Disclaimer: I don't own the mentalist and get no money from this

Author's Note: I just couldn't sleep and then I had this great idea so I thought I'd write it up. Please read and review, I'm not sure whether I should continue or not.

Patrick Jane pulled into the driveway of his grinning to himself. Another great show, he had everyone eating out of his hand. Still feeling happy he went into his house waiting for his daughter to run up to him laughing that she'd stayed up so late waiting for him and then his wife would tell her of half-heartedly for not sleeping. Patrick smiled, he loved his family and that familiar scene always happened when he came home late.

He waited by the door for a few minutes, nothing. How odd he thought, maybe they'd just been really tired. Holly had been practising like mad for her piano recital but it seemed unlikely. Frowning he threw his jacket onto the couch and went up the stairs. Everything was so quiet and he noticed a note on the door, his frown deepening he picked it up and read it.

Dear Mister Jane,

I do not like to be slandered by the media, especially by a dirty money-grubbing fraud. If you were a real psychic instead of a dishonest little worm, you wouldn't need to open the door to see what I've done to your lovely wife and child.

He felt like his heart had stopped beating as he yanked open the door to reveal the bloody face with its cruel smile.

"Help!"

He was taken aback at the sound of his daughters voice and ran into the bedroom. His wife's beautiful eyes stared sightlessy at him, her body a bloody mess and behind her on the floor was his daughter, she was also covered in blood but she was alive.

He grabbed the phone beside the bed and dialled 9-1-1 while running to her.

"9-1-1, how can I help?"

"Hello this is Patrick Jane, I need an ambulance at my house now. My daughter's hurt and bleeding and I think my wife's dead, please hurry!"

Throwing the phone down he cradled his daughter in his arms.

"Help's coming, hang in there," he told her gently, it looked like she'd been stabbed. Red John had just left her to bleed to death- angrily he pushed those thoughts away but his mind was having trouble focusing, his wife gone. He couldn't believe it, he couldn't lose Holly too. There was so much blood, so much, he was now covered in it. Their was blood on his hands, it was all his fault.

"You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay," he told Holly over and over again, even after she passed out. He ignored the flood of tears falling down his cheeks.

"Patrick Jane?" he spun at the mention of his name, it was a few paramedics, finally! He nodded and they came over to look at his daughter. They didn't even bother to check his wife's pulse.

"She is alive but barely, we need to get her to hospital now. She's lost alot of blood," damn paramedics, even he knew that. Did he have to point out the obvious? He was supposed to be saving her! He struggled to swallow his anger, they probably were trying their best. He ran his bloody hands through his hair trying desperately to order his thoughts.

In little time they had successfully moved Holly into the ambulance he climbed in with them and held her hand for the journey. After what seemed like a lifetime they arrived at the hospital and she was wheeled through to surgery.

"I'm sorry Mr. Jane, you can't come into surgery with her. You have to wait here," he could only nod in agreement.

"And you might wanna get cleaned up for when the cops come to talk to you," with that the paramedic walked off. Cops? Red John. His wife had been murdered and they had to question him, it seemed stupid. The most important thing was Holly's life at the moment, that's what Laura would want. He tried and failed to choke back a fresh wave of tears. He put his head in his hands, what have I done? He looked up at an elderly woman staring ar him with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

"What?" he barked, in no mood for company.

"Nothing," she replied quickly and scuttled off, he then noticed his hands, they were caked in dried blood. His daughter's blood.

Following the signs he made his way to the men's empty restroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, no wonder the woman had acted weirdly, he looked like something out of a nightmare. He felt like he was in a nightmare. His shirt was soaked in blood, his waistcoat was soaked in blood, his golden hair was matted with blood, even his face was streaked with a mixture of blood and tears.

Quickly he stripped off the drenched clothes, he still had white a t-shirt on which had slightly less blood on it. He washed the blood of his face and hands, although he still felt they were red, and attempted to wash some of the blood out of his hair. He then surveyed himself again.

He looked slightly more presentable although his eyes were puffy as he'd been crying and his t-shirt was tainted with blood. He couldn't exactly take it off though, it wasn't seemly to wonder around half-naked in a hospital. The exercise seemed to calm him and he went into the waiting room and sat down. He gently lowered his head into his hands, still in shock.

Memories cut at him like a knife, both good and bad both feeling like sore festering wounds. Laura was gone. His wife, his world. She hadn't wanted him to fool people, not after they had enough money to live off of. She'd always thought he could do more with his life. He just loved his job and had pointedly ignored her besides he'd told her didn't they want Holly to have all the best life could offer? She had been right of course, Holly already had plenty and there was more he could do. He hated himself so much right now, why couldn't he be dead instead, why? He thought angrily. He knew why of course but refused to listen to anything that made him sound less than some sort of monster. That was what he was a monster that had killed his wife by mocking that serial killer. Nothing short of a monster could kill the woman he loved most in the world. How could Holly ever forgive him?

"Patrick Jane?" he slowly raised his head to look at the speaker, a cop. Great! he thought sarcastically as he nodded.

"I'm Sam Bosco from the CBI and I need to ask you about what happened tonight," he said in a bland voice. It just increased his torrent of anger.

"My wife is dead and my daughter is fighting for her life in there! Don't you think that this is not the best time?" he screamed standing up. Adding more fuel to the fire Bosco just nodded. Damn him for acting so calm, damn him!

"I'm sorry for your loss," Bosco replied evenly, the guy was a freakin' stone and he couldn't control his anger.

"No you're not! You don't give a damn about her or me or my daughter, you're just a cold-hearted bastard with a gun and a badge,"

"You know what you're right, I'm gonna come back tomorrow when you've calmed down. Take my card and call me when your daughter's out of surgery, and I do hope she makes it," Bosco looked at him sympathetically as he held out his card. Quickly snatching it he sat down as Bosco walker off. Damn him for pitying me! he thought while burying his head in his hands as he started crying again. And Damn me, this is all my fault...

Author's Note: Sorry to those who like Bosco, I put him in as kind of cold. Personally I didn't really like him, don't think he deserved to die when he was finally being nice though. Anyway please review I need your input.

Btw, is everyone else as exciting as I am that the mentalist starts up again next week? Can't wait! Sorry rambling, I'll shut up now and try sleep.