Talk to Me [The Mentalist]

3

The whole ride home I had the feeling of the soul not leaving me, following me as if sgr clung to me. By now I deeply was scared and my heart raced of fear. I reached my house and didn't even bother locking up the car. I just ran towards the house, pulling the front door open.
I never realized that it wasn't locked up as it should have been.

I took the steps upstairs; I couldn't get up fast enough. In each leap I took three or four steps.
I wasn't just feared now, I was panicking. I gasped for air and my heart raced. My eyes were wide open in the dark.
There was something terribly wrong and I couldn't make out what it was. My thought of something having happened to Angela surely would prove ridiculous! Angela was safe. I repeated that over and over again. Angela and Charlotte were safe.
I reached the top of the stair case panting and slowed my path slightly down. I thought about Charlotte. I didn't want to wake her because of my inexplicable panic.

It was dark. No lights were on. I hadn't had the time to switch them on as I just crept forward in a steady pace.
Sometimes Angela stayed awake until I came home. But today it seemed she was already sleeping. I shivered.
Did I go crazy or was it really colder in here as usual? I needed to stop thinking something was wrong. What could possibly have happened? The only explanation I could think of was me going insane.

I made my way down the hallway, just to stop dead. In the dark I hadn't seen this one detail until I stood right in front of it. The moon shining though the window didn't reach our bedroom door. Only the closed door of Charlottes room, which is why we chose this room for our little angel.
On the closed door of our bedroom however stuck a piece paper. And there clearly wasn't supposed to be a paper. Concentrating hard to make out the letters in the dark I started reading. My legs were shivering and almost not wearing my weight anymore.

Dear Mister Jane,

I do not like being slandered in the media, especially by a money-grubbing fraud. If you were a real psychic, instead of a dishonest little worm, you wouldn't need to open the door to see what I've done to your lovely wife and child.

I couldn't breathe anymore. Tears started to build in my eyes as I could slowly make sense of the last hour. My knees were wobbling. There wasn't a name on the letter, there needn't be one. My body started to shake uncontrollably and the tears welled out of my eyes. I wiped my hand across my eyes and then pressed it to my mouth to stop the sobs from coming out. I read the letter again. I must have read something wrong! This couldn't be true. The voice I heard before came through my mind again and I couldn't help but scream in agony.

I forced myself to open the door and hit the switch to turn on the light. The first thing for me to see was a smile. A huge smile. Just ahead of the top of the bed Angela and I shared. I couldn't take my eyes away from the bloody red streams on the wall. My view blurred as tears streamed down my face and finally I turned my gaze down to the bed. I know what was awaiting me, but yet another agonized scream fled from my mouth.

My beautiful Angela was covered in blood, wounds all over her body, her face still distorted in pain. Next to her laid Charlotte, my precious little girl. Her throat was cut and several wounds covered her upper body. Her eyes were closed, a single tear still clinging to her cheek. The whole bed was soaked in blood.

Red John had killed my family.