Tom met Brett as he parked his car in front of Paige's house.

"Any change?" He asked as he ripped the keys out of the car and moved quickly towards her front door.

"No, sir. She's been sitting in the living room staring out the window. It's almost like she's in a coma, but her eyes are open. We checked the house and grounds again. There is no one here except you, her and the team.”

Brett felt a sort of panic clench his gut. He shouldn't have left her alone. All those pictures she'd drawn, figuring out she was somehow connected to the mind of a killer, that was too much for anyone to handle. Then what had happened at the gallery.

Paige had already been through so much. Maybe something inside her had snapped.

Brett rushed in the door and ran to the living room. He found Paige just as they had reported.

If it wasn't for her eerie stillness, he would think she was just enjoying the view out her window. She sat straight, exactly in the middle of the couch, with her hands in her lap.

Her eyes were open.

Brett came and crouched down right in front of her, cupping her face with his hands.

"Paige, honey, can you hear me?" He said the words softly, keeping his voice as even as possible.

She didn't flinch, didn't blink, didn't do anything.

He trailed his fingers up and down her cheek, and said her name again, but still received no response.

He looked over at Tom who was studying Paige with a worried expression. “So you said she’s never done anything like this before?"

"No. When I first started working here, which would've been just a few weeks after the attack, she used to sit here a lot. Zone out. But never anything we couldn’t bring her back from."

Brett wasn't sure what he should do. Was this her brain's way of protecting her? Should he just give her the peace she needed to work through what was going on in her mind?

"And this morning, when she got home, there were no problems? She wasn't crying? Upset?"

He tried calling Paige’s name again, even clapping his hands in front of her face to startle her.

No response.

Tom shook his head. “She wanted me to double check the house, but she didn't seem hysterical or anything. Although she did look exhausted."

"She was exhausted. She was helping us with a case –a series of cases– at the station. We might've pushed her too hard."

"She's not great at asking for help."

Brett ran a finger down her cheek again. "Paige, can you come back to me, baby? I'm right here. I won't leave you to deal with this on your own."

She still didn't respond. No change in breathing, no change in her blank gaze out the window.

Her eyes were empty.

Brett glanced over at Tom. "I'm going to try something a little less gentle, okay? Trust me, no one wants to hurt her less than me."

Tom nodded, lips grim.

Brett grabbed Paige by the shoulders and shook her. Hard.

"Paige." He said in a much louder voice than he had been using. "Wake up, right now."

He hated the sound of his own voice, but if it brought her back from wherever she was –whatever place she was where he couldn't reach her– Brett would do it.

"Do you hear me, Paige? You're needed here right now. Let's go." He shook her again before tapping her on the cheek gently and then a little harder.

Nothing. She wasn't responding to harder words and touches any more than she was the softer ones. Brett couldn't bring himself to yell anymore.

He looked back over at Tom. "I had to try."

The other man nodded. "I wasn't sure if we should call an ambulance. I don't think she's in any pain, but…"

"It's almost like a form of PTSD." Brett said. "Like she's in shock."

Tom nodded. ”I know she wouldn't want to come to and be in the hospital. That's why we didn't call 911."

"I agree. I think she would want to stay here. Do you mind if I try to talk to her alone, Tom?"

Tom nodded. "I'll just wait right outside the door."

Brett waited until the door closed behind Tom, then took Paige's hand and entwined their fingers together.

"Paige, sweetheart, it's just me. It's okay to come back. The killer can't hurt you, and we're going to catch him." He shifted so he was a little bit closer. "None of this is your fault, baby. So just come back and everything will be alright, I promise. I won't leave you alone to deal with this anymore. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have let you go this morning."

Brett kept rubbing his hands up and down her arms hoping that it would make some sort of difference, even tried kissing her. But nothing worked.

Paige was lost somewhere inside her own mind. Maybe Tom was right and they were going to have to call in medical professionals.

Then she began shivering violently. Her body temperature seemed to drop right under his hand.

"Tom!" Brett called. "There's something not right." The other man rushed in and could immediately see Paige's physical distress.

She was still sitting straight up with her hands in her lap staring straight ahead except now her arms were covered with goosebumps and every once in a while a shudder would overwhelm her small body.

"This is definitely shock," Tom said. "I saw this sort of stuff when I was in the service. It didn't necessarily have to do with the temperature around the person."

"We don't have any choice now, whether she would want it or not, we need to at least get a doctor over here."

"Paige has a regular one that she sees. I'll get in touch with her. See if she would be willing to make a house call. That will at least be less jarring for Paige when she wakes up."

As Tom left the room, Brett grabbed the blanket off of the wingback chair and sat back on the couch. Paige's shudders were becoming bad enough to truly frighten him so he picked her up and set her on his lap wrapping the blanket tightly around her. Even though he moved her position her blank stare still gazed outward.

It was like she couldn't feel him at all.

He remembered what she had told him about why she couldn't remember her attacker’s face. Blackness so thick she couldn’t see anything else. That was almost like what was happening now. Like her mind was lost in blackness she couldn't find her way out.

"Paige," Aware the words would sound crazy to anyone else who heard them, he whispered them in her ear. "I know it's dark, but you have to find your way out. Just find my voice, can you do that? Can you listen to my voice and locate it? You have to find your way back to me. To us."

* * *

Paige couldn't see anything. Couldn't hear anything. The darkness drenched everything, not just blinding her, but deafening her in its thickness.

She couldn't escape from it, couldn't figure out where it had even come from.

The only other time this ever happened had been during her attack.

Oh God, was she being attacked now? She couldn't feel any pain like she had then, but that didn't mean it wouldn't be coming.

Or was she asleep? She always slept with a light on because the darkness frightened her so. Could she just be in her bedroom in the dark?

She tried to reach out her hands, to make her feet move so she could stand, but found she couldn’t. It was like her brain wasn't controlling her body.

From within the darkness Paige closed her eyes. She had to think. Had to figure this out or she would be trapped here forever.

The thought of it sent a shiver coursing through her. Shudders.

Something that happened. Something had happened and that's why she was in the darkness now. What was it?

Her brain didn't want to go back to that point that had hurled her into the black. But she knew deep in the thickest part of the darkness encased by shadows was the answer. She forced her mind to walk towards it. She had to know what it was.

As she moved closer to that epicenter of darkness, she could feel violent tremors grip her. Her whole body shuddered now as her mind attempted to shy away from what had caused the blackness.

Paige let out a silent scream, pain shredding her brain, as she reached the point where the darkness was the blackest.

And she remembered.

The drawing. That was what had hurled her in here. When she had woken up this morning the agony in her muscles, the sickness in her stomach, the throbbing of her head, it all suggested that she had drawn another victim.

And she had.

She had drawn herself. Dead.

The tremors were overwhelming her now, exhausting her. Paige knew she wasn't going to survive it. She knew she wasn't going to make it out of the darkness in one piece.

The blackness was too thick. She was too cold. She would never find her way.

She wanted to fight, knew she should fight, but didn't know how. She felt her entire body seize as the cold washed over her again.

She had to try. Her mind began to crawl –walking was impossible– but she didn't know which way to go.

And then she saw it off in the distance. The slightest hint of colors, almost overshadowed by the blackness, but trying to shine through. Blues and teals, simmering. So faint. So far.

The shivering made it nearly impossible but she began to move her body towards the colors.

They seemed to fade in and out for the longest time, and Paige didn't know if she was imagining them completely.

But still she kept going.

She heard a sound all around her in the darkness. Almost like a voice, but through so many panes of glass it could not be understood. But the teals and blues we're getting brighter. Not enough to illuminate the darkness but just enough to give her a direction to move towards.

And then she saw the purple at the center of the other colors.

Brett.

These were Brett's colors. Was he in the darkness with her?

"Paige, baby, follow my voice. Come back to me."

He was here with her. Brett would protect her from the darkness, would help her get out.

She could hear him saying other things, but couldn't quite make out the words. She just kept dragging her exhausted mind towards his voice. Towards his colors.

Towards him.

She reached him just as the last of her mental strength failed her. She made one last desperate dive towards the very center of the deep purples and blues and teals.

And the darkness disappeared.

"Brett?" Her voice sounded rusty and unused even to her own ears.

"Paige. Oh thank God."

She felt his lips all over her face and hair. Felt how his arms wrapped around her holding her tightly against him.

She was back. He was with her. The darkness was gone. That's all that mattered. She was still so cold but at least now could feel the warmth he was trying to envelop her in.

Which was good because she couldn't move now anyway. Brett didn't seem to expect her to.

She had no idea how long they sat there with him continuously cradling her and rubbing his hands up and down her arms and back and hips.

She was vaguely aware that she was in her living room –she had no idea how she had gotten there– and that Brett would talk to Tom every once in a while.

Both of them had twin looks of concern on their faces, although the longer she stayed awake and coherent the more relieved their faces became. She finally stopped shivering and tried to sit up from Brett.

He pulled her back to him. “Do me a favor, okay? Just let me hold you for a little while. You scared the hell out of me. Out of Tom too."

Paige didn't want anything different so she didn't argue. She buried her face in Brett's neck. "I'm sorry."

Brett didn't say anything for long minutes. After a while Tom brought in a cup of her favorite hot tea.

"When you woke up I canceled the doctor we had about to come," Tom said, "but I can get Dr. Whitaker back out here if you want. She said she would come. That might be a good idea."

Paige knew she needed to explain what happened. At least to Brett.

"No, that's not necessary. I think it was just a mixture of exhaustion and shock." 

She felt Brett nod against her hair.  "I never should've brought you in to help with the cases. It was too much. You're not trained for it and it obviously adversely affected your psyche."

She lay back so that she could see his brown eyes. His face was haggard, residual fear etched in his features.

"Yes, I was definitely exhausted. But it was more than that. I need to show you something."

If anything his face got a little more haggard. "What?"

"I drew in my sleep last night."

She couldn’t bring herself to admit that it was her own face and body –her own dead face and body– that she’d drawn. 

He framed her face with both hands. “Show me.”