So, this story, aptly named Strange Beyond Belief, pretty much picks up where Beyond the Strange Chance left off, and was actually never supposed to exist…it's only through a rather intriguing review by Nikers13, on psychfic that got the wheels in my head turning, and the never ending support (as well as the motivation stick) of TiTB that this has come to be. And who knows, what might be next ;)
Chapter 1: All the Small Things, True Care Truth Brings, Watching, Waiting, Commiserating
I am so totally finding a place closer to town when I am finally 'released for good behavior,' Shawn silently grumbled from his seat on the porch, scuffing his sneakered foot in a figure eight pattern on the worn floorboards in sheer boredom as he tried to ignore tell-tale signs he was getting sick. For the past three days, Shawn had been doing everything in his power to either outright hide or at least down play the stuffy nose, splitting headache and scratchy throat that, despite his best efforts with the filched cold medicine from the cabinet, had proceeded to get worse with each passing hour.
For the most part, he felt he'd been mostly successful, but if he didn't get out of here soon, his father was going pick up on his symptoms and then Shawn would be lucky if he wasn't smothered with every blanket in the house while being plied with an entire ocean of Chicken Noodle soup. Especially now that his 'warden' had managed to foil yet another brilliant escape attempt with Gus, the fourth one in less than a week, that would have made him feel at least marginally in control of the situation. In addition to the helpless feeling, the recovering man was actually at a loss of exactly what in the world he was supposed to be doing with his abundant free time, so he simply allowed his mind wander for the moment.
Somewhere I can walk or take a bus if necessary...and it might not be a bad idea if the area were a bit more populated, since it's quite likely that this whole fiasco isn't over, he reluctantly acknowledged as he scanned the boardwalk, shifting position and beginning to idly drum the fingers of his right hand on the table in front of him. And those five words, though so simple in theory, were quite likely why Shawn was going so completely stir crazy at his dad's.
Though everything had been quiet in the thirteen days since Rye had been arrested and his partner, Rind, had given the Santa Barbara Police Department a statement claiming they had been after the painting for nothing more than its design, Shawn was far from convinced that the whole story had been revealed. And I'm fairly to pretty damn sure that Dad feels the same way, no matter how much he's choosing to deny it...Shawn reasoned, shooting a glance at his father's back where he had reentered the house through the kitchen after Gus drove off, movements rigid as he worked. The elder Spencer had been on edge since forcing Shawn to come and stay with him ten days prior, and the younger man knew his father well enough to know that the tension present in the house had to do with so much more than their run of the mill butting of heads.
This is so much more complex than that, he reasoned before forcing himself to change gears and focus on the task ahead. Mainly the fact that Psych finally had taken on a private, as well as paying, customer...Though at this rate, I'll be lucky if Warden Norton even allows me to get out there and investigate it...He grumbled, knowing that he and Gus were supposed to leave for Ridgecrest in less than 48 hours. The ringing of his iPhone, which he had only gotten back from Jules earlier in the week, interrupted Shawn's thoughts and caused his brow to furrow in confusion when he saw who was calling.
Heart sinking when he acknowledged the only reason Gus would be calling so soon after driving off had to do with his other job, which never boded well for Shawn's plans, he never the less hit the accept button and greeted his best friend in a cheerful voice, "Hey, buddy, miss me already?" The guilty silence on the other end immediately convinced Shawn he wasn't going to like this news one bit.
"No, Shawn," Gus responded in irritation, "There's actually something I ha-" the unmistakable sounds in the background confirmed the brunette's suspicion.
"Are you at the airport?!" He exclaimed in shock, This is going to be worse than I had originally thought...
"Yes, I was just ordered to catch Flight 221 to Seattle, to attend the lectures at a different conference to make up for leaving the Pharmacology for Advanced Practice Clinician conference early," Gus exclaimed with a sigh.
"Dude! They can't make you fly all the way to Alabama to go to a freaking conference!" he demanded, trying to figure out if his best friend was merely pulling his leg. I have to admit, if it's a prank, he's definitely got me going...
"It's in Washington state, Shawn, and no, you haven't heard it both ways," Gus cut in before the other man could make the predicted statement, causing Shawn to roll his eyes on his end of the phone. "But, yes my bosses have every right to tell me I have to attend a conference or else I could lose my job. I didn't even get enough notice to have a chance to pack any luggage to bring with me," the salesman remarked in exasperation, "But I will be back late tomorrow, so I can still drive out to meet you in Ridgecrest late Friday."
"No, don't worry about it, Gus," Shawn assured his best friend, "I can go and see what, if anything, I am able to ferret out, and I'll bring you up to speed when I get back to Santa Barbara." After all, he didn't want Gus to lose his job, no matter how boring he happened to find being a pharmaceutical salesman, if only because it meant a lot to the other man.
"Are you sure?" Gus asked, a touch of confusion and concern evident in his voice at his friend's uncharacteristic behavior.
"Of course I'm sure, Gus..." Shawn insisted confidently, "Listen, just have a nice of a trip as you can listening to boring presentations on drugs, and that, my friend, is an order," he said in a mockingly stern tone.
There was a moment of silence before the other man answered, "OK...but can you do me a favor and keep me posted on anything, Shawn? And I do mean anything,..."
Knowing his best friend was still reeling from his kidnapping, disappearance from the ambulance, and near strangulation at the hands of Rye at the hospital, Shawn quickly agreed, "You got it, Gus," After all, I can send lots of boring texts, I do have an unlimited plan..."Thanks.," he replied before a noise came over the line, "Sorry, Shawn, that's my boarding call so I've gotta go," the salesman finished, hanging up before Shawn could say anything else.
"Bye, buddy," he said softly before putting the iPhone back on the table, an uneasy feeling over the recent turn of events settling in Shawn's stomach the longer he sat there. Telling himself he was simply letting everything get to him, Shawn shook his head and sighed as he got to his feet, grabbing the cell phone with his right hand as he headed into his father's house.
Sometimes I swear that kid forgets exactly who taught him everything he knows, Henry thought with a small head shake as he made lunch, covertly watching his son enter the living room from the back porch and flop on the couch from his spot in the kitchen. Usually he would have been all over something so obvious, the elder Spencer thought, deciding to let it slide for now as he reasoned, The kid must still be recovering from his concussion if he hasn't figured out all that cold medicine he's been taking was put there after Gus told me that he noticed Shawn was getting sick...
One criminal offense, two felonies, and...fifteen misdemeanors?! What in the name of Sweet Lady Justice is the world coming to? Head detective Carlton Lassiter wondered as he finished sorting through the rest of the reports from the Canary that had been neglected on his desk after the bizarre events surrounding Spencer's latest brush with death. And here I thought the events of that day at the hotel were weird, he thought with a snort, Well it turned out to be downright normal compared to the way the rest of the week went...Unfortunately, recalling that strange turn of events only served to hammer home the fact that, despite repeated attempts on the lanky man's part, he hadn't been able to bring himself to thank the pain in the ass that called himself O'Hara's boyfriend.
But there's just no escaping the fact that the man has proven to have at least one redeeming quality by repeatedly watching over your partner when you weren't there to do so, the little voice, that had been incessantly taunting him ever since the woman in question had bowled him over with her statements in the hospital parking lot, started in again. Though Lassiter longed with every fiber of his being to be able to deny to his dying breath that there would ever any reason to admit Spencer was useful, he couldn't deny the truth when it was so plainly in front of him in black and white.
It's probably going to come back to bite me in the butt not just humbling myself and thanking him when the man-child was unable to speak last week, he admitted with a grimace, Now, I'll be lucky if I ever hear the end of it, he thought with a heavy sigh, trying to rub away the headache that had seemingly become a constant part of his life since the man had waltzed into the station almost seven years ago. If I'd have known then what I know now, would I have still made the same choice about believing his ridiculous claim about solving crimes by watching Channel 8, or hell even Channel 5, News? As far-fetched as that sounded, the head detective had to admit that it wasn't any less likely than the consultant actually being a psychic...in fact, it was probably more believable when it was all said and done.
Shaking his head when he realized he'd been staring off into space for the past ten minutes instead of taking the last of the reports down to the file room, Lassiter glanced around the nearly deserted bullpen to ensure no one had seen him woolgathering, satisfied that his moment of weakness had gone unnoticed as he got up from his desk and headed for the file room, reports in hand, only to have his gaze land on the atrocious painting that was tucked halfway behind the metal. I had almost forgotten that Spencer actually wants that thing back, he realized, Though who in the hell knows why...it's completely useless and nothing more than an eyesore, rolling his eyes as he completed his task, really wishing he could just toss the ruined canvas in the dumpster out back and plead ignorance when the pain in the ass tried to track it down. Except the chief had left explicit instructions to return it to the psychic, and the station was equipped with an overabundance of high end security cameras, both facts that left the lanky man no choice but to follow the chief's orders.
Twenty minutes and a scaldingly hot cup of coffee later, the head detective knew he was feeling as human as he was likely to before heading to Henry's house where, according to O'Hara, who had gotten out of the unpleasant task by having to testify in court while Lassiter caught up on paperwork, Spencer Junior was staying. Grabbing the painting, he reasoned, Might as well bite the bullet and get this over with...no matter how painful it might be. After all, it could hardly be more painful than having to cart this hideous thing around in public again…
Reviews are like figuring out you're going to write a sequel…to a story you haven't even finished yet—inspiring and just a bit daunting, but completely worth it in the end, and completely loved ;)