His fingers trembled ever so slightly as he pocketed the doctor's prescription and stepped out of the building. Considering the kind of life he'd been leading for over a decade now, liver cancer was the last thing he expected could cause his death and yet, that was exactly what was happening according to his doctor.

As likely as not he wasn't going to live enough to see the outcome of his carefully crafted scheme; the one that would see the downfall of Madeleine Hightower, and Patrick Jane by default. It felt oddly ironic that death was going to take him out of his enemy's grasp, far before either of them could manage to get the upper hand in the battle of wits they'd engaged about seven years ago.

For the briefest of moments he felt truly sorry for little Charlene. He'd grown fond of her after his own fashion, she was a kind soul and the most affectionate of daughters; he didn't doubt that she would sorely miss him when he was no more. Once again the irony of the whole situation wasn't lost on him, if only she knew the truth then her feelings for him would be entirely different.

However, the thing he regretted most was the fact that his longtime nemesis would be robbed of his vengeance, and that wouldn't even happen because he'd been the one to defeat him. He felt like he owed him something for devoting his entire life to his chase; given the fact that he was going to die anyway, he might as well give his foe his heart's desire, and spare himself some suffering at the same time.

Taking a deep breath he crossed the street and stopped a cab, while he mentally prepared himself for a completely different course of action than the one he'd been planning for years. As he leaned back against the seat he decided that fate might still have a thing or two in store for him and the man he'd come to think of as a friend in spite of their rivalry. The prospect of taunting Patrick Jane even from the grave sent a pleasant thrill down his spine; that was why he decided he would arrange for a message to be sent to him once everything was over.

xxx

O'Laughlin had sent word that Patrick Jane would be meeting Gale Bertram at the mall; that was the perfect occasion for what he had in mind, and all of a sudden Hightower's life didn't matter anything to him anymore. There he was now, sitting at a table of the café and pretending to read the Sacramento Examiner, while unobtrusively watching the conversation between the consultant and the CBI director.

It kind of amused him that Patrick suspected Bertram of being his mole; the poor guy surely wouldn't hurt a fly, the only thing that mattered to him was his career, and his career only. He smiled inwardly when Patrick shooed away the CBI director; he knew that his opponent would eventually make the connection and expose his mole, something which actually made him feel proud.

Choose your enemies carefully 'cause they will define you

Make them interesting 'cause in some ways they will mind you

They're not there in the beginning but when your story ends

Gonna last with you longer than your friends

He'd heard that song over the radio a couple of days ago, and he couldn't help but think it summed up his relationship with Patrick Jane quite nicely; his enemy had made his life all the more interesting, it was a pity they had to say goodbye so soon. However, he was there with him at the end of his story, and that was all that mattered now.

The cellphone ringing quickly snapped him out of his reverie. He wasn't expecting to hear Teresa Lisbon's voice at the other end of the line, but he didn't actually mind. As for Craig O'Laughlin, his life had been doomed ever since he started slowly but steadily growing fond of his fiancée; he for one surely wouldn't cry over his loss.

xxx

When the call was over he picked up the newspaper once more, waiting for realization to dawn on Patrick. It was a pleasure for him to fake indifference as his enemy finally stood a few feet away from him, looking down at him with a manic glint in his eyes.

"Well met, my friend," he murmured, still staring at the paper he kept open in front of him. "This moment has been a long time coming."

"Who are you?" Patrick Jane shot back, his voice as cold and dangerous as a steel blade.

"I think you know who I am. I have many names, but some people call me Red John."

A silence fell, so thick they could cut it with a knife.

"How do I know you're not just another of his minions?"

He offered Patrick a smile, then gestured for him to sit down. "Let's talk a bit, shall we?"

His enemy's eyes narrowed as he finally noticed the revolver hidden inside the folded newspaper that rested on the small table, then he did as asked.

"What have you done to my daughter?"

Of course that would be Patrick's most pressing question, not knowing about his child's fate was even worse than being positive about her death. His smile widened slightly, and he all but shook his head.

"I did what I had to do, nothing more and nothing less."

Patrick Jane turned even paler, and he could see him struggling to control the turmoil of his emotions.

"Tell me," the other pressed again, his hands buried in his pockets.

"I'm here because I want to release you from the curse you've been under. I'm not worth ruining your life, Patrick."

A flash of pain crossed his opponent's features, as if he was remembering the moment his life was changed forever; the night he came home to find his wife dead under a smiling face painted in her own blood, and his daughter was nowhere to be found.

The next thing he was aware of were three loud bangs, and a searing pain that shot through his chest. His fingers slipped away from the gun he'd been wielding and he felt himself falling; his last thought was that things had gone exactly according to his plan, then everything faded to black.