Title: Can You Hear Me?
Author: nottheshakespeare
Fandom: Psych
Rating: PG / K
Date: 13 November 2008.
Summary: Based on Psych 100 Prompt nr 82: Can You Hear Me? Written one evening as proof to myself I could still finish a story.
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"Help! Somebody help me!"
Shawn had cried himself hoarse in the four hours since he had woken up. Of course he hadn't used his voice non-stop, that'd be stupid and painful, but he hadn't been able to stop screaming for ten minutes before reducing to sobs. Then he had gone to intermittently calling out in the hopes the sound would penetrate the top layer, but now he was beginning to realise he could hear no sound and that meant no sound was getting out.
Oh God.
In.
He was going to die.
Out.
There was no air left and he was going to die.
In.
No-one would come to save him.
Out.
He was going to die now, all alone, and they probably wouldn't even find his body.
His hands clenched into fists and he grit his teeth willing the tears to stay away, but it was no use. Soon wet streaks were flowing down towards his ears.
It had been four hours and he was already crying. Although those four hours was his own estimate and he probably had been down here longer, unconscious. This meant that there was even less air and he had no idea for how much longer he would last. Stop it. Stop bawling like a baby. You're not a cry baby. This is not so bad. You are not going to die. There is no need to cry. Big boys don't cry. God, if dad could see me now…
That thought helped him focus and Shawn took a deep breath and then released it. He repeated this until all he could think about was his breathing pattern.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
When his breathing calmed his heart rate slowed down and he could think again. Time to go through the basics again. Last night he went to bed and then, at some point thereafter, the exact time being unknown because he had been unconscious, duh, he woke up in this enclosed space. He was still dressed in his pyjamas and didn't have his watch or anything else, so he had no idea how long he'd been down here. Here being an enclosed space was very much like a coffin but this fact was to be ignored. All he knew for certain was that he could barely move, his knee his the top surface before it was even half bent and his the bump on his forehead throbbed from his attempt to see if he could sit up.
The space was dark and he had found no air holes, meaning his air was running out. This was another fact he chose to ignore for the time being. If he thought about it for too long it would trigger another panic attack and since he had established they didn't help he had come to realise ignoring them worked better. Because if there was no way out of here and no-one could find him, he would –
Shawn took a deep breath.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Right. It was time to go further back, before he went to bed. What did he do yesterday that could explain his current quandary? Since they had solved two cases the day before yesterday him and Gus had taken the day off and spent it playing Doom at the office, going out to a top-notch restaurant where Gus didn't know Shawn had reserved seats for dinner but stopped complaining once the delicious meal was served, and then watching The Vanishing back at his place. At eleven thirty Gus had gone home, despite Shawn's insistence that he should call his boss and quit his other job so he could sleep in tomorrow before coming into the Psych office. As usual the spiel didn't work and his very responsible friend went home.
Of course his very responsible friend wouldn't be found in this situation. No, that would be him, the stupid idiot who somehow was caught off guard and was drugged and left in this enclosed space.
At least, that's what Shawn assumed had happened. The last thing he had done before going bed was finish his pineapple smoothie that was in the fridge. It had tasted all right, but he figured someone would have added a secret ingredient that knocked him out so they, whoever this nefarious they might be, could carry out their plan of dumping the idiot psychic in a co—an enclosed space and leave him there.
He smashed his fist against the top layer, unable to stop the movement and winced when his fingers crunched against the wood. Although the action got him nowhere, and his fist now throbbed to the same beat as his forehead, he felt a little better.
Whoever had done this didn't know Gus. His friend would find him because he would never give up on Shawn. And if not Gus, then it would be his father who would find him. He had promised to mow his lawn today, and his dad would be on his back until he came through on his promise. Henry wasn't one to let go of promises made, especially when Shawn owed him a favour.
Yes, those two would be looking for him. They would alert Lassie and Jules, who would then alarm the whole police force to be on the look-out for their resident psychic because they knew they needed him to solve the crimes.
It would only be a matter of time before they found him. Maybe they had even already figured out who did this and why. Well, Shawn could figure out the why part, that would be revenge, but who would be interesting to know.
Shawn knew he would be found. He was sure of it because he had faith in his friends, even Lassie. The only problem was if they would find him in time. But that was a thought he would ignore for now.
He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing.
In.
Out.
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