Another update :)
This chapter is dedicated to Psycho4Life and everyone who gave previous reviews! I cannot thank you enough!
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Previously
"Why would Shawn want me to call him instead of you?"
"What the hell did Spencer mean?"
"Does Shawn need something from Gus?"
"How deep did Shawn get this time?"
No one understood what Shawn's message was.
Gus' phone started ringing.
"It's from Shawn."
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After Yang had hung up and left the room, when Shawn finished coughing, he thought about his predicament. Blood still leaked from the gashes on his back and head, and his throat could only get worse.
Luckily, Shawn was laying on the table, because if he was upright, he surely would become lightheaded.
Yang returned quickly, holding a piece of paper. "I wrote this for you, Shawn!" she exclaimed. "We're going to call Gus, and you'll read from it! You know what happens if you don't listen!" Yang made a slicing gesture at her throat.
Shawn grimaced.
Yang quickly found Gus' contact and called the number. She held both the phone and paper near Shawn's face.
Gus picked up and shushed the people with him. If Shawn asked, he was completely alone. "Hello? Shawn, is that you?"
Shawn took a moment to read the paper. "Bu—ddy. Hi. I'm j—ust fi—ne."
On the other end, Gus exchanged looks with the detectives and ex-cop. This was obviously scripted.
I'll play along, Gus decided. "So, Shawn? I'm trying to work! You know I don't like it when you call me at work."
Shawn's heart sank. C'mon, buddy, can't you tell? "D—ad has be—en wo—rry—ing a—bout me. Te—ll him I'm fi—ne."
Gus looked over at Henry. The kidnapper was obviously trying to buy time. "Shawn, why can't you tell your dad yourself? I mean, I'm at work—I'm doing my rounds. I can't just call your dad!"
Lassiter glared at the phone, waiting for Shawn to speak again. Juliet bit her lip. Shawn's voice didn't sound good. Can we trace it? Juliet mouthed.
Lassiter nodded back and held up his head-detective phone. An address was shown.
Meanwhile, Shawn was spewing more lies about how he was just away to get space, and his dad was mad at him for leaving him in the hospital parking lot.
"Didn't you just call him?" was at the tip of Gus' tongue, but he held it back. Instead, Gus responded, pretending to be annoyed but grudgingly agreeing.
"Th—anks." Shawn rasped out. Yang looked on approvingly. Shawn felt crushed. If Gus didn't know that he was kidnapped, then neither did his dad. He wouldn't be rescued any time soon.
After Yang hung up, she smiled at Shawn brightly. "Now, I need some information!"
After the kidnapper had ended the call, Lassiter held his phone up. "I know where he's keeping Spencer!"
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When Yang unstrapped Shawn's arms and legs from the table, he could feel them tingling. When Shawn tried to reach up and rub the life back into his extremities, he sat up too quickly and swayed around. Unfortunately, his luck had run out, and Shawn collapsed sideways off the table onto the stone ground.
Yang only smiled and watched Shawn as he managed to pull himself up. Judging by the pain in his chest, the fall had either broken or cracked a rib.
"Come with me, Shawn!" his kidnapper called out. She seemed pretty confident that he would not escape, and didn't look back as she left the room.
Shawn hastily stumbled after her, feeling his legs prickle unpleasantly and his wounds begin to reopen from the movement.
Beyond the door was a large room, filled with all sorts of strange items, like a treadmill and a pitching machine.
There were also some classic instruments of torture, like a rusty knife laying upon a metal table and an electrocution chair. It did not look inviting.
Yang however, spread out her arms and motioned to the room. "Isn't it wonderful?" she asked. "When I first saw this room, I thought to myself, I'll bet Shawn would have a lot of fun in here!"
Shawn leaned heavily against the wall, hearing only half of what she was saying.
"Come over here, Shawn!" Yang called over to him. "We'll start you on the treadmill!"
The treadmill. Shawn could remember the last time he had run on a treadmill. Juliet had left him a note saying that if his heart rate slowed, he would die as a way of giving him motivation. It just happened to be that he was trying to catch a murderer at the time, and taking the note literally, had began running fast in a panic.
And now this would happen.
"Here are the rules," Yang explained. "You answer my question. If you don't, this treadmill is unable to stop once it is plugged in. I'll be standing behind you with a knife. Stop running and you'll be impaled! Try to leave or stand on the sides, I will personally impale you! Put your hands up in surrender, I will unplug the machine and you will answer my question! Let's have some fun!"
Yang had Shawn sit on the motionless treadmill. "So, Shawn, how many guns does Head Detective Lassiter carry on him?"
The answer was four. It was easy. A single number. Four.
But Shawn couldn't talk.
"Fffff—" was all he could manage. After that, Shawn was convinced that his throat would die.
Yang glared at him.
Shawn quickly held up four fingers.
Yang looked at him suspiciously, but moved on. "Where does he keep them?"
Shawn stared at her. Again, he knew the answer.
He tried to answer, he really did, but before he knew it, Yang was pulling him upright and walking over to the cord.
"Oh, Shawn, I thought we were going to work together!" And she plugged the treadmill in and stood behind Shawn, knife at his back.
Shawn could hear his doctor's words. "Additionally, he should not move excessively or exert himself so that his throat can heal."
But that's not enough, thought Shawn. As the treadmill started up, he mimicked the doctor. Additionally, he should not move at all so that he won't reopen his back and bleed to death, puncture his lungs with his broken rib, leave his throat incapable of speech, or mess up his great hair.
Scratch that last one. Shawn's hair was always fabulous.
The treadmill picked up speed slowly, and Shawn began briskly walking, but soon he was full-on sprinting,
Shawn doubted he would be able to keep up. He was never one for sports or exercise. After all, who had invented the pulley system to transport snacks from the kitchen to living room at the touch of a button?
After a few minutes, Shawn was dying. Literally and figuratively.
Blood was streaming down his back, he couldn't suck in enough air with his injured throat, and his legs were about to give out.
Shawn began moving slowly backwards towards Yang as his pace slowed.
Soon, he was touching the knife in her hand.
And he slid backwards.
Thunk.
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Dun—dun—dun!
What did you think? Please review! (Reviews are as good as Gus' acting on the phone :))
COMING UP, a lot of Shawn whumpage, and the detectives have a strange encounter!
