Title: Charlotte's Web (Chapter Eleven) 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.
"Perhaps a lunatic was simply a minority of one." - George Orwell
"Insanity is often the logic of an accurate mind overtaxed."- Oliver Wendell Holmes
"Anything less than abject submission has to have some attack in it." - Frank Herbert
The man named Red John was excited. For the first period of time away from her home, they had stayed in a little room with a bathroom attached and the man named Red John had sat in a chair, in the dark. He was silent at first, watching her. She had asked to have the television on and he had said that would be okay. So she sat and watched the television, and sucked her thumb and tried to disappear inside her mind. As the hours stretched by, she thought of her mother again, of her lungs hanging out of her back and of the way her own arm ached in the cast where the bone had split through the flesh. The man named Red John had had a doctor friend of his set the arm, and stitch the ruined, broken skin. The man hadn't looked at her at all the entire time he'd worked on her arm, hadn't spoken to her once, had denied her eye contact. When he had been done with the arm (all of this had been done in the back of a special van, the inside of which looked like a hospital room or clinic room) he had given Red John a paper bag with pills inside and told Red John to give her a pill every 6 hours, with food and to phone if "she" spiked a fever or became delirious or if there were "complications". He'd also used the word "shock" a few times, throwing quick looks over at the child who had hours earlier been normal and sane.
"We'll soon break her of such pesky afflictions, won't we?" Red John had said, and looked over at the girl in shock, and smiled at her. Winked at her. She stared back at him, thumb in mouth. The doctor-man had stared at Red John, eyes narrowed.
"I am not sure it will be as easy as all of that, Roy," he said.
"Oh ye of little faith," Red John said back to him, and patted him lightly on the upper arm. "She'll come around. They always do."
"She's a child," the doctor-man said, putting more meaning than usual into the word "child".
"Even better," Red John said, and grinned at Charlotte again. "She'll be perfect. Just perfect. Can't you just see it? How she'll blossom? How she'll adapt? All the best come from tragedy."
The doctor-man glanced over at her then. His eyes were dark and impersonal and scanned over her, like a machine. He sighed.
"Have you no vision?" Red John prompted. "None at all?"
"This little stunt of yours is tactically dangerous. And this child. If she doesn't work out? You can hardly drop her off in the system and hope she is lost in paperwork and incompetent foster homes. If she fails to live up to your expectations-"
"She won't," Red John said back, quickly, almost angry.
"But if she does?" The doctor-man was adamant and persistent.
"There are painless ways of putting failures out of their misery," Red John said. His eyes were softer now, smudged eyes, like an impressionist painting.
But Charlotte was just staring at him, sucking her thumb and riding on fuzzy waves of painkillers. She had no idea what the two of them were talking about, only that the Red John man was excited about her and that the doctor-man didn't particularly like her and that her arm hurt and that her mother was dead with her lungs pulled out and tied up to the ceiling with fishing line and that her Daddy was dead or gone or somewhere else, and she wanted to see him. She wanted to see him so badly it made her stomach hurt, made her lungs and the back of her nose burn. So badly she had cried for a long, long time. And then stopped crying, because her body had run out of tears.
Sometime later the man named Red John approached her. He had disappeared for a little while and come back with a Happy Meal from McDonald's. Mommy hated McDonald's, but Daddy had taken her, always grinning and saying things like "we'll run off that cheeseburger, won't we, Charlie?" And now Red John had brought her a Happy Meal. Just like Daddy.
"For you," he said, and put it down on the little rug she was sitting cross-legged on in front of the television. She opened it up mechanically. She was hungry. Inside was a cheeseburger and fries. Red John had gotten her a Sprite. The toy had been a little doll, unremarkable, boring. She ignored it, and turned back to the television, the taste of processed cheese in her molars, the too-salty bits of potato that were the fries. And a little bit after that, she threw up the happy meal, threw it up all over the floor and down the front of her shirt and made a low, moaning noise of shame and surprise. Red John cleaned up the mess and said something about fast food not being suited to his palate, either. And her mind disappeared back into the television, where is stayed until she fell asleep into troubled, bizarre sleep. When she woke up, nothing was real anymore. Everything had turned into a dream.
And it stayed that way.
Jane watched Charlotte sleep. It was 5 a.m. and his own body needed rest, but he didn't dare fall asleep, not yet. He'd sleep on the road. He could understand Charlotte's pervasive fear. He felt it, too. The fear that Red John might arrive, might do something horrible. When he'd thought his wife and daughter had both been dead, Jane hadn't really cared, because if Red John killed him? It really wouldn't matter. Then, over time, as his relationship with Lisbon developed and deepened and grew, he'd developed a slight fear (never anything he would voice aloud, but slowly a fear developed that Red John might harm Lisbon, might kill her or do something terrible again). Now that slight fear was growing. Charlotte was back, and there was a lot at risk. Jane was, frankly, terrified of sleeping. Terrified of the possibilities his mind kept coming up with for him. Of waking up to find Lisbon dead or Charlotte dead, or Charlotte gone or... horror shows ran through his mind.
Was that what Charlotte had lived with every day for the last ten years? Her formative years, all filled with paranoia and fear and panic and an almost suffocating feeling of never-ending dread. A few days feeling this and Jane felt breathless, trapped and a bit crazed. How had Charlotte coped?
Her brow was wrinkled in her sleep. Then her leg jerked and kicked, a nocturnal spasm. Jane got up, the small lamp on the desk near his chair the only source of illumination in the room, and went to his child. He stood over her. She was mumbling something.
Jane couldn't quite make it out. So he bent closer, fully aware that if Charlotte woke up she might be startled to find him so close to her. Charlotte was understandably jumpy. But his desire to know what she was saying was even stronger.
Instantly, his brain put the syllables together. She was asking for her Daddy. In her sleep, she was reliving the first days after she had become Red John's victim, of her low moan of "want him" was any indication.
"I'm here, Charlotte," Jane said then, softly, hoping his voice and his words would reach her in her dream and comfort her. Soothe her. The look of fear on her face edged itself deeper, though.
"won'trunaway," Charlotte said. I won't run away. All one word. Jane could only imagine what that comment pertained to. He stared at her, haunted in her sleep. How many nights had she relived this experience? What was she reliving, exactly? He wanted to know everything. He wanted to know everything she had been forced to experience, and he wanted to find Red John, and he wanted to gut the bastard like a fish. Jane had always carried a deep rage for Red John, an obsessive desire for wrath, but somehow, what the killer had down to Charlotte by keeping her alive was almost worse than the vicious lie that had been Jane's reality for ten years. He had put his child through Hell. There could be no sugar-coating it.
"I am not worried about you running away. You're free now. You're safe," Jane murmured, voice barely above a whisper. That seemed to hit the right button because her features evened out a little bit. Not much, but a little bit.
Jane nodded down at his child.
"That's right. Relax, Charlotte. Relax. You're safe now. You're going to be okay."
The subconscious mind was an incredibly powerful thing. Jane knew it. He had grown up exploiting the subconcious mechanisms of the masses, learning to exploit their weaknesses for profit. Then he had learned to profile based on his understanding of subconcious processes. Then he had put his family in danger by "helping" the police with a vicious, sadistic serial murderer. And Red John had come out of the woodwork. Red John, too, knew the power of the subconscious and he had used Jane's own weapons against him. To torture Charlotte.
It was the worst, sickest kind of payback.
"You're safe, Charlotte. I am here. I am not dead. You came back," he edged his voice into a good hypnotist's voice. "You are so strong. You are so brave. You're back home, now, and I am proud of you. I won't let anybody hurt you."
Charlotte's features were placid again, nearly. Jane ached to reach out and touch her forehead, kiss her head, or her cheek. But he didn't quite dare. Not yet. If she woke up and pulled back, got scared, felt threatened by his concern... it could take a long time to regain her trust. She needed her space. That much was clear, but he still wanted to touch her. She didn't quite seem real to him. She still seemed unnatural, impossible, not quite there. A miracle, even.
Two days earlier, Patrick Jane would have told anyone who bothered to ask that he was an atheist. Now? Now he didn't know what to think. Even stranger, he knew his sudden spiritual epiphany was illogical, but it didn't make the sensation of gratitude and of communion with "something higher", any less profound.
Eyes burning with conflicting emotions, Jane bit his lip as he looked down at Charlotte's sleeping face. Jane sighed. Blinked a few times. A small sheen of tears appeared over his eyes, nothing more than a lachrymose glazing effect.
"Thank you for coming back," he told his child softly.
He stood watching her for another handful of seconds and was about to go back to his chair to resume his watch, when Charlotte shifted in her sleep and kicked her covers off and onto the motel room floor.
"Welcome," she murmured, before stuffing her thumb into her mouth. She was still fast asleep, voice froggy with sleep. Despite himself and the gravity of the situation, Jane's face split into a delighted grin.
Friday, November 2, 2013 6:35 a.m. P.S.T.
He wasn't aware of falling asleep, but the hypomanic susurrus that was early morning cartoons gradually got through to the seamless gray fog of almost-sleep he'd been resting in and he slit his eyes open. Charlotte, all 16 years of her, was sitting cross legged on top of her bed's mattress with a bowl of Kraft easy mac and one of the ubiquitous strawberry pop tarts she seemed to regard as essential to metabolic functioning. She had a little styrofoam cup of what looked like instant coffee, too, on the little table between her and Lisbon's bed. Jane blinked blearily and was instantly awake.
"Morning," Charlotte said, and nodded in her father's direction.
"Lisbon?" Jane inquired immediately and Charlotte jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards the bathroom. Sure enough, Jane could make out the sound of the shower spray.
"She said I should let you sleep," Charlotte said .
"Did you want to wake me up?" Jane inquired. Charlotte shrugged.
"Not really. I sort of wanted to watch TV with you..."
"You can always wake me up if you need me, Charlotte," Jane said, voice as serious as it ever got. Charlotte quickly glanced over at her father, then back at the TV. She nodded, feigned indifference.
"Yeah, okay. That's nice of you. Thanks."
"You been up long?" Jane inquired, stretching a bit in his suit, yawning despite himself. Charlotte shrugged, which told Jane absolutely nothing. In response, she looked at him and plastered a grin on her face.
"I love this show," she told Jane, and stuffed a forkful of macaroni and cheese into her mouth. How had he not heard her plug in the kettle or use the microwave in the little kitchenette? Weird. As if reading his mind, Charlotte shrugged blandly.
"You were tired. It happens to the best of us."
"Thank you," Jane said, and rubbed at his eyes.
"You know this show?" Charlotte mumbled, between bites of her breakfast.
"I don't think so. What is it?"
"Annoying Orange," Charlotte said. She took a bite of her pop tart now. Reached over and grabbed up the styrofoam cup of instant coffee and took a gulp. Put it back without looking. Jane watched her. Every movement. Everything.
"Annoying orange?" Jane repeated. He wanted to know everything he possibly could about his child. About Red John, too, but anything Charlotte would tell him about herself, more than anything, he wanted to hear.
"That's right. The main character is an orange. Who also happens to be annoying."
Jane wasn't sure what to say to that. So he nodded. Grinned. Charlotte's love of bright colours, cartoons, the inane and the magical made a tragic sort of sense. The bright, the loud and the childish were all the antitheses of Red John's personality, Red John who was dark, cultured, distinguished and perverse. Jane smiled at his daughter, happy she had found small little ways to maintain her sense of safety and sanity in Red John's violently myopic world.
"Do you watch any cartoons at all?" Charlotte questioned when the commercials came on.
"I haven't really been much of a cartoon watcher as of late," Jane admitted.
"Hmmm. Pity. Life can be awfully dark without a bit of colour," Charlotte said, confirming Jane's inference. She pointed at a commercial that had just, that second, come on.
"I want that," she told her father, eyes glued to the screen, and in that moment sounded like a much younger child. But to Jane, her voice was a gift. Every word, every syllable, every peculiar sentence was a gift. He knew he was smiling at her a lot, and he couldn't help it. She didn't seem to mind, either. Charlotte, he knew, lived in her own world. It was how she had survived.
"Oh?" Jane said, and turned his attention to the commercial. A teenage boy dressed in orange was eating a cereal called "Reese's Puffs" while a frenetic voice rapped on in the background.
"I have been thinking about branching out my breakfast food options as of late," Charlotte said, no trace of sarcasm or irony in her voice. Jane nodded. Grinned. He couldn't help grinning. He'd been grinning at his child so much that the muscles in his cheeks were starting to ache, and he still couldn't stop.
The shower shut off then. Charlotte, without looking away from the television asked, then: "Do we have to get back on the road immediately, or can we watch cartoons for a bit first?"
We, not I. She had included him. Possibly, she had also included Lisbon.
"We can watch cartoons for a little while," Jane said and Charlotte nodded and grinned back, her eyes flickering over to him and back to the screen.
"You think Lisbon will watch cartoons with me?" She took another bite of mac and cheese.
"I bet she will," Jane said amiably. He already knew Lisbon liked Charlotte. Was a little uneasy around her, wasn't sure how to act, but Lisbon liked the tenacious little personality that shone forth despite all the crap Charlie had no doubt survived. He'd caught Lisbon grinning at Charlotte's comments, comments he, himself, had grinned like an idiot at. Charlotte, of course, had seemed unaware of their facial expressions, or if she was aware, she didn't always reciprocate the grins. Or the nods. Or the sighs. Jane knew that was a bit odd, but Charlotte would have been even odder if she had behaved normally.
"That can hardly taste good," Jane said, trying to strike up a conversation, nodding his head in the direction of Charlotte's breakfast.
"Hmm. What?"
"Your macaroni and cheese mixed with pop tart. That doesn't look that appetizing."
"You just don't understand my advanced palate," Charlotte said tolerantly, and this time she made eye contact and jerked the corners of her mouth up at Jane to let him know she was joking. Or at least good-naturedly poking fun at herself.
"That must be it," Jane allowed, delighted.
They watched cartoons for three hours, Charlotte still in her pajamas, drinking non-stop instant coffee from styrofoam cups. She had a habit of ripping the styrofoam to shreds and leaving bits and pieces of it all over the top of her bed, then getting another cup. To Jane, it looked like a tic or compulsive behaviour that she had adopted as a response to extreme, intolerable, stress. Even Lisbon had noticed, and silently raised her eyebrows at Jane, who only shrugged back and shook his head as a silent warning to her not to mention it. Lisbon lay on her bed, eyes glued to retro cartoons except for the odd comment to Charlotte. Jane's eyes moved from the television, then to Charlotte, then to Lisbon and back again. They could have been any family in the world, and he was delighted that Charlotte was trying to include Lisbon in her world, even if her walls were still up and guarded.
Or maybe Charlotte was indiscriminately affectionate with everyone? It was hard to tell. Jane knew it would be silly to expect his daughter to have come through her childhood without massive problems, and yet, he couldn't help but hope that Charlie's apparent affection for Lisbon was for Lisbon and not some amicable default setting. He knew that that was also a silly and somewhat selfish desire at this point in Charlotte's life, but he wished for it anyway.
The channel Charlotte had tuned into featured non-stop retro cartoons from the 70s and the 80s punctuated by commercials for modern toys and sugary breakfast cereals. Not only did Charlotte seem fond of these shows, but Lisbon was grinning at the screen and to his delight Jane realized that Lisbon was truly letting her guard down. Having fun, even. A cartoon based on the movie Beetlejuice was now on the television, and when Lisbon heard the theme music she had announced, excitedly: "I used to love this show!"
Jane grinned at her. Charlotte nodded without looking over.
"Weren't you an adult when this came out?" Jane teased her and Lisbon shot him one of her patented annoyed looks.
"Who cares if she was an adult," Charlotte said, and took another sip of coffee. "It's an awesome show."
"I used to like Lydia," Lisbon said to Charlotte, and Charlotte nodded again.
"She's a bit emo for me, but I like how Beetlejuice has evened out her temperment," Charlotte mused. She took another sip of coffee, then ripped a piece of the lip off the cup out and tossed it on the bed. Her bed was now covered with little bits of coffee-stained styrofoam. A gift for the hotel maid, perhaps?
"Lydia is emo?" Lisbon questioned, and Jane could see what Lisbon would have been like as a teenager. Fiery, attentive, loyal. He was having fun watching the pair of them interact.
"Of course Lydia is emo," Charlotte said, eyes still on the screen. "All the 'my life is one big dark room' shit? That's pretty emo."
"I thought Lydia was a goth," Lisbon admitted. On the TV screen the cartoon Lydia was chanting. "Though I know I should be wary, still I venture someplace scary, ghostly haunting I turn loose, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!"
Jane could see Charlotte's mouth silently moving as she recited the chant. So. She had seen this show a few times, then.
"Will you ladies be okay on your own if I go and get a shower?" Jane said, then, giving Lisbon a meaningful look. Lisbon nodded. Charlotte waved him away with her hand, while at the same time shushing him. He grinned over at Lisbon and stepped into the bathroom. He was glad Charlotte was relaxing (or appeared to be relaxing) but he knew they would have to get moving again soon. He had no doubt the FBI would be looking for them and staying anywhere for too long made Jane feel anxious and exposed. Into the bathroom he took the brown hair dye Lisbon had picked up for him, a piar of the jeans she had purchased him and a navy t-shirt. Jane knew that most people were visually superficial. They didn't really pay attention, and if someone changed their dress style and hair colour they could more or less disappear off the radar. It was a human weakness that Jane knew would now serve them all well. He had no doubt that if he were to put on a baseball cap and a pair of shades even Rigsby and Cho would be forced to do a double take. He knew Lisbon would want to know what the long-term plan here, was. He wasn't quite sure, because he couldn't yet be absolutely certain of how Red John would respond or how the FBI or CBI would respond. He had no doubt that they would respond, however, that even know Red John was planning and plotting. Jane could feel Red John's anger and passion, like a pulse in the air and he tried to push away the queasy,-sick feeling he got when he thought of what Red John might do to them if they weren't all exceedingly careful. Once again, the thought occurred to him that this level of fear was normal to Charlotte and he felt a pang of sadness for her.
He also knew he would have to get as much information about Red John from Charlotte as possible. And draw Red John out into the open, somehow.
It was 12 minutes past 10 when Jane got out of the shower. He came out wearing the jeans and t-shirt and Lisbon's eyebrows raised. Lisbon had a "we need to talk" expression on her face which Jane caught immediately.
"I think you should tell him," Lisbon said to Charlotte. Charlotte sighed and stared straight ahead at the TV.
"Tell me what?" Jane said, smiling, mildly surprised that Charlotte hadn't even looked up. Lisbon was sending him meaningful facial expressions and Jane nodded slightly, to show her he got her message.
"He's a die-hard atheist. He wouldn't be interested."
"I might be interested," Jane said, towel drying his hair.
"You wouldn't be," Charlotte informed him offhandedly.
"You told Lisbon," Jane pointed out. Finished with the towel he took it back to the bathroom, hung it up on the metal pole attached to the wall. It was a motel towel and would be washed, anyway, but doing so was a tactic made to put Charlotte at ease, buy her a few seconds to think over Lisbon's proposal so she didn't feel so pressured.
"Lisbon believes in God," Charlotte said, when Jane re-entered the room. "And your hair looked better when you were a blonde."
"Thank you," Jane said, grinning. "You haven't taken your eyes off the television-"
"I can see your reflection on the TV screen," Charlotte informed him, magnanimously, and finally looked over. "Yep. Better as a blonde."
"But not too bad?" Jane said. Charlotte grinned back and shook her head.
"You'll do."
"So... what won't I be interested in?"
Charlotte glanced over at Lisbon. Lisbon gave the teen a pleading look and nodded her head slightly. Charlotte sighed and looked irritated. Finally relented.
"I've seen God, and Red John gets his power from the devil," she said simply, like she was discussing the weather.
That stopped Jane in his tracks. He knew his daughter wasn't joking, but he had no idea how to respond to such a comment without more information.
"Red John gets his power from the devil?" Jane prodded gently, trying not to sound sarcastic or disbelieve, only neutral.
"Of course. Where do you think he got it?"
"I... I just thought he was a very powerful man. Very skilled at manipulating people, and at winning their trust."
This got a slight giggle from Charlotte, which to Jane's mind was very chilling. Now that he was looking more carefully at Lisbon, he could see that she was a bit pale. What exactly had Charlotte said to her?
"How do you know he gets his power from the devil?" Jane said, and Charlotte rolled her eyes.
"I'm not crazy, you know," Charlotte informed him, but her eyes were still on the TV screen. Jane schooled is expression into neutral acceptance, and went to paw through the junk Lisbon had purchased the day before for the aftershave.
"I don't think you're crazy," he said softly. He wanted his child to believe that. Confused? Absolutely. Crazy? No.
"Well then, don't use that tone of voice head-shrinkers use on psych patients when they think they are three seconds from smearing shit on the walls."
Ordinarily, Jane might have laughed at that comment, but he could sense Charlotte was touchy about this subject.
"I'm sorry if that's what I sound like."
"Yes, well... okay."
"So... what can you tell me about Red John? And... the devil? God?" Jane really, really had to hear this.
"Red John is an occultist. All the most powerful men in the world are. This world is run by Luciferians. The popes in Rome? All Luciferians."
Jane nodded, blinked. Kept his expression the same. If this was going where he thought it might be going, he could already piece together why Lisbon was pale and shaken up.
"Red John is just one of a whole network of very powerful men. They rule the world. There are like... 3 or 4 thousand of them, the highest ranking ones, and they are all occultists. They get their power from the dark arts, and Red John is a member. That's where he gets his power from. He is one of them. That is why he has people in high-up places, moles in the FBI, all of it. Because he is in their little club. Illuminati, Free Masons, whatever... all of them. I don't know what to call them exactly, they lie about everything and I am not a member. They kill people. In their cults."
Jane just nodded. Lisbon's eyes were huge and Jane could see that her pupils were dilated with fear. Whatever Charlotte had said had shaken Lisbon up enough to cause a physiological fear response. Shit.
"They kill people in their cults?"
"Sure," Charlotte said easily. She had another cup of coffee in her tiny hands. The entire bedspread was littered with white styrofoam. She was also obviously wired on the stuff.
"Why... why do they kill people?"
Charlotte turned her attention away from whatever cartoon it was she was watching (Jane had no idea what it was) and gave him a bored look.
"Why the fuck do you think?"
"I really don't know," Jane said.
"It's how they get their rocks off. Sick, power game shit. That's part of it. And also, they think that it pleases Lucifer, doing fucked up shit and ensures their continued monetary and political success. Which, of course, it does. Look at the state of the world."
Jane considered his daughter. How brainwashed was she? He had a sinking feeling her view of reality was only going to get... worse. The more she opened up.
"Why did you tell Lisbon this?"
"I don't know," Charlotte admitted, sounding a bit annoyed. "It just came out."
"Do you think, maybe... you wanted Lisbon to compel you to tell me this?"
"Stop with the fucking psychoanalysis, Patrick. It's not cute."
"Okay," Jane said. "Then why?"
"I don't know. But I knew she would believe it. And I know why she wanted me to tell you."
"Why?" Jane said softly. He had the aftershave but didn't dare go back to the bathroom, not right now. He didn't want to break whatever rapport he'd developed, whatever pressured need was currently driving Charlotte to share this information.
"She wants you to try and make it, explain everything, so it looks crazy and so she can go back to feeling safe again. But you won't be able to do that, because the world is not safe. Not in any way. There is no safety. Anywhere. Only chaos. And then you die."
"Okay," Jane said. The rage he had felt off and on (but mostly on) for Red John for the last decade had hit a new high, and he didn't quite trust himself to say anything more than okay. Then he forced himself to carry this conversation forward.
"Red John... um... you said you saw God?"
This got a cynical laugh from Charlotte. "Yeah, but you don't have to sound so scared of me. I am not going to wig out and throw my shit at you or anything."
"How do you know it was God you were seeing?" Jane said. He hadn't yet heard her story, of course, wasn't sure where to step now.
"If you have to ask that question, you're going about it all wrong."
Jane just stared. Licked his lips. Was about to speak when Charlotte continued.
"When you see God, you fucking know it's God. You just do."
"Okay."
"I saw God in a little town called Hermosillo. Well, actually in a dessert outside Hermosillo. Whatever. A few days after I first saw the crazy chicken man."
"Crazy chicken man?" Jane prodded. Charlotte was still pretending to watch the cartoon, but he knew she was focused entirely on what she was telling him. She just couldn't bare to meet his eyes, lest she see disapproval or fear in them.
"Yes, el hombre del pollo loco," Charlotte said tiredly. "That is what everybody called him. The crazy chicken man. Because he was fucking nuts and because he was always surrounded by chickens. But Red John called him padre, father."
"Red John knew this man?"
"Obviously Red John knew him if he called him father, right?" Charlotte said. Ripped a new chunk of styrofoam out of her newest cup of instant coffee.
"In Hermosillo?"
"Yes," Charlotte said. "He's still there, I bet. He'll help us."
"He will?" Jane said. For the first time he felt like he had something here to cling to, some direction.
"Sure. The crazy chicken man fucking hates Red John. He'll help us as much as he can."
Jane nodded. He had a million questions to ask. Wasn't sure what to ask first.
"The crazy chicken man is a shaman, something like that. A priest maybe, a witch-doctor type. I was young, so I am not really sure. Red John has some power over him, I am not sure how, but he does. So the crazy chicken man, he puts curses on people Red John can't get to?"
"Can't get to?" Jane repeated, feeling a bit queasy.
"Sure. There are people Red John can't always get to. Higher up on the pyramid then he is, or people trying to fight people like Red John. They exist too. For every force in the universe, there is an equal and opposite force that exists. It's like a rule of physics, but it also applies to good and evil, too. I don't know any of their names, not anymore, so don't even ask. But Red John can't always get to them to kill them, so he has the crazy chicken man kill them from afar, with curses and whatnot."
"H-how... how do you know this works?"
"I saw what happened to one of them. Red John took me to see a curse in action. They're real."
"What did you see?" Jane said, and Lisbon was amazed by how steady his voice was, how steady his gaze was.
"First, the crazy chicken man told Red John where this guy was. He was a senator from some state that started with a C, I think, and he had gone underground. He wanted to pass some bill or something and was getting on people's nerves and made some enemies and Red John hated him. Not sure why, specifically. Maybe it doesn't even matter why. Maybe it was just a challenge. So Red John found out exactly where the guy was staying. Crazy chicken man, he knew exactly where he'd be. Not the address, but he described everything so well that Red John figured it out. Then we had to go to do the curse, because we had to be there for part of it. And I saw what happened to him."
"What happened to him?" Jane asked gently, not sure if he wanted to hear this, but knowing he absolutely had to.
"The man began to choke on his own blood. Red John and me... we drank this potion. For power or something. Red John wanted me to see. Anyway, we put these symbols on the floor. In blood. My blood, and Red John's blood. And the crazy chicken man had already killed two chickens and a goat back in Hermosillo, too. As sacrifices, you see. So we added their blood to the symbols too. Then waited for this senator to come home. He didn't see Red John right away. He went into his kitchen and was making a bologna sandwich when Red John started reciting poetry and he freaked and dropped the jar of mayonnaise on the floor and it broke. I remember that clearly. Also that he had hardwood floors in the kitchen and that he stepped on the glass and it cut his foot and the blood that came out of his foot, at that time, was normal blood colour. Normal red."
Jane couldn't take his eyes off his daughter now. She couldn't take her eyes off the television.
"What happened then?"
"He heard Red John and then he saw him in the living room, and he ran towards the stairs, going up stars, and Red John held up his right hand and snapped his fingers and the man collapsed on the ground like someone had cut the tendons in his ankles, which is probably what happened, because the backs of his feet, his heels, they were bleeding black blood all over the floor."
Charlotte ripped another chunk of the styrofoam out of the cup and threw it on the bed.
Jane blinked, hard. No wonder Lisbon was so pale. She believed in this sort of crap. And so did Charlotte, obviously.
"Charlotte, what happened then?"
"Red John dragged the senator-dude into the living room and laid him over top of the symbols we had made. And the man started crying, like a little kid. His face went bright red, Patrick, and he looked so scared..." Charlotte trailed, and a slackness came over her face. Jane saw her blink, heavily, as if trying to clear away the memory.
"Then Red John repeated a few words. Not Latin. I don't know what language. Not Spanish either. Maybe Afrikaans or something, who the fuck knows. I don't know. The man started looking like he was choking, his face went dark purple and then he began to scream. Fingers came out of him, all through his whole body. Long fingers, dirty fingers with very long nails, and then hands, and then arms. They ripped him completely apart. He fell apart on the floor. There was blood everywhere. And then little millipedes and bugs came out of what was left of him. The blood was dark black, not like normal blood. And then Red John spit on him. And then we left. His head looked like crumpled up paper." Charlotte gave an almost hysterical little laugh at this and from the corner of his eye, Jane saw Lisbon visibly flinch.
Charlotte finally looked over at her father. She saw the horror in his eyes, and she nodded.
"That's right. That's right, Patrick. You'll never be able to kill him. Not ever. For he doesn't bleed like a normal man and he doesn't eat with normal men."
Jane finally risked a glance over at Lisbon. She was even paler now.
"This is what you told Lisbon?"
"Yes. But more complete this time. So I don't have to tell it again after this."
"Thank you," Jane said solemnly. He didn't know what else to say.
"You wanted to know about me seeing God?"
Jane just nodded.
"A few days after that, I was out in the dessert. Not sure how I got there. I think maybe I had tried to run away from Red John, only we had been back in California to kill this senator, and I ended up outside Hermosillo. Anyway, I was in the dessert and I saw a snake. And I knew it was the devil, so I kept running. And then later, in the sky, I saw God. He was fire and light, like the northern lights, but in the middle of the day, and He said to me that eventually Red John would be cast out of the world and I was to bear witness to his downfall. And then He was gone. There was a burst of lightning then and then thunder. And then in the distance I saw the crazy chicken man. He looked beaten up, both of his eyes were black and his lip was bleeding and his clothes were all dirty and torn up. He took me back to the city and gave me water and a candy they sell in Hermosillo called banderitas. Banderitas means little flags, because the candy comes in the shape of little flags. But I knew the crazy chicken man was trying to send me a message with that candy, because in Mexico, or at least in Hermosillo, they celebrate something called La Preciosa Sangre, which means 'his precious blood'. It is a celebration of the blood Jesus shed on the cross. Anyway, they wave little flags around when they celebrate that day, and the candy the crazy chicken man gave me was also called banderitas, because it is shaped like little flags, like I already said. I told Lisbon all about that candy. Very good. She says she would like to try it, didn't you, Lisbon?"
Charlotte now looked away from the TV, looked at Lisbon. Lisbon nodded. Grinned, but her skin was still pale. For some reason, Jane had a sudden mental image of Lisbon's face as a grinning skull and his arms broke out in gooseflesh. He rubbed at his arms, shivered.
"You'll like them," Charlotte assured her and turned back to the TV once more.
"Okay. About the candies. They were called banderitas, and I knew the crazy chicken man was referring to the precious blood celebration. You see the connection, right Patrick? I know you do. He was trying to tell me he knew I had seen God in the dessert. The candies themselves are coconut, with sugar and maybe egg whites as a binder, and food colouring. In little flag shapes. Very good. After I ate them all, I saw Red John was waiting for me. And that was that. Red John wasn't even angry. He didn't say anything, so I think maybe he was scared of me. For having seen God. We didn't go back to Hermosillo for two years after that, because I think that's how shaken up Red John was about God revealing Himself to me."
Jane nodded dully.
"How old were you when this happened?" His words were soft and measured.
"Eight maybe? Maybe nine? Eight or nine. Something like that."
Jane nodded again. Looked over at Lisbon and tried to give her a reassuring smile. Red John had drugged his child, brainwashed her, maybe given her hallucinogens. And scared the fucking daylights out of her. Quite possibly scared the sanity out of her. How could anyone be sane after seeing what Charlotte had just described, what she honestly believe to be real? Sanity could not exist for long in such a reality.
Red John was going to die for this. There was no question about it. Red John would die. Slowly, if possible. He would. Jane would see to it. He would do it for Charlotte. He would do it for his child, to not only remove the threat of the monster, but to show her that the monster itself was flesh and blood like everybody else. He'd win back that chunk of her sanity, if at all possible.
However, at the very base of his being, Patrick Jane was scared. Charlotte's words had freaked him out. But he would not acknowledge that. He could not acknowledge that.
"Anyways, we should go to Hermosillo, to see the crazy chicken man. He'll know where Red John is, at least. So we should go there."
Jane nodded. Blinked. Hard. He needed to get away from Charlotte for a while, get away and think. He tried on another shaky smile for Lisbon, but she saw through it. Charlotte tore another chunk of styrofoam out of the cup, threw it on the bed, then drained the rest of the coffee and threw the cup on the bed.
"Southpark comes on channel 53 in 8 minutes," she told her father. Jane just nodded at her. If Charlotte wanted to watch Southpark, by all means they would watch Southpark. Of course they would.
"Think we can get some of those banderitas candies when we get to Mexico?"
Jane just nodded again. He was going to go pay the motel manager for another day and then he was going to watch television with his child. Check out time was 11:30 a.m., and Jane knew there was no chance of them getting out by then, not without being rushed.
.He was not going to rush Charlotte. No. He would not do that.
End of Chapter, please review.