Author's notes: Thank you so much for your reviews, your encouragement is appreciated and a strength.

He leans against the door and stares at the grotesque face. Images flash before his eyes of that night. His happiness as he opened his front door. He couldn't wait to tell Angela about how well the night had gone, how good it would be for the them, that there was talk of a West Coast deal, and National wouldn't be far behind. Within a few years he could give up this life, he would never have to lie for a living again.

He lets out a scornful laugh. Patrick Jane, the great psychic had detected nothing in his house that night as he climbed the stairs. There'd been a great evil present in his home, his wife and daughter lay butchered in his bedroom and he detected nothing amiss. He climbed the stairs tired but excited to wake up his wife with a kiss, share his news and then maybe…..then he saw the note. He read the words and he knew what they said but he didn't. He remembers taking a slow deep breath and his hand turning the door knob, his mind having shut down, unable to accept the implications of the note, but in a dark corner he knew. He pushed the door open and it was there, the numbness that allowed him to open the door was replaced by horror. It slammed in to his body with a force that sent him to his knees. A feral scream echoed around the room as he took in the blood and mutilated bodies. His girls gone. Then a refusal to believe picked him off the floor and propelled him to their side, he took Angela in to his arms, looked in to her lifeless eyes and commanded her to speak to him. To do anything, but she remained limp as tears streamed down his face. His eyes moved to Charlotte, her eyes were closed, his mind grasped on to the hope that Red John had never hurt a child before, that maybe the note was a lie, that he was being cruel, telling him of all he could have lost. He moved to her side, gently lifted her on to his lap as he sat with his back against the wall. Her head fell back limply and he knew, he pulled her tightly in to him, and rocked back and forth, tears streaming down his face, as he buried it in to the folds of her nightgown the scent of strawberries and blood, filling his senses. He began to shake uncontrollably as the heart wrenching sobs began.

Jane comes back to reality to find himself mirroring his memories. He's sank to the floor, his arms wrapped around his knees, his head buried, rocking back and forth. He slowly raises his head, he can feel his body trembling, he unfolds himself and crawls to the camp bed and settles himself down into it and wraps himself in the blanket trying to steady himself. He hears a knock on the door followed by Teresa saying his name.

Patrick's right, her bones are aching and Teresa decides to take a shower before settling down to sleep. It's a good shower, the water coming at her is just the right velocity against her skin. The hot water feels good on her battered body and she stands underneath it for a long time, her eyes closed, enjoying the sensations as it feels like fingers messaging her pains away. She must get one of these for her own place. Finally the desire for sleep wins out and she reluctantly turns off the water and she dries herself off and wraps the towel around her as she leaves the bathroom. Patrick was thoughtful enough to place a chair in the room, she sits on it and gives her hair a quick dry with her hair dryer. She slips on her sleep wear, sitting back on the chair she holds her cross and whispers a prayer. Her thoughts turn to Patrick, she knows what's in his room, staring down on him as he sleeps. She climbs on to the mattress and pulls the duvet up to her chin, she closes her eyes to wait for sleep, but it doesn't come.

She's worried. She's worried about Patrick. She tells herself she's being silly, he's slept in that room many times under Red John's calling card. When she discovered it was still there, her immediate reaction was that it was weird, its painted in his wife's and daughter's blood. How...how can he sleep under it, how...how can he even enter the room. She's seen the crime scene photographs, read the reports, she knows the horror of the scene and can only imagine what it was like for him, as his eyes took in the scene. She's heard the nine-one-one call he made. It took him two hours after entering the house to make the call. The first responders found him against the wall, holding his daughter, covered in blood. They'd come in, as protocol dictated, with their guns out, they'd had no choice but to treat him as a suspect. They ordered him to put down the victim and to get on his knees. The report said that he'd looked at them but didn't seem to see them. They'd repeated their request, after a third time he spoke to them.

"They're dead."

He's looked down at the body in his arms and then back up at the officers.

"My daughter's dead."

They repeated their request for him to put down his daughter and to get up on to his knees. This time he followed their instructions, he was then told to put his hands behind his head, as he complied they cuffed him and walked him out of the room, taking him downstairs. One officer sat with him in the living room as the other one waited outside for backup and the detectives. He complied with requests for his clothes and to go with the officers to the station but Patrick Jane didn't say another word for eighteen hours. He sat in the interview room staring at his hands, rubbing the palm of his left hand with his right thumb. He never looked at his surroundings, never acknowledge anyone who entered the room, he retreated into a world of horror.

The detectives were able to put together a timetable of Patrick's whereabouts and concluded quickly that given the time of death he didn't commit the murders. Only when the detective told him that he was free to go did he look up at him with a puzzled look on his face and ask:

"Why? It's my fault."

Patrick's come a long way since that fateful night, he pulled his life back together, found a purpose and fulfilled it. He now has his own personal horrors from his encounter with Red John and worries if he's reliving his past underneath the smiley face. She realises that she's not going to rest and gets off the mattress and wanders to his room and knocks softly on the door saying his name.