Nope, not mine…

Psych

Cold green eyes were drilling into her blue ones, making her shiver. At her sign of weakness he let loose a deep, bone chilling, maniacally filled laugh.

"Good bye," his voice said a much colder echo than before. The bench beneath her exploded before she could even scream…

"No," the word was ripped from her lips as she sat up in bed. Breath coming in quick gasps, she let her eyes sweep across her room, expecting to see the man standing near her bed. He wasn't there, no one was. His second appearance had been just a dream. Just a dream, Juliet, she told herself but still pushed her covers off, the room suddenly stifling.

She swung her legs off the bed, her stocking feet brushing her carpet, and stood up. She crossed the room, pushing the curtain aside to look down at the street. There was no one standing out on the darkened sidewalk, but there was a squad car sitting across from her building. After ordering Juliet to go home and get some rest, shouting over her protests, Vick had also commanded McNab to follow the junior detective home. She hadn't told The Chief exactly why she was being targeted, Shawn's words still rolling through her head, but the fact still remained that she was in danger. And as grateful as Juliet was to have the extra protection, it wasn't her safety she was worried for.

She let the curtain fall back into place and crossed the room again. The room, stifling beforehand, had suddenly dropped in temperature. Her robe laid across her dresser underneath a pile of crinkled papers, gun wrappers, pencils sharpened to nearly their erasers, and an old picture of her and her brothers. She let all the other items scatter as she pulled it from the pile, pulling the blue cotton around her shoulders.

Juliet crept to her doorway, the door slightly ajar and the hall light spilling into her room. Ever since she was a little girl, when her fear of the dark was spiked tenfold, she always kept the hall light on. Her mother had told her that as long as there was light, nothing bad could get her. And she proved her mother wrong today, by nearly getting blown up in broad daylight. An unconscious shiver rolled through her as she chastised herself for bringing those memories up.

She slipped into the hallway, the door almost inaudibly creaking as she moved it, and headed down the hall. She was always good at keeping her emotions in check, she had to be growing up surrounded by boys, but now it was hard. She was worried about Lassiter, the doctor's words still rolling through her head. "We'll know more when he wakes up." When was he going to wake up, though? The doctor didn't exactly elaborate on that. She was also worried about Gus, he was in this as deep and Carlton, her, and Shawn. Which brought her to her biggest concern…

The psychic was probably getting in way over his head, could possibly get killed if he went through with helping Harrison, and happened to be crashed out on her couch, lying on his back.

Juliet froze, her blue eyes moving over the still figure of the psychic. He looked less burdened in sleep, ten years younger even. His shoes sat at the end of her couch, one lying on its side, like he had kicked them off. His right hand hung off the sofa, fingers barely brushing the carpet, while his left hand covered his eyes. The remote lay on the arm near his head. There was an infomercial on her television screen, the voices mere whispers in the background. On her coffee table was her cell phone, wrapped in a sandwich baggie. Her eyebrows rose in curiosity, but she let it go.

Quietly, Juliet walked toward the couch, pulling the green blanket off the back. She covered Shawn with it, her hand accidently brushing his. Her skin felt warm where they made contact causing her to quickly pull it away. She skirted the coffee table, pausing next to Shawn's head. Hesitating a fraction of a second, she ran her hand through his hair, for once void of any product. Other than his head turning at the touch, he made no further responses to her action and continued sleeping.

Juliet sighed, turning toward her kitchen. She shuffled across the floor, immediately recognizing the difference between carpeting and tile. She headed toward her coffeepot, noticing someone had made coffee. There was a blue SBPD mug sitting in her sink, her sugar sitting on her counter. Not only did a certain psychic make coffee, he also had some, and forgot to put the sugar away. Juliet smiled; glad to see the old Shawn trying to break free from the new Shawn's embrace. She really hoped he could break completely free someday.

Her hand was inching toward the cupboard, intending to open it and extract her favorite mug-a lime green mug, red lettering stating, "Why make Sundays lazy, when everyday is lazy." Shawn's sense of humor never failed to amuse her-when she heard a whimper. She froze, opening her ears up to anymore sounds.

"No," a whispered voice followed by a murmured, "I…I didn't…" Juliet turned around, her eyes zeroing in on the sleeping psychic. "Abigail," he whispered head turning to the left. "I…I didn't mean…" he was close to breaking, sending Juliet into action.

She rushed across the apartment, Shawn's cries of 'No' and 'Please' shredding her heart to pieces. She fell to her knees next to Shawn, elbow slamming into her coffee table and making her arm instantly start to tingle. Instead of dwelling on the new bruise, she put her hand on Shawn's chest and said, "Shawn, wake up."

"H…he shot me…" Shawn practically sobbed, a tear escaping and trekking its way down his face. Juliet wiped it away with her index finger and said, "Shawn, it's a dream. Please wake up."

"No," he exclaimed sitting up and knocking Juliet into her coffee table, moving it a few inches from its original spot. His chest was heaving, frantic eyes scanning the room for someone that wasn't there. Juliet waited a moment, letting him regain his composure, before getting to her knees and shuffling towards him again.

"A…are you okay?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper.

"Yeah," Shawn's voice broke. He cleared his throat and repeated, "Yeah," voice stronger the second time. He wouldn't meet her eyes, hazel eyes locked onto the back wall. Juliet put a hand on his arm, feeling him shake. Now that his arm wasn't hiding his face, she could see the bruise across his head. She noted how the paleness of his skin made the wound the most dominant feature.

"W…what did you dream about," she questioned, her voice going slightly above a whisper. Shawn shook his head, turning haunted eyes on her, and mumbled, "I…I can't. I…I don't want to…" his voice trailed off, face blanching further and making the purplish-blue stand out even more. He was on his feet in seconds, racing down the hall.

Juliet pulled herself to her feet, following the sound of gagging and water splashing. She found him leaning over the toilet, doing a good impersonation of someone trying to bring up a lung. She knelt next to him, her hand rubbing small, soothing circles into his back. He was shaking beneath her fingers, his back tensing every time a new wave of nausea rolled through him. Once his stomach was empty, dry heaves wracking his body, he allowed Juliet to pull him away from the toilet. She lowered his head into her lap, settling against her bathtub, gently stroking his hair as he continued to shake. His breath was coming in short, hard to catch gasps, broken up by great sobs.

He calmed down after a few moments, ten to be exact-Juliet counted. She still stroked his hair, listening to each shuddering breath he took. It took another five for the shudders to even out, for him to fall back into an exhausted sleep.

Almost unconsciously now, her fingers ran through his hair as she leaned her head against the edge of the tub. Juliet wondered if this was how he woke up every time he fell asleep, from a nightmare he wouldn't talk about. She wondered how many times Henry had found him, on the bathroom floor, asleep after emptying his stomach contents into the porcelain puke bucket. Seeing Shawn like this, hurting and being unable to help him, broke her heart into several pieces.

Tears stung her own eyes, threatening to overtake her. She wouldn't let them, she couldn't let them. She had to be strong for the broken psychic asleep across her lap, had to be strong for Carlton who was holding on for dear life, had to be strong for Gus who was probably freaking out, but, most importantly, she had to be strong for herself. Had to be strong and not let some auburn haired, creepy son of a bitch get her down. He wasn't going to kill anyone else, he wasn't going to hurt anyone else, and she would make sure of it. She would make damn sure. Juliet O'Hara finally had an outlet for her anger, and she was going to use it.

PSYCH

"I'll meet you at my dad's. Just want to check something," Shawn had said when Gus had stopped outside Juliet's apartment. McNab sat across the building in his squad car, flipping through, what looked like, a case file. He had looked up at their approach, waving when he noticed who they were. They waved back seconds before he went back to whatever he had been doing.

"Shawn," Gus had started, looking back at his friend, "I really don't think you should be alone." Gus was worried about Shawn and his knack for attracting the criminals of Santa Barbara.

"Don't worry about me," the faux-psychic had reassured the pharmaceutical rep, giving him a smile that didn't even come close to reaching his eyes. He opened the door, gave Gus one more look and a quick, "I'll meet you at my dad's." Before getting out, closing the door, and heading toward the building. Gus had sat outside until Shawn had disappeared inside the building. That had been nearly six hours ago.

Six hours where Gus had sat on Henry's couch, staring at the blank television screen, worry pulsing through his veins. Henry had gone to bed around two, but Gus doubted he was really sleeping. He was probably lying on his back, eyes glued to the ceiling, feeling, no doubt, more worried than Gus could ever feel.

The phone rang, causing Gus to jump. He grabbed the cordless off the table, clicking it on. He brought the receiver to his ear, his whole body rigid with tension, and practically whispered, "Hello?" it was The Call, the one that told him Shawn had been found dead, in a ditch. It was the only reason anyone would be calling at two in the morning.

"Mr. Guster?" Vick sounded surprised, obviously not expecting to be hearing from Gus.

"Chief, what's wrong," Gus asked as a wave of nausea rolled through him. Had he been right? Was Shawn killed by Mahoney or Harrison or whoever the hell was after him?

"Mr. Spencer isn't with you by any chance?" she questioned sounding unsure.

"Henry's upstairs," Gus replied hoping that was the Spencer she was referring to.

"No, Shawn?"

"Why?" the pharmaceutical rep asked in a small voice.

"Because I'm standing outside his place; someone set it on fire." Karen barely had the words out of her mouth, before Gus dropped the phone and raced toward the stairs. Henry was already halfway down, pulling a sweatshirt over a gray tee-shirt.

"How did you…?" Gus started already knowing exactly why Henry Spencer was running as if his pants were on fire.

"I picked up the phone in my room," Shawn's father answered simply. "Let's go." They rushed out of the house, Henry not even bothering to lock his door, and hurried toward Gus's Echo. Henry dove behind the wheel, ignoring Gus's protests, and held his hand out for the keys. The pharmaceutical rep handed the keys over, racing around the car to get in the passenger seat. The ex-cop started the car and pulled out of the driveway. He threw the car in drive and sped down the road.

The drive took fifteen minutes with Henry behind the wheel, Gus expecting him to crash the Echo about fifty times. When the ex-cop stopped in front of the old dry cleaners, the place one of the many homes Shawn had had since moving to Santa Barbara, Gus couldn't help but let his jaw hang open.

The place was up in flames, a fleet of firefighters trying to put out the fire. Vick stood next to a couple officers Gus had only met twice, talking to them about-most definitely-the fire and who could have caused it. It was weird, a crime scene without Lassiter or Jules. Gus had a feeling Juliet could very well be on her way, but Lassiter was far from showing up.

"Karen," Henry called throwing open the Echo's door and racing toward the blonde chief. Gus turned the car off, yanked the keys from the ignition, and tore out of the car after him. Vick had turned at Henry's voice, the two officers walking toward a firefighter.

"What the hell's going on?" Henry questioned throwing a worried glance at his son's place.

"I'm not exactly sure. Some of the neighbors called in to complain about smoke coming from this address. After three calls I sent a couple officers out here to see what was going on, find out if it was just a party close by, but they found this."

"Was Shawn anywhere near here?" Gus asked glancing around for his friend.

"He wasn't here and he's not answering his phone," Karen replied glancing back at the quickly burning building. "I called O'Hara, but she wasn't picking up either. McNab tells me she hasn't left, so she could be sleeping." Gus exchanged a look with Henry, who nodded and said, "Go."

Gus was back on the road before Karen could even throw him a suspicious glare. He sped past buildings, all ranging from apartments to establishments, trying to keep calm. Jules was the last one to see Shawn; she had to know where he went. Hell, he might still be there. Gus just had to keep his fingers crossed and hope for anything other than Shawn being inside his domicile burning to death.

He stopped outside Juliet's apartment and threw open the door. He hardly noticed he left the car running as he raced inside the building. He took the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping on the last two. He managed to catch himself by grabbing the railing. He straightened up, sprinting down the hall. Almost passing Juliet's apartment, he skidded to a halt and began pounding on the door.

"Juliet," he called pounding harder. He was vaguely aware of someone standing behind him. A familiar voice saying his name, asking what was wrong. He heard a couple doors open, a few voices mixing in with the familiar one, complaining about the noise.

"Jules open up," he shouted again, banging harder on the door. His hand was beginning to hurt but he didn't care. He contemplated kicking the door in, or at least attempting to-Lord knew he would probably break his leg or pull a muscle before actually succeeding-but the door was yanked open before he could even make a decision.

"Gus, what's wrong?" Juliet asked looking like she had just woke up. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted Shawn, sitting on Jules's couch, pulling his shoes back on.

"S…Shawn's place was s…set on fire," Gus managed to gasp out, now fully aware of the pain in his side.

"What," both Jules and Shawn exclaimed together. The faux-psychic had jumped to his feet, racing toward the door. He pushed past Jules, Gus, and McNab. He must have followed me, Gus thought finally realizing why the voice had sounded so familiar.

"I'll meet you two there," Jules said ushering Gus to follow the faux-psychic. The pharmaceutical rep nodded, turning to see several people glaring at him from their apartments, and rushed after Shawn. McNab mumbled something about going back to his post and followed Gus down the steps.

Gus had just reached the street when he noticed a familiar Echo peeling away from the curb. He ran to the edge of the street, watching his car squeal around the corner. "SHAWN!" he shouted to no avail. His friend was gone and he was stuck without a ride. "Fantastic," he whispered kicking a rock across the street.

"Where's your car?" Juliet asked several minutes later, emerging from her apartment building fully dressed and stashing her gun in her holster.

"Shawn took it. Can you give me a ride?" She nodded and they ran toward her car.

McNab took off first, Juliet following close behind. There was no point in running the siren, at nearly three-thirty the streets were almost void of all traffic. That didn't stop McNab from flicking them on as he ran several red lights. Jules kept right on his tail, her face concealing all emotions but determination.

"Do you know who started the fire," she threw at Gus. He shook his head, mumbling, "No, but I have my suspicions…"

"Mahoney?" Jules questioned glancing briefly at him.

"Maybe, maybe not." He quickly recapped everything Shawn had told him about Mahoney's 'talk.' It wasn't as detailed as Shawn's account, but he was fairly certain Juliet got the gist of it.

"So, who's trying to kill us?" she asked throwing him another quick look.

"A few hours ago I would have said 'Mahoney,' but now…" Gus trailed off looking out the window. He could see the fire coming into view, not as big as before but still fairly large. He could also see Shawn, watching everything he owned burning to the ground.

Juliet raced toward Shawn, Gus steps behind him. Henry was already standing close to his son, hand resting gently on his shoulder. Jules placed her hand on his other shoulder, watching the fire, too. Gus stopped just short of them, the fire mesmerizing. They stood in their small group for a few seconds, almost in a combined trance, until a voice said, "You four have a lot of explaining to do." They all jumped, turning to see Vick standing a few feet from their group, arms crossed at her chest, giving them a look that screamed 'no more bullshit.' Gus looked at Shawn, Jules and Henry copying him. It was his call, this was his problem, and as much as Gus would have loved to spill his guts right there, it wasn't his place to tell. It all depended on Shawn.

"Chief," the faux-psychic started, clearing his throat. "Everything that has happened today is my fault. Everything, single thing…"