I'LL BE RIGHT HERE

Chapter Thirty Seven

"Some of us are cursed with memories like flypaper."
(From: 'The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes'.)

-x0x-

Now…

Even after five years of impressive fakery, Shawn still found it hard to keep his psychic story straight sometimes. He half-suspected Chief Vick knew his secret – had known it all along, in fact – but ever since she hired him, there had been a kind of unspoken pact between them never to broach the subject again. There were dragons on the other side of that particular bridge and Shawn, for one, wasn't ready to cross it, especially here and now. And so, for the sake of appearances, he was forced to reconfigure the telling of his adventure aboard the Copernicus; a difficult task for a weary man who had just been fished from the ocean. His thoughts were bouncing all over the place and it was hard enough to track them down, never mind shaping them into a narrative. Gotta catch 'em all, he giggled to himself, earning a strange look from Gus.

Remembering wasn't the problem, of course… or maybe it was, he realised. Every detail was stored in his crazy, retentive brain if he chose to look for it, but some were so bright that they burned like a flame. And I'm the moth, Shawn sighed. He had to look. He couldn't turn away. Still, that didn't mean he wanted to talk about them. As he stumbled through his story, he tried not to show too much emotion or linger on the things that mattered to him most; those moments of human connection or pain that were part of him now. Like the broken dam in 'Superman', he knew the raging flood would overwhelm him.

If his audience noticed the change in his style – the lack of flamboyance or cheeky digressions – they refrained from mentioning it, following closely until he reached the moment he was dreading most of all…

"I'm sorry – he shot her?" said Vick.

"Um… yes," Shawn muttered. So many words… there were so many words in the world and all he could say was 'um' and 'yes'? The picture in his head was painfully clear. Shawn could have listed every single insignificant thing about the cabin in that instant. Yet the only things he cared about were the blood on Yoly's chest and the fact that it was his fault.

He shivered and clung to the shiny blanket. Sitting up had been a big mistake, apparently. There was an ache in his gut that simply wouldn't go away – but the ache in his heart was worse. Guilt took hold of him; twisting; clenching…

"I think… I think I pushed Meek too far."

"Oh, Shawn." He had never heard Vick sound so gentle. Unable to look her in the eyes, he turned to his father instead.

"I messed up, right? You always said I was bound to, eventually. But it wasn't me that paid the price." Shawn swallowed clumsily. "Dad. How do I tell Maya?"

Henry was being unusually quiet. In fact, he had barely spoken since the rescue. Shawn recognised the signs. Like his son, he was still trying to get his head around what had just happened. He sat in a heap of blankets with his lips tightly pursed and a deep, inscrutable look on his face – until Shawn appealed to him directly.

"I wasn't there," he answered gruffly, and Shawn gave a sigh. Classic Henry. "But I know you well enough to read between the lines of your story. There are things you're leaving out."

Oh, wonderful. "Please, Dad. You don't have to…"

Henry shook his head – and suddenly, Shawn understood that his father wasn't about to give the game away in front of Vick, accidentally or otherwise. In an awkward but endearing fashion, he was attempting to reassure his son. "I can only imagine how hard it must be to describe what you went through. And it'll take time to process everything. But don't forget this. You and Dennis volunteered to go with Meek, in order to help a complete stranger. We all saw it, Shawn. I don't call that 'messing up' – do you? Then you tried to help the captain and her daughter, too. Protect and serve…" He held Shawn's gaze with his own, compelling him to listen. "The person to blame here is Edgar Meek, not you. If the girl is half as sharp as you say she is, she'll understand, and remember her mother's bravery with pride."

"She's not dead."

"Excuse me?"

"Captain Yoly. I mean… I mean, she wasn't when Meek… when I left her. Dad! We have to tell Lassie and Jules. They can save her!" The words tumbled out of Shawn's mouth as he shook off his stupor. He rose to his feet, pushing against the firm hands of Gus and the captain.

"Not you," said Vick, who knew him all too well.

Shawn pulled away… and kept on moving. His arms were trapped inside his burrito-wrap and he couldn't stop himself. The deck rose to meet him as he tipped right over and landed on something that squeaked. Looking up at the blue sky, he groaned in confusion. "Why is the world upside down?"

The Squeaker was wriggling now. "Shawn, will you get off me?"

"Gus?"

They thrashed about, trying to untangle themselves, until Henry stepped in and dragged Shawn back to his feet again. His head was spinning and, when he stared down at Gus, he was startled to see two of him. "Buddy! It's you… and you." He winced. "Am I in the Overlook…?"

"Just how hard did that man hit you?" Henry demanded, frowning in concern.

"Hard," said Shawn, with feeling. "At least… I think he did. I don't remember the blow…" He pressed a hand to the back of his head and winced. "Cool bump, though. Mountain-esque. Impressive." Wide-eyed, he blinked at them. "What were we talking about?"

"Mr. Spencer," said Chief Vick, "lie down."

"Yes, ma'am." He grinned at her look of annoyance, and she raised an eyebrow.

"I'm pretty certain I told you never to call me that again."

Shawn gave a nonchalant shrug. "Can't remember," he fibbed, oozing charm. "I must have a mild concussion."

"That isn't a free pass," she warned him succinctly, but there was a smile on her lips as she turned away. "Mr. Guster, Henry - he's all yours. Good luck. I'm going to call Barbara and tell her about the captain. Then I'll track down a medevac chopper." She paused, and pretended to consider. "With room for two – so your patient had better behave himself from now on."

Thank you. I will, Shawn mouthed, hoping she could tell that he was serious this time. He studied her briefly, admiring her confident walk, even here on the rolling deck, as she approached the pilot and prepared to do battle for control of the radio.

When he turned back, Gus – the one and only Gus – was staring at him again.

"What about the Wellsium?"

"The What Now?" he said lightly. Joking with his friends had been a tonic and he didn't want the buzz to fade.

"You know what I mean, Shawn."

"Closure. Got it. But really, there isn't much more to tell. I opened the box. Meek wasn't impressed with the contents. Turns out, he doesn't deal well with frustration. You saw his version of therapy. Long drop. Short swim. End of story."

Gus looked chastened. "Fine. I'm sorry – I get it. You don't want to talk about it anymore. But you can't just sit and mope till your girlfriend gets here, so let's talk about something else. I'll even let you pick the topic. I don't care."

The offer was deliberately selfless, and intended to provoke him. Shawn considered the bait with interest. All he really wanted to do was sleep, but if his many years of 'research' watching hospital dramas had taught him anything at all, it was that sleep and a bump on the head were a bad combination for… okay, some reason he didn't quite follow.

"Fair's fair," he relented. "Your turn. I want to hear the tale of how you found me. Without all the nausea, of course, because there's definitely such a thing as too much information…"