Hello lovelys! Maybe you just finished reading my other FanFics, maybe you're completely new and reading this, maybe not. Don't really mind, just hope you enjoy it.

By the way, I'm starting this thing on my PsychFics. Instead of finding a pineapples like you do in the show, find the Shakespeare Reference! (Because I'm just weird like that). Find the reference and you get a virtual fist bump, virtual cookie, virtual hug and maybe even a shout out. Whaaaat?

I can't see this being too long. We're looking at around 5 chapters. So hopefully I'll be done by the end of April. And then I'll be taking a break until May 18th (exams).

So, from now until May 18th, if you could do me the awesome favour of going through my profile, seeing the planned FanFics and just PMing or reviewing which one you'd like me to do next.

That is all I have to say, my lovelys. Please review! You know you want to.

April 8th, 1994, Cliff Drive

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Ambulance! I need an ambulance!"

"Hold for a second while I connect you…" just over a second went by before the phone was connected, and the same question came up. "What's your emergency?"

"There's a woman! She's in the middle of the road… I… I think it was a hit and run. She doesn't look like she's breathing."

"Can you tell me where you are?"

"Um… Cliff Drive! We're on Cliff Drive."

"An ambulance has just been dispatched, it should be there in a couple minutes. Sir, can you tell me your name?"

"Shawn. Shawn Spencer."

"Okay, Shawn, are you alone? Is there anyone else around who could help?"

"No. I'm alone. Just us two."

"Do you know any first aid?"

"Um… yeah. CPR… taught at school…"

"Okay, Shawn, I want you to start doing chest compressions on her until the ambulance gets there, keep the phone line on, okay?"

"Okay…"

…

…

April 9th, 1994, Cliff Drive

...

...

Viola Cesario, Pronounced dead at 0:37, 9th April, 1994

…

…

17 year old Shawn Spencer stared at the dead woman before him. she was being zipped up into a body bag. He couldn't stand the sight of her sister and father crying over her. Viola couldn't have been older than 15. Her sister – who Shawn now knew as Olivia – was the younger sibling. She was nine years old and could only just understand the concept of losing a sister. Watching the father grieve was by far the hardest thing Shawn had ever had to watch. The way he sobbed and didn't even care if he woke up the whole state. All he could focus on was the body bag, his first born child inside, never to see the light of day again.

Just watching the father made Shawn want to start sobbing as well. He wish he could have done more, but according to the paramedics, there was a chance that she was dead upon impact. There was nothing Shawn could have done.

Police were surrounding the area. It was a crime scene now. A potential hit and run… they needed to find the bastard that did this.

"Shawn" a voice said. The young Shawn Spencer looked up to see his father staring at him. it only took one look at his father for the barriers that Shawn was holding to break down. He allowed the shock from watching someone die take over him as he started to sob. Despite the relationship that had formed between the father and son since the divorce, Henry saw it as his duty to protect and comfort Shawn. So he pulled him in for a hug and held him tight. Shawn, despite how much he swore he hated his father, allowed himself to be pulled in and even returned the hug, desperate for any type of comfort.

"Shawn, listen to me, I know this is a very shocking experience and you may not feel quite ready to talk about it, but we need to find the person that did this to Viola. Can you tell me what happened? As much as you know." Shawn slowly nodded. That's how it was with Henry. He was a cop first. But he was used to it.

"I was driving… heading home… and I-I saw her body… just on the ground…"

"Okay, do you remember seeing anything suspicious? Seeing anything suspicious? Was there a car nearby when you found Viola?" Shawn was shaking his head before his father even finished asking the question.

"No… no it was an empty road."

"Do you remember seeing anyone walking away from her?" again Shawn shook his head.

"It was dark… but I don't… I don't think there was anyone else."

"He probably didn't even stop once he hit her…" Henry muttered. He looked at his son again and he left the cop persona behind and adapted his father character again. "come on, Shawn. Let's get you home. You need a good night rest, okay?"

Shawn nodded along with his father, simply desperate to get the image of Viola's body out of his head. To get the image of her grieving father out. To get the image of her confused sister out.

But that was the problem with Shawn's eidetic memory. He could never forget. He could never get those images out.

April 8th, 2013. Tom Blaire's Pub

Shawn sat at the bar, staring down at his cup. He wasn't one to heavily drink , especially not on a Monday. But today was a… special day. It marked the 19th anniversary of Viola Cesario's death.

While Shawn did not know her personally, he had felt guilty about the death ever since he saw it happen. Ever since he saw her body on the road. On the first anniversary, Shawn went to the Cesario household to express his condolences. Mr. Cesario awkwardly muttered a thanks. Then, as he watched Shawn leave, he yelled after him trying to assure him not to feel guilty. Mr. Cesario often expressed to Shawn that he didn't blame him. In fact, he was grateful that Shawn was there. At least Viola didn't die alone. At least someone tried to save her.

Now, every year on April 8th, Shawn drank himself stupid. He would hand his keys over to the bartender as soon as he arrived, knowing very well that he was going to be wasted by the time people started wondering where he was. It was generally Gus that came to find him and drove him back home. And by home, Gus obviously meant his own. There was no way he would leave Shawn alone. But, when morning came, Shawn was already gone. He'd go back to the pub, get his keys and his bike, and go to the Psych office and acted like the night before never happened. Gus never questioned it.

It was a difficult situation when it had been Henry who had found Shawn at the pub. In 2009, the 15th anniversary, Henry happened to find himself at the pub the same time Shawn had reached his tipping point. To say that Henry was shocked was an understatement. He simply couldn't believe he was seeing his son this way. Henry brought him home and Shawn passed out on his couch. The next morning, Shawn was gone. He had taken his keys from the pub and went to the Psych office, determined to act like nothing had happened. Henry had found him, of course, and questioned him. Shawn tried deflecting, but it didn't even kind of work.

It didn't make things easier when he questioned Shawn at the station, in front of everyone. Shawn looked at his father with a seriousness that no one was used to seeing. He then muttered "I remember every detail" before walking away from the station. Those four words made everything click according to Henry and Gus, while everyone else was still in the dark. Henry and Gus followed after him and tried to assure him a hundred times over that it wasn't his fault, that he couldn't have done anything that would have prevented her death. Shawn said he felt better, and Gus believed him. Until the call came on April 8th 2010 (technically April 9th by that time) from the pub, asking Gus to pick up his friend. Gus went to be with his friend, no questions asked.

Juliet was still entirely in the dark. She had questioned Shawn multiple times where he always ran off to on April 8th. Even Lassiter was slightly worried. Yes, they noticed Shawn's disappearances. Every. Year. They weren't detectives for nothing. Shawn played it off as if it were some annual pineapple event at the pub. They had bought that lie quite easily. At least they did, until Henry questioned Shawn at the station. Those four words made no sense to them, but it seemed to make sense to the other two. So they let it go. At least they did, until they realised that the pattern never stopped. He still disappeared every April 8th. And they still questioned him every April 9th. And they have yet to receive a straight answer from the psychic.

This year was no different. At exactly 37 minutes past midnight, Gus received a call from the all too familiar pub to pick up his drunken friend. It was the same every year. Same exact time, same exact day, same exact place, same damn pattern. Gus groaned as he pulled himself out of bed and grabbed his keys. He walked past the living room, the couch already set up for someone to sleep on.

It was the same every year.