A/N: Y'all remember when I didn't say how long the fic would be because I'm never sure myself? I should have known better than to assume the post-hospital stuff would only be one chapter. There's gonna be a bonus chapter! Because angst takes longer to write than I ever plan for.

Gus limped towards his apartment door, the crutch digging into his armpit as the stares of people who weren't there seemed to itch at the back of his neck. He knew no one was in the hall; there were thoughts around him, but they were all quiet and muffled behind the apartment walls. But he couldn't help but feel like everyone was staring at him and seeing just how hurt and broken he was.

It was the first time he'd been alone since everything had happened. He hadn't expected it to be this hard.

The plastic bag around his wrist crinkled as he worked around his crutch, reaching into his pocket to feel the smooth curve of his phone. He wasn't really alone. Shawn was just a call away, Lassiter was probably still casing the block, Juliet was at Shawn's place and would drive over if needed, and Henry was less than fifteen minutes away. Gus took a bracing breath and dug deeper into his pocket to grab his small ring of keys.

Dahmer was dead, and Rhianna was being held in a mental hospital until her trial. He was safe; he didn't have to be afraid of being alone.

He let himself into his apartment and immediately locked the door behind him before he risked looking around. Everything looked the same.

It wasn't that he'd thought the cops were lying, but he hadn't fully believed them until he could see it with his own two eyes. There was still fruit that needed to be cut on the counters, there were still dishes that needed to be washed in the sink, and there was still a neat pile of mail that needed to be sorted on his desk. It was like he'd just stepped out for groceries.

But something was wrong. There was a tension in the air that set his teeth on edge, and he had to fight to make himself take another step forward.

Dahmer had been here.

Gus rolled his shoulders, trying to adjust his sling so it wasn't brushing against the side of his neck. Dahmer was dead. He was safe.

He limped forward another step and checked the other side of his apartment. It was more of the same, everything was just like he'd left it. His eyes slid over to the couch and he froze.

The remote had been moved. He always put it on the table so it wouldn't be lost in the cushions when Shawn came over. But now it was sitting out in the open in the middle of the couch. Dahmer must have moved it.

Gus shook his head in exasperation as he realized the more obvious answer. Lassiter had been over the night before they'd been taken, and he'd watched TV.

He stared at the remote before deciding he could move it back later.

The bag of medication shifted against his crutch, reminding him of its presence. He was fine. All he had to do was take his meds and deal with his arm before he went to bed.

Gus clenched his hand around the grip of the crutch and limped over to the bathroom. He kept himself from looking at the cabinet under the sink as he dumped the bag unceremoniously on the counter. It didn't matter that Dahmer had stood where he was standing. Gus was there, the dead bad guy wasn't.

Instead of looking down, he looked up, and exhausted eyes stared back at him through the mirror. He was so tired of being scared. He leaned closer, taking in the raised line of stitches running across his cheek and the bruises on his face that were already starting to lighten. He lifted his chin and inspected the dark band of bruising around his neck and the small, scabbed lines showing where the edge of the collar had rubbed his skin raw. Dahmer had left so many marks; it was hard to imagine that most of them would fade.

Gus looked away from the beat-up person in the mirror and focused on the task at hand. He'd taken plenty of pills at the hospital; it had been good practice. He was able to take his meds without panicking about having drugs in his system again. The tube of antibiotic ointment was a different matter; it took him several tries before he could convince himself to pull off the sling and take the bandage off of his arm.

He'd looked under the bandage at the hospital, when the sea-breeze-nurse had been there to help him, but the skin graft was still a shock to see. Even though the skin had been his, it was the wrong color now, paler and slightly marbled. The edges were stretched tight and looked almost white before his healthy skin abruptly started again. Gus tried to not look too hard at the staples holding the tainted skin to his body.

It was awful, but at least the pain meds kept it from hurting as much. The uncomfortable burn whenever he moved was definitely a step up from the searing agony of the untreated wound.

He quickly applied the cream like the nurse had shown him, and the stinging pull of his other arm reminded him that he had more than one injury to treat. He had so many injuries to treat. Gus closed his eyes and took a few calming breaths before deciding he could take care of his leg and wrists tomorrow. At least the stitches on his arm and face only needed to be kept clean.

He left the sling on the counter as he set up all of his new meds in a neat row. He squinted in thought as he stared at the last two 'gifts' from the hospital: a strange breathing tube so he could exercise his lungs, and a large cup that the nurses had said they would have to throw away, so he might as well take it as well. He didn't exactly need a cup that could hold a liter of water, but he hadn't been in the right headspace to be able to tell them no.

It felt wrong throwing it away now. Who knew, maybe Shawn would need it someday.

Gus chewed his lip as his eyes drifted down to the obvious place to store it. Dahmer's hands had been all over the bathroom as he'd looked through Gus' things and taken what he'd wanted. Gus set his jaw and reached out with a shaking hand to open the cabinet. He used the edge of the door, not the handle.

There were obvious signs of Dahmer in the mess under his sink, and the phantom collar squeezed around Gus' throat for the first time in over a day. He closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck, willing the sensation to go away. Dahmer was dead; it didn't matter that he'd made a mess. He'd made plenty of messes. This one didn't matter at all.

Gus wanted to clean the cabinet and put everything right, but his hand stayed on his neck when he tried to make it move. He growled and carefully reached with his bad arm to pick up the cup and toss it on top of the pile of medical supplies. He could take care of it after he'd slept. He was just too tired to deal with it now.

He was still terrible at lying to himself.

He limped out of the room and eyed up the door to his bedroom with growing unease. Dahmer had been in there too, to find the other set of crutches. The place where Gus slept and was the most vulnerable. The place where he'd have to handle his psychic nightmares. Alone.

His heart pounded and a pressure squeezed around his throat. Sleeping wasn't safe. He traced the outline of his phone against his pants; Shawn could help him feel safe. He didn't have to be alone.

Gus shook his head at himself. He was a grown-ass adult; he could handle going to sleep in his own bed. He was being ridiculous. The bedroom had been tainted, and he couldn't do anything about that, but he could at least do something to help with the nightmares.

Real sensations seemed to help chase away dream sensations; his room needed to be a sanctuary of the five senses. Gus focused on his new mission and pushed everything else away. He limped over to his desk and grabbed several fidget toys as well as a handful of breath mints. He sighed in annoyance when he realized he was already out of hands, and he brought what he had into his room. Nothing looked out of place, but the feeling of wrongness seemed to grow as he dropped off his supplies.

He limped out of the bedroom quickly and headed back to his desk. There was a pair of speakers for his phone in one of the drawers, but he didn't remember which one. He pulled the bottom drawer open and dug through it, letting himself get lost in the task. It was normal and grounding. It was a corner Dahmer hadn't touched.

The first drawer was a dud, though he did find a charging cable he'd been looking for. He'd just assumed Shawn had happened; it was why he always bought spares. He tossed the cord onto the desk and opened the next drawer, his eyes catching on the yellow notepad inside. His breath caught in his chest and his hand froze around the handle as he stared at the dark, scrawled words across the paper: 'He's MINE.'

Bile rose in his throat and the crutch fell to the ground as he backed away from the words of a dead man. He wasn't safe. He couldn't stay here; he wasn't safe.

His back hit the front door and he fumbled in his pocket for his phone. There was only one place he knew he'd be safe.

It took several rings for Shawn to answer. "Hey, Gus."

His tone sounded off, hollow and exhausted. Concern split through the panic, and Gus' head cleared enough to ask, "What's wrong?"

"I don't think that's how this works," Shawn said, wry humor tinting his voice. "You called me first. You should be sleeping; you tell me what's wrong."

Gus hesitated, looking towards his desk. The panic was starting to fade now that Shawn was with him, and it seemed ridiculous to say his thoughts out loud. But even the thought of stepping closer to the message to retrieve his crutch made his heart pound again. "I- I just… I can't stay here. Right now." He closed his eyes in shame as he asked, "Can I come over?"

"Yeah, of course," Shawn answered without any hesitation. "Just, uh, one problem. Juliet's already gone. And I don't… really want her to come back. Right now."

Gus kept his questions to himself; Shawn didn't need him to ask them now. He thought through his other options for a ride, but calling Henry or Lassiter involved explaining things he didn't really want to explain. "It's ok, I'll drive over."

"... Or you could call a cab."

Gus thunked the back of his head gently against the door. He was an idiot. "Or I could call a cab."

Being in a car with a stranger didn't sound safe, but it was safer than staying in his apartment. And it was definitely safer than driving while medicated and injured.

The air grew thicker as Gus eyed up the distance between him and his crutch. "This is dumb, just… can you stay on the line for a minute?"

"Sure."

Gus limped forward, keeping his eyes on his destination as Shawn kept talking in his ear. "You know, that saying is pretty outdated now that I think about it. There's no lines anymore. Or, well, I guess there are lines, but not for cells. And everyone has a cell now; we need a new phrase."

"'Stay on the signal' just doesn't have the right ring to it though. Hold on." Gus passed his phone to his bad hand as he leaned down to grab the crutch. He gritted his teeth and carefully lifted the cell back to his ear as he limped away from the desk. "Alright, I'm good. I need to hang up to call a cab. Are you ok?"

"Still not dead."

Gus opened the door and retreated from the invisible presence corrupting his home. "Yeah… still not dead."

The cab drove off, taking the feeling of bubble wrap under Gus' feet with it. Gus watched it turn the corner and shook his head at the bizarre thought sensation; at least the cabbie hadn't asked any questions. He kept his bad arm close to his body as he turned and navigated the step up to the sidewalk.

He strained his psychic sense as he slowly worked his way to the old Fluff-n-Fold, and tension bled away from his tight muscles when he heard balls ponging against a wall. He shouldn't need Shawn like this, but he already felt safer.

The door opened before he reached it, and Shawn greeted him with a small smile. "We were barely apart and you missed me already. It must be the honeymoon phase."

Gus pulled himself up to his full height and did his best to saunter in while still using the crutch. "For the record, I usually wait for the third date before I stay over."

"Which means you've really got it bad for me." Shawn locked the door before following Gus to the couch that already had a pillow and blanket flung over it.

A warm fondness for his friend helped Gus relax even further as he lowered himself down with a groan. "Sure, I'm completely smitten. Thanks, man."

"No problem." Shawn sat down and used one of his crutches to pull a footstool closer. Once he was settled with his cast propped up, he asked, "So, uh, we doing the talking thing?"

"It's dumb," Gus said as he rubbed the back of his neck. He sighed as he tried to find the right words without sounding insane. "He's dead, but he's still… there. I couldn't stay."

Shawn shook his head. "Not dumb."

"Sure feels like it." Gus let his hand drop back to his lap. "He left a message, too. The cops missed it."

"Son of a bitch. Where?"

"Desk drawer."

Shawn scoffed; Gus didn't need to read his irritated thoughts to know that he would have searched every cabinet and drawer if he'd been there.

"I know," Gus acknowledged. But they didn't need to focus on that now. "I told you mine, now it's your turn."

Shawn fidgeted with one of the crutches. "I kicked Juliet out."

Gus had figured as much. "Why?"

Shawn spun his crutch like a top and caught it before it could fall. "She tried talking about it. About how my 'abilities' must have made it even harder and it was ok to need extra time." He spun the crutch harder and watched as it clattered to the ground. "I didn't handle it well."

"What did you say?"

"Honestly? Not much that made sense." Shawn shoved the other crutch down, not even bothering to pretend to play with it. "We finally got to be by ourselves and I screwed it all up."

Gus didn't know what to say, so he just held out his crutch as an offering.

Shawn shook his head without taking it. "Man… I'm so tired of all of this," he waved his hand around his head, "and the worst part is, she wasn't wrong, was she?"

"That never being able to forget would make it harder?" Gus asked, knowing it wasn't what Shawn meant. "Yeah, she was probably right about that."

Shawn gave him a look that clearly said he knew what Gus was trying to do. "Sure, that's clearly what she meant."

"Does that matter?" Gus slumped back into the couch. "We're both all sorts of messed up now, aren't we?"

"Yeah…" Shawn reached down and grabbed one of the crutches, pulling it towards him. "But we've always been a bit off."

"I can't argue with that."

Shawn stood up carefully before shooting Gus a small smirk. "First one to a nightmare gets to pick out the movie."

Gus grabbed the pillow that had been left for him. "You're on."

He made himself comfortable as Shawn hopped to the bedroom. Gus fell asleep to the comforting sounds of balls ponging on the wall.

Gus was rinsing out their bowls of early-morning popcorn when he heard Shawn talking quietly in the other room. It only took a second to decide to eavesdrop and he moved as quietly as he could to listen outside the door.

"... weren't even trying. It was in his desk, man. What the hell?"

Gus wasn't sure whether to feel touched or annoyed that Shawn was going to bat for him behind his back. He kept listening.

"Dude, you weren't there as a cop. You were there as a friend. Friends go through friend's drawers."

Gus looked at the small table next to him and quietly reached out to open the drawer and check what was inside.

"Really?" Shawn sounded genuinely surprised. "Man, you have the strangest boundaries."

The mess inside included a rubik's cube with half of its stickers missing, a handful of binder clips, and one of Gus' ties. Gus stuffed the tie in his pocket and closed the drawer again.

"Whatever. Is it evidence, or can we burn it?" Gus tensed and weighed the pros and cons of fire in his apartment as he waited for the detective to answer. Shawn's voice was resigned when he replied, "Fine. We'll bag it. Get some sleep, Lassie. You sound like you need it."

Gus debated scrambling back to the couch, but it sounded like too much effort. He stayed where he was as the door opened in front of him.

Shawn didn't seem surprised as he hopped past. "Really? You're not even going to hide that you were being a creep?"

"Friends listen in on friend's phone calls," Gus defended himself as he followed.

"You know that's right. I'm picking the next movie though."

Yeah, that's fair."

Gus carefully finished buttoning up one of his shirts that Shawn had 'just happened' to have in his closet. All of his injuries seemed more painful since he'd treated them that morning, and he hoped the new round of pain meds would kick in soon. He gritted his teeth as he lifted his bad arm up to do the last button, leaving several undone to keep his shirt collar loose.

He didn't like the bruise around his neck showing, but he hated the idea of having something against his throat even more.

A sling landed on the couch next to him, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Contrary to what some people might think," Shawn said smugly, "I do have a few things on hand for emergencies."

"You only have that because your dad thought it would be cheaper to just buy you a sling after you were shot," Gus pointed out as he slipped the strap over his head with a grimace.

"Yeah, and…?" Shawn spun his phone in his hands. "You ready?"

Gus eased his arm into the sling and adjusted the strap on his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Ok…" Shawn spoke quickly, as though hoping he wouldn't taste the words as they left his mouth. "I don't want to call Jules yet."

Gus nodded in understanding. "It's ok, we can use a cab again. Call her after our date."

Shawn's lips quirked up at the word, just like Gus had hoped. "I'll call Jules afterwards, but then we go back to your apartment."

Gus swallowed nervously as the sling strap rubbed his neck. "Yeah, ok."

He pushed himself off of the couch as Shawn called a cab.

They quickly discovered that having three crutches in a cab made for a very uncomfortable ride. Having three crutches and a sling also made it difficult to carry anything after they'd ordered their lunch.

"You two are lucky you're regulars," the japadog vendor said with a grin as he carried their food over to a picnic table for them. "I don't do full-service for everyone, y'know."

"Thanks, Andy. You know you're our favorite," Shawn said, his eyes lighting up as he looked everything over.

"Yeah, yeah. You're my favorites too. Enjoy." The sound of graphite on paper turned fond as Andy waved and went back to his growing line of customers.

Gus sat down and made himself comfortable as he braced his mental shield against the other sensations. The hospital had also been good practice for being around other people's thoughts, but if it still made his skin crawl.

By the time he reached out for his loaded hotdog, Shawn was making loud noises of approval around a large bite in his mouth. "Dude. This was worth surviving for."

Gus almost pointed out Shawn's skewed priorities until he took his first bite and a burst of delicious flavor hit his tongue. "Oh my god. You're absolutely right."

They gladly let the food do the talking for the next few minutes. Even though Shawn's thoughts crested whenever someone moved closer to them, and Gus kept listening for red sensations, the simple joys of a good meal and a nice day helped push back against the darkness.

Shawn finished his hotdog and was halfway through his fries before finally slowing down enough to talk. "You know, I think this is better than some of the five star restaurants we've been to."

"Agreed. Bonus points, you can't be kicked out of a public park," Gus pointed out with a smirk.

"Man, that was one time."

"Two," Gus corrected.

"I was falsely accused."

"No, you weren't."

"The dry ice was just sitting there."

"No, it wasn't."

"Their crab was dry."

"Meh." It was worth giving Shawn that point; Gus didn't remember if the crab had been dry or not. The fog pouring out of the bathroom had seemed more important at the time.

"Good," Shawn said in his most logical voice, "we agree that I never should have been banned. How was I supposed to know the pipe would burst?"

"No, you totally deserved to be banned." Gus started in on his fries. "Them banning me was a bit much though."

"Their loss." Shawn held up his paper cup of soda. "At least we'll always have japadog."

Gus smirked and lifted his own cup to clink them together in a toast. "To always having japadog."

They continued their light conversation until all of the containers were empty. Shawn's thoughts started to click nervously as they piled up the trash. "So, I know you don't usually talk about the future on second dates, but I figure you did stay over last night, so we seem to be moving quickly…"

Gus rolled his eyes at his friend trying to hide behind the joke. "Please don't tell me you brought a ring."

Shawn's thoughts jolted in surprise. "Man, why didn't I think of that?"

"Because I'm clearly the smart one," Gus said before internally wincing as he realized it could be taken the wrong way.

"You are." Shawn took a deep breath before saying, "You'd be smart to leave Psych."

The statement hit like a brick wall, and Gus just stared at Shawn as he tried to comprehend something so incomprehensible. "Wh-what?"

"Believe it or not, I've actually thought this through," Shawn said evenly. "I don't want cuntshit to win. That means keeping Psych open so I can stop more people like him. But it keeps putting a target on your back." He looked away to study the people around them. "This is your out. No strings attached."

"What if I don't want him to win either?" Gus asked, knowing the truth as he spoke it. His heart beat faster as the phantom belt buckle pressed into his neck, but he knew he was right. "I don't want an out. He tried to take everything from us… I want to start taking it back."

Shawn looked back at him, his face just as open as his blue-tinged thoughts. "It's dangerous. You trusted me to keep you safe-"

"And you did. Every chance you could." Gus sighed as he adjusted the sling strap again. "I know you think this all happened because of Psych, but I meant what I said when Wright was taking you away. Psych is both of us. I chose to stay with you, even after knowing the danger. I still choose that."

"It's not the smart choice."

"Maybe not. But it's mine." Gus waited until Shawn met his eyes before saying firmly, "I wouldn't change a thing."

Shawn's thoughts crested as he searched Gus' face. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to find. "Ok."

Gus nodded as his heart beat even faster. "Ok."

They both turned to look at the pile of trash and their crutches for several seconds before Gus added, "We don't have to start right now, though. Being able to walk first would be good."

"Agreed. Walk, then run, then Psych." Shawn stood up and fumbled with his crutches until they were where he needed them to be. He started to reach for the pile of containers when Andy jogged over to give them a hand.

"Man, you two look like you tried going mano el mano with a polar bear. And lost."

"Actually, the polar bear was really friendly," Shawn told the vendor cheerfully. "But he was also a year ago. Gus didn't let me keep him."

"I'm still paying off that McDonald's order," Gus grumbled as he stood up. "Thanks, Andy."

"Just remember this if I ever need a seance or something." Andy grabbed the last of the trash and walked off back to his cart.

Gus looked around and noticed the vendor wasn't the only one who'd noticed them. Several people kept glancing their way, and two were outright staring. Shawn stared right back and loudly informed them, "Yes, the hair's natural. I was born fabulous."

The people who'd been staring looked away quickly, and Gus saw Andy stifle a grin as he handed over some change. Shawn was right, this japadog cart was definitely their favorite.

They limped together down the sidewalk until they reached a quieter section of the park. Shawn pulled out his phone and stared at it as his thoughts ponged nervously. "She's probably mad."

"She probably isn't," Gus countered. "She knows what it's like."

"True…" Shawn stared at the phone for another second before quickly dialing and bringing it up to his ear. He didn't have to wait long before he started talking. "Hey, Jules. Uh, listen. I wanted to apologize for last night…"

As the call continued, his thoughts slowed and started to glow a faint pink. Gus backed away to give them a bit of privacy as he pulled his own phone out. Shawn had held up his end of the deal, now it was Gus' turn. He took a deep breath and dialed for a cab.

"...dinner tomorrow at that steakhouse you like?" Shawn offered through the phone.

Juliet smiled at the olive branch being offered to her. "That sounds good. I'll see you then."

"Yeah. I'll even try to not yell this time."

Juliet's smile turned sentimental as she remembered how she'd yelled at Lassiter when he'd taken her home after the clocktower. She'd have to remember to tell Shawn about it on their date. Maybe it'd help him feel better. "I get it; it's ok. I'm here for whatever you need. Even if it's that you need to yell at someone."

"God, I don't deserve you. Love you, Jules."

"I love you too, Shawn. And you deserve all of that and more." Juliet smirked and followed up on the opening she'd given herself. "So have fun on the rest of your date with Gus."

Shawn's small giggle brightened her whole day. "Thanks, I will. The cab just got here, see you later."

"See you." Juliet hung up and looked at her phone fondly before pushing open the door to the morgue. "Woody, do you have anything on that Jane Doe yet?"

Woody looked up from a body that was most definitely not their Jane Doe. "Oh, hello Detective! Don't mind me; I had a thought during lunch and just needed to check on something."

Juliet noticed with slight queasiness that a half-eaten sandwich was sitting on the tray that usually held the autopsy tools. She looked away and studied the half-blown-out skull instead as she let her queasiness settle. "You had a thought?"

"Yes!" Woody patted the corpse's torso fondly. "What if there's a mark that can identify someone as a serial killer? You see, there's always been this prevailing idea of things like witch's or devil's marks. If I could find something like that…" He trailed away as he took in the look Juliet was giving him. "Ok, so maybe it was more of an inkling than a thought."

"That's… actually kind of sweet," Juliet admitted. "I don't think you're going to find anything though."

"No," Woody agreed as he stared at the corpse's face. "If there was, it'd probably be in the brain. And, you know, most of his is jelly… Ooh! I should make marmalade!"

Juliet distracted the coroner as fast as she could. "His body's being incinerated today, right?"

"Yep! I double checked all of my notes as I waited for your lovely Jane Doe's tox report to come back -she was clean as a whistle, by the way." Woody lifted his eyebrows with a thought. "Though, really, whistles really aren't clean. So much spit…"

"Is there anything in the report that will useful in Rhianna's trial?" Juliet asked, ignoring his side-thought with the ease of practice.

"No, not really," Woody answered distractedly, clearly still thinking about whistles. "The defensive wounds all match Shawn and Gus' statement, so I guess there's that." His eyes sharpened and he focused back on her. "You never read my report, did you?"

"I… got caught up in other things." Things like worrying too much about the boys to be worried about the body of the man who'd hurt them.

"Well, you're in luck. There's no substitute for a visual aid. Let's start at the top." Woody circled his hand, indicating the bruising on the corpse's face. He didn't seem to notice the gnarled, ruined flesh right next to it. "His nose was broken not once, but twice. He also had heavy bruising along the zygomatic arch. It would have hurt anytime he tried to smile, which seems fitting if you ask me."

Juliet remembered a large grin as Gus bled and privately agreed.

Woody turned the head so the crater in the bone wasn't visible. He indicated the back of the neck. "I had to pick out several shards of glass here; my best guess based on the wound shape is that someone tried to stab him with a broken bottle. They were close; if it was a knife they might have severed the spinal column."

The boys had never gone into the details of their fights, just that they'd fought and lost. Juliet looked at the wounds with pride and wondered if they had any idea just how much damage they'd been able to do.

But Woody wasn't done. He lifted one of the arms and showed a small cut. "Someone did get a knife, though it was a shallow cut. Believe me, those still hurt. I had to learn the hard way; don't drink and dissect." He put the arm down and picked up the other hand, showing a rough, circular wound. "And one of them also got a bite in. I hope they got a full blood panel… Now, I always heard that Shawn was the biter, but the scabbing lines up with the timing of Gus' fight. I suppose brothers are bound to pick things up from one another." He seemed to misinterpret the confused look on Juliet's face. "You're right. Henry probably taught it to both of them."

Woody put the hand down and looked over the corpse in satisfaction. "Yessire, our boys sure are scrappy." He seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts. "Oh, the report. GSR on his hands; he shot the gun. Bruising on his knuckles; he was definitely the one who hit our boys. I wasn't allowed to look inside of him, so I can't tell you what he last ate…" He looked grumpy at the limitation. "No drugs in his system, and no obvious extra toe, evil mole, or other devil's mark. Cause of death, gunshot to the head."

"Thanks, Woody," Juliet said sincerely as she looked over the body. It never ceased to amaze her how monsters could look like every other human once they were laid out on an autopsy tray. But she hadn't come here for him. "What have you found on the Jane Doe?"

"Ah, yes." Woody closed the autopsy drawer and walked around Juliet to open another on the other side of the wall. "Now, she's an interesting one. There's not a mark on her…"

Juliet focused on the case in front of her as Woody ran through his report. The dead woman's family needed answers, and she intended to find them. It was just another day in Santa Barbara.

Life went on.