Author Notes: This is my first time writing Fan Fiction for The Mentalist but after that season finale, I couldn't possibly wait to find out what happens next so when this little story idea popped into my head, I just couldn't resist sitting down to write. Usually I'd prefer to wait until I have more written before I start posting, but I wanted to put this out there and see what people think. As fast as my mind is working around the story, it won't take long for me to post more.
This will be multi-chapter (and my long stories tend to be exactly that - LONG) and will contain spoilers for any and all episodes. I have taken a few liberties in this first chapter that may vary a little from the finale but nothing so noticeable as to change what we already know. I don't have a beta so any and all mistakes are my own. Comments and criticisms are very much welcome!
Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist or any of these characters. I'm just playing and I promise to put them back where I found them.
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Letting Go
The smoke trickles from the bullet hole in his coat pocket, wisps curling like fingers around nothing, losing grip, letting go. Letting go. Patrick Jane is certainly not familiar with that concept but pulling the gun from his pocket, glancing only briefly at the now dead serial killer at his feet, he thinks that's the closest way of describing what he currently feels. He lets an easy breath go. He lets the urge for revenge go. He lets his mind go, allows it to wander to his dead wife and daughter, letting them know how sorry he is, always; how he loves them, always; how he has avenged them, finally.
He places the firearm carefully on the table and takes his seat again, picking up the teacup and taking a small sip, as if the entire picture, this entire chain of events is the most natural thing in the world. "Check, please," he says, turning to the barista. She is cowering behind the bar. As he takes in the look on her face, he notices the background noise for the first time, people screaming, running. From him, because of him. The true weight of what he has just done begins to settle on his shoulders, heavy like the footsteps of the police officers surrounding him. Still, he maintains his composure, unable or unwilling to completely let go. And unwavering in his conviction that what he did was right.
Senior Special Agent Teresa Lisbon lets go of a breath she didn't know she was holding. Jane had slipped his phone back into his vest without disconnecting their call, and from past experience she knew that meant she needed to stay on the line. Though the voices were muffled, she could just make out the words, and the emotions were loud and clear. Jane with his air of calm she knew must be forced; Red John speaking with such careless derision. Not knowing what the man looked like, she could only imagine, as usual, a monster.
"Your daughter smelled like sweat." Lisbon had shut her eyes at this and all she could see was Jane. She knows his face, his expressions, so well, but what he must have felt in that moment is unimaginable to her. "...and strawberries and cream," Red John continued, and Lisbon felt the emptiness in her chest expand.
She was not surprised when the shots were fired. She knows Jane, had no doubt he would keep his word, would kill the killer if given the chance. She should have been there for him. Why is she not there with Jane?
Suddenly the phone is pulled from her hand, the call is ended, and she becomes aware of Madeline Hightower's strong hands, forcing her gently to the ground. Agent Grace Van Pelt is at her other side, applying pressure to her shoulder with a sterile cloth pulled from a first aid kit.
Her shoulder. She remembers now, being shot by O'Laughlin. But what happened?
Grace's fiancée. Red John's mole in the CBI. Lisbon remembers now; he's dead, shot by Grace and Hightower. Hightower's kids are safe, up in the loft, knowing better than to disobey their mother's hurriedly barked order to stay put.
"Boss. Boss, look at me." Grace's voice pulls her back to the present. She focuses on the young woman's more than usually pale face. "The EMTs are on their way, just hang in there, okay?"
Lisbon nods and winces slightly as Grace shifts to apply more pressure.
"Red John is dead," she says.
"What?" Hightower is incredulous. Grace just stares at her blankly.
"Jane," Lisbon says, gesturing to her phone on the floor near her hand. "He killed him."
Hightower and Grace exchange looks. She hears sirens in the distance, growing louder quickly. Lisbon lifts her hand to Hightower's arm.
"Don't let anything happen to Jane," she whispers.
And without meaning to, she lets go. Her body goes slack and her eyes close, and she knows they will not open again for a very long time.