Chapter Six: Didn't Mean To Hurt You, Boy, But This Is How It's Done

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Author's Note: There is a slightly disturbing image near the end of this chapter.

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Shawn was shaking a little himself. Things had just taken the worst possible turn. He reached out and embraced Juliet without thinking. "There has to be some other explanation," Shawn hushed to her hair.

"Maybe it was an accident," Gus said helpfully. Then he winced. No one noticed.

"I—I can't believe it," Juliet whispered, right in Shawn's ear, confiding a truth that only he would know, one that she would never be giving up to Vick or any of else who pressed her. If they did, she would only offer her best advice— wearing the well trained, well placed face of her career path. But in her heart, she knew what was true. She knew her partner, her friend, was not a murderer.

"I know," Shawn hissed back. "Please, let me figure this out," he continued, feeling her tense. She knew if she agreed (or even if she didn't) he'd be heading straight for shark filled waters. Just because he wasn't dripping blood yet didn't mean interests wouldn't still be piqued. It was hard to let him go, even if she hadn't yet admitted her heart's pull towards his. She wanted to toss out her net, ensnare him and reel him in, safe, close to her heart. Juliet thought all this in one brief second, while she felt tears spill over her partner's immediate fate. He's innocent, she thought. He can't be guilty of these things.

Shawn held onto Juliet for what seemed like ages. She was the first one to pull away, delicately wiping at her eyes with the tips of her fingers. "I have to get back. Carlton is in shock," she confided. "Shock." She paused, shaking her head. "He really doesn't remember."

"Can he have visitors?" Gus asked, because for once Shawn didn't look like he knew how to phrase his own questions.

Juliet shrugged. "He's still a patient, but I don't know, because now he's under arrest."

"Can we see him?" Gus repeated, giving Shawn a shove forward. Shawn finally seemed to come back to life, and tore his eyes from Juliet's face.

Juliet looked over her shoulder at her fellow officers, conspiratorially. "Make it fast. All we need is one of them saying one word to Vick. I can take being reprimanded all day, but I will hate myself if I get you guys in trouble."

There was a faint smile on Shawn's lips. "Don't worry, Jules," he said softly. "If there's trouble, I'll take it onto me."

Juliet watched the pair walk towards Lassiter's room, awestruck by Shawn's statement. That's what he seemed to do anyway, make some great sacrifice that was always masked by some seemingly selfish gesture. Shawn Spencer was fiercely protective and loyal. He was always willing to walk right into stray gunfire, if he could spare anyone he cared about pain. The feeling came like a wave, hitting her again and again. She knew if would take her a long time to say its name aloud, let alone say it to Shawn. But it was there, right there, pounding in her chest, like lifeblood.

When Gus and Shawn got close to Lassiter's room, Shawn began gesticulating that he needed to see Lassiter because he was having a vision. Shawn made himself seem extra special creepy so that the group parted with very few words. After they shut the door, Shawn dropped the act.

Lassiter's eyes were open, wide open blue, staring. Gus's instinct was to stay by the door; the detective was unblinking, as if the life had gone from him completely. Working on murder cases with Shawn, Gus saw dead bodies nearly weekly, but never grew used to it. He still got faint at the sight of blood, his stomach quelled. He was lucky he always ran before he vomited. It was not a pretty line of work for his squeamishness.

Shawn went all the way into the room, not even noticing Gus had frozen at the door. "Lassie?" Shawn asked. His voice was very loud in the hollow room. Lassiter blinked. Shawn could see it was an effort; he ignored the fact that Lassiter's face was wet. He had a flashback to yesterday, but pushed forward.

Lassiter grunted, and the handcuffs clanged against the railing. Lassiter was trying to spit something out, a jumble of words that Shawn wondered even made sense to the shell-shocked detective.

"Spencer." Shawn stopped a few feet from Lassiter's bed. Still a pause.

"We don't think you're guilty," Shawn said gently, throwing a glance to Gus, who was still frozen at the door. He sighed loudly. "I don't think you're guilty." He leaned in conspiratorially, and stage whispered, "If you can keep a secret, Jules thinks you're innocent too."

There was almost a tiny smile in Lassiter's eyes, but it was gone immediately, when his blue eyes filled up. Lassiter turned his head, shrugged firmly, and then turned back. "I need something," he said, not looking at Shawn. Shawn got closer, thinking that what he needed was immediate, a glass of water or such. Shawn was embarrassed, though he hoped he kept it off his face well, to see that Lassiter was fighting tears, when he got closer.

"There's a glass, in my apartment, Spencer," Lassiter said in low voice, "it's on the table next to my bed."

"Okay," Shawn nodded, trying to follow.

Lassiter clenched his fists until his knuckles went white. "That night . . . they took me . . . well, they gave me something from that glass."

Shawn's brow furrowed. He looked at Lassiter with questions in his eyes.

Lassiter shook his head slowly, indicating that he didn't have all the answers. More questions than answers, actually. "The glass was against my lips and whatever liquid was in it was down my throat before I could barely blink," Lassiter said, his voice even lower. He was looking Shawn right in the eyes, such an intense gaze that Shawn couldn't tear his eyes away. Shawn nodded. "Spencer, I think there may be some residue in that glass—"

Shawn nodded, fully understanding. "So we could find out what was in it."

Lassiter looked away for a moment, and then back to Shawn. "I don't remember anything. I could have killed—" He shook his head violently, still there, blackness. Emptiness. He couldnÕt see a thing.

Shawn gave a smile, trying to be reassuring. "Dude, we're gonna figure this out." Gus managed to take a step forward. "You're really more the 'stop-or-I'll-shoot' type, not the 'cold-blooded killer' type," he added, smiling now with his eyes. "I just can't believe you have that type in you."

Lassiter didn't speak for a long time. He eventually gave a look full of so much gratitude that Shawn knew there wouldn't ever be the right words to convey the idea. "Do you need us do anything, um, else?" Gus spoke up, two steps from the door. "Like get you some real food?" Lassiter tried to smile, but it was all watery. "No, I think if you can just do that one thing—"

"Maybe some of your memory would come back?" Shawn asked.

Lassiter shrugged, and the handcuff made a hollow clink again. "It's better than thinking I'm guilty by proxy." He scowled, and burst out, "Goddammit. I wish I could remember something." He looked up at Shawn, then Gus, who looked mildly queasy. He rolled his eyes a little. "Guster, you can wait outside, with O'Hara. I know hospital rooms make you sick."

That was all Gus needed. He nodded tightly and was out the door before Shawn had three words of protest. He looked at Lassiter questionably.

Lassiter shrugged again. "I thought he might puke. He looked kind of green." Shawn seemed like he was waiting for Lassiter to go on. "All I remember is . . . what I said. Two guys, I think they were male, in my apartment. Standing over my bed, shaking me awake. I fought them. . . . I guess I lost. Then . . . bright light. Noonday. A beach that may have well been a goddamn desert. Walking a long time. Getting that godforsaken glass in my foot. Then, all those kids. A girl screaming." Lassiter looked faraway.

"Lassie," Shawn interrupted suddenly. "In your apartment, when I was there, you were mumbling something in your sleep. Do you remember what was going on?"

Lassiter thought hard. His nerves had been frayed, the pain in his wrist so intense that sleep had ushered in brief but sweet release. But he had been dreaming something. Its images had been so vivid then he was certain he was standing there, in the moment. He reached back, back.

"'Don't go to the police'," Lassiter blurted out suddenly.

"What? Lassie, I think it's a little too late for—"

Lassiter shook his head with some irritation. "No, Spencer. The dream. I was telling— no, wait. Someone was telling me."

Shawn's eyes widened. "Someone was telling you not to go to the police?"

Lassiter thought, and then nodded. "Yeah. I was repeating it." He shuddered, his tall frame shaking under the sheets. "I guess it is too late."

Shawn took a step back, his eyes on Lassie's handcuffed wrist. He thought about the notes, the copied keys, the slashed tires, the moved table. Little pieces. With dread he wondered if these stupid things were just the beginning, rather than small pieces that created a whole. Damn. That meant there would be a lot of little missing pieces.

Shawn started to ask Lassiter about the notes when the room door swung open. Shawn threw Lassiter an apologetic glance, and moved towards it, pressing his fingers against his head, moaning a little about a head splitting vision. He kept his head down on the way out, hoping that this new arrival wasn't Vick or some other authority he'd have lie to directly. Lying was much better when there was actual proof to back it up.

Once outside, Shawn picked his way through the crowd back to Jules and Gus. He hated to see Jules so distraught. "You really think this is going to stick?" Shawn asked her. "The guy's got no memory of doing anything bad."

"It is pretty circumstantial," Gus commented. He looked at Juliet. "Are there witnesses who saw Lassiter kill this guy?"

Juliet shook her head. "None that have come forward yet. But the shirt that he was wearing, his gun—" She looked around, to make sure what she was about to say wouldn't reach anyone else's ears. "You cannot repeat this," she told them seriously. "After you guys left Chief Vick's office, the day after Carlton was found, she told me that she had ordered his bloodwork to be tested for anything that wasn't supposed to be there." They waited expectantly. "She didn't tell him she was doing it though."

"Isn't that against his rights?" Gus asked quietly. He shrugged, not knowing for sure.

Juliet chewed her lip. "Maybe. She might not be able to use it if were for a case, but—" She shook her head once to clear it. "The results came back clean. Either that means that Carlton lied about being given a sedative or that whatever he'd been given had worked its way through his system by the time he was found."

Shawn nodded. This meant, vaguely, that Vick couldn't use it against Lassiter in court, but it also left a lot of holes. He thought about the glass Lassiter had begged him to get. Maybe if there wasn't anything left in his blood, this glass could give them some kind of clue. His jaw tightened, thinking the way Lassiter's door had been left, splintered and broken. Plus, whomever the real criminals were, they had a key to Lasstier's door anyway. But why hadn't they taken the glass when they'd cleaned up the rest of the place?

"Shawn? Shawn?" He realized Gus was speaking to him. "You've been silent for almost three minutes. What are you thinking?"

Shawn turned to Jules, who was now the one to look at him expectantly. "Jules, would one of those temporary locks been put on Lassie's apartment door?" To Juliet and Gus, this seemed like a question out of the blue.

"Uh, yes," Juliet replied, seeming to count back. "It's procedure since the Chief had to kick open the door. Why do you ask?"

Shawn shrugged. He wanted to tell her some of what Lassie had said, but then he thought of how afraid the detective was. Against his better judgment, he confided something to her.

"I noticed something, when I was outside, waiting for the EMTs." He shot a look at Gus, as if asking for guidance, but Gus wasn't sure what information Shawn was about to divulge, so he could only offer a half-shrug. "I'm pretty sure it was Lassie's car, even though I hope, for once, I'm wrong."

"What was his car?" Juliet repeated.

Shawn swallowed, picturing himself walking around the car again. "This car had each of its tires slashed."

He let that information sink in. Juliet's eyes were as wide and glassy as marbles. She started to react loudly, but stopped herself. She stared at Shawn, incredulous for few moments, before some anger crept over her features. "And you are just telling me this now?"

Shawn was taken aback, but he tried to hide it. "Well, it kind of went to the back of my mind with everything," he muttered.

Juliet tried to process this new information. She was angry at herself to discover she had a hard time believing Shawn all of a sudden. She wondered if she'd said too much; Vick would be more than pissed if she knew Juliet had spilled confidential facts pertaining to the murder case against her partner. She wanted to slap Shawn, taking a step forward with her hand half raised. She froze, seeing the stunned look in Shawn's green eyes. "I'm sorry," she apologized softly. "I don't know what got into me."

The moment had passed where Shawn would have reached out to her and hugged her. He was stock still. Shawn wondered if it was a mistake offering her only small details when he knew he couldn't possibly give her much more until he knew those facts himself.

Gus shifted uncomfortably in the silence. Part of him wanted to bolt for another java shot and the other part wanted to bolt just because he didn't have anything to contribute. Finally, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "What are all these officers doing here?"

Juliet unfroze, seeming to notice the group for the first time. "Vick sent some of them. She's trying to get Carlton's doctors to release him from care so she can take him to interrogation."

It seemed extra harsh; Lassiter obviously didn't want to be in the hospital in the first place, let alone cuffed to his bed. "Some of them are here for moral support, before for me and for him." She looked upset again. "Some are here to gawk. And the rest are here to help transport him should the order come through."

Gus made a sour face. "Gawk? Honestly?"

Juliet nodded sadly.

Shawn let his exasperation show. "Interrogate him, really?"

"It's procedure, Shawn."

He threw up his hands. "Lassie doesn't remember anything—" Several of the officers had glanced their way when Shawn's voice rose. He made himself calm down. He knew he couldn't help the detective clear his name if he didn't get all the facts. "Jules, you think you can swing us a pass to the Leadbetter Beach crime scene?"

"No. You know that if you want to be on this case you'll have to go through the Chief." Shawn made a growly sound; he knew Vick was doing her job, but all the red tape sucked. "Look, Shawn, IÕm as under her thumb as you," she whispered this. "She ordered me to place Carlton under arrest. It was horrible. I hated doing that to him, especially when I'm not convinced that he did pull that trigger."

Shawn mulled this over. Juliet's phone rang. She stepped away from Shawn and Gus to answer it.

"Shawn, what'd Lassiter say to you after I left?" Gus asked.

"Same stuff, mostly," Shawn replied. "But he remembered something."

"What? Anything useful? Like shooting someone?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "I just want to know," Gus amended.

"I was at his place looking for clues, and he showed up after escaping from here. He ended up falling asleep and he was mumbling something that seemed pretty intense. I asked him just now if he remembered what might've been going on and he blurts out that someone was telling him not to go to the police." Shawn had dropped his voice almost to a whisper.

"What? What do you mean?"

"Dunno. That's all he said. It's little to go on, but it's something. After we leave here, we have to go to Lassie's place and get that special thing he asked for." Shawn winked at Gus, who nodded covertly. Just because he had been hovering by the door didn't mean he hadn't been listening.

"What do you think Juliet's going to do with that information you gave her?"

"Not sure." Shawn glanced at the back of Juliet's head. "Honestly, nothing. If anything, she'll just keep it to herself." He shrugged. "While I think it's pretty serious, I'm sure to this investigation, it comes off as irrelevant."

Gus snorted. "Seems to me like someone's got a grudge against Lassiter."

Shawn looked at Gus, astonished. Then he smiled. "Buddy, you're coming around."

Gus shrugged. "Well, maybe. But don't let it go to your head."

Juliet returned. "Well, the order came through. Lassiter is going to be released into police custody for now."

"Then what?" Gus asked, curious.

"Given the circumstances, meaning because Carlton is hurt, he will probably be put under house arrest . . . until he's healed enough to be put in a cell." Her expression was sardonic.

"House arrest means he'd have one of those ankle bracelet thingys and not be able to go more than 100 feet from his apartment?"

"More or less," Juliet said. She paused. "I think I will request to the Chief that an officer be present outside his door, because of what you said about his tires."

Gus nudged Shawn. Shawn wasn't sure if this was in a good way or a bad way. But then he pictured some stranger instructing Lassie to stay away from the cops; which was ironic because he was one. He opened his mouth to protest but changed it to a yawn. There wasn't any way he could tell Jules that there may have been someone scary enough to make Lassiter hold his tongue.

Juliet sighed, looking like there was something she wanted to tell Shawn, but not certain if she should. She took a deep breath and plunged. "We were able to ID the John Doe." Her eyes strayed to Gus, which both Shawn and Gus found a little odd. "His name was Max Sweets."

A minor look of recognition passed over Gus's face.

"Apparently, he was pharmaceutical sales rep for North Coast Pharmaceuticals."

Gus's eyes widened and he spoke before he could stop himself. "That's a division of Central Coast. I knew that guy. Sometimes he'd come to the main office, busting chops with some of the other reps." Gus whistled. His brow furrowed. "He seemed like a decent guy, but I didn't know him that well." What had he been doing that had ended with him getting shot in the neck, maybe by Lassiter? Gus wondered.

Juliet frowned and a long line appeared across her forehead. "You worked with the vic?" she asked slowly.

Gus frowned too. This was a strange new development. "Well, yes and no. It was the same company, after all. But I know that Mr. Sweets was only in every few months to do reports, get new samples, stuff like that." He stared at her hard; Shawn was astounded. "I didn't work with this guy every day."

"Okay," Juliet nodded. But then she gave him a sympathetic look. "You know I have to let the Chief know about this. She'll want everyone who came in contact with Max Sweets interviewed."

Gus shrugged. Just procedure. It's not like he had anything to hide anyway.

Shawn pressed his hands together. "Well, Jules, if that's all, Gus and I have to run an errand before we hit the beach."

Juliet frowned. "I said I can't give you a pass to the crime scene."

Shawn shrugged. "Who said were going to the crime scene? I was thinking Gus could practice the fine art of falling off his surfboard while I work on my tan."

"Uh, huh," Juliet replied skeptically. She looked from one to the other, before telling them she had to get back to Lassiter's room.

"So, how are we getting into Lassiter's apartment, Shawn?" Gus whispered on their way to the elevator.

"Well, I hope, for Lassie's sake, that it's still locked." He pressed the Lobby button and the doors closed. "But I did manage to get this," he replied a little guiltily.

Gus's eyes got huge. "Oh, my god. Shawn, please tell me you didn't steal that from a cop." He stared at a small silver key with the initials "C.L." on the tag.

"No, not steal. More like, borrowed."

"I can't believe you. You took that out of Juliet's pocket, didn't you?"

"Maybe." Shawn shrugged. "Look at it this way. It's less riskier than actually picking the lock." The doors opened to the lobby. Gus gasped. "What? This is important."

"No, Shawn, it's Vick," Gus hissed.

Shawn looked up and saw the police Chief headed towards their elevator. She hadn't seen them yet. He focused on her drawn face, how she was letting her guard down now that she didn't have anyone professional expecting things from her. "Come on," Shawn whispered. He stepped out quickly and turned the opposite direction as the lobby. Gus followed on his heels until they were out of sight down a hallway. Vick hadn't noticed them. As she waited for a elevator, Shawn listened to her breathing. The "up" button dinged, and she stepped on. Gone.

"All right," Shawn said. "Let's head out."

* * *

No one was expecting to see her. She cleared everyone out sternly, telling them that she and Detective O'Hara could handle Detective Lassiter's transfer. By the time they were on their way out, Vick was scowling. "It's like a circus, O'Hara," she said. "Disrespectful."

"Yes, ma'am," Juliet agreed softly.

"How is Detective Lassiter?"

Juliet gave her a funny look for a second. Then she said, "The doctors assured me he will be fine out of hospital care. They will be sending along some prescriptions, but otherwise, he's free to go."

Vick nodded. She looked like she wanted to say something else, when two nurses rushed past her to Lassiter's room. She gave Juliet a strained look before entering the room herself.

* * *

"Who are you? What do you want from me?" Lassiter yelled to the violet-black darkness. A small peal of laughter to his left. Another to his right. "Answer me, you coward!" More laughter from all sides.

The darkness was very compact; he was only aware of his own body and self in that space. A rushing from the inkier dark to his right. A solid form, like a football player or a boulder, hitting him, knocking him backwards. Something else solid behind him; tumbling over as he fell into it. Lassiter looked at the ground behind him where he was certain something inanimate would be lying; he ran his hands through the space but there wasn't anything he could put his hands around. He reached out to his right; same.

"Where are you?" he shouted. "Why don't you face me like a man?" Silence. More. "Hey! Answer me!" His heart began to pound; it was a jack hammer in his own ears. No, how can I hear the answers if my heart is beating so loudly?

The seams holding his skin together tore, right along his elbow, up to his pinky fingertip. Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop. Hisssss. Blood spurted, then bones poked through. More blood, oozing. His muscles started slipping out. Oh, god. I need something to stop the blood! It was an ugly sight, even for his experienced police eyes. His head was swimming, his heart still roaring. His knees hit the dark space. He pressed his hands against his ears; blood spraying all over his face. I need to stabilize the wound.

Then a voice, familiar but warbling, spat, "You will never be rid of us now. We told you what you had to do." Lassiter couldn't tell what direction it was coming from. He fought off the panic that was smacking him in the face, clawing his way through the voice that twisted like ribbons in a windstorm. He reached out with the uninjured arm, reaching out, about to clasp around a face that was . . . made of smoke. It was gone.

Lassiter sat up abruptly, not sure if his own cries had been the reason he woke. He winced when he jerked his handcuffed arm too hard. Staring at it, he pulled on it a couple of times, then leaned back against the pillows. His heart was racing too fast. The images of his dreams were fresh; he felt with a coldness in his stomach, that what he had just experienced was the fraction of a memory. Messed up, sure, twisted . . . twisted. He wondered what the significance of those ribbons was. And all that blood . . . He tried to get a clearer picture, but there wasn't anything else there. His heart thundered in his ears.

He hadn't realized he'd dozed off until there were people over him, nurses or doctors, all faces blurring together. Was one of them made of smoke? He looked and looked for those ribbons, what colors they were, what direction they were blowing from. He knew he could slow up his heart by collecting each time sliver of memory, putting them away in box for later. He'd need those. All of those pieces.

* * *

Vick had arrived in the middle of this. Her own heart was racing, watching them work on her head detective to get this heart rate down. She wanted to yell out what was the matter with him, but her voice faltered. After three terrifying minutes, everything was fine. Relatively speaking. When the nurses backed off, Vick saw that Carlton was horribly pale. His eyes were closed; she hated that he had to be handcuffed like a criminal. But she was resolved; right now, for all they knew, he was a criminal. She wanted her head detective to be innocent, falsely accused. But the truth was, she just couldn't admit that as is.

One of the nurses was explaining why Lassiter's heart rate may have spiked. Karen wasn't listening; she rarely spaced. She couldn't ever remember seeing her head detective look helpless. The nurses left, and Vick wandered to his bedside. He still didn't open his eyes. His breathing was shallow. Before she could stop herself, her hand was on his cheek, which was clammy. "I'm sorry," she said in a low voice.