It was like a rope, tugging, tugging, stretching thin and loosening under the weight of a thousand regrets. And now, perhaps, was this the last straw? Another death piled up on top of the others hanging by the rope.
Another crying smile, another mocking reminder that Red John had nothing to lose, another twenty toenails painted. 37 deaths, 14 reminders, 60 toes.
Red John could do anything he wanted, just to get to Jane.
Kill his wife. Kill his daughter. Kill his redhead. Kill his fire and his ice.
But he couldn't kill the firecracker.
But Red John did anyway.
He cut her open and watched her bleed. He made her suffer.
But now, since Jane has nothing to lose, and Red John has nothing to lose, who knows what could happen?
Those smiles. Those toes.
It's all a vile reminder that he would rather just forget. Move on with his life.
There is no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, is there?