Mend This Tear- chapter two
DISCLAIMER: The Mentalist does not belong to me. It is the creation of Bruno Heller. I'm writing this fiction to express my love for the series and maybe vent a little.
Teresa sat in her office, supporting her head in her hands. She had just left the hospital where Patrick sat in vigil near Todd Johnson's bedside.
She couldn't understand what he hoped to gain by staying there. Johnson was dying. The doctor said he probably wasn't going to wake up. She'd shared this information with Jane but he hadn't budged from his seat.
Perhaps seeing Todd burn had gotten Jane to sympathize with him. Removing her hands, Teresa allowed her head to fall on her desk.
How the hell did this happen, she wondered. Was the CBI building really that penetrable? Hadn't they stepped up security after Bosco and his team were killed?
For now, Lisbon refused the obvious conclusion of the perp being an insider. The senior agent couldn't handle thinking about that happening again.
The PCU better find out who did this, she thought, attacking her paperwork. But frustration kept blurring her eyes, breaking her focus.
I shouldn't have left him there, Teresa thought, I should have made him go home.
Watching him from the ICU room's doorway, she almost had, too, but chickened out.
A bitter smile played on her lips as she realized the irony of her situation.
All this time I've been hounding him for detaching himself, and now when he needs me I'm doing just that.
The part of her that was his friend was screaming bloody murder. But the part of her that was his boss told her she needed to stay away from him; pointed out that only a couple of days ago Jane had reiterated his intention of killing Red John. That she couldn't afford to get emotionally invested.
The boss was winning, but the friend protested she already was invested, had put a lot of eggs in this particular basket.
More like 'basket case', the boss retorted.
Shutting both voices out, Lisbon headed to the small kitchen to refill her coffee mug, fully intending to tackle her forms with new resolve.
To her surprise (and relief) Jane was in the break room staring at the water kettle, waiting for it to boil.
"You're back."
"Hmm," he answered without looking at her, then, "Todd died, so there wasn't much point of my being there anymore."
Lisbon didn't know what to say to that. Outwardly Jane looked calm. Inwardly, God only knew.
The pot whistled and she watched him carefully pour the boiling water into his teacup.
"Are you okay?"
"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"
She didn't know how to reply to that either. Jane didn't wait for her though.
"I'm going to be upstairs, working," he said not so subtly.
Lisbon finished the rest of his statement in her head: So don't bother me.
Watching himadd more sugar than usual to his cup, a thought occurred to her.
"Jane, did Todd wake up? Did he say anything to you?"
"No," he answered before leaving.
Lisbon cursed to herself, wondering if he was lying to her.
But why would he lie about that?
It struck Teresa that Patrick might be punishing her for pushing him to talk to the guy by withholding the very information she had wanted.
The fact that she could think such a thing distressed her. Jane wasn't that petty…she hoped.
I'm being completely paranoid. She thought firmly, returning to office.
Jane hadn't planned on returning to CBI when he left the hospital. But he found himself parked at the building, thinking he had nowhere else to go but his attic. He stopped at the kitchen to make himself some tea when he ran into Lisbon. He was just lucid enough to register her concern before brushing it off. Then teacup and saucer in hand, he headed upstairs, hoping to gather his wits after Todd finally succeeded in shattering them.
For a long time Patrick wrote feverishly in his notebook. Todd's dying message could only mean one thing; he was one of Red John's minions. But why did he ask for Jane? Had he actually wanted to confess? Was it even possible to turn one of Red John's men? How many followers did he have?
Hardy, Rebecca, now Todd.
Jane had killed Hardy. Someone, he thought maybe Red John, had killed Rebecca. And now someone killed Todd to silence him.
Another operative? Red John himself? Someone in this building?
Questions; all Patrick had were questions and no answers.
At least one thing was finally clear to him; the reason he had insisted on taking the case.
Somehow Jane had known that Red John was involved, though he still had no idea how he was able to tell. There hadn't been anything to indicate Red John's involvement. Had it not been for Todd, Jane would have never known.
Todd Johnson.
Jane had sensed that there was more to the man then meets the eye from the very beginning. But it took him onger to realize what he was. Jane only called him a "garden variety psychopath" to anger him; to con Johnson into giving a piece of himself away. It hadn't worked. He was as rare a breed of psycho as Jane ever saw. For all his years in law enforcement, this was the first time Jane encountered a criminal he truly couldn't begin to comprehend.
Red John's other followers had been much easier to understand.
Hardy's father, Orvil Tanner, was Red John's friend. So the man was probably predisposed to committing crimes. Red John had further ensured Hardy's allegiance by giving him Maya, the girl he had been obsessed with.
Rebecca had also been an easy case to crack; abused as a child; she'd lost her humanity at an early age. Red John had given her understanding, acceptance and love. At least, she thought he had.
Todd Johnson, on the other hand claimed he was raised in a loving home. So was his deviance caused by Red John? The thought that the serial killer could twist a person so badly was almost too much for Jane to handle.
And yet, Red John had managed to convince Kristina that she was dead, Patrick remembered with dread.
He decided that it was useless to ponder Red John's methods of manipulation. There was a more pressing matter at hand.
Why kill cops?
Had Red John ordered it or was that just a quirk Todd had that Red John allowed?
"There's a reason for everything I've done," he had told Jane.
Patrick rubbed his face anxiously.
I'm becoming obsessed.
Even dead, Johnson wouldn't leave him be.
But the mentalist couldn't help wondering what secrets had lain in those deceptively innocent, terrifyingly evil eyes.
A wave of nausea hit Patrick as he was bombarded with flashes of the criminal; each more disturbing than the next: Todd trying to shoot him, coming towards him with a knife, Todd in this very attic, alone with him.
The man could have killed me right here, Patrick realized, his heart thumping with horror.
He didn't want to remain in the attic, didn't want to be alone anymore. The smell of burning flesh accompanied by an image of Todd burning alive became the last straw, propelling a shaking Jane downstairs.
It was late when he entered the bullpen to lay on his couch. The floor was empty and quiet, though he could hear some horsing around upstairs. Patrick surmised that to mean it was the organized crime unit's turn to take the night shift.
Usually Jane didn't mind the clatter; rather he found it relaxing; like the ocean. But his current melancholic spirit didn't liken the noises to calming lazy waves. Instead he found them to be more more like a stormy ocean's roar; dark and terrifying.
Even the light in Lisbon's office alerting Jane to her presence didn't offer it's usual comfort. Her blinds were drawn and he wouldn't intrude on her space, not after telling her to leave him alone.
It didn't help that Jane wasn't entirely sure he wanted to see Lisbon.
Sure you do.
Her stance on justice was becoming evermore infuriating, especially in light of this latest Red John development.
Niave, stubborn little fool, he thought cruelly.
You're just annoyed there's actually someone you haven't managed to transfix. That despite consistently bending her to your will, when it actually counts, Teresa Lisbon is perfectly immune to your charms., Angela stated, refusing to be ignored.
You know what, this isn't funny anymore, Jane snapped to himself, sitting up from his couch.
He wasn't sure what he found more irksome; the fact that his subconscious conjured up his wife at the most inopportune moments, or that his wife seemed to constantly be against him.
Either way, Angela wasn't helping. And Jane didn't want to have this argument when Lisbon was right there, just a few feet away. Who knew how he'd react if she came out and saw him. Glaring at her door one last time, Jane left to finish his fight with the "Mrs." in the privacy of his car.
Okay, for the record, I didn't try to charm or transfix her-
Because you knew it wouldn't work, Angela interrupted.
We had a candid conversation, Jane continued, ignoring her jibe
Which makes it even worse doesn't it? That playing it straight didn't work on her either.
What's with all the snark? Jane complained. You're almost starting to sound like Lisbon.
You're asking me? Can't you read your own wife? Your own mind?
You know, since you are just figment of my imagination, I can make you go away whenever I want.
But you won't. You love me, and you miss me too much.
Jane's gut constricted. An intense pain gathered at the base of his throat so abruptly he almost choked on it.
Luckily, his hotel was near CBI. He managed to make it into the room before the grief completely took over.
Author's note:
*ahem* Can those who read the original prologue pretend that this was the first time you've read parts of this chapter? Thanks. Oh, and if you'll do the same for the next chapter as well that would be great. After that, it'll be all new, I promise. Now, I know this was kinda dark, and it'll be so for a while, but I promise it'll get better so please be patient. I'm aiming to have this finished in February. It's very ambitious, but I'm between semesters now, and I want it off my mind before school starts again. Reviews help so I'd really appreciate it if you took the time to tell me how I'm doing. Knowing what works and what doesn't makes me write better. Oh, and thanks to everyone who favorited, and alerted. I hope you're enjoying this and thanks for reading :)