Chapter 11

The dead were crowding Shawn's dreams again. Dead children, pale and bloodless, the oldest in their twenties and the youngest couldn't be older than ten. Most were teenagers, but something about being dead made them all look younger, though their eyes were ancient. And the clung to him. Silent, eyes ancient and pleading, their hands grasped at his shirt, at his new swishy coat, at his hands, his hair. They weren't evil or soulless, and somehow Shawn wasn't afraid. He felt something else entirely, something too deep and primal to be named. It wasn't fear. It wasn't pleasant.

And then the hands slowly pulled away, the crowd falling back into the impossibly yawning abyss from whence they came. And Jean was there.

Here, in the dreamscape, there was no doubt that Jean Sanxay was as old as his clothing's style, possibly older, and as dangerous as a coiled cobra poised to strike. And he did have the teeth for it, though somehow Shawn hadn't seen them before. And Shawn somehow knew, in the way one does in dreams, that this vampire was not just a figment in his head, and that it could hurt him, even here. This was not just a dream.

"Psychic," Jean said in greeting, something ritualistically formal in the way he bowed in greeting.

"Jean Sanxay," Shawn answered, imitating the bow though he felt a bit wrong footed, like he had been cast in play but hadn't been given the script. And then, because he really couldn't help himself, he said, "So you are a vampire, then?"

"I am what you see. If you care to look." The man was smiling. That wasn't reassuring; there were far too many teeth. Still, Shawn got the hint to stop staring and start looking.

There was more to see here than there had been back at the club. The colors were the same, but even sharper, like those of the dead. And there were layers upon layers. He was far more complex than anyone Shawn had ever tried to look at before, the weight of ages far beyond the lifespan of a normal man. There were dark shadows, hints of the monster lurking just beneath the skin. But there wasn't Evil. There wasn't mindless violence or cruelty, not even pettiness. Nor was there Good. The vampire simply was. At once more than human and less than human; certainly older than human. He had the soul of a predator, but not the heart, and there wasn't the taint a serial killer would have.

"You have killed," Shawn said at last, "But you aren't a killer."

"And you are a child who discovered fire," Jean answered, his eyes deep with curiosity and interest, "And yet you are not burned."

Shawn frowned, then blurted out on a sudden whim, "Justin Rivers. Is…was he one of yours?"

The vampire considered, tilting his head in a distinctly animalistic manner, like cat before a pounce.

"I do not know this child, but I felt his passing all the same. He was consumed by the sun."

"What does that mea…"

And in the next moment, mid-word, Shawn was suddenly wide awake. He was alone, not so much as an echo of the vampire left burrowed in his head. It was disconcerting, not least because he didn't know why he had woken, or if it was the vampire who had unexpectedly been called away.

Shawn was really beginning to hate psychic dreams.

It was early, but he was too awake now to sleep. And he didn't want to dream again. Reluctantly, he pulled himself out of bed instead of snuggling down once more, and staggered into the kitchen. First things first, he needed to eat. And then…then, he had an idea that maybe it was time to start considering Lex's case. It was time to meet the father.

Gus listened long enough to learn that Shawn was not in immediate danger and then hung up on him. The second call went straight to voicemail. In hind sight, calling at four in the morning may not have been Shawn's best plan. For a moment, he considered trying to go back to sleep versus waiting until it was properly daytime, versus immediately getting to work on the case. In the end, he called the one person he was certain could appreciate his dedication to his work. Or perhaps the one person he had a psychic link to that wasn't currently asleep.

"Lassie!"

The answer was slow in coming, Lassiter's voice husky. "…Spencer?"

Perhaps the detective had been half asleep after all, though Shawn still didn't sense outright annoyance, which was an improvement over most people he might think to contact at four in the morning.

"I'm going to confront a potential killer. I need backup."

"You need to leave confronting potential killers to the police," Lassiter answered, sounding much more alert now.

"We can meet at the Psych office. I'll bring the donuts." And in the middle of Lassiter's "Damn it Spe…" Shawn hung up, confident that the detective would meet him. He spared half a though to wondering if he'd be able to convince Jules as well before deciding he really didn't want to deal with her sleep deprived morning self.

The world at four in the morning, slowly creeping on towards five, was empty and surreal. The donuts turned out to be delightfully hot and fresh, the first batch of the day. He stopped for breakfast tacos as well, and coffee for Lassiter.

Despite the stops, Shawn still beat the detective to the office. That didn't worry him though; he simply felt a sureness in his bones that Lassiter was on his way. And just as Shawn was unwrapping his taco, the man arrived.

"Shawn!" he began as he marched through the door, annoyance quivering through his colors intermixed with concern and intrigue, "What is this all about?"

"Breakfast?" Shawn offered, motioning his hand over the food and in particular towards the coffee and taco he had had set aside for Lassiter. Slowly, and still scowling at him, Lassiter eased his way into the room before finally accepting the offering.

The meal was strangely comfortable; Lassiter's presence familiar and calm, despite the expectant aura surrounding him. The coffee in particular went a far way towards smoothing out the annoyed wrinkles swirling through his colors.

As they finished off the last donut (Shawn wanted to do rock paper scissors; Lassiter reached over while Shawn was shaking his fist and broke the donut in half), Shawn found himself suddenly reluctant. It had all felt a bit urgent when he woke up, as though somewhere in his brain an alarm clock was ringing shrilly and demanding his attention turned towards Justin Rivers. But now, as the pale morning shadows slowly shrank before the growing light, he didn't really want to continue.

There was a reason he avoided killers. And it wasn't because they were dangerous. Danger meant excitement and adventure, it meant heroics and dramatics and bonding with his friends. It meant stretching his brain in the way it was meant to be stretched.

But the aura of a true murderer…they stank of something inhuman. Or perhaps something so primaly human that it left a stain upon the civilized soul. They all had different flavors; even his limited contact with them as a psychic thus far told him that. They felt sick, or dead, or they burned. The letter of Justin's dad felt black with grief, and that was when Justin was still alive.

"Spencer?" There was definite concern in the awkward way Lassiter was looking at him, as though he were afraid back pats were going to be in order and wasn't sure he was up to it.

"I'll get the folder," Shawn answered, bouncing up quickly and avoiding the edges of Lassiter's concern that flickered towards him as he passed by. He explained the case. He left out the vampires.

Lassiter was furious when he mentioned Lex's attempt at contacting the police. He also agreed that the letter looked sinister. And of course he immediately wanted to start the official process which was exactly the opposite of what Shawn was actually going for.

"Right," Shawn said quickly when he saw Lassiter going for his phone, "I want to go see him."

Lassiter paused in dialing. "You want to go see him. Of course you do. Why wouldn't you want to go and visit a deranged killer."

"I'm sensing some sarcasm here. And that you find my rugged bravery sexy. But mostly sarcasm."

Lassiter flushed red. "I…you…Spencer!"

Lassiter was growing annoyed again, but he wasn't actually angry…oddly panicked if anything…so Shawn didn't worry about it. "Right," he said instead, "So here's my plan. I go in, psychically analyze the man, and if he turns psycho on me I'll call you to rush in and save me."

"Or we can call this in, get the proper warrants, and you can help interrogate him at the precinct."

"That will take too long. Besides, I just want one good look, maybe a handshake. You don't want to waste all those resources on someone who may be innocent do you?"

"That's what those resources are for. And I'm not sending a civilian in, alone, while I hang back as back up."

"But I need a Gus for this mission! Don't be a frowny leprechaun, Lassie! Fine, how is this…you be my temporary Gus and we go in together. Then, if it doesn't check out, you can call in the big guns."

In the end they compromised. Lassiter called it in and re-opened the official investigation, but he let Shawn come with him to psychically analyze the suspect when he went to ask questions.

"And for the record," Lassiter said when they were finally ready to go out the door, "If anyone is Gus on this mission, it's you."

Gus still had his phone turned off. Shawn felt vaguely uneasy about this, but chalked it up to nerves. After all, they were about to confront a man who may or may not have killed his own son.