Hey guys. I'm sorry for posting a new story when Thump hasn't been updated in a while. I'm working on the new chapter, but it is slowgoing. Should be out soon, though, I'm almost done.
Anyway- this is a short piece designed to give me Abigail-related closure. I liked her, and I'm kind of pissed that she fell off the face of the earth with barely any explanation. After she left in You Can't Handle This Episode, I toyed with the idea of writing this story, and I wanted to get it in before tonight's episode, because I saw a clip of it and Shawn was acting suspiciously single. I could probably rant more on the subject, but I'll just move on.
This may be a two-shot, depending on how motivated I am to keep going and how terrible my writer's block for Thump continues to be.
T for swears, I guess.
The call was disconnected, and Shawn pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at it incredulously. Then, in one fluid motion, he stood up and slammed the cell phone onto the desk, yelling, "Shit!"
Gus, who was just coming into the office, froze and stared at the agitated form of his best friend. "What's going on? What happened?"
Shawn raised his hands to press against his face and then curled his fingers into his hair. "Oh, god," he moaned, sounding sick.
Gus dropped his briefcase and moved forward, stretching his arms forward. "Sit down," he ordered, stern but quiet.
"Shawn Spencer, psychic detective. What can I divine for you today?"
"Hello, uh, this is…" the person on the other line took a deep breath. "This is Frank Lytar, Abigail's father…"
"Shawn, you're really freaking me out. What happened?"
He couldn't hear his friend pleading with him. He was letting the conversation he'd just had run through his mind, over and over again, in broken snippets.
"Shawn!" Gus shook his shoulder hard, and he finally registered his surroundings for the first time since—
He knew by the tone of the man's voice that there was something wrong. His heart hammered in his chest and he clenched the phone tightly in his hands.
"What can I do for you?"
"We… Abigail's mother and I… found your number in the paper. I… We haven't met, but we thought you should…"
"Gus," he choked out, staring at his friend with a look of shock and sadness. Gus was stricken by the raw emotion there, and reached out to plant a steady hand on Shawn's shoulder.
"Abigail's dead."
She had caught some virus, a virus he hadn't bothered to remember the name of, while teaching stupid starving children in goddamn Uganda. It had killed her quickly—twenty-four hours—and they had called her parents while she was too sick to speak to them, let alone understand what was happening.
They were sending the body—his Abigail's body, which had been warm and soft the last time he had seen her, kissed her—back to Santa Barbara, and the funeral would commence on Thursday.
He didn't want to go. He knew he had to, and he would, but he desperately wanted to stay home on Thursday. He didn't want to see her casket, or her grieving family. He wouldn't be able to handle it.
No, if he could stay home he could wallow in misery alone, without anyone watching him, pitying him, expecting anything of him.
He didn't have anything to wear, either. Maybe Gus would get him a suit if he gave him the money. He didn't want to leave his apartment long enough to do it himself.
It had been approximately twenty-seven hours since he'd gotten the news and he was sitting on his couch, staring at the TV, studiously avoiding looking at the picture of Abigail and himself that was hanging on the wall. It was three o' clock in the afternoon and he was wearing nothing but the t-shirt and jeans he'd thrown on yesterday morning.
Gus hadn't been able to get the day off of work, so he had been free to neglect himself totally. He knew that, in about two hours, his best friend would be here, making him shower and eat something. In the meantime, he was just going to keep sitting here, not looking at his Abigail's face.