Red John is strangling me.

The last face I'll see is his.

I knew it might come to this.

He's angry. I'd expect him to smile. He's having the last word in our long argument.

I hate the carpet in here. Kind of a salt and pepper anything can fall on it and no one will notice color. It's ugly, but it'll look exactly as ugly in ten years. That's the beauty of it.

The ceiling is nice. Crown molding around the edge and two support beams evenly placed. Simple old bronze hanging lamps would work here but some idiot decided to improve the place with recessed lighting.

Little Charlotte is trying to revive me. Dabbing my face with a wet cloth.

I've been asleep. And I can't seem to wake. Can't seem to move either.

I get it. I'm drugged. That would explain a lot.

My wrists are bound to the legs of the breakfront cabinet.

My ankles are bound to the legs of the sofa.

Someone drugged me in order to tie me down.

Little Charlotte brings a dripping wet cloth and wrings it out on my face.

"Charlotte," I sputter. "Get help."

She nods and runs off.

Megan is asleep on the sofa. I study her. Her breathing is shallow. Her skin damp and pale.

"Megan. Megan." She can't hear me.

I begin to go under again.

I hear Charlotte's footsteps.

Charlotte kneels down on my chest.

She puts her thumbs on my throat and pushes with all her might. It's very uncomfortable. Impairs my breathing . But her little six-year old hands can't develop the mechanical advantage needed to do the job.

She's trying to kill me. Red John's baby girl is trying to kill me.

"Charlotte. I'm sorry about your dad."

"No, you're not, Patrick." She grits her little girl teeth.

She certainly has a point there.

"I'm sorry for lying, Charlotte," I say.

She kneels on my throat. An excellent idea but she doesn't have the motor skills to pull it off.

She topples over bruising her temple on the edge of the coffee table. Too bad it's nothing serious.

"Charlotte, you're going to have a real shiner from that. You should put ice on it."

She's out of breath. She pulls herself to her feet and gets ice from the mini-bar. She sits down near me.

"You've done some amazing things, Charlotte. You're a very bright girl. Why don't you tell me how you did it?"

She blooms. Gives me a Cheshire Cat smile. She lies on her stomach, her face resting on her forearms and talks softly into my ear.

"In art class we cut up old magazines to use for collages. That's how I found out my daddy died."

"I'm a much better reader than the other kids in my school. At the seventh grade level, my guidance counselor said. There were words I didn't understand but I read the whole thing. Fourteen pages." She's proud.

"It said what you'd done to him and I decided I would do that to you." She's very matter of fact. Like I should understand and agree.

"Ah yes," I say. "But then you had to be very smart and get to me."

She nods. "I brought the article to my mommy and she got sad and scared. She's always scared. Daddy and I used to make fun of her. Neither of us ever got scared."

"Did your dad ever tell you about the bad things he did?" I ask.

She looks thoughtful. "No. I don't why he would do all those things. It's not true."

"Your mom said your dad went away when he was mad at her. And that's when the killings happened. Maybe he was so mad at her that he took it out on other people. Because he really loved her," I say.

She thinks about this. "That would be better than hurting mommy. He did the right thing."

The drugs are leaving my system enough for me to appreciate just how grim my circumstances are. Got to keep her talking. Maybe Megan will wake and send her to bed without dessert.

"So what happened next, Charlotte?"

"My mom thought some bad person had given me the article to bring to her. She started talking about how someone had to help us. She said we needed someone powerful; more powerful than daddy." She smiles an awful Queen of Hearts smile.

"And you knew your mom would think that person was me?"

"Well, I gave her hints. I pointed out how clever you must be and that police were all crooked." She puts on a gruff adult voice. "Your mother is a child. She listens to anyone who talks in a confident voice." Back to her own voice. "That's what my dad used to say." She giggles. I shiver.

"And the roses?"

"That was just because I like the Queen of Hearts. Those roses were white roses that I spray-painted red. I knew red would scare her more. The next day, she said we were going to Austin to meet you."

She rolls around on the floor hugging herself and giggling. Charmed, I'm sure.

Charlotte gets up and runs out of the room.

She comes back with a serrated butter knife.

Holy shit.

Charlotte says, "Off with their heads."

She kneels on my chest again and traces her finger across my throat.

"Charlotte, stop!"

She begins to saw at my skin under the side of my jaw.

Everything spirals into madness. The pain. The blood. The ragged little chunks of flesh on the knife. The sweet little face so intent on her job.

In the distance, I can hear myself screaming.

Then Cho yanks Charlotte off my chest.

Lisbon takes off her jacket and presses it against the cut.

I hear sirens getting louder.

"Lisbon," I whisper.

"Don't talk, Jane. Help is coming."

She presses the wound and with her other hand, runs her fingers through my hair. She's never touched me before.

The sensation of Lisbon's fingers in my hair relieves all pain. Lisbon's fingers should be a controlled substance.

I float away.