Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. No copyright infringement of publicly recognizable characters, products or services is intended.

A/N: Nothing to see here.

Chapter 7 The Universe

Shawn stared at his phone screen. "Lassie hung up on me."

"He's been really testy these past few days," Gus said. "More than usual, I mean."

Shawn tucked his phone in his front pocket and snagged Lassiter's orange juice from the roof of the car. He froze, looking from the juice to the car and back. "Whose car is this?"

Gus looked at him strangely. "I don't know."

They started up the street silently. Shawn was still lost in his thoughts. He'd never seen Lassiter that certain about anything—At least not anything that actually ended up being right.

He shook his head. "Gus, there's definitely a disturbance in the force. I can count on two fingers how many times Lassie's been that right about something."

"He's not incompetent, Shawn."

"I know but he's never been able to go with the flow like this either. You heard Jules, Lassie's been like a puppet master with this case. It's like he can read the killer's mind."

"Or he is the killer."

Shawn waved his hand dismissively. "Gus, don't be a dull toothpick. Lassie is one hundred percent in the zone right now and it's weird… It's like watching your parents kiss."

"More like watching your parents kiss."

"That's who I'm talking about ..." He tossed the juice into the air and caught it, staring into his hand as his fingers wrapped around the bottle. "Guess who came to town today?"

"Your mother."

"No, my muh—Wait, how'd you know?"

"Your dad called me to see if I wanted to have lunch with them."

Shawn stopped long enough to face him. Words could not describe the shock. "My dad. Called you... To ask you if you wanted to have lunch… With my mom?"

Gus nodded. "He said that you weren't answering your phone."

"Well, duh! It was because he was calling it. If he had something really important to say, he should have sent a text or a Tweet. They could've Twittered me." He shook his head. "That's why there were leftovers from Red Robin."

"I told them not to order the Guac and the Onion Tower but they didn't listen."

"Man! I'm not inviting any of you to my next birthday party." He started down the street again. "Well after your little play date with my mother, she went back to my dad's. I dropped over to dig out my poster of Tiffani Amber Thiessen for Woman Crush Wednesday. When I asked her why she was in town, she said that she was doing some work at the station. How much do you wanna bet she's here to work with Lassie?"

"So."

"So?" Shawn eyed the detectives, both sitting quietly on the curb. "Gus, Lassie hasn't been the same since he thought his place was haunted. What if the Animal nitrogen—"

"Amyl Nitrites," Gus corrected.

"Gave him superpowers?"

Gus looked at the man sitting on the curb, his head drooping downwards and shoulders slumped. "Uh, I don't think so."

Shawn smiled. "C'mon son." He trotted the final distance to the detectives. "Hey Lassie."

Lassiter slowly brought a pair of weary eyes up to meet him.

"Catch." Shawn tossed the orange juice to the Lassiter who barely did more than flinch. The bottle sailed directly towards his head. Had Juliet not reached out to catch it, it would have hit him square in the face.

Juliet turned a shade of red. "Shawn!"

"Some powers," Gus quipped.

Shawn smirked. "Relax, Gus. He's doing a bit from The Boy Who Could Fly."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure he just played Millie."

Shawn stepped closer to the pair on the curb, pretending not to notice Juliet's disapproving glare. "Lassie, let me ask you something. When you told us that you knew the suspect was still here did you have a Spidey Sense or was it more like The Dead Zone?"

Lassiter sat upright, his eyes widened and eyebrows raised.

Shawn smiled. "Contact."

Juliet's glare softened. "What are you talking about, Shawn?"

"He thinks Lassiter has superpowers," Gus offered.

"What?" Juliet looked visibly disgusted.

"Go with me on this," Shawn said. "Lassie, the girl in the woods—Your Teresa Patterson case—How'd you find it?"

"The chief assigned it to us this afternoon," Juliet led.

"But how'd you find her?"

Lassiter frowned. "I didn't, some hikers did."

Shawn rolled his eyes and couldn't help but wonder why Lassiter always took the toll roads of life. He squatted so they were eye to eye.

"Look Lassie, I need you to climb aboard the Good Ship Lollipop. We're going to set sail on a magical adventure filled with rainbows, red balloons and unicorn dust… Which tastes surprisingly like strawberry pixie sticks—And that's especially weird because everybody knows that unicorns play on clouds made from blue cotton candy—But that's beside the point." He reached for the bottle of juice in Juliet's hand and unscrewed the top. "The point is that the magic will only work if you let it." He offered the drink to Lassiter. "Will you let it?"

Lassiter slowly took the drink from him, uncertainty radiating from his features.

"Now, what happened with Teresa Patterson?"

Lassiter's brow furrowed. He looked away from Shawn and towards something in the distance. "She was strangled," he said quietly then after a long pause he added, "I couldn't stop it."

"... What do you mean, you couldn't stop it?"

"It was just a dream," Lassiter said, staring bitterly at the thing beyond them. "But then there was the body and the images in my head that made no sense started to become real. How does that happen?"

"Easy," Shawn said, clapping a hand onto Lassiter's shoulder. "Flanel Wind Kites"

"Amyl nitrites," Gus said.

"Two words. Bruce Banner and Peter Parker."

"And that was way more than two words."

"You are living the classic comic book storyline," Shawn continued, "Which clearly states that exposure to a strange chemical—Or radioactive spider—Equals superpowers. Obviously yours is some sort of clairvoyance. And since Gus and I slept over, we'll probably get super speed or maybe tunnel vision."

"He means X-Ray vision," Gus said. "And I'm holding out for something involving levitation or immortality."

Juliet looked from Gus to Shawn. "Please tell me you're joking."

"Jules, superpowers are no laughing matter. With great power comes great responsibility."

"Uncle Ben said that," Gus offered.

Lassiter clapped his hand around Shawn's and pushed it from his shoulder. "You're an idiot."

Shawn tossed his hands into the air. "Okay then, how'd you know about this place? How'd you know to come here just in time to almost catch the killer?"

Lassiter was quiet, his eyes drifted past them once more. "I just had a feeling," he said finally.

"If it's Dead Zone it's more than a feeling," Shawn led. "For Dead Zone, you saw it—You saw her get attacked."

"I saw her die," Lassiter said with some agitation rising in his voice.

"Did you happen to see who killed her," Gus said.

Lassiter was silent a moment then he flushed and stared at his shoes.

Gus took a swift step backwards. "Oh my gosh! You did do it!"

Shawn huffed a sigh. "Gus, don't be Velma."

"I'm not Velma!"

"Lassie, tell Gus that dreaming you killed someone and actually killing someone are two different things."

Lassiter said nothing, he only closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

Shawn turned to Juliet. "Jules, tell Gus that Lassie didn't kill that lady."

"Shawn, nobody killed her because she's not dead. And, guys, I think we're getting sidetracked here. There's a logical explanation behind Carlton's dreams and—I don't want to burst your bubble—It's definitely not superpowers."

Shawn shook his head thoughtfully. "Agree to disagree, Jules."

"The fact remains," Juliet continued with a small bit of emphasis, "That there is a suspect on the loose and we need to move quickly if we are going to catch him."

"O'Hara's right," Lassiter said. He took a final chug of his juice and stood slowly. "I would be lying if I said that I appreciated the concern or the analysis or whatever that crap was just now but in all honesty, I think you two should be committed."

"But we are committed," Shawn countered. "Committed to fighting for truth and justice."

"It's a super hero prerequisite," Gus added.

"Okay, fine," Lassiter said, gruffly. "You two stay here and play make-believe. O'Hara and I will be off catching Virginia Allen's killer."

Juliet looked as if she was fighting a facial tick. "Okay one, the woman from tonight is not dead. And two, her name is Stephanie Lantis."

"Right," Lassiter allowed, tossing the empty juice bottle to Shawn, grabbing his radio from Juliet and starting for the car.

Shawn's interest was piqued. He leaned towards Juliet, keeping his voice low while he trained his ear to the static rising from Lassiter's radio. "Who's Virginia Allen?"

Juliet raised a finger then shook her head. Her eyes seemed to focus on Lassiter who spun back towards them, holding the radio in the air.

"They've got him," he said, then quickly pointed a stern finger. "And no Spencer, you can't come. And if you or Guster try to follow us, you'll be watching the sunrise from a holding cell." He nodded to Juliet then disappeared down the street.

Alistair Wood sat on the hood of the patrol car, staring absently at the shadows on the sidewalk. He seemed completely unfazed by the whole situation. His entire demeanor seemed to be caught between apathy and sheer boredom.

Lassiter watched him carefully from over the heads of the uniformed officers who were standing in a half-circle reading O'Hara their report. They had been speaking to him as well but he wasn't listening. Their droning voices were barely more than a jumble of useless sounds.

It didn't matter how they'd caught this guy or how mildly cooperative he had been once they pulled him over. It didn't matter how little the they'd gotten from his license and registration or how much documentation they'd pulled from his glove box. He was at the scene of the crime, ignored a direct police warning and tried to evade the law in—of all things asinine—a delivery truck. He should be counting himself lucky that the creators of the American justice system had the foresight to include the concept of due process.

Lassiter walked briskly towards Alistair the moment that the briefing was over. He fought a serious urge to grab the delinquent by his shirt collar and shake him until the truth fell out.

From his place on the hood of the car, Alistair paid little attention. He still seemed as disinterested as if he'd only been pulled for a busted taillight.

Lassiter towered over the man with crossed arms. "Alistair Wood ..."

Alistair glanced up casually. He appeared to be more annoyed than afraid of Lassiter's suddenly assertive voice.

Lassiter narrowed an eye at him. "What kind of a lameoid name is that?"

"It's the one me mum gave so …" Alistair's voice, laced with an English accent, trailed off as he let his eyes drift back towards the shadows on the ground.

Lassiter snapped an aggravated finger towards him. "Hey, Freak-Show—" He waited until the younger man returned his attention to him. "Eyes here… Now, I don't know what kind of game you're trying to play but I am definitely not in the mood. So do us all a favor and skip to the end—Why'd you do it?"

Alistair rolled his eyes. "I already told your guys. I had stuff to do, man."

"Did that stuff include killing Teresa Patterson?"

The younger man stirred, sitting a little straighter on the hood of the car and wincing from the pressure of the handcuffs. "I didn't kill no one."

"Bull," Lassiter hissed, stepping a little closer to the twenty-something.

O'Hara followed his approach. He felt her hand gently press the back of his arm and then squeeze it slightly.

He checked his temper and tried again. "You were at the scene of the crime."

"I was on my route."

"At twelve in the morning," O'Hara said. Her sharp tone was a stark contrast to the calming touch that she was giving him.

"Yeah, well I ran a little behind," Alistair said. "I mean really—When you ask for next day service on your parcel, you think it's magic? You think some tiny elf is the one that makes it appear at your doorstep? No. It's blokes like me what make it happen."

"Okay fine," O'Hara said, remaining stern. "But twelve?"

Lassiter couldn't see the expression that she gave Alistair but whatever it was made the man flinch.

"So my truck broke down and it put me even further behind," he said.

"Your truck," Lassiter said, looking over to the unmarked delivery vehicle, sitting half illuminated by the blue and red lights. "It seemed to work well enough to help you flee the crime scene."

"I didn't flee nothin'!"

"No. You simply drove away in a suspicious and evasive manner."

"Look—"

"And your shirt," Lassiter said, eyeing the man. "D.P. Deliveries... You got a company name on your uniform, why not your truck?"

"Because it's not my truck," Alistair said, his voice rising to a new octave.

"Now we're getting somewhere. Whose truck is it?"

"I told you mine broke down, didn't I? So, the repair guy took me to rent one. He drops me at some rental place, I pick up that one, transfer my load and then start to finish my route... I was practically done before you wankers showed up."

O'Hara beckoned one of the uniforms over, took the small stack of paperwork from his hands and began leafing through it.

"That checks out," she said after a careful study of the dimly-lit papers.

She passed them to Lassiter and pointed to the car rental receipt. After he scanned the information she flipped several pages and slid her finger to a familiar-looking invoice.

"Straws, napkins, coffee cups," she said, reading the invoice aloud.

Lassiter grunted a sigh. "That's Beatriz's order."

"Yep. He's the bus-head."

Alistair looked at O'Hara with a frown. "I'm the what?"

Lassiter shushed him then scanned the several other pages.

Everything checked out; Alistair's name and work address, his delivery times, even the repair estimate from the mechanic shop. The only discrepancy seemed to be near the bottom of the inventory list. According to the document there were two items that remained undelivered. If the list was legitimate then the two items would be of no consequence. But if somehow the list was a part of an elaborate cover, the remaining items might be a useful lead.

Lassiter locked eyes with Alistair again. "It says here you have two undelivered items ..."

Alistair nodded. "Yeah. Some beauty supplies and a computer bag... I couldn't find the address."

"So it should still be in the vehicle then?"

Alistair nodded, numbly.

Lassiter motioned towards the truck. "Then let's see it."

The truck's sliding door was still open from the initial search. The cabin was pitch black with the exception of the dancing red and blue lights. Lassiter called for a flashlight but Alistair nodded awkwardly and made a mild gesture with his cuffed hands.

"Just switch on the cabin light, bruv. I got nothin' to hide ..."

Lassiter's left eyebrow twitched. He shooed away thoughts of throwing Alistair in to search his own truck head first, then reached for the handles along the edge of the door. With some effort, he hoisted himself into the cabin. He felt it spinning the moment he reached the top. He grabbed at the wall to steady the dizziness and loosened his tie to coax some much-needed air back into his chest. Once he had his bearings, he turned back to Alistair. "Where is it?"

Alistair nodded to a spot on the wall.

Lassiter felt in the darkness until his hand found the cold, metal switch. When he pressed it, a single naked bulb sparked and then cast a dull, yellow beam about the cabin. The space instantly settled into something familiar and a dozen forgotten images began racing through his head.

"See," Alistair said from somewhere behind him. "It's right over there... In the corner, just like I said ..."

Lassiter squinted up at the light.

It's wasn't Alistair… Of course it wasn't. He knew that before...

So why'd he stop him?

He let the images fill his mind. Everything-new and everything-familiar reprised their game.

And what about the light? Somehow he'd seen it before... Why had he seen it before?

Lassiter's eyes dropped to the floor of the cabin.

"The table," he said, looking at the empty space in front of him and picturing the images from his dream. "The light on the table… With the necklaces and the shield …"

He reached a hand out as if he could touch the images that were projecting from his mind. From behind him he heard O'Hara's soft groan and then felt the truck shake slightly.

He spun around to find her climbing up to join him, her eyes a mixture of determination and dread.

Lassiter pressed his hands out towards her. "I'm fine," he said. "And I actually mean it this time."

He waited for her relaxed expression before switching off the light and climbing from the truck bed. The moment he reached the ground, she looked him over; her brows pressed tightly together, her eyes trembling slightly.

"You were doing it again," she said. She leaned towards him and kept her head low as if her concern was meant to be a secret. "I hate it when you do that."

"Trust me, O'Hara. It's not on purpose."

"I know and that only makes it worse …" She shivered as if she were fighting a chill then rubbed her hands along her arms. "So, what'd you see this time?"

Lassiter shook his head. The dream had come back to him. The images had returned but they were all without meaning. There was no urging or sudden sense of dread. There was no further revelation or any clearer picture of why any of this was happening. The only thing he felt was the familiar sense of knowing; like he'd just read statements from corroborating witnesses. The lightbulb was definitely significant. In fact, it seemed to be more significant in real life than it had ever been in his dream. And though it still told him nothing about the suspect or the reason for the attacks, it had gone a long way to confirm one thing...

"This dipweed's not our guy," he said. "He's a payroll nightmare with no marketable job skills or likelihood of advancement but apart from that, he's clean."

"So, we're back to square one then," Juliet said, keeping perfect pace with him as they started back towards the car. "I should've extended the perimeter the moment I realized he got away from me."

"Hindsight's twenty-twenty, O'Hara. Plus I've got the feeling that our suspect is not only fast but smart—Too smart to get caught in a perimeter in the middle of the night."

He stopped suddenly and replayed that sentence through his mind. He actually did believe it. It wasn't just a feeling or another trick of his nightmares. No. Whoever they were chasing was determined to remain a shadow, that was part of the M.O.

The dreams were fresh but the behavior wasn't; of that much he was sure. The recent attacks weren't days old, they were weeks—Maybe even years old. This wasn't a string of new crime, it was linked to something else.

He closed his eyes and tried to picture the victims from his last dream. They were a mixture of old faces and new… A combination of—

Juliet's hand pressed his arm. "Again, Carlton. Stay with me."

Lassiter blinked past the patchwork of thoughts in his head. He was still several feet from his car—So far away in fact that he was still standing in the middle of the street.

He cleared his throat and started across the street again. "I was just thinking," he said, glancing cautiously at her. "This guy makes a habit of getting away. I think that's because he's not who you'd expect him to be ...Maybe that's why I can't picture him ..."

Juliet said nothing, she only walked beside him quietly, staring down at her shoes. When they reached his Fusion she leaned against it and stared back at the patrol cars and the dingy, white truck.

Her eyes seemed to strain at the scene. She blinked a pair of heavy lids as she was no doubt debating what to do next—Climb back into the Fusion or leave in a patrol car and call it a night.

Lassiter stuttered a sigh. "Look O'Hara, I know it's not coherent—Okay. And I can't make it make sense because I don't know why it happens, I just know I can't ignore it... Now, I know it's late and you're tired. So if you just want to go home—"

O'Hara turned quickly towards him. "It was the truck," she said. She grabbed at his arm and shook it excitedly. "Carlton, the truck triggered it …"

Lassiter cocked an eyebrow. He wondered sickly if he was contagious.

O'Hara shook his arm again. "At the coffee shop when you heard the cars, you freaked out and remembered your dream... And then tonight, when you saw Alistair it was the same. But it wasn't him it was the truck …" She stared across the street again then held out her hand. "Give me your radio …"

Lassiter handed it over dubiously then watched as she asked the officers across the street for copies of the paperwork in Alistair's glove compartment. When they confirmed her request she handed the radio back then climbed into the Fusion.

"I'm driving," she said adjusting both the steering wheel and the seat.

Lassiter could only stare with a half-frown. What just happened?

"Get in, Lassiter!"

Carlton started for the passenger door, not entirely sure why he was consenting so willingly.

"Where are we going," he said after banging his knees on the passenger's dash then cursing and adjusting the seat.

"Stephanie Lantis saw the killer," O'Hara said. "You know how he thinks, she knows how he looks... I'm getting you both in the same room together... If the only thing your subconscious needs is a simple prompt then let's give it one that can help wrap this thing up." She blasted the A.C. and the radio then pulled off down the street.