Disclaimer: I don't own the mentalist and make no money from this.

Author's Note: I wrote this a while ago and decided to upload it now as my computer decided to delete chapter 4 of Blood Money. So enjoy this instead and please review!

I can still remember it, so clearly. It's the worst thing about being a mentalist, being able to observe and remember all the horrible details. Some things are best left unnoticed, that doesn't stop the day replaying in my mind over and over. All the things I could've done differently to prevent the death of my family.

It began as a normal day, I was up early of course because I had to film my show, we had breakfast like normal, cereal in fact, Holly was excited that she'd found a toy in it.

"Isn't that cool Daddy? Only one more and I'll have the whole set!"

She'd informed them, more than was a stupid plastic farm animal, a sheep. She'd already got the pig, the cow, the goat and the chicken. She'd only needed the horse, she'd told me that more than once too and I would give anything to hear her tell me again, anything.

"Bye-bye Daddy, have a good day at work, I love you!"

Those were the last words I'd ever heard her say, she'd quickly hugged me and ran off to watch some programme she liked. My wife had laughed at that, her beautiful mouth forming a smile and her beautiful laughter filling the kitchen with joy.

She'd walked over to and hugged me, I'd held her close enjoying her company. I can still remember the flowery scent of her perfume, it was her favourite one. My gift to her for her our last anniversary, if only I'd known it was the last. I'd have got her more than perfume.

"I love you," I whispered to her, she stepped back smiling. She studied me as we held hands.

I could tell she'd wanted to tell me again to quit the psychic business but hadn't wanted to spoil the moment. We had had more than enough money and she was sure I could do more than spend my life tricking people. Why hadn't I listened to her? Why did I have to enjoy it so much? I'll never forgive myself for that, ever. I should have listened to her.

"I love you too, be careful," she had said leaning forward to kiss me.

It had been the last time I'd taste her lips, after that I'd left for work. If only I'd have known I would never see them alive again. I wish I could reach back in time and tell myself not to go, I would stand and scream at myself until I listened. Actions have consequences, what a hard lesson to learn.

But no, I'd gone to work and mocked him. I'd mocked that son of a bitch like I'd mocked so many people. How could I have been so stupid? She's told me to be careful and yet I'd gone live and mocked the damn guy on national television. A serial killer, I should have known he'd be pissed off. I notice so many things, I should have noticed that.

I'd came home later as normal. I remember thinking it was odd that the house was so quiet, at the time I'd figured they'd proabably just gone to bed early as they'd been up so early. That's what I'd told myself anyway.

I'd walked up those stairs and noticed the note on the door, that's when I first felt dread. The massive dread hanging over my head like a cloud and soaking through to my core. It had seeped through ever fibre in my body with every word I read, words I'll never forget as long as I live.

Dear Mister Jane,

I do not like to be slandered by the media, especially by a dirty 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.

Then I'd opened the door and seen that horrible smiley face, it was burned into my memory so vividly. I feel like my mind has been branded for life by that face that evil face. I knew then, I knew that they were dead. I knew and it was all my fault, mine and his- Red John.

I'd entered the room, my hope as dead as there bodies. My happiness extinguished with their precious lives. I'd grabbed the phone and called 911, knowing that it was already too late. It had been too late the moment I'd spoken out against him.

That's all that keeps me going now, the thought of finding him and making him die for what he's done. I'm going to make him as dead as them, he's going to be sorry. Well his corpse is going to be sorry anyway. And nothing is going to stop me from having that. I don't care if it costs me my money, my health, my freedom, my life or my soul.

Red John is going to die.