She knew it was futile. The last, desperate gasp of a dying woman. Yet here she stood, looking for one last reason to cling to life.

The reality was Hoyt had killed her long ago in that dark, dank basement. But with the support of her family, Maura, and her job to fill the empty spaces inside the illusion of life was relatively easy to maintain. Occasionally, it was even true. Now all that was gone. Maura hated her; Ma and Tommy blamed her for that; Pop was just gone. At work they blamed her for killing Doyle, or not killing him sooner. They seemed unclear on that and she couldn't find the energy to care either way.

So here she stood at Maura's door, in the false warm glow of the porch light, hoping against hope that time and distance had allowed Maura to forgive her. Hoping that Maura would save her life one more time. Instead all she got was Ian the asshole, grinning at her like a shark that smells blood, telling her she was no longer welcome here.

All hope extinguished, she turned back into the dark night. She didn't see Maura appear in the doorway behind, shooing Ian away. She didn't hear her tentatively call her name. She was deaf to everything but the sound of the final nails being hammered into the coffin of Jane Rizzoli.