I apologize for the long absence, but I appreciate your continued support! The long awaited chapter is here! And I do believe it's the longest yet! Please enjoy :D

Special Thanks to SilverLuna for her beta work.


Henry stepped into the house. It felt so good to come back into the cool shade and comfort of his own home after a long day spent out on the water and in the sun. He was tired from being tense during the nerve wracking boat trip back to the docks, not to mention the white knuckled drive through the rain back to the house. He was dripping wet and just relieved to be home. He put his tackle box, pole, cooler and the fish hamper in the mud room off the side of the kitchen. He had filled the hamper with ice, so the fish would be fine until he was ready to scale and gut them for the grill.

Henry noticed the pointed silence in the house and for some reason felt that it was eerie. He shook his head at his own silly thoughts. He lived alone, and had done so for the past 13 years. There was no reason to expect any noise, and yet he supposed he was hoping to hear evidence of Shawn working. But no, he heard nothing but the hum of the fridge, the rumbling of the thunder and rain falling steadily against the roof.

Henry stepped into the living room, checking to be sure Shawn wasn't merely sleeping and had not bothered to get up when he woke him. On the couch lay the rumpled blanket and pillow that was testament to his son's earlier slumber, but no head was denting the pillow. So, he had gotten up, well at least there was that.

He picked up the blanket and began folding it. He carefully lined up the edges, pressing the blanket into a neat square. He grabbed the pillow in order to return the linens to the hall closet. Henry carefully smoothed the dent in the pillow that was from his son's head. He stood for a moment carefully scanning the room, knowing something was off but not being able to place it.

He turned and kicked something under the coffee table. He sighed, dropped the bedding back onto the couch and knelt down, thinking it was the television remote. His hand skimmed the ground and finally clamped down on the object. He raised it and stared. A cold thrill skittered down his spine. His son's phone was in his hand. The one he had bought him as a Christmas gift in fact.

Henry was frightened at the implication. His son may be an irresponsible idiot at the best of times, but he understood the necessity of having his phone on him at all times. Especially since he was getting involved in more and more dangerous situations. He never left his phone behind.

Henry clicked it on and saw 12 missed calls and 8 voice mails and 24 text messages. Several of those missed calls and 2 of the voice mails were from him. He supposed the majority were from Gus trying to track Shawn down. Henry slipped the phone into his pocket and stood, his pulse was pounding loudly in his ears. He listened and still heard nothing. Henry needed to find Shawn, he needed to find him now!

Okay, first things first, check the house. Inside and out, then, he gulped, then he could call the station for additional resources. Henry swallowed down his rising nervousness. No reason to panic prematurely. He began a methodical search of the downstairs, scanning every room, opening every door. He checked the garage and the porch. If he had to he would come back and search the house perimeter, but for now there was no sign of his son.

After confirming the downstairs was clear, he headed up the staircase. With each step he took, his fear increased. His pulse racing, senses wide open, head dizzy from rapid breaths, he reached the top and stopped. There down the hallway, he saw the bulky outline of some things on the ground at the bottom of the attic stairs. He walked a few steps closer and his hand slid across the wall and flipped the hall light on.

The sudden light threw the scene into clear detail. All his senses converged on one spot. He saw the boxes and junk strewn in a wide path, down the stairs and across the hall. He saw the glitter of trophies, especially noticing the one with blood smeared across it and the fact that it rested next to a puddle of dark blood. His gut clenched and the smell of the other puddle hit his nose, identifying it as vomit that was congealing on his wood floor.

Henry was terrified. All this detritus told him that his son had been here and that he was injured. But there was no sign of Shawn anywhere in the hall. Where was his hurt child?


Henry shook himself to draw himself away from his shock. He needed to find Shawn, and he couldn't do that if he was panicking. He steeled himself and look a deep breath before moving forward.

He knelt near the tacky, dark blood and the thick, smeared puddle of vomit. It figured Shawn would fall and hurt himself doing something as innocuous as cleaning out the attic. Henry's eyes fell on the trophy. The small golden statue had blood across the base, offering him an instant clue as to its use as a bludgeoning device.

Henry put his detective mind to use and quickly searched the room, noting the position of the boxes and the debris from them, along with the trophy and the mess on the floor. He concluded that Shawn must have fallen carrying the boxes, and the trophy hit him at some point and caused bleeding. The amount of blood suggested a head injury. What other injuries could Shawn have incurred?

Henry worked his way down the hall, catching sight of the wrecked bathroom. Henry saw vomit, slick and smeared across the floor and splattered on the sink. A broken towel bar and a bloody towel lay on the ground. He spent only the necessary seconds searching there; Shawn was not in the bathroom and he felt an increasing urgency to locate his disastrous son.

Back out in the hallway, Henry's sharp eyes caught a partial hand print on the floor; the rust colored outline of a palm and two fingers was a chilling mark left by his missing son. Henry continued his systematic searching, finding his chest tightening with alarm with each pass of an empty room and hallway.

He bypassed the stairs; he had already checked that way and his son hadn't sought help that way because he wasn't down there. Henry had checked. 'Unless he had left the house. Oh god,' he thought, he had to find Shawn. If he had a head injury and was wandering the beach or somewhere. . . . He swallowed down his panic. 'No, no, he could still be here in the house.'

He searched his son's childhood bedroom, not finding any sign of him. It would have made sense to find him in here, it was familiar and it had a phone. But, no Shawn.

The last room to check was his own. Shawn hadn't been in there in years, likely close to 15 years. But Henry pressed on despite his ever increasing worry for his son. He had to check everywhere.

The darkened doorway stood in front of him. It was dark as no lights had been turned on in the house despite the dark of the storm raging against the eaves. Henry fumbled for the light switch, already noting that no movement came from the room. He blinked a few times in the sudden light, and quickly began drawing conclusions based on the scene painted in front of him.

The bedside table had been messily cleared, the objects scattered around the floor. He frowned, annoyed, seeing the spilled water, and the damp photograph and book. As he scanned the floor, a dark smudge on the door frame of his closet caught his eye. The door was open a crack. He raced over, and threw the door open. The sight drove him to his knees, hitting hard enough that he would regret it in the morning. But for now, he took no notice, solely focused on what he saw in his closet.

Henry's breath was shaky as he called his son's name. "Shawn?"

His son was huddled in the tiny closet, awkwardly curled, hiding his face in his arms. Henry felt his heart sinking. There was no reason why Shawn should be in the closet.

"Shawn," Henry called to him, louder. He still got no response, other than seeing the quiver along Shawn's limbs increase.

"Shawn?" Henry called again while he fished in his pocket, pulling out his son's phone, he began dialing, 9-1-1 as he leaned in and laid his arm on Shawn's shoulder to get his attention. At the touch, Shawn cowered back, scaring Henry, making his heart jump. He fumbled and dropped the phone before he could finish dialing.

Frustrated, Henry yelled at Shawn.

"Shawn Michael Spencer! Look at me!" Fear drove Shawn's head up and Henry watched in dismay as his eyes tracked past his face several times before focusing in on him. Henry reached for Shawn's battered face, but paused as his son lurched back. Then Henry heard something he hadn't heard in nearly 25 years.

"Daddy?" Shawn's voice was small and rough as he whispered.

Henry swallowed hard. Dear God, his son need help badly. Henry was struggling to respond, when Shawn's next words stopped all his thought process, making his heart freeze, feeling like ice was flowing through his veins.

"Daddy, where were you? Why wouldn't you help me? I was looking for you."

"I'm here now, Shawn. Just calm down." He watched as Shawn began to struggle forward out of the closet. His son began to raise himself up, then suddenly cried out. He clutched his head and collapsed.

"Shawn? Shawn!" Henry carefully turned Shawn over onto his back, laying him flat. His eyes were closed and his face extremely pale under the dark blood. He must have passed out. Henry snatched up the dropped phone and immediately called for an ambulance to come pick his son up. Instead of staying on the line, he assured them he wouldn't move him, and would watch his breathing closely. It would have made no difference to continue to talk to them, it wouldn't make them get there any faster.

Henry returned his focus on his son. He pulled a shoe out from under Shawn's back then leaned in to check his head wound.

The flow of blood had slowed or nearly stopped but heads bleed a lot, the evidence in the sticky redness that covered the side of his face, his neck and was matted in half of his hair. Henry grabbed a t-shirt from the floor and gently tried to clean up some of the blood. As he slid the shirt around Shawn's ear, his eyes caught sight of a bruise that lined up behind it.

"Shit, kid, shit!" Henry's hands shook as he gently traced the shell of his son's ear. The bruise was something he had seen before as a cop, it was in the crime scene photos for a child abuse case. It was called a Battle's sign and was an indicator of a skull fracture. Henry was heartbroken to see it on his son and couldn't help the comparison to the young abuse victim from 20 years ago.

"Damn it, Shawn, you can never do things simply can you?" His harsh words were in direct contradiction to his gentle fingers as he stroked his son's forehead and hair, carefully avoiding the bruised lump on the side of his forehead and the bloody skin around his temple.

"Hurry up, dammit, hurry up," he begged to the silent room, praying the ambulance would get there faster. He wanted to cradle Shawn in his arms, like he used to when he was a child, but didn't dare move him for fear of complicating the severe head injury. Instead he ran his hands gently across the unhurt parts of his boy's body, trying to calm himself and comfort his unconscious son.

He rubbed his hand along Shawn's brow and felt a tiny ridge at his hairline. His thumb encountered the small scar that was from the misadventure on his fishing boat when Shawn was a teenager; the one he still felt guilty over. He never had apologized for sending his son headlong into the side of the boat, but he had felt bad for causing his son pain.

Kind of like how he felt now, knowing his son had been hurt and looking for him and he hadn't been there.

He sat there on the floor of his bedroom, Shawn lying limply by his side, and Henry kept running his finger along the raised line of the scar, and waiting anxiously for help to arrive.


Thank you for your patience in waiting for this chapter to come out! Since I've neglected to respond to my recent reviews, I'd like to give a special thank you to the following reviewers that have really lifted my spirits!

Taura Callisto, the-vampire-act, kikaria, Tonee Alto, parallelpandora, sweet1one, Jimmy Candlestick, Farrahmack, jellybean367, bats212, A maze thing, Sumomo4tw, NarutoNineTails, sjr, YaoiFan87, Lies-and-Truth

And my frequent reviewers that I always look forward to:
Silverluna, Cutiepie2191, SpookyClaire, pdljmpr6, hup123hup123slapslap