Hey there, new writer here so bare with me if I'm not that good. Just write a review telling me what I need to improve and I'll try my best to work on it (: I've had this idea for nearly a fortnight now and I just had to try and write it all down. Starting it off was the hardest part because I have the middle and ending almost word perfect so this beginning was difficult to write. I'll see what you readers think before I continue writing so I hope you like it!

Tears of Red

Resting his head on top of the steering wheel he cut the engine and closed his eyes, listening to the gentle lull of the trees rustling in the wind around his car. He began his repetitive exercise which he did whenever he felt stressed, breathing in through his nose, inhaling as much as his lungs could take, and then releasing, making sure he exhaled with long intervals. He was hoping that the headache he could feel creeping up on him would simply go away and the same went for rest of his troubles.

He was still shaking from the TV interview he done live only a few hours ago. At the time, all the things he had said seemed to be the what the viewers needed to hear, the right things for the listeners and the hosts to know, but now he couldn't help thinking he had made a terrible mistake. Talking about Red John always made him feel nervous and on live television he found the words had just tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. He decided to blame this on rage and the hate he felt towards Red John because he had meant every word.

"An ugly tormented little man…" The voice in his head seemed to echo around the inside of the car. Had he really said on live TV? About a serial killer who thought it was funny to draw a smiley face on the wall in his victim' blood after he'd killed them. He shuddered at the images which flashed in front of his eyes, remembering the photos he had been asked to study time and time again with people praying he would find something in them, something out of place that would give them a trail to follow. But he had learned, almost from the moment the police had asked for his help, that Red John was too careful and too clever to make mistakes.

"Inhale, exhale; inhale, exhale, just continue the routine" he whispered out loud, clenching his eyes even tighter together until he saw bright white lines and black dots. A gentle throbbing was beginning to pulse in the back of his head and he decided he would stay here until he stopped shaking before going inside. Seeing the face of his little girl as she slept would make this all go away and even if it was for only a couple of minutes, it was more than enough.

He sat up slowly, leaning his head back onto the head rest for support and took the keys out of the ignition. Reaching for his bag, he couldn't help feeling like there was someone watching him but he quickly pushed this feeling away. He didn't need to worry about anything like that. Only family and special friends knew where he lived and they had lived out here in the middle of nowhere overlooking the sea for nearly six years. They had never been burgled, trespassed or had any sort of trouble so why now? Why worry about it now?

He got out of the car and pinched the bridge of his nose because standing up too quickly had caused him to stagger a little before gaining his footing again. He sighed heavily and began walking towards the house, making sure he stepped quietly over the gravel so as not to wake his little girl. The door was already open, left on the latch like always, and he picked up the mail addressed to him in the porch. Just a brief glimpse at the first two letters was enough to send his heart beating twice as fast in nervous panic.

They were from 'her'.

He put them on the side along with his keys. He could deal with those tomorrow after he'd had some sleep and felt up to reading them. Closing the door, he made his way across the living, making sure he moved the little pink bicycle out of the way so nobody else would trip over it in the morning, and finally reached the stairs. Each step he took seemed to lift the weight off his shoulders as he thought about seeing his wife and being able to recount how he felt about today' interview with her. If it's one thing he had come to learn over the passed few years, it was that his wife was the one person he could talk to about anything. Almost anything…

He noticed a piece of paper had been tacked onto the front of their bedroom door and he couldn't hold back a smile. It was a regular thing his daughter would do, leave him a little note explaining what she had done in the day, hoping she would see him in the morning. It broke his heart knowing his job stopped him from seeing enough of her.

As the distance between the door and him grew less and less he realised the note was not hand written but printed out from a computer. He felt his heart sink. His wife must have gone to bed leaving him a note reminding him that his tea was in the fridge and she would talk to him in the morning. He needed somebody to talk to right now but he appreciated her leaving a note and he knew how tired she had been lately because of her own job.

"Dear mister Jane," he read the first three words and immediately knew there was something wrong. The notes which were usually left to him were always addressed to 'Daddy' or 'Jane' yet this was formally addressed to him and the incorrect capitalization and spelling of 'Mr' was wrong. His wife would never let herself or their daughter make that mistake. Something was wrong and the smile on his face fell rapidly as he read the rest of the note.

"I do not like to be slandered in the media, especially by a dirty money grubbing fraud." Money grubbing, surely the person meant money grabbing? He thought for a moment about whose money he could have taken unwillingly but couldn't recall any. 'Slandered in the media'? He closed his eyes tightly and opened them again, hoping he had misread the words. His wife must have come downstairs and had a drink of wine before typing this up, maybe as an odd sort of joke, because the only person he could think of speaking to the media about was Red John.

Red John.

"If you were a real psychic," No...being a psychic was his job; he earned his money rightfully and used it to help pay for his family' needs! He had been born with a gift so why not use it? Oh god. No. He wanted to scream, to hit, to smash the pictures on the walls, to wrench open the door to which the note was stuck to but he was afraid. Afraid that what was happening right now was real.

"instead of a dishonest little worm..." The shaking which had begun in his legs suddenly stopped as he froze on the spot. There was no way he could know about that. Surely he must be referring to what he had said about him on the television show, he couldn't possibly know about 'her'. Not even his wife knew so how on earth could he? Maybe is was 'her' who had left this as some sort of cruel joke, pretending to be the one person he feared most in the world, but he knew it was not her. This was him. Only he would be so crooked as to delve into somebody' life and find out all their secrets.

"…you wouldn't need to open the door to find out what I've done to your lovely wife and child" A bead of sweat trickled down his back and he could feel the colour drain from his face. This wasn't happening, this was not real. He'd merely fallen asleep in his car outside with his head on the steering wheel and he would wake up in a matter of seconds…He was having trouble breathing, the hallway felt like it was spinning twice as fast, leaving just him and the door suspended in time, a piece of wood blocking the way to an image he could not possibly imagine.

And then everything suddenly seemed to move in slow motion, his hand reaching out to the door, the beads of sweat trickling down his face; his dry mouth swallowing to gain more moisture so he could breathe properly. After what seemed like an eternity his hand finally reached the cold metal. He twisted the handle and pushed, a sinister squeak echoing all around the room as it swung inwards.

The red smiley face was the first thing he saw. Shining in the light which had been purposefully placed underneath, it burned down on him like the sun, imprinting its twisted red smirk into his mind so it would never be forgotten, a punishment he knew Red John had wanted him to face. It was an exact replica to the one in the photos, all of them slightly different in size yet still the motif to each murder he committed, an inside joke which nobody else was in on. A face which wept tears of joy in its victims own blood…

Pulling his gaze away from the dripping red face, he surveyed the rest of the darkened room noticing there was an obvious sign of a struggle by the bedside table. The picture frames were all on the floor; broken glass scattered around like snow along with earrings and smashed bracelets from the jewellery box lying on its side. The mirror had been caught in the scuffle as well; the moon shone in from the window sending its light dancing off the smashed pieces in different directions, illuminating the room where the lamp could not.

The largest piece was covered in the blood slowly seeping out of the cuts in his wife and little girl, both of whom he couldn't look away from. He couldn't see his daughter' body because his wife had been placed almost top of her, almost as if she had tried to protect her from what she knew was going to happen. The roses he had given her only yesterday had fallen around her along with the vase which was lying still intact at the bottom of the bed, its water mixing with the blood stained floor surrounding his daughter's head…

The sticks which his legs had turned to suddenly snapped and he buckled onto his knees, not even registering the pain or the sound he made. A dull ringing in his ears was becoming louder and louder the more he took in the scene. His whole body shook uncontrollably as if there was an earthquake rumbling through the ground, coursing through his body, making his whole world shake. Mustering all the energy he had left he crawled over to the telephone, phoned the police and then hung up before the woman on the other end could ask any more questions. Looking back now he was surprised the phone hadn't been smashed or the wire hadn't snapped in the struggle but it was nothing to be thankful for.

He collapsed in the corner, resting his elbows on knees and his head fell into his hands. Finally he let the pain come, embracing his body and squeezing him tight. Tears broke free from his eyes, falling to the floor and his sobs echoed loudly around the entire room, breaking the silence and making his throat burn. Lifting his head he cried out to the ceiling, shouted up to the heavens, questioning why they let this happen to the people he loved most, why hadn't they stopped it? He shouted until he couldn't breathe, until he felt his lungs might collapse in on themselves, before slumping onto his side and curling into a foetal position, tears still streaming down his face.

He hadn't been there for them when they needed him. He hadn't been here to stop Red John, to protect them from this happening. He had opened his mouth on live television, spoken his mind and not listened to the words of warning the police had given to him when he left the station. It was his entire fault. While he had been driving back in his car, stopping every now and then to let people cross in front of him, wasting precious time, Red John had been inside his house and now the two people he loved most in the world were both dead...and he needed to punish himself.

From where he was lying he could see his wife's face, her hair strewn wildly everywhere, stuck to her face with her own dried blood. The deep cut in her neck was still wet and he watched a trickle of scarlet seep from the wound and fall onto the floor. His eyes blurred with tears as he reached over and ran his hand over a piece of her hair, still soft as silk at his touch. He twisted it round his finger a couple of times before letting it drop back onto the floor, the tip of it slowly turning red.

Curling his hand back into his chest he felt his palm glide over a shard of the mirror. It flashed in the lamplight as he picked it up, slowly raising himself until he was sitting against the wall facing the bed. He hadn't realised how hot it was in this room until he pressed his back into the wall, its cool touch instantly sending a ripple through the hairs on the back of his neck. The shard from the mirror was cold in his hands but it felt good. He turned it over and gazed at the man who he saw staring back at him – blood shot eyes, untidy hair; pale sweaty skin. If a stranger were to walk in this room right now they wouldn't recognize him. They might even think that he was the mad man who had done this.

Holding the mirror piece flat in his hand he knew what he had to do with it, knew what had to be done next. He looked out of the window into the inky black sky where the moon was shining, almost mocking him with its beauty. It was a full moon that night and even though Red John had left the lamp on, from his corner, the moon's light washed into the room with a pale beam. Turning back to his wife and child he saw how, apart from the blood, they looked as if they had both fallen asleep on the floor, their eyes closed and arms wrapped around each other in a tight embrace. Another tear fell as he imagined them both dying without any pain but knowing that Red John would not have shown any mercy, more tears leaked down his cheeks.

One fell onto the shard in his hand and he knew he had to pay for what he had let happen. Just thinking about walking away from this unharmed was not an option and knew the pain he was about to feel was nothing compared to what they had been through. Slowly, he carefully held the sharp piece flat in his palm, took one look at the face drawn in his wife's blood on the wall… and closed his fingers.

A dribble of blood trickled down his wrist; the pain rushed up his arm and he felt his eyes roll back in his head. Yes, he was finally getting what he deserved. He needed more, he needed to come closer to the pain he hadn't been able to prevent so he crushed his fingers tighter over the mirror shard, hearing it snap in two. The blood was falling faster now, cascading all down his wrist like a waterfall of wine but he didn't care, it wasn't enough.

He realised he was holding his breath and let it out heavily. This was no good. He needed more. Summoning up all the energy he had left, he squeezed his hand as tight as he could until he felt his own nails slicing into his palm. The sound of the mirror splintering into tiny pieces was satisfying to hear, the pain in his hand was so sore it was becoming numb. His whole body shook as he unclenched his hand and gazed down at the mess which he had deliberately made to his now mangled hand.

The room rushed around and around, his eyes growing heavier from the pain as it began to take hold of him. The smell of blood snaked into his nostrils and it didn't take long for his head to find the floor. If he lay here very still he could feel the earth moving. He could tune into space and time itself, undo everything which had happened today, turn back time. He could undo it all…

Before the darkness took him, two thoughts ran through his mind. One was that he would never ever stop looking for Red John until he had slit the sick bastard's own throat. The second was something he noticed when he turned his head to the side. Each one of Red John's victims was exactly the same. Cause of death, smiley face positioned to be noticed first, slashed wrists and neck… but there was something different here. The difference being his wife's feet.

When he had kissed his her goodbye that morning, she had been getting out of the shower and he had accidentally dropped his keys onto the floor. Bending down to pick them up he distinctly remembered her having clear toenails, yet now he noticed they were messily painted red. To his horror, he saw that they had not been painted in a hurry with red nail varnish by his wife.

They had been painted by Red John's own hand…in his wife's own blood.

Author's Note: Please tell me what you thought, I'd love to hear anything you have to say (good or bad!)
Thank you for reading (: victwi x