Title: Charlotte's Web (Chapter Five) by Lexikal
Rating: M for graphic violence and language
Fandom: The Mentalist
Summary: Patrick Jane has lived his life obsessed with the capture of Red John ever since finding his beloved wife and daughter slain by the maniac's hand. Now, 10 years to the day after that horrific night, a young woman appears in Patrick's life, someone who threatens to destroy everything his life has become in the interim... if not his sanity, itself.
Author's Note: Scroll down to read Chapter. Thanks for the chapter 5 reviews. I messed up in Chapter 5. I had Cho meet Charlotte at the end of that chapter, even though I wrote him on a plane going to meet the exhumation team in Chapter 4. Damn it. I will have to fix that, have him come back. Not sure how. Damn it. Hope it doesn't mess the story up too much, I need to think of a way out of that mistake now, damnit. That's what I get for writing this thing when I am tired. Oh yeah, the mental image I have of this Charlotte is a little bit like a female John Connor from Terminator 2 crossed with Lisbeth Salander (the Rooney Mara version)- you'd get a kid that is oddly world-weary and street-smart, emotionally closed off and traumatized, but also strangely childish/childlike in some ways. Being "raised" by Red John would do a number on anybody. My version of Charlotte is not at all like the "hallucination" Charlotte that we see on the show, but that hallucination version is an idealized version, created by Jane's own subconscious mind. Ther eal Charlotte would have some major problems, trust issues and obsessions (at the very least). I looked up the gun information for the show on www dot imfdb dot org (internet movie firearms database). The reason I made Red John's primary weapon a Smith and Wesson SW99 9 millimeter is because the copycat killer (The character named Dr. Linus Wagner played by Zeljko Ivanek) in the series pilot uses that type of gun. I made the knock sequence Charlotte proposes 4-2-3 as a nod to my sister (who I am writing this fic for) because... well, it doesn't really matter why, but if we have any "mentalists" among the readers you may have figured it out. I have given Charlotte the personality and behavior of someone with C-PTSD (Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), which is a more severe form of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) and thought to be a combination of PTSD and Stockholm Syndrome. C-PTSD forms in individuals who have endured repeated, prolonged life-threatening trauma which is almost always a result of human "evil". Examples of experiences which can lead to its development are extended stay in a POW camp, or living through a concentration camp, being raised in an *extremely* abusive household (one involving rape, torture, mind-control, etc not simply "regular" abuse) or being kidnapped and imprisoned (I remember reading a case of a yound woman who was kidnapped and kept in a small box with a manacle around her neck all day and rape at night). The behaviors associated with C-PTSD would appear more severe in someone who endured whatever trauma led to the creation of the disorder at a very young age and the behaviours become integrated into the personality. Some of the symptoms associated with PTSD are extreme anxiety, a sense of impending doom or expectation of dying young, feeling like something other than human or less than human, dissociative features and a sense that the perp or perps responsible for the crime are invincible (almost God-like). Anyway, I encourgae anyone interested in this disorder to research it on their own time.
"Sometimes paranoia's just having all the facts." - William S. Burroughs
"The trust of the innocent is the liar's most useful tool." -Stephen King
Wednesday, October 30th, 2013 11:47 P.M. P.S.T.
They were just getting back into the car when Lisbon got the text, a short buzzing of her phone in her breast pocket like a wasp or a bee or something that was neither but still had the capacity to sting, and sting deeply. Lisbon pulled her phone out and stared at Cho's message. So simple, so Cho.
A girl named Charlotte just entered the police station. She's looking for Jane.
Lisbon blinked at the message, spared a glance over at Jane who was waiting for her to open the car and let him into the passenger side. His hand was bandaged with gauze wrap and he was holding a prescription script for broad spectrum antibiotics. He was still very pale, still covered in blood (now mostly dry). This entire day had been so bizarre and surreal and yet, here was this simple little message from Cho and it seemed more bizarre and surreal than anything she had yet encountered.
"Lisbon? What is it?" Jane said, seeing the change on her face.
"Just got a text from Cho. A girl is looking for you at the station," Lisbon said.
Instantly, Jane's features changed. He didn't even look like the Jane she had known for the last decade, not in the change that happened. He stuffed the script into one of his suit pant pockets and just stared back at her, mesmerized and adrenaline-charged.
"What is the exact message?"
"A girl named Charlotte just entered the police station. She's looking for Jane," Lisbon read dutifully.
"Text back that we are on our way, will be there in ten minutes. And that Cho is not to let her out of his sight," Jane ordered. Lisbon nodded. Unlocked the driver's door and leaned over to unlock the passenger door. Jane got in and stared at her expectantly and she handed him her cell phone.
"It's at least a twenty minute drive, Jane. And you're still covered in blood," Lisbon said as Jane took the phone. She could tell that he wanted to argue with her, but he was also still Jane. He knew that meeting his daughter covered in the blood of one of her companions was probably not the best plan. He nodded as she started the car, and they pulled out of the hospital's parking lot.
Lisbon focused on driving the speed limit and paying close attention to the road. It was times like these that people got into accidents.
"You're going to want to text Rigsby and tell him to put aside that change of clothes for you," Lisbon said after they had been on the road a few minutes. Jane nodded, in no mood to argue, and began to thumb in the message with fever-bright eyes.
"We don't know for sure that this is Charlotte," Lisbon said, before he had sent the message.
Jane sent the message and looked over at Lisbon, his face suddenly orange and lit up from a passing sodium arc street lamp.
"Yes, we do," Jane said, and there was no room to argue with that comment.
Wayne Rigsby was taking a nap on one of the couches in one of the interview rooms at the Santa Monica police department when his phone jostled him out of sleep. He pulled it out and read the message.
Cho is with Charlotte right now. Be back in 10 min or so. Need clean clothes. - J
Rigsby rubbed at his eyes, not sure if he was totally awake. Realized what that message actually meant and was suddenly wide awake. Earlier in the day (this day which seemed to be lasting forever), he had picked Jane up some toiletries and some random clothes to sleep in at a local Walmart. Not really pyjamas, but they would have to do. But, would Jane want to meet his daughter in sweat pants and a t-shirt?
Rigsby had the bag of stuff in the room, he went to it, pawed through it, frowned.
Sent back a message: Got u sweat pants and tee shirt. I am wearing a suit. What size r u?
Waited. Got back a beep. Read Jane's message: I think your pants will work for tonight. And your dress shirt.
Rigsby nodded. Sent back: I will see if they have showers 4 u to use. When he was done texting Jane, he closed his phone and began to take his pants off, quickly changed into the grey sweat pants (ripping the tag off before sliding each leg in). He folded the suit pants up and stacked them on the edge of couch he'd just been sleeping on, did the same thing with the dress shirt (carefully sniffing the underarms before deciding it was okay). Decided to text Cho and get the basics.
After a few minutes of texting Cho, he texted Jane back.
Charlotte and Cho are in front waiting room. Use back door. I will meet you.
Waited dutifully. The idea that Jane might stumble through the front doors of the Santa Monica police department wild-eyed, face and clothing stained with blood, was haunting. If the kid out front really was Jane's daughter, that would be a horrible way to make a first impression.
There was a beep and Rigsby glanced at the phone: Okay
Rigsby nodded, carefully placed his dress suit pants, belt and dress shirt into the Walmart bag with Jane's toothbrush, soap, razors, deodorant, shaving cream, dental floss and mouth wash and hurried out of the room to commandeer his colleague a shower.
Cho could feel the fear coming off the kid sitting next to him. She was small for her age (she had to be, what? Almost 16 if not already 16?), short, baby-faced. Her eyes, alone, told the story of her stolen childhood, haunted and fearful eyes, wary and distrustful. Cho knew this kid was Jane's daughter. She had her father's eyes, and even though she hadn't said much, Cho was certain she was bright. Very bright. But also, very wary.
Cho had seen the effect Red John had on people. All sorts of people, mindlessly, selflessly devoted. Yet this kid seemed wary, afraid. So, was this a trick? Was this kid- Charlotte- only acting scared? Or, much like her father, was she able to withstand Red John and his empty promises, see the bastard for who he truly was?
Hard to say.
Cho was almost certain the kid was high. She smelled like marijuana smoke and her eyes were glazed over and bloodshot. Interesting tactic, entering a police department high and looking it, high and reeking of marijuana smoke. Was that why the girl seemed so jumpy? Even so, though, why smoke drugs before entering a police department? Did some part of this girl want to be arrested, or at the very least detained? Was she, on some level, afraid of chickening out and was the pot self-medication? Or was it a trap, a way to look less intelligent, less controlled? So hard to say when dealing with anyone who had spent any length of time with Red John.
"I understand you want to wait out here for Patrick. But anybody can enter through the main entrance," Cho said, trying to work out the kid's angle. She turned feral eyes to him. Those eyes were too profoundly scared to be the eyes of an actress.
"I know. But I don't know you. And I don't know them," Charlotte said, motioning her head in the direction of the police officers meandering about behind the dividing wall like ants.
"When Patrick arrives? You'll go with him?" Cho persisted.
"Yes," the girl said with a quick nod of the head.
"Why?"
"Because he won't hurt me," Charlotte said. This was said simply, as if a self-evident fact. The Earth revolves around the sun. Grass is green. Patrick Jane will not hurt me.
"No. He won't," Cho agreed. Cho's phone went off then. Not a text. An actual phone call. Cho answered the phone.
"Yeah?... Yeah, sitting right next to me... Okay," Cho said. Put the phone away. Charlotte looked at him expectantly.
"They just got back from the hospital. Patrick is going to get cleaned up, and he will be right with us," Cho said. Charlotte nodded.
"Patrick," Charlotte said slowly, testing the waters. Cho waited her out. "Does he ever... talk about me?"
Cho nodded. "Yes. But he thought you were dead."
The girl nodded.
"He said that on the news."
"Yes. But it is also true."
Jane had quickly showered, towel-dried off, changed into Rigsby's pants (he swam in them, thank god for the belt) and the dress shirt, one of the t-shirts Rigsby had purchased him.
"Cho is with her right now? I thought he had gone back to Malibu, to aid the exhumation team?" Jane queried, turning away from Lisbon for a second to rub deodorant udner his arms.
"I thought so, too. Here, talk to him," Lisbon said, and handed Jane her phone. Jane plugged in Cho's number, waited for it to connect. Heard Cho pick up.
"Yeah?"
"Cho? You're in Santa Monica, in the police station? You're with... her?"
"Yeah, sitting right next to me," Cho said dutifully.
"We'll be right out. Don't let her out of your sight," Jane ordered.
"Okay," Cho agreed. Jane disconnected.
"It was him," Jane told Lisbon, handing her back the cell. Lisbon nodded. She would find out herself why Cho was here, and not back with the exhumation team.
Jane turned to face Lisbon, The blood was totally gone, he'd flossed and brushed and gargled, run a razor over his face, all in 6 minutes. His eyes still looked haunted, but no amount of soap or time spent under a shower jet would wash away that look. Only time could dull the look in those eyes.
"You look fine, Jane. I'll send Rigsby or Cho out to get your suit cleaned."
Jane nodded, but he obviously didn't give a damn about his suit. He'd initially buttoned up the suit shirt, frowned, unbuttoned it and left it open like a jacket, white t-shirt exposed.
"Jane?" Lisbon started, unsure of how to phrase this. "If... if it's not Charlotte... you'll know?"
Jane stared at her as if she was speaking gibberish. Finally nodded. Opened the door to the locker room and waited for Lisbon to exit first.
Lisbon could tell from Jane's body language exactly when he saw his daughter, when he knew it was her. They'd just turned the corner, entered the bullpen of the Santa Monica PD. He stiffened up. Even though his back was to her, Lisbon could sense the urgency in his body language. The girl hadn't noticed him yet. She was looking in the direction of the main entrance-way, a wary expression on her face. Cho caught Jane's eyes, nodded ever so slightly.
"That's her, Lisbon," Jane said softly, almost a whisper. Lisbon felt a strong chill run through her, almost an electric shock.
Jane's daughter was petite, grungy, pale with haunted owlish eyes, a lip-ring and dark blue jeans ripped out at the knees. Her knees, themselves, were scabby and scarred- the knees of a kid who has wiped out numerous times on a skateboard or BMX bike. She was holding a neon green backpack in her lap like a shield, and, like Jane, seemed to swim in oversized clothing. Lisbon could see Cho say something to the kid, then nod in her and Jane's direction. The girl got to her feet instantly, expression somewhere between panic and pain, eyes as bright and haunted as Jane's.
Jane walked around the front wall divider and entered the waiting room, Lisbon right behind him.
"This is Charlotte," Cho said, in what amounted to pleasantries, when Jane and Lisbon were within hearing distance and had stopped moving. The girl, all of five feet, looked up at Jane curiously. Jane, Lisbon could see, was unsure of what to do. Hold out his hand for a shake? Hug the girl? Lisbon could see that he desperately wanted to hug her, but was afraid of spooking her. Finally he settled for: "I'm Patrick." This said in a soft, careful voice Lisbon had never heard before.
Jane's daughter simply nodded. Her first words to them were not what Lisbon had been expecting. "We shouldn't stay here. It's not safe here."
Jane nodded immediately. Glanced a quick, meaningful look at Lisbon: follow my lead.
"Where is safe?" Jane said, no hint of playfulness in his tone. The girl shifted on her feet, a small creature ready to run.
"Probably nowhere. But definitely not here. You have a car." The last comment was not a question.
"Yes," Jane admitted.
"Rental?"
"A rental," Jane allowed.
"We should talk in the car," the kid said, darting a quick look at Lisbon. Lisbon smiled at the girl awkwardly. She didn't know what she had expected, but this tiny, scared world-weary teenager wasn't it.
"This is Lisbon," Jane finally said, acknowledging his colleague.
"I know," Charlotte said back, and she tried on a small smile for Lisbon. It lasted only a moment before evaporating off her face. "You're on the television a lot," Charlotte informed Lisbon. Lisbon got the distinct impression that Charlotte wasn't used to smiling at people or making small talk. Charlotte looked as out of her depth as she, herself, felt.
Lisbon nodded back at the kid. What was there to say?
Charlotte looked back at Jane. Seemed unsure of how to say what she wanted to say. Sighed and tugged at her lower lip. Jane watched, frozen. Lisbon watched, not sure what was going on, until she realized the teen was showing off an old scar. Jane couldn't look away.
"You remember when this happened?" Charlotte asked, eyes locked on Jane. Jane nodded.
"You probably need to hear me say it. I was running at the pool and I slipped. Banged my bottom teeth through my lip. There was blood everywhere. Needed stiches. The summer before I... left."
Jane was still staring at the scar. He blinked, hard, as if coming back from that memory. Waking from an ancient dream, or surfacing out of a black pond.
"Yes," Jane said and there was a lifetime of meaning in that one syllable.
"After I got the stitches, you bought me a grape popsicle. Do you remember that?"
Jane's eyes went far away again. He didn't speak, but he nodded.
"You had a cherry popsicle. It reminded me of blood, when it started melting, so you threw it away. Remember?"
Jane nodded again.
"We should go now. Do you trust him?" Charlotte said, and jerked her small chin in Cho's direction.
"Yes," Jane said. "I trust him."
"Okay," Jane's daughter said, and threw a nervous look in the direction of the front intake desk, before turning and walking back through the front hallway. Jane followed after her, trailed by Lisbon and Cho. Lisbon stared at the small figure, a young-looking 16 year old dressed in grunge-punk threads with wounded, sad eyes. Lisbon found herself wondering what the kid had seen that had left her so jumpy, and more than that, how she had ever worked up the courage to contact Jane. When Charlotte reached the front doors she muttered under her breath: "I fuckin' hate cops." Then, remembered Cho and Lisbon were with her and darted a guilty look over at Lisbon.
"Sorry," Charlotte said.
Lisbon tried to smile at her again. "It's okay," Lisbon said. The kid nodded, reassured that she hadn't burned any bridges, and pushed the door open.
Lisbon glanced a look at Jane, but his focus was 100% on his daughter.
Thursday, October 31st, 2013 12:12 a.m. P.S.T.
Charlotte moved fast. She reminded Lisbon of a squirrel, alert and small and ready to run at the slightest movement.
"Which car is yours?" She asked Jane, totally focused on him, indifferent to the presence of both Lisbon and Cho. Jane pointed to the rental car, a silver mazda. Charlotte all but ran to the car and stood outside the passenger door, waiting. She looked terribly nervous, a soldier in enemy territory without a helmet or flak jacket.
"Lisbon? You'll drive?" Jane asked, but immediately Charlotte shook her head.
"No. You drive," she ordered Jane. Jane nodded, and Lisbon handed him the keys. Jane unlocked the driver's side door, got in, reached across and unlocked the other doors. Cho and Lisbon got in the back, Charlotte in the front passenger seat. Jane started the car, looked over at her. Opened his mouth. Closed it.
"What?" Charlotte queried.
"Put your seat belt on," Jane said gently. Charlotte nodded, pulled the belt across her lap and clicked it on. Looked over at the man known as Patrick Jane expectantly. Jane stared for a moment, face lit up by the orange street lamps, something close to awe etched in his features.
"We should go now," Charlotte prompted after a moment and Jane nodded and pulled the car out of the parking lot and onto the long stretch of macadam leading back into the city.
"Charlotte? Where are we going?"
"I don't know. Let's just keep driving," the girl said. They'd been on the road 7 minutes. She was staring out the passenger seat window at the passing ebb and flo of street lamp light and neon fast food signs. Jane caught Lisbon's eyes in the rearview mirror. Charlotte was watching Jane silently, formulating what she wanted to say. Finally, she spoke.
"What happened to your suit?" She asked, head tilting to the side.
"My suit?" Jane questioned, overwhelmed.
"That is not your suit. What happened to your suit?"
Jane's brain caught up to reality then. He let out a short sigh.
:"Did you get blood on it?" Charlotte pressed after a few moments, a few swells of orange light over her features.
"Yes," Jane admitted, darting a quick look over at the teenager.
"Marcy's blood?" Charlotte added, but it was more a comment than a question. Jane glanced back at his child. Nodded.
"Yes," he said. "How did you know that?"
Charlotte let out a sigh of her own then. Rubbed at her forehead like she was getting a migraine.
"People that know me have a history of dying," she said, and the voice was so plaintively genuine that Lisbon felt her own protective instincts rose up inside of her. From the look that passed over Jane's face, he must have felt something similar.
Charlotte stared out of the window for a full ten seconds, silent. Then: "Did she kill herself?"
Jane, when he spoke, was nearly whispering: "Yes."
Charlotte sighed again. Shut her eyes and rubbed at her head again. "I didn't make her do that. If that's what you were thinking."
"That's not what I was thinking," Jane said quickly, voice resolute.
"Okay. Good. Because I didn't."
"I know."
"I've never killed anybody." This was said in a lower voice. Childlike.
"Okay."
"I haven't!"
"I believe you!" Jane said, turning his head to look at his daughter. Charlotte stared at him for a long while, finally nodded to herself.
"Have you every killed anybody?" Charlotte said, then. Jane caught Lisbon's eyes in the rearview mirror. She was watching this exchange, as was Cho.
Jane turned his attention back to the road.
"I'm not a killer, Charlotte."
Lisbon considered this exchange. Did Jane feel like he was dreaming, too? This whole day had been so strange, and Charlotte was not what she had expected. Of course... what could a kid raised by Red John and exposed to untold horrors realistically be expected to behave like?
"You can take my fingerprints. You can run them. You can take my blood, too. It will prove who I am," Charlotte said, then, and turned her head to look at Jane again. Her irises looked almost black, the pupils were so dilated.
"I know who you are," Jane said. And it was obvious from the emotion in his voice that he genuinely believed the teenager sitting next to him was his flesh and blood. Charlotte watched his face, scanning it for something. Moments of silence passed. Finally Jane spoke.
"We will have to stop somewhere for the night. A motel, or some place."
Charlotte considered this and nodded. Jane could see her shivering.
"Yes. I know we will have to stop eventually. You should throw your phone away," the girl said, then, and turned around in her seat to face Lisbon. "There is a GPS locater in your phone. They can track your cell phone."
Lisbon was quiet, unsure of what to say. Jane spoke before she had to say anything.
"Who are they?"
Charlotte turned her attention once more to her father. Shrugged.
"Who knows. But they are in the government, in positions of authority, all over. They work for Red John, and others like him."
Jane blinked.
"Others like him?"
"Sure. You didn't think Red John was it did you? There are more like him, but I don't know their names. Technically, I guess he is a sociopath, right? They do what they do for kicks. There are dangerous people like Red John all over, not just him. Once you get into their world, I am not sure you can get out. And maybe it is better to be one of them than to be one of their toys. I am not sure." This was followed with a wild little laugh, almost a desperate laugh. Lisbon felt like someone had just kicked her in the stomach, hearing that flood of almost-panicked speech and that half-mad laughter. She couldn't begin to imagine what Jane was feeling.
Jane kept his eyes on the road, but Lisbon could see his knuckles harden on the wheel ever so slightly. Like he was strangling it.
Charlotte blinked again, a hard, nervous tic of a blink. Lisbon was reminded of a prisoner of war in that moment, with that long, hard blink. Like the girl was trying to wake up from a never-ending nightmare. How much of what Charlotte was saying, now, was accurate and how much was trauma? Paranoia that had developed after years of being at the mercy of a blood-thirsty maniac? How much of this, if any of it, was an act?
There were a few more beats of silence. The sound of zipper as the girl opened her backpack, pulled out a Little Debbie's chocolate pie, ripped the package off it. Began to take fast, nervous bites.
"Are you hungry?" Jane asked gently. Charlotte glanced over at him, instantly wary, and Lisbon could see the ever-present fear in those eyes explode like a flame hit with an accelerant. It was gone, that look of panic, very quickly, replaced with a dull, protective sheen. The teen took a few more savage bites before dropping the pie, half uneaten, back into her open backpack.
"No."
"Because if you are, we can stop. Lisbon? Cho? Are you guys hungry?"
Neither Lisbon nor Cho spoke right away. Lisbon was about to, when Cho said: "I could use a coffee. Maybe a Big Mac."
"Big Macs are from McDonald's," Charlotte said. Jane nodded over at her.
"I only eat at Taco Bell, Jack in the Box and Burger King. And usually, after it is dark, only at Taco Bell."
"Do you have a preference?" Jane coaxed, with that same gentle tone of voice. Lisbon had heard Jane use the same tone with victims of extreme violence a few times. Not often. Charlotte seemed unaware that her father had adopted an unusually soothing, gentle tone of voice, or if she was, she didn't mention it.
"I want a Mountain Dew Baja Blast. And they only sell those at Taco Bell," Charlotte said. Jane nodded. Tried a smile on experimentally. Charlotte returned the small, a slightly manic, uneasy look compared to Jane's moderate grin. Jane's smile fluttered away.
"I've been meaning to try one of their Cool Ranch tacos," Cho said from the back seat. Jane actually smiled at that, a real-Jane smile.
"Lisbon?" Jane said, darting a look at his colleague. Lisbon nodded.
"Tacos are good." Lisbon said, smiling awkwardly. Jane smiled back at her. The tension in the car was starting to lessen, just a little bit.
"Why aren't you back at Malibu, Cho?" Jane said, eyes scanning the highway for a Taco Bell.
"Yes. That. I lost my wallet at the airport."
"You lost your wallet," Lisbon said at that, somewhere between amused and exasperated.
"Yes."
Another pocket of silence except for the sound of the car. Then, from the passenger seat, Charlotte said: "Maybe your wallet was stolen. There are pickpockets all over."
Nobody said anything to that.
Jane found a Taco Bell on Santa Monica Boulevard that was still open, pulled the car into the parking lot and killed the engine. Charlotte sat for a long moment, just staring out into the night, at the bright neon lights of the fast food joint. She looked over at Jane, uneasy.
"It'll be okay," Jane coaxed. Charlotte didn't say anything, just continued to sit.
"We should go through the drive-thru," she finally said.
"Red John can't be everywhere at once," Jane said calmly. Charlotte sighed, sighed again, shot her father a look somewhere between uncertainty and annoyance.
"Do you have a gun, Patrick?"
Jane winced. It was there and gone almost instantly, that wince, but Lisbon saw it.
"I don't. Lisbon does, though. So does Cho."
"I have a gun," the teenager said, and pulled the pellet hand gun out of from under her army jacket. Jane stared at it, looked back up at his daughter concernedly.
"You do. I don't suppose you have a license." Lisbon wasn't sure, but she thought she heard a trace of sarcasm in that comment.
"It's a pellet gun. Not a real gun. But it will still kill somebody, if you shoot them straight on in the face," Charlotte quiped, and pointed the gun at her father. Jane didn't blinked, smiled just a little.
"Also faster and better than cyanide, if the shit ever totally hits the fan," Charlotte said darkly, and scratched her right temple. Her eyes were on her father though, Lisbon saw. Jane bit the inside of his cheek. He didn't look surprised, but he looked sad. So, so sad.
"What qualifies as shit hitting the fan?" Jane's voice was soft. Charlotte, done scratching her head, lowered the gun and replaced it in the waist band of her jeans.
The teenager shrugged at the question. Licked her lips nervously. "Hard to say. Situations have a way of developing. Better than being killed, though. One shot to the temple and it's lights out. Hopefully it never comes to that."
The message was clear: I don't know you. I don't trust you. Don't attack me. Don't corner me, or hurt me. I have options.
"So... tacos?" Jane said, and under the sadness was unease. He was obviously trying to be light, Lisbon knew. But she could tell he was uneasy. Jane being uneasy, being uneasy-for-real and not acting uneasy to manipulate someone, was a relatively uncommon state of mind for Jane, but Lisbon was pretty sure she was seeing that now. Charlotte seemed oblivious to any change in Jane. She either was unaware that her father was on tenterhooks, or she didn't care.
Finally, Charlotte reached out and opened her door. Got out and stood on the tarmac, face limned with neon orange streetlamp light.
Cho and Lisbon got out, then. Together they went in, Charlotte in the middle of their group like the smallest in a herd of a wildebeest, Jane taking point.
Inside, the restaurant was more or less empty aside from a group of stoners, a beer-gutted man with a trucking cap eating alone and a young latino couple. Two young latino boys, about 8 and 9, were hanging around the napkin dispenser, faces dirty, both of them with twin buzz cuts. One of them was ripping the top off a packet of fire sauce and smearing it on the condiments counter with a stupid grin on his face. The young latino woman called out "Hector!" and they wandered off, stained Angry Birds tee-shirts straining over bloated little bellies.
Charlotte watched them bob away, scowling, muttered something under her breath about the kids not respecting Taco Bell. She walked up to the counter, followed by Jane, Lisbon and Cho.
The cashier asked for their order. Charlotte ordered first, a kid's meal with a Mountain Dew Baja Blast, cinnamon twists and a soft taco, and an additional order of Volcano nachos. She dug her Optimus Prime wallet out, pulled out a 20 dollar bill and laid it on the counter before anybody else could order. The cashier gave her back her money and Charlotte stood aside. Waiting. Cho ordered then, then Jane, then Lisbon. Everybody paying seperately.
They sat in a booth, Charlotte and Lisbon on one side, Jane across from his daughter, next to Cho. Charlotte kept her eyes on the doors, then the parking lot, eyes going back and forth as she ate, unable to relax.
The talk was light and somewhat strained. Cho sent a text to Rigsby, got back an axious "Where r u guys?!" and informed his team mate to meet them back at the motel and try to get another two rooms, adjoining. One room with two beds. Just in case. He wasn't sure what sort of set up Jane would insist on, but adjoining rooms or sharing a room seemed probable.
Rigsby sent back: "Ok. Got u. Will go to motel now." and Cho put his phone away, all-too aware of Jane's kid eyeing him nervously. Charlotte couldn't have looked more uneasy if Cho had been busy neuitralizing a bomb.
"That was Rigsby," Cho said flatly, eyes meeting Charlotte's, then Lisbon's. Lisbon nodded. Jane was staring at Charlotte, who was dipping her cinnamon twists in the cheese sauce on her Volcano nachos and carefully avoiding eye contact.
"He's going to meet up with us at the motel," Cho added. Lisbon nodded back. There was the distinctive noise of a soft drink being sucked dry. Charlotte rattled the ice in her cup, got to her feet.
"I am going to go get a refill," she said, the comment aimed solely at Jane. Jane nodded, kept his eyes on the child he had thought, until less than 24 hours ago, had been murdered more than a decade ago. Charlotte wandered over to the counter and refilled her cup. Took a sip, dumped some of the soft drink out into the soda dispenser run-off grate and added a bit of Pepsi to the mix. Took a sip from the cup and looked thoughtful, like a wine connoisseur.
Lisbon had no idea what to say to Jane, but obviously Jane had to be picking up on the fact that his kid was deeply troubled. It made complete sense and was to be expected.
"Do you think there are really others like Red John?" Lisbon finally said, voice lowered. Jane watched the teenager dump more of the drink out and add some fruit punch. He shook his head.
"I have no idea, Lisbon. I hope not."
Jane continued to watch Charlotte messing with the drink fountain, a faint, almost-sad smile on his lips. Almost inaudibly he said: "She used to do that when she was little." Lisbon glanced over, nodded. Smiled.
Charlotte reattached the lid, jammed the straw back into the cup and came back over to their table. At that moment, she was indistinguishable from any other grungy teenager in baggy, torn clothes Her eyes, still shiny and bloodshot, were starting to look tired, but there were no obvious physical reminders that Charlotte had been brought up by one of the most violent, infamous serial killers in American history. Jane smiled at his daughter wanly as she slid back into her seat next to Lisbon and stuck a cold cinnamon twist in what was left of the Volcano nachos cheese. She didn't eat the twist, just stared at it bleakly.
"You ready to go?" Jane asked. Charlotte's eyelids were heavy.
Charlotte nodded, took a long sip of her soda before abandoning it on the orange formica table.
"Don't want your soda?" Jane asked, nodding at the "swamp water" the teen had just filled the cup with. Charlotte shrugged and shook her head at the same time.
"Mind if I have it, then?" Jane continued. Charlotte shook her head no. Jane picked the soda up, took a sip thoughtfully.
"It's interesting," he said. He drained the rest of the cup, carried it over to the trash bin, and threw it in. Charlotte followed after him, back to the car.
The drive to the motel was mostly silent. Charlotte slumped in the passenger seat, backpack in her arms, eyelids narrowed to slits. When the car stopped moving, she seemed to wake up a little.
"Where are we?"
"A motel," Jane said simply. Charlotte was eyeing the place.
"We're all staying here, even your friends?"
"Yes, but in seperate rooms. Unless..." Jane trailed.
"What?"
"Would you mind rooming with Lisbon?" Jane said, dropping his voice a little, putting on an endearing smile.
Charlotte turned around in her seat. Looked at Lisbon. Lisbon smiled at the teenager, feeling awkward and overwhelmed. This entire day was so, so strange. It would make sense Jane would want his child to room with one of them, and her being the only "girl" in the group, it made sense he had chosen her. Still, Lisbon felt touched.
"You have a gun, right?" Charlotte asked Lisbon
Lisbon moved in her seat, opened her jacket and pulled her piece out.
"Is it loaded?" Charlotte was eyeing the piece with bright eyes.
"Yes," Lisbon said.
"Safety off right now?"
"No, the safety is on," Lisbon said, darting a look at Jane. Jane shrugged. Gave her a "go with it" look.
"What type of gun is that?" Charlotte asked, eyes on the weapon.
"Um.. it's a Glock 26," Lisbon said.
"You have a gun, too?" Charlotte said, eyes moving to Cho. Cho nodded.
"Yes."
"What sort of gun?"
"Sig Sauer P229," Cho said immediately.
Sensing this could go all night, Jane interrupted. "Charlotte? Why all the questions?"
"Want to make sure nobody has the same gun as Red John uses."
Jane nodded, features carefully schooled into relative nonchalance. "What sort of gun does Red John use?"
"A Smith and Wesson SW99 9 millimeter," Charlotte said, her words careful, exact.
"Okay," Jane said, shooting Lisbon a glance.
"You already probably figured that out," the teenager quickly added, looking back at over at Cho, then Lisbon.
To Lisbon, then: "What's your gun's name?"
"Excuse me?"
"What did you name your gun?"
"Um... I didn't give it a name," Lisbon said, smiling awkwardly. Charlotte sighed.
"You should name it. Guns are alive, you know."
"They are?" Lisbon said, hating that she sounded so patronizing. Charlotte didn't seem to notice.
"Sure are. They are living things. They eat fear and terror, and when someone gets killed by a particular gun? Their spirit goes into the gun, gets trapped in there, until the murder is solved."
"I didn't know that," Lisbon said, stealing another glance at Jane.
Charlotte reached out, touched the top of Lisbon's gun, petted it like it was a small, metallic animal.
"Their mouth is that hole in the barrel," Charlotte said, gently tapping the end of Lisbon's gun with her pointer finger. "Their genitals? Are the triggers and their offspring are the wound they make."
"You've spent a long time thinking about this," Lisbon said.
"I have. You should name your gun. Mine's named PJ."
"PJ... like your Dad's initials?" Lisbon asked softly, smiling a little. Charlotte shook her head back and forth.
"No, PJ like pyjamas. Cause I always sleep with it."
"Oh."
"Patrick never liked guns," Charlotte said, throwing her father a quick glance with a nod of the head.
"Right," Lisbon said, smile feeling strained.
"Have you ever killed anybody with your gun?" Charlotte asked then. The awkward smile on Lisbon's face dried up. She looked over at Jane for help.
"Charlie?" Jane said gently, tapping his daughter on the arm. Charlotte turned to him. Lisbon reholstered her gun.
"Yeah?"
"Why all the gun talk? That's hardly "bedtime" talk," Jane said hoping to lighten the mood, tone of voice indulgently dry.
"Okay," Charlotte said.
"You ready to go in now?" Jane prompted.
"Before we do we should have a special secret knock?"
"Why?" Jane said easily.
"Because, in case somebody wants to go to somebody else's room for something. So we know the other people haven't been intercepted by Red John. Even if you call through a door, somebody else could still be next to them, out of sight of the peephole, with a gun on them. We should have a knock for safety."
Jane looked at Cho, at Lisbon. Nodded.
"That's a good idea. What should the knock be?"
Charlotte reached out and knocked four times on the glove compartment. Waited a beat. Two knocks. Then three.
"Four knocks, then two, then three?"
"Yes. "
"Why 4-2-3?" Jane said.
"Why not 4-2-3?" Charlotte returned with a small smile. "Randomness is key to staying alive, Patrick."
"I didn't know that," Jane said.
"Of course you did," Charlotte volleyed back, tilting her head. "You used to make your living exploiting everything in people that wasn't random. It's what mentalism is, reading patterns in people, because most people are exceptionally habitual, not really random at all. Being random is not only a survival skill, it's an art, and the only way to truly live without being an automaton."
Jane was silent. Finally: "I am not sure exploiting is the word I'd use, Charlotte."
"No offense intended. Everyone exploits others, just like we all feed on the bodies of others to survive, be they animal, plant, protist, fungus. You exploit others, and so do. I am exploiting you right now, if it makes you feel any better."
"How are you exploiting me?" Jane said, eyes shining.
"I am exploiting the fact that I am your progeny, your genetic link to the future and immortality, to be relatively certain that you will not kill me if I fall asleep in your presence or otherwise let my guard down. You are exploiting my relative ignorance of normal social rituals and my age to ensure I will not kill you."
"Why would you want to kill me?" Jane said then. The atmosphere in the car had grown thick as curdled blood.
Charlotte shrugged, indifferent. "I don't want to, but it is one of the key interactions with other living things. You kill them and feed on them, or you fuck them and try to create progeny. Since incest is biologically contraindicated, the alternative here is murder. And before you say the obvious: there are plenty of ways to murder someone and feed on them without physically doing them harm."
Jane was silent, brain clicking away, sorting his daughter's words out like puzzle pieces. Each word, each thought, was a piece of a giant puzzle that would form a picture of the life she had lived for the last decade. And the picture forming in Jane's mind upon hearing these words was very dark, indeed.
"We should go in now, okay?" Jane said after a moment. He needed to take some time to process all of this. His rage for Red John had never felt so massive. Charlotte nodded her assent, reached out and opened the passenger side door. Everyone else followed suit.
-CHAPTER END- That's chapter 6, please review. If you are reading and like this, review. What you like, what you don't like, random thoughts about this story, notes on symbolism in this story, whatever. Please don't be shy! I love reviews, they help me grow and are crack-cocaine for fanfic writers. ;)