Fanfic: Blood Red
Dec. 27th, 2011 10:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aprilvolitionTitle: Blood Red
Rating: Teen-ish?
Fandom: The Mentalist
Pairing: None
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: "Lisbon?" It's her, he knows, but he's confused as to why she would sound so defeated when they've won.
A/N: My first fanfic and I'd really appreciate some feedback on how I can improve. Thank you tolady_of_scarlet for the beta and encouragement! Any and all mistakes left are my own.
Blood. Red. Red John is dead.
It's on repeat in his head as he stands over the body and watches the blood that had seeped from his wounds pool at his feet. And he is frozen, with the knife in his hand and the mess he's made before him.
Flashing lights, a commotion, followed by voices. One seems to ring of familiarity as it calls out his name.
"Jane!"
Blood. Red. Red John is dead.
He's still staring at the body on the floor, eyes wide open and no breath left in his lungs.
"Jane...drop the knife, please?"
It's the tired pleading tone of someone on verge of defeat that gets his attention.
"Lisbon?" It's her, he knows, but he's confused as to why she would sound so defeated when they've won.
"Jane, listen to me, I need you to put the knife down, okay?"
Blood. Red. Red John is dead.
It echoes again and he can smell it now, it's coppery scent lingers in the air, and he feels it too, the warm liquid on his hands and the cold metal of the handle of the knife.
She's near him, he can see her in his peripheral vision, gun drawn but wavering. He sees her lower it and take a step closer.
"Just, drop the knife Jane and I'll walk you out of here."
"He's dead."
"I know. It's over."
He thinks she's right, it is over, so the cold metal slips from his hand and clatters to the floor. He hears her yelling at the others to stay back, not to touch him. But she moves forward, gun holstered now, and puts a hand on his arm. He looks at her then, really looks at her and sees what this has done to her. What she has to do next, will do to her.
He misses the warmth of her hand on his arm when it is replaced with the cold metal of handcuffs on his wrist.
He doesn't miss the tears in her eyes as she puts him in the back of a squad car still taking extra care to guide him in gently even though he has just destroyed everything.
He sees his clothes for the first time, covered in red.
Blood. Red. Red John is dead.
The litany is silent after that.
And with the quiet comes something he didn't expect. The emptiness in the wake of his own defeat.
Rating: Teen-ish?
Fandom: The Mentalist
Pairing: None
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: "Lisbon?" It's her, he knows, but he's confused as to why she would sound so defeated when they've won.
A/N: My first fanfic and I'd really appreciate some feedback on how I can improve. Thank you to
lady_of_scarlet for the beta and encouragement! Any and all mistakes left are my own. Blood. Red. Red John is dead.
It's on repeat in his head as he stands over the body and watches the blood that had seeped from his wounds pool at his feet. And he is frozen, with the knife in his hand and the mess he's made before him.
Flashing lights, a commotion, followed by voices. One seems to ring of familiarity as it calls out his name.
"Jane!"
Blood. Red. Red John is dead.
He's still staring at the body on the floor, eyes wide open and no breath left in his lungs.
"Jane...drop the knife, please?"
It's the tired pleading tone of someone on verge of defeat that gets his attention.
"Lisbon?" It's her, he knows, but he's confused as to why she would sound so defeated when they've won.
"Jane, listen to me, I need you to put the knife down, okay?"
Blood. Red. Red John is dead.
It echoes again and he can smell it now, it's coppery scent lingers in the air, and he feels it too, the warm liquid on his hands and the cold metal of the handle of the knife.
She's near him, he can see her in his peripheral vision, gun drawn but wavering. He sees her lower it and take a step closer.
"Just, drop the knife Jane and I'll walk you out of here."
"He's dead."
"I know. It's over."
He thinks she's right, it is over, so the cold metal slips from his hand and clatters to the floor. He hears her yelling at the others to stay back, not to touch him. But she moves forward, gun holstered now, and puts a hand on his arm. He looks at her then, really looks at her and sees what this has done to her. What she has to do next, will do to her.
He misses the warmth of her hand on his arm when it is replaced with the cold metal of handcuffs on his wrist.
He doesn't miss the tears in her eyes as she puts him in the back of a squad car still taking extra care to guide him in gently even though he has just destroyed everything.
He sees his clothes for the first time, covered in red.
Blood. Red. Red John is dead.
The litany is silent after that.
And with the quiet comes something he didn't expect. The emptiness in the wake of his own defeat.
