Blood pooling on the floor.
A cup of tea.
The moon gleaming on a steel blade.
The tinkle of a silver teaspoon.
A madman's laughter.
Sparkling sea green eyes.
That's what keeps her awake at night. She tosses and turns in her bed until the first morning light comes in through the blinds, then sighs and wanders off in search of a strong cup of coffee.
She feels like she's caught between the devil and the deep blue sea; she knows she can't escape either way.
Sometimes she just wishes she's never heard either of Red John or Patrick Jane.