Psyche

Summary: A short Character Study for a one Shawn Henry Spencer. (Set during Season One "Nine Lives")


Author Notes: Say what you will, I've been watching Dexter and saw the similarities. And if you look back at Season One of Psych this isn't too far off. It's a Character Study, a one shot, I had fun writing it, I'm not ashamed XD I would do it again lol. So tell me if you enjoyed it as much as I did. And sorry if you have trouble reading the paragraphs, that seems to be my schtick :) Pineapples!


I had done it again.

I exposed myself.

I could hear Henry in my head trying to give me direct orders.

They said to leave this crime scene.

Leave these suicides to the police.

But these deaths wouldn't leave me alone.

I saw the case file.

I saw the bodies.

Someone was killing them.

And I couldn't let this go.

My eyes dripped over every corner, every hair inch of the apartment.

Gus was resisting the urge to vomit.

Detective O'Hara looked pale as well.

They took this kind of thing seriously.

I took it as a game.

Say all you want-it's how I had been taught.

Instead of fudge cakes as my award, now the chase itself was a delight.

I was analytical.

I wasn't taught to feel.

I was taught to think.

They were all staring at me.

Expecting me to react.

To say something inappropriate or revealing.

To fall onto the carpet seizing with an ill timed vision.

I was more than a source for the police.

I was their outlet.

Someone to do their work for them.

Someone to make them forget a woman was dead.

The game it self was my outlet.

The killer thought that they could relax.

That they didn't have to leave town.

They hadn't met me.

Detective Lassiter was trying to get me to leave.

He never saw the pieces of the puzzles.

I did.

I saw them all.

I tried to share them.

I was only arrested.

My insight wasn't enough.

I had to play it down.

I had to fit in.

I pretended to be possessed.

My muscles groaned at the abuse.

My knees burned into the carpet.

I moaned like I was having sex.

I gathered divine information with my index and middle finger as the conduit.

It never ceases to surprise me how much cops and people will delude themselves to avoid the truth.

They only believed a fool.

Gus saw me across the room, seeing the blood and not reacting.

That made me feel strange, out of place.

I was suppose to react.

I was a civilian.

Death, blood and flies were gory.

My cold response was left to killers and the police.

Like I said:

I was taught to think.

Not to feel.

Feelings of others didn't matter unless it included a body.

My mind was getting rapidly involved in this case.

I couldn't stop.

I was being spoken to, the Head Detective had me by the arm.

I found myself pretending.

Pretending my apathy was just another juvenile indiscrepancy.

This psychic thing was requiring more acting than anticipated.

Perhaps I should scream with Gus at the bodies.

Act like I had a yellow streak running down my spine.

Perhaps I could lower my vocabulary.

I could hide behind socially inappropriate behavior and a barrage of jokes and references to the 80s.

I liked it here.

I wish I could stay.

I couldn't figure out years later why the bodies and blood never bothered me.

Yin was the only one to rattle my cage.

Was I that cold hearted?

Was it my father?

And that left me with the last question:

What had he created?