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It was common knowledge that Henry Spencer always had a plan for Shawn. From the day he was born, Shawn had very high expectations to meet. Henry always made sure Shawn did things the proper way, never taking an easy out. He made sure Shawn noticed the little things, because all you ever needed was right in front of your eyes. He helped Shawn hone his memory and retention skills. This was all for a purpose, for Shawn was going to be a cop. A damn good cop. Just like Henry.
Henry should have known better. Shawn never wanted to be a cop. Sure, the games and tests of his skills were fun when he was eight, but that was never the path Shawn would choose. Henry knew this, and it broke his heart each day when Shawn would complain about his lessons. However, Henry knew one day Shawn would be a cop. Whether Shawn wanted to or not, he was destined to be one.
So the lessons continued. Henry getting more and more frustrated with each passing year. He could see Shawn becoming less and less motivated, jumping from job to job. The kid had to shape up or he would never live up to his potential. So Henry cracked the whip, pushing Shawn to his very limits. Until one day Shawn left. Nothing hurt Henry more than that day, when his son drove away on his motorcycle. He knew Shawn was just prolonging the inevitable. Shawn was going to be a cop, Shawn was meant to be a cop.
The day Shawn showed up on his doorstep telling him of another hair-brained scheme he had for making money, Henry couldn't believe it. A psychic detective—could his son be serious? Private detectives were jokes and mockeries of all that the Police Force stood for. The Police Force was a unifying implementation of justice. But if that wasn't bad enough, a psychic? Was his son trying to run him out of town? This would ruin the Spencer name. But Henry sighed, and grudgingly went along for the ride because this was one step closer to Shawn's destiny.
Henry was actually surprised when he found out Shawn was a regular consultant for the SBPD. He was never surprised that Shawn was successful; the kid was good at what he did. He was surprised that the police put up with Shawn's antics. A psychic detective had no place on the SBPD payroll. But his son wasn't psychic. His son was a born cop; he just didn't have the title. That's one thing Henry could never understand—Shawn did all the grunt work of a police officer, but he wasn't one. Shawn was one of the best sharp shooters, Henry made sure of that. Shawn rarely missed any details, when others did. Shawn was a damn fine cop, he just wasn't official.
Until, one day, Chief Vick finally decided their resident psychic detective was having a bit too many near misses with death. Shawn had already aced the test, and all he had to do was "learn" how to fire a weapon. Before his son could say pineapple-upside-down cake, he was a cop. Henry was surprised when Shawn accepted the title, but enough close calls could wear down the best of men. Henry had always wished for his son to become a cop, it was fate. And he was so proud that Shawn had finally buckled down, stuck to a job, and finally got the recognition he deserved.
He should have known better. Henry knew the darker side of the police force, and so did Shawn. He knew that officers put their lives on the line on a daily basis. However, Henry never associated that threat to Shawn. Shawn was so lively, so…Henry could never find the words to describe his son's uncanny ability to come away from any situation unharmed. He should have known better. Henry should have seen it coming. Shawn wasn't indestructible! But Shawn was a cop.
And all Henry could think as they lowered Shawn's body into the ground was, "be careful what you wish for."