Chapter 1: Not exactly a cat burglar at work here

Santa Barbara, present day

Shawn Spencer, Santa Barbara's one and only psychic detective, was not in a good mood.

By all rights he should be. He and Gus had just solved a high profile case on which the police had been stuck. Shawn had managed to bring the police back on track of the group of thieves who had robbed a museum, and in addition to that he had been able to give what he himself thought to be one of this best fake psychic performances. It had included everything, even an opportunity to bump into Detective Lassiter and throw him off balance without having to fear any repercussions.

Solving that case had also brought a nice fat cheque for Gus and him, with the museum adding a little bonus on top of his police consultant's fee for discovering the flaws in their security system. He and Gus had celebrated with an excessive take out dinner at the office, watching a movie and just relaxing after three days of hard detective work.

But now Shawn wasn't in a good mood anymore. Gus had been first to leave the office, leaving it to Shawn to lock up. Shawn had cleaned up their mess, had set the Tivo to record the rerun of that Schwarzenegger movie that was on tonight and had left.

Without locking up.

And of course he had only realised that after he had come to his apartment, kicked of his shoes and tossed his helmet into a corner.

Dilemma.

On the one hand, Shawn wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed and sleep. But on the other hand he knew exactly that Gus would be in the office before him tomorrow, and if he found out that Shawn had forgotten to lock up, he'd have one of his little freak-outs à la Gus. Which Shawn was quite sure he didn't want to happen.

So there only was one possibility left. With a deep sigh, Shawn picked up his helmet, pulled his shoes back on and grabbed his jacket. It was only a ten-minute drive, then a minute for locking up and another ten-minute drive back home. If he hurried up the stairs, he'd be in his bed in twenty-five minutes, tops.

The Santa Barbara streets were blissfully empty at night, but still Shawn stuck to the speed limit. He wasn't one for speeding, he cherished his driver's licence too much for that. Besides, he knew what could happen, his father had shown him all the police videos used to scare off young drivers. Starting at a young age, they had left quite an impression with him.

A good ten minutes later, Shawn pulled off his helmet and got off his bike in front of the office. The door was still closed, and Shawn rummaged around in his pocket for his keys to lock up.

And just as he put the key into the lock, he heard something inside the office fall to the floor with a resounding crash. Shawn froze, hand still raised and the key poised right in front of the lock. He held his breath and listened intently. The crashing sound didn't repeat itself, but Shawn was sure that he had heard it. And there were other sounds, much lower, but still audible if one only listened well enough. There were low steps, and the sound of broken glass being moved around.

Shawn hesitated for a moment, thinking what he should do. If somebody was just about to break into the office, Shawn wasn't properly prepared to face them. He didn't have a weapon, and maybe it would be wisest to call for backup before he even thought about entering the office.

But he also didn't want to call out the police only to have all this turn out to be nothing. That would seriously damage his reputation as a psychic, not even knowing whether the person in his own office was friend or foe. Or whether it was even a person. But if he waited too long and the office was truly being robbed right now, that'd only give the perps enough time to take off with the TV, Gus' laptop and the Tivo. And Shawn really, really wanted to see that Schwarzenegger movie.

With a deep breath, Shawn put his key into his pocket again and pulled out his cell phone. He'd put his finger on the speed dial for Juliet's number before entering the office, and if there was somebody trying to rob the office he'd hit the send button as quickly as possible.

Slowly, very silently, Shawn put his hand on the doorknob and opened the office door. Fortunately, it didn't creak and instead allowed him to silently enter the room.

The lights were still off, but Shawn had already seen that from outside. But in here, the sounds were more clearly audible than from the outside. Somebody definitely was here, trying to be silent. And for some strange reason the burglars didn't seem to be in the office proper, but rather over in the kitchen area.

Slowly, Shawn crept closer, still listening attentively to try and determine whether there was only one person in the office or more. As he rounded the corner towards the small kitchen, he reached out and grabbed an umbrella from the stand in the corridor. Probably Gus had left it standing there, Shawn couldn't even remember seeing an umbrella in the office. To his best knowledge, he had never owned an umbrella himself. But it beat having no weapon at all.

The kitchen was just as dark as the rest of the office, the dim light from the streetlamps outside casting barely a glow through the blinds on the windows. All Shawn could see was a shadow moving along the counter. Silently, Shawn reached out for the light switch and prepared himself against the sudden onslaught of light he knew would be coming.

Then he flicked the light switch.

A startled gasp was the first thing he heard, and Shawn stared at the sight in front of him in complete and utter confusion. There, right in front of him, stood the burglar who had entered the office. Shawn didn't quite know what he was supposed to think.

Since when did burglars clean up the mess they caused?

And exactly since when did burglars start out at such an early age?

The boy in front of him could not be more than eleven, maybe twelve years old. He was staring at Shawn from wide blue eyes. Bangs of sandy hair ware hanging into his face, some of them threatening to cover his eyes entirely if they grew just a little longer. The boy was scrawny and slightly dirty with dark rings under his eyes and a variety of stains on both, his jeans and his t-shirt, but somehow he lacked that look of cold detachment that Shawn had seen in other street kids.

"Who are you?", the boy hissed at Shawn.

Shawn, feeling slightly silly to still be holding the umbrella like a baseball bat, put it down and leaned it into a corner. He snapped his cell phone shut, shoved it into his jacket pocket and looked up at the scrawny boy.

"I should be asking you that question. This is my office, after all, which would make what you're doing breaking and entering."

"Just entering", the boy said defensively. "The door was unlocked, I didn't break anything. Well, not at first."

Sheepishly, he looked down at the glass shards he was holding in his hands. Shawn guessed that this had been a jar of mayonnaise not too long ago. And despite his cocky attitude, there was a tension in the boy's stance, making it clear that he was ready to run immediately, should the need arise.

Slowly, so as not to scare the boy into running, Shawn went over towards the trash bin and raised the lid.

"First of all, you'd better get rid of the shards before you cut yourself."

The kid hesitantly made a step forward, then he dropped the glass shards into the bin and immediately took a couple of steps back again. Shawn put the lid back on the trash bin and leaned against the doorframe.

"All right. And now, how about you tell me what is going on here."

The boy's eyes were darting to and fro, evaluating escape routes. Shawn gave his pose a relaxed look, but he, too, was ready to run at a moment's notice should the kid decide to bolt. When the boy still hadn't spoken after a few seconds, Shawn tried again.

"I'm Shawn. Care to tell me your name?"

"Eric." The answer came immediate enough to be the truth, but Shawn couldn't be sure.

"Okay Eric. How did you end up in my office?"

Eric shrugged, still keeping a wary eye on Shawn. "I saw you leave earlier. You didn't lock up. And…well, I wanted to see if you had something to eat here."

Shawn nodded. He wouldn't have quite believed the kid if he had found him with Gus' notebook or the TV in hand, but seeing that he had caught him with a glass of mayonnaise and an old and dry bagel out on the counter, this sounded like the truth.

"Why didn't you come in and ask?"

Eric shrugged uncomfortably. "Because…you'd have called the police. I didn't want to cause any trouble, I only wanted a sandwich or something. Please, I promise I didn't want to steal anything, and I didn't want to break anything, either. Please, just don't call the police."

The boy was scared, that was obvious. Shawn didn't want to aggravate that, so he raised a calming hand.

"I don't intend to call the police, kid. No harm, no foul, all right?"

Eric swallowed. "Thanks. I…I'll just be going then."

He made a few steps towards the door, but Shawn stepped in his way. "Wait."

Eric stopped like a deer caught in the headlights. "You said you wouldn't call the police", he said in a low voice.

"And I won't. But you said you were hungry."

The boy's eyes darted towards the fridge and back, giving Shawn all the answer he needed.

"All right, how about we make a deal?"

"What deal?" Eric's voice was wary.

"There's half a meatball sub in the fridge. I'll pop it in the microwave for you, you sit down over there and eat."

"Then what's the deal about it?" Still, the wariness hadn't vanished.

"That you tell me how a boy your age ends up in someone else's office at night instead of lying in his bed, worrying about nothing but the next school day."

Eric thought for a long moment, still eyeing Shawn with absolute distrust, but in the end his hunger seemed to win over all his doubts and he nodded.

"All right."

Eric sat down on the sofa Shawn had indicated earlier and Shawn put the sub into the microwave. A minute later he carried the plate over and sat down in an armchair so that he was facing Eric.

"Tuck in."

The boy hesitated for another short moment, watching the sandwich and Shawn warily, but after a few seconds he grabbed the sub and tore off a huge bite. Shawn watched him eat for a few moments, then got up and grabbed a can of soda from the refrigerator. For the next few minutes, the only sounds in the office were caused by Eric wolfing down the sandwich as if somebody would tear it away from him if only he hesitated too long.

When he had finished, he leaned put the plate down with a sigh. "Thanks", he mumbled, not meeting Shawn's eyes.

"You're welcome. Now, to my side of the deal."

Eric nervously fidgeted with the hem of his stained sweater. "Not much to tell", he said lowly, with a shrug of lanky shoulders. "I don't go to school. I don't have a home. Haven't had one since I was five. Getting into your office was easier than scrounging people for money."

Shawn didn't believe a word of what the kid was saying. He had seen street kids before, the kind that had been living on the streets for years, and Eric didn't look one bit like them. His hair was slightly too long, but it was obvious that it had been cut recently. And while his clothes were dirty, they weren't torn or used for a long time. Same went for his shoes. They weren't brand new, they weren't high priced, but they had definitely not been on the kid for months. Also, while he looked scrawny, he didn't look starved, and his hands were suspiciously clean, even under the fingernails. Shawn didn't know one street kid who still took care of washing his hands regularly, that was something ingrained into a kid in a regular life.

"How old are you?"

Eric took a large swig of the soda. "Eleven. But I will be twelve in a couple of months."

That Shawn could believe. He smiled at the boy, and immediately the wary look was back in Eric's eyes.

"What's so funny about that?"

"Nothing. But you haven't been on the streets for years, kid. I'm a psychic, I can tell when you're lying."

"What's a psychic?", Eric asked with a frown.

"Somebody who can talk with beings on another plane of existence."

Eric's face pulled into a frown. "I don't get it."

Shawn sighed. "I can talk to spirits."

"You mean you're talking to ghosts? Like that chick on TV?"

Shawn seriously doubted that somebody who had allegedly been on the streets for years knew Ghostwhisperer. But that was beside the point.

"Something like it. Though I'm not seeing ghosts. It works a bit different."

Eric shrugged. "That's bullshit."

"Watch your language, kid."

Shawn's tone had been friendly, but still Eric flinched at the reprimand. Shawn didn't quite know what to do with that new piece of information about this strange kid, but decided to let it pass for now. Eric was running his finger along the rim of his soda can.

"So you're kinda like a private detective. That's what the sign on the window says."

Shawn nodded. "Kind of, yes." He put his hand up to his temple and closed his eyes for a moment. "For example I know that you haven't been living on the streets for long. Two weeks, maybe three? And you are not from Santa Barbara, but from somewhere else in California." Shawn seriously doubted that the boy had come from somewhere too far away, but if he had been from Santa Barbara, Shawn would have heard about it. "You've run away from home."

Eric shook his head, but the look in his eyes told Shawn that he had struck a chord with what he had said. For a few moments, Eric nervously fiddled around with his can again.

"So if somebody came to you searching for somebody, you could find them?"

Shawn sighed. "Probably. Why, are you searching for somebody?"

Eric quickly shook his head. "No. I was just wondering. You know, what kind of people come to you for help."

"Well, most of the times it's just normal people. And I help the police from time to time."

Eric's bright blue eyes widened remarkably. "You're working with the police?"

Inwardly, Shawn cursed himself for ruining what little rapport he had built up with the kid over the past minutes by mentioning the police. He shrugged.

"Sometimes, when they're stuck they ask me for help. I know a couple of very nice police officers, the kind who really want to help."

Eric shook his head mutely, his body posture suddenly hostile and closed up again.

Shawn drew a breath to say something else, but at that moment his cell phone rang. Eric jumped at the sound, but Shawn put up a placating hand as he pulled out the phone and answered.

"Hello?"

"Shawn, it's Gus."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "What is it?"

"I was just wondering if you're still at the office?"

Absent-mindedly, Shawn got up from his chair and started walking through the room. "Yes, why?"

"My VCR gave out and there's a documentary on Benjamin Franklin on the History Channel tonight. I was wondering whether you could set the Tivo at the office?"

Shawn ran a hand through his hair. "If it's between three and five, forget it. Last Action Hero is on rerun, and I still haven't seen it."

"Damn. Well, then I'll just have to check the reruns next week. Don't forget to lock up when you leave."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Your lack of faith in me is disappointing. Am I not a paragon of reliability?"

"No. That's why I tell you again: don't forget to lock up. Good night, Shawn."

"Yeah, good night."

Shawn closed his cell phone, put it in his jeans pocket and turned towards the couch again, intending to get some more information out of Eric after the interruption.

But the sofa was empty.

Soda can and plate were still standing on the low table in front of it, but its previous occupant had vanished. Quickly, Shawn looked around the office, but he already knew that Eric had left. Mentioning the police had spooked him, and with the phone call distracting Shawn he had taken off. Shawn hurried over towards the back door and found it unlocked. Looking out, all he saw was the parking lot and the beach promenade, both totally empty. Eric had gone.