A/N: What if the whole killing Red John had gone a little differently. Character death, sorry.

Spoilers: Up to 6x8 Red John, it goes AU somewhere in the last part of the epi.

Disclaimer: There are a lot of things that I don't pay attention to, but I'm fully aware of the fact that I don't own The Mentalist.

It's amazing what people don't see. Do they choose not to, do they consciously ignore what's right in front of them, or do they simply not see, not pay attention? How many times had she run to the bathroom, tears streaming down her cheeks, passing at least a dozen people on the way there? No one seemed to give a damn, they just continued joking around with their friends as she rushed past. It was like she was invisible to everyone surrounding her. But not to him, he saw her clearly. Every contrast in her skin, every fold of her clothes, and every breath from her lungs was as clear to him as the purest of diamonds.

He had taken something from her. Or rather someone. Someone, that people might say didn't belong to him, although he thought so. One ill placed insult had been enough for Patrick Jane to sell his soul to him. And once he'd gotten it, he'd been reluctant to let it go. He had owned him, or so he had thought. Somehow Jane had managed to reclaim a little control, forced a piece of his soul out of his firm grasp and given it to her. Here was the evidence of that.

This little girl was so beautiful, with her mother's long dark hair and her father's charming curls. He had only just recently learned of her existence. They'd done a great job hiding her from him, ever since he had taken her father out of the equation. It had been a sad day - for him also - he had enjoyed their game of cat and mouse. But eventually they had gotten to a point where he had to put Jane out of his misery, let the dead mouse be and move on to a fresh one. He had made him pay for his mistakes, but the man just couldn't let it be, couldn't move on entirely, and that had been his downfall.

Everyone entangled in their game had disappeared after that. He didn't mind. They had never been the primary targets. But he was puzzled to see them leave so quickly and with such ease. He had been prepared for their wrath and revenge over a fallen comrade. But nothing had happened and it would be wrong to say that he hadn't been surprised at the time, he had, but he'd soon found other things to occupy his time with. The persistence with which they had hunted him down before had disappeared with Jane. And now, now he knew why.

Fear. Fear that he might extend his vengeance to all involved. Baptize the newborn with the sins of her father. But they had gotten it all wrong. He had never intended to harm the innocent. This little person had never met her father, his nemesis, and she never would. She had been a well-kept secret, and it was only by coincidence that he had found her. Now here he was, looking right at her.

xXx

He had been observing her for quite some time. She was sitting on a swing, alone, away from the other kids, digging the snout of her right shoe into the sand beneath her. She looked sad. Her eyes were downcast, her mind concentrating on the task beforehand. She was probably just killing time waiting for her mother to pick her up. Did such a thing as a happy childhood even exist? His certainly hadn't been. But this wasn't about him.

He knew it was risky to approach her, but for some reason he couldn't restrain himself, so he went over there, luckily nobody seemed to pay him any notice. This school seriously lacked in the adult supervision department. But he guessed that's what you got when you moved to the boondocks, no one locked their doors and no one feared for their safety. He wasn't the one that should be feared in this instance, there were plenty of bullies to go around even here in the middle of nowhere.

As he neared the girl he reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. "Here you go sweetie." He said and handed it to her. She looked up at him, her crystal blue eyes were blurred with unshed tears.

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." She said and ignored his outstretched hand and the handkerchief.

He sat down on the swing next to hers. At least her mother had thought her well, he mused. "You know, it's not nice to refuse a helping hand." He tried.

She still didn't budge. In fact she looked almost defiant. Another trait inherited from her mother no doubt.

"What if I told you something about me, then I wouldn't be a stranger anymore." She cocked her head to the side seeming interested. He smiled and began his tale:

"I grew up without a father. It was just my mother and me."

"I don't have a dad either." The girl interrupted, and he knew that he'd managed to hook her.

"Is that right?" He asked and she nodded.

He looked at the small child in front of him. If she wasn't careful the world was going to swallow her whole in a few years. "How old are you?" He asked to keep her conversing.

"Almost seven." She answered proudly. He smiled broadly and for some reason it made her uncomfortable. She scooted to the side of the swing farthest from the one he was sitting on. There was nothing wrong with her instincts.

"You know I remember when I was seven. There were these boys at school that used to tease me. Every day. At lunch, in class, outside, inside. There was no escaping them."

"Why did they do that?" Concern painted her small voice. It was truly amazing how much she took after her mother.

"Mainly because I was different, I think. But there was this one day that I remember very clearly. I had finally had enough of being the victim, so I stood up for myself… and, and something inside of me just snapped, and somehow I ended up beating all of them up so badly that they never dared to mess with me again."

Her eyes grew big, but to his surprise she stayed put and said very calmly: "You shouldn't have beat them up. Hurting people is wrong."

"Really? Even when they're being mean and they deserve it." He asked, sincerely interested in her answer.

"Yes." She said with conviction. "Didn't you get in trouble? My mommy says you should always try to talk about what's wrong. Violence doesn't solve problems. It's not always because people are bad that they do mean things, sometimes they just don't know any better."

"And you don't think your mother could be wrong?"

"No. She's a cop." Ah, the naiveté of the young, her illusions would break soon enough, he thought.

"And yet you're sitting here all alone and crying, while the rest of the children are playing over there." He pointed to a group of kids tossing a ball around.

She looked over, then down. "I like being alone." She mumbled, not very convincingly.

"Nobody likes to be alone all the time."

She looked back up at him defiantly. "I'm not always alone. My best friends Tasha and Charlie are both sick today."

"Oh I see." He nodded thoughtfully, so she did have friends, that was good. For all the wrongs of her father she deserved to be happy. "Well I should get going then. I was nice talking to you." He stood up, and once again offered her his handkerchief. "Here you can have this. It might come in handy one day."

She took it reluctantly. It wasn't all white. In one of the corners the letter J had been neatly stitched with a burgundy colored thread. "Wait." She said as he was about to leave. "What's your name?"

"It's John." He smiled and it made her look uneasy again.

"I'm Juliana." She replied politely.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Juliana." He turned back around and then he left.

xXx

Not long after the man had gone she heard her mother's voice calling her. "Juliana." She was coming towards her carrying her backpack that she had left in the classroom. "It's time to go home, dear." She looked at her daughter's demeanour. "Did you have a rough day, sweetheart?" She asked.

"Yes." Juliana replied, then changed her mind "Well no, it wasn't all bad."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" She shook her head.

"Okay, but you know that you can if you want to right. Are you ready to go?"

The girl nodded, not being very talkative. As she jumped of the swing the handkerchief fell out of her pocket. Her mother bent down, picked it up, and looked at it. "Did you make this? It's pretty."

"No, a man gave it to me."

That made her mother alert. She squatted down in front of her and looked her in the eyes. "What man? Who gave you this?"

"He only said his name was John."

Fear and panic immediately griped Teresa. She stood up and took a firm grip on her daughter's arm. Dragging her along as fast as possible, hurrying to the car. Looking over her shoulder as she went, expecting to see her worst nightmare lurking behind every corner.

"Mom, what's going on?" The little girl asked, frightened by her mother's fear.

"We need to leave now, sweetheart. Don't worry. Everything is going to be okay. I promise."

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know, honey." She told her honestly. "We'll figure it out. Now get in the car and buckle up."

As Juliana got in and buckled her seatbelt, her mother dialed a number she hadn't dialed in years, and made a call she'd hoped she would never have to make.

The call was answered after the first ring. "Hello." The voice was rough and even, but friendly.

"It's me." She said, knowing he would know who she was without her saying her name. "He found us."

A/N: Dum, dum, dum... Mean ending I know. I guess I miss RJ and the whole mystery surrounding him a little bit, is that wrong? Also I wanted to write something but lacked inspiration between episodes, and this just popped up. So there you go. TADA... not a masterpiece, but something not introspective with a tiny nonsensical plot.