He had no memory of how he'd got there; perhaps it was just another of his nightmares, or maybe he'd eventually lost his mind.

(There was even a small chance he was actually dead and trapped in his own personal hell, but he'd rather not consider such an option.)

All he knew was that the woman that was previously standing in the doorway looked remarkably like Angela; that was why he'd followed her inside, though she was constantly eluding him as they walked down dimly lit corridors.

With a flash of pain he realized he'd lost her; her familiar figure was nowhere to be seen, so he started randomly trying the doors that opened along the passage. This was definitely the shabbiest motel he'd ever been in, he thought as his gaze swept over the scarcely furnished room; then he just shut the door and went for the next one.

Realization dawned upon him at last; he wasn't looking for his wife anymore. Red John was hiding somewhere there, he just had to find him.

A blade shimmered in his hand as he searched room after room, until he finally reached the last one.

Then he flung the door open.