The Red Hand of Vengeance

A Season 5 Ending. The team has an intense stand-off with Brett Partridge in abandoned house, who reveals himself to be Red John. Some Jisbon is on its way.

"Oh come on, Patrick, I'm a little offended." The hard, light laugh made everyone in the room tense up. "You couldn't read me? But you know me so well…"

Rigsby and Lisbon were crouching behind the wall in the adjacent room. They couldn't see Red John where he stood on the landing but they knew he had a weapon trained on Jane, who was facing him, standing out in the open. Their eyes flicked to Jane's face and they saw a rare expression. Guileless shock. Jane really hadn't known. Or even suspected.

Jane swallowed, and licked his lips. "To be honest, I'm a bit disappointed, Brett. I knew not to expect a monster, but you're not even a man. You're a boy. A horny teen."

Partridge sneered. "There's no need for barbs, Paddy." He inclined his head towards the gun in his left hand. "I guess" he continued in his silky voice "carnival folk aren't known for their company manners. But if you would be so kind, let Lisbon and her German Shepherd know I have something of theirs, just in case they were thinking of ambushing me."

For the briefest second, Jane's eyes darted towards Rigsby and Lisbon's hiding place. Partridge smiled at this confirmation of their whereabouts, and Jane inwardly cursed himself. This was all slipping out of control…

"You've got Van Pelt." Jane said flatly.
"Very good, Patrick." Partridge came down a step. "Think of it as a trade. A firey redhead for a French-honey blonde."

Rigsby fidgeted. Jane needed to redirect Partridge somehow before Rigsby lost control and ran for him.

"So losing Lorelei hurt, huh? Good to know." He mulled this over with an expression that said he was examining an opponent's chess move. "Do you tend to strike out with the ladies, Brett?"

Partridge was not galled. "You know that's not my name. What is my name?"

"You need me to say it? That's a little sadomasochistic of you. Was your mother sexually repressive, I wonder, or just uncommonly attractive?" Jane shifted on his feet, inching a little closer.

Partridge laughed. "Still tap-dancing for the crowds, eh Patrick? I thought I'd taught you a little better than to play out your mind games with me. But I can see that you believe. This is not a Timothy Carter moment. You know who I am."

Jane gave him a stony glare. "I know."

Partridge laughed harshly. "The ten-year puzzle seems so easy to solve now, doesn't it? Now, you look at me and you can't see anyone else. But for years I was in forensics, helping on cases, a part of the CBI family. And let's be honest" he reached up with his right hand, grabbed a lock of hair and curled it in the centre of his brow, theatrically mocking Jane's own curls "it's a little like looking in a mirror."

Jane's lip curled, showing his teeth in a hard smile. "I am nothing like you."
"Nonsense, Patrick. You're my most faithful disciple." Partridge purred. "And here you are:

The hand of Vengeance found the bed
To which the Purple Tyrant fled;
The iron hand crush'd the Tyrant's head
And became a Tyrant in his stead."

"The Grey Monk." Jane said listlessly, who had read Blake's entire canon since the Tyger Tyger incident. "You think I'm here to kill you and become you?"

"Playing out some of your daddy issues no doubt." Partridge sniffed.

Patrick broke eye contact with him for the first time, dropping his head and giving a genuine laugh. "I finally get it. The smiley face. The double has become an image of terror, just as, after the collapse of their religion, the gods turned into demons."

Partridge looked impressed. "Freud on Heinrich Heine – yes! It's nice to see you coming along so well." he beamed. Then he met Jane's eyes and sobered. "But I know you're humouring me. That won't always be the case. For now let me remind you that Van Pelt's continued safety relies on your civility. And you won't be seeing me this way again" he made a glamorous gesture to his visage. "I've already purchased a new face just for this occasion." He began to back slowly up the stairs, his gun trained on Jane's chest. "Goodbye, Patrick."

At that moment Lisbon deliberately scuffed her foot on the floor, loud enough to make Partridge jump. Jane pulled the gun from his pocket and fired twice into Partridge, just as Patridge shot four rounds through the wall was at Lisbon and Rigsby. Patridge stumbled back into the hallway and pushed a red blinking light that Jane knew was a remote control detonator. "Take cover" he yelled over the noise of the blast. Debris forced him backward and down, onto his side. His ears were ringing and his eyes teared up.

Partridge disappeared in a cloud of concrete dust and rubble.