Over the last three years (and even before even if working at PNWS had tempered some of the harshness that she might have been exposed to if Alex had been working as a regular reporter) she had seen death first hand and she had nights where she could still smell too much blood for a woman who had been hanged to death. But that was nothing to having someone who she actually loved and cared for being taken by a serial killer.

"Jesus," the word was soft, an exclamation rather than any sort of attempt at an interruption. Sometimes things moved from Alex's brain to her mouth without any sort of filter, and that word was one of them. Her face was expressive, and there was the shock on it and concern for her friend, and of course knowing that this wasn't a story that had any sort of happy ending, not based on the ghost that she'd seen.

Of course, she hadn't expected the rest of it. "Oh my god," her voice was soft at the mention of sharing a face with a dead woman and losing it. "That's terrible! Your poor mother! I can't imagine needing to go and find that. Did you kill the guy?" There was little denying in her voice that Alex hoped that she had done, he'd deserved it.