Even though she'd already been through the tragedy of losing both her parents at a young age, she wasn't really prepared to what awaited her when she regained consciousness at last. It was infinitely worse than anything she'd experienced so far; her brother was dead, and evidence was found that he was indeed the serial killer that had eluded them for so long.

Teresa was utterly devastated at the news, and decided that the only thing for her to do was to take a sabbatical. She wasn't sure she would ever be able to come back to her job, not after such a shocking revelation that prompted her to question all the choices she'd made in her life.

The hard truth was that she'd failed. Both as a cop and as a sister.
Looking after her brothers had been her responsibility after their parents' death, so she felt responsible for James going down such a path. Even more so because she was the reason why he'd decided to kill off his last victim, the woman that was the wife of her best friend.
She loathed herself for that, could hardly stand to look at her own reflection in a mirror.

All her team members did their best to support her, especially Cho who felt guilty for shooting her brother – no matter if he'd done it in order to save her life. They were sweet, but that didn't change the fact she felt like she didn't have a reason to live anymore.

Eventually her brother Tommy stepped in, took her to the apartment he shared with his five year old daughter. Annabeth was genuinely happy to have her favorite aunt all to her own, but even her wasn't enough to snap Teresa out of the depression she was slowly sinking into.

She spent most of her time curled up in a ball, staring in front of her without actually seeing anything. Her mind was burning, the only thing she could think of was a consuming fire that destroyed all that she'd ever known.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

They had found a piece of paper in James' pocket with those lines scribbled in his own handwriting, and she constantly found herself going over them again. She should have seen that her little brother needed her help, should have done something before it was too late.

There was a knock at the door, and Tommy walked in. He looked as worried as he always was these days, and yet she simply couldn't do anything to relieve his concern.

"Reese? I've made some hot cocoa for Annie – why don't you come down and have a cup of it?"

"I don't think I could stomach it right now. Thanks for asking anyway."

He sighed and shook his head, then sat down beside her. "You haven't eaten anything in days, Teresa."

"I'm not hungry."

His hand tentatively reached for her face, his thumb running soothingly along her cheekbone.

"What happened is not your fault. I know it hurts, but you have to stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. We're still a family, and we love you."

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Thank you, Tommy. I love all of you too."

He wrapped his arms around her, and she wished she could always feel as safe as she did at this moment in time.

xxx

The days were dragging away so slowly; two whole weeks had passed since the accident at her house, and yet it felt like ages and nothing at all at the same time.
If it was true that time healed all wounds, then she guessed it would take a lot of time for her to recover completely – if ever.

One evening she was playing with her niece Annabeth when she heard her brother talking in the doorway, then Tommy walked in with a couple of visitors in tow.
She panicked when she saw Patrick and Charlotte Jane standing right in front of her, all but fled the room as if her life depended on it.

Once the bedroom door was safely shut behind her, she leaned against it and dragged in a shaky breath. There was no way she could face her former friend and his child, not after the terrible revelation that she'd been indirectly responsible for the death of the person they cared about most.

Another rush of panic coursed through her body when a soft tap came at the door. She held her breath, hoping that whoever it was they would just leave her alone.

"Teresa, we have to talk."

Bitter tears threatened to choke her when she heard the familiar voice, she could hardly fight the urge to throw herself to the floor and scream hysterically.

"Go away."

"If you don't open that door, I'm going to break it down – and I don't think that your brother would be happy about that."

In the end she just surrendered, threw the door open and stood there like a convicted murderer in front of a firing squad.

"I know you're angry at me, Jane. If I were in your shoes, I would probably feel the same."

He looked at her as if he couldn't comprehend a word of what she'd just said. "What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," and her own voice sounded hollow in her ears.

When Patrick took a step closer, she turned her back to him and huddled her arms to her chest in a desperate attempt to pull herself together.

"Teresa. You can't possibly think that I hold you responsible for what happened."

"But I am," she let out in a painful whisper. "Your wife was murdered because of me. It's almost as if I've killed her with my own hands."

"Stop hurting yourself. I can't bear to see you like that."

He spoke in a soft voice, like he cared; then he pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to her.

"My daughter wanted you to have this, even if she's now busy making friends with your niece."

Her fingers trembled as she took the sheet of paper and unfolded it slowly. It was a drawing; there were three people holding hands, and another smiling at them above the clouds.
She burst into tears when she finally understood she was the person that Charlotte had drawn right beside her and her father, while her mother was watching over them from heaven.

"I can't… please," she murmured incoherently, but Patrick only pulled her in for a crushing hug.

"I've always cared for you, Teresa," he said as he rocked her gently against his chest. "And I know it's selfish of me, but I need you more than ever now."

Neither of them spoke for a long while, as they seemed to find new strength in one another.

"He's always been so fragile, you know," she breathed at last. "Our mother's death hurt him so deeply, he never actually recovered after that."

"May God have mercy of his soul then."

Patrick's voice trembled a little, but he didn't loosen his hold on her. And even though she knew that he didn't really believe in God, that was exactly what she needed to hear in order to start living again.

They could always figure out the rest one thing at a time.