Henry replaced the phone slowly, staring blankly into space, trying to figure out what to do next.
Okay…what do I know?
He quickly ran down the mental list he had already assembled.
The guy's insane.
A control freak.
Can't stand being ignored…probably a loner.
Picked on as a kid.
He stood up and began to pace the length of the room, his brain firing off facts almost faster than he could process them.
He knows me well enough to know what I'll do, how I think.
Well enough to know I won't recognize his voice.
He glanced at the clock again.
6:00.
A half-hour since the psycho had hung up.
What has he been doing to Shawn since then?
He forced the thought out of his mind.
Dwelling on that wasn't going to help anyone.
What about these damn rules I can't break?
What are they?
Henry suddenly realized he was clutching his gun.
He hadn't touched it in years.
But there it was, in his hand.
Loaded.
Ready.
He didn't even remember taking it out of the closet…
No cops.
That has to be the first rule.
It's always the first rule.
I'm on my own.
He strapped on his holster and went downstairs, certain that was the first step in finding Shawn.
Being downstairs.
But what comes next?
He heard a car pull into the driveway. He looked out the back window.
Detective Lassiter was walking up to the back door.
Henry quickly hid the gun and took a few deep breaths, trying to gain some composure before he heard the doorbell.
No cops…
It's always the first rule.
…What the hell is he even doing here?
The doorbell rang.
He answered it, forcing a half-smile.
"'Morning, Detective Lassiter."
"Good morning, Mr. Spencer. I didn't wake you up, did I?"
"No. What can I do for you?"
"Can I come in?"
"No."
Henry crossed his arms and glared out the screen door, hoping he would just leave.
"Okay…" Lassiter agreed, furrowing his brow
He knows something's up…
"I just had a question. Do you know where Shawn is?"
"Shawn? No. Why would I? I assume at his apartment."
"Because he's not there. I just checked. It's in shambles,
like there was a struggle."
"Kid's a slob," Henry shrugged.
"True…"
Lassiter pulled a folded-up piece of paper out his pocket and plastered it against the screen.
"But that doesn't explain this. It was taped to my windshield this morning. It's why I went to his apartment in the first place."
Henry's heart stopped when he read the message, left in cut-out magazine letters across the page.
SPENCER HAS 24 HOURS TO LIVE.
What the hell is this?
Is this one of the rules?
Is Lassiter supposed to help me?
Why?
Henry took a deep breath.
Or is it a trick?
Is he just creating an excuse to kill Shawn?
Does it matter?
Do I have a choice now?
"I think you should come in," Henry said, pushing the door open and stepping aside. Lassiter nodded and entered the house.
I'm not dealing with your ordinary, run-in-the-mill psycho here.
He's unpredictable.
Anything goes.