I really should be working on the 4 Mentalist fanfics I already have in progress. Or at last on one of them. When I started writing this I knew that if I stopped, I never would be able to finish it in the way I had in mind. So last night I slept like three hours and I'm tired. :) But I think it's a small price to pay for this piece, even though I'm never fully content with a story, it turned out almost exactly the way I wanted it to. Those last words had been in my head the minute I started writing and were essentially the entire idea of this fic. It's what I believe (or want to believe) that is going on after that amazing finale.
The thing I like about this is that it wrote itself, it's been a long time since that happened to me. A little side note, I had watched the finale of The Mentalist minutes prior to writing this. The last scenes really got to me. Sadly I was already informed of what would happen (damn people on YT, replying to my comment which had nothing to do with the last episode with "Have you watched the finale, this and this happens!") but it still completely absorbed me. Not only because of the near perfect script, but also because of the brilliant acting by Simon Baker.
Disclaimer: I don't like disclaimers, I feel they are useless but still, you can never be too sure. So here goes: I don't own The Mentalist or anything related to it. Certain scenes I portrayed are used in the finale of season 3.
Comments and critiques are greatly appreciated! Even though I really enjoyed writing this, reviews show me that people cared enough about it to tell me what they think and that's the biggest compliment I can get as an author. Any review brightens my day, though if there's something you didn't like you're always free to tell me as well. The great thing about this show is that it's up for debate and there are a million ways to interpret things.
He'd killed him.
Red John.
He killed the man who had been responsible for all of the misery that he'd experienced since the day he found his wife and child.
Dead.
Under that bloody smiley face on the wall.
He'd known what the effect of that smiley face was. It was supposed to let people know what had happened before they saw the remains of what was left of their loved ones.
It surely served its purpose.
Ever since that day he'd sought revenge. He'd pay the price with his own life if he had to. In the end it wasn't necessary. He'd shot him, knowing he carried a gun. He didn't really care if Red John fired back at him. As long as he got the first shot. As long as he hit him.
As long as he killed him.
When his finger pulled the trigger his mind went numb. It felt like he wasn't really there, like he watched the scene through the eyes of someone else. It all felt so surreal.
Another gunshot filled his ears.
And again.
Then the world around him went silent. Even when the body hit the floor he still didn't believe he actually shot someone.
Not just someone. Red John.
Then, as his mind struggled to connect the firearm in his hand to the wounds in the chest of the man on the floor – no, not a man, a monster, Red John was not a man – realization hit him. The cold metal he clenched tightly assured him that his very own actions led to this moment. To the end. To the point where everything was over.
He was dazed. People around him were running and screaming, but the sound didn't reach his ears. There was only deafening silence as he still looked down at the man who he had just killed.
Killed.
He was dead.
He had gotten his revenge.
He slowly pulled the gun out of his pocket, his eyes never leaving the face of the man who caused so much havoc. Lying there, eyes staring at the ceiling, he almost seemed human.
Putting it on the table he still felt the strain of the shots ring through his arm. He'd always known that if he got the chance, he'd kill Red John. There had never been any doubt in his mind. And when the opportunity arose, there still wasn't.
The second he heard him talking to Lisbon on the phone he had wanted to take out the gun and put a bullet in his head.
He knew talking to him wouldn't make him any wiser, wouldn't give him closure.
It certainly wouldn't keep him from killing him.
Yet he'd still stood up and walked over to him, talked to him, tried to figure out if the man in front of him really was the cause of all the pain he'd suffered. He only wanted to kill the man responsible, he had no plans on killing everyone associated with Red John. Not that he thought they would be helpful in finding him. He knew they would kill themselves before talking. He'd seen it before.
And the only person who was willing to talk was silenced before he was able to. And on his deathbed, he still kept true to his master.
The only thing he'd learned from him was that Red John was still one step ahead.
He knew he wouldn't feel much regret about killing someone who was closely related to Red John, but he had to be sure. He had to know that once he fired, everything would be over. He couldn't be left with uncertainty. He was always sure of everything and this, the most important moment in his life, was when he needed that confidence the most.
He told him that he was done, apologized for all the pain he caused.
He'd known he didn't mean it.
And once he told them about how his wife and child smelled in the moments of their death, he knew. And then he almost let him walk.
Red John turned around and started to walk away when his mind was still processing what he'd just told him.
He'd known exactly what his wife smelled like. And his daughter. There was no other possibility that he could know this other than that he'd witnessed them in their final moments. He was there.
He was Red John.
He was going to walk away and disappear.
There was no way he was going to let that happen.
He heard himself call out to him, his voice clouded with emotions. He asked him to wait. He knew he would listen.
He could've shot him in the back as he walked away. He didn't. It would probably kill him, but he couldn't let it end that way. It wouldn't fulfill his need for revenge. He had to look him in the eye and see the life in them disappear. Only then could he be sure he was dead.
Nothing could make things right, but he could try. Revenge was all he had to offer to his family.
And now he had it.
He sat himself down at the table, grabbing his cup of tea. It was cold and there was panic everywhere around him, but the action of just picking up the cup and bringing it to his mouth was oddly comforting. He didn't think about the body of the serial killer that lay next to him, the result of his lifelong search for vengeance. Out of habit he even asked the waitress for the check and put some money on the table, barely noticing her taking off after the others.
As he sipped his tea, the events slowly started to become real.
Then he became aware of running footsteps approaching him.
He didn't have to be a mentalist to figure out who they belonged to.
He calmly set down his cup, putting his hands behind his head. He'd been with the CBI long enough to know how this went down. He knew there was no way out and he had no interest in getting himself killed. He didn't even know if he wanted to escape. It would mean that he would spend the rest of his life on the run, an idea that didn't seem very appealing to him. Not that he liked the prospect of spending the rest of his life in jail, but by now it was too late to change anything.
Not that he'd want to.
As the guards stood in front of him he realized that he never really thought about what he'd do after he got his revenge. Even though he had always been sure he'd kill Red John when they came face to face, he'd always known that there was a chance he wouldn't be able to pull it off. No matter how brilliant he was, he was out against a villain whom he didn't know anything about. A villain who was so powerful that his accomplices killed themselves without hesitation before talking.
It had come as an absolute surprise that the moment for revenge had been right then and there. It definitely wasn't how he pictured it, as he had done thousands of times. He couldn't afford to be picky though. Nothing else mattered, as long as he killed Red John.
And he had done it. Red John was dead. He'd killed him with his own hands.
He wasn't fully aware of everything that happened next. As he looked at him one last time his hands were harshly pulled behind his back and he felt the cold metal of handcuffs being put on his wrists. Hands pulled him out of his chair and patted him down before he was roughly escorted out of the food court. The image of Red John lying on the ground was burnt in his memory, almost making it impossible to perceive the police cars outside the building. He briefly thought he recognized a certain brunette, but he was shoved into a vehicle before he had a chance to say something.
Not that he had anything to say. There was nothing that could be said.
She had tried to prevent him from making what she believed to be the biggest mistake of his life. He did it anyway. There was no way he could set things right. No amount of apologies would be enough.
Like he would apologize.
Everything passed by in a blur. He could only think of him. That man. That monster. That dark creature that took away his wife and child. That lifeless body that was lying on the cold floor.
He wondered if it was still there or if medical examiners had already transported it out of the building. Staring out the window he contemplated on how they would look at him before they stuffed him into a body bag. They probably didn't know who lay there in front of them. Would they see just another victim? Would they feel sorry for him or would it just be another day at work? One thing he knew though, they wouldn't see the evil, the darkness that had shone through his eyes. He was now reduced to nothing more than meat and bones.
Maybe dying was what made him human.
He almost didn't notice the car coming to a halt. The door to his left opened and strong arms dragged him out of the vehicle. He suddenly got aware of his surroundings as he recognized the building in front of him.
He heard someone yell his name and he was tempted to turn his head towards the sound, but he resisted the urge. He didn't want her to see him like this. Knowing there was no place to hide, he bowed his head and looked at the ground, wishing for those quickly nearing footsteps to disappear. He almost smiled when she claimed that she was in charge in this building, but he was relieved nonetheless when one of the officers escorting him told her to stay back.
He would have paid any price for his revenge, but he never meant for other people to get hurt. Especially the ones he now held dear to him. Like her. He had known long ago that the only thing keeping him from killing Red John would be when another life was at stake. He didn't want any more blood on his hands.
But this, this was nothing. She could move on and forget about him once he'd been convicted and this whole thing was over. It would take time, she probably wouldn't want to, but they would both be alive. She would be better off without him anyway. He wasn't that special. He could be replaced by any other man. Maybe now she could let go of him and find someone who would actually be good for her.
Her voice finally faded away when a heavy door slammed shut behind him. He looked around without seeing anything, his thoughts still consuming his head. His fingers absentmindedly touched the cool wall as he walked deeper into the dark, empty room.
A sudden sensation caused him to reach into his pocket and take hold of the source, pulling it out. It continued to vibrate as he tried to focus on the object in his hand. Eventually he brought it up to his ear.
He got snapped back to reality when he heard the voice on the other end of the line. A low, raw voice that he knew all too well.
He'd heard that voice before.
Only this time, there was no laughter.
"Hello, Patrick. Did you miss me?"