Finale Part Three

                                    

                                          
Finale Part Three
                          
Jane sat in the front of the church trying not to cry, but he couldn't stop. It was so weird because once he started to cry, he cried for... everyone; he cried for Angela, he cried for Charlotte, he cried for Kristina, but most of all he cried for Lisbon. His Lisbon. His Teresa.
                          
"Lisbon" he shouted. "Teresa" he whispered.
                          
Everyone in the church looked in his direction, and then, when they saw who it was, they all gave a sympathetic look. Everyone knew who Jane was. His face was all over the news. He was Patrick Jane and he had gunned down the man many believed to be Red John. This time, however, there was plenty of evidence. He was the serial killer and because of Jane's current mental state he wouldn't serve a day in prison. How poetic, Jane thought, even in death, Red John had destroyed his life. But how could he care, nothing mattered anymore. Nothing mattered because of that box, the box right there in front of his eyes. So close he could almost reach out and touch it! Then, as quickly as a match being struck, his tears stopped and his laughter began. He seemed like a madman, but he didn't care what anyone thought. Maybe he was a madman now. What did it matter, his life was over. As he sat there laughing, he saw many faces trying to not look at him, and he might have known them once, but now - everyone, everyone was a total stranger. He was completely alone in the world.
                          
"Come on Jane it's time to get you back to the hospital." Van Pelt said from his left. He looked her in the eye and smiled as she helped him get up on unsteady legs. He really didn't belong at the hospital. An asylum was probably the best place for him, he was a madman. He cried or laughed at inappropriate moments. He had no idea who anyone was, so he was extremely paranoid. A part of him was afraid the woman beside him wasn't Grace, but he knew her scent. In many ways he was like a dog now, the best way to identify anyone was by their smell. There were smells that he would die to smell right now. Teresa's cinnamon body odor, or sometimes she had smelled of vanilla. He didn't know which one of them he liked the best now - but he thought he would give up everything just to smell those scents again on her.
                          
"Wait! I want to see." He told Grace, motioning toward the casket.
                          
"Jane, what good would that do, I mean you can't recognize... "
                          
"I wanna see the face!" he shouted hurrying to the casket before anyone could stop him.
                          
He looked down into it at the person lying there. Just like everyone expected, he didn't recognize the face. It didn't matter. He knew it was him. The evil was oozing from him, there in his Sunday best. Red John was dead, and he had done it. He had killed the bastard. Red John wouldn't be hurting anyone else. Jane leaned forward until he was face-to-face with him.
                          
"I won." He whispered. He straightened himself to full height and decided to leave the church with dignity. Then he saw him, Kristina's son, and the victory didn't seem so bittersweet any longer.
                          
*AC*
                          
"Hey, before you go back to the hospital, how 'bout we go see Lisbon, she's been asking for you." Van Pelt asked hopefully cheerful.
                          
"No, I don't think that's wise. I don't think she really wants to see me. How is she?" Jane asked.
                          
"She's been through a lot, but she's doing well. Physical therapy is a "bitch" her word not mine. They say things can get tricky with a spinal injury like hers." Grace smiled.
                          
"Relegated to a desk job for the rest of her life, all because of me, no, I'm sure I've done Lisbon enough favors." He sighed.
                          
"Jane, please, you've been avoiding her long enough. She says she's been calling but you won't take her calls. And when she did manage to get to your room, you told them not to let her in. She really needs to talk to you."