FIC: Acrimonious (21/21)
Title: Acrimonious
Author:
sirenofodysseus
Disclaimer: …it’s probably better that Bruno Heller owns The Mentalist, really.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: After FBI Agent Susan Darcy is overheard telling Special-Agent-in-Charge Luther Wainwright that Patrick Jane may be working with Red John, Red John steals Jane’s body and begins to destroy the team’s lives one-by-one.
Spoilers: Brief spoiler for Crimson Hat (4x24), but the rest of this story is set after Something Rotten in Redmund (4x20).
Warnings: Violence, language, drug use, sex, non-con situations, mentions of child abuse/domestic abuse, negative character portrayals, major and minor character death.
Pairings: Red John/Teresa Lisbon, Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon, Wayne Rigsby/Sarah Harrigan, Kimball Cho/Summer Edgecombe.
Notes: Thanks for reading! :D Links that connect the chapters are now up; it only took me almost a month later, but hey!
21-
With his arms under his head, Jane remained on his prison-issued cot and stared up at the peeling white ceiling in near silence. Over the past four years, he had gotten used to blocking out the hustle and bustle of prison life but it didn’t mean he was going to miss any of it. In the beginning of his stay on death row three years ago, just shortly after the verdict had been handed down by a jury of his peers, he had hated the lack of privacy.
Within his cell at the Sacramento County Jailhouse for nine months, he had been given a semblance of privacy; his murderous cellmate had left him alone for the most part, some of the inmates had kept a wide berth after hearing that he was the infamous Red John, and his every motion hadn’t been tracked by a video camera installed into his cell. Jane had been allowed to interact with the other inmates, eat in the cafeteria three times a day and feel the warmth of the Californian sunshine against his face every so often.
Compared to where he was now though, the Sacramento County Jailhouse had been a piece of freedom that he would never again have.
San Quentin State Prison, his ‘home’ of three years, had not given him an ounce of privacy; he had no cellmate, and it seemed that every hour (give or take a few minutes) one of the guards had come by to check if he was still alive. According to one of the gruff guards on his cellblock, the waiting alone drove some inmates to suicide and up until a few hours ago, his every movement had been tracked via security camera.
But now, three guards just lingered outside of his final home. Jane could tell that they all viewed him differently, which didn’t surprise him at all. One of them pitied him; one of them didn’t know what to think, while the other just hated him for having killed a fellow officer of the law. He had gotten quite used to the slurs from some of the other officers on his previous cellblock for all of the crimes he had supposedly committed, he had also gotten used to the quiet stares of sadness and the unasked but always lingering question of why he had done it.
Of course, Jane had never been able to answer the why to anyone; not the media that continued to hound him for interviews, not the admirers who wrote him countless letter after letter claiming to be his accomplices, not the families of the victims who had sent him various death threats, not Susan Darcy, not Osvaldo Ardiles, not Grace Van Pelt, Sarah Harrigan or Kimball Cho, not himself or Teresa Lisbon…
He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about Lisbon, especially not as he was waiting for the guards to bring him his final change of clothing and lead him from the holding cell, only to strap him to the execution gurney.
Jane had never been afraid of death; he had strolled into hostage situations, gotten himself almost drowned by an overzealous killer, been held at gunpoint and knifepoint enough times to realize that he could die tomorrow and he would be perfectly okay with that (if they found Red John first, of course).
Out of the dozen or more times that he had been prepared to die and after waiting three years for the death sentence to be handed down, Jane just didn’t want to die.
If Jane stayed on death row, he had nothing to look forward to: with three warm meals a day, the lack of privacy, a shower every other day, and only his darkening thoughts to keep him company, Jane couldn’t exactly pretend that San Quentin was a prime spot to take a vacation. He had also given up on the hope of ever seeing or feeling sunshine on his skin again, as the only sunshine he had been privy to seeing over the past three years had been either on the television in the recreation room or in the Sacramento newspaper that he continued to have delivered every morning to his cell.
Even after all of that though, he had never given up on the hope of making everything right. He had continued to tell himself that tomorrow somebody would visit him or tomorrow somebody would finally realize that he had been telling the complete truth and that he had somehow been set up by Red John. But tomorrow never came. He had never had visitors (aside from the media, who he rejected time and time again for interviews) and because he was set to be executed shortly, he would die as a guilty man in the eyes of everyone he had once called friend.
Jane licked his dry lips in absentmindedness. Shortly after the death warrant had been signed, the Warden of the prison had visited. Warden Glass had asked him several questions pertaining to what was going to happen shortly: How do you want to be executed? What do you want for your last meal? Do you want any special visitors on that day? Do you want to visit the chaplain prior to your execution? Who would you like me to invite to your execution?
He had almost laughed at the absurdity of the questions. How could anybody chose how they wanted to die? Jane had remembered quietly thinking, as the Warden had stared on with a pencil in his hand. The state of California allowed for their death row inmates to choose their own method of execution; Jane had been told he could either be strapped into an airtight chamber and suffocate to death due to the gases being released (the gas chamber) or he could be strapped onto a gurney and die from the cocktail of chemicals being pumped into his veins (lethal injection).
“You’re lucky to have the choices you do, Mr. Jane.” One of the more respectable guards had told him, after he had been moved to his new “death watch” cell. Jane hadn’t seen how, until the guard had explained that some states had other methods than just the gas chamber or lethal injection to pick from. “You could be electrocuted, hanged or even shot to death.” He didn’t want to imagine having volts of electricity pumped through him, the feel of a rope around his neck or the holes that he would have been riddled with if California allowed a firing squad.
The Warden had waited rather impatiently for his decision, which hadn’t surprised Jane at all. If the decision had been left up to Warden Derrick Glass, the man would have chosen the gas chamber; the most excruciating way to die, just because he had been housing a rapist on his death row for much longer than he thought necessary. Not that it had been Jane’s fault that he had to stick around the prison for twenty-four hours a day and spend twenty-three of those hours in a small cramped cell, until the Governor of California could finally get around to signing his execution warrant.
After being denied freedom for three years, making his own decision had felt almost foreign; the guards had always given him the standard prison uniform to wear, they had always brought him the poor quality food, told when he could take his five minute shoulder or when he could spend an hour in the recreation room. And yet, there had sat the impatient warden asking him what he wanted for the first time in years.
It had been surreal.
In the end though, Jane had decided upon lethal injection. He hadn’t picked the method because it would be less painful; he had picked it so he could be selfish and get one final glimpse of Lisbon before he was put to death. The gas chamber would have for allowed for him to have many glimpses of her, but he didn’t want her last memory of him to be tainted with the image of him being in pain. The Lisbon he had known (and had loved) would have never wanted to see the person she had once loved in pain; regardless of how she had practically sent him to his death, he had always wondered if Lisbon thought of him like he often thought of her.
When he thought of her, Jane refused to remember the last time that he had seen her. Instead with a small smile, he fondly remembered all of the times that had shared while working together. The origami frog that he had made for her, the feel of her face when she smiled, the trust fall that they had shared, the smile on her face at the pony he had bought her, the warmth of her slender body pressed against his, the trust that she had given him to hypnotize her, the cranberry muffin that she had brought him in jail, the dance they had shared to More Than Words, the crate that they had both been trapped together in until the little boy and his goat had rescued them, and the many more memories of Teresa Lisbon and her beautiful smile.
Of course, remembering all of that pained him. Her last words to him refused to leave and sometimes, especially when he heard those words over their happier memories together, he wished that the warden would have just given him something to hurry the process of dying along.
But that’s the point of being on death row, Jane thought, to make you regret everything you’ve ever done.
And over the past three years, he had regretted everything.
His quest to catch and kill Red John had destroyed his relationship with Lisbon long before he had been thrown in prison and Red John, in turn, had destroyed Lisbon using him. Even after all of that time in prison though, Jane still hadn’t been able to figure out how exactly Red John had done it all and he doubted that death would bring him further clarity into the mind of the serial killer who had won.
His pretending to be a psychic had almost ruined his marriage with Angela long before he had started to see her as a beloved wife and Red John had killed his beautiful wife and child because of him. Jane had driven his wife away with cold words and stupid actions and he had lost her, before he had realized what a fool he had been.
But even if he did regret everything he had ever done, including the actions of the things he had been blamed for, he knew it would never bring Charlotte or Angela back. His regretting wouldn’t even bring the team or Lisbon back to him again.
Jane could say sorry and sorry over again, but it wouldn’t fix what his quest for revenge had broken; Lisbon, a prime example of the fact, hadn’t replied to a single letter of apology he had sent her. Not a single letter had come back to him either. That knowledge alone had filled him with a small sense of hope that maybe Lisbon had been reading his letters (wherever she was, as he doubted the woman had stuck around in Sacramento after his trial) and had been trying to exonerate him, but because Red John would have left no trail in his wake; Lisbon hadn’t wanted to reply to him, so she didn’t disappoint him with false hopes.
‘Nothing you do would disappoint me, Teresa.’ Jane had written to her, days after he had learned when he was being sentenced to death. ‘It’s not your fault that you couldn’t see through Red John’s games. It’s not your fault he raped you or Grace. It’s not your fault Rigsby is dead; how were you to know he worked for Red John? I didn’t even know. I don’t know if you’ve been told yet, but I’m being executed on Thursday. You’re more than welcome to come.’
He could deal with his crappy last meal of tea the guards had brought him, he could deal with having no visitors for three years straight, he could deal with going through holidays and birthdays of nothing but hate mail and he could deal with the feeling of always being alone, if he had one final chance to say sorry directly to Lisbon and the others he had hurt along the way in his quest. It wouldn’t save him from being executed, but maybe it would push Lisbon into finally discovering the truth and eventually letting the world know that he had died an innocent man.
Hope was something that most expected to die stuck inside prison walls, as how could anyone continue to thrive on their hopes and wishes after being thrown in a cage, yet Jane had never stopped hoping. Lisbon had saved his life time after time and until he took his last breath and witnessed it with his own eyes, he would continue to hope and believe that she knew him better than that. That she knew there was no way he would willingly hurt her or her team; especially after all they had gone through together. That the real Red John wasn’t behind bars, but biding his time until he had both Lisbon and Grace right where he wanted them again; on their knees, submitting themselves to his silent reign of terror.
‘Red John is still out there, Teresa. He’ll come back for you and for Grace.’ Jane had written. ‘Just because he hasn’t killed since I was thrown in prison, doesn’t mean you’re both safe or free of him. Warn her for me, as a last request. That’s all I ask of you.’
And out of everything he could have asked for her to do, Jane only wanted her to stay safe and be happy; and if his death brought that, then so be it. But he didn’t want her to be lulled into thinking everything would be okay, just because they had caught the man who they had all thought was Red John.
With his eyes still closed, he heard the sound of brisk footsteps echoing down the adjacent hallway and Jane knew it was almost time for his execution. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a moment longer, before he pulled himself into a sitting position on the cot and waited for the Warden in silence.
“How is he doing?” Jane heard the Warden ask one of his men in the hallway. He doubted the Warden really cared about how he was doing, but for the sake of his job, Warden Glass had to inquire anyway. “I figured as much. Let’s get this over with then.”
Moments later, Warden Glass came into his vision with a bundle of blue in his arms and Jane continued to stare. The Warden with his neatly kept uniform and short gray hair hadn’t changed much in the past three years and Jane couldn’t help but smile at him. In the man’s arms sat the last pair of new clothes that Jane would ever have the pleasure of wearing again, unless the execution was halted at the last minute; a new pair of denim pants and a light blue collared shirt.
The Warden motioned for one of the guards to open the cell. “Well, Mr. Jane.”
“Warden Glass.”
Warden Glass sighed, as he entered the cell. “We both know that my name isn’t Warden Glass; it’s...”
“I haven’t been right about your name in three years, Warden.” Jane interrupted. “Do you really think I’m going to get it right now?” The Warden shook his head, while Jane continued to grin. When Warden Glass had first introduced himself years ago, Jane had labeled the man as easily shattered and transparent much like a fragile window of glass.
The Warden had eventually proved his label wrong, but by then, the name had already stuck.
“You’ll want to change.” Warden Glass directed, as he handed the bundle of clothing over. Jane nodded and stared to unbutton the sweat-stained light blue collared shirt that clung to his skin with his fingers. He felt a little uncomfortable with the Warden standing a mere foot away from him, but prison didn’t allow for privacy and just because he was being executed didn’t mean that the Warden trusted him to not escape from the cell. Jane stood from his cot and pulled his old denim pants off. The last inmate that had been executed, Clint Williams, had almost apparently taken the Warden’s face off with the handcuffs that he had been restrained in. “Put your old clothes on the bed, Mr. Jane. We’re not ready for you quite yet.”
Jane nodded again and did as he was instructed, before he sat back down on the edge of the cot. If he had been a religious man, he would have prayed for a stay of execution. If he had been a religious man, he would have prayed for more time to make things right. But he had never been a religious man. He was just a man, who had lost everything in his quest to make things right. He was just a man, who had lost the continuous game against Red John. And in the end, he was just a man who had to suffer the consequences of that lost game and a man, who had to die because of it.
“Do you have any final requests, Mr. Jane?” The Warden interrupted his thoughts and Jane glanced up at him in confusion. “In the thirty years I’ve been doing this job and in the ten prisoners I’ve watched being executed, I have always tried to ask each individual if they have something that they would like for me to tell a loved one…”
“My wife and child are dead, Warden.” Jane replied, his throat tight. “I somehow doubt your message would get to them, even if I told you it.” The Warden nodded, solemnly.
“I see.” Jane stared at the Warden, who had crossed his arms against his chest. Would it do any harm if he gave a message to Lisbon through the Warden? He could something short and sweet: be safe, Teresa. Or he could say the words that he had bounced around in his head days ago, when he had written her a final letter: love you.
Jane opened his mouth to tell the Warden he had a final request, when Warden Glass looked down at his wristwatch and cleared his throat. “Come on, Mr. Jane. It’s time.”
He closed his mouth. He’d take the love you and be safe, Teresa to his grave, alongside the wedding ring that he still wore. Jane stood from his cot and allowed for the Warden to handcuff him one final time. Jane stood between the three guards, as the Warden led him from the cell and motioned for everyone to follow him down the bare hallway and into the execution chamber.
“Stay still.” The Warden ordered, as he unlocked the handcuffs and Jane took the moment of silence to glance around the room that he had only heard stories of. The walls had been painted white, a light blue curtain hung against the opposite wall from where his final resting spot would be, a simple black clock set above an open window and two medical tables filled with the objects for the procedure remained next to the green gurney. “Get him ready.”
“Yes, sir.” One of the guards answered and Jane was pushed to the gurney, where he was restrained by the black straps that made it impossible to move. The setup almost reminded him of his stay in the psychiatric hospital with Sophie Miller years ago and he couldn’t help but smile wistfully; he had first been given restraints before he had started his quest for Red John and now, he had restraints before he ended his quest for Red John. It was befitting really and Jane hated Red John for it even more.
Jane said nothing, as he felt someone unbutton a few buttons on his shirt and place something cold against his chest. He figured it was a heart monitor, as how else could the staff tell he was dead and not just pretending? Someone’s hand went to his restrained arm and he felt a tight tourniquet wrap around his upper arm, before he also felt something cold brushing against the nook of his elbow.
“We’re ready here.” The person above him said and moments later, he felt the needles being slid into his veins without a flinch. “Raise him up.” The gurney started to rise and abruptly stopped to where Jane faced the curtain, before one of the guards pulled the light blue curtain from the windows.
There were six windows in total, which held three different rooms.
One of them, he noticed, was empty. The room for family.
The other single window, he also noticed, seemed full of bright lights and individuals dressed in monkey suits. The room for the media.
And the last four windows, which sat directly in front of him, had been filled with the familiar faces of the people he had gotten to know while working at the CBI. The room for the victims.
Somewhere within the room, Warden Glass cleared his throat and Jane ignored whatever the man had to say, as he focused his complete attention on the individuals who stood and sat behind the glass window.
Jane started with the individuals standing against the white back wall.
Susan Darcy met his gaze first with a cold stare; the former FBI Agent looked no different than she had three years ago on the stand. She was still uptight (she had her arms crossed against her chest), but the promotion had treated her kindly. Jane had caught something in the newspaper about Susan Darcy being promoted to the head of the FBI after he had been thrown on death row and honestly, he was just surprised she hadn’t been killed on the job yet.
Next to her stood Gale Bertram, the retired Director of the CBI, with a small smirk across his face and his arms crossed his chest. Of course, the cocky bastard would be happy. Quite frankly, the man had never liked him (though, Jane hadn’t liked him either) and his death was probably the best thing that had happened to Bertram all year.
Luther Wainwright caught his attention next, the former Special-Agent-in-Charge of the CBI, who still hadn’t lost the twelve-year-old look. The Agent had apparently been promoted to head of the Sacramento Police Deparment (as the CBI had closed down, almost a year after the Red John scandal had unfolded) and aside from the crossing of his arms; Jane could really see no change. Luther was still a momma’s boy, big boy pants on or not.
pOsvaldo Ardiles was the last man against the back wall, the District Attorney who had prosecuted him. Ardiles continued to stare at him and Jane wondered why the man wasn’t grinning. Ardiles had always disliked him and Lisbon’s team for their disobedience of the justice system, but the lack of any emotion on his face made Jane wonder if the man disagreed with the death penalty. If he had though, it wouldn’t have surprised Jane; Ardiles, out of the three others, had always been more willing to look for the alternatives. But the District Attorney’s office hadn’t allowed for him to charge anything less than the death penalty and Ardiles, a good boy in both the law and his work, had done exactly what his bosses had told him to do.
“…and responsibility vested in me by the Constitution and Laws of California…” Jane vaguely heard Warden Glass saying, as he glanced away from Ardiles and glanced at the familiar individuals, who sat in the front row of the windowed viewing room.
Closest to the exit of the spacious room sat Kimball Cho, who still remained in his wheelchair. The stoic former CBI agent hadn’t looked any different either, which made Jane briefly wonder what the man had been doing since the trail. With Summer gone, Jane doubted the man had been actively looking for a love life but who knew? Cho had never said anything to them after he had ended his relationship with Elise, but back then, Jane had been able to read his fellow co-workers within just moments of seeing them.
Cho also had one of his hands in his lap, while his other hand was attached to Grace’s. The man had never been one of show emotion before, which made Jane wonder if something a little bit more than friendship was going on between the two ex-CBI agents; it wouldn’t have surprised him if there was though. Cho had lost Summer, Grace had lost Rigsby and their friendship was probably the only thing that they had left.
Next to Cho, of course, sat Grace Van Pelt who clutched at his hand, as she tried to keep her eyes focused straight ahead on him without fear. The lovely and youthful Grace hadn’t changed too much from the trial either; the exhaustion still clung to her (the way she kept blinking gave her exhaustion away somewhat, as did her lank red hair), but Jane could tell that the single mother had gained a bit of weight since he had last seen her.
He wondered if her weight gain had anything to do with her new job, as the last he had heard, nobody had kept their jobs within the Serious Crimes Unit after the trail. Jane couldn’t figure out what new career path that she had chosen for herself, but whatever it was, he could tell it wasn’t making her happy and he only hoped she wasn’t doing anything heedless. Grace had never been the type of person to do anything that compromised her morals, but a person standing so close to the edge was easy to tempt.
Jane watched Grace’s thin mouth move and he glanced away. He had no desire to read her lips, as he had a pretty good feeling that whatever she was saying (from the darkened expression on Cho’s face) wasn’t something cordial.
To the left of Grace sat Sarah Harrigan, Rigsby’s former girlfriend, who held onto Grace’s other hand tightly. Aside from the close friendship Sarah and Grace seemed to share (both of them were single mothers, after all), the slender and short brunette didn’t appear any different from when he had last seen her three years ago. Sarah stared him down and he fixed his gaze away from her. Red John had stolen her boyfriend (fiancé, if Sarah would have said yes to Rigsby’s marriage proposal) and that was his fault. He should have realized that Rigsby had formed some type of a twisted kinship with the serial killer, especially as the good-hearted former CBI agent had a son to think about and Red John had haunted every corner of their lives.
But why wasn’t Lisbon clutching Grace’s hand? Jane had wanted to know. He had nothing against Sarah (even if she was a lawyer) or Sarah’s friendship with Grace, but he had never pictured Sarah and Grace sitting together.
He had always imagined seeing the three (Grace, Cho and Lisbon) sitting together at his execution to show him that he hadn’t ruined their friendship and the image of their entwined hands, as they all waited together would have filled him with the knowledge that Red John hadn’t won at everything. That Red John’s plan (if it had been to destroy the relationships within the Serious Crimes Unit, along with him) had ultimately failed, because the team had more loyalty to one another than Red John had ever thought to be possible.
Jane frowned. When Lisbon hadn’t been sitting with Cho or Grace during the trial, Jane had just thought that Ardiles had separated the three of them within the courtroom to make the case against him look stronger; not that one of them (Lisbon) had felt the need to sit alone and sit in the back of the courtroom because Cho and Grace had refused to associate with her after he had been arrested.
It hadn’t been Lisbon’s fault that Cho had been blown up. It hadn’t been Lisbon’s fault that Grace had gotten raped. It had been Red John’s fault that everything had fallen apart before their eyes.
“…in accord with the provisions of the laws of the State of California…” The Warden continued on. Jane ignored his reading voice again, as he tried to figure out the confusing puzzle set before him. Why had Sarah gotten so much closer to Grace, if Lisbon and Grace had practically gone through the same thing together? Wasn’t there some addendum about how birds of the same feather flocked together? He continued to stare at Sarah in confusion. By all means, Sarah and Grace shouldn’t have become friends.
Grace had been the first woman Rigsby had fallen in love with, which had made Sarah somewhat jealous when Rigsby had been alive. But maybe, the mutual loss had brought them closer together in some odd fashion (not to mention that they both had young children, under the age of six-years-old) and Lisbon just couldn’t sympathize with Grace in that way.
He blinked in surprise. His own reasoning sounded good, but that still didn’t explain why Lisbon wasn’t in the room with them. It hadn’t escaped Jane’s notice that there were only seven individuals in the viewing room and not eight. Had Lisbon not come because they hadn’t allowed her into the room?
Wainwright and Darcy probably had the authority to block witnesses from viewing executions, as they both held high positions within law enforcement. And if Lisbon didn’t think he was guilty anymore, they’d have plenty of reasons to keep her out. His heart swelled with hope at the idea. Had the countless letters that he had sent her finally gotten through to her?
Jane couldn’t hide his bright smile, as he scanned the individuals within the viewing room again; all of them looked visually disturbed at his smile, but he didn’t care what they thought.
Someone, after four years, had finally believed him.
Teresa Lisbon, after four years, had finally believed him.
Still grinning, he briefly caught Grace’s eyes with his own, before he watched the young woman burst into a frenzy of tears. Jane couldn’t hear her cries or whatever was being said behind the glass to calm her down, but eventually, the ex-agent had calmed down enough to where Cho could place his arm behind her shoulders and hold her close.
“The Governor has given us the green light on his execution, even though we don’t have enough witnesses.” Someone said from behind his head and Jane almost laughed. There were a set number of witnesses allowed into witnessing an execution? He wondered who had made that a law, considering it made no logical sense.
“Director Wainwright said he tried to get one more person to come, but she refused.” Someone else replied. “Apparently, her husband needed her to take care of the children.”
Jane lost his smile. Husband? Children?
Nobody on the Serious Crimes Unit had a husband and the only two individuals who had children were Rigsby (who was now dead) and Grace (who was sitting in the room before him), which meant only one thing.
The she they had been talking about was Lisbon.
His heart broke within his chest at the realization.
Lisbon hadn’t been kept out from witnessing his execution; she had just decided not to come.
Lisbon had gotten married and had moved on with her life, while he had remained sealed behind bars for four years for crimes that he hadn’t even committed.
Lisbon hadn’t been trying to prove his innocence in her absence; she had been trying to erase him completely from her life.
“Any last words?” Warden Glass asked and Jane remained silent, as he leveled them all with one final stare.
How he could say sorry to any of them? None of them had believed him. None of them had visited him. None of them had tried to stop the death penalty. All of them had been so caught up in believing that they had seen him, that he had done all of those crimes to them, that they had blatantly ignored years of friendship, triumphs and failures that they had all gone through together within the Serious Crimes Unit.
How could he apologize, especially when Lisbon had clearly thrown him aside for her new life? For her new husband? For her new home? For her children? What had happened to all of the years between them? He had saved her life, he had made her smile and her gift to him was one giant knife in the back?
I hope Red John gets her, Jane thought bitterly, before he heard the Warden give the vocal signal to start the execution and he closed his eyes.
Death had to be better than this.
End.
--
Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five 1/2 - Part Five 2/2 - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine 1/2 - Part Nine 2/2 - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Thirteen - Part Fourteen - Part Fifteen - Part Sixteen 1/2 - Part Sixteen 2/2 - Part Seventeen - Part Eighteen - Part Nineteen - Part Twenty 1/2 - Part Twenty 2/2