Chapter 50 – Revelations

"Wow, got something, boss!" Rigsby exclaimed as Lisbon shuffled papers inside a filing cabinet beside him in a fruitless search for evidence of Blake.

She turned immediately. Breathlessly he said, "Grace got through the encryption and there are some hidden folders she was able to access. I've only checked a couple but...boss, there are links to video recordings, evidence tampering...hell...even some forensics reports that have been doctored by the looks of it."

She bent down, reading snippets of what he was looking at on the screen in front of him. "Where is all this stuff held?"

"Cloud storage. Grace was able to access it."

She shook her head, in disbelief at the reach and extent of the corruption. "Dear god, how much is there of this?"

He scrolled the mouse up and down, shaking his head. "I don't know but...a lot. This Blake thing is big, boss."

"Tell me it's not in his name or we're screwed with part of Jane's plan."

He smiled. "It's not. Storage set up using a false identity and stolen credit card."

"Good, have Grace cover her and...well, his tracks if he left any on the computer. And double check the cloud storage can't be linked to Red John."

"Will do. She said he did a good enough job of covering his tracks himself. Unless someone went looking for it like we did. Who'd have thought being this good at hiding his identity would be the thing that gets him killed ultimately, huh?" Rigsby responded. Since the attack on Grace, he was more than happy for the killer to be put six fleet under. If it were not for his deeper understanding of Jane's motives, after the attack on his girlfriend he'd be more than willing to do the job of ending the murderer's life himself.

Lisbon replied, "Jane did. He knew he'd distance himself from Blake and any evidence of Red John's identity to ensure he couldn't be linked to either. In fact, Jane was counting on it." Pride swelled in her voice at the plan Jane had construed (aided by some help from her and the other members of her team on practical and logistical matters) for Red John's demise.

Once Jane had informed her and then the rest of the team about Red John's identity, they'd hammered out a plan together from the bare bones he'd already constructed the few hours before as he'd lain in bed. Knowing who they were dealing with allowed them to flesh it out and they'd spent an hour going through it together in Van Pelt's hospital room until it was as airtight as they could make it.

Rigsby said, "I'll have Grace wipe any records of this from this computer when I'm done."

Lisbon handed him a flash drive. "It's blank. Have the links uploaded to it before she wipes this computer clean. But yeah, check what else you can find first."

"Like a list of Blake Association members?" he smirked.

"Yeah, that would be really good," she smiled.

He nodded as she went to find Jane. She called out, "Jane? We found evidence of Blake-"

She stopped talking when she arrived at the doorway to the bedroom. She noticed some floorboards had been lifted up to show a secret compartment below and Jane was sitting at the edge of the bed with a wooden box in his hands that sat across his knees. He was staring at it and rubbing his hands over its sides.

"What evidence did you find?" he asked, though his eyes never left the box in his hands.

She was caught off guard by the distance in his voice, as if he was speaking from another plane of existence. Distractedly, "Uh...Video recordings, audio too most probably...some other stuff...Jane? What is that? What's inside?" she asked apprehensively as she came to stand opposite him. Her belly clenched when she saw Red John's mark carefully cut into the top of the chest.

He exhaled and looked up at her. "Haven't opened it yet."

She nodded and her stomach somersaulted, bile rising in her throat. "Yes," he said to her unbidden question. "These are his trophies, I'm sure of it."

She closed her eyes briefly and inwardly shuddered. She'd always wondered if he'd taken keepsakes of his kills like a lot of other serial killers but there'd been no solid evidence ever found to that effect. "Jane, let me check. You don't have to look inside there," she said with as much authority as she could muster though her blood ran cold at the thought of what she might find inside that chest.

He pulled the box tighter to his front and shook his head. Quietly, "No. I have to look. I have to know...I have to see what he took from them." He smiled sadly and ran his right hand over the top of the oak slowly in a loving gesture, steadfastly avoiding the carved face, as if pieces of his wife and daughter were buried inside that he needed to protect. "This is my proof, Lisbon," he said in a whisper. "This is when I know for sure."

"All right," she said softly. He was staring at the gold latch at the front of the box and she shifted on her toes opposite him, suddenly feeling out of place and an intruder into this most intimate moment.

She went to step away and he said, "Stay, please." He looked up at her and nodded. "If...if you don't mind, that is."

"Of course I don't mind," she replied, her voice raw. She sat down beside him as her throat constricted. She swallowed hard. "I'm here. Whatever you need."

"Thank you," he breathed, the words catching in his throat as a tear fell down his cheek. He took a deep breath. Then another. Closing his eyes briefly, with shaking hands he unfastened the latch and swung open the lid. At Lisbon's gasp he opened his eyes. An assortment of items had been placed inside, from small snow globes to everyday items like hairbrushes. There was no painstaking arrangement of them inside, merely all thrown in and lying on top of each other like items in a discount bin. Jane bit down on his bottom lip as his temper flared at the ultimate disrespect he was witnessing. He took a calming breath.

"There are more items here than victims we know about," Lisbon said as Jane slid his hand over the contents. "He's been doing this longer than he's been Red John," she added.

Jane nodded, lifting items reverently and replacing them as he searched through them. His fingers stopped moving suddenly and he caught his breath. He let go of it as he removed a small circular mother of pearl compact mirror. He nodded and exhaled slowly. "This was Angela's," he breathed. Another laboured breath. Then he laughed softly but there was nothing but pain in his voice. "I bought it for her at a market stall when we were just starting out. I...I hadn't even realised it went missing after...It was an...an apology gift."

He looked at Lisbon and smiled, some warmth mixed in with the pain as he sought out her eyes. "You know, like I do with you and bear claws and gourmet coffees sometimes," he shrugged.

The effort of the smile back at him took away her last remnants of attempting to be strong for him and she let go of a ragged breath as glistening eyes turned into wet ones.

"Must have been a big apology you needed to make for her to receive such a lovely gift," she managed to say through her tears. "I'm sure she loved it, Jane."

He nodded, his hand rubbing over the smooth surface lovingly as he looked down at the compact again. "She did but she still made me sleep in the car that night." He laughed through his tears at the memory.

She laughed until he placed the compact in her hands. "Hold it for a moment, please?"

She nodded, her heart swelling as he entrusted her with something so special to him. He delved in the box again and pulled out a lilac hair ribbon.

"Oh god, Jane," Lisbon whispered, unable to take her eyes off his side profile as the lines on his face visibly deepened.

"Can you leave me for a few minutes now, Lisbon?" he asked her, his voice rough and thick, his attempt at detachment entirely unsuccessful. His lips pursed into a thin line. She watched as sadness gave way to anger, then quickly to suppressed rage a split second later as he held onto his daughter's ribbon, the first tangible fragment of her young existence he'd held between his fingers for years.

"Jane-"

"Please, Teresa," he begged, though it was more of an order than a request as his voice boomed louder in the bedroom as he stared at the strand of material in his hands.

She quickly shoved the compact into her jacket pocket and got off the bed. "I'll check how Rigsby's getting on," she muttered, unsure of what else to say. There were no words of comfort she could offer that wouldn't sound like a platitude. She squeezed his shoulder, knowing this was as far as he'd allow closeness at this moment.

When she left the room, he set the box on the floor and brought the ribbon to his nose in a futile attempt to smell the sweet scent of his daughter's hair again. But he could smell nothing but the mixed aromas of every other victim that monster had taken too soon. He could smell nothing but despair, fear and death. He placed his hands over his face, the prominent smell of the latex of the gloves he still wore overwhelming all others. He ripped them off his hands and ran the ribbon through his bare fingers.

Memories locked away in his palace for years surfaced suddenly and flashed before his eyes - tying Charlotte's hair in braids or pony tails before attaching the ribbon to the same wayward blonde curls she'd inherited from him, her face scrunched up as he untangled them before pressing a kiss to her forehead after his labours. Then, an impish grin, a mirror image of his own, staring back at him before she ran off to play or to swim.

Breathless, he stood up and surveyed the bedroom of the man who'd taken away his daughter's future. An ordinary room like a hundred he'd seen before. Plain and simple. All at once the dullness of it all was an anathema to the person who slept here. Who most probably had come home and slept soundly in the creaky bed beside him after he'd butchered his family.

The man who'd slept here after taking away something as small as never knowing whether his daughter's hair would have darkened or tamed as she became older.

Who'd taken away the delight of him grilling her first boyfriend.

Who'd taken away the opportunity to eat ice cream with her when she broke up with him or vice versa.

Who'd taken away discussing college choices with her...career paths...

Who'd taken away his chance to walk her up the aisle...his first grandchild...

Tears and rage bubbled up to the surface and, as they swelled over, he kicked over a lamp in the corner with his foot, crashing it against the wall. With blurred eyes, he kicked at the skirting board beside it, his fists pounding on the beige painted walls and knocking over a photo frame of a landscape print. He bowed his head against the wall as he let the tears roll and roll, his body contorting from one ragged breath to another.

Suddenly two arms were around his waist and pulling him hard against a body attached to them. He battled against it momentarily then breathed in, smelt cinnamon and breathed out, his body going limp. Concentrating on that smell alone he breathed again as Lisbon held him tighter against her small frame. His face fell to the crook of her neck and she rubbed his back. After a moment he raised his arms from dangling at his sides to slide around her waist. He squeezed her hard against him. Harder as he rested his chin on her shoulder, a primal need coursing through him to hang onto her, afraid she'd vanish from his life as quickly as his family had, as if being this close to Red John would make it so.

Eventually his breathing became less laboured and his tears stopped.

"I'm sorry," he croaked as he loosened his grip but stayed in place, ashamed he'd let so much of his fear and anger show. He was a man taught control at an early age and even now, even with her, he found it difficult to let his guard down completely and in such a spectacularly raw fashion. He shook his head, "I-"

"Don't ever apologise to me for showing your emotions," she told him softly, running a hand through his hair. "Though you've probably popped your stitches, you idiot," she added.

He frowned, lifted his chin and faced her, then laughed at her admonishment through bloodshot eyes. Just like the day he met her, she liked to top off her compassion with a soupcon of scolding.

"You okay?" she asked, worry written over her features. "Jane, we don't have to do this today if you're not ready-"

"I'm more than ready now," he said with determination after a deep breath. "More than ever, Teresa," he added with a hard stare, and clutching the ribbon in his hand. "Today's the day I rid him from my life once and for all."

He took another steadying breath as he placed the ribbon securely in his inside vest pocket after smoothing it out. He looked at the lamp in the corner. "Well, just as well we were planning on smashing up this place a little to make it look like an attempted robbery," he said as he began to gain control though his voice was still shaky.

She humoured him though she knew he was far from done with being affected by his discovery. "Yeah, it is. Come on then, I'll check your arm then fill you in on what Rigsby and Van Pelt have discovered. And Cho called, looks like Red John's on his way home."

He placed his hand on her forearm as she turned away. "Wait," he said softly. "I need you to promise me something first."

She nodded for him to continue.

He licked his lips. "When it...when it comes to it...At the end, I mean. I need it to be just me and him-"

She shook her head vehemently, "Jane-"

"Teresa, please listen to me. This all started when he murdered my family. My family." Anger broke into his tone and he took a breath. Softer, "This...journey I've been on...this crusade. And when I end it...it'll end that part of my life." He shook his head, "Not my love for them, of course...that will never end as long as I'm breathing. But it'll provide some kind of closure for me. For them. I hope. And I need to do that alone. To face him alone and do what I have to do. To close one door before I open another completely. Because...because you're my future and I want to start that with you afresh when this is done. I want the next chapter to start with just us. No more ghosts in the background...no more death threats hanging over us. No more...him.

"Plus...I don't want you to see me take a life in cold blood, even his. I don't want you to have that vision in your head. Selfishly, I don't want you to see me as that man, as hypocritical as that sounds after all this time. Because I'll never be that man again after today. I promise you that. I want you to see me as who I intend to be for you, not who I will be when I end his life."

She wavered, worry etched in her face that Red John would out manoeuvre him somehow if she left them alone.

"I can do this on my own. I'll be fine. I promise. Just trust me, okay? And let me do this? Let me finish this?"

She nodded after a long moment. "Okay. I trust you. And I understand."

Car headlights illuminated the black windows. The lights turned off as dusk approached, Lisbon and Rigsby lay in wait with guns raised, Lisbon in the bedroom and Rigsby in the bathroom opposite. They stared at each other and nodded, the whites of their eyes wide and concentrated on the task ahead. They heard footsteps on the porch outside, the fumbling of keys as a man whistled at his front door. It opened quickly and Sheriff Thomas McAllister stepped inside his home. He stopped whistling and his ears pricked up, his hand lowering to the gun at his belt. Rigsby swallowed, afraid to move a muscle, asking his boss with his eyes if they should take action. Lisbon shook her head, telling him silently to stay in place until instructed. McAllister began to whistle again and turned around slowly, moving his hand away from his gun. A quick nod from Lisbon and both she and Rigsby came out of their respective doorways swiftly, their guns raised to his head.

At the kerfuffle the sheriff went for his gun and Lisbon yelled, "Don't! Don't even think about it!"

"Agent...Lisbon?" he queried, raising his hands up slowly. "Is that you?" he said in the dark.

"Yeah, and you can drop the act. We know who you are."

He tilted his head back. Surprised, "What's going on? Am I the victim of a police raid or something?" he asked innocently.

If she hadn't seen the proof of his crimes herself she could have been fooled by his affable act. Wouldn't have been the first time. A light went on in the living area and Jane stepped out of the shadows. He looked the other man up and down. "Let's have a chat, shall we?" he said in his most genial manner.

A/N: So I'm sure many of you are disappointed in my choice of Red John. Last few chapters I've been feeling the pressure as people's expectations of who it could be seemed higher than I knew I'd deliver! But it was always planned this way and I hope you'll excuse the red herrings I threw at you at times to make the story more interesting. However, even though I've chosen the same RJ as Heller, his demise will be vastly different to that in the show and I hope you'll keep reading and like what I have planned for him (some of you may already have guessed).

Next chapter (& I'm no longer going to mention if it's the last one or not anymore because it depends how much I'll decide to witter on!) is pretty far along writing wise, so not too long for an update. Thank you.