Prologue

It had been about a year since Juliet O'Hara figured out Shawn Spencer was not a psychic. And about a year that she thought she knew everything there was to know about him. His deepest, darkest secret. But she dead wrong. Nowhere near close.

Everything was fine between them. Juliet trusted Shawn more than ever now, and in fact, the night that everything took a turn for the worst, had started out pretty good.

The couple had just finished up a case about a murderer who staged his killings to look like suicides, so they went out to celebrate. Late night, fancy restaurant, no talk about work. That is until Shawn's phone rang.

His face scrunched up like he was confused, and he shifted in his seat. The edge of the table cloth swayed when his legs brushed it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his iPhone. His intention was to just shut it off, but of course, it didn't happen that way. His eyes caught the display, and he locked onto the number. It had no name, just ten digits. It would've looked like an ordinary 'buy our stuff' call, but not to Shawn. He looked up and shot an apologetic look to the girl sitting across from him.

"Hello?" Shawn asked the silence.
"Shawn?" A deep male voice responded. Shawn's eyes widen in shock. He knew who the man was instantly, he had lived with him and his brother for a few months, but he also knew better than to have whatever conversation they were about to have in front of Jules.

"Hold on." He told the phone, then to his girlfriend he added, "Jules, sweetheart, I'm going to have to step outside to take this. I'm sorry." Then he got up, and stalked silently to the doors.

When he was outside he asked, "You still there?"

"Of course I am; I called you for a reason."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "And that is?"

"We need your help. There's been a few murders that look kind of…odd…to us, and… we need help."

"Okay I know a guy who-," Shawn started, but he got cut off.

"No Shawn. We need you. Your presence, your being, your figgin mind. Whatever you call it. We need you."

"I don't hunt anymore Dean. You know that. You know I'm not psychic either, so what could I do anyway." Shawn sighed.

Dean did too. "You were a damn good hunter Shawn, so don't ask me that. And Abigail wasn't your fault. How many times do I have to tell you that? It was a demon, not you."

"Of course Abigail was my fault. I refused to get the fucking tattoo; she almost died because of me. And what the hell would I tell Jules anyway? Hmm? That a couple of guys want me to skip town for an unknown amount of time to kill a… what are you even hunting?"

Dean was silent for a beat, as if considering, then said, "That's why we need you." And as an afterthought added, "You know you miss this. I know you miss this. You were just telling me the other day that you felt like you wanted to get out of crime infested Santa Barbra."

"Okay A) I said I wanted to leave for a couple of days like on a vacation or something, not a hunting trip. And B) yeah sure, I'll admit it. I miss it. A lot, but that doesn't mean I want to go on some damn hunting trip with you and Sam."

"We'll be there in the morning. At the psych office. Be there or I'll come get you at Juliet's. And I know you don't want to have to explain this to her."

"Damn it, Dean. Blackmail? Really? This is what you've come to?" Shawn asked. And Dean knew he had him.

"It's not like there's another way with you. Be there or I'm telling Jules."

And then the line went dead.