The Mentalist – No Stop Signs
It doesn't end in blood
For a moment, Jane stood in absolute bliss and quiet and relief over Red John's body. A blink later, his heart started beating again, he couldn't catch his breach no matter how hard he tried, and when he raised his hands, he could see them shaking so hard he didn't know how he was still standing.
He had killed someone, he had killed Red John, his family's slayer, the slayer of so many innocent people, and after the high of his life's mission being fulfilled at last, all that remained was his brilliantly rational, quick mind, his wife's voice whispering just behind his ear, wondering why he had done it, she was dead, their baby girl was dead, what did Red John bleeding away do for them?
Lisbon's voice was somewhere away from him, asking over and over again why he had thrown everything he had built with the CBI, with the people around him, with her, for an empty, shallow victory over a man who could very well be taken down with the full force of the law. Jane turned around to see if Lisbon was indeed there, looking at him with her sad, oddly non–judgmental eyes, and found only shadows.
As he drove down to Mexico to hide, to escape, to be free, he had three constant companions that bickered and complained and yelled at him at all times, cursing him out for being stupid, brash, bloodthirsty, vengeful. His wife was the most annoyed, sighing and huffing alternately, Lisbon was the quietest and most distant, never close enough for him to feel like he could touch her, and Red John– Red John laughed, chuckled, he said nearly nothing, he just found humor in everything and nothing that Jane did in his new life.
Before, Jane had only his wife and daughter's dying screams to keep him awake, but after he got up from completely destroying Red John, he had their voices all over him whenever he felt his tiredness weighing on his shoulders, waking him to a living nightmare where the two people he loved most in his entire life were still dead, he was no longer helping law enforcement with his marvelous mental skills, no, now he was a fugitive and he had likely buried his closest friend (maybe one day possibly more – if he hadn't ran) because of his selfish pursuit of revenge.
Even the wind from the ocean when he sat by it spoke to him, judging his actions, judging his rage and inability to control it, and he had to face it all head on, because he had no friends, he had no one on his corner – even he was only on his corner because well, if even if didn't support himself, he was even more screwed.
His life was meant to be peaceful after he finally, finally managed to kill Red John, it was meant to be a sea of calm and music and a bright future – but he had only been fooling himself, of course nothing was going to be the same, everything had to shift and his life surely would become something else, just like when he left the carnie life, then put on shiny suits to con vulnerable people, then was unable to cry when he buried his wife and child, and finally when he smiled at Lisbon and assisted her in whatever she needed.
Jane's life had been a revolving door of change and new Suns, new faces, new ways to see the world and allow people to see him, but it was the first time in all his years that he could find no companionship even in himself, and even when he had no money, no friends, no family, he had himself, and now... Now he couldn't even claim to have himself.
Maybe he should try to leave Mexico, to start traveling the globe, somehow, maybe he would be able to find something worth living for, something that didn't make his skin crawl, anything that made his wife stop criticizing every step he took.
"I'm sorry" – he tried a couple of times.
"No, you're not" – she would whisper back.
He was not. The worst part was that he felt sorry for absolutely nothing, he would feel sorry for nothing, but he so wished he could be.