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to Vance's computer.
    “It has to be from the killer. I don't know who else would take a picture like that,” Vance rasps after spitting into the trashcan and wiping his mouth.
    “Holy shit,” the Chief breathes, and Vance now knows that he saw the picture, too. “Get IT in here and see if they can trace where that email came from,” the Chief orders to someone.
    The IT woman spends the next few hours trying to find out where the email came from, but it is untraceable. The Chief is having a fit in his office, Shawn is staring off into space at his desk, and Vance is trying to get the image out of his head. Sitting in his chair, he drops his head into his hands. His stomach is flip-flopping and he is continuously swallowing back the bile that keeps rising in his throat. He wants to go home. He wants to get the hell away from this whole fucked up case.
    “Why me, Shawn?” Vance murmurs into the silence after the thought occurs to him.
    Shawn blinks slowly and turns his head to look over at him. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean…I don't understand why that email was sent to me. How does the killer know me or know that I'm on the case?”
    Shawn stares at Vance for a minute. “That's a good question. Obviously, the guy is a computer whiz to know how to make an email untraceable. And it seems as if he must know you or know of you. I'm betting on the latter. He probably hacked into our system and found out who's working the case.”
    “God, I hope so,” Vance says, shaking his head.

    The Chief lets Vance and Shawn go home early and tells them to take a couple of days off while they wait for the autopsy results to come in. Vance is definitely grateful for the time to get himself together. He goes straight home, needing a shower and some time to himself.
    It is around 4:30 pm when he walks into the kitchen from the garage. The smell of food cooking turns his stomach to the point that he starts gagging. Vance rushes past Ryder, who is doing the cooking, and runs to the bathroom that is off the living room. But Vance has nothing left in his stomach, so he pretty much just dry heaves into the toilet.
    “Jesus, Van, are you alright?” comes Ryder's concerned voice from the bathroom doorway.
    Vance's abs clench tight as he gags again, unable to answer past the dry heaving; it just won't stop. He can't breathe. His whole body is shaking and his head is pounding.
    Strong arms wrap around his chest and stomach and he hears Ryder's voice in his ear.
    “Breathe, Vance, come on, you need to relax, breathe...in through your nose...alright, there ya go...again...good...calm yourself.” Ryder soothes quietly.
    Vance is finally able to get himself under control. He leans back against Ryder and closes his eyes. Ryder starts smoothing his hand over Vance's hair, which helps him relax a little more.
    “You're okay, I’ve got you,” Ryder mollifies.
    Vance reaches back and clasps the back of Ryder's neck. Ryder then pats Vance's chest, knowing that Vance is trying to thank him for being there. After a minute of holding each other, they slowly let go and get to their feet.
    “Are you alright?” Ryder asks, now facing Vance. He reaches out and claps a hand on Vance's shoulder.
    Vance swallows hard. “Bad day, very bad,” he croaks, his throat raw from vomiting.
    “Shit, man, what can I do for you?” Ryder asks softly.
    Vance can't stop himself from getting choked up. He shakes his head and looks away from Ryder. The grip Ryder has on Vance's shoulder tightens and before Vance can stop him, Ryder is pulling him into his arms. Vance lets go, unable to hold back even if he wanted to. He buries his face in Ryder's neck, and in the most emasculating way, just balls his eyes out. He clutches the back of Ryder's t-shirt. Ryder cups the back of his head with one hand while the other wraps around his shoulders.
    “I gotcha buddy. It’s okay, you'll feel better after you let it out,” Ryder coos gently into Vance's hair, giving him