A/N: So this is a continuation to a story entitled 'Keep the Memory of My Face, Wipe the Tears Away' but you don't have to have necessarily read that to understand this so… ENJOY!

Disclaimer: I own nada.

There was a phrase her mother had always told her when she was a child, 'Idle hands are the devils workshop.' She'd worked hard all her life to never be idle, she didn't want to disappoint her mother.

If only other's behaved the way she did, fighting off sin and temptation instead of succumbing to their basic interests. Truth, honor, virginity all were lost, but she was determined to assist as many as she could back on the path to a virtuous life, and if she couldn't save them before they died, they'd simply burn in hell…

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Angela felt refreshed. The crazed murderer who'd kidnapped Brennan, then Booth and left them both for dead in a burning warehouse was dead. The nightmare was over.

After a restful night of sleep, a long hot shower and fresh coffee, she felt almost as good as new. Reaching Brennan's floor she nodded to a few nurses manning their station, slipped quietly into her best friend's room and slowly twisted open the blinds. Brennan didn't stir. The killer had dosed Brennan with liquid heroin in her IV almost murdering her. Now she lay in a coma, her body quietly trying to repair the damage done to it.

Moving close to the bed Angela pulled up a chair, settled down to read a magazine and sip her coffee. She'd just flipped open the front cover of Allure when something yellow clutched in the palm of Brennan's hand caught her eye.

Carefully extracting what appeared to be a yellow post-it note, Angela read the words with a chill creeping down her spine.

'Idle hands are the devils workshop.

Repent and be saved while God still

accepts your soul.'

'It can't be,' Angela thought frantically. 'This is supposed to all be over, no more notes, no more clues, no more anything!' She tried to catch her breath. 'Pouerston's dead,' she reminded herself.

Despite her reminders of Pouerston's death fear clawed at her throat, desperately she fumbled for her cell phone, dialing Hodgins number.

He answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

"It's not over," Angela told him her voice shaking.

"What's not over?"

"This whole messy thing with Pouerston, the guy who tried to kill Booth and Brennan and now-"

"Whoa, slow down Angela. Pouerston's dead, he can't hurt them anymore."

"Then why is there a note with Brennan?"

"What?"

Angela's voice rose in pitch. "A note! I found a yellow folded up post-it note tucked in Brennan's hand when I came in this morning. It had to be Pouerston right? Before he ended up dead he must've snuck in here and-"

Hodgins low voice interrupted her. "Angela, no. They checked over Brennan during the investigation yesterday, she didn't have any pieces of paper on her."

"Maybe it's a mistake?" Angela asked hopefully. "Maybe the note was meant for another patient and somebody just got the rooms mixed up."

"Maybe," Hodgins echoed doubtfully. "It sounds highly religious, so it's possible some sort of missionary likes to visit the critical patients, try and convert them before their death."

"I guess," she replied uncertainly.

"Although… if this note has nothing to do with Pouerston, if it's not a room mix up or a religious missionary, it could be…"

Angela stopped listening to Hodgins as a code alarm sounded in the next room. Doctors and nurses rushed towards the patient. Angela watched a stricken young man be shoved into the hallway; hands clutching a yellow post-it like the one Angela had found on Brennan.

She interrupted Hodgins. "Just get down here soon. Something doesn't feel right. The last thing I want is another disaster unfolding before our eyes, but I don't think I'm being paranoid." She closed the phone with a 'snap' before heading out toward the young man.

She approached him slowly, offering a tentative smile. He seemed not to notice her, so Angela casually glanced at the paper in his hand. Sure enough the same words she'd found on Brennan's were sprawled across the young man's note as well, in the exact same perfectly scripted writing.

Angela felt chilled; she'd learned long ago that coincidences like the two notes weren't always as innocent as they first appeared...