This is inspired by the dying girl scene in last night's episode. I had to write this after seeing it. Dont own any part of the mentalist.


When Jane was confronted with the bloody girl on the mattress, he was reminded of his wife and his daughter death. The placement of the woman and the helplessness made him feel worse. But, he was determined to give the girl comfort. She could barely speak as she was in so much pain.

He got down to her level and stroked her face gently as he softly told her to breathe. The blood loss was too much. She fell into her permanent slumber to the soft sounds of Jane telling her to relax. Jane absent minded kept stroking her cheek when the flashback hit him full force.

Jane happily took two steps at a time as he made his way to his bedroom, when he saw the letter. He recognised it straight away. The note read "Dear Mr. Jane, I do not like to be slandered in the media, especially by a dirty money grubbing fraud. If you were a real psychic, instead of a dishonest little worm, you wouldn't need to open the door to see what I've done to your lovely wife and child.".

He raced into his room to see the bloodbath and the smiley face staring down, haunting him. "Nooooooo!" he screamed as he scrambled towards his bed. His precious angel, Charlotte, was too far gone and her eyes stared back lifelessly at him. She had no pulse. She was positioned as if she was making snow angels. His little lamb was slaughtered by the faceless tiger.

He moved around to the other side of the bed to look at Angela. He went to sweep the hair from her face when he felt it. She was barely breathing, but at least she was trying. Jane opened up his phone and immediately called 911. She has to make it. He can't lose them both. He placed his hand on her cheek and stroked it lightly, repeating "breathe, just breathe darling, breathe, you're going to make it. I need you to make it. Please Angela, try for us."

But it was pointless, she was fading fast. He desperately tried to stop her bleeding out, but it was useless. He helplessly watched the light go out in her eyes. She was dead. Both of his girls were dead because of him.

He didn't care afterwards as he dragged them both into his arms, in the middle of his bed. He wailed and clutched their bodies to his chest as the sirens came closer. They were too late. He was too late. For the first time, he moved into the house, he hated it.