Author's notes:
Thank you to two great writers and friends, Sue Shay and make-mine-a-kiaora, for their help and insight with this chapter! Be sure to check out Sue's latest updates to her story, "Ready or Not."
I do not own the TV show The Mentalist and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.
Warning: This chapter contains strong violence, adult language, and adult dialogue. Readers who are sensitive to these topics may wish to skip over this chapter.
Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter.
Chapter 19: Fortuna
All Patrick Jane wanted was to hear Teresa Lisbon tell him "I love you." Three simple words. Why did Sunshine or Lorelei Martins or whatever she called herself have to interrupt them? He pondered that as he drove to the CBI building.
I suppose a delay isn't bad. It'll heighten the anticipation for both of us. I'll bring home some flowers, some wine. We won't leave the condo until dinner time. If even then.
He smiled at the thought of his return at noontime, wondering what Teresa would be wearing, if anything.
Oh well. Time to check in with Cho.
Just as he was about to call, his phone rang. Glancing quickly at the screen, he saw it was Cho himself. He pulled his car over to the side of the road.
"Cho, good morning. It's a great morning."
"No, it's not. The guy we found in the warehouse office was not the same one we saw running around before the explosion."
Patrick gripped the steering wheel tight as a wave of tension cascaded through his body.
"What?"
After all that they had been through, now this came along.
"We identified the guy in the office, someone named Jones. He lived in San Diego until a year-and-a-half ago. Until he left there, he had been confined to a hospital. He was a paraplegic."
Patrick lowered his head onto the steering wheel.
"Another minion. Next you're gonna tell me you found an escape route out of the office area."
"Yep. A tunnel running underneath the office into the sewer line next to the building."
"Red John got away."
"We haven't gotten a trail on him yet." Patrick heard some conversation in the background. "I'm gonna put the phone on speaker. Van Pelt wants to ask you about something."
"Hey, Jane. Has Lisbon ever mentioned someone named Lorelei Martins? She's the Assistant Manager at her condo complex," Van Pelt asked.
"Yeah. I just met her myself this morning. She's at Teresa's condo now."
"The reason I'm asking is 'cause she's Luther Wainwright's girlfriend. The SACPD officer who contacted her about Wainwright's murder said he'd never seen someone so overcome with grief."
She wasn't grieving when I left. Oh no, no, no.
A thought, a horrible, sickening one, formed in his mind.
"Martins was not grieving this morning when I saw her. It was the opposite. Teresa said she had only recently started the Assistant Manager job. Can you find out where she was before that?"
He heard Van Pelt tapping on the keyboard in the background. A gasp followed.
"Before she moved to Sacramento, she lived down here. Two blocks from the warehouse."
Patrick thought back to Teresa seeing Wainwright driving through the condo parking lot at odd times.
Now the doubts that had lurked in the back of his mind made sense. Wainwright knew so much about his and Teresa's relationship because Martins told him. And Red John knew about Wilcox and so much more from Martins. That's how he set up Wainwright.
Patrick whipped his car across the lanes of traffic as brakes screeched and horns blew from cars swerving out of his way. Heading back home he floored the gas pedal.
"Teresa is in trouble! Martins is one of Red John's people. Call the agent on the security detail."
He heard no response for a few moments until Cho's voice quavered in reply.
"There's no answer from the guy."
"Call SACPD. Call anyone. Get someone over to her place. I'm on my way back."
Nothing looked amiss as Patrick wheeled back into the condo complex - no cars, no people around during the mid-morning quiet. When he pulled up to Teresa's apartment building, the only noise was the brisk wind rustling through bare tree limbs.
Please let Teresa be okay.
Looking over to the car of the CBI agent du jour on the protective detail, he noticed something on the ground beside it. Jumping out of his car, he ran over, only to find the object was the agent himself lying in a pool of blood on the pavement. Bending over, he felt for a pulse but found none.
Patrick picked up the agent's revolver. Checking it, he could tell that the agent had fired all his bullets except one.
Red John's here!
With the gun still in hand, he stood up.
"I've had a chance to reload my gun, Mr. Jane."
Patrick spun around. Lorelei Martins stood in front of him, leveling a gun at point blank range. By instinct he had raised the gun in his own hand at her.
"Why? Why all this, Ms. Martins?"
Her laugh burned like acid.
"You'd never understand. Only someone who knows the greatness of Red John can understand."
"But your relationship with Luther Wainwright, your friendship with Teresa. They've meant nothing to you?"
"Luther was a good guy, but no one compares to Red John. Maybe in some other life Luther and I could have had a real relationship. Maybe Teresa and I could have been real friends. Maybe you and Teresa could have had a life together." She shook her head. "But not in this life."
"Red John's not worth all this."
"Oh, but he is. He's given me fulfillment. Isn't that what we all want in life? Look at you and Teresa. You two got some fulfillment with each other before your end."
Red John must be with Teresa. I've got to get to her.
"Things don't have to end this way."
"Oh, they do, Mr. Jane. They do."
As Martins slowly pulled back on her trigger, Patrick saw unease flit across her eyes. Perhaps he could take advantage of that. He moved his eyes to her right quickly.
"Okay, Agents Cho and Rigsby, move in."
Maybe that will distract her.
His deception worked, at least a little. A hint of doubt appeared in her eyes. Martins continued to pull the trigger but she glanced to the side.
Then she realized that he'd duped her. She tried to refocus.
Her gun shot preceded his own by a fraction of a second.
In front of him Patrick beheld a horrific sight - fire erupt from the nozzle of her gun. It was almost as if he could see the bullet speed across the distance between them. The report from his own gun jerked his wrist around.
Pain sliced through the edge of his shoulder where her bullet grazed him, but his adrenaline was running so high he noticed nothing more.
He looked at Martins. A red stain expanded across her chest. She looked at herself, grimaced, and raised her gun again. Letting out a moan, she pulled on the trigger. Patrick winced in anticipation. Her gun barrel swayed to the side. She could no longer steady the gun.
One bullet. Two bullets. In quick succession she fired a rain of shots. Bullets flew in every direction except at Patrick; they skittered across the pavement, slammed into the agent's car, and whistled past his ear. As she fired Martins sank to her knees. Her blouse covered in a red, thick goo, she fell within his shadow. Looking up, Martins raised her gun once more. Too stunned to react, Patrick stood frozen. She pulled the trigger again.
"Click."
"Click."
"Click."
After a final hate-filled grimace, her hand dropped to the pavement and her body ceased to move.
A searing pain from his shoulder jolted Patrick.
I can't stop. I've got to get to Teresa.
Pulling out a handkerchief, he stuffed it under his jacket to staunch his bleeding. Steadying himself, he made his way to the condo. As he stumbled along, he saw her door ajar. The morning breeze rocked it back and forth on its hinges, making a squeaking noise.
Oh no. No, no, no.
Patrick hurled the door open to find two figures standing in the middle of the living room.
Teresa stood in front, trembling with terror. Behind her stood Red John. He had one arm around her stomach while the other held a knife against her neck. Patrick shuddered when he recognized who Red John was.
"Surprised, Patrick?" he asked.
The only sounds in the room were Teresa's gasps and Red John's laughter.
"I thought you were dead." Despite feeling light-headed, Patrick knew he needed to stay alert, to keep Red John talking.
"What's the old saying? Reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated, although I suspect my end is coming soon enough."
"It doesn't have to be this way."
"Is that what you told Lorelei?" Red John's eyes lit up with delight. "It appears she was a good girl, shooting you. But not good enough if you're here now. Oh, well, can't have everything. But on the bright side for me, you get to see me finish my last project."
Red John scraped the edge of his knife against Teresa's neck, leaving a red mark.
"Stop that!" Rage filled Patrick's yell.
"Oh, I'll stop soon enough. I suspect you've alerted CBI and SACPD to come. That doesn't leave much time, does it? I'll have to work fast."
Patrick took a step toward Red John and Teresa, but further scraping of the knife against her chin froze him in place.
He's got an iron grip on Teresa. I've got to get him to quit focusing on her. There's only one way to do that. I've got to get a reading on him.
"To a certain extent I understand what's troubled you for so long. We all have our various issues with work, family, relationships." Searching for any tell, Patrick saw the slightest of twitches in Red John's eye when he spoke the word "family."
Yes! Something I can work with.
"You're pathetic, Patrick."
I've got to keep going, keep probing.
"I am, aren't I? You know, family can be a vexing proposition for anyone. I know I had family issues. It's different for different people - a mother, a father, a sibling we envy…"
"Shut up, Patrick."
Red John twitched again when he heard "mother."
"What was your mother like?"
Red John shifted his gaze from Teresa to Patrick.
"Stop it, Jane."
He called me Jane instead of Patrick. I struck a nerve!
Teresa's body was shaking all over as Red John pulled her tighter to him.
"Look I understand about family. My father abused me. How did you feel when your mother abused you?" asked Patrick.
Red John's temple twitched as well as his eye.
"My mother did not abuse me. She never laid a hand on me."
I've got him! The tone of his voice! And he went out of his way to respond! Something about his mother hurts him.
"Oh, she most certainly did. It doesn't have to be physical, does it? You should know that. Other things leave a mark just as deep, if not deeper."
"My mother was a saint, no matter what you or anyone else says." His face reddened. Even though he still held Teresa, Red John directed his full attention to Patrick now.
Good, good. Focus on me. Focus your anger on me.
Despite the pain that roiled through his body, Patrick laughed at Red John.
"That's not what I heard."
"Stop it. Stop it." Red John flashed his knife at Patrick before putting it back on Teresa's neck.
He's losing interest in Teresa. I've got to keep pressing him.
Patrick summoned up strength to laugh louder, a cackle to accent the smirk on his lips.
"Face it. Your mother was a whore. That's how she put bread on the table for you. She did her whoring for you, her pride and joy. How did that make you feel?"
"Stop it! My mother was not a whore."
"Oh, she did what she thought she had to do. Just not very well. She was a cheap whore, wasn't she? Barely getting by. She couldn't charge her johns much. Did she give discounts for repeat customers? That is, if she had any."
"Stop it! Stop it this instant!" Red John's grip loosened around Teresa.
"She was just a two-bit whore." Patrick sneered at Red John as he curled his tongue around his next words. "Did she let you watch?"
Red John flung Teresa into a bookcase. It teetered, then fell on her. Books rained down across her body. Patrick heard a picture frame shatter on the floor.
"Run, Teresa, run," Patrick shouted as Red John charged him, knife held aloft. He raised his one good arm to deflect Red John. He was only partly successful. Crashing into him, Red John slammed them both onto the sofa. The knife whipped around to embed in Patrick's leg with a sickening ripping noise.
"Agh!" Patrick screamed as Red John fell on top of him. Both men grasped at the handle of the knife. Patrick clasped it first. Even when he tugged at it, Red John could not prize Patrick's grip off the handle. Taking a different tack, Red John punched his wounded shoulder again and again. Soon blood covered Red John's fist.
Patrick cried out in more agony, but he still clung to the knife embedded in his leg.
From the corner of his eye, Patrick saw movement next to the fallen bookcase. Teresa staggered to her feet, a dazed look etched across her face as blood dripped from a cut along her hairline. She focused on the scene in front of her.
"Patrick!"
Teresa ran over to pull Red John's arm away from him.
"Run, Teresa, run!"
Before she had a chance to do anything, Red John swung his fist. It smashed into her face, sending her reeling backwards to the divide between the living room and kitchen. Patrick heard a thud as her head slammed into a cabinet.
Turning back to Patrick, Red John pummeled the wounded shoulder. With each blow Patrick's grip on the knife handle weakened. Raring back, Red John unleashed a roundhouse punch that lifted Patrick's whole body off the sofa. He collapsed with a moan as both of his arms fell limp like a rag doll.
Seizing his opportunity, Red John jerked the knife out of Patrick's leg. In a quick motion he thrust it forward. Helpless, Patrick felt the blade slice into his abdomen. It was almost as if his screams came from another world, somewhere beyond him. He looked down at blood spurting from the fresh wound. His body rattled as wave upon wave of pain washed through him.
Now Red John laughed as he withdrew the knife. He stood up from the sofa and reached his full height. Staring into Patrick's eyes, he re-grasped the knife so it pointed down at Patrick.
Go ahead, you bastard. Finish me off.
Something stirred behind Red John, and Patrick strained to focus on it. Teresa had pulled herself up from the floor. Rubbing her head, she stared at the scene before her.
"Jane!" She switched her gaze back and forth between Red John and himself.
She said "Jane" instead of "Patrick." Lisbon is back! Maybe now she'll understand that she has to get away while she can!
"Run, Tereeeesa ruuuu…" His voice trailed off. He was so weak he couldn't finish his plea.
His vision blurring, Patrick looked at Red John, the monster's face contorted by hate. Red John held the bloody knife aloft to plunge into Patrick. It was like a cat toying with a mouse. He couldn't move. He could only watch the knife blade glisten as Red John swung it through the air.
Something moved behind Red John - it was Lisbon, pure fury etched across her fiery eyes. She reached behind her to the kitchen counter. In one motion, she grasped a butcher knife and swung it around with both hands in a flash of speed.
As Red John's knife arced downward toward Patrick's chest, the blade on Teresa's own knife made contact midway on Red John's neck - and didn't even slow down. His body teetered for an instant. Then what was left of the monster buckled at the knees and crumpled as his knife clattered to the floor.
It was over.
Teresa is safe! A feeling of peace settled over Patrick.
Patrick was failing fast. As his body shook, his vision dimmed. Teresa Lisbon moved in front of him, and he saw tears streak down her face as her upper lip quivered. He felt warmth as her hand clasped his. In response he squeezed her finger three times.
"Jane. Oh, Jane."
With a final burst of strength that came from somewhere beyond him Patrick willed himself to speak to her one more time.
"I…love…you…Teresa."
He smiled at her, shut his eyes, and surrendered to the darkness that closed around him.
To be continued.
Author's notes:
The chapter title "Fortuna" comes from "Carmina Burana: O Fortuna," composed by Carl Orff in 1935 and 1936.