Let's face it, they've never been mine and they never will be, lol
Oh, and to the Guest reviewer for the last chapter, your comment made me smile, because though I have edited these chapters more than 20 times, it's interesting to see how some typos still manage to slip through. :)
Chapter 20: Pissed Off Friends and Convoluted Plan don't Even BEGIN to Explain it...
Gus couldn't believe that eight seemingly simple words had the power to cause his blood pressure to skyrocket. No one by that name has been admitted, Gus mused irately as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. No. One. By. That. Name. Has. BEEN. ADMITTED...he repeated silently, the phrase morphing into a mantra as Gus attempted to reason through exactly what could have delayed his best friend's ambulance.
Ignoring the plethora of images that ran rampant in his imagination, the pharmaceutical salesman fidgeted in his seat, resisting the urge to get out of the Blueberry and pace, instead settling for keeping his hands busy checking his phone, though he was well aware he hadn't missed any calls since leaving base camp.
Pure irritation carried him through the first fifteen minutes of waiting, before it gradually ebbed only to be replaced by an all too familiar feeling of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. Scanning the parking lot, Gus tried to convince himself that there were any number of innocuous reasons that could have delayed the ambulance. But there is at least one extremely nocuous one...his inner voice insisted, needlessly reminding him that only one of the thugs had been apprehended on the mountain.
Unable to simply sit by without knowing what was going on a moment longer, Gus pulled out his cell phone to get some answers, only to pocket it once again as he spotted Detective Lassiter's Fusion pulling into the parking lot. Now I'm going to get to the bottom of this, he reasoned, frowning in worry when he noticed the absence of both the ambulance and Mr. Spencer's Ford F250. This cannot be good...
Quickly climbing out of the Echo, Gus raced across the three rows of pavement, coming to an abrupt halt within three feet of where the blue car had stopped, immediately drawing the attention of the head detective. One glimpse of the livid man's face was all it took for the pharmaceutical salesman to regret his impulse. What in the world has Shawn done now?! Gus asked himself, wondering if all of this could have been avoided if Shawn had succeeded in talking him into whatever crazy scheme he had cooked up, as Lassiter got out of the Fusion with chilling purpose.
"Dammit, Guster!" Lassiter fumed, blue eyes frigid as they bore down into the other man's, clearly looking for a confrontation, "What in the hell is Spencer up to NOW!" The lanky man's outburst came eerily close to the pharmaceutical's silent inquiry from a moment prior, causing him to blink a few time before focusing on the man's body language. Because, though the words were phrased in the form of a question, the man's tone, coupled with the pulsating vein in his forehead, implied the statement was anything but, and Gus, flinching involuntarily as the head detective advanced, felt his overwhelming anxiety morph into something resembling uncontrollable anger.
"The fuck if I know," Gus shot back in an affronted tone, secretly reveling in the sudden silence from the head detective, whose only reaction was a shocked eyebrow raise. "I may be his best friend, but I sure as hell," he continued, not backing down as he mirrored the other man's tone, "Can't read his mind!" Watching as Juliet scrambled out of the Ford in hopes of defusing the situation, Gus took a calming breath before continuing, "When I left camp, everything was fine...so maybe if you tell me what exactly happened, I might be able to help." Anger still simmering, though Gus had no clue if it was directed at Lassiter, his best friend, the situation, or himself, he went on, "Although, judging from your appearance, I'm going to wager a guess that Shawn did something extraordinarily stupid..." Even for him, he added silently, not willing to give the head detective any more ammo against Shawn, At least until I figure out what hair brained stunt he's pulled this time.
"After Shawn gave his statement to Officer Newton," Juliet explained wearily, clearly not thrilled with whatever her boyfriend had done, "He apparently climbed off the stretcher and disappeared before the EMTs returned." Seeing the question form on the pharmaceutical salesman's lips, Juliet continued before he could ask. "As far as we know, it has nothing to do with the suspect that's still at large, and there didn't seem to be any foul play," Gus breathed a small sigh of relief at the junior detective's statement, but immediately knew, from the demeanor of the lanky detective, there had to be more to the story than Shawn simply playing Houdini, as damning as that fact was, and Juliet's next words confirmed his suspicion. "We were following Henry, who was certain Shawn was headed for his house, when we narrowly avoided an accident with an SUV." Gus listened, eyes widening slightly, "We ended up in a car chase with two armed suspects that lasted until their vehicle was disabled when one of the pursuing officers shot out the front tire, but one of them managed to jump from the moving car and flee..." Juliet paused for a moment, shooting a look at her partner before continuing, "We had just finished arresting the driver and set up a perimeter when Carlton's phone rang, and the next thing I know he dropped the phone, whipped around, and fired his Glock, disarming the second suspect. Now," she remarked, turning toward Lassiter determined to get some answers of her own, "I know Shawn was on the other end of that call, what I am unsure of is what he said to you to make you react that fast without questioning him." She finished with a steely look.
"He told me there was a guy with a gun coming up behind us!" Carlton answered, exasperated, telling Gus that this wasn't the first time the blonde had tried to pry the information out of the lanky man. "And, he called me by my first name," he continued grudgingly, in a much more subdued voice, causing sudden understanding to click in Juliet's mind. Carlton's actions suddenly make so much more sense, because somehow Shawn knew just the approach to take to shake him up enough to listen to him…
Juliet glanced at Gus to see if the pharmaceutical salesman had caught the admission, only to sigh in exasperation when she noted both men were still at odds in the parking lot. Shaking her head, she decided it was time to step in on Carlton's behalf, because, interesting as the confrontation had become, it wasn't helping them find Shawn, Henry, or the other suspect that was still at large. Juliet approached the two men, dreading the inevitable blow up that would ensue once both of the Spencer men had arrived at the hospital.
Shawn, whatever was so important that you felt you had to go rogue had better be worth it, she reasoned, not entirely sure what she would do when he resurfaced if the reason wasn't life or death…
Shawn jerked awake with a gasp, running his right hand over his eyes as he tried to figure out what in the world had just happened. The last thing Shawn recalled was talking to his father on the porch and feeling dizzy, but judging by the plush surface he was currently resting on, his father must have brought him into the house and laid him on the couch. His eyes flew open at the realization that his dad, who was nowhere in sight, was no doubt in the kitchen about to destroy any hope of getting to the painting before Rye, by doing nothing more than dialing three numbers. Three extremely crucial numbers that, while seemingly so small on their own, when used together would bring not only an ambulance but also the vast majority of the Santa Barbara Police Department to his father's house at breakneck speed. Especially after the events of the last few days, Shawn griped as he leapt off the couch in a sudden spurt of energy, slamming his knee into the corner of the coffee table in his haste as he staggered toward his father, the terrible feeling of being too late that had been plaguing him the last few days back with a vengeance.
It seemed to take an eternity to cross the fifteen feet that separated the injured man from the house's kitchen, but seeing his father standing in the middle of the room, phone in hand, confirmed his suspicion with chilling finality. Unless I can do something about it in the next three seconds, Shawn realized as he stumbled the final ten steps, running full force into the older man and throwing Henry off balance, knocking the phone out of his hand and causing it to skitter across the table before landing on the floor with a thud. The liaison muttered a few choice words while he turned, bumping into Shawn and causing him to teeter precariously on his feet. Instinctively, Henry reached out and took hold of his son's right elbow, steadying Shawn as he leaned back against the table.
"Damn it, kid..." Henry began only to trail off as he noted the distinct pallor of Shawn's skin, quickly guiding his son to the nearest kitchen chair. "Now that you are no longer in danger of falling over and cracking your head open in my kitchen, it's time for you to explain. You can start with why you left the ambulance, hitched a ride with one of the most annoying men I have ever had the misfortune to meet, and, probably most importantly, why you are here instead of at the hospital," he said in his best 'tell me what I want to know right now' tone, getting no reaction beyond a sigh from the exhausted man slumped backward in his chair. "What is going on?!" Henry exclaimed, the overwhelming frustration in his voice eliciting a head raise from his son, but what he saw in Shawn's eyes forced the liaison to fight the urge to take a step back.
Beneath the steely resolve and determination that were, as far as Henry could see, all that kept Shawn going at this point, was a glimpse of desperation so intense it chilled the liaison clear to his bones. Henry studied the younger man for a few moments, searching his memories of the last few days for any clues as to what exactly could have put that look in his son's eyes. Eventually he had to admit that, even under the seemingly endless covering of bruises, muck, and cuts, plus the extra hurdle of being deprived of a decent amount of food, sleep, or water for the past two days, Henry could still plainly read in Shawn's body language that his son knew everything was about as far from being OK as possible. Though, he reasoned silently, until Shawn actually tells me what the hell is going on, there isn't a whole hell of a lot that I can do.
"It's only a matter of time before he figures it out," Shawn murmured so quietly that Henry almost convinced himself he had imagined it until his son spoke again, a little bit louder. "He's going to figure it out, and when he does...He's going to stop at nothing to get it back," Shawn stated tiredly, a long sigh escaping him as his father stared on in confusion.
Well, that didn't tell me anything, Henry grumbled silently, I still have no idea what it is...and who the Hell is 'he'? Repressing the urge to badger his wounded son in an attempt to get any useful information out of him, Henry took a deep breath as he paced, determined to let Shawn rest a moment before getting to the bottom of this mess. He had just about given up on Shawn continuing when his son's softly spoken comment caused his eyes to widen in shock.
"It's here, and that means he'll come to take it. By any means necessary, and if you were here," Shawn paused a moment, exhausted, "Then he'd kill you...And that's why I'm here and not at the hospital..." he finished in a single breath, dropping his head onto the table.
Henry blinked a few times as he processed what his son had just told him, wondering why it seemed to take such extreme fatigue for Shawn's true feelings to emerge, before giving himself a mental shake and sitting down in the chair next to the young man. "Shawn," he began, placing a hand on Shawn's shoulder, "You're here now, so I need you to tell me who is coming," Henry remarked focusing on getting whatever details he could about the 'who,' for the time being, and deciding to leave the 'what' for next.
"Rye," his son answered, without lifting his head off the table, before correctly assuming that his father had no idea who 'Rye' was as he elaborated, "The hulk that you, Lassie, and Buzz chased around the mountain before he disappeared...And, before you ask," Shawn continued as Henry opened his mouth, "It's a painting. A seemingly simple painting that I have stored with the rest of my things in the garage." He lifted his head off the table, carefully moving it from side to side. "For some reason the two men who destroyed my apartment and kidnapped me are looking for it. And, if I'm right, they've been after it for some time," And killed at least one person in pursuit of it, Shawn remarked, keeping the last bit to himself as he slowly got to his feet, knowing if he passed out again, nothing would stop his father from calling that ambulance in a heartbeat. "So, the only choice we have is to find the painting before he does," the young man finished as he reached the garage door, his hand on the knob as he glanced back toward his father, who was still sitting at the table.
"Just a minute Shawn," Henry objected, making no move to leave his chair, "What makes you think they have been looking for this painting for a while?"
"Well, Dad," Shawn countered, leaning against the door as he debated how much to reveal before Chief Vick had a chance to finish her search, finally settling on leaving out his suspicions about Roger's death. "It was given to me back in 2005, when I was working in Tehachapi. Somehow it has stayed with me, and I honestly hadn't given it a second thought until I heard those two arguing about a painting. When I realized what painting the two thugs were looking for, I knew I had to ask the chief to check on the man who I got it from, because all I can figure is those two used him to find me." Shawn explained wearily, beginning to wonder if he was going to have to search the garage on his own, when his father finally stood up and met him at the door.
"OK, Shawn," Henry said with a stern look, gesturing for his son to move forward and out of the path of the door. "The sooner we get out there and start looking, the sooner we find the painting and end this nightmare so we can get you to the hospital," he finished, ignoring the look Shawn directed his way, as he opened the door and ushered his son into the garage.
Guess I had more stuff in here than I thought, Shawn silently mused as he spied the four substantial stacks of boxes shoved up against the far wall. No wonder Dad was threatening to throw the lot of it out...Knowing his recent burst of energy wasn't going to last long, Shawn quickly scanned the area surrounding the boxes, trying to pinpoint anywhere large enough to potentially conceal the painting, jumping slightly when his father spoke up beside him.
"You at least going to clue me in on what this painting looks like, kid?" He asked as he advanced on the first stack of boxes, turning sharply toward his son when his inquiry was met with silence. One hurried glance at Shawn's pale countenance had the liaison guiding his son over to nearby box, knees giving out as he landed in a sitting position on the heavy cardboard. Placing a hand on his son shoulder, Henry ordered in a no nonsense tone, "Shawn, you will not move from this spot until I find the painting," before beginning his search. How many paintings can the kid honestly have in here anyway? He asked himself irritably.
None apparently, Henry grumbled when twenty minutes, and five boxes later, he was no closer to finding anything resembling wall art. This would be so much less of a hassle if Shawn were able to help, he admitted as he finished searching the last box big enough to hold a substantial frame. He moved on to the last stack in the corner, a few items tucked in between the boxes and the wall catching his eye.
The first two frames contained posters pertaining to, what he could only assume were, obscure 80's movies, so Henry slid them off to the side to study the last two items. One was a horrendous print that was probably supposed to represent an abstract portrayal of some usually recognizable object in sloppy globs of red, yellow and green. The other was obviously meant to be a landscape, the scene mostly recognizable even with its amateurish techniques. Neither one of these seem to match Shawn's aesthetic, Henry reasoned as he studied both items for a few moments before finally deciding the landscape was the more likely of the two for someone to be after, since the other was a cheaply done canvas. Henry had a sudden desire to get the garishly painted colors out of his sight, grabbing the frame as Shawn piped up.
"That's it!" Shawn exclaimed, startling his father when he was about to toss the ghastly abstract aside.
The elder Spencer couldn't believe that anyone could have any sort of interest in this horrid excuse for a decoration. "Shawn," Henry insisted, aghast, "This isn't a painting, it's a flea market reject."
"Well, reject or not, it's what those guys were looking for...What Rye is still hell bent on obtaining by any means necessary," the younger man paused for a moment from his resting place on the box before continuing. "So, now that we physically have the painting, I think it's time to head for the hospital."
Henry knew how much Shawn loathed even the mention of a hospital, so he could only imagine just how much of a toll the last three days had to have taken on his son for him to hint at, let alone openly admit, wanting one. Wasting no time, Henry helped Shawn rise from the box before ushering him out of the garage and back through the kitchen, painting in hand. The liaison paused at the kitchen window, noting the threatening grey clouds that had recently formed with a frown as he scanned for anything out of the ordinary outside, opening the door when nothing struck him as odd. Turning back toward Shawn to ensure he was still upright and mobile, he crossed the porch first, approaching the truck as he waited for his son to close the distance.
Henry, deciding that now was as good as any time to get the ugly canvas out of his sight, went to toss it in the back of the truck, when Shawn put his uninjured hand on his arm, stopping him. "Now what the hell do you think you're doing, Shawn?"
"I'm not letting this thing out of my sight until I figure out why those two are willing to kill for it. It just doesn't add up, Dad. I mean, look at it," Shawn insisted, as if Henry could ever forget the disaster in his hand, "There has to be something else going on." Their conversation was interrupted by a clap of thunder, warning them to get into the truck post haste. Henry reached past his son to open the door, allowing Shawn to climb into the passenger seat and get settled, before putting the painting in front of him at an angle and making sure he didn't need help with his seat belt. Henry shut the door as the first raindrops started to fall, hurrying around to the driver's side and getting in the truck as the light shower morphed into a torrential downpour worthy of The Day After Tomorrow.
Cursing softly while he started the truck, he let the defroster run for a few minutes before hitting the windshield wipers as he slowly backed out of the driveway. As he drove, Henry divided his attention between his mirrors and his wounded son in the seat next to him, blinking when he noticed a dark colored SUV that seemed to maintain a constant two car distance behind them. Changing lanes and turning onto a side street to test his suspicion, Henry wasn't surprised when the larger vehicle mimicked his actions.
From his seat next to his father, Shawn, who had been leaning back in his seat until Henry had made the impromptu turn muttered, "It's him," as the vehicle began to close in at an alarming rate of speed.
"Hold on!" Henry yelled a split second before the black Dodge Durango rammed the truck's back bumper, causing it to skid dangerously until the liaison was finally able to bring it back under control on the slick street. The utility vehicle accelerated once again, clipping the yellow Ford on the rear passenger side and sending it into oncoming traffic, narrowly avoiding a collision before leaving the road and rolling down the incline.
Pushing the brake pedal to the floor in an attempt to lessen the inevitable impact, Henry glanced at Shawn as the Ford jerked to a stop out of sight of the road above, slamming both occupants forward. Shawn braced himself for impact, silently cursing the fact that the old truck wasn't equipped with airbags, as he was thrown toward the dashboard, the sickening sound of bones crunching carrying through the small cab before everything went black.
Reviews are like accidentally shining a really bright flashlight in your eyes while wrapping your Christmas presents….and then having your nephew repeatedly shine that same light in your eyes over and over and over again once you finally give it to him…