I gotta thing for Jane pain. Love to write it, love to read it, but absolutely hate watching it.
Disclaimer: I don't even want to own the Mentalist. Just write for it.]
He opened his door, slamming it shut behind him. Putting his head in his hands, he leaned against it. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks, and the cool air in the Malibu house felt good on the back of his neck.
He took out his cell phone, dialing her number. It rang.
And rang.
And rang.
"Hey, this is Lisbon. Leave me a message and I'll call you back." Lies! He wanted to scream. Lies...
He sank to the floor, dialing it again. As before, it went to voicemail, replaying the message. It seemed to be mocking him, taunting him because he couldn't help her anymore. And, even more horrific, she wasn't there for him anymore. Wasn't there to pick up the pieces, to comfort him. And it was all because of him. They wouldn't playfully flirt, wouldn't share knowing smiles, wouldn't comfort each other in times of dire need. Not anymore.
He slowly stood up, the message replaying over and over in his mind. I'll call you back...
He made his way to the kitchen, ready to drown his sorrows in tea.
When he entered, he stopped in his tracks, staring in hate, terror, and fear at the newspaper that seemed to be sitting there simply for his horror.
39 Year-Old Woman Found Dead in Home the front page headliner said.
And, with a deep, shuttering breath he looked at the picture. For what he hoped was the last time, there was a happy smile dripped across the first page. A red, deep, dark smile.
And in his head, he remembred the note.
Game over.
THE END