Authors Note: Just some thoughts that wouldn't go away as I'm trying to write several research papers. Love this time of year. Episode tag to 3x3 "The Blood on His Hands". Thanks to lgmtreader for the beta.
I watch as from above as Patrick talks to me…or at least I think it's me. I don't recognize myself sitting in that chair. I wonder how I came to be sitting there, surrounded and observed by people that I'd come to know all those months ago while working on the Red John case.
I went with him willingly, but I'll never tell them that. No. That's my secret. I thought I could help. But then he killed me…or at least I think he did. I don't remember. I just remember that one day I was no longer myself. I was just a shell, a spirit floating above.
I didn't want to come when Patrick called, but I had loved him once…or at least I think I did. He was very special to me. If I hadn't tried to help Red John I might still be with him. How things would have been different if I'd just listened and not gone off with Red John.
He wants to know what happened to me, what happened when I was with Red John, but I'll never tell. I can't. No, that's not right; it's not that I can't, I could, I just don't want to. It's too fresh, too new, too raw. I went with him willingly, went with him with no question…at least once I knew who he was. I thought I could help, thought he wanted help.
They say that when a man does what he does to women that he's had an issue in his past. And he did. So typical, a mother that didn't love him enough, dying at a young age…we've all seen it before. A tragic and broken man. I felt sorry for him. I thought I could help him get in touch with the other side, with his mother, that he would stop. I knew I probably wouldn't be able to get him to go to the police, but I thought I could at least get him to stop tormenting my poor Patrick. But that's not what happened.
He saw me as an ally, as someone he could use for his own gain. I'm not sure when it started happening, but I started to die slowly, each time I tried to contact his mother, each time she didn't come. And then I ended up here, watching from above as Patrick looks on in despair. I wish I could help him, but I know that there's no help from Red John. You can try, you can confront him, but he's so strong. He's stronger than the rest of us. SO much stronger than me.
There's no one in the room with me now. Just my corpse, that empty vessel devoid of life, and the dark candle, waiting for the next time I'm called from the other side of the veil.