A/N: Wow. I completely forgot I was uploading this story on here. o_o; Well, real life decided to butt in, which should be all of the explanation I need.

The action finally starts in this chapter. Even though it's short. Hope you guys enjoy it!

Shawn had called and tried to convince Gus to come with him exactly twelve times. He'd given up about an hour ago, and now was parking his bike across the deserted street from the gas station, Rhoda's, which also served as an auto shop/convenience store. He had taken off his helmet and was now watching the store carefully.

It was almost 6pm, and the sign on the door said 'CLOSED'. There didn't seem to be any activity inside or outside, and the semi he had seen on the tape wasn't anywhere to be seen. There was a rather large garage in the back of the store that he guessed it could have been in, but he doubted that. Shawn debated going in right now, or calling Jules or Lassie for backup. "Naw," he eventually said to himself. "How dangerous can a closed gas station be? And besides, they're probably too busy with their own case."

He also debated calling Gus, but he knew his friend would only throw a fit and tell him not to go in alone-like he had told him the last twelve times.

Satisfied with his decision, Shawn pocketed his keys and placed his helmet on the handlebars. He checked the street, making sure no one was coming (which, of course, they weren't) and ran quickly across. He stared puzzled at the small sign on the window next to the door, which read:

STATION HOURS:
MONDAY-SATURDAY 7:00am-5:00pm SOMETIMES
CLOSED ALWAYS!

"Now that just doesn't make sense..." Shawn said to himself, as he grabbed the handle on the door. He didn't expect it to be unlocked, and pushed it a little harder than necessary, the bell above the door ringing loudly, as he stumbled into the store.

The station appeared to be just as deserted as ever. The shelves and counter top were covered in dust, despite the rows of products that still rested there. The lights were out, and the descending sun shining through the windows only helped add to the eerie atmosphere. Shawn moved slowly, the door shutting behind him with another annoying -RING- He moved quickly through the store, taking in every useless detail he saw. The shelves were stocked full of products, and the freezers in the back were dark, full of milk and eggs that had probably gone bad several years ago.

The counter also had its own coating of dust, and the register didn't appear tampered with. "What happened? Some kind of nuclear evacuation?" Shawn muttered to himself. And now he turned around, not failing to catch the set of footprints that cut through the dust on the floor. The set of footprints that were obviously not his, as he had not gone down any of the aisles. The set of footprints that, he was certain, had not been there the first time he passed.

And now Shawn found himself moving towards the door-the direction he'd come from, as well as the direction the footprints lead. Though curiosity was eating at him, he had no intention of finding out who was in the store with him. He guessed maybe the eerie darkness was getting to him, but he was getting scared out of his mind. 'Maybe I should have called for that backup...' he thought as he got closer to the footprints.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the man crouched in the aisle, looking at a row of chips as if he were casually shopping-as if he came to this abandoned store every day. The man, who looked tall even though he was crouching, had oily, curly black hair and now looked up at Shawn with bright blue eyes. He wore a dark blue mechanic's jumpsuit which was covered in grease stains.

The man straightened up, and Shawn found himself backing slowly away. "Sorry," He found himself saying, despite his instinct telling him to run for the door as fast as he could. "I must have walked into the wrong abandoned store. I'm just gonna go, now." Before he could even turn around, the man had drawn a gun and was staring at him maliciously.

"Who are you?" The man said, his voice was low and monotone.

"Judd Nelson." Shawn replied, his hands coming up at his sides. "Surprisingly, the years have done nothing to my stunning beauty." He didn't miss the way the man's eyes narrowed, or the way his face seemed to contort in fury. "Would you have accepted Emilio Estevez? Molly Ringwald?"

"One more time." The man said, the gun raising to Shawn's face. "Who are you?" A small frown formed on Shawn's face as he focused his attention on the barrel of the gun instead.

"Shawn Spencer, Psychic." He said, bringing his hands to his head. "And you had better put your gun down because I have just beamed out a telepathic message to the SBPD: You've been a bad boy, Chester Cheetos. And they're coming for you."

The man scoffed, the gun lowering slightly as he said, "Yeah, right. Then, tell me this, psychic, what exactly have I done?"

"You stole an ice cream truck!" Shawn shouted, pointing at the man.

"Don't be silly," he said. "What need would I have for an ice cream truck?"

"All of the icy good treats that're stored in the back?" Shawn guessed.

"You're talking out of your ass." The man said, bringing the gun up, again. "I haven't stolen any ice cream truck."

"You seriously haven't?" Shawn asked, and the man shook his head, his finger squeezing on the trigger. "OH MY GOD, LOOK, AN ICE CREAM TRUCK!" Shawn suddenly shouted, pointing behind the man and at, what he realized now was an empty wall. The man looked and he couldn't believe it. When he turned around, Shawn had already wrenched the door open. He recovered quickly, taking quick aim, and pulled the trigger.

Shawn's left shoulder exploded in a giant blossom of pain that propelled him through the door. He didn't stop to think about what had just happened, his right hand instinctively grabbing at his shoulder while he slammed the door shut behind him with his left. He had no idea why he wasted the time; it was flimsy and made of glass. The pain from moving the injured arm was incredible, and now he realized that there was something warm and sticky flowing between his fingers. Oh, God, he thought quickly as he rushed away from the store. I've been shot... The bastard actually shot me...

Shawn could see his bike twenty yards in front of him, and he forced himself to run faster. He could hear the blood thumping in his ears, and tried to ignore that that was currently draining down his hand as he put more pressure on the wound. Shawn heard the door behind him explode open, and thought for a minute the guy might have actually knocked it off of its poor frame. He didn't waste time to look back, but heard the man running behind him.

Shawn wasn't prepared for the sharp 'POP!' that echoed around him, and he slowed for a second, quickly checking over himself for more holes. When he was satisfied he didn't find any, he tore off faster. He was barely out of the gas station parking lot when a yellow car came speeding around the curb. What the hell? was all he had time to think before the car shot down the road in his direction, his bike right in its path.

The car swerved at the last second, missing Shawn's bike and instead blocking him from getting to it. He had trouble stopping in time and awkwardly smashed into the back window of the car. He couldn't see who the driver was, and didn't have time to focus on him, when he was grabbed from behind.

His assailant ignored his injury, grabbing Shawn by his shoulder with one hand, causing him to yelp in pain, and pushing him forward with the other, which he realized had the gun in it. "I call shotgun!" Shawn called as he was pushed towards the back of the car. The trunk, he noted, and it popped open. "I mean, I much prefer front seats, you know?"

He was completely ignored as they arrived at the trunk, the man reaching forward with one hand to open the trunk, the other keeping the gun steady on Shawn's back. And he let out a small cry of joy as his shoulder was let go, his happiness short-lived when the man nudged him towards the open trunk. Shawn looked inside, a slight look of disgust crossing his face. "You know-" he started, but was interrupted by the gun cracking hard over the back of his skull.

Stars exploded into his vision as he careened forward, his hands automatically coming up to cradle his head. Before he got the chance, he was pushed hard and he went tumbling into the back of the car. He didn't have time to protest his new accommodations as the trunk was slammed shut, and his world was swallowed in darkness.