Chapter Text
Fourteen-year-old Patrick Jane has never lived anywhere. He used to travel with his family in an Airstream RV. He joined the carnival when he was five, and his baby sister Charlotte was just born. He would be the cherub – the cute child to distract the crowds. He lost his mother to brain cancer when he was seven, and his dad remarried a year later. His new wife was also part of the carny life and had two children of her own. Angela was the same age as Patrick, eight, and her brother Danny was six. Charlotte was only three at the time and stayed behind with her stepmom when the others were on the road.
Angela and Danny lost their mom in a gang war when they were ten and eight. She was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Angela clung to Patrick rather than Danny, instilling some jealousy in her biological brother. Charlie was five by that time and had begun to join her siblings in the carnival acts. Their dad, Alex, began to drink much more frequently. Patrick and Angela were now scouring the crowds for marks and pickpocketing the crowds. Danny retreated into his own shell when even Charlie preferred Patrick over him.
During a show two years later, Danny worked alongside Patrick. Seven-year-old Charlie was ill, so twelve-year-old Angela opted to stay back and play nurse. At the show, Danny expressed interest in joining the Tagliaferos, the gang responsible for killing his mom. Patrick vehemently disallowed it, stating that the gang is made up of nothing more than shallow losers headed by a dictator coward who goes by the name Red John. The fight is televised and, that night, Red John murdered Angela and Charlotte.
Patrick blamed himself, as did Danny and Alex. Within a week, he had become crazed and paranoid. He started drinking like his father and beat himself up. After he set his Airstream on fire with Danny inside, Alex sent him to an asylum. Over the next two years, his psychiatrist Sophie and her team helped shape him back to a ‘normal teenager’. Sophie is friends with a man who runs a community center, Virgil Minelli, so she advises he seek him out.
Patrick absently pickpockets a wealthy-looking man in the street, tossing the wallet as he walks. He steals some clothes from a consignment store and discovers his old fake IDs are still in the security box under P.D. Ruskin. The teenager rents out a motel room for the next six months and hotwires a car in the parking lot. Wringing out his hands, the young teenager drives to the local community center. As he stands outside, he realizes with a start how nervous he is.
He’s been working on autopilot since he left his therapist. He’s shed the baby blue button-up and paint-splattered striped pants he wore when he’d arrived. Instead, he’s sporting a wrinkled white T-shirt under an unzipped black jacket and faded blue jeans. He sucks in a large breath and gathers his nerve to walk into the air-conditioned building. As he looks around, he realizes he’s truly out of place. He spies a front desk and a woman behind it, talking on the phone. He stuffs his hands into his pocket and struts toward her.
“Excuse me,” He speaks in a confident voice, eyes intense with a false grin in place. “I’m looking for Virgil Minelli.”
“Hello.” She smiles, abruptly placing the call on hold. “Mr. Minelli is on the fourth floor. What is your name?”
“Patrick,” He responds. “Patrick Jane.”
“Well, Mr. Jane,” She hands him a business card. “I hope we’ll be seeing more of you.”
He takes the card and walks to the elevator. He lets out a sigh. Some of his latest tricks used age manipulation. He knew that despite being twelve if he concentrated hard enough, he could pass off as sixteen or seventeen. Now, after his conditioning, he can pass for eighteen or even twenty. Twenty-one is a stretch, but one of his old ID cards could possibly get him into a bar. He stares at his reflection as he waits for the elevator.
There’s a part of him that wants to bolt now and never look back. He steps to the side as the doors open. A woman in her twenties wearing a power suit and a boy his age in a camo army outfit join him in the lift. The boy steps out on the third floor, replaced by an actual army cadet. They ride to the fourth floor, and everyone gets out. The woman and the cadet know exactly where they need to be. Patrick, on the other hand, dawdles. The cadet heads toward a group of guys in gym clothes, while the woman goes toward the business offices.
A twelve-year-old kid walks up to him. The kid is taller than him by at least a foot, but he walks up carrying a notebook and wearing a clip-on tie.
“Hey, are you lost?”
Patrick hesitates then nods. “… yeah. My name’s Patrick. I’m looking for Virgil Minelli.”
“Oh!” The boy exclaims. “My name’s Wayne. I work with him. Or for him? Doesn’t matter. Follow me.”
Wayne leads Patrick through a web of business offices. The floor is much larger than it appears. Soon, they arrive at a much more open space. There are desks, a bookshelf, a kitchenette, and a couch. Patrick instantly claims the couch, lying on it. Wayne stares for a moment.
“Okay. You wait here, and I’ll go find him.”
“Sounds good.”
Patrick closes his eyes, and Wayne runs off. Before heading to Minelli, however, he makes a pit stop in the library. His friend Teresa is there, catching up on some schoolwork. He finds her at a desk.
“Hey, you know that kid, Patrick Jane?”
“Hello to you too,” She answers, lips pursed. “That guy from the news? With Red John? The one who went missing?”
“Yeah,” He nods. “There’s a kid on the couch looking for Minelli. Says his name is Patrick. I think it’s him.”
She frowns. “Minelli’s not in, though.”
“Hey, T.” A heavyset teenager maybe fourteen or fifteen and as tall as Wayne walks in. “Minelli called. We got a case, and he wants us to come down.”
She looks between him and Wayne and nods. “You and Cho go. We’ll catch up.”
The teenager nods, and Wayne sighs. While the older teenager leaves to grab Cho, Wayne heads back to the kitchenette. Teresa sighs and makes her way to Minelli’s bullpen. More specifically, to the couch.
“Patrick, right?” She waits until he opens his eyes and looks at her. “I’m Teresa. Minelli’s at a site with a case.”
He slowly sits up. “You work with him and Wayne?”
She nods. “Minelli takes in kids with… troubled backgrounds. Situations they can’t help, and he puts them to work. Some kids have a knack for the business world. Some kids go to the gym to work out in routines. Me, Wayne, and there’s more of us, we work cases with the local cops. Minelli’s on the force.”
Patrick looks down at the floor at the mention of ‘troubled backgrounds.’ He perks up a bit when she continues. “Are you working a case now?”
“Yes. As I said, he’s at the site?”
“Is it Red John?”
“I don’t know. Didn’t say.”
Patrick nods and lies back down. “I’m going to wait here. Until he gets back.”
She bites her bottom lip. “Minelli likes to get hands-on, Patrick. It may be a while. Thirty minutes; three hours.”
He closes his eyes again. “I’ll wait.”
Teresa sighs in defeat and heads toward the set of lockers on the side. She grabs her jacket and purse, checking for her bus pass. An hour and a half later, Minelli and his team are still out of the center. Patrick gets up and goes for a walk. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he wants to venture through some more floors. Another heavyset boy, roughly Patrick’s height yet several years older, presses the elevator button before Patrick reaches it.
“You work with Minelli on Red John?”
The teen gives him a side-eye. “What’s it to you?”
Patrick shrugs. “Are there any suspects?” While Red John and the Tagliaferos are well known, the actual identities are not.
The teenager glares at him. “Shut up. You’re not on the team.”
The blonde looks at his feet. “Yeah… my name’s Patrick. Red John killed my sisters.”
“Shit.” The other sighs. “I’m Steve Hannigan. Minelli’s got a core four. I’m not in it.”
A few minutes pass in uncomfortable silence. Steve presses the button again in frustration. Patrick keeps looking over him, his cynic curiosity getting the better of him.
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“Why are you working cases with a group of kids, then? I think Teresa’s close to my age, and that’s five years younger than you.”
Steve glares at him again. “Shut up, kid.”
“You’re temperamental. People don’t like to work with you, do they?”
Patrick has no time to react. Steve lunges and punches him square in the nose. Patrick’s arms manage to move away from his chest where they were crossed, but he falls hard to the floor. Steve’s anger is getting worked up, and he drops to the ground to keep hitting the blonde. Patrick’s nose starts to bleed, but he doesn’t fight back as Steve whales on him. Patrick thinks about just after Red John killed Angela and Charlotte.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Alex demands when Patrick opens the door to the Airstream.
“Just went out for a walk.” Patrick shrugs. “Needed the air.”
Alex snorts. “This RV not good enough for you, Boy?”
When Patrick fails to respond, he finds a beer bottle suddenly shattering against his left shoulder blade and forcing his back against the door. The twelve-year-old stumbles and he holds his arms in front of his face to shield himself.
“Arms down, Boy. An’ don’t you dare try an’ fight. This here’s a damn punishment. Know what for?”
Alex punches his son in his jaw. Unwilling tears to fall from his face, he looks at his father in the eye.
“Because I got them killed?”
While the three men have blamed Patrick for their deaths, this is the first time his father has gotten physical with him. He’s shoved him a few times, but this is a new level. This means something, and Patrick lowers his arms. The boy doesn’t lose eye contact as his father delivers the first of many punishments for their deaths.
“… Patrick? Are you awake, there?”
The blonde opens his eyes, barely flinching from the cold pack along the edge of his jaw. Teresa is kneeling beside him, and he realizes he’s back on the couch in the bullpen. He can taste the blood in his mouth, and his head feels dizzy. He struggles to sit up, but a strong hand prevents him.
“Rest, Mr. Jane. Steven did a number on you.”
“It’s not his fault.” Patrick protests. “I deserved it.”
The man to his side sighs. He kneels beside Teresa.
“I’m Virgil Minelli, Patrick. Sophie told me about you. I have a team here who specializes in working cases with the local police. I’m a detective, Patrick. Red John case jurisdiction falls to me. I understand that’s something you discussed with Steven?”
Patrick nods. “Do you have any suspects?”
Minelli sighs. “I’m sorry, Patrick, but we can’t tell people who”
“You don’t have any suspects,” He cuts the man off. “Can I sit up now? I’m less dizzy.”
Patrick doesn’t wait for a response and carefully sits up. Minelli sits down next to him.
“Tell you what, Patrick. Teresa is about to go on a long drive to check on our current case. If you wait here until she”
“Long drive?” Patrick interrupts him. “In the country?”
“Yes… you could recuperate. Would you like to tag along?”
Minelli allows Patrick to tag along with Teresa and Steve. Steve drives a Jeep Wrangler, and Patrick asks a question about the Red John case, occasionally adding comments about the wildlife they pass, and complimenting acts witnessed in passing cars. When they arrive, Patrick grows quiet. Steve stops to check out a busted car on the side of the road, and Patrick trails after Teresa.
“Hey, Reese.”
An Asian teenager about their age walks up. He’s wearing a white button-up and black pants as opposed to her black blouse, a navy blue blazer, and black pants. He walks up to greet his friend and co-worker when he notices the blonde’s presence.
“Why do we have another teammate?”
“Long story,” She sighs.
Patrick walks up to the shorter but more intimidating teenager. “Patrick Jane. Hi.”
The teenager stares at him for a second and nods curtly. “Cho.”
Cho looks between Patrick and Teresa, but Patrick stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets and looks away. “Just pretend I’m not here.”
Cho nods again, this time noticeably relieved. “Okay.” He turns to his friend. “Did Minelli give you any details on the victim?”
“Got the name. Winston Dellinger. Not much else. He was shot, right?”
“Three times.” He points to where Steve is collecting samples. “That’s his car.”
Cho and Teresa walk away, talking about the case. Patrick trails behind and Steve feels guilty. He hadn’t talked to the younger teenager while in the car since Teresa was there. He catches up to Patrick, but he loses his nerve to say anything. Patrick glances at him but says nothing as he continues to investigate the crime scene. He finds Dellinger in the driveway, and Steve walks over to join him.
“So, what does the team do?”
Steve sighs, feeling conflicted as he explains. “The techs took the pictures, so we can get in close.”
Certain Steve isn’t going to hit him again, Patrick kneels next to the body. Steve explains the details of the shooting, and they know it’s a fresh body because the maggots haven’t “boiled like a steam pot.” Steve tacks on the smell with a smug grin within the twinkle in his eye. Patrick excuses himself, kneeling away from the body but within earshot. As Teresa comes up and talks about the victim to Steve, Patrick swivels around.
“You guys need to find the lady.”
“What lady?” Teresa raises an eyebrow.
“The lady he was on a date with.”
Steve scoffs. “So, you are some kind of psychic.”
“You still some kind of psychic?” Alex asks his son, smoke clouding the air as he hits him left and right.
Patrick scowls at Steve. “There’s no such thing as psychics.” He gestures to the victim. “Bachelor’s car and peacock clothes. That smell you were talking of is a mix of alcohol, mints, and a hell of a lot of cologne. Date.”
Teresa and Steve stare back at him in disbelief, and Patrick walks away. As he passes Cho, he hears the Asian teenager tell the others about a receipt he found from Café Tuscany. The team splits up, and Teresa asks if there’s somewhere she can drop Patrick off. He declines.
“I can go with you.”
The drive back is long and quiet. Patrick doesn’t question Teresa’s driving since she doesn’t have a license. Instead, he stares out the window and lets his mind drift. All too soon, Teresa pulls into a driveway and exits the car. Patrick trails behind her.
“How is, how do we…?”
“I go in. Ask questions. If Possible, alone.”
“You want me to stay here?”
“I’d prefer it.”
“Oh.” He looks downcast again. “Okay.”
However, just as Teresa walks away, a harried man rushes toward them from the side of the house. “Are you Detective Minelli’s kids?”
“Yes, sir.” She shakes his hand. “I’m Teresa Lisbon. This is Patrick Jane.”
The man explains that his wife is very distraught, so he leads the teenage investigators to a secluded garden area. Patrick distances himself from Teresa and the victim’s father, and he stays quiet but still in earshot as Teresa asks the run of the mill questions. After a while, the teenagers leave. While driving back to the center, Teresa gets an update call from Cho and pulls off at a park to talk to him. He’s got a lead on the girl their victim had the date with. After hanging up the phone, she turns to Patrick, who’s also gotten out of the car.
“You were right. He was on a date.”
“Cold reading,” He responds.
“Cold reading?”
“Like you, for instance.” He walks closer to her. “You’re caring for a dysfunctional parent at home. Father, I think. When Steve’s unhappy, you think of your father’s unhappiness.”
She backs up. “We’re done for the day. Is there somewhere I can drop you off?”
He blinks. “What about the Red John files?”
She sighs. “Look, I’d rather you just move on. If you don’t, just… come in tomorrow morning. And fix yourself up. You’re a mess.”
She climbs into the driver’s seat, and he hesitates before climbing in beside her. He asks her to drop him off at a motel. He bypasses the front office and picks a lock to a room not being used. The following morning, Patrick sneaks into a nearby room when he hears the lock click and the footfalls walk away. The teenager collects anything he can find that might be worth some value – a watch, a couple of metallic necklaces, a nice-looking mirror, and a radio. He leaves with confidence and walks to the nearest pawn shop.
The teenager gets a good amount of money for his ill-gotten valuables, and he climbs onto a bus. Patrick gets off when he finds an upper-class clothing store, and he gets to work. He grabs a nice periwinkle button-up with a collar, a navy blue suit jacket, matching suit pants, and a pair of brown penny loafers. He also buys a wallet for his troubles. On the bus again, he wastes no time changing into his new set of clothes. He’s grown used to changing clothes in a moving vehicle and behind a curtain in his life, so the bus doesn’t bother him in the least.
Back at the center, he confidently strides into the elevator, leaving his old clothes wadded up in a corner on the ground for someone else to find. He zigzags through the maze of bureaucratic offices and straight into the kitchenette. He steams his tea to the perfect temperature and has just poured a cup when Cho walks in for some water from the cooler.
“Hi.” Patrick smiles lightly.
“Hey,” Cho jumps minutely, confused as to why Patrick’s back.
“It’s Kimball Cho, isn’t it? Like the Kipling character?”
Cho blinks and takes a sip of his water. “No. Why are you still here?”
“Teresa told me to.”
Before Cho can continue questioning him, Wayne walks in with a clipboard. He hesitates, noticing Patrick. He looks at Cho in silent question, and Cho reads ‘Confused Rigsby’.
“Reese told him to come back.”
Wayne looks back toward Patrick, who nods with his tea in hand.
“Hi.”
“Alright. Hi.”
“Well, pretend I’m not here.”
“O… kay.”
Wayne delivers news on the case to Cho and tells him that Kelly (the date) is in the interrogation room. Wayne tells Patrick he can sit at a desk by the table that no one is using since the couch is filled with boxes. Cho goes to interrogate Kelly, Wayne returns to his desk, and Teresa is informed that Patrick is back. while Patrick needs to wait for the files to be sent down, Kelly gives Cho the name of her ex Emmett, who followed her on her date. Steve and another teenage detective go find him and play Good Cop, Bad Cop in the interrogation room.
After the interrogation winds up as a bust, Patrick is alerted when the team – Teresa, Steve, Cho, and Wayne – gather to talk about the Dellinger case. Teresa and Cho notice him poking his head around the dividing wall, but he claims to just be stretching his legs. After the team discusses details, Teresa pulls Patrick aside.
“I need a favor.” When he nods, she starts walking and talking. “We’ve got everyone involved with Dellinger locked in one of our interrogation rooms. We’re pretty sure one of them is lying.”
“One of them is the murderer.” He adds, catching on. “So, what’s the favor?”
“You started the spiral on this case. I… will you go in there and pick out the liar?”
His face hardens at her request. “I’m not a psychic, Lisbon. I’m a fraud.”
“I know.” She lets out a huff. “Just… you have a gift. Please?”
Patrick groans. You’re a failure. You’re nothing. “Just this once.”
He and Teresa walk into the room. Before Teresa can introduce him, he speaks loudly despite his body language staying shy.
“So, who here killed Winston Dellinger?”
His simple question erupts the room into chaos. As Teresa (plus Cho and Wayne, who are already in the room) tries to wrangle everyone in, Patrick backs away. This oughta keep Teresa and the others off my back. and I can finally read up on… oh, shit. I think I know who it is.
“Wait.” He grabs Teresa’s arm and leans in. “I think I know who it is. Seventy percent.”
Teresa has everyone sit back down. She backs up to let Patrick have center stage. He claps his hands in front of himself and tries to focus.
“I used to read minds and talk to dead people. It wasn’t real, but people who thought it was paid big money to see it happen. There are no such things as psychics, of course.” I’m a fraud. I took people’s money and gave them false hope. “It’s all tricks and mind games. But it works.” Started with pickpocketing, and then it moved to robbing families with kids that were dying in hospitals. If they could afford a hospital, they could afford a psychic.
“This is bull.” The date’s ex, Emmett, brings Patrick back from his reverie.
“Shortcut method.” Patrick points at him. “First person to leave did it.”
Emmett glares at him but sits back down. Patrick continues.
“The human mind is very powerful.” I can do the Tarot card trick for this. He finds a marker and some stock cards used for writing confessions. “I’m going to make some pseudo-Tarot cards for this, and it’ll be revealed like magic. Just bear with me and tap into your imagination.”
After he draws something on each card, he turns them over and asks Teresa to shuffle them. She makes eye contact with Cho before doing so. He thanks her halfheartedly and walks over to the table where all the suspects are convened. He spreads out the cards. “Okay. Now, everyone close your eyes and think about the last scary dream you had. The last time you woke up screaming or shaking from fear. Everyone got it?”
The people around the table nod, albeit some are hesitant. “Good. Now, everyone take a choose a card faced down. Don’t look at it; keep your hand on it.” Again, everyone follows his instructions. All but one card is taken. “Thank you. Now, you think you just made a random pick. But, your subconscious made a meaningful choice.” He looks around the table and his eyes fall on one person. “Mrs. Rencinos. In your dream, your daughter was falling into some dark place and you could save her. She couldn’t hear you.” She speechlessly nods in agreement. “And you chose The Lovers.”
Without looking at the card, he shows the crowd a picture of hearts. “Judge Dellinger,” I’ve never cared for judges. “You dreamt of death. And you chose,” He shows the card, a crude drawing of a skull. “Death. Kelly, you think you’ll never find true love. You picked The Fool.” A picture of a jester’s hat. She laughs breathlessly in shock. “Mr. Kim… there’s a lot of scary dreams in your mind. But you can’t remember them. But you also think the rules don’t apply to you. And you chose The Magician.” Top hat and cane.
“Mr. Dos Santos, your dream was of being caged like an animal. A violent escape. So, you picked The Devil.” It’s an image of a devil, and he keeps his focus on the man rather than the crowd. The man denies the dream, but Patrick ignores him. “Finally, Mr. Cox. You dream of the people you hurt, coming back to exact revenge on you. You chose The Hanged Man.” Rather than find something fitting, the card shows the top hat and cane from earlier. The crowd is confused, Emmett included. Patrick looks at the card and frowns. “No, Mr. Kim had that card.”
Everyone at the table turns toward Mr. Kim, who begrudgingly flips over his card. Instead of the top hat and cane from before, he now has a stickman hanging from a noose. The others back away slightly, but Kim only scoffs.
“So, what? It’s a drawing.”
Patrick walks over. “A drawing that means you killed Winston Dellinger.”
“I’m not letting some kid give me a picture and say I killed some guy. Give me a break.”
“No break.” He snaps. “You did it. Your guilt is on that card and your face.”
He levels a glare at him. “It’s a card trick.”
“A card trick that revealed the killer.” Patrick corrects him. “When I told everyone that, you’re the only one who looked a little worried.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“We can all see the guilt.” Patrick overrides his words. Go for the full name ultimatum. “But not the motive. “Why, Nathaniel Kim? Why kill him?” Kim squirms in his seat at the mention of his full name. Do the eye trick. Establish dominance. “Look at me.” His voice drops a decibel. Kim’s face scrunches a little. “Why, Nathaniel?” Bring his history into this. The generic stuff that defines anyone. “You’re a good guy. Come from good people. Why’d you kill him, Nathaniel?”
Kim looks ready to cry. When the tears start to fall, Patrick knows he isn’t going to get a real reason. Patrick stands up and walks toward the door. Everyone else in the room is in shock; Teresa, Cho, and Wayne are impressed.
“There’s your man.” He stops by Teresa, grabs her arm, and pulls in close. “And now you owe me one.”
Patrick leaves the room. When he hits the bullpen, the first batch of Red John case files is sitting by the kitchen. He grabs a box, carries it to his desk, and gets started on his reading. Five days later, corrupt cop Kim is behind bars. Patrick has a consultant badge with a lower ranking than the others, but still a badge. Minelli hired him. When Steve hears about Patrick working with them, he refuses and decides he’d be a better fit with the bureaucrats in the business offices.
“Any idea who’s replacing Hannigan?” Cho asks in the library.
Teresa and Wayne are sitting at the table with him. Teresa shrugs, handing him a clipboard of names and skewered bios.
“Minelli’s found some more kids with troubled pasts. He’s going to be vetting through them this week.”
Wayne grabs the clipboard, and Cho looks over his shoulder. Wayne stops at a redheaded girl his age.
“I like this one.”
Cho nods. “Cute and out of your league.”
Patrick interrupts the scene by walking over to the table. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Teresa, thank you.” Before she can respond, he leans down and gives her a hug. She awkwardly flounders but accepts it. She hugs back, and he walks away without another word.