Thank you so much everyone for the reviews! I REALLY appreciate it! Last time I said I was going to update every week was over a year and a half ago, and no update has been seen since, so I won't say it this time. ;) Just don't kill me if I'm a few days late? Ta!

It really was dark now. Van Pelt felt glad that she'd decided to drop Jane's keys off when she did. It looked like it was going to be a very bad night to be outside; clouds were gathering and looked very much like they wanted nothing more then to drop all their rain wherever she was headed.

She'd never actually been to Jane's house, per say, but she'd given him a lift back once and dropped him off outside his door, watching him trying in earnest to fit his car key into the lock of the door. Though she didn't suppose he'd remember it all that well. Rigsby had taken offence at something he'd said or done, and so had spiked his tea. It had been strong stuff apparently; Jane had taken a few sips and fallen flat on his face, mumbling about how much his couch must be missing him. Grace hadn't thought that he was in any shape to drive himself home, and so he'd sat in the passenger seat giving her confusing directions and generally being very drunk.

She looked around the dark streets again, trying to remember where the hell Jane lived. The clouds appeared to be holding back for now, and Van Pelt hoped that she'd be far away by the time it started to pour. Why do all the damn streets look exactly the same? Why couldn't Jane have a fluorescent neon sign pointing to his front door? But she didn't think she'd suggest it to him as, knowing him, he'd probably order the sign that day.

She turned another corner, wishing for some kind of way to se where the consultant hid away from the world. Then she spotted his car on a vaguely familiar looking driveway. She turned into the road. That wasn't so hard, was it?

"He's here... Now..." Jane thought to himself.

"You seem surprised, Patrick?" Red John's voice floated out of the shadows to his right. Jane edged backward, wishing now that he'd turned some lights on.

"It's not everyday you decide to show yourself to me." he moved on as silently as he could towards the front door. Thankfully he'd left it open.

"Of course, that way I have the pleasure of catching you unawares, like this." The voice was behind him now, between him and the front door. Jane changed direction, heading into the kitchen now.

"And why would you want to do that?" Jane asked the darkness. He backed into the open plan kitchen, turning on his heels as he went, trying to catch a glimpse of the killer. Then his back hit the counter, cutting off any escape. He brushed his hands lightly over the dust-covered marble surface, fumbling in the dark, searching for something, anything, he could use to defend himself. There was silence all around him.

"You've got rid of all your furniture since my last visit." Red John said from the shadows. "I like it. It's very... minimalistic."

Jane felt a surge of rage well up inside him, and he grabbed the handle of the largest kitchen knife within reach. It felt heavy in his hand, a reassuring weight. Red John would die. Now.

"Last time you visited you slaughtered my wife and child-"

"And tonight," the killer interrupted," you will join them!" Red John leapt from the shadows, knife glinting in the darkness. He wore no mask, but still his face was hidden from view. Jane had no time to react. In an instant Red John was on him. Jane couldn't run, he was backed into a corner. Red John slammed into him, and pain exploded in the consultant's temple and he cried out.

He pushed back against the larger, stronger man, trying to gain some purchase and steal the upper hand. Red John was too strong, and Jane couldn't hold the other man's knife back for much longer, the sweat was beginning to stand out on his forehead. Blood flowed from his temple down his face.

"Give up, Patrick," Red John whispered, far too close for comfort. "you'll be with your family soon."

Jane was bent over backwards now, the back of his head pressed onto the stone counter behind him. Red John had a firm grasp on Jane's wrist with one hand, and was trying to plunge the knife into Jane's chest with the other, and Jane couldn't keep the killer's weapon away. Patrick glared into Red John's eyes, and the killer glared back. Both men wrestled with each other, trying to get their knife into the other man and avoid the knife aiming for them.

Jane groaned loudly, and Red John's knife slipped a few inches closer to Jane's neck. "Just let go, Mr. Jane. Join your lovely wife and daughter." Red John growled, pushing both knives closer to his soon-to-be-victim.

It would be so easy to just let go, to let the knife claim him. It would be quick, painless, and he wouldn't have to pretend anymore. Maybe... Maybe he'd even see them again? Maybe they'd be waiting for him? He felt his eyes watering, he so wanted to see them, see their smiling faces, his daughter laughing. He could hear them

"Patrick, Charlotte wants a pony..."

"Please can I have a pony, Daddy?"

"Yes, Daddy, can she have a pony?"

"Pretty please? Pleeease? Please, Daddy?"

"What kind of pony do you want Daddy to buy you, sweetheart?"

"A pink unicorn! Please! I'll keep it in my room! I'll polish its horn! I'll ride it everyday!"

"I think you'd need to keep it in a bigger space than your room, dear..."

"Oh... Then I'll keep it in YOUR room! Pretty please?"

"I'm sure Daddy will try and get you a unicorn, but it might be a bit difficult, sweetie..."

"Yay! Thank you, Mommy! Thank you, Daddy! I love you!"

A single tear fell down his cheek.

No. He couldn't just give up. If he did, Red John would never pay for his crimes. Red John would never die. He'd never be caught and revealed, and his legacy would live on. He couldn't give in.

Jane let out a roar, startling his foe and kicking out at the other man's knees. Red John grunted in pain and fell forward onto Jane. Jane overbalanced, falling to the hard floor, landing on his side, the breath knocked from his lungs.

Jane felt his own blade pierce the soft flesh of his neck, and cried out as the other knife entered his thigh. His blood began to flow out of his wounds, his vision blurred. His grip on reality was fading, but he only gripped the knife harder, pulling it out of his neck and scrambling away. He tried to get to his feet but his thigh screamed in protest and he fell again, crawling away, dragging his leg over the polished floor.

He could feel that the wound in his neck wasn't bad, that the knife just split the skin and didn't go in too deep or sever anything vital, but he was finding it hard to pay attention to cataloguing his injuries, Red John was pursuing him, he could hear the heavy footfalls behind him. But now only Jane had a weapon, Red John's was embedded in Jane's leg. If he could just stand up he could use his own knife.

He fell into the hallway. The wooden floor was wet from the rain pouring in through the open door, and he slipped again, sliding closer to the outside. The concrete of the sidewalk would give him better purchase and he could finally face Red John and finish him.

Suddenly, hands grabbed him from behind, closing on his neck. The earlier injury hurt and the blood flowed faster, running down his chest, staining his shirt and waistcoat. He could feel the long piece of string wrapped round his neck after the hands receded, cutting off the circulation and air. Red John was suffocating him.

"You can't win, Patrick." Red John growled, easily avoiding Jane's panicked attempts at thrusting the one remaining knife into his attacker over his shoulder. "This time, no-one's coming. This time, no-one will hear you scream."

The knife still inside Jane's thigh twisted and he screamed in agony. He flailed weakly, trying to get away. He couldn't breath, the string was squeezing his neck so tightly and his leg felt as if it was on fire. There was so much pressure on his head, he could barely think, his movements were becoming sloppy and uncoordinated, his body going limp and floppy.

Was this death? His vision was failing, his breath coming in ragged wheezes. The shadows were becoming darker and bigger, as well as the shadows in his mind, smothering his grip on what was real and what wasn't.

"Jane?" Van Pelt's surprised shout cut through the fog in his mind. He opened his eyes and tried to focus on her blurry figure. She was o far away. The pressure on his neck loosened slightly, as if Red John was surprised at the interruption. The young agent grabbed her gun out of its holster and aimed it carefully.

"Let him go!" Grace shouted. The hallway was so dark she could barely see inside it, but from what she could see it was obvious that Jane was loosing his fight. She couldn't tell much about the man trying to strangle the consultant, he was hidden by shadows, black clothes and Jane's body. "Let him go, now!"

Red John chuckled. "Well, well, Mr. Jane, it seems that fate wants us to spar for a little longer." He twisted the knife again and Jane screamed. Van Pelt's grip on her gun tightened, and she ordered again for Jane's release. "Until next time, my friend..." he pushed Jane away in front of him and then stepped back, melting into the darkness.

Jane fell forward, out into the rain and down onto the hard ground. He felt his head connect with the cold concrete and heard Van Pelt's panicked shouts. Her warm hands found his head, supporting him where he lay while she called for an ambulance, and telling him he was going to be OK. He was shaking and shivering, both from the cold, the wet and from the blood still leaving him. He tried to look back to where the killer had been.

"Red Jo-" he whispered, groaning. Then his world faded to black.

But still he did not let go of the knife.

Dun dun duuh! How did I do writing Red John? You may notice he doesn't say much... That's because I'm not overy confident about writing him.. Meh! Sue me!

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