"Want to talk about it?"
"No."
"You know, you don't have to go back today. I can explain things to Abbott."
"No!"
"Okay..." soothing, humoring him. It makes him angry. Which feels so much more powerful than terrified.
"We go back as planned. We tell Abbott and the others nothing. Nothing. Act as though nothing has changed between us."
He feels her incredulity across the valley between them. "You're saying...pretend that we aren't together?"
"Yes." Impatiently. "Keep our relationship a secret." He waits for her anger, preparing for a fight.
She erupts in laughter.
He stares at her, incensed. She has no clue how serious he is.
"Love, that ship has sailed," she tells him, between gasps of mirth. "There is no chance that our colleagues have not guessed what happened in Miami."
"Did you tell them?"
"You know that I've been busy. Getting your foot tended to, getting my stuff sent back here, unpacking...and stuff." Her laughter has finally subsided, but there is still a hint of amusement in her voice. "I only talked to Abbott long enough to confirm that my job was still open, get the red tape moving in the right direction, and get word that we had the green light to come back to work today." She settles back. As far as she is concerned, the crisis is over.
"If you haven't mentioned our relationship, and I certainly haven't, whatever they have guessed remains speculation."
She snorts. "You wrote a fake letter dredging up a cold case under false pretenses to keep me from going to DC."
"I'm the mischievous sort. I do things like that all the time. And nobody but you knows the real reason that I did it."
Her head turns, her expression screaming you are so full of it! "I dashed a full glass of water in your face when you admitted it. In front of two agents, one of them our boss."
"Cho is discreet. Abbott is wrapped around my little finger."
The look on her face is very slowly turning to alarm. "I packed up and left for the airport immediately after that without being dismissed from the case. And you spent the better part of that evening drinking, by your own admission."
"I caught the murderers, though. Did Abbott give you hassle about leaving?"
Her brow furrows. "No, but he said it was lucky for us that Fischer was being promoted and that he didn't want to replace two agents at once."
Calmly, patronizing. "He said 'lucky for you' meaning you individually, not both of us." Anger flashes across her face, easily discernable as the light dawns. Her anger always did inspire him. "And would our supervising agent really have loaned me the keys to a federal vehicle if he thought that I could possibly be intoxicated?"
She sits up, now evidently wide awake, though as cranky as he would expect, without her coffee. "You declared your love for me in an airplane full of people, most of whom had smart phones."
"They were probably set to airplane mode by then."
"We had just sat down! Besides, airplane mode doesn't stop recording devices from working." She is fighting hard not to raise her voice.
He quirks an eyebrow. "Really? Technology like that is outside of my area of expertise. I'll have to ask Wiley..."
She clenches her fists and grits her teeth. He edges away from her as she says in her best Exorcist demon voice, "there is no reason to lie about what happened between us in Miami."
He tries to act nonchalant as he hastens to grab his clothes and leans against the farthest wall from the bed to pull on his pants. "Oh, good. So can I assume its now safe to completely level with Pike, then?"
Her eyes widen in shock. Then narrow in suspicion. "You. Wouldn't. Dare."
He blinks innocently. "Of course not. That's between you and Pike. But if we let it become common knowledge in the Austin office that the reason for your sudden change in career path resulted from your sudden realization that you were in love with me rather than with your fiance, how could we keep that information from filtering back to the FBI office in DC?"
She remains completely still, perched on the edge of the bed. He watches her internal debate nervously, wondering if "kick him to the curb" will win the day over "kick his $$" or if there is a remote possibility that she might see reason.
Finally, she huffs. "Fine. We'll pretend that nothing has changed. But as soon as I work up the nerve... I mean, when I figure out how to explain all this to Pike in person, then we're done with lies and sneaking around. Right?!"
"Of course," He lies smoothly. He isn't ready to explain the depths of his dread to her. He couldn't bear her scorn about its source. And when she really needs to know, that will be time enough to confide in her.