What an awful crime scene. When Red John announced he was going to start killing again he didn't say they were going to be more bloodied, more frenzied, more sickening. Each one takes a little more from Jane. His step is that little bit slower, his shoulders droop that little bit lower. He seems that little bit older, each one strips his soul that little bit more. Each death wraps itself around his conscience squeezing the life force out of him. I try to tell him that it's not his fault but guilt presses down on him heavy and unrelenting.