My name is Shawn Spencer and I am the head psychic detective working with the SBPD--at least I am if I am to believe the driver's license and business cards that are in my wallet. I may also be a bikini inspector, but that card looks a bit suspect (I do not believe that I live anywhere near 'Bikinitown') so I have my doubts.
I do not believe I am actually psychic, either, unfortunately. If I am, I would probably have some idea how it is that I came to be trapped, half-naked no less, at the bottom of this well. I would also probably not have had to look at the wallet in my pocket to determine my name and my profession. But I digress. There are more important matters to which I must attend.
For instance the fact that even though I remember all sorts of interesting but not too helpful bits of information, I did have to look at my wallet to determine my own name. Also, of course, that I am stuck--half-naked--at the bottom of a well.
And that I seem to have a particular craving for pineapple.
Yelling, thus far, has proven to be completely unproductive and there doesn't seem to be any way to climb out. One would think that after the whole 'Baby Jessica' debacle, they would start installing escape ladders on these things or something, but apparently I am alone in this thinking.
Fortunately, I do have a solution at my fingertips. However I came to be here, I apparently thought to bring along a cell phone and it managed to survive both the fall and the six inches of water I am sitting in.
I don't think I should call 911. If I am, indeed, the head psychic detective of the SBPD I must work alongside much of the department and would likely never live something like this down. And if I am not…well, there's no telling what it is that I do. For all I know, I'm a wanted man. I doubt that I ended up here at the bottom of a well on my own accord, which likely means that I am in trouble of some sort. Or extremely clumsy. Either way, it could prove to be quite an embarrassment if I have to call out the police and fire departments.
Considering my lack of personal memories, it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to have an ambulance standing by. Still, I'd rather not have this turn into some sort of big humiliating production. Besides, I don't seem to be injured. Nothing hurts, anyway, so I think that's a good thing.
So who should I call?
It would be a lot easier to decide if I could remember who any of the people in the phone's directory are. Most of them are women…and I'm a little nervous about calling any of those numbers because I don't know if one of them is perhaps my girlfriend. Or possibly an ex. Awkward much?
I smile as one particular name catches my eye.
Of course. Who else would you call if you were stuck at the bottom of a well? It could be a woman, but I'll have to take my chances.
I select "Lassie" and press "talk".
"Detective Lassiter," a decisively not-female voice answers a few moments later.
"Lassie!" I greet cheerfully, thankful to know that help is soon to be on the way.
"What do you want, Spencer?" Lassie asks, apparently quite irritated to hear from me. What's up with that?
"I need you to come get me."
Lassiter lets out a disgruntled sigh, but comes through for me anyway. "Where are you?"
"Therein lies the rub. I seem to have fallen down a well."
"Ha. Ha," he says drolly, clearly not finding it amusing. And also obviously not believing me.
"No lie," I reassure him. "I'm not sure exactly where it is, but I'm at the bottom of a well and I can't get out."
"What do you mean you're not sure where it is?" he asks warily.
"I don't really remember how I got here," I admit. For now I'd rather he not know that I don't remember anything else, either. That might make him freak out and I'll end up with half the police department out looking for me or something. A nice low-key rescue is definitely preferable.
"You don't remember…" he started tensely, but cut himself off. "Never mind. Do you remember where you were before you fell?"
"Um….no."
He sighs again, his annoyance clear. "All right. I'll call your partner and see if he knows. If not, your phone has GPS. Just sit tight."
As if I have any choice in that matter?
"And Spencer?"
"Yes, Lassie?"
"This had better not be a wild goose chase."
"Who does that? What would one even do with a wild goose if they caught it?" I ask before I even consciously think the question.
Lassiter lets out another long suffering sigh. Perhaps once I am out of here I'll have to alert him to how he needs to improve his 'bedside manner'. But for now I don't want to press my luck and piss him off enough that he leaves me here.
"Say, Lassie? Think you could maybe bring me a sweatshirt? I'm kind of cold." And half-naked.
"A sweatshirt…yeah fine."
"Oh! And, Lassie?"
"What?" he snaps. Perhaps I should suggest he get some help managing his stress levels.
Maybe I shouldn't ask this.
But I do anyway.
"Could you bring me a pineapple smoothie?"
He does not answer but I hear a click.
"Lassie?"
He hung up on me? Huh.
I wonder if he'll bring me the smoothie.
End Notes:
Just how did Shawn end up (half-naked) at the bottom of a well? And why can't he remember anything? These questions (and many more) will be answered in upcoming chapters.
Thanks for reading! Please review (it does my muse good!) I hope it's not too unbelievable! (I promise I have done my research and the amnesia will make sense later...crosses fingers)