Red Shadow

Author: miss_peg

Artist: king_stitch (on livejournal)

Word Count: 6938

Rating: T (violence)

Summary: The only thing a father wants is for his child to be happy, even if that means making him unhappy first.

Disclaimer: The Mentalist doesn't belong to me, none of these characters are mine, I just play with them in a sandbox in my mind.

Notes: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4 FINALE. I'm not sure what I think of this story, I like the idea but I'm less sure about the tense/person I've written it in. All the same, it is what it is and I hope you enjoy it. Thanks to king_stitch for the awesome art which inspired this work (link will soon be available in my profile).

Thanks to tromana, crazyanalyst and emJeanie for their reviews.

Part Three

The child grew from a small boy caked in blood to a dashing young man, standing up on stage, fooling men and women out of their hard earned money. He was something to be proud of, a true father's son, though he would never know just how much. He seemed to loathe the life that had been thrust upon him and that was something John wished he had changed all those years before. He didn't want Patrick to grow up in the same stifling environment that he had, only the tipping of the scales in John's direction had merely caused more problems than he had solved.

He was too busy living his life to know everything that went on, carrying out his chores as any human would. Even if the vast majority of them involved persuading people to do his bidding and the not so random act of murder. He didn't use the face again. The risk was too high and he feared the repercussions if Patrick realised what had happened when he was a small child.

The carnival circuit was harder to hide within, he couldn't be a cleaner or a handyman, he couldn't worm his way into a role that nobody would see him in. Everyone knew everyone and it was for that reason that he followed the circuit around, a visitor that loved the carnival so much that he visited them in every town and city. Nobody questioned his existence, he was a regular, someone that they saw at every stop in their journey and nobody questioned him for it. The years he spent ambling along a foot behind Patrick and his life, John knew that the carnie folk saw him as a spectator, someone who longed the freedom and independence that the carnival life brought. Sometimes they asked him which act he'd like to be part of if he gave up his life and joined them, he never had an answer except to say that he wanted to be part of the Jane family's act. That wasn't unusual, John had quickly learnt, his son was something of a marvel and the world and his dog wanted a part of it.

John grew tiresome of the carnival circuit long before Patrick, despite the hatred the boy had of his 'father' and the life he was forced to lead, he'd found love with a girl. A girl who loved him just as much. Having little love and adoration in his life, John sought comfort in the fact that Patrick had found himself a happy relationship. He, on the other hand, was as dysfunctional as they came.

x

When Patrick left the circuit he lived in motel room after motel room, with Angela by his side and the occasional rich lady to con out of thousands of dollars. It was a proud day when Patrick gave up his carnival life and John was thankful that he no longer needed an excuse to visit his son.

It took them a few months to settle down, to find their place in the world. They travelled across country with John on their tail, sleeping in neighbouring motel rooms, or the parking lot, so that he would always know when Patrick was on the move. Finally they settled upon California; Hollywood, the city where dreams come true.

They set up home in a suburb of Los Angeles, Angela found a job in a small bakery that sold cupcakes and bagels. Patrick went out to work every day, scouring estate sales and antique fairs for vulnerable relatives. He was almost always successful, usually latching onto the little old lady in the Yves Saint Laurent dress and matching purse. He knew his way around a room of antiques and could spot the widows within seconds. John watched him with pride, feeling that surge of emotion he imagined father's felt on the first day of school or when their son scored a touchdown in football.

Their lives were perfect and by default, John's was too. He found a condo a short walk from Patrick's new home and he found everything he needed right there in that city. He was so close to a family life that the thought of admitting the truth to Patrick only sought to destroy his dreams. He'd spent so long merely watching that he didn't think encroaching on his son's life would change anything for the better. Instead, he enjoyed the close proximity with which he could live his life beside his family, without them ever knowing the significance of the man who crossed paths with them frequently.

x

The day John found out he was a grandfather disappointment spread through his veins. It wasn't that he didn't want his only child to be a father, to be happy, but it took him away from his dreams. He'd quit the entertainment industry in favour of a few odd jobs here and there. An honest living, he told Angela one day as John walked past their house. That's what they both wanted for their daughter and he accepted the sacrifice willingly.

John would have been happy with that, had his son been happy. But he was far from it. He continually saw the stress in his expression, the struggle he went through daily as he said no to vulnerable people wanting his help. Patrick obviously got a thrill out of his previous career, like John did with his own. Both on the edge of legality and yet both seemingly significant. He took a job at the CBI, some government agency designed to get the bad guys off the streets. He travelled to Sacramento three days a week where he helped to solve crimes. John couldn't have been more disappointed.

x

As the father of a supposedly honourable man, most people would have assumed he was proud. Far from it. Patrick was on the opposite end of the life he'd wanted for him. It's not that John wanted his son to follow in his footsteps necessarily, except that he'd chosen a path far from the one that made him happiest. Despite his reservations, as his father, he had the duty to let him make mistakes, to take himself down a route which resulted in misery.

Until Patrick stood up on television and denounced John's behaviour, addressing him directly; which he had never done before. His son, his golden blond curls still a distinguishing feature as he begged 'Red John' to come forward. Why would he want to do that?

That was his mistake, his downfall. That was the moment John knew that he needed to be there, to help him find the correct direction back to blissful happiness.

John walked across the street as he had done many days that week. Sometimes Patrick saw him and waved, a natural reaction when seeing the familiar neighbour on the street. He had no idea how close his father was, how the lack of distance between them allowed for him to learn all that there was to know about his son. Patrick didn't even know that John was his father, he probably didn't even remember the day that John butchered his mother.

The lock on the side door was faulty, something which John had discovered one afternoon when the Jane family had taken a drive to the beach. He'd walked through the empty hallway, carefully analysing every nook and cranny, every memento and decoration. Patrick was a man of lavish tastes, tastes which he purposefully used to prove his worth. He was as arrogant as the father he didn't know existed, that made John smile.

Angela was at home with Charlotte. The close proximity in which John lived meant that he'd seen Patrick kiss them both goodbye before they'd washed up for dinner. They looked happy, truly happy. Happiness no longer mattered though because what John was about to do could be considered as his worst crime yet. Patrick, his son, had made his latest decisions based on the family he had to support, the child getting ready for bed in her bedroom, climbing into her parent's bed and being read a story. They did it often, sometimes John would watch them, sometimes he would listen and sometimes he would leave them to their privacy.

Tonight, they would meet him for the very first time, as someone other than their neighbour.

And tonight they would breathe their last breath, falling out of mortal life like so many of John's victims. Not because he wanted to kill them, they seemed honest and nice people. Under any other circumstance he'd have loved to meet his granddaughter officially, to toss her in the air and have her call him Grandpa. But they were the root of the problem, they were the reason that Patrick had become the way he had and they had to be slaughtered.

No matter how much it broke John's heart.

Patrick would never know why it had been done; he would always believe it was because of how he spoke about 'Red John' on television. As if he could ever be so petty. He only killed people who deserved it in some way or another. Charlotte didn't ask to be born, yet Angela had allowed her conception. John's role was merely taking care of the issue, eight years too late. But better late than never.

As soon as he'd done it, John would disappear into the night, drive down the coast and spend a week by the beach. He didn't want to be there to watch Patrick fall apart. Regardless of what happened next, that was one thing he couldn't bear to face. He was his only child, why would anyone want to watch their only child in pain? The fact that he'd caused it mattered little. This was how it was supposed to be, this was how his life was always meant to go.

For Patrick was Red John's son and Red John was Patrick's father; though he would probably never know that, John would never forget it.