Shawn sat at the back of the group, silently observing each of his fellow inmates.
There was Helyn, a woman of about fifty with long, scraggily gray hair and cats printed on every item of clothing she owned, which Shawn estimated to be about three.
Then there was Clark, a boy a few years younger than Shawn who, as far as Shawn could tell, had spent more time in a psych ward in his young life than Shawn had spent in the principal's office.
There was Lou, a man in his forties who was always mumbling to himself and rarely spoke in coherent sentences.
And then there was Jill, a woman of an indeterminate age between 20 and 60 who the most disturbingly intense stare Shawn had ever seen. For some reason, she kept turning that stare on him.
He cleared his throat and scooted his chair back a few inches from her.
Dr. Hellerman, who was running the group, noticed.
"Shawn." He smiled. "You've been quiet today. Is there anything you wanted to add to our discussion?"
"Uh…"
"He has to say something, right Dr. Hellerman?" Helyn spoke up. "Isn't that the rule?"
"That is the rule, Shawn." Dr. Hellerman agreed.
All eyes were suddenly on him, demanding he come up with something.
Fast.
"Uh…chickpeas are neither chicks nor peas. Discuss."
Clark snorted, but all the others just looked confused.
Well…at least one of them has a sense of humor…
"No one expects you to share anything personal the first time, Shawn." Dr. Hellerman assured him. "Just relax."
"You're that psychic, aren't you?" Clark asked, still grinning at Shawn's joke. "You're in the paper sometimes."
"Yeah." Shawn nodded. "That's me."
"You're a psychic?" Helyn gasped, suddenly looking awed and maybe just a little frightened.
Dr. Hellerman shot him a warning glare.
"Yeah…well, you know…" he shrugged, knowing it was inevitable.
He couldn't stop it now, even if he wanted to...
Dr. Hellerman could glare all he wanted, but it was going to happen…
It was the first thing everyone always said after he told them he was psychic.
"So…what can you tell me about me?" Clark asked.
Shawn leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes take in every detail of the boy's features.
His right index finger had a sizable bump right where he would hold a pencil and there was a small graphite smudge on his sleeve.
"You're a writer."
Clark looked surprised.
"Yeah." He nodded. "I am."
Dr. Hellerman glanced down at his watch.
"I think that's just about time, folks. We'll pick up tomorrow."
As they began to file out, Clark caught up with Shawn.
"How'd a psychic end up in here with us crazies?" He asked.
"I'm on vacation. I just thought it'd be cool to go somewhere I could wear my bathrobe and slippers all day." Shawn shrugged. "Plus, the drugs are good…and I was told there'd be pie. I haven't gotten any yet, though, so I think the brochure was lying."
"There's no pie."
"Damn brochure."
Clark studied his face critically, trying to figure out if he was joking. He finally decided he was and laughed
"I'm bipolar." He told Shawn.
"Congratulations."
"Thanks."
"I hear voices."
"Ah."
Clark grinned.
"So, I guess you are one of us crazies, after all."
Shawn returned the grin, arching a single eyebrow.
"We all go a little crazy sometimes." He intoned, a hint of something perhaps just a little ominous creeping into his voice.
He turned around on slippered heel, but before he could walk away Clark started to follow.
"Isn't that from Psycho?" He asked.
Shawn huffed, crossing his arms across his chest.
"Dude! You just totally stepped all over my exit line! I was going to walk away, all cool and mysterious…it was going to be awesome!"
"Gus…do you know where the hell Shawn is?" Henry demanded.
Gus hesitated, suddenly regretting picking up the phone.
"Uh…no." He answered quickly. "I haven't seen him."
"Did he take my bathrobe?" Henry pressed on, not even pausing to catch his breath before throwing the next question out there.
"I don't think--"
"And what the hell would he want with my slippers?"
"Uh--"
"And why isn't he answering his cell phone?"
"Maybe it's dead?"
Henry paused. Gus could picture him on the other end of the phone, his eyes narrowing suspiciously in that semi-scary way they always did just before he started yelling…
"What's going on, Gus?" He demanded.
"Nothing."
"Where's Shawn? And don't tell me you don't know!"
"Uh…"
"Gus."
"I can't tell you."
Henry groaned.
"Am I going to need bail money?" He asked.
"No."
"Then what the hell is going on?"
Gus sighed, knowing resistance was futile. Henry wasn't going to give up until he got an answer. And at least if Gus told him Shawn committed himself to a mental institution over the phone, Henry couldn't punch him…
Or yell at him…
Or glare at him…
"Okay…" Gus agreed finally, his instinct for self-preservation kicking in. "I'll tell you what's going on…"