I could also feel the blood running down my hands, as well as hear the drip-drip of it hitting the floor.

It wasn't fast, but it was a constant sound that had started worrying me the moment it began.

His fingers started in on the rope seconds after he'd seen it, and I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth to keep from crying out at the feel of his fingers against the raw skin.

He moaned something low in his throat, but movement in the doorway had my eyes widening when I saw the black-clad figure staring at me with a gun in his hand.

"There's a man with a gun in the doorway," I told Booth.

Booth snorted.

"That's Nico," he said. "He's on the SWAT team. Can't you read the letters on his shirt?"

I could.

But between my head injury and the stress of the situation, my mind wasn't quite comprehending what I was reading on his shirt, though "He's pretty mean looking," I offered.

The man smiled, and I realized he could hear me.

"This is who you work with when your pager goes off?" I pestered Booth.

Booth grunted an affirmative.

A second black-clad figure filled the space next to the Nico guy. This one was a red head, and I knew him.

Well, knew of him.

He was on TV a lot.

He was the spokesman for the police department, and was on the five o'clock news whenever something went down in the city of Kilgore.

"I know you!" I exclaimed happily.

The man's smile was instant.

"Yeah?" He asked.

I nodded emphatically, and Booth's snort of amusement was followed shortly by my hands becoming free.

"Owww," I whined pitifully. "That hurt."

Booth pressed a kiss to the side of my head.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he whispered.

He sounded ravaged that he'd hurt me, and I suddenly felt bad for the outburst.

The two men in front of me studied me as Booth came around and dropped to his haunches in front of me, his training kicking in.

He looked over my injuries methodically, taking in every scrape, bruise, and abrasion.

While I watched him work, a man that I'd still yet to see with a slight limp and beautiful eyes dropped his medic bag at his feet.

Booth pulled out some four by four gauze pads and poured some saline over it before pressing it to my wrist as gently as he could.

I still cried out, causing his eyes to darken even further.

"Fuck," he growled. "God, I'm fucking sorry."

I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his forehead.

"You don't ever have any patients kissing you, right?" I asked him, worried now.

"No," he laughed. "Not that I'd welcome it, anyway."

I sighed and closed my eyes.

"My ass is asleep," I told him.

He ignored me and finished cleaning me up, mainly focusing on my hands.

"Your pupils are equal and reactive to light," he said. "I was worried about that concussion."

I nodded. "Me, too."

"Open your eyes and look at me," he ordered, putting pressure on my chin to lift my head up.

I opened my eyes and stared straight into his.

"Yes, sir," I followed orders, suddenly very tired.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" He asked. "Do you need to go back to the hospital? Are you..."

I shook my head.

No, I didn't.

Last night I'd stayed only due to the concussion, and although I could still feel the ache, it wasn't hurting anywhere near as bad as it had been.

"No," I said, not understanding what he was asking.

"He didn't touch you?" Booth's voice sounded close to breaking again, and it was then that I realized what he was asking.

"No," I shook my head. "He didn't touch me. I swear."

His head dropped, and it looked as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"Thank fuck," he groaned desolately.

I threw my arms around his shoulders and buried my nose into his hair.

"I love you, Michael Jones," I teased, knowing he hated his name, but hoping it would lighten his mood a little hearing me tease him with his given name.

"Who?" Booth teased right back.

I laughed.

"Mike Jones."

Then, surprising the absolute shit out of me, every man that'd somehow ended up in the kitchen said, "WHO?"

Five hours later I was ready to fall asleep.

Last night's beating, combined with today's kidnapping, on top of the pain pills had me on the verge of passing the hell out.

The only thing keeping me awake, however, was the conversation I was having with Booth, Luke, my parents, and myself.

"Oh my God," my mother said. "He's been doing things for us for years." She shook her head. "I never thought anything of him bringing us the mail. He's done it so many times before that I never even gave it a second thought."

"According to his boss at the post office," Luke said. "He's been asking for that route for years. Every time the regular driver goes on vacation he takes over the route on top of his own. It's a part time gig, and he only runs it from about ten in the morning until two in the afternoon."

I shook my head.

"He told me that it was because of his brother," I said, sounding just as confused as I felt.

Why would he do this? I'd never actually gotten all of the facts.

"His twin brother Joshua is locked up in a facility that specializes in the mentally ill," Luke answered my unspoken question.

"What does that have to do with anything?" My father asked.

"This," Booth said, passing over a file folder that was open.

It slid across the counter to where my parents hovered on either side of me.

"Yeah, we know all about Joshua," my mom said. "He's been in and out of that facility since he was a young boy. When he was younger, he used to kill the neighborhood animals for fun."

I shivered.

Yeah, that had been really creepy.

Mom wouldn't ever let us play with him, and now that I was older, I could see why.

I explained to Luke and Booth that all of the kids in the neighborhood just avoided both of the twins instead of including one of them but not the other.

"That's probably why nobody ever noticed anything odd about Dash," Luke said, passing over another picture of Dash.

"The man in the picture in that folder is Dash. This one is Joshua. They are identical twins," Booth said.

I shook my head in confusion.

"Okay," I said. "So?"

"So, it's been Dash who's been locked up all of this time, not Joshua," Booth explained carefully, pointedly, waiting for it to click into place for me.

"Ok, ok now, wait a second, here! So what you're saying is that Joshua, the crazy brother, has been impersonating Dash, the sane brother, who has been institutionalized in Joshua's place all this time?" I stated, my voice rising to a shrill shout.

Luke and Booth both nodded.

My mouth dropped open.

"I've had a psychopath living across the street from me?" I asked, fear skittering down my spine.

Booth nodded.

"Not anymore you don't," he interjected. "Dash was released about four hours ago, and Joshua has been readmitted."

I shook my head.

"This is insane," I said. "How could the hospital and staff miss this?"

"Joshua has always been one of those boys, according to his parents and doctor, that could keep it together when he needed to. While he always came off as friendly and charming, he wasn't actually feeling anything behind that. He never felt guilt for any of the things he did, like killing the animals when he was a kid. I don't think he understood right and wrong," Luke said, scraping his hands down his face. "He just didn't care to follow the rules of society. So all this time the doctors just thought he was putting on his game face so he could be released."

"That's just fucked up," I surmised, not knowing what to say to that.

"Agreed," Booth mumbled with a shake of his head. "I went with Luke to talk with Dash at the station not long after he was released. Dash isn't being very kind and rational about it, either."

"And you would?" I countered.

Booth shook his head.

"Fuck no, I wouldn't," he said. "I'd be pissed as hell."

That I couldn't disagree with. I would be, too.

"So what now?" I finally asked, rubbing my tired eyes.

"Now, nothing. Joshua's where he's supposed to be. I'm sure more charges will be filed against him and Dash has already said he's going to be filing charges as well. It's going to be interesting, to say the least," Booth admitted.