Okay, so, I'm not exactly sure why I'm here. Shawn called me, screamed "EMERGENCY" into the phone when I picked up, and then hung up. For some, unknown reason, I decided to humor him and I came here (the Psych Office, of course. Where else would he be?). He was leaving when I got here and, on his way out the door, told me to "tell them", and then he left on his motorcycle.

So, I'm not one hundred percent sure what Shawn wants me to 'tell you', but I think it's safe to assume that he would be referring to the one and only thing he's been talking about lately: his kidnapping.

Don't get me wrong; I understand that it must've been a traumatic experience for him. It's just, does he really have to talk about it all. The. Time?

Okay, sorry. I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

I don't know how much he's told you so far, so I'll sum it up. We've got a crazy, psychopathic serial killer on the loose who tweets his actions in real time. He also influenced another psycho to do the same thing, so we caught him—well, really the real one shot the fake one and brought him to us, but oh well—but the real one is still out there killing one person every day and he's tweeting but he's not leaving behind any evidence so we can't find him.

Got all that? Great. Moving forward.

Carlton and I were staking out the Sloanes (Gavin Sloane, the son, was the fake killer) in case The Executioner (the real one) tried to make contact with Mrs. Sloane. We'd talked about it and, based on the circumstances, it seemed likely that The Executioner was connected to the Sloanes in one way or another. That was the only way that it would make sense for Gavin to do what he did. The details about the first murders hadn't been released to the public, so how did Gavin manage to recreate them almost perfectly?

Maybe it wasn't a solid lead, but we were grasping at straws at that point. After seven murders in a row, Lassiter and I were taking anything we could get.

At about eleven-thirty at night, a call from Buzz interrupted the monotony of what had to be one of the most boring stakeouts of all time.

"Juliet?" He sounded flustered and distracted.

"Yes, Buzz, It's me. What's wrong?" Upon hearing my worried tone, Lassiter's head snapped up from the position it had been in for the past thirty minutes.

"What?" He asked me. I waved off his question. How fast did he expect Buzz to be able to answer?

"The power's out!" Buzz cried. From the way he said it, you'd think a tornado had just ripped the station apart.

"Is that McNab?" Lassiter asked from beside me. I waved him off again.

"So?" I questioned McNab.

"So no one is watching the twitter account!" Now I got it.

"Well can't someone pull it up on their phone or laptop or something?" I wondered. It seemed like the obvious solution to me.

"Pull up what?" Lassiter pitched in again.

This time I turned to him, putting my hand over my cell's receiver. "Shut up, Carlton."

Lassiter looked irritated at being ordered by an 'inferior', but he quieted for the moment.

"No one knows how to!" Buzz was saying.

"Wait, how is that possible?" I asked in disbelief. I couldn't believe that, out of a station full of trained police officers, no one could figure out how to use the Internet.

"Juliet, it's almost midnight. I'm one of like seven people here, and I'm the youngest by about twenty years."

"Why don't you do it, then?"

"My phone doesn't have Internet!"

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. Of course. Why should we get a break now?

"Okay. Are there people there fixing whatever it is that's causing the problem?"

I could almost see Buzz nodding excitedly. "Yep! They got here about five minutes ago. They said it could take a while."

"Well fantastic," I muttered under my breath, "Don't worry about it, Buzz. We'll handle it. Just call us when the power comes back on. Okay?"

I was about to hang up when Buzz's voice stopped me. "Wait, Juliet! There's one more thing."

"What?"

"The tech guys—the ones that came to fix the power—they said that the power lines were cut."

"Cut?"

"Yeah, like someone went out and used some sort of tool to physically cut the line. The power's out on the whole street, at least. Someone did this on purpose."

It just kept getting better and better.

Lassiter assaulted me with questions the second I hung up. He had been quiet after I yelled at him, but he was turned sideways in his seat, completely engrossed with the half-conversation he could hear.

"Who was that? It was McNab, wasn't it? He's the only one who you'd talk to like he was a five year old on a sugar high—well, maybe Spencer, but you didn't sound nearly irritated enough for—"

"Lassiter," I didn't yell, but I used that low and dangerous warning tone that I'm convinced all women are born with—it's like an adaptation we've developed over time to deal with the men of the world. It was enough to shut him up. "Ask one question at a time, and wait for me to answer it before you give your input." After sitting still in a car for five or so hours, I was not in the mood for Lassiter's sleep-depravation-induced high.

He looked annoyed as he said, putting emphasis on each word, "Was that McNab?"

"Yes."

"What is the problem?"

I couldn't help but smile a little at controlled anger in my partner's voice. He hates being told what to do. "The power's out at the station. According to the tech guys, someone cut a power line."

Carlton took a moment to digest this information. "Did any of the cameras outside of the station catch our guy?"

"I don't know."

He looked at me incredulously for a moment. "You don't know. What do you mean, you don't know? Didn't you ask?" Oh my gosh. Did he hear me ask? Sometimes I don't like Lassiter. "If this is connected to the Executioner, our psycho could be on those tapes! I can't believe you didn't even ask. Who do you think you are, O'Hara? McNab?"

I took a moment to compose myself before I spoke. I was slightly annoyed at being talked to like I was seven years old. "Carlton," I began, speaking slowly and deliberately.

"Yes?"

"The power is out."

"Yeah, I got that part, O'Hara."

"It takes electricity to pull up footage from the cameras."

Lassiter nodded. "So?"

I didn't say anything. I just sat there and stared at him.

I could tell the exact moment that the realization hit him. His face fell as he understood his stupidity, but only a moment before, in his usual, as Shawn would say, Lassitarian manner, he regained his composure and attempted to talk it off.

"Well, yes. Of course. Obviously I meant that you need to check with McNab once the power comes back on." He said awkwardly.

I hid my smile as well as I could. "Oh, of course. I'll get right on that."

Lassiter glared at my obvious sarcasm, but he didn't get a chance to make a comment of his own as something outside the car, just in front of the Sloane's house caught my eye.

"Lassiter, someone's out there."

OooOooO

Yay new chapter!

Thanks so much to those of you who have reviewed! Y'all are awesome! Please keep it up!

Even though, I'm sad to report that, while fanfic had 15 reviews for the last chappie (YOU GUYS ROCK!) psychfic had 1. Please review, guys! Thanks!

BY THE WAY! I'm a complete loser for forgetting to do this so far, but I have to give Captain Rittera Smith credit for the awesome idea to have Shawn and the Executioner tweet back and forth. That idea totally knocked down a massive writers block, so thanks! :D