Hope you enjoy my take on some scenes of fire and brimestone. Feel free to review, it's always great to hear your thoughts.
Jane looks around as he enters his family home. He spent the drive from the beach and Lisbon, trying to put her out of his mind. He knows he did an awful thing, if there had been any other way, he would have done it, but he couldn't allow her to be here. She said she wouldn't stop him, that Red John deserves to die. She did her best to believe it, so she would come across sincere. She probably spent the hours convincing herself. Thinking of Boscoe, taking herself back to walking in to the CBI offices and finding the blood bath. Remembering what it felt like pumping his chest, trying desperately to keep the blood racing around his body, keeping him alive until the medics got there. Remembering Boscoe's declaration of love as she sat on the edge of his hospital bed, in his final hour of life. She, probably also, relived the times when she thought she'd lost him. When he wasn't at Kenny's and they found a trace of blood at the abandoned hotel. When she entered his prison and smelt the blood and death, expecting it to be his. Remembering how her hands shook, as she held her gun in front of her as she entered the room. He could see her in the mirror in front of him. The same one that allowed him to watch Red John as he brutally murdered the young girl. He saw the horror and distress on her face as she entered the room and laid eyes on the dead bodies. He'd quickly called out to her, to let her know that he was alive, he wasn't among the victims. He heard the relief in her voice as she called back. She rushed over to him and made a remark about him being 'gift wrapped', police humour to relieve the tension.
It was an admirable effort and she came across very believable, but he knows her. She wouldn't be able to stand by while he shot the man who killed his family. She would pull her gun on him, ordering him to stop. But there's only one way she would be able to stop him, once he's discovered which one of these men killed his family, he will kill him, unless Lisbon killed him first and he couldn't do that to her. So he had to leave her at the beach, he had to protect her from him and from herself.
Now he has to forget about Lisbon. He has to forget the words he said to her on the beach. He meant every one. When he stopped by the CBI all those years ago, he never imagined he would discover a friend. She's been his steadying force. The hunt for Red John has taken so long, there has been so many close calls, so much humiliation and frustration, as Red JOhn's ran circles around him, always having the upper hand. Lisbon has comforted him, told him 'next time'. She's worried about him, cajoled him, shouted at him and forgiven him. They moved from Agent and Consultant to Partners and Friends. He loves the banter, he loves teasing her, he loves that she can give as good as she gets. He loves that she believes in justice and the law, right and wrong. That she wants to stop him, he suspects that she has the hope that he won't be able to go through with it, even though he has before. He's always been honest and open with her on that score, but, he should have kept his distance, not allowed her in to his heart or him in to hers. She's been more than he ever deserved. A gift from God, if he believed in such a being, and a gift to be protected and cherished. He knows she'll still be hurt by the actions he'll take this night, but she'll be alive and his death will not be on her hands and that's the best he can do.
But he has to forget about Lisbon, this is about Angela and Charlotte.
It's not that night, the weight of the rifle under his arm tells him so. He closes his eyes and forgets about everything that has happened in the past eleven years. He enters his memory palace and walks quickly passed every room until he reaches the door that Dr. Miller helped him to close and place chains and locks to hold it secure. He's standing at the bottom of the stairs and he wipes at the thick dust that has gathered on the padlock and picks the lock. The chains fall to the ground and he places one foot on the bottom step.
The sound of his feet, as he ascends, echo around him. He could never sneak up on Angela as sound reverberates around the open house. Their screams would have filled every nook and cranny of the place as Red John's knife tore into them. He doesn't hear his feet any more, he hears them crying out his name, wanting him to save them, to rush in and tackle the monster that had invaded their home. He was, after all, expected home any moment, but Angela didn't know he'd been delayed, enjoying his success. He arrived too late.
The paper, that was stuck to his bedroom door, had brought a smile to his face. Funny how he remembers that. What had he expected it to say? A playful, seductive invitation from his wife? An outpouring of congratulations, love and pride, for his success that night? Instructions to go and look in on Charlotte, a reminder to use his sleight of hand skills to swap the loose tooth, that had finally come free, and now lay under her pillow, for a dollar bill and to give her a kiss?
It had been none of those, but, a taunting note of derision, accusation, a mocking challenge and a dreadful promise. From the first words, he knew the author, he knew his home had been violated, but his self defence mechanisms refused to accept what probably laid behind the closed door until he came to the very end. His heart stopped on 'wife and child'. His mind shut down for a moment and then it grasped at hope. Hope that this was just a warning, a sick joke, to show him what will happen if he continues. The back of his mind isn't fooled for one moment, but, it's enough to fuel the movement of placing his hand on the door knob and slowing turning it.
A smell hits him as soon as the door's unlatched. It's a familiar fragrance to him now, but, then, he was inexperienced in the awful aroma given off by so much blood, so he didn't understand it's warning. The face was his first sight and it wiped him of hope, of reason, of life. He saw Charlotte and life, hope, good, light, civility, kindness, ceased to exist. He was on his knees, primal gutteral sobs wracking his frame. His girls were gone, their bodies torn and violated in a frenzied, furious, murderous rage. His girls, who only deserved gentleness, kindness and love, were ripped apart by a monster. Their faces showing what their lifeless eyes could not - the terror of their last moments on earth. Their blood covering the bed, the floor the walls. The life-sustaining force of the two people he loved and cherished, uselessly pools around them. His loves, his life's meaning, gone, brutally, taken away from him. Innocent, senseless deaths.
Jane closes his eyes and feels his blood rushing through his veins, carrying his revenge, his guilt, his fury to his heart, and his mind. He takes one last look at the faded smiley face, turns leaves the room and heading downstairs to prepare for the end.