Author's note: written for the Paint It Red Ficathon - the prompt is a quote from the song "First Love" by Adele
A coat of paint
Swallowing the lump he felt in his throat every time he entered that room, he grabbed the brush and started painting the wall.
It almost felt as if he was struggling to erase his past. Well, not exactly his past, but rather the way he had looked at it until now.
When he was done with it he let himself fall on the floor, too emotionally drained to produce a single coherent thought. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, yet he barely noticed them.
"Forgive me", he whispered to the empty room. "I have to".
Wearily he scrambled to his feet again and went downstairs – each step as slow as if he was carrying an almost unbearable burden.
A sob escaped from his lips as his gaze met the tricycle still standing in the hall. He sank to his knees and laid his forehead against it.
He had no idea how long he stayed there, crying his heart out. At last he stood up, ran a finger on the handlebars in a silent goodbye, and then headed towards the front door.
There he paused, turned around and took a good look at the table just near the entrance. Now came the most difficult part of it.
All his willpower was barely enough to force himself into removing his wedding band. Reverently he placed it on the table and quickly fled from the house.
Taking shelter in his old Citroën, he clutched the wheel just like a shipwrecked sailor would cling to the first floating thing within his reach.
The nightmare was over at long last. And now he had wiped out all the lingering reminders.
A brand new start awaited him a mere four hundred miles away. All he had to do was cover the seven-hour drive to Sacramento and knock at the door of a certain apartment.
He could almost picture a pair of green eyes staring at him – anger and hurt eventually giving way to sheer relief.
A smile crept over his lips as he figured what her first words would be. "You selfish moron, why didn't you tell me where you were going?"
Red John would be just a faded memory at that point.