[the Mentalist, Big Bang fan-fic] Red Hair Black Heart - Chapter 8
[Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter two.Five] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven]
Chapter Eight
Meanwhile somewhere else, the woman the world knows as Grace Van Pelt looks around herself, seeing only a place that remembers her of the Middle Earth from the Lord of the Rings, a movie that, strange enough and contrary to common belief, Wayne liked, and made her saw more than a couple of times. Good times, she remembers them, every single second, and a tiny smiles appears on her delicate features, just to be erased as soon as she realizes it’s there in the first place. It’s not time for smiling. Nor this is the place.
She sobs, instead, desperate, clinging to the bloody body like for dear life, begging to have him back or either dying with him, and that’s when she feels it, the presence at her back.
“Witch, your cry was heard, but believe me, you have made a huge mistake by daring to come here, uninvited, in my realm.”
Margali lets it go of the body, and, standing strong, turns, and sees her, standing tall in the air, huge, almost a giant but not one, dressed with a long, green and black dress, barefoot, eyes glistening in the dark, ravenous hair floating at her side, green ribbons wore between her long, dark, silky tresses, ravens at her side dancing in the air like elegant and delicate doves.
The goddess’ eyes falls upon the dying body of Rigsby, and she grins, not out of amusement, but mere disgust. Or maybe, she just doesn’t care. He is a human, she is the Death goddess, it means that she is superior to him in everything, and he has to follow her rules and her whishes- his body may belong to this redhead, but his soul is definitely hers, hers and of the beautiful Brunilde, Valkyrie, ready to call the man at her side once his spirit will be set free from the prison that has been his mortal body, ready to bring him to Valhalla, the final home of the fallen heroes, of the most noble warriors, the one who fell for a noble cause.
Because that’s how Wayne Rigsby found his death, fighting the good fight, fighting to keep others safe, fighting without thinking about his own survival, for love and out of duty and nobility of the soul and bravery.
“That’s why you have come here to my realm and summoned me, for a dying mortal? I expected more from the one who once ruled over Limbo, mistress of the Winding Way.”
Margali doesn’t look at the goddess, instead, comes back to the side of her beloved, touching him, gently, her touch a mere ghost upon the ghostly skin.
She cries, like she has never cried before.
“I ask of you, Death Goddess, please save him….”
“Nay. If you wish to save a soul, then you must give me something in return. It’s something your people got to know as the equivalent exchange, give me something in return from his soul, and he’ll be allowed back among the mortals. This is what I’ll grant you.” The goddess smiles, not evilly. There’s no evil in her, she just doesn’t care. She is beyond that. “So, tell me, how are you going to repay me, offering me your own soul?”
Margali nods, and looks at her hands, trembling in front of her, her bloody palms, soaked in the crimson vital essence of Wayne and her own, sacrificed to bring her there, and closes her eyes, concentrating, reflecting, making up her mind.
She knows what she’ll give up. She knows it’s what she is supposed to give up. And, strange enough, she doesn’t care. Not any longer, at least, once upon a time, maybe…. But not now. Now she is a different person, and not because of the body she is currently inhabiting.
She is a different person because of them, because of him. And he is worth it, every single second of it, she knows. That is something she can’t regret, will not regret, never, ever, because he is too important, for her and for the rest of the word as well, because if he did save her life, one who didn’t want saving, wasn’t worth it, what could he do with so many others? He saved her, heck, he even saved his father, as much as the man hurt him, keeps hurting him.
Wayne is worth saving, worth the sacrifice. A sacrifice she is not just willing to make, but ready, and happy, to go through. Everything to save him, to have him back in her life, doesn’t matter how, to have him back into the world.
“The payment is here, right before our own eyes, death goddess, and it’s enormous. I’ll not give you my blood, nor my soul, but it’s a part of me that you’ll gain, nevertheless, a part that many before you tried to gain trough mischief and war, your beloved brother Loki included.” She lifts her chin, challenging, almost it wasn’t a God she is facing, but just another human, almost like she didn’t have Wayne’s life in her hands. She knows he shouldn’t do it- Hela is powerful, and as much as powerful she is herself, she is no god, and could be easily wiped out of reality if the Asgardian thinks so.
The goddess smiles, curios, walking around them, still on the soil, and studies them. Humans, mortal or not, are always amusing, and interesting and… she isn’t sure weird would be the right word to describe them. They are somehow… surprising, and, yes, irrational. Like Margali, giving up who she has always been, whom she has been for over 500 years, to be with a mortal?
She is finally starting to understand why his majesty Thor find them so much fascinating and entertaining. “So, are you going to demote yourself to a mere mortal, who’ll never be able to use magic ever again? Are you going to renounce to your status as a Goddess yourself, a mistress of the underworld like myself, just to be with him?”
Margali shakes her head, but between her tears there’s a smile hidden, one of relief. “I’ve been a human right from the start, I’ll not be demoted by this. But… I’m ready to give up on this. Sometimes… I think magic never did me any good. I was one of the most powerful magical being of my world and I ruled the underworld reign of Limbo alongside your kind, but still this didn’t help me to save my own son. I couldn’t even save this girl, couldn’t bring back Kristina Frey when Blackheart turned them into Golems. - she stands, and yet again she challenges the mystical entity, majestic as never before, proud and sure. - In the name of magic, I made mistakes, I failed my world and I failed my beloved ones, the ones I was supposed to protect..”
“Are you sure you are ready to give it up?” She closes her eyes, clasping her hands with a powerful sound, and then parts them, a light engulfing the tiny space between her bloody palms, and then, where there was light, there is fire, and where there was fire, there’s metal.
A sword, the soul-sword, the key to her power, the key to all the power of the Winding Way, now that she is the last embodiment of that magic, the last one of her people, raised a gipsy to escape from village to village, scared of being found, of becoming one of those lost witches. Lost to death.
“I’ll not be a witch any longer, but I’ll have him, at least. And all the people I got to care about. It doesn’t matter if he’ll never forgive me because I lied, I don’t care. I just want for him to walk his world again, as a living, mortal, human being.”
Hela doesn’t waste previous time, she knows something precious when she has it, when she even just sees it, maybe it’s the prerogative of being a goddess, or maybe it’s because she is the goddess of the Underworld, and the underworld isn’t exactly the best place in the whole universe. She knows the sword is precious, because it will gave access to the Limbos’ domain, and because it could come handy one day. Who knows.
She takes it as soon as Margali gets on her knees to offer it to the Queen of the dead ones.
“Good answer, Margali SZardos of the winding way, you just convinced Death to change her mind” she skims the blade, stings her own hand with the point of the artifact, making divine dark blood, almost as dark as night itself, to bleed out from the injury. She studies again the artifact, then look at the lovers on the soil of the devastated dominion of death.
She silently makes a sign to Valkyrie, hidden in the distance, letting her know her services aren’t needed right now, and then, she knees on the soil, close to Wayne’s body, and parts his lips, her bloody finger skimming over them, and a single breath, shiny, like a golden river, like liquid amber, leaves her own body to become one with the injured mortal.
He coughs, his eyes still closed, his breathing irregular. But alive, and in the process of getting better.
The death goddess cups his face with her hand, and she smiles, an occurrence Margali has never witnessed in over 500 years of life, not like that, at least, because this isn’t about satisfaction or getting the upper hand, this is about… happiness, and a feeling of completeness she has never felt before, the same emotion the Goddess is probably feeling right now. Or is it… envy, because the Queen of Limbo were ready to sacrifice everything to gain the love of her man, while Hela has never been considered worth the attention of her master, the Mighty Thor, God od Thunder?
Light engulfs them as Hela keeps smiling, and Margali knows it, she knows it’s the end, at least of what she used to know, what she thought was her world, nothing will be the same any longer. Blackheart is dead and she has lost her powers, Red John is gone and who knows what Jane will do with the rest of his life.
But she has a sudden feeling, strange in its own nature, something she can’t describe properly, birthing right from the deepest corner of her very soul. She knows everything will work out just fine. Blackheart and his alter-ego Red John are gone, they’ll kill no longer and justice has been served in the only possible way, she just lost her powers but she doesn’t care, and, if he’ll try hard enough, she knows that Jane will find in himself the strength to move on, now that the monster is gone, and that could finally have his heart’s desire, if she hasn’t bee fooled by his tricks.
But, at the end, this doesn’t matter, not so much. It matters that they won, and that he is safe, and alive, doesn’t matter where, it just matter that he is still himself, body and soul, the same man she fell in love with, the same man who made her reevaluate her life and her decisions and even her path.
Light engulfs them, and for the last time a pentacle burning all around them emits energy that fills her very soul, her whole being, with warm and sensation and everything in between, something no one can understand and no one can describe. She closes her eyes, and she cries.
She isn’t regretting this, will not regret this, but she made a choice, and she has been that way since the day she was born. She just will miss it, from time to time, while she’ll get used to be a mortal, for the first time, and she’ll get used to have this body, not forever, but just as long she’ll be allowed to live and walk the Earth as Grace Van Pelt. A mortal body, a frail body, a body that can get older. Maybe at the side of a man. Maybe at Wayne’s side, if he’ll forgive her for the lies and for the hurt.
As she ahs been filled by magic, magic leaves her vanishing like in thin air, like fairy’s dust, and when she opens her eyes yet again, she is again with them, the team, Daimon and Stephen and Megan, the Rider gone, in search, probably, of a soul ready to be punished, pure evil incarnated. Will she become one of his chosen targets? Will he condemn her to hell for all eternity, for all the wrong and all the mistakes and all the pain she brought in this life in all her incarnations?
Her tears wet Wayne’s head, still in her lap.
As soon as she feels him stirring back to life, she loses the man, and runs past everybody of them, with tears wetting her young, mortal, frail features.
Chapter Eight
Meanwhile somewhere else, the woman the world knows as Grace Van Pelt looks around herself, seeing only a place that remembers her of the Middle Earth from the Lord of the Rings, a movie that, strange enough and contrary to common belief, Wayne liked, and made her saw more than a couple of times. Good times, she remembers them, every single second, and a tiny smiles appears on her delicate features, just to be erased as soon as she realizes it’s there in the first place. It’s not time for smiling. Nor this is the place.
She sobs, instead, desperate, clinging to the bloody body like for dear life, begging to have him back or either dying with him, and that’s when she feels it, the presence at her back.
“Witch, your cry was heard, but believe me, you have made a huge mistake by daring to come here, uninvited, in my realm.”
Margali lets it go of the body, and, standing strong, turns, and sees her, standing tall in the air, huge, almost a giant but not one, dressed with a long, green and black dress, barefoot, eyes glistening in the dark, ravenous hair floating at her side, green ribbons wore between her long, dark, silky tresses, ravens at her side dancing in the air like elegant and delicate doves.
The goddess’ eyes falls upon the dying body of Rigsby, and she grins, not out of amusement, but mere disgust. Or maybe, she just doesn’t care. He is a human, she is the Death goddess, it means that she is superior to him in everything, and he has to follow her rules and her whishes- his body may belong to this redhead, but his soul is definitely hers, hers and of the beautiful Brunilde, Valkyrie, ready to call the man at her side once his spirit will be set free from the prison that has been his mortal body, ready to bring him to Valhalla, the final home of the fallen heroes, of the most noble warriors, the one who fell for a noble cause.
Because that’s how Wayne Rigsby found his death, fighting the good fight, fighting to keep others safe, fighting without thinking about his own survival, for love and out of duty and nobility of the soul and bravery.
“That’s why you have come here to my realm and summoned me, for a dying mortal? I expected more from the one who once ruled over Limbo, mistress of the Winding Way.”
Margali doesn’t look at the goddess, instead, comes back to the side of her beloved, touching him, gently, her touch a mere ghost upon the ghostly skin.
She cries, like she has never cried before.
“I ask of you, Death Goddess, please save him….”
“Nay. If you wish to save a soul, then you must give me something in return. It’s something your people got to know as the equivalent exchange, give me something in return from his soul, and he’ll be allowed back among the mortals. This is what I’ll grant you.” The goddess smiles, not evilly. There’s no evil in her, she just doesn’t care. She is beyond that. “So, tell me, how are you going to repay me, offering me your own soul?”
Margali nods, and looks at her hands, trembling in front of her, her bloody palms, soaked in the crimson vital essence of Wayne and her own, sacrificed to bring her there, and closes her eyes, concentrating, reflecting, making up her mind.
She knows what she’ll give up. She knows it’s what she is supposed to give up. And, strange enough, she doesn’t care. Not any longer, at least, once upon a time, maybe…. But not now. Now she is a different person, and not because of the body she is currently inhabiting.
She is a different person because of them, because of him. And he is worth it, every single second of it, she knows. That is something she can’t regret, will not regret, never, ever, because he is too important, for her and for the rest of the word as well, because if he did save her life, one who didn’t want saving, wasn’t worth it, what could he do with so many others? He saved her, heck, he even saved his father, as much as the man hurt him, keeps hurting him.
Wayne is worth saving, worth the sacrifice. A sacrifice she is not just willing to make, but ready, and happy, to go through. Everything to save him, to have him back in her life, doesn’t matter how, to have him back into the world.
“The payment is here, right before our own eyes, death goddess, and it’s enormous. I’ll not give you my blood, nor my soul, but it’s a part of me that you’ll gain, nevertheless, a part that many before you tried to gain trough mischief and war, your beloved brother Loki included.” She lifts her chin, challenging, almost it wasn’t a God she is facing, but just another human, almost like she didn’t have Wayne’s life in her hands. She knows he shouldn’t do it- Hela is powerful, and as much as powerful she is herself, she is no god, and could be easily wiped out of reality if the Asgardian thinks so.
The goddess smiles, curios, walking around them, still on the soil, and studies them. Humans, mortal or not, are always amusing, and interesting and… she isn’t sure weird would be the right word to describe them. They are somehow… surprising, and, yes, irrational. Like Margali, giving up who she has always been, whom she has been for over 500 years, to be with a mortal?
She is finally starting to understand why his majesty Thor find them so much fascinating and entertaining. “So, are you going to demote yourself to a mere mortal, who’ll never be able to use magic ever again? Are you going to renounce to your status as a Goddess yourself, a mistress of the underworld like myself, just to be with him?”
Margali shakes her head, but between her tears there’s a smile hidden, one of relief. “I’ve been a human right from the start, I’ll not be demoted by this. But… I’m ready to give up on this. Sometimes… I think magic never did me any good. I was one of the most powerful magical being of my world and I ruled the underworld reign of Limbo alongside your kind, but still this didn’t help me to save my own son. I couldn’t even save this girl, couldn’t bring back Kristina Frey when Blackheart turned them into Golems. - she stands, and yet again she challenges the mystical entity, majestic as never before, proud and sure. - In the name of magic, I made mistakes, I failed my world and I failed my beloved ones, the ones I was supposed to protect..”
“Are you sure you are ready to give it up?” She closes her eyes, clasping her hands with a powerful sound, and then parts them, a light engulfing the tiny space between her bloody palms, and then, where there was light, there is fire, and where there was fire, there’s metal.
A sword, the soul-sword, the key to her power, the key to all the power of the Winding Way, now that she is the last embodiment of that magic, the last one of her people, raised a gipsy to escape from village to village, scared of being found, of becoming one of those lost witches. Lost to death.
“I’ll not be a witch any longer, but I’ll have him, at least. And all the people I got to care about. It doesn’t matter if he’ll never forgive me because I lied, I don’t care. I just want for him to walk his world again, as a living, mortal, human being.”
Hela doesn’t waste previous time, she knows something precious when she has it, when she even just sees it, maybe it’s the prerogative of being a goddess, or maybe it’s because she is the goddess of the Underworld, and the underworld isn’t exactly the best place in the whole universe. She knows the sword is precious, because it will gave access to the Limbos’ domain, and because it could come handy one day. Who knows.
She takes it as soon as Margali gets on her knees to offer it to the Queen of the dead ones.
“Good answer, Margali SZardos of the winding way, you just convinced Death to change her mind” she skims the blade, stings her own hand with the point of the artifact, making divine dark blood, almost as dark as night itself, to bleed out from the injury. She studies again the artifact, then look at the lovers on the soil of the devastated dominion of death.
She silently makes a sign to Valkyrie, hidden in the distance, letting her know her services aren’t needed right now, and then, she knees on the soil, close to Wayne’s body, and parts his lips, her bloody finger skimming over them, and a single breath, shiny, like a golden river, like liquid amber, leaves her own body to become one with the injured mortal.
He coughs, his eyes still closed, his breathing irregular. But alive, and in the process of getting better.
The death goddess cups his face with her hand, and she smiles, an occurrence Margali has never witnessed in over 500 years of life, not like that, at least, because this isn’t about satisfaction or getting the upper hand, this is about… happiness, and a feeling of completeness she has never felt before, the same emotion the Goddess is probably feeling right now. Or is it… envy, because the Queen of Limbo were ready to sacrifice everything to gain the love of her man, while Hela has never been considered worth the attention of her master, the Mighty Thor, God od Thunder?
Light engulfs them as Hela keeps smiling, and Margali knows it, she knows it’s the end, at least of what she used to know, what she thought was her world, nothing will be the same any longer. Blackheart is dead and she has lost her powers, Red John is gone and who knows what Jane will do with the rest of his life.
But she has a sudden feeling, strange in its own nature, something she can’t describe properly, birthing right from the deepest corner of her very soul. She knows everything will work out just fine. Blackheart and his alter-ego Red John are gone, they’ll kill no longer and justice has been served in the only possible way, she just lost her powers but she doesn’t care, and, if he’ll try hard enough, she knows that Jane will find in himself the strength to move on, now that the monster is gone, and that could finally have his heart’s desire, if she hasn’t bee fooled by his tricks.
But, at the end, this doesn’t matter, not so much. It matters that they won, and that he is safe, and alive, doesn’t matter where, it just matter that he is still himself, body and soul, the same man she fell in love with, the same man who made her reevaluate her life and her decisions and even her path.
Light engulfs them, and for the last time a pentacle burning all around them emits energy that fills her very soul, her whole being, with warm and sensation and everything in between, something no one can understand and no one can describe. She closes her eyes, and she cries.
She isn’t regretting this, will not regret this, but she made a choice, and she has been that way since the day she was born. She just will miss it, from time to time, while she’ll get used to be a mortal, for the first time, and she’ll get used to have this body, not forever, but just as long she’ll be allowed to live and walk the Earth as Grace Van Pelt. A mortal body, a frail body, a body that can get older. Maybe at the side of a man. Maybe at Wayne’s side, if he’ll forgive her for the lies and for the hurt.
As she ahs been filled by magic, magic leaves her vanishing like in thin air, like fairy’s dust, and when she opens her eyes yet again, she is again with them, the team, Daimon and Stephen and Megan, the Rider gone, in search, probably, of a soul ready to be punished, pure evil incarnated. Will she become one of his chosen targets? Will he condemn her to hell for all eternity, for all the wrong and all the mistakes and all the pain she brought in this life in all her incarnations?
Her tears wet Wayne’s head, still in her lap.
As soon as she feels him stirring back to life, she loses the man, and runs past everybody of them, with tears wetting her young, mortal, frail features.