[Angela]
I knew something was wrong when I saw Patrick's shoulders stiffen and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the fork tightly. Then the news reporter repeated again. "I repeat, serial killer Red John is back. Serial killer Red John, is back. The body of Amber Montague was found in her home, with Red John's signature of a smiley face written in Amber's own blood on the wall. Please stay clear, everybody, and…" The rest I did not hear.
…Oh.
I knew he would be back one day. Serial killers don't just suddenly stop and go, oh I shouldn't kill anymore I shall be a good kid, and turn over a new leaf. It doesn't work like that. They kill and kill, until their thirst for blood is satisfied, or they're caught, or they're killed. I remember, a few years ago, when I was just pregnant with Charlotte (and maybe Anne, we still didn't find out when did I start carrying her), I saw him on the television and went threw up. It was a few days later when I found out I wasn't vomiting because I was so disgusted, but I was pregnant.
Patrick was a psychic, and a pretty good one too. He had been called in by the California Bureau of Investigation (CBI) quite a few times, each time being offered a place on the team and helping solve crime cases. Namely, Red John's murders. Of course, he declined. How could he, when he had a wife and a daughter waiting for him at home?
But he's heard of him before, all right. And being a morally righteous person, he didn't like Red John one bit. No sympathy, nothing. And that was rare with Patrick. But I couldn't understand why he got so worked up today. Then I realized. Of course. This was the first time Red John resurfaced when we had Charlotte. It was going to be dangerous.
"It's okay," I whispered to him and placed a hand on his tense forearm. "We'll be safe. I promise." He didn't look satisfied, but at least he gave a cough and continued with the meal. There were no more mentions of Red John tonight.