Thanks to all the readers! This is part 2!
The first thing Shawn notices is that everything is like his visions. The darkness, the looming faces and the chains, holding back his hands and leaving him completely helpless on a…bed?
He looks around wildly. He is in a mostly bare room – there is a toilet and sink in the corner and the bed he is on. There is a long, skinny door with no handle. A window, out of which he can see other doors. The only light comes from something small and fluorescent hanging above him.
"Shit," Shawn mumbles to himself, testing the give of the chains holding back his hands. His legs are free and he can sit up comfortably, which he does. "They couldn't even leave me some magazines?" Shawn asks no one in particular. He has a feeling he'll be here for a while – the least they could do was give him something to occupy himself with.
"I'm sorry, we don't have any magazines. We could probably wheel you in a TV, though."
Shawn jolts upright, looking around himself.
The door opens and in walks the man that had injected him with whatever had been in the syringe. "Hello, Shawn," the man says, lips pulling back in a smile, revealing perfect, white teeth. He almost looks a little like Tom Cruise, which is freaking Shawn out more than anything else.
"Why am I here?" Shawn immediately demands. No use beating around the bush.
Tom Cruise crosses in arms and keeps grinning at the psychic. "I'm sure you know why."
Shawn huffs out an exasperated sigh. "I really don't."
"Oh, that's right," Tom Cruise waves in the other man that had cornered Shawn in the alleyway. "This is Jackson. He has quite the uncanny ability. Don't you?"
The man, Jackson, looks blankly into Shawn's eyes.
"He has an ability just like you, Shawn," Tom Cruise continues. "However, his is quite…unique."
Shawn blinks.
"Have you noticed anything, Shawn?" Tom Cruise asks. "Does it feel like you cannot…sense presences anymore? Not having any of your precious visions?"
Shawn swallows hard.
"Yes, we know about that." Tom Cruise walks closer to Shawn. "We know so much about you Shawn. So much that we have Jackson here, so that we may suppress your abilities."
Shawn pales. "What does that mean?"
"We don't want to take any chances. When Jackson is around, you cannot access your abilities."
"Wyatt," Shawn breathes out. Of course. His friend hadn't abandoned him – Shawn just can't see him anymore.
"Yes, your ghost friend…" Tom Cruise chuckles. "A shame that he was one of the misfortunate ones."
Shawn's eyes darken and he tests the strength of the chains again, somehow hoping his strength will return to him. "You killed him," he says lowly.
"He was expendable," Tom Cruise explains. "But you, of course…we can do so much with you."
Shawn lashes out, his leg kicking towards Tom Cruise. He almost makes connection with the man's kneecap but he only laughs. "Oh, Shawn," he says, looking down on the man with a smile, "we are going to have so much fun with you."
The man opposite Tom Cruise suddenly reaches out and holds Shawn's legs down.
Shawn looks in fear at Tom Cruise, who produces a syringe from his shirt pocket.
"No," Shawn says, knowing how feeble he sounds. But with his arms and legs restrained, all he has are his words.
"Don't worry; we're just going to take a quick field trip." Tom Cruise injects the syringe into Shawn's forearm.
After a few moments of trying to fight the grip of the man holding his legs and the chains holding back his hands, Shawn feels his body slow down. The room seems almost out of focus. Blearily, Shawn realizes they have given him some type of muscle relaxant.
Tom Cruise unlatches the chains from Shawn's arms and the man holding his legs steps back. With one swoop, Tom Cruise has Shawn in his arms and he walks down the hall, towards a room with a metal table. He drops Shawn unceremoniously onto it and begins to pull various items out of drawers.
"What…" Shawn's voice is barely a whisper. "What are you doing…" Jackson isn't standing there anymore and Shawn can see things happening in flashes. Sweat, sliding down his arms. Laughter. White noise. Photos – a slideshow. A news station, the anchor smiling brightly.
Tom Cruise must recognize the look on Shawn's face. "Yes, you can see it all again, can't you? The medicine we gave you is something of a dual action. You will be completely relaxed, yes. But also…the visions will be strong and frequent."
Shawn's eyes suddenly glaze over, unable to see the man before him or see that he is attaching electrodes to his scalp.
"What do you see now, Shawn?" Tom Cruise's voice reaches him in the haze.
Shawn manages to gasp out, "Fuck you," before the visions overtake him.
Running. Running down a hallway. "Did you hear anything?"
"I was just about to tell you…"
"Is it bad?"
"You need to get over there. Soon."
Shawn tosses his head to one side but he cannot escape the sights.
"Tell us who this is, Shawn."
Photos. Photo of a landscape. Photo of a mountain. A man on a mountain. Wanted fugitive. David? Donald? Dawson Samuels.
A news station? A woman, showing more images.
"Shawn…"
Sweat. So much sweat. Shawn can feel how moist he is but can do nothing – his body feels weighted and his mind is a collection of photos and voices.
"Shawn, don't worry, I'm coming."
Wyatt?
"Fight them, Shawn. Fight them as much as you can."
I can't –
Hospitals. Santa Barbara. His father, staring down a newspaper. PSYCHIC DETECTIVE STILL MISSING.
"You haven't heard from him?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Spencer…"
The voices and images don't let up. They swirl through his mind and leave him so disoriented that he cannot see what is around him. Shawn cannot see the machine behind him, recording the activity of his brain. Tom Cruise stands behind the window, watching with curiosity.
"It's nothing like we've ever seen," the woman next to him remarks.
"I know…" Tom Cruise says. He turns to walk away and as he does, he calls, "Keep an eye on that one."
The woman turns her attention back on Shawn and his frantic movements. She looks on in hesitation and fear.
Shawn can't remember how is transported to his bed but he wakes up the following morning with a roiling stomach. His hands aren't chained this time. There is a TV in the new room he is in. He studies each detail of the room, attempting to decipher each one.
He looks down and realizes he's in a plain t-shirt and loose-fitting pants. At his side is a glass of water. Gratefully, Shawn reaches for it but once he grips it successfully, it shatters in his hand.
Shawn jumps off of the bed and flattens his back against the wall, breathing heavily. "Holy shit," he says aloud. He hadn't had his strength ability in quite some time. Had what they done yesterday made this happen?
"Ah, Mr. Spencer…" Tom Cruise is outside his window, smiling. "Improving already I see."
Shawn stalks over to the window. "What the hell have you done to me?" he has never felt this helpless and his voice shakes in fear. He honestly does not know if he will make it out of this.
"We are just making some improvements..." Tom Cruise says. "Making you…more useful."
Shawn's voice wavers. "More useful for what?"
"In due time, Mr. Spencer. For now…watch some television. Read at your leisure. Lunch is in a half hour." He walks away from the window and out of sight. Shawn curses the fact that the one ability to come back full-force was strength and not sight.
He spends ten minutes trying to open the door but it is a fruitless effort. Eventually, Shawn sinks down onto the floor and fumbles for the television remote. He flicks it on just to bring noise into the room but pauses when he glimpses a news program with the same woman he had seen in his vision.
Shawn hadn't had many visions until now – they are all he sees. No more dreams – just voices and images and people, so many people.
The television flicks to a different station and it's a nature special on mountains.
The realization that everything he is seeing now has been seen before makes Shawn feels sick. He immediately stands up and feels his mouth moisten. He rushes to where the toilet is in the corner of the room and heaves. He retches for a few moments before flushing the toilet and collapsing onto the floor.
He stays like this for a few moments, his limbs feeling immobile. His eyes flit up to the ceiling and even there he sees images. A flower, blooming. A man shaking his head. A woman, in another room, screaming.
Shawn covers his eyes with his hands but even behind his hands he can see more images: Tom Cruise looming over him, a nurse running down the hallway, a mess of fire and glass.
Overwhelmed, Shawn screams.
Suddenly, the door swings open and Tom Cruise is there, holding out a syringe.
Shawn doesn't even register his presence and Tom Cruise frowns at this. To the woman behind him he demands, "How much did you give him last session?"
"Just what you asked, sir," she stumbles, looking fearful.
"Damn it," Tom Cruise bends down to Shawn's level. The psychic is staring straight ahead, his body going into spasms. Quickly, Tom administers the contents into Shawn's arm and waits until his body has calmed. His eyes slowly close and he relaxes onto the floor.
Tom Cruise turns to the nurse. "Let's transport him back to the other room. Bring him the lunch though. He'll be hungry when he wakes up." He stands up and strides out of the room, on to the next patient.
Later, Shawn wakes up with the chains around his wrists once more. His temples are pounding and his mouth is dry but he can see the room around him and he breathes a sigh of relief. He notices that there isn't a television but a pile of books at his bedside table. The chains stuck to the wall give him enough mobility that he can reach for the books. The first one on the stack is One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.
"Perfect," Shawn mutters to himself. He sets that one down and picks up a mystery novel instead. As he reads, he can't help feeling slow. He knows that he shouldn't be here but he can't bring himself to fight. His arms feel only strong enough to hold up the paperback. He feels weak just thinking about it and sets the book down.
Christ, he's thirsty. Shawn remembers that he couldn't stop seeing images and now there is nothing. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and can almost glimpse Wyatt's concerned expression, his voice saying, "Shawn? SHAWN?"
But when Shawn looks up and out of the bedroom window, he sees the suppressant man, Jackson, looking back at him.
Shawn 's body involuntarily shrinks inward, eyes looking down at the bedspread and the books in front of him. The man won't stop glaring at him, though, and Shawn strains against the chains pinning him to the bed. "What do you want!" he shouts desperately.
The man says nothing but the door opens and a woman in scrubs sets a tray of food down in front of the psychic.
Shawn's hand grapples for the woman's arm. She startles but doesn't move as his hand encircles her wrist. "Please," Shawn gasps out. "What's going on?"
The woman hesitates and then looks back at the suppressant man. She makes to walk away and Shawn grips her arm tighter. "Please," he whispers.
The woman opens her mouth but closes it when the suppressant man glares at her.
"I'm sorry," she says before pulling away and closing the door behind her.
Shawn lets out a cry of frustration and slams his hand down on the food tray, upending a glass of juice on a turkey sandwich.
"Christ," he mutters, rubbing at his eyes. He reaches for the water on the tray but vehemently refuses to eat. He won't give these people the satisfaction.
Sometime later, Shawn has pushed the tray of food away and is curled on his side on the bed, flipping the pages of one of the books back and forth. He can't focus, he's famished and the suppressant man won't get away from the window.
Eventually, Shawn throws the book at the window. "What!" Shawn shouts at him. He kicks out at the lunch tray and the food crashes onto the concrete floor. He thrashes wildly against the chains, straining so hard that his skin begins to tear and blood runs down in streams. He can only make it to the edge of the bed before he's caught and once he is on the edge, he kicks over the nightstand.
That's it, Shawn, fight.
Shawn looks up. The suppressant man is gone.
The door opens and Tom Cruise rushes in with two other men.
"Shawn," he says, "you need to calm down."
"Fuck you!" Shawn hisses. He spits at the older man. Tom Cruise doesn't hesitate in kicking him in the midsection.
Shawn wheezes and hunches over. He grabs the nearby lunch tray and moves to hit one of the men with it but he can't reach and he drops it, eyes gleaming with hatred at the three men.
"Alright, take him," Tom Cruise says to the two men. "Room six." He moves over to the doorway with his arms crossed.
Water. "Mr. Spencer…" Choking. Coughing.
Shawn recoils when the men advance on him. "No!" he looks to Tom Cruise. "You can't!"
Tom Cruise shrugs. "The less commotion you cause Mr. Spencer, the less we'll have to do this."
Shawn fights against the grip of the two men but they dominate him and Shawn's strength is dwindling. Nevertheless, he kicks out and wriggles his body around as they carry him to a room with a steel tub against the far corner of the wall.
Tom Cruise grabs him by the back of the shirt and dunks his head straight into the cold water.
Shawn gasps and water goes into his mouth. He chokes and sputters when his head is lifted out and his arm thrashes, attempting to get the man away from him.
"Shawn…" Tom Cruise warns him before plunging him in again, holding his head down.
Panicking, Shawn kicks out his legs. He doesn't want to die this way. He wonders if Wyatt died in a similar fashion. His hand makes connection with Tom Cruise's knuckles and he slams it down.
"Son of a bitch!" Tom Cruise curses. He drops Shawn who stops himself from falling into the cold water.
Tom Cruise wastes no time in pushing him in again, this time holding him down with even more strength. He is under the water for such a long time that Shawn begins to see spots and his wild thrashing slows. When he believes he will actually die, Tom Cruise yanks him out and throws him onto the tiled floor.
Shawn gasps and coughs, pushing himself upright and heaving up water.
Not this time, Shawn.
Shawn looks up and a flash of Wyatt appears and then disappears.
Don't kill yourself over this.
Shawn looks up at Tom Cruise and mumbles, "Okay."
Tom Cruise looks amused. "Yes, Shawn?"
"I'll…" Shawn swallows. "I'll go back to my room."
Tom Cruise chuckles before grabbing hold of Shawn and yanking him down the hallway, into another unfamiliar room. "We're only just getting started," he says.
Meanwhile, in Santa Barbara…
Doctor Peter Bronson paces anxiously back and forth in his office. On his desk is a newspaper but the front cover is visible, on which it reads: PSYCHIC DETECTIVE STILL MISSING.
Peter Bronson was the man to discover Shawn's abilities after a freak thunderstorm. He supported the psychic through many trials and examinations. He was there when Shawn seemed to have lost his abilities and then when he seemed to gain the ability of clairvoyance.
Peter had had such a strong relationship with Shawn that he knew his father, Henry and his best friend, Gus. They seemed to care immensely for the welfare of the man and Peter found it admirable.
Now, however, it has been three months since Shawn Spencer disappeared. The police have come to him on two separate occasions but Peter doesn't know anything about what happened. Even Henry dropped by his office, expression solemn and body stiff. He hadn't said much but merely sat with Peter while Peter attempted to parse out the truth of what happened.
Peter hadn't been able to figure it out…until now. Nearly two weeks ago, another patient had come to him, confiding that she was experiencing a weird sensation in her body. She likened it to feeling like currents were coursing within her. After multiple examinations, Peter discovered that the woman could manipulate electricity. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before – but it was eerily similar to Shawn and the discovery of his own abilities.
Soon after Peter had consulted with the woman, two men had shown up at his door. One was tall, leery, with crooked teeth and shining eyes. He had immediately wanted to know what the whereabouts of Lisa Devon were. Of course, Peter could not give this information away, nor did he want to. That was when the second man, shorter, but with massive forearms, pushed him against the wall with one hand, threatening to break his neck if he didn't give them the information.
Peter had panicked but knew he would never be able to do that to a person. Luckily, a nurse walking by with papers to sign stopped in and the two men quickly scrambled away but not before promising to see Peter again.
Peter had contacted Lisa and told her of what happened; concerned that the two men were part of an organization he had only heard rumors about. If he was right, the organization was taking people with these strange abilities, no questions asked. The rumor was…more than half of the people taken died and the few remaining were altered forever. Peter's specialty in his profession was certainly not 'superpowers' but he had an interest in the unknown and heard about this information because of his curiosity.
Thankfully, Lisa understood the severity of the situation. Peter set her up with a man he knew that created new IDs for people, passports, driver's licenses, social security numbers, etc. He secured her a home in Vancouver, Canada and Lisa departed only one day after Peter's warning.
Since then, Peter has taken up a secret correspondence with Lisa and the men have not returned back. However, it has become very obvious to Peter how and why Shawn Spencer disappeared.
That is exactly why Peter has to fix it.
He doesn't want to tell Henry Spencer yet – in case he is wrong. He worries that he actually is wrong. Peter doesn't have any information on where Shawn is or that he is even still alive.
At that moment, Peter's best friend and IT consultant for the hospital, Owen, runs into his office.
"Peter," he says breathlessly. "I found him."
Time passes, but Shawn doesn't exactly know how. All he can feel are his limbs, which seem to spasm with each touch. His eyes won't shut, no matter how desperately he tries. All he can hear are whispers, but he isn't sure if they are actually there or if he is hearing them.
His body is lifted and dragged from room to room, each procedure a new kind of torture. First, the water, then, the white noise, which has Shawn scrabbling to cover his ears but his hands are restrained. Then there is the photo collage, each image bringing forth a future that Shawn can foresee. The noise Shawn hears is so loud and he cannot make it go away. He thrashes on tables, on the floor, in other's arms, but cannot get free.
Intermittently, Tom Cruise will come by and inject him with something else and Shawn will either slump in relief or scream louder. He feels completely energized and spent at the same time.
In all the haze, he looks for Wyatt, but there are no concrete images for Shawn to go off of – everyone is a blur, misshapen.
"How is he doing?"
"As you would imagine, sir. If we keep pushing him like this, we'll kill him."
"Interesting."
"Is that what you want?"
"I just want to test the boundaries a bit further. Then we'll put him to use."
It's another day and Shawn is propped up in the room with the TV. Ironically, he's watching Prison Break. His lunch tray is at his feet and his stomach rumbles in protest. Shawn brings a trembling hand over his midsection and sighs. It has been so long since he has eaten solid food. Before, it was a silent protest but now he cannot even bring himself to lift the food container from the tray.
Exasperated, Shawn sits back against the pillows.
Suddenly, the door opens and Tom Cruise is standing there.
Shawn looks at him dispassionately. "If you've come to take me somewhere, you can do without the restraints. I can't even move my arm."
Chuckling, Tom Cruise walks over to the lunch tray and picks up an orange Jello-O container. He rips off the covering and plunks a spoon in it before placing it in Shawn's hand.
Shawn stares at him before slowing setting it down on the bed. He worries at this rate that there will not be another test of strength like this, but if it has to be this way, then fine.
"Oh, Shawn," Tom Cruise sighs. "When will you cooperate?"
Shawn groans and puts his face in the pillow. "Probably never," he responds airily.
"You know, Shawn, we can put you in a more comfortable setting…" Tom Cruise says. "Of course, you would have to more willing to work with me, here."
"Nope." Shawn says into the pillow.
"A shame," Tom Cruise stands up from the bed. "I would think maybe Henry would not want you to act this way."
Shawn bolts upright from his position. "What did you just say?" he asks breathlessly.
"Shawn, you wouldn't think we don't know anything about your family?" Tom Cruise asks, leering at the younger man. "We know all about your father, the detective, your friend Gus and that perky little blonde woman…Jules?"
Shawn's mouth parts in horror.
"What a shame it would be…" Tom Cruise continues. "For you to die in this fashion. How disappointing. And you have disappointed your father so often, haven't you, Shawn?"
Shawn swallows hard.
"Maybe we should bring him in," Tom Cruise suggests. "Have him see up close what you have become."
Shawn's trembling hand balls into a fist. "Don't," is all he can spit out.
"I won't do anything, Shawn," Tom Cruise says as he walks to the door. "If you cooperate."
He walks out of the door and in a fit of anger, Shawn throws the lunch tray onto the ground, shouting all the while. He tosses silverware into the air and kicks the tray twice into the wall before he collapses onto the ground.
Henry, sitting up. Watching television. Apprehended from behind.
No. They can't.
A knife against his throat – the glint of the sharp blade reflecting in Shawn's eyes. "Shawn…"
"OKAY!" Shawn shouts, hands over his eyes. "OKAY!"
The crimson liquid pooling, Henry reeling, falling onto the floor.
Shawn screams, one hand over his eye, grappling for the Jell-O container that had fallen on its side near the sink. He reaches it and spoons some into his mouth desperately.
The images of what could happen fade slowly, giving everything in the room a red, blood-like haze. Shawn gags but shoves another spoonful into his mouth. He does this until the container is empty and then he throws it against the wall, disgusted with himself.
"Fuck!" he shouts, turning and leaning against the wall, the cold concrete resting against his forehead. He pivots and knocks over the nightstand next to his bed. "Fuck!"
Exhausted, Shawn leans his back against the frame of the bed, sliding down until he rests on the floor and is opposite the blank wall, staring ahead.
From the window, Tom Cruise watches and smiles.
Days later, Shawn is feeling…different. He can now walk comfortably and stretch his arms. He can read for hours on end without feeling disoriented. He eats – only small portions. He will take a few bites of whatever is on the tray he is given, disgusted with himself for allowing it to go this far.
Tom Cruise will show up, sometimes with the suppressant man. He will bring him into various rooms, making him run for long distances, jump through intricate obstacle courses and parse through a collection of photos, each more gruesome than the last. At first, none of it means anything. The photos are horrid shots of people in various degrees of disarray. A woman, bloodied on the ground, a man with half of his arm missing – horrifying images meant to spark something in Shawn, he is sure.
He adamantly refuses to participate, until Tom Cruise has him forced against the wall, until his eyes can only see the one photo, until his eyelids strain so much so that they eventually open and Shawn is forced to look at the image. Once this happens, the information floods in.
"Shauna Larder, killed on the twenty-first of December, the perp used a nine millimeter hand gun, left at the scene, prints wiped off," Shawn will recite, words tumbling unbidden. He wants to stop talking, but he can't. He wants to lie down and rest and run away but Tom Cruise is there at every moment, forcing his head into the water or kicking him in the ribcage, threatening him with every sort of torture imaginable.
Finally, Shawn gives in.
It is two weeks later and Shawn is lying in a king-sized bed. Tom Cruise has given him a new room, with a separate bathroom and chest of drawers for clothes. He has a TV and a bookshelf, even a small pantry to keep snacks in. He still cannot leave the room, but sometimes Tom Cruise will take him on walks as he hands Shawn photos. Shawn gets glimpses into other rooms, of men and women like him, lethargic, laying or sitting in various poses, unblinking as he passes by. Some run to the window and yell, but they are quickly subdued. Those days, Shawn tries not to dwell on it all too much.
The door opens and Tom Cruise strides in, tossing Shawn a pack of Camel Blues.
Shawn sits up, eyes narrowed.
"Yes, we know you smoked." Tom Cruise rolls his eyes. "When will you stop being surprised?"
Shawn studies the pack curiously and then looks up at Tom Cruise.
"C'mon," Tom Cruise says, gesturing for him to follow. "We're going outside."
Shawn's hands scramble for purchase. His fingers tangle with the sheets. His chest feels tight with anxiety. "Outside," he repeats.
"Yes, outside," Tom Cruise says in exasperation. He walks over to the man and grabs his arm forcefully. "Come on, now."
Shawn shakes his head, hand still enclosed around the sheets. He hasn't been outside in who knows how long. He doesn't want to go outside. He doesn't know what's out there.
Tom Cruise sighs and shoves Shawn off of the bed, dragging him by the shirtsleeve. "Let's go," he says impatiently, kicking at Shawn's calves when he begins to drag his feet.
Eventually, Tom Cruise leads him to a courtyard with a fence so high only a splice of grass and blue sky can be seen. Armed guards are lined up along each side. He turns to Shawn and gestures for him to give him the cigarette pack. He rips off the wrapping, pulls one out and lights it. He hands one to Shawn, who slowly puts it in his mouth with hesitation, hand trembling.
Tom Cruise's lighter looms in Shawn's vision and he nearly jumps back. It's pink. Shawn scrambles to find why this jogs a memory in him. Reluctantly, he lets the other man light his cigarette and gratefully inhales a deep breath into his lungs. After a few moments of doing this, he turns to Tom with a raised eyebrow.
"I'm sure you're wondering why we're here," Tom Cruise says. He flicks some ashes onto the pavement. "We've discovered a young man with another strange ability. He can jump from one place to another." Tom Cruise blows smoke in the direction of a nearby guard, who coughs. "A teleporter, if you will."
Shawn nods.
"We want to bring him in, study him, see how it all works." Tom Cruise turns to the psychic. "And I need your help, Shawn."
Shawn pauses, cigarette grazing his lips.
"Of course, this trip will have its benefits," Tom Cruise says. "We will give you even more freedom. You will have full-access to the library. We will even allow you to come to this area from time to time, given that someone is with you."
The cigarette smolders between Shawn's fingertips.
"What will I have to do?" Shawn eventually finds himself asking.
"Oh, nothing too strenuous," Tom Cruise stomps his cigarette out with his shoe. "You would mainly assist us in finding the man's location. You may have to help apprehend him. It depends."
Shawn's eyes scuttle from one armed security guard to the next. He can't find it within himself to think of a way out of the enclosed space. There would be no chance for him – even if he had his old healing abilities, being shot by thirteen different men might make it a little difficult to come back.
Shawn looks at the man opposite him and knows that he should not be agreeing to this. He should not be outside and he should not be sharing a moment with him, for Christ's sake. He wants to protest but his words feel limited and his arms feel sore again already.
"Okay," he whispers. "I'll do it."
"Excellent," Tom Cruise says.
Owen gives Peter all of the information he has, but it isn't much – at first.
He has deciphered that a man named Shawn Spencer signed on a lease for an apartment in Williamsburg. His cell phone was not traceable. A few NYC natives, acquaintances of Owen, were amazingly able to provide Owen with a description of someone who may be the psychic, seemingly talking to no one at various spots in NYC. He was described as a mid-thirties man, brunette, five foot nine, hazel eyes, with a slim build.
Owen is excitable to give Peter this information but unfortunately, it is not nearly enough for Peter to go to Henry with. New York City is a city of nine million people and ultimately, Shawn may not even be there anymore. Peter has a strong suspicion that the men that had pursued him successfully caught up to Shawn in NYC. Thinking about Shawn's whereabouts makes Peter nauseous. He wants to be looking for Shawn and not his body, but judging the reputation of the organization, Peter suspects the worst.
Peter and Owen strategize for days, digging up details of men, women and young adults captured by the organization. A woman found dead at the side of a road, foul play suspected. A man who collapsed at a crosswalk, inexplicably. Peter can only assume that these unfortunate people were killed due to the nature of their abilities. The rumor with the organization was that those who seemed too powerful to be overcome were ultimately expendable and soon eliminated.
Peter hopes that this has not happened to Shawn. He believes if Shawn were to pass away, his family and friends would know about it. He does not know what the organization does with the bodies they accumulate, but he hopes they would at least be decent about it.
Finally, Peter gets a call from a man who claims to know where the organization operates – in Queens. The man tells him he thinks it's in the basement of what was formerly a large shoe company's factory building. It's in a remote area which is most likely why no one has suspected anything out of the ordinary.
Peter writes the address down frantically on a napkin as soon as he gets the call. When he clicks off from the conversation, he dials Henry's number, feeling anticipatory.
Henry answers after the first ring. "Dr. Bronson?"
"Henry, please, call me Peter," the man pleads.
Henry asks, "What's this about?"
"I think I have a lead on Shawn," Peter says breathlessly.
"I'm coming over." Henry hangs up and Peter sets his phone down, letting out a deep breath. Telling Henry Spencer what is most likely happening to his son right now will not be easy.
Henry Spencer arrives like a storm, his every expression powerful and upending. People in nearby offices pop their heads out of the doorways, curious to see the man that is walking so determinedly down the hallway, breathing so loudly as to heard from a great distance.
Finally, Henry makes it to Peter's office and sits heavily down in the chair opposite his desk. "Peter," he greets gruffly. Peter looks at the man and can see the exhaustion sitting everywhere on the man – in his slumped shoulders, pale expression and weary, bitter eyes. He looks like a man that's given up all hope. Peter is hoping to give some of that back to him.
"Henry," Peter begins. "I think I have a good idea of where your son is. Queens, New York City, to be exact."
Henry takes off the red ball cap he'd been wearing and rubs a hand over his head. "Why the hell would he be in Queens?"
Peter exhales a heavy sigh. "That is the bad part of this news."
Henry seems to pale. "What? What happened to my son?"
Peter holds up his hands in what he hopes is a placating gesture. "Henry, please. I don't know if anything has happened. It's only what I suspect may be occurring."
Henry swallows with difficulty. "Is it that bad?"
Peter laces his fingers together and looks seriously at the detective. "I believe that Shawn may have been captured by an organization that hunts those with supernatural abilities."
Henry is speechless. His mouth parts, as if he is about to speak and then shuts just as quickly.
"We both know that your son exhibited some…unique abilities a few months ago," Peter quickly says. "He then seemed to lose those abilities. But then soon after that, Shawn came to me with new information."
"The psychic thing," Henry says faintly.
"Yes," Peter nods. "Shawn suddenly seemed to gain psychic abilities. Seeing into the future, talking to spirits, what have you."
Henry rubs a hand over his eyes. "After he got struck by that damn lightning, we agreed that we wouldn't keep any more secrets from each other."
"I'm afraid Shawn may have had a reason to keep this a secret from you," Peter explains. "I've heard rumors about this organization. They are known to capture the people they follow and threaten them and those they know in order for the person to go with them quietly."
Henry's hand clenches tightly. "Do you think this is what happened to my son?"
Peter nods. "What I can only guess is that Shawn had some idea of these men and left Santa Barbara for New York City. Once he was there, he kind of just…disappeared. I had men canvass the area near his apartment and they say no one has gone in or out of it for weeks."
"God," Henry exhales, trembling hand reaching to cover his mouth.
"Shawn's psychic ability is definitely…interesting," Peter chooses his word carefully. "I don't want to phrase it in this manner, Henry, but what this means is…they will want to keep him around."
Henry's eyes harden. "What does that mean?"
Peter sighs. "They will essentially pick him apart like a lab rat."
Henry quickly rose from his chair and began pacing the length of room. "How soon?" he grits out between his teeth.
"What?"
"How soon can we get to New York?" Henry asks, fists at his sides.
Peter looks on at the man with concern. "Henry, you know as well as I do that we don't have nearly enough information to go to the police with, let alone New York."
Henry again puts a hand over his mouth, feeling sick. "What kind of…" he swallows thickly. "What kinds of things are they doing to him?"
Feeling awkward sitting down, Peter gets up and leans against the front of his desk. "There are some rudimentary exams, ones I went through with Shawn myself. Tests of basic physical strength, vision and reflexes. Then there are the more lengthy processes, like studying brainwaves." Peter crosses his arms, feeling angry just thinking about what he is going to say next. "These people…they are dangerous for a reason. They will do whatever they can to get what they want. They'll break him down until he is…complacent."
Henry exhales a shaky breath, understanding what Peter means.
"Henry," Peter says urgently, "We are going to get him back."
Henry shakes his head slowly. "What if there isn't anything to get back?"
Shawn rises at five AM on the day he is supposed to tag along with Tom Cruise. He stares at the wall for ten minutes, unable to shake himself from a stupor that never seems to dissipate. He paces the length of his room and then eats a small breakfast – a cup of black coffee and a bowl of oatmeal. Shawn can't seem to stomach much of anything lately and he doesn't doubt that it's from all of the medications. They have stopped injecting him and instead give him various pills. At first, Shawn stuffed them under his mattress but when Tom Cruise found out he brought Shawn back to the room with the steel tub and now…now Shawn takes the pills.
He is allowed outside to the courtyard as many times as he likes, so long as he has someone with him and now he goes outside fifteen, twenty times a day. It's gotten to the point where he smokes so much he can feel his chest aching but he has no other excuse to be outside and Tom Cruise won't accept that the psychic may 'just want to get some fresh air.'
Shawn is outside, sitting on the concrete with a book when Tom Cruise marches outside, tosses a coat at him and says, "It's time."
Shawn shivers, even with the coat clutched around him. He wants to blame it on the fact that he is skinnier by the day but also because he is fucking terrified all the time. He doesn't want to help these people, these…torturers. But he can't let himself be killed. Wyatt told him so. Besides, if he makes it outside, maybe he'll have a chance to get away. Albeit a very small chance, but a chance all the same.
He follows Tom Cruise's determined gait and passes the familiar bank of rooms he is surrounded by every day: housing men, women and even a few teenagers. Ducking his head, he refuses to look too long at the people that are either restrained or leaning against the walls lethargically. It makes him anxious and anticipatory, wondering how long it will be before Tom Cruise doesn't think of him as a new toy to play with. He wonders how long it took them to get sick of Wyatt.
Two imposing men wearing three-piece suits join the duo sometime along the walk and Shawn tries his best to stare straight ahead.
Before Shawn can walk down yet another long hallway of unfamiliar rooms, Tom Cruise stops him, one hand cupped on his shoulder and says, "Sorry, Shawn, but you and I both know you can't see what the outside of this place looks like."
Shawn raises an eyebrow. He doesn't get to speak before yet again; his sleeve is yanked back and the man injects him with some type of medication. "Goddamn," he whispers as he staggers. "Can't you guys just blindfold me or something?"
He wavers for a few moments before finally he collapses and one of the men in the group lifts him up easily onto his shoulder and looks down at the psychic. "Damn, that shit works fast on him, doesn't it?"
"We've been giving him higher doses," Tom Cruise says absentmindedly as he looks at the expansive face of his silver watch. The man opposite him seems unsure of where to bring Shawn next but Tom Cruise gives him no indication of what to do.
"Sir," one of Tom Cruise's assistants breathlessly appears at his side, an iPad in his hand. "What exactly is the purpose of using Shawn Spencer in this exercise?"
Tom Cruise looks over at the young man with a miffed expression. "If we need him on our team, he's going to have to learn how to fight another person with abilities. How to kill."
The assistant pales and pulls up a short summary of Shawn's medical treatment since entering the facility. He gives the man the iPad to see this and says, "Sir, Mr. Spencer is already in a significantly weakened state, both physically and mentally. I don't think it's the greatest idea to put him in this type of situation yet-"
Tom Cruise holds up a palm and hands the iPad back. "Thomas, it isn't your place to give me orders."
"Of course, sir, but please, consider what you will do to this man. You cannot plunge him into this life so quickly. You want him as a long-term patient, don't you?"
Tom Cruise quickly shoves the younger man up against a nearby wall, hands enclosed around his neck. "What did I just tell you about giving me orders?"
The younger man gasps, legs kicking desperately for purchase, hands scrabbling to release himself from the strong grip. "I'm sorry," he chokes out.
Tom Cruise wrenches the younger man to the side, flexing his arm in irritation. "If he dies," he says lowly. "Then so what? I can replace him, just like I can replace you."
Unrecognizable, Wyatt stands crouched in the far corner of the area in contemplation. "C'mon, Shawn, kick some ass." he says quietly, watching as the psychic is carried to a waiting vehicle outside.
Ten minutes later, Tom Cruise and the two men get into a waiting SUV and head to lower Manhattan. Tom Cruise smokes a cigar and drives with one hand, keeping an eye on Shawn, who he has sprawled in the backseat.
A few days previously, Tom Cruise had contemplated bringing in the man with the ability-suppressing abilities. He was quite a useful piece to have around and Tom Cruise had wondered if bringing Shawn out into the field this soon was too risky. However, Shawn can't prove his worth if he can't display his areas of strength. This will have to be a risk that Tom Cruise takes. If Shawn tests his limits, Tom will have to make the decision if Shawn is worth the hassle or if he is indeed, expendable.
They eventually make it into lower Manhattan, where they believe the man they are searching for is currently. Someone at his workplace once made an official report expressing concern for the man, who was acting 'suspicious' and 'out of place.' A few men who worked under Tom Cruise scouted the area and believed the investigation to be 'worth their time.'
They have many different people of various ethnicities with a multitude of abilities, but none of them can teleport. Yet.
Shawn stirs awake as they pull into a parking garage and instinctively, he flinches backward, expecting to be somehow restrained in his bed but he is spread across two seats in the back of a car. Breathing harshly, he opens the door of the SUV and collapses on all fours onto the pavement. Unable to stop himself, he dry-heaves.
"What's wrong with him?" one of the men with Tom Cruise asks, after having got out of the car and moving close to Shawn in case he tried to make a break for it.
"Side effect of the medication most likely," Tom Cruise shrugs. "Get him up."
The two men heave Shawn up by his armpits and the psychic groans as his vision swims. He hasn't been outside in who knows how long. The noises of NYC alone are terrifying him but his vision is going hazy again.
Shawn knows that his abilities have morphed. Before being captured, Shawn could do not simply look at a photo of someone and know things about them. A day prior to this trip, Tom Cruise had laid a series of photos in front of the psychic. Shawn had been able to know what the man's name was without asking: Lyle Poole. He knew his profession: accountant. His age: twenty-seven. And various other facts: married, with one child, living in an apartment in lower Manhattan. Suspected ability of teleportation.
Feeling a roiling in his stomach and a pounding in his heart, Shawn knows that he cannot do this. The more he knows, the worse he feels. But the vision, the knowledge he can glean of Lyle, will not stop coming. Lyle at work, Lyle laughing with friends, Lyle getting married. Their son, Bradley, walking for the first time, his wife standing by with a camera.
Fist slamming on the pavement, Shawn attempts to bring himself back in the physical world but he is blinded by images. Tom Cruise kicks out at his midsection but Shawn does not waver from his crouched position.
"Get up," Tom Cruise says. Shawn groans in response.
"Sir?" one of the men asks, never having experienced a situation like this with the suppressant man.
Tom Cruise sighs before lunging down, grabbing the younger man by the back of his coat and slamming him against a nearby support beam. The psychic's eyes are clouded and he slaps him across the face.
Shawn sputters, eyes rolling before meeting Tom Cruise's. "Sorry," he rasps out.
Tom pulls a canister of pills out of his suit pocket. "Here," he hands it to him. "We need you alert for this." The canister is of a clear plastic and has no distinctive markings on it, no way to tell what the medication is. This is nothing new; Shawn is administered countless medications that he knows nothing about. However, he does not know if all of this medication is actually making him calm down or rather, making the visions more intense than before.
Shawn looks suspiciously at the pills and then back at the older man but reluctantly puts the pills in his own pocket. He follows the three older men out of the parking garage, Tom Cruise at his side and the two men directly behind. Breathing deeply, Shawn attempts to restrain himself. Staying inside a small and enclosed space for so long makes New York City as a whole entirely too overwhelming. The screeching of cars braking, ambulance sirens wailing and perpetual construction happening at every corner is making sweat appear along Shawn's hairline.
To add to the stress is the newfound ability Shawn finds himself dealing with. Every person he passes on the street has a kind of profile in Shawn's mind. He passes upwards of twenty people in a few seconds and knows nearly every single person's history. The man selling hot dogs and espresso is Ethan Waldrop, thirty-five, father of three, living in Queens, NY. The woman on the nearby stoop is Michelle, a recovering alcoholic and a court reporter. The man behind me, he works for the corporation Tom Cruise built but he actually thinks the suit he's wearing is uncomfortable and he wishes he took that baseball scholarship back in college.
Before, Shawn used to have to focus to even get a modicum of this type of information. Now, it won't leave him alone. Tom Cruise notices his distress but his expression does not exhibit any type of concern. Instead he mutters out of the side of his mouth, "Take a pill."
Desperate, Shawn reaches for the canister and dry-swallows one, wincing at the feel of it in his throat. They walk on and the visions seem to lessen. Shawn is able to focus on just Lyle, who is a few miles away, at his desk at work, typing an e-mail to a supervisor. Shawn relays this information to Tom Cruise, who grins in satisfaction.
"What else, Shawn?" he asks. Shawn doesn't like the way he asks this. He feels ridiculous, like a circus performer.
"He's got a meeting at two," Shawn says. "An important one. Something about an investment."
"Looks like he won't make it," Tom slips on a pair of sunglasses.
They make it to the building where Lyle works and each step they take makes Shawn more anxious. His hands tremble at his sides and he begins to inhale and exhale quite heavily. Again, Tom elects to express any concern, most likely because he doesn't give a shit.
While Tom argues with the security guard at the entrance, Shawn feels desperate to somehow contact Lyle before they can go up the stairs. If only he had a cell phone…
Suddenly, Shawn glimpses a fire alarm on the wall to his left. It's stupid and he may get himself killed for it. But he can't go through with this. He can't help these men kill another person. The thought of being tortured all over again isn't ideal but Shawn can't dwell on that right now. The only real focus Shawn can have is how to provide a distraction so that he may pull the alarm.
Unfortunately, somehow Tom Cruise and the security end up laughing and shaking each other's hands before Tom Cruise waves Shawn and the two men over. They have been cleared to go upstairs.
They take the elevator to the thirteenth floor and Shawn anxiously taps his hand against his leg, closing his eyes but seeing it all the time. Tom apprehending Lyle outside of the break room. Lyle getting slammed down to the ground. An injection. Convulsions. "Shit, what happened?"
"This isn't going to work," Shawn whispers, so lowly that neither Tom Cruise, nor the two men flanking him hear. Lyle will die without ever being taken to the building. His body will not react decently with the injections they have been periodically giving Shawn.
Shawn knows that if he says this aloud, they won't give this information a lot of thought. They will do it anyway. "He's in the break room," Shawn says audibly, strategizing quickly as the elevator ascends.
The elevator doors open and the four men walk into the office. Tom takes the lead at the secretary's desk and because the two men are flanking Tom's sides, posing as 'old buddies' of Lyle's 'from college', Shawn makes a mad dash for the break room. He has learned to be light and silent on his feet when he has to so no one takes too much notice of him. He gets to what he knows is the breakroom and slams the door behind him. He locks it, panting heavily and faces the man he knows to be Lyle.
The mid-thirties man standing in front of the coffee maker looks at him in curiosity, hand running over a mess of blonde curls. "Uh, can I help you?" he asks nervously.
Shawn puts his hands on his knees, still out of breath. "Damn cigarettes," he mutters to himself.
"What?"
Shawn strides over to the man, getting closer. "Listen, we don't have much time. My name is Shawn Spencer and I'm here to warn you. Men are after you. Dangerous men. They know about you. They know about your…ability."
The man's blue eyes widen and his expression turns fearful. "I…I don't know what you're talking about," he stammers.
Shawn groans in exasperation. "Yes, you do, man. It's okay. I'm psychic. It's how I know about you and your wife, your son, the apartment here in Manhattan. I even know that you got drunk on your twenty-eighth birthday and got alcohol poisoning."
"Holy shit," Lyle chokes, hand reaching up to loosen the tie from his neck.
Shawn nods frantically. "Listen, I'm going to pull the fire alarm and then you run out of here, okay? Get out of New York. Take your wife and the kid. Get as far as you can. I've seen what happens if they capture you." Shawn's every limb is trembling and he has to hold his breath for a moment to get out what he has to say next. "You will die if you let them take you, I promise you that." His eyes drift for a moment. "I'll probably be living proof of that soon."
Lyle shakes his head. "I don't understand…I can't just leave. I have a job, a home!"
"You have to," Shawn says vehemently. "Now!" he spots the same fire alarm as he had seen in the lobby near the refrigerator. Quickly, he yanks on the small lever and a siren immediately sounds overhead, red and orange lights flashing. "Go," he pushes him toward the door and they run through the mess of people already clamoring for the exit.
Shawn spots Tom Cruise and his two men at the desk, looking confused and then outraged at the sight of the psychic and the accountant getting away. They make as if to run and Shawn urges Lyle to go faster, running down the staircase, always being two steps ahead of Tom and his men, who are prohibited from getting any closer due to the massive amount of people. The run is torture on Shawn's calves but there's no way in hell that he's letting an innocent man get murdered today.
Once they make it to the lobby, Shawn can hear Tom shouting orders but he keeps going. He and Lyle run down four different streets, bypassing food carts and the homeless, lounging on the sidewalks. They don't wait for cross-walks, instead electing to risk almost getting killed by speeding taxis. At one point, Lyle has to jump over an open manhole and a maintenance worker pokes his head out in confusion.
They arrive at a less-populated street lined with coffee shops and used bookstores. Shawn turns to the accountant and says, "I'm serious. You have to get out of here. It's the only way to stay safe."
"What if they catch me anyway?" Lyle asks. "I think I used to feel them watching me. Don't they know where I am?"
Shawn shakes his head. "I see it all up here," he points to his temple. "I know how it works for you. If you drive out of here, you should be okay. They'll track airline tickets so rent a car. With cash."
Lyle nods, looking frantic. "I- thank you," he stammers. "I had thought maybe something was going on but…I was kind of hoping I was making it all up in my head."
Shawn shakes his head. "Unfortunately, no." he sees a taxi idle by and he raises his hand. It screeches to a halt and Shawn shoves the man inside. He leans into the rolled-down window and says quickly, "Please, stay safe." The cab pulls away and Shawn makes his way back to Lyle's office building.
Tom Cruise and his two men had lost sight of Shawn once they broke out of the lobby but they see him coming back and are none too pleased. As soon as he comes into view, they grab him by the shirt collar. They lead him down an empty alleyway, punching, kicking and pulling at his hair and various limbs, demanding the whereabouts of Lyle. Even while blood runs from his mouth and nose, dribbling onto his chin, Shawn laughs in the face of his captors.
"He's gone," he says, voice garbled. "He's fucking gone and you can't do anything about it."
They shove the psychic onto the ground and threaten torture or even an overdose of medication, but Shawn lies on the ground and refuses to give. They push him against the wall, handcuff him and hold the syringe at his neck but Shawn says with a lopsided grin, "I can see your future, you know? Don't you want to know how it all ends?"
Tom Cruise grimaces and puts a strong grip on the psychic's neck. "No, but I can sure as hell guarantee what happens to you."
Shawn passes out at the pain but notes with satisfaction as he slumps toward the ground that the men elect not to inject him after all.