Hi! This is just a short piece I came up with in response to the promo. I'm very sure that the episode won't turn out anything like this, but I wanted to write it anyway, just for fun.

T rating.

Sprawled upon the cold stone floor, the woman moans quietly. She's been unconscious for several hours now, but it looks like she might be finally waking up. He's glad. She's no fun like this, and he's heard a lot of stories about what a little firecracker she is. He's anxious to see if they're true.

He usually doesn't bother bringing them back here. Kidnapping carries with it a whole bunch of complications that can be easily avoided by simply killing them right away.

There's also something satisfying about finding them asleep in bed, where they think they're safe, and then waking them up and watching the colour drain from their faces as the realize they aren't. He's disposed of over twenty people that way, over the years; he enjoys the up close and personal kill. Then once they take their final breath, he paints the face on the wall, and leaves them there, like the insignificant pieces of trash they are.

He's had this place for years now. Quiet. Secluded. The kind of place people stumble on once by accident, and then never think of again. Perfect for the kind of tasks that take a little longer than most.

Over a long career, only three others have ever warranted the long trip out here.

Kristina Frye.

Rosalind Harker.

Lorelai Martins.

But his current guest is the most important of them all.

She stirs again, head moving a little, and eyelids fluttering. There's a small needle mark on her neck that becomes visible as her dark hair falls aside. It was too risky to try and take her without stacking the odds in his favour, (she's lethal with a gun in her hand and he's got several dead friends to prove it) so he had to give her a sedative. It was only a light dosage, just to make moving her a smoother and quieter process. She's spent the last few hours sleeping it off.

His eyes travel slowly up and down her body, pausing slightly on her slender torso and small breasts. She's a pretty little thing. Not strictly to his taste, but that's of no significance. She may not do it for him, but she's here because she has managed to steal the heart of someone very, very important to him.

The ringing of her cell phone breaks the silence, and he smiles. Right on cue. He fishes it out of her pocket and presses the answer button. The panicky voice of Patrick Jane assails his ears, asking where she is, what she's doing, and why the hell isn't she answering him? He listens to Patrick's pleas for a few seconds, but tires of it quickly, so he politely informs him that she can't come to the phone right now.

For a moment there's silence, and he imagines the anguish on poor Patrick's face as the truth sinks in. Then, of course, the threats begin. If he so much as harms a hair on her head…and so on and so forth. So predictable. So dull.

He ends the call.

Immediately the phone begins to ring again, so he presses 'Ignore' and takes the battery out, just in case they try and track her through the signal. After all, he doesn't want to be interrupted just as they're getting acquainted.

Also, Patrick's a clever man. Maybe he could try focusing that big brain of his onto something constructive for a change, instead of this far-fetched revenge idea he keeps obsessing over. Patrick might even surprise him by finding them all on his own, but he doubts it. This has been his headquarters for over fifteen years and nobody's ever found him yet.

She lets out a little sigh. The longer he looks at her, the more he appreciates her creamy skin, her delicate fingers, her rosebud lips. It really is a shame to let such beauty go to waste like this. She's done nothing to deserve this; his disagreement is with Patrick. She is nothing more than a bargaining chip to him.

But now he has her, what is he to do?

The knife gleams as he withdraws it from his belt. He could kill her right now, or he could torture her a little until she begs for mercy. Because they all do, in the end. No matter who they are, they always end up pleading for their lives.

Finally, she opens her eyes. She sleepily takes in her surroundings, presumably trying to piece together what has happened to her. Presently, her gaze lands on him, and he sees the flash of fear in it.

The after-effects of the drug are still impacting on her, he can tell, as she seems to have difficulty moving her arms and legs. She is utterly helpless, so much so that he almost pities her. Teresa Lisbon, an elite agent of the CBI, and now she doesn't even have the strength to sit up.

If only Patrick could see her now. He let his guard down, and now his dear Teresa will pay the price in his stead. But he'll make sure Patrick sees his one and only again, wrapped in a sheet, her pretty eyes empty and lifeless; a fresh smiley-face on the wall behind her.

Patrick Jane will weep over her mutilated body, and then finally, he will know. He was never the one in control.

He crouches beside her, the sacrificial lamb, and smirks as she uses up most of her limited strength flinching away from him. He presses his lips to her forehead briefly and smiles once more at her small noise of disgust. Perhaps she would have preferred a kiss from Patrick instead. He's been watching them for years, seeing it unfold like a cheesy Hollywood movie. It's quite obvious how deeply she cares for Patrick; she clearly loves him very much. A shame she'll never be able to tell him so herself, but he'll happily pass on the message.

However much she tries to hide it, he can tell that she is frightened, whether for herself or for Patrick's state of mind, he cannot be quite sure.

He could tell her that it's all right, and that she has nothing to fear from him, but he'd be lying.

And lying to a woman about to draw her final breath…that would just be cruel.

It's not often that I write from the perspective of Red John. I found it quite challenging, but I hope it was at least realistic, if not strictly enjoyable.