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 Nightrobin05 for reviewing the last chapter. This is the final one, so I hope you enjoy it. :)

Part Four

He fooled him, but only for a minute.

Not only did John think that Patrick had fallen off the map, become so broken by his ability to feel pain that he'd collapsed into himself, he also believed that he had killed her, Teresa Lisbon. He obviously felt strong feelings towards her, that was why John asked him to bring her lifeless body to him. The ultimate sacrifice for the cause. Patrick wasn't as much of a man as John thought he was though. He was his son in many ways but not in others.

How he could have possibly thought that Patrick had the ability to murder loved ones went beyond his comprehension. He thought it possible for only a moment before reality hit him hard. Lorelei played her part well, had the circumstances been different, John would have happily allowed her to go on seeing Patrick. Perhaps they could even get married and have a child or two, grandchildren who he would happily welcome into the world. Lorelei would never treat Patrick the way that Angela had, she would accept his profession for what it was. She would pretend that John was her father so that Patrick would accept him into his life.

If he knew the truth, not just that he was Red John, but that he was Patrick's biological father too. Then he would never want to see him again, he would surely do everything in his power to murder John the way John murdered his mother and family.

There was a lack of guilt he felt for what he'd done to his son, for the people he'd taken from his life. Why should he feel something as mortal as guilt? It made Patrick a better person. Without the absence of his mother, he would never have been allowed to be such an entertainer on the carnival circuit. John knew Mairead better than most, she loved her son dearly. When he first met her, John listened to her pain at miscarrying a child, a daughter, at twenty weeks. He heard her pain at the thought of never being a mother, never being able to pass on the love that she held so dearly inside. She loved her husband, of course, but the miscarriage had been such a heart-breaking time for the both of them. There was no way that they could get through it easily. John took her under his wing, fooled her into believing he too had lost a child once. She took his word for it and for that he will always be sorry because deep down he cared for her, maybe even loved her in a way that he'd never loved anyone before. She was reluctant to start a relationship, not least because Alex was at home drinking himself into oblivion over their loss. She didn't want to move on so easily and yet, when it came down to it, John won her around.

Patrick's wife and daughter, they were merely collateral damage on the path to success. A sorry situation that John knew must occur, like sending a dying dog to a vet to save it from pain.

One day Patrick would discover who Red John really was, but not before it was already too late.

Of course, John didn't attend the meeting on the day Patrick supposedly killed Teresa Lisbon or their colleague. The original intention was to go along, to tell him that he were sorry for ruining his happiness once again and that one day he would see the positives, see why John had done the things he had done. But then he'd got the call from the FBI and he knew that he had to continue deceiving Patrick the way he believed he had deceived him.

Luther Wainwright was a pawn; he was never worth the paper his job description was written on, a sorry excuse for a senior agent. He should never have been given responsibility over the case involving the Red John crimes, he was inexperienced and the fact he handed them over so easily to John's FBI mole was laughable to say the least. Darcy was very good at her job; however, someone who he hoped would succeed the young senior agent. What better way to get one over on the CBI than to post his most senior allegiance in the heart of the organisation.

That mattered little though on that day, all that mattered was that Wainwright was taken out of the picture and once again, he fooled his son into believing that he was about to catch a glimpse of the man he thought was Red John. Would he think that his boss had fallen foul to John's wicked hand? Perhaps so. It didn't matter either way because he wouldn't get out alive.

If John had his way, nobody would. Aside from Patrick and his little team, the people he cared about the most.

The only reason he didn't kill them too was because doing so would arouse too much suspicion. The only people he needed on his case were those he trusted, John had killed enough people keeping it in the hands of Teresa Lisbon and Kimball Cho over the years because he knew them well, he understood them and bringing someone new in to take over would only tip the table in their direction. John would always have the upper hand, regardless of what they believed.

It had been weeks since John had seen his son and it saddened him that he couldn't go along that day. Instead he hooked up his cell phone to the body of Luther Wainwright, hopeful that Patrick would believe for as long as possible that the man in the back of the limousine was there, talking to him. When he greeted him, John smiled, his teeth showing in all their glory. He sounded so strong, so assure of himself and that made John feel incredibly proud. He was his little boy, but he had grown up so fast.

Darcy wasn't far away, he never would have requested that Patrick's fingers be cut off otherwise. She would save him, just in time and yet he would never know the part that she played in that day. Instead, they would all go on believing that she had sacrificed the ultimate bust of corrupt law enforcement officials in order to save a subordinate consultant who had been fired months earlier.

When the engine of the limousine started, John hung up the phone and waited patiently for Darcy to call with news of what had happened. The expectation of the day was that Wainwright would be discovered, Lorelei would be caught and the idiot with the muscles would be thrown into a police cell for all of the crimes he'd committed prior to being rescued by an unknown man. John worried, in part, that Lorelei would fall prey to the abilities of Patrick. The direct order was to seduce him, to earn his trust, not to sleep with him, that had been something she did of her own accord. Something which she was punished for later. Who knew what she would do next, she had grown fond of Patrick after all.

She would have to be disposed of and soon.

x

Eventually, Patrick tracked him down and his worst nightmare came true. John never wanted this to happen. He was never meant to meet him, as Red John, he was never meant to beat him in this way. He arrived with a gun, which he hid in a holster underneath his jacket. John could only assume that he'd borrowed it from the CBI, he'd never liked guns. Much like his father. Why else would he always opt for the knife as a weapon of choice? He imagined Patrick would too, if it meant killing his arch nemesis quickly enough.

'Now, now, Patrick, let's not do anything hasty.'

In all of the years John had watched his son, cautiously wondering if every person he'd ever met was the man he'd been looking for. Permanently on edge for fear that he would be in front of Red John without a weapon. He wonder why he didn't keep one on his person at all times, then again, his fear of guns was probably enough to stop that from happening. After he shot Timothy Carter - what a good man he had been - he probably wouldn't have been allowed to own a gun, let alone carry one in public.

'It's you.'

Finally the truth was out; Patrick knew what John had always known. His eyes sparkled in recognition. How much did he know of the past that they'd shared?

'It is me, Patrick, you've finally found me.'

He laughed, a soft chuckle bellowing out of his mouth. He looked both petrified and excited, knowing that he would finally get the vengeance he so desperately deserved. John didn't doubt it for a second because now that he knew he was Red John, his time was numbered.

'You lived near my family's home, in Malibu.'

He mumbled and it frustrated him because he'd never liked people talking about something of nothing. He firmly believed that if someone couldn't say anything nice, they shouldn't say it at all. If he didn't have anything of importance to say, he kept his mouth shut.

Patrick looked confused. 'I've seen you somewhere else.'

'I've been in lots of places, my boy.'

Patrick lifted his head and stared into his eyes, a sense of recognition hitting him hard though he didn't seem to have grasped why. John laughed because there was little better than the perfect revenge and he knew that had Mairead been there to see it, she would have been mortified. He had succeeded in all that he'd wanted to do with his life. He had a family, a son who he had watched grow. He may not have been in his life in the conventional way and for that he was sorry, but he was only protecting him from the life that he didn't want him to have to lead.

He'd hoped years ago, when he had met Lorelei, that Patrick would join the Red John Cult. It had always been the biggest intention, for him to be by his father's side, the ultimate psychopaths that history had ever known. He had failed to bow to John's demands, to meet his requests. He realised his mistakes early on, tried to rectify them, but there was little he could do about his conscience. Despite being a miscreant in his own right, Alex Jane had done right by the boy. Right for the world, but not right for his real father. He was taught the right and wrong that the world around him believed in. A right and wrong which John cared little for. There were actions and inactions, mistakes and successes. How people defined them was merely based on the values they had been taught. If he could have taught Patrick the ways of his world, then maybe he would have accepted the offer.

It didn't matter much anymore. John was growing old, frail and he knew his days were numbered. One day soon, even if it was ten years from now, he would be recycled in the grand scheme of life. He weren't afraid of death, on the contrary, he was excited for the next step. Whether he died naturally in a decade or right then at the hands of Patrick Jane, he no longer cared. He'd lived enough life for it not to matter anymore.

'You were there, when my mom died.'

His eyebrows furrowed and the edges of his eyes creased. He looked pained, shattered and broken by a realisation that he'd never seemed to consider before.

'When I killed her, yes,' John grinned, waiting patiently for Patrick to lift the gun. He couldn't fire it just yet, he wasn't ready, he had to know the truth. John wouldn't die with him having never known who he was and Patrick was too smart to murder him without having answers to his questions.

He did as expected, his right hand raising the gun up before he grasped it also with his left. His fingers squeezed slowly and he winced, fearful of the backlash. Then he stopped, his fingers turning white from his grip on the weapon.

'Why?'

'Why not?' said John.

He was unimpressed with the answer, so was John, though he didn't show it. It was merely an attempt to make him squirm, to keep him hanging on that little bit longer.

'Because she kept you from me.'

'What?' Patrick stared, his eyes curious and afraid.

'For a perceptive man, you sure are stupid,' said John, smirking.

'I don't understand.'

'I loved your mother dearly, Patrick, almost as much as I loved you, son.'

The moment had come; he could see it in Patrick's eyes. Anger and frustration laced his pupils, falling down the sides of his cheeks with tears. John had never really seen him cry before and he knew he never would again. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull him into his arms, hold him like a father should always hold his son when he cries.

Of course, he would never be afforded such a pleasure.

Patrick squeezed his fingers against the gun, it exploded, firing a bullet at lightning speed until it pierced John's skin. It knocked him back briefly, then another couple of bullets flew through the air, hitting him in the same location. He wasn't a bad shot, for someone who hated guns. Then John stumbled backwards, his knees losing their strength, his body falling to the ground and he succumbed to the final moments of his life.

'Patrick,' John shouted, and he did something that he'd never expected him to ever do. He took the hand of his father, holding it tightly, in the way that a child would when bearing witness to their parent on their death bed. It didn't matter that he'd been the one to push him in that direction, he still held his fingers, clammy from the grasp of the gun. 'I'm so sorry.'

And with a sense of remorse for ruining any chance of ever being part of his son's life, John gave up, allowing his heart to slow and his breath to stop. He took the coward's way out, he knew that now. Death was not the answer to everything he thought it was, if anything, it made life that little bit harder in the long run.