Chapter 4 – Memory Lane, San Francisco, California
In the end, it took Henry a bit more than four hours to make the drive, despite the fact that traffic was unusually light. It took him some more time to find his way around the city, even with the road atlas and city maps he kept in his glove compartment.
But at a few minutes past six Henry finally pulled his car up in front of the right house in a San Francisco suburb. Another car was in the driveway, and Henry's hopes that Shawn's friend Ricky was home by now rose a little.
Henry got out of the truck, locked it up and went up the steps to the front door. As he rang the bell, he asked himself for the first time what he was actually doing here. This was one of the most ludicrous things he had ever done, driving all the way up here on the off-chance that this might provide some more news about Shawn's whereabouts. But then the door opened, and Henry didn't have any more time for second-guessing his motives.
The door was opened by a young man of about Shawn's age, maybe a little older. A few strands of his dark hair were already turning grey, but he wasn't much older than thirty-four, maybe thirty-five. He was still dressed for work, dark pants and a conservative shirt, but the top button was undone and he was holding a discarded tie in his hand. A pair of attentive blue eyes was watching Henry curiously.
"Can I help you?"
"Are you Richard Brownstein?"
The man nodded. "Yes, I am. And you are?"
Henry sighed and ran a hand over his short hair. "My name is Henry Spencer. I'm Shawn's father. I'm looking for him and I was hoping you might know where he is."
A grin spread over Ricky's face at those words, and after a moment he chuckled and stepped to the side, opening the door wider. "Come on in."
For a few seconds, Henry thought that maybe it had been that easy. Maybe Shawn was here, and that little tour to San Francisco was all it had taken to find him. But somehow, as soon as he entered the hallway, Henry knew that Shawn wasn't here. The house was too silent. Houses never were silent when Shawn was around. It was just a gut feeling, but Henry had learned to trust those during his time as a cop.
He followed Ricky as the younger man led him through to the kitchen in the back of the house. As they walked through the hallway, Henry couldn't help but notice all the framed pictures on the walls. Some were family pictures, some were group pictures, but most pictures showed the same happy couple in a variety of different settings. The same two people in most of the pictures, neither of which, Henry noticed, was female.
In the kitchen he sat down in the chair Ricky indicated.
"Would you like some coffee? I came home from work a few minutes ago and was just about to make some."
"Sure, thank you."
As Ricky busied himself with making coffee, Henry let his eyes stray around the kitchen. It was a bit smaller than his own kitchen, but comfortable. Modern appliances, and it looked as if it was used regularly. The spice rack was overflowing with small jars and packages, the open shelves were filled with all sorts of cooking ingredients and utensils, and the wooden kitchen table was big enough to seat a number of people for dinner.
A framed copy of some classical painting was hanging on the wall above the table, but Henry didn't know the first thing about art and had no idea what the painting was called, or who had painted it. As Ricky opened the fridge to get out the milk, Henry's eyes fell on the photos pinned to the front of the appliance. Most of them were too far away to make out the details, but amongst them was a larger copy of yet another picture of Ricky and the other man.
Ricky put the coffee down on the kitchen table, his eyes following Henry's to the photo. He sat down in a chair facing the older man, an impish grin on his face. He shrugged.
"Gay man living in San Francisco. I admit it, I'm living a cliché."
Henry answered the shrug with one of his own. "I'm a cop who likes donuts. Tell me about it."
Ricky chuckled. "Shawn was wrong."
"Why's that?"
Ricky poured the coffee and handed Henry one of the mugs. "He always said you had no sense of humor. But you have. A crude sense of humor, admittedly, and a bit rusty, but it's there."
Henry took a sip of the hot coffee and raised his eyebrows in appreciation. It was good.
"You tell Shawn that."
"I would, but we don't really talk that often. And once we do, there's always too much catching up to do." He cocked his head to the side and regarded Henry for a long moment. "So, if you don't mind me asking, how come that you are here?"
Henry put down his cup of coffee and sighed. "I'm looking for Shawn."
"Yes, you said that. What I can't quite figure out is how you managed to find me. Or why you didn't just call, for that matter."
"We did call. You didn't answer."
Ricky rolled his eyes. "Touché. The answering machine is broken, I really need to fix it. But that doesn't explain how you knew to call me, either. Did Shawn actually start keeping an address book?"
Henry shook his head. "No, he didn't. But yours was the only number he called at least semi-regularly over the past months. The only non-local number, that is."
Ricky laughed. "You pulled his phone records? Wow, Shawn is going to have a field day with that. He was always convinced you were controlling him."
Henry shook his head. "Listen Mr. Brownstein…"
Ricky raised his hands defensively. "Ricky. It's Ricky. Being called Mr. Brownstein makes me feel much too old."
Henry sighed. "All right. Listen Ricky, the reason I came here is that Shawn took off three days ago and nobody has any idea where he is. Have you seen him lately?"
Ricky leaned back in his chair and started to push his spoon around the table top with his fingers. Finally, he looked up with a sigh. "Yes. He stood on my doorstep three days ago. Didn't call beforehand, but then again Shawn never does."
Henry's heart sped up a little. So his hunch had been right and he hadn't driven all the way up here in vain. Shawn had been here. Or maybe, just maybe, he was still here. It would be typical for Shawn to be hiding out upstairs, listening in on their conversation. It would be a great source of laughs for his son.
Only when he heard Ricky chuckle did Henry realize that he had raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if staring long enough would make him able to see through it and figure out whether Shawn was still in the house.
"He left this morning." Ricky said. "But feel free to check upstairs if you don't believe me."
Henry shook his head. "No, I don't think there's any need for that. It's just that everybody is quite worried about him."
"Because of what happened before Shawn left Santa Barbara."
Henry looked up with a frown. "He told you what happened?"
Ricky nodded. "I was shocked when I saw his face. He looked as if he had been in one hell of a brawl. Actually, the first thing that slipped out was that I hoped the other guy looked worse. Shawn looked as if I had slapped him. I thought he was either going to puke on my doorstep or turn around and drive away again. So I took him into the house before he could do either. He told me what happened when he and the detective were kidnapped by those jewel thieves. One hell of a story; I couldn't quite believe it at first."
"He also told you about the guy he shot?"
Ricky nodded. "Yeah, he did. That messed him up pretty badly." He looked up. "I guess otherwise you wouldn't be here."
"Shawn has run away before."
Ricky smiled sadly. "Yes, that he has. And back then you didn't come searching for him."
Henry nodded. "No, I didn't."
"So what's different now?"
Henry shrugged. "You said it yourself, this time Shawn killed somebody. It seems that everybody is afraid he won't come back again."
"Everybody. But not you?"
"What do you want me to say? If you're Shawn's friend then you know that we haven't been close for many years. Personally, I don't think running away will help Shawn, no. But he's old enough to try and figure that out on his own."
"Then why are you here?"
"Honestly? Because back home everybody keeps bugging me that it's important to find Shawn. Personally, I think he'll come back sooner or later and pretend that nothing has happened."
Ricky shook his head and refilled their coffee mugs. "And that is where I think you're wrong."
Henry raised both eyebrows. "Oh, really?"
"Really." Ricky thought for a moment, as if contemplating how much to tell Henry and where to start.
"I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated this time."
Henry frowned. "Why's that?"
"Did Shawn tell you how we met?"
Henry shook his head. "Up until today I didn't even know who you are."
"Fair enough. I met Shawn about twelve years ago, I think. He was working as a desk clerk in a hotel in Austin, Texas back then, and I checked in for the night. I was…well, let's just say that I was in a pretty dark place at that time. I had trouble in my job, and I was just coming back from a disastrous visit with my parents. I had been driving around for hours, not really knowing what to do, and actually I was also a little drunk. I checked into the hotel only to empty the mini-bar and knock myself out completely before I drove home the next day."
Henry frowned, not really knowing where this story was going. "And that's where you met Shawn."
Ricky shrugged. "Yeah. A couple of bottles from the mini-bar later, my room started to feel too small, so I went out. I didn't want to go out through the lobby just for some fresh air, so I went up to the roof."
There must have been something in Henry's expression, because Ricky smiled slightly and shook his head.
"I wasn't planning to jump off the roof, Mr. Spencer. I just wanted to get some fresh air and do a little thinking. Well, drunk thinking, but it was thinking all the same. The hotel had one of those flat roofs, and actually the door was supposed to be locked exactly so that nobody could climb up and off themselves. Well, the door wasn't locked, so I sat down at the edge of the roof and let my feet dangle. A few minutes later, Shawn sat down next to me."
He chuckled at the memory. "I was a bit startled because I hadn't seen anybody else on the roof. But Shawn just sat down next to me and told me that he'd appreciate it if I didn't throw myself off the roof that night because it was his turn to clean the parking lot the following day."
Henry had to suppress a chuckle. That sounded like Shawn something Shawn would say.
Ricky continued to talk. "Anyway, I tried to explain that I didn't want to kill myself, and we just got talking. Maybe it was because I was drunk, or maybe it was something about Shawn, but I just started spilling the whole sad story of my life to him. He just listened to my rant, and in the end he merely shrugged and said 'Then change it'.
"That was all. I keep ranting on about how fucked up my life is, and he tells me to change it. I couldn't believe that guy, really. But he was serious about it. He told me to just make a cut and start new. If my parents didn't want me around, I shouldn't pull myself down by trying to keep up the contact with them. If I hated my job, I should just quit. If I felt too restrained, I should just leave and try to start over new somewhere else. He made it sound as if it was the easiest thing in the world."
"With Shawn, things usually sound that way."
Ricky nodded. "Yeah. But it didn't stop there. The next morning, I woke up late and totally hung over. And when I got down into the lobby, Shawn was back on duty and he shoved a stack of papers at me. Somewhere between dragging my drunk ass down the stairs in the middle of the night and starting his shift early in the morning, he found the time to check the local ads for apartments and jobs. I tried to tell him that I hadn't gone to college for all these years to start working in the local home depot, and I swear I'll never forget the look on his face when I said that. He just looked at me as if I had just grown a second head. And you know what he said next?"
Henry shook his head.
"He said 'But you said you hate your job, and I don't think you went to college to work a job you hate, either.' That was it. There I was, getting career tips from a hotel desk clerk who was barely twenty years old, and who behaved as if the world was actually pretty easy to handle if you only knew how. It was highly disconcerting. And I really don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I just did it to prove that cocky guy wrong, I don't know. But I thought why the hell not, things can't get worse than they already are. I quit my job, called a friend to send me some clothes and take care of my affairs back home, and then I got that job at the home depot and rented a crappy one-room apartment somewhere in the outskirts of Austin. It was the craziest thing I've ever done in my entire life, but it turned out to become one of the best summers I ever had. It gave me enough time to figure out what I really want to do with my life."
Henry took another sip of his coffee. As he put his mug down again, he looked at Ricky with a raised eyebrow. "What I don't understand is how all this explains why I am wrong and Shawn won't come back on his own again."
Ricky ran a hand through his hair. "During those four months, me and Shawn hung out a lot. We became friends, and I got to know him very well." He looked up at Henry. "For all his wise-cracking and the wisdom beyond his years he tried to project, it took him a long while to open up about himself. You know, to make him start talking about his own life and how he had ended up at a hotel desk in Austin, Texas. But once he did, it seemed there was no stopping him. He talked about you a lot."
Henry couldn't keep the surprise from showing on his face. "About me?"
"Yes, about you. Whenever I tried to start a conversation about his past, somehow he always ended up talking about you."
Henry nodded knowingly. "Ranting about me, no doubt."
Ricky shrugged. "Most times, yes. But that's not the point. Mr. Spencer, I know all about difficult father-son relationships. My Dad is a high-ranking army officer, and a gay son certainly never was part of his agenda. He let me feel that every time we met, and he said a lot of things to me which no father should ever say to his son. We haven't spoken in over ten years, and I doubt that is going to change ever again. So I know what it's like to say that you hate your own father. And contrary to Shawn, I don't need to keep saying it, as if saying it often enough will make it true."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Whenever Shawn was going into another of his rants about – and I quote here –why you were such an unbearable idiot, a failure as a father and nothing more than a spiteful human being who didn't care about a thing but himself, it always sounded like he was trying to convince himself and not me."
Henry couldn't quite follow that line of thought. He knew those rants, he had been on the receiving end of them more often than he cared to remember. But to him, they had always felt like just that – Shawn listing everything he despised about his father. To him, it had always felt real enough.
"So you're saying it all comes back to me? I think you're giving my influence on Shawn's decisions far too much credit."
Ricky shook his head. "No. I think you're underestimating your influence on what Shawn decides to do."
At that, Henry nearly laughed out loud. "Shawn doesn't once consider what I think about the things he's doing, at least not when he's not actively trying to defy me."
Ricky leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his neck. "And that's where we come back to the starting point of this conversation. That's where you're wrong. A huge part of what Shawn does or doesn't do has directly to do with you."
Henry shook his head. "Ricky, you might know Shawn quite well, but I lived with him for…"
"Seventeen years, I know that. But that doesn't mean you understand him. I think that's exactly the problem. Shawn thinks that you never understood him. That's what it all comes back to. See Mr. Spencer, my father never understood who I really was and why I chose to live life the way that I did. He never wanted to understand, and I've finally stopped caring. Shawn can't do that. Shawn wants you to understand who he is. He wants you to understand it and accept him for who he is, and it's frustrating him that all you see is what he isn't."
Henry wanted to protest, but found that words were failing him. "I don't think it's your place to tell me about my relationship to my son."
Ricky shook his head. "No, it's probably not my place. But Shawn is my friend, and I don't think I'm going to see you again anytime soon, so I simply take the liberty of being frank with you. Because during the past three days, I could see how much Shawn was hurting. He killed somebody, Mr. Spencer. Shawn ended a life. Shawn. The one person I know who is all about living life to the fullest suddenly finds that he ended a life. That screwed him up pretty badly, and all you were going on about was that things wouldn't be so bad if he only was a cop. He doesn't need those lectures on a normal day, but he certainly didn't need it after what happened on that mountain."
"So you're saying it's my fault that he ran."
"No. I'm saying that you need to see how badly Shawn wants you to finally understand him. You tried to make a cop out of him, but that's simply not who Shawn is. His abilities would make him a great cop, but he'd be unhappy. He isn't you, Mr. Spencer. Over the past two years, Shawn actually thought you were finally getting used to that. But then all this happened. He didn't run away because of you. He ran off because of what happened, because he killed a man and doesn't really know how to deal with it. And I don't really think that he'll be coming back anytime soon."
Seeing the questioning look on Henry's face, Ricky continued with a sigh.
"When I got to know Shawn, he hadn't been home in over a year, but he still referred to Santa Barbara as his home. He always knew he was going to go back one day, but only once he had figured out a lot more about what to do with his life. But this time…Mr. Spencer, it might sound stupid to you, but Shawn found what he wanted to do. Psych is what he wanted to do. It might not be your idea of how somebody, much less your own son, is supposed to work on solving crimes, but it's been Shawn's niche in the world. He was doing something he was good at, and it didn't force him to become somebody he didn't want to be. And now that is tainted. Things got totally out of control, and even you have to admit that it wasn't solely Shawn's fault that this happened. And then Shawn killed somebody. He can't just brush that off.
"So he did what worked for him before. He decides to take a timeout. You call it running away, and probably that's the case. The problem is that I'm afraid no matter where he goes now, he won't get away from what's haunting him. I tried to tell him that when he was here, but Shawn seemed convinced that if he only got far enough away from it all, things would finally go back to normal again."
Ricky sighed and looked at Henry intensely. "But we both know how Shawn's mind works. You of all people should know. He won't be able to forget the moment when he pulled that trigger, no matter where he runs to."
"Then why are you so convinced he's not going to come back?"
"Because for as long as he's not in Santa Barbara, he only needs to make that out with himself. He doesn't need to deal with you being at his case, or with Gus worrying about how he's dealing. He'll still be able to if not forget, then at least pretend that it never happened. I don't know if it would be different if the two of you hadn't had that fight. And it doesn't matter, really. For as long as Shawn doesn't decide to come back, I don't know if you'll be able to find him."
Henry ran a hand over his face. "So you have no idea where he wanted to go to."
Ricky shook his head. "No. I asked him, of course. But I don't think Shawn himself had any idea. He just wanted to get away. And with Shawn, that can mean practically anything."
Henry drank the last of his coffee, his mind busy digesting everything Ricky had told him. It seemed that in the end, his trip to San Francisco had been in vain. Shawn had been here, had been here as recent as this morning, but now he was gone again. With so many hours head start, he could be anywhere by now.
"Will you let me know if you hear from him?"
Ricky nodded and got pen and paper so that Henry could write down his phone numbers.
"I wouldn't count on it, though. Shawn only left here this morning, and he's not exactly known for checking in regularly. But I'll let you know if I hear anything. Just give me a call if you hear something, too."
"Sure." Henry got up from his chair. "Thanks for the coffee, Ricky."
"No problem."
Ricky brought Henry to the door, and when Henry stepped outside he was surprised to see that it was already starting to get dark. He slowly walked over towards his truck and got inside.
So he had found out where Shawn had gone after leaving Santa Barbara. But he hadn't found Shawn. Instead, he had met somebody else who thought that Shawn's disappearance was directly or indirectly tied to him.
But that was ridiculous. He hadn't chased Shawn away. He hadn't stopped him from staying, and he hadn't prevented that Shawn tried to deal with what happened, either. He just hadn't mollycoddled him. Was that a crime now?
And the thought that he didn't want to understand his son, or that he didn't care about his son was utterly ridiculous. He knew perfectly well who his son was. He understood the fact that if given the choice, Shawn's decision for his life would be to never grow up. But that didn't mean he had to accept it, did it? He could understand Shawn and at the same time disagree with the choices he made. That was no contradiction, that was what being a parent was all about.
He was torn out of his musings by the sound of his cell phone ringing. Quickly, Henry pulled it out of his pocket and answered.
"Hello?"
"Henry, where in the name of all that's good are you? You just up and left without a word, and that was hours ago!"
Henry rolled his eyes and let his head drop back against the headrest. "Margaret, where did you get my cell phone number?"
Margaret's voice didn't sound as if she had even heard the warning tone in her ex-husband's words. "They usually print the phone number onto the contract, Henry."
"You went through my papers?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You went through my desk?"
"You didn't really leave me another choice, did you?"
"You could have called Gus, for crying out loud!"
Margaret huffed. "You left me sitting there, not knowing what I was supposed to do. Don't drag Gus into it. And I think you'll survive the fact that I searched through your electricity bills and bank statements in search for your cell phone contract. And now tell me where you've been all day."
Normally, Henry would not have responded to such a tone at all. But he was too tired to start an argument now.
"I'm in San Francisco. I'll be home in a couple of hours, I'll tell you everything then."
"Did you find him?"
Henry sighed. "Margaret, don't you think that if I had found Shawn, that would have been the first words out of my mouth?"
He hung up on her without waiting for an answer. Let her stew on that for a while, he was used to that. She'd yell at him as soon as he came home, anyway, for once he could give her at least something akin to a reason for it.
Just as Henry reached out for the key and was about to turn it in the ignition, his cell phone rang again. With a groan, he let go of the key and reached for the phone. If that was Margaret again, and if she was only calling to make a scene because he had hung up on her, Henry might just consider that jail time ahead of him, just for the pleasure of strangling her.
He flipped the phone open and brought it up to his ear.
"Hello?"
But it wasn't Margaret's voice who answered.
"Am I speaking to Mr. Henry Spencer?"
"Yes, that's me. Who am I talking to?"
"My name is Cynthia Briggs, with the Fresno Community Medical Center."
Henry's heart started to beat fast in his chest and his throat suddenly felt dry.
"What is this about?"
"I'm calling on behalf of one of our patients, a Mr. Shawn Spencer. You're on his emergency call list."
Henry jammed the phone between ear and shoulder and started the car.
