This is set post-season five. General spoiler warning. Case fic. No beta reader, so all errors are my own.
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Prelude.
Indistinct conversations tugged at Shawn's awareness, luring his mind away from the comfort of the fog. The sibilant whispers tickled the canals of his ears, so quiet that he had to strain his hearing in order to discern the hushed words. He winced as the pain building in his head gained intensity as he grew more aware of his surroundings.
The first thing that he noticed when he peered at his surroundings through heavy lids was the ceiling. Lying down and looking up, his gaze was met with his own as everything was reflected. The ceiling was not a ceiling, but an enormous mirror. Hazel orbs flickering back and forth, he could perceive that it was a perfect reflection of the room below. The next thing that he noticed was that he was strapped to some type of examination table. Not freaky at all.
There were five leather straps – for both wrists and legs, and one across his forehead, rendering his head immobile. The straps around his ankles were fairly loose, but the ones restraining his wrists were especially tight – almost enough to cut off his circulation.
He swallowed, wincing as the action irritated his parched throat, and attempted to speak. "Wha's goin' on –" Between the cotton mouth and bruises to his larynx, the words came out weak, cracked with abuse.
The whispering ceased, and the silence hung heavy. Heart beating a circadian rhythm, he counted the seconds before footsteps resounded off a carpeted floor and led to the door. In the mirror, he caught a bird's eye view of a man as he padded toward the door of the–
Where the hell was he?
TWO WEEKS AGO
She inhaled nicotine and exhaled a hazy brume of smoke while chipped fingernails scratched at a brown stain on the cuff of her jacket sleeve. The cigarette bobbed up and down as her teeth chattered, cheeks flushed and dimpled.
He watched her, obfuscated eyes exploring the bare flesh that glowed pale in the moonlight as she fidgeted in a cheap dress. Tonight had been a good night for her, and tonight was going to be a good night for him. Unfortunately for her, both of them cannot have a good night at the same time.
He doesn't stand too close, but it's enough to breathe in the smoke, taste the mingle of chemicals. Unaware, she leaned against the brick wall, the cigarette posed in the crook of her index and middle finger. Casting a heedful glance to the derelict street, he's pleased to see that the potential onlookers were too absorbed in their festivities to notice the man.
Any other night, he would have been regarded with a weary eye, accompanied with a tutting. It was not a friendly neighbourhood, and no one took kindly to strangers. Not tonight, though.
With a single bite, he finished off the egg roll he'd been nibbling at, wiped his mouth and turned away from the street to watch the woman as she ambled across the concrete, passing through the alleyway to reach the next street over. The activity considerably diminished, giving way to the solemn hour. Houses were dark, a stygian solace to the sleeping families, blissfully unaware.
She kept walking, flicking away the cigarette to the gutter as she crossed the street. Once she reached the other side, only a single glimpse over a slender shoulder was casted when she picked up the pace and cut through the grass toward the park.
He followed suit, taking advantange of the night's shadow to hide in the obscurity. It only took a few light footed leaps and bounds to catch up with her scurried striding, and a bit more to fall behind her.
Immediately, she sensed the sudden presence. Spinning around, she found herself totally unprepared for the assault. The scream was cut off with a hand, protected with soft leather, and a sweet smell.
All that she knew was the sweet smell.