I'LL BE RIGHT HERE

Chapter Thirty Three

"Get used to disappointment."
(From: 'The Princess Bride'.)

-x0x-

Now…

Shawn was a mess. He was battered and bruised, with blood on his face, sore wrists and an ache in his gut that was fairly alarming. The temporary binding on his fingers had started to unravel – just like me, he thought unhappily – and he was finding it harder than ever to ignore the relentless throbbing. His throat felt like sandpaper and his headache had returned with a vengeance. On top of all that, he was cold and tired and starving hungry.

Priorities, Spencer, he sighed, and forced himself to look on the bright side instead. He wasn't tied up. He hadn't been tossed overboard, though he'd given the bad guys more than enough provocation. Best of all, no one had shot him – and so here he was, still alive, when he ought to be dead as a doornail.

(Hold on. Had he got that right? Could a doornail be dead? And how would you know if it was?)

Never mind.

"Still alive," he insisted, almost as though he couldn't quite believe it. His voice sounded rough and his teeth were chattering, but saying the words out loud did bring him comfort. "Looks like my pineapple smoothie is half-full."

Oh, great. And now he was thirsty as well.

Reaching up with his good hand, he explored his features gently, like a blind man. His fingers came away covered in gore but his nose didn't seem to be broken. More good news. Using his sleeve, he tried to make himself look more presentable. Somehow, the blood seemed far less threatening when it was on his shirt and he could see it. He knew how pathetic he looked, and a tiny, prideful part of him was determined not to seem so weak in front of his enemy.

Channelling this new-found spirit, he managed to lever himself up onto one elbow so that he could take stock of his surroundings. The first thing he saw was Meek, who stared back down at him with loathing.

"I should have shot you back there in your friend's ridiculous playroom. You're an albatross around my neck."

"I get that… a lot," Shawn ground out, with an effort. "The regret; not the albatross thing. That's pretty obscure. 'Ancient Mariner', right?"

Meek's eyes bulged in his chipmunk face. Wisely, Shawn decided not to confess that his source for that particular nugget of wisdom was a recent episode of 'Jeopardy' that he had watched with Juliet. Afterwards, she had shown him the poem. It was long and full of words, so he didn't bother to read the whole thing – but he was intrigued by the image of the bird as she explained it. And the realisation that Meek now saw him as a curse was extremely satisfying.

"You like being a smart-ass, don't you?" Meek grumbled. "I can't imagine why. It's a very unpleasant trait. I suppose it was you who radioed the coastguard? Why set off all those damnable flares if you knew they were coming anyway?"

Shawn gave a non-committal shrug, determined not to cause more trouble for Yoly. Besides, that moment on the deck, beneath the dawn-bright sky, when Marcus had run towards them, screaming about their imminent visitors… that had been utterly glorious. Never again would he sing childish songs about Lassie and Dunlap 'sitting in a tree'. The commander's timing was superb. She had saved his life, for real, in a classic coincidence that only Fate or Shawn's exhausted angel could have engineered.

Shaking with relief, Shawn had cowered in silence at his enemy's feet. What lay in store for him now? Meek was already barking orders left and right, sending his people scurrying. One of them grabbed Dennis and made for the stern. In the end, only Meek remained. He clung to his weapon like Kate held onto Leo, and his knuckles were bone-white. "Come with me."

"Ahhh… I don't really want to."

"Did I say you had a choice?"

A nearby cabin was nondescript enough to qualify as a bolthole. With his arm around Shawn's neck, Meek had dragged him across the deck, putting pressure on his windpipe in a spiteful attempt to maintain some form of control, even as the tower of cards he had built began to flutter all around him. Once they were safely inside, he had closed the door and pulled down the blind. Then, and only then did he allow himself to indulge in a moment of sheer, unadulterated temper, striking Shawn so hard with the butt of his gun that he knocked him out completely.

Time rolled on. Immeasurable moments; lost sensations. A dark and dreamless void that held the pain at bay, for a little while at least.

Now Shawn was awake again, and feeling like Meek's personal punching-bag. He made a vain attempt to marshal his thoughts and form a new plan of his own, but the world was still too fuzzy and his options, in this tiny cabin, were severely limited. Instead, he resorted to listening for footsteps, or familiar voices. Had Dunlap made her way on board? Were his friends really with her?

And how were they going to find him?

Same way they managed to reach you out here in the middle of nowhere, he scolded himself. They're good at what they do. Even without a know-it-all 'psychic' to steer them in the right direction.

The acknowledgement was humbling – but now was not the time for humility. On the contrary, Shawn needed to boost his courage in a big way. Power up, he thought giddily. Boss battle, next level.

Meek was pacing back and forth in the tiny space. Like Shawn, he appeared to be listening intently. It was difficult to say who stiffened first when they overheard an urgent, whispered conversation right outside the cabin.

Shawn's heart began to thump in his chest. The voices were familiar – and that was bad. So very, very bad.

"Let go! I can do this myself. It belongs at the bottom of the ocean, and that's where it's going this time."

"I understand. I really do. Please let me help you."

"No. I don't believe you. Go away, Yolanta."

Shawn started groaning loudly, trying to cover their argument, but it was far too late. Meek had a gleam in his eye that was almost insane, as he opened the door and pointed his gun at Cal and Captain Yoly. This should have been the perfect opportunity for Shawn to demonstrate his wushu expertise or, at the very least, hop on Meek's back and disarm him by slamming his hand into the wall. In his head, it was a brilliant display, and so exciting that it almost took his breath away. In reality, it was all he could do to clamber to his feet and slump against that same wall for support.

"Get in here. Bring the box," Meek demanded, waving his gun for emphasis.

"You won't shoot." With only words available, Shawn tried to call his bluff. "The coastguard'll hear you."

"Maybe I'm willing to take that chance." Meek pulled a silencer out of his pocket and screwed it onto the end of the barrel. "Or maybe I'm a fan of forward planning."

"You planned for this?" Yoly edged into the cabin and tried not to gasp out loud when she saw the state of Shawn. I'm so sorry, she mouthed, and he shook his head stiffly.

Not your fault.

"I cover my bases." Meek closed the door behind his two new prisoners. "Mark of a skilled survivor."

"But did your plans include a psychic with an awesome head of hair? I'm unpredictable, Eddie, and that, right there, is your problem. Hey, Captain," Shawn added, hiding his fear with an overly-cheerful display of nonchalance. "Hello, Cal."

The professor's arms were wrapped around the watertight chest and his face was deathly pale. "I don't think… We can't… This isn't right," he mumbled. Shawn couldn't even begin to imagine what was going on inside his head. Personalities clashing. Worst case scenarios, coming to life before his very eyes.

And it's all because of me, he realised. In calling Yoly out, he had set off a chain of events that led to this very moment. He should have let the lie… well, lie. Whoever said the truth would set you free? "Doesn't matter. They were dead wrong anyway," he grumbled quietly.

Meek was studying them, one by one. "I'm surrounded by deception," he said at last, with a heartless smile that was chilling to see. He pointed his gun at Yoly. "You assured me you knew nothing about Professor Riley's work." The weapon moved on to Shawn. "And you pretended to feel its presence, anywhere but here. Did you think I was fooled by your clumsy attempt? You're an arrogant fraud, 'psychic' man. As for you..." He stared at Cal. "This crazy act of yours is getting tiresome. You took my money, and I demand a return on my investment. The element is mine."

Shawn raised his hand. "Psych Man."

"What?" Distracted, Meek glared at him.

"My alter-ego. Not 'Psychic' Man. Hear the difference, Eddie. One has a definite super hero ring to it. The other… well." He snorted in disdain. "It's clumsy. I know you get where I'm coming from."

"I'm sorry – you think you're a hero?"

"I've solved over seventy crimes," Shawn said with simple candour. "Seventy five and a half, including this one. I'm bringing you down, man. Can't you feel it? Give up, before it's too late. Let's just end this. No one has to die. Not for the sake of some boring old space dirt. What's that even about – I ask you? Seriously," he continued. "I'm asking you. Because I still don't get it."

"Energy is power."

"Sure. That's obvious. But dirt?" Shawn shook his head slowly, determined to spin the conversation out for as long as possible. "Are you freaking kidding me? I mean… okay, I've seen Bill Nye the Science Guy use a potato to power a clock. And they come from the ground so they're covered in mud…"

"Are you really this ignorant?" Meek demanded, narrowing his eyes.

"Think what you like." Shawn pushed himself away from the wall. "I got the better of you."

Forced beyond the failing limit of his self-control, Meek lunged towards his nemesis – but now it was Yoly's turn to intervene. She grabbed his arm and spun him round, then punched him squarely on the jaw before he had time to react. Staggering backwards, Meek clutched his face for a moment. Then he raised his gun and fired.

Yoly fell.

A hole opened up inside Shawn's heart, like a bottomless well, dark and full of despair. "What did you do?"

"Ask yourself that question," Meek said grimly. There was an acrid tang in the air, the lingering scent of propellant. The captain lay in a silent heap. A red rose blossomed on her chest. Shawn scrubbed at his eyes. Not a rose. She was bleeding, and it was all his fault, just as Meek had suggested.

"This is crazy," he moaned. "There was no need to shoot her."

Meek gave a shrug so careless, it was terrifying. "Open the box," he said, turning to Cal. "Or join the captain. It's an ugly carpet. One stain or two – what's the difference?"

Cal shook his head mutely. He hugged himself and rocked from side to side. "My secret," he mumbled, over and over again. "Not yours. My secret…"

"Fine," snapped Meek. "You do it." And he beckoned to Shawn.

"Oh, right. Because bending down is really something I can…. Okay, fine, I'm getting there! Give me a minute…" Out of the corner of his eye, he continued to stare at Yoly. Did he see her eyelids flutter? Was she breathing? He yearned to check on her, but there was an image in his head of three dead bodies lying side by side – Yoly, Cal and Shawn – and disobeying Meek right now was a sure-fire way to turn that vision into a reality.

Clutching his stomach, he lowered himself carefully and knelt in front of the metal container that was the source of all their troubles. There were several latches and he prised them open, feeling the rubber seal relax as he did so.

Cal whimpered. He sounded lost and alone, an alien trapped in a strange and heartless place, with no way home again. "I'm sorry, buddy," Shawn murmured. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"Open it," Meek insisted. Was he actually twitching with anticipation?

Shawn held up a warning finger as though something new had occurred to him. "Ever see 'Raiders'? I'm just saying… This could be a really bad idea. What if your space dust has mutated into something dangerous? Those melting faces scared the Howdy Doody out of me – you know, when I was a kid," he bluffed. "Had to sleep with my light on for a month."

Meek ignored him. Crouching down, he lifted the lid. All three men stared at the contents… or rather, Meek and Cal did. Shawn screwed his eyes shut and waited for a beat or two. He couldn't help himself. Childhood terrors never really went away, even when you were old enough to recognise the animated clay for what it was. When nobody burst out screaming, and he finally plucked up the courage to take a look inside the chest that wasn't an Ark, the underwhelming result was almost comical.

"Like I said," he told Meek. "Space dirt. And a load of old notebooks. That's what you were expecting, right?"

The test tubes, nestling in a block of foam padding, were filled with tiny grains of Nothing Much. Was this the precious Watchamacallit? Shawn watched as Meek picked up one of the books and began to leaf through it urgently. Cal's face was wretched enough – but Meek was beginning to look even paler.

"Is this another deception?" he growled. "This chicken-scratch? It's meaningless." He snatched up a second book. Moments later, he threw it at Cal in disgust.

Taking full advantage of the unexpected twist, Shawn raised a finger to his temple. "Wait… the spirits are telling me this isn't quite the breakthrough you were hoping for… So much for planning ahead." He lowered his voice, as they both stared at Cal. "'A Beautiful Mind'. Watch the movie; I'm telling you. Things aren't always what they seem to be. But I guess you know that now. Sorry, Eddie. Got to be a disappointing day for you, right? All your evil scheming gone to waste. How does that feel, exactly?"

Meek turned the chest over, spilling its contents. Cal sank to his knees at once and started to sweep the notebooks into his arms, with feverish haste and a great deal of muttering.

Shawn pushed upwards and backed away. Something about the look on Meek's face told him that things were about to get ugly. He glanced down at Yoly. No. Uglier…

"You want a masterclass in disappointment?" Meek rose to his feet. "Very well. It's about time you listened to me for a change." Levelling his gun at Shawn, he started to walk forwards slowly. "Picture this, psychic. You're trapped on a ship, with a man who hates you." Circling round, he opened the door and waved Shawn through. "Somehow, you manage to call for help. But when it arrives…" He grabbed Shawn's collar with his free hand and hauled him to the nearby rail. "When the nightmare is almost over…" Moving his hand to Shawn's head, he forced him to stare down at the greedy, seething waves. Then he leaned in close. "You fail," he whispered.

"No!" cried Shawn, as he felt Meek lift him. Flinging both arms around the rail, he wove his fingers together, ignoring the excruciating pain, and then went boneless in an attempt to weigh himself down. Surely his signature move would be enough to save him? Surely this wasn't the end after all?

Meek gave a wild laugh.

"You fail," he repeated, breaking Shawn's grip and heaving him over the edge, with an inhuman strength born of madness and ice-cold fury.

-x0x-

A/N: *Smuffly runs and hides…*

More soon! I promise.

SugarAndIce, thank you so much for your guest review! I'm glad you're loving the story and I hope the rest of it is equally satisfying.

I'm also grateful to everyone who is reading along, and those who have followed/favourited or left reviews, especially citylily, Gingeraffaelene and shuuuliet, who have faithfully commented on every chapter so far!