Hello everyone! So this is a repost from a work I first published at AO3! Since I got a lot of good responses I decided to post it here too! I'll attach my original notes here as well! This will be four-chaps length and I hope you enjoy this little journey I created!
Hello everyone!
This is my first fanfiction for the Psych fandom. I love this show so much and after watching it so many times I decided to share my own view of it :) I also love Hitchcock's movies so I thought, why not put them together on a story?
I hope you all enjoy it and, please, if you feel like, leave a comment. I'm gonna love reading your opinion!
For clarification, this story is set post-ep 5x09 but considering that ep 4x16 never happened so Jules was never kidnapped by Mr. Yin and Abigail never came back.
Disclaim: I own nothing!
Rear Window
Shawn blinked a few times, his vision still black and blurred, the bitter and metallic taste in his mouth making it hard to swallow. He could feel pain but couldn't pinpoint the exact location. His mind drifting between reality and a fuzzy frightening dimension.
What had happened?
With a deep breath, he tried to put his thoughts in order, attempting to retrace the last moments he remembered. Unsuccessfully, he sighed, fear overcoming his heart as his mind, often so powerful and fast, was now confused with incoherent scenes.
He tried to move, only to find it impossible as his hands were restrained at the chair's restarms and his feet at the chair's legs. That realization awoke him a bit, causing him to regain more consciousness. Blinking harder, Shawn cleared his vision, the throbbing pain in his head making concentration a difficult job. A dim light rested on his face, dragging his attention towards a rusty window.
Shawn tried to move again, but the metal restraints, that for a second he confused with silver tape, weren't easy to break free of. He closed his eyes again, this time trying his best to retrace his steps.
He was back at his apartment. Alone. Someone had called him...Who? Maybe…. His sneakers… He wasn't wearing them when...
A phone call woke him up.
That call...There was an urge in it, he could remember that.
Who called?
The taste in his mouth… Bitter…. Just like… Poison.
He was poisoned.
Shawn opened his eyes again, this time more focused, more lucid. He glanced at the window facing an old building with multiple empty apartments, all windows covered with different types of curtains.
Why was he there?
Changing his vision, he inspected the place he was confined. A bedroom. A small bed with white sheets, glowing under the moonlight. Moonlight. It was still night. The yellow curtains of his window were pulled up, and from his position, Shawn could see the entire space outside, the small garden below, with growing red and yellow flowers, the fire escapes, the street a few feet away, an old green car parked just out front. He was on the second floor.
That was so familiar, almost like he had seen it all before. That same building, those curtains… Almost like a dejá vú.
Looking down at himself he realized he still was in his pajamas, his cold feet stating him he was without any footwear. That's why he remembered his sneakers.
But who had called?
Each movement was painful, as if he was punched all over his body and then run over by a trunk. Probably, that was a side effect of the poisoning. The position he was tied was extremely uncomfortable, especially the thin seat his body was rested against. Shawn realized, seconds later, that he was tied in a wheelchair.
Wheelchair...
So familiar. He knew that.
Who called? Why was he there?
The previous panic in his heart increased as Shawn couldn't put the pieces together. That never happens. There's no puzzle he can't solve. What happened? Why was he there?
Struggling to set himself free, he tried to push his body out of the chair, even knowing it would be impossible. The pain was excruciating, and once more he had to close his eyes, clenching his teeth, waiting for the hurtful wave to pass.
Going against all his father's advice, he screamed.
"HELLO! WHO IS THERE? WHAT DO YOU WANT?"
No response came and Shawn gave up on his battle to free himself. He had to calm down, to think straight, to put the puzzle together. With deep breaths he controlled his heartbeat, clearing his mind in order to piece up all the contents he had seen to form a concise clue.
Observing the room once again, he realized a 60's camera resting at the nightstand, accompanied by binoculars.
The camera…
His eyes widened as he finally put all together.
Rear Window.
Hitchcock.
He was in a Hitchcock movie.
A dry and emotionless laugh escaped from his lips.
Shawn couldn't believe it.
He must be dreaming, that wasn't true.
Tightening his eyes, he tried to vanish with the realization, trying to wake himself up from that nightmare.
It wasn't real.
It couldn't be.
For the last two weeks, the SBPD had been tracking down a murderer, a mystery shadow who used Alfred Hitchcock's canon to choose and kill his victims. Different from other serial killers, this one, entitled Sixty as his signatures on the letters he sent to the Department indicated, had very elaborate and complex assassinations, with no patterns on the victims but all of them killed under the premise of Hitchcock's movies.
He remembered Chief Vick's worried eyes, her frustration at each coming letter, and the fact that none of them could prevent Sixty's next move, even knowing his theme. It was becoming hard for Shawn to maintain his façade as a psychic when he couldn't predict the murder's steps nor how he would attack. The five bodies, being so apart in shape, age, and sex, didn't allow any solid conclusions, and all evidence was circumstantial. The letters, written in a typewriter, only compliments to the Chief, sadic congratulations to the good job the Department was doing. Safe to say that the Superior had Gus supplying her with sleeping pills and her cup of coffee was never empty.
Often Shawn would look through her glass doors, capturing her with her head buried in her hands, the stress visible and the poor slept nights denounced by the purple bags under her eyes. That case was consuming her, just like it was consuming Shawn. Sure he wasn't as preoccupied as her, but he had his fair share on that matter, as every time he looked at the people he cared about, at their faces, his blood curdled in fright.
He couldn't let them get hurt.
Who called?
Once again Shawn screamed.
HEY! HEY! WHERE AM I? HEY!
Suddenly his restrainers opened, releasing him. Shawn stretched his limbs, trying to regain his circulation, and put himself up. His legs were a bit numb and he stumbled a few steps before being able to walk properly. He ran to the grey front door, his hand on the knob, pulling and pushing, trying to open it. Of course, it was locked. He slammed the wooden piece a few times before throwing his body against it. None of the attempts were successful and he ended only more sore than before.
HEY! LET ME OUT! WHAT DO YOU WANT?
He turned, scanning the room, looking for clues, scapes, lights, trails, anything.
The moonlight was still illuminating the small space, coating it all with a silver glow, projecting frightening shadows on the walls. The air inside thickening at each step Shawn would give, his mind still incapable to recall all the details or to form any conclusions. He slammed the walls, and although he realized they were hollow, like the ones used on scenarios of movies and theaters, they were firmly constructed. The windows were composed of bulletproof glass, Shawn could tell by the slight difference at his reflection projected on it.
He approached the nightstand, picking the camera in his hands. He checked it, looking for clues but none appeared. He then moved to the binoculars. Still not a thing.
Who called?
A sharp pain crossed Shawn's head, making him stop at his feet, grabbing the edge of the bed, supporting his weight as his legs failed in doing so. The poison was still in his system, scrambling his mind and perception. A few breaths later he straightened himself up, confident enough that his feet could drag him around. He noticed another door, at the left corner. Opening it he found it to be a closet with a single hanger. There, a fine suit and a blue tie. A note attached to it.
Hello Mr. Spencer,
Finally, I had the pleasure to make your acquaintance.
The night it's just beginning and as my guest I could only offer you a fine dinner.
But, naturally, pajamas aren't the most desirable dressing code to a pleasant meal.
Care to change and join me on this memorable night.
Sixty
Shawn felt his stomach drop at his toes, another sharp pain waved through his head. His trembly hands mashed the paper, throwing it to the side. He reached for the suit, finding it to be his exact size. Whoever this guy was, he had been close, observing him, studying him.
Who called?
It was a fine suit, he could feel the soft fabric between his fingers and, if on other occasions, he would brag about how insanely handsome he would look on that piece, "sizzling" to be more precise.
Now, it only reminded him of funerals.
Reluctant at first, to follow the rules of his own kidnapper, but seeing no other way around, Shawn stripped from his pajamas and suited up. He found the matching shoes hidden under the bed, and if there was anything positive in that situation was that his feet were now warm.
The wind outside was hissing, creeping under the crevice of the door, the branches from a nearby tree hitting one of the panels of the window, causing a terrifying noise to echo on that dead silent apartment.
Now fully dressed Shawn returned to the wheelchair, examining it, searching for buttons, wires that may have been attached to it, and trying to understand the mechanisms behind the way he was released from his trap.
Who called?
Inside a pocket hidden under the chair, Shawn found another note.
Really good,
I see the suit fits you perfectly.
Now it is time for a proper dinner.
But while it's being prepared, please, enjoy the view.
Shawn dropped the paper, reaching for the binoculars as he rushed to the window. The curtains from the other apartments, previously closed, were now open and, one by one, the lights were turned on. At the instant sight, Shawn's stomach revolved, his head hammering against his skull, his legs giving up, his knees hitting the floor beneath him.
There they all were.
Trapped, cloistered in those tiny rooms, so meticulously similar to Hitchcock's picture.
On the top floor was his father, in a white undershirt and cream pants, holding a briefcase. In the next apartment was Lassiter, sat down by the piano, his hands on the keys but no sound coming out of them. On the ground floor, Gus was sat by a table set for two, candles lit up and empty plates in front of him. At the right corner was Chief Vick, dressed in a pink satin dress, a glass in her hands.
Their emotionless faces scared Shawn even more. Like dead living bodies, they stayed in their positions, no muscle moved, hollow eyes stiffened small movements.
His blood turned into ice, his hands closed in fists, knuckles white, his mouth pressed in a thin line, his eyes greener than ever. He was scared, frightened but even more, he was furious. Shawn was ready to take down that killer with his bare hands. One thing was to mess with him, another was to mess with the people he cared about.
The people he loved.
Love.
Something was off.
Where was Juliet?
Who called?
Juliet!
Shawn's heart stopped, no blood running, no one outside, silence filling his entire being.
"Shawn? Hello?"
"Ju...Jules? Wha...Are you okay? What time is it?"
"Shawn! I'm fine! I…"
He could hear the fear in her voice, the quivering in her words.
"Jules, what's wrong? Tell me! Now!"
"Shawn, it's Sixty. The Chief received another letter."
Her deep breaths could be heard through the phone and he could swear he heard her accelerated heartbeats.
"Juliet!"
"Shawn, I think you are in danger. Please, stay where you are, we're gonna come pick you."
"Hey...hey! Jules! I'm fine. I'm in my apartment. Everything is okay."
"But…"
"Hey! Don't worry, nothing is gon…"
He felt the sharp pain in his neck, the needle perforating his skin. He dropped on the floor, his vision already blackening. His hearing was the last thing to vanish. Through his phone, he could hear her scream his name, desperation in her voice, more painful than anything he has ever felt.
"SHAWN? SHAWN! PLEASE!"
He remembered listening to a second voice, her despair becoming pure fear before the phone went dead and his last strand of consciousness ripped.
Pure anger came boiling from inside his chest, causing Shawn to regain his strength. He rushed to the door, furious punches hitting it, making his hands hurt, but for him painless in comparison to the killing fear inside his heart.
Anyone but Juliet.
Not Juliet. Not his Jules.
Whatever line they were standing at, whatever uncertain waters they were swimming in with their relationship, it didn't matter anymore.
He loved her.
He always had.
It took him several years, a relationship with Abigail, that for sure he enjoyed and still cared for her, but from day one was tainted with Juliet's presence. No matter how much he tried, the Junior Detective was the one occupying his heart, the one he would give his life for without blinking an eye.
She was everything.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER? WHERE IS SHE?"
Shawn's creative mind started to come up with a hundred scenarios, most of them involving him finding her body dumped in a ditch.
And he never had the chance to tell her how he really felt.
The shattering of glass on the outside momentarily caught his attention and the witty man returned to his spot by the window, binoculars in hand, searching the source of the sound. He checked each apartment, his friends still motionless positioned.
No movement.
He looked down and found a bottle of wine shattered on the ground. The red liquid running through the tiled floor.
It was a scene from the movie.
It was a distraction.
Shawn jumped almost two feet as the sound of a squeaking kettle started at the fake kitchen, drawing his attention. Walking towards the stove, he found the boiling water and a small cup, as familiar to him as the scenes of Rear Window, set on the sink. He turned off the stove and grabbed the china in his hands, inspecting it closer.
Immediately, he realized it was the same one sitting at Juliet's desk back at the police station.
How on earth this monster was able to have it?
How close has he been from them after all? Was he there all those days, watching and tracing Shawn's every step without him noticing?
His father was right, Shawn had been sloppy for the past months. Declan was proof of that, and so his kidnapping, the life of his loved ones on the line too.
It was his fault, he knew that, and he wouldn't run away from it.
The awful truth was that he could die out there and he would be gone under a lie.
A lie he would never be able to refute to Juliet.
Shaking his head, Shawn tried to vanish with that thought from his mind. He had to focus.
Under the cup was another note, remaining a mystery of how it got there without Shawn noticing. He picked it and moved to the room, positioning it under the light so he could read it.
A cup of coffee is always a good call when waiting for a meal
But wait no more, the dinner is about to be served.
Enjoy it as I enjoy your presence.
Be sure to eat well, as the adventures of this night will be carried through it.
He heard the lock on the door click, the gear shifting until it was open.
The sight in front of him ended with the air on his lungs, angry tears threatening to spill out. His nails dragging so deeply on his hand that Shawn was certain it would leave a mark.
Standing there, in a black and white dress, blond hair up in a bun, red-painted lips, holding a cloche in her hands, was Juliet.
She was caring the same emotionless smile his friends were, but her eyes couldn't lie.
Those deep blue oceans, filled with a mix of fear and relief he was certain his own carried.
At least she was alive, that was what mattered right now.
He started to move towards her but she signed him to stay where he was, pushing him immediately. Following her with his eyes, Shawn watched Jules settle the cloche in the small table near the wheelchair and open it, revealing a two-course meal, chicken, mashed potatoes, and broccoli perfectly cooked. Two candles and a match.
She displayed the dish above the table and lit up the candles in silence, the only sound there coming from the wind outside and the ruffle of her puffy skirt, swinging around her while she moved around the small space.
Once finished, she signed him to sit down in front of her and handed him a plate along with a fork and a knife.
Shawn stared at her, trying to gain any information, trying to understand what was happening. He opened his mouth to ask her what was going on but she shushed him, one finger at her lips, asking him to remain silent.
He knew her, more than that, he knew how much damage Juliet could cause, how powerful and strong she was. That monster must have had a very good reason to make her follow his instructions and Shawn didn't want to even begin to wonder how on earth she was being threatened for her to cave to a kidnaper's orders.
She started eating, a small piece going down with difficulty as the fear was forming an enormous knot on her throat. Shawn mimicked her, he too struggling with his food.
At each different movement she made, Shawn paid attention, looking for signs of injuries, pain, blood. Apparently, she was physically intact, but her face was unreadable. Once in a while, he would peek through the window to check the other apartments.
Still no movement, no change.
They finished the meal and he watched her get up and grab the plates, heading to the kitchen. The dress she was in fitted her perfectly, and despite everything that was happening and the situation they found themselves in, Shawn couldn't help but admire her pure beauty, the calmness of her movements despite her chaotic heart, her braveness, and strength.
She was perfect.
He closed his eyes, forcing his memory to travel back three weeks before.
Her lips on his, that stolen kiss in the middle of Declan's living room. The surprise. The confusion. Five years of that uncertain dance between them ended with the most amazing kiss Shawn has ever had.
But although he loved each second of it, he felt guilt.
Despite everything he ever felt for Juliet, she was with Declan and what they did was wrong.
Shawn could go wrong in a lot of things and bend the rules more than once to fit his purposes but he wasn't a cheater. Even though he nurtured a very unhealthy jealousy of the guy, Shawn respected him, and wouldn't step upon another's man relationship, it doesn't matter how much he loved Jules.
She might have noticed that, because she broke the kiss, tears in her eyes as she realized the same thing Shawn had. She loved him, always had, and now was seeing herself in a dead-end position.
She would have to break Declan's heart.
Jules watched Shawn walk away that afternoon, the pain in his eyes as intense as it was on hers.
They spoke briefly after that and then, the murders started to happen, obligating Juliet to cancel her trip, as Shawn discovered later, and both decided to shove that conversation in the back of their minds until they had the time and peace to discuss it.
Shawn had been good at juggling with the elephant in the room but, as the weeks passed, the struggle was harder, and the uncertainty between them so real and solid he could grab it.
Now, the fear both had for each other's lives was overcoming any awkwardness or unsolved matter between them, and all he cared was for her safety, for the assurance that she would make out alive of that mess Shawn blamed himself for.
He wanted to run after her, put her petite body inside his arms, and protect her at all costs, even knowing how capable she was of defending herself. It didn't matter, he would do anything, anything, to protect her.
Juliet returned from the kitchen, one hand in her pocket searching for something Shawn suspected was another note. A few seconds later she handed him the folded paper with typewriter printed letters.
The dinner is over and I hope the food was at your taste.
I am sure your company through the meal was very pleasant.
It is always a delight to dine with the one you love the most. Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever and your lovely lady will have to go.
In the meanwhile, I have a short clue for you to solve.
"From south to north the wind blows, the sound travels above. The black key explodes, in a great spectacle it goes."
Shawn stared at it, clueless on what to do. His eyes looked up to meet Juliet's as he tried to ask for any hints on the meaning of that letter. She shrugged, her eyes spooked at the information she picked from the upside-down note on his hands.
He opened his mouth to speak and once again she signed him to remain quiet. Turning, she headed towards the door, ready to leave. Shawn followed her, his heart screaming, the fear freezing each drop of blood in his veins.
With a final glance, Juliet closed the door behind her, leaving him in the silence of the apartment once again.
"I DON'T CARE WHERE YOU ARE, IF YOU TOUCH HER I'LL KILL YOU! I WILL KILL YOU!"
Trapped in that place he returned to the window, searching for Jules, expecting to find her walking downstairs, but not finding her. Wherever Sixty was keeping her, it wasn't in any of the opposite buildings.
With the binoculars, Shawn inspected the other rooms. They remained the same, but when he checked Lassiter's window he saw it.
A small flashing red dot, shining through the glass in his direction.
Shawn grabbed the last note.
"From south to north the wind blows, the sound travels above. The black key explodes, in a great spectacle it goes."
South to north… Sound... The piano!
That was it!
Black key…
Shawn watched the small dot blink from under the instrument, Lassiter glued on the piano stool, his foot in one of the pedals, his hands now resting at the keyboard.
Explodes…
With a click, all was put together.
"Hey! HEY! I have your clue! It's a bomb! There's a bomb on the piano! Done! Now, let him go!"
Shawn slammed the window, trying to gain his captor's attention from wherever he was. He saw the Head Detective's fingers move, not understanding what was motivating him to do so, but surely he was about to play.
Shawn wanted to cover his eyes, but he wouldn't be a coward.
Even though he and Lassiter were like cat and dog, at the end of the day they were friends, partners in the law, saving lives side by side regardless of how different their methods might be.
The fake psychic lowered his head for a few seconds only to find out, once his eyes returned to the front window that the tall Detective was gone, and there was no sound or signs of an explosion. With relief, Shawn loosened the air from his lungs he didn't realize he was holding.
He sat in the wheelchair, breathing deep, trying to control his emotions and calm his heartbeat.
At that angle, he spotted an envelope hanging from one of the curtains.
The way those notes and letters were being delivered, Shawn didn't have a clue. Whatever theory he predicted, the strategy changed and the pattern was gone. He stood up and picked the cream thing and opened it, ready to defeat whatever came next.
I must say I am impressed by you, Mr. Spencer.
Your talent is, indeed, quite astonishing.
Well, I'm marveled at how well this evening is going so far and thrilled to see what comes next.
But first, I want proof of the bravery I've always heard you possess.
Don't forget that there is nothing nicer than a warm room after a cold night.
It was enough time for him to finish reading the note before the fire began on the other side of his window.
Shawn didn't have to look to know.
Gus.
Running to the door, he was prepared to knock it down, now that his body was less sored and the poison almost out of his system. To his surprise, the door was unlocked and his physical interference wasn't necessary.
With only one way to go, Shawn rushed down the stairs in front of him, two steps at a time, practically flowing. He ran out, making his way to Gus' apartment, the flames consuming the purple curtains at the window.
Shawn took off his jacket, putting it in front of his mouth, and, with a kick, slammed the burned door down.
"GUS? GUS! CAN YOU HEAR ME? GUS!"
He found a fire extinguisher attached to the entrance wall and used it to put out the fire. To his surprise, within seconds the burning room was out of flames, now covered in ashes and smoke. Shawn walked inside the place, searching for his best friend.
The room was empty.
He stepped out, confusion winning over his mind.
He looked at the other windows, searching for his father and Chief Vick, only to find the apartments empty too.
A note was waiting for him at the doormat.
Congratulations Mr. Spencer.
You are, with no doubt, a very brave man.
But, just like me, I assume, you get bored easily.
Our superior minds cannot handle ordinary for long.
So please, care to join me on our next adventure.
In the green car, you will find the keys and a destination.
Please don't be late or room number 01 will be occupied.
Shawn smashed the paper, angrily throwing it away, frustration overcoming his heart. This psycho was playing with his mind, pulling his strings like he was a puppet and the worst was that he couldn't just end it. If he wanted to win that game he would have to keep playing.
Usually he would have made many jokes, having quoted at least 15 different movies by now, trying to use his clever humor and often sarcasm to clear his way out of that, but now, as he was the one being joked, the target in some other person's sick game, Shawn wasn't laughing.
There were too many precious lives hanging at the edge for him to mess up.
Marching away from the building, Shawn headed to the car parked outside of that assembled scenario, each footstep increasing his worry.
The only reward was the possibility of Gus and Lassiter's safety being acquired.
But he knew that, whatever game this killer was trying to play, it wasn't even close to ending.