And the whump begins ….

"You know, I find that pain does just the opposite. In fact, cushy pillows and smoothies help me think much better. Just ask my Dad. He'll tell you that I don't do well at all with pain. I shut down – sad but true. So, it might be a better idea to just sit down and we can talk some more." Shawn knew he was babbling but couldn't help himself. He sat there – as if he could do anything but – and watched as Bill searched around inside his backpack. He could feel a drop of sweat make its way down his back.

And wasn't that fun, he thought. Now I have to try and deal with utter terror and an itch.

He frowned when Bill's expression relaxed as if he'd found what he was looking for – but then all he pulled out was a pack of cigarettes. Shawn would definitely not have taken the guy for a smoker. He didn't have discolored fingers or teeth and his breath hadn't smelled of tobacco when he'd leaned closer. So why did he have –

Ah hell! He wouldn't, would he? Shawn's mind flipped back to the pictures of Bill's little girl and he couldn't help but remember the small round burns on her chest. He groaned. He had a very bad feeling about this.

"There it is!" Bill looked pleased as he pulled out a lighter.

"Uh – I hate to be a nagging Nellie, but cigarette smoking is bad for you Bill. You might want to consider the patch. I've heard it works wonders. In fact, I'd be happy to try it for you if you'd -" His voice faded as Bill turned, a faraway look in his eyes.

The other man slowly set both the cigarettes and lighter down on the table and reached into his pocket. Shawn could see his jaw clench and then his hand was slowly removed, holding on to a small object. He couldn't see what it was as Bill's hand was clutched tightly around it.

The man carefully opened his hand and looked down. A second later a single tear made its way down his cheek. "I got her this for her fifth birthday", he said softly. "She was so excited to have a real 'grown-up' necklace. My wife said she was too young – that she'd lose it – but she didn't. It was still around her neck when they found her."

Shawn blinked rapidly, hating the anguish he could hear in the other man's voice – and hating the thought of what had been done to that innocent little girl. "I'm sure she took special care of it", he told the other man gently. "She was a beautiful little girl."

Bill nodded, clutching again at the little silver heart pendant – the picture of a grieving father, a man devastated by loss.

With a suddenness that shocked Shawn, that changed. As Bill lifted his eyes he could see anger – no fury – on the man's face, fury and something more, something ugly. He tried pushing himself back in his chair, anything to get away from emotions that he knew were not going to be good news for him at all.

"It was your fault", Bill hissed, dropping the necklace on the table as if it didn't matter anymore. "Your fault she's dead – that my little girl, my angel went through that. You promised – and you killed her."

"Whoa – wait, wait. I didn't kill her Bill. Remember, you just met me. I didn't have anything to do with her death. In fact, I feel terrible about it – it's a horrible thing and you have my sincere sympathy -"

"I DON'T WANT YOUR SYMPATHY", Bill shrieked, rushing up to Shawn and grabbing him by the arms. He leaned over and hissed into his face - "You're a liar and a fraud – and I'm going to prove it!" With that he turned back to the table and fumbled with the cigarette carton, pulling one out and practically ripping it in two. He reached in for a second one, his hands shaking wildly and put it in his mouth. Reaching for the lighter he tried to light it, his hands still shaking almost uncontrollably.

Oh God – the man wasn't just grieving, realized Shawn, he was stark raving mad! He didn't know what the guy wanted – one moment he seemed to want Shawn to solve the case – and the next he accused him of killing his daughter. It didn't make any sense and he had to get out of this – had to do something quickly. He looked around desperately. There had to be something – some way of escape. He began pulling on his arms, attempting to loosen the tape, but it held fast. That wasn't going to work so instead he had to try and convince Bill to let him go – that he didn't know anything about his daughter's death.

"Uh Bill", he panted, trying to keep his voice steady as the man continued to try and light the cigarette. It was very obvious he wasn't a smoker since he was having so much trouble. Good – that was good. "Bill – I think you've got the wrong idea here. I want to help you – I really do – but this isn't the way. Let's just calm down and talk about it and I'll see what I can do to help. I'm really good at solving puzzles – maybe if you tell me -"

"SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" Bill finally had the cigarette lit and he turned to Shawn, his eyes wild. "You killed her – it was your fault!" He leaned forward and grabbed the top of Shawn's shirt and ripped it open.

For some reason, it seemed as the sound of the ripping shirt caused Bill's mood to change with a suddenness that was shocking. From fury that was barely contained, he shifted to a cold, deadly calm. It happened in mere seconds – and again threw Shawn. He wasn't sure what to make of what was happening, although he knew the man in front of him was crazy as a pancake.

"Now I'm going to give you a chance to prove you're not a fake. I tried once all ready, but you failed that test", he laughed. "So now you are going to channel my daughter and tell me who did this to her." He leaned over and placed the cigarette on the table. Shawn didn't know what the hell was happening, but breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Bill drop the tiny hot tourch. He prayed that Bill had changed his mind and was willing to talk, or to let Shawn try and figure things out. Although how in hell he was going to do that he didn't know, especially since the only clues he would get would be from a crazy man.

After letting go of the burning cigarette, Bill reached out and picked up his daughter's necklace and, with rock steady hands, opened the chain. He moved again towards Shawn and, bending over, placed it around Shawn's neck, doing up the clasp and stepping back.

"Now you're close to her", he whispered. "That will stay there until you tell me."

"Uh – tell you?"

The other man's eyes narrowed. "Who killed her."

"Okay – yeah – fine." He glanced down at the chain, which barely made it around his neck. In fact he could feel the cool metal straining against his neck. He swallowed. There was something horrifying to him about wearing a necklace while knowing that the last person to have work it was a little girl who'd died a terrible death.

"Now …."

Crap – Bill reached for the cigarette and brought it towards Shawn. He was still calm – an unnatural calm that was more frightening than his anger. "Now - you will tell me …"

Shawn started to scream.

Henry was just about to jump out of his skin. He hadn't heard anything yet from Lassiter and instead had had to watch Gus pacing back and forth across his kitchen for what felt like hours. He'd tried getting the man to sit – but that only lasted a few brief moments. He'd always accused Shawn of being the hyperactive one and of dragging poor Gus around with him. He was suddenly realizing that Gus was as hyper – if not more so – than his son.

"For God's sake Guster – settle down. This is not helping. We'll hear soon enough."

"But I'm sure something's happened Mr. Spencer, otherwise why wouldn't they have called. Oh God – they broke into his apartment and found him lying, almost dead on the floor. They probably had to do CPR because his heart stopped then and they got it started in the nick of time but then they had to wait for the paramedics to take him and they followed them to the hospital where they're waiting to hear if he's survived. What if he doesn't sur -"

"STOP it Gus!" Henry stood up, wanting to hit the other man. "Will you please shut up! First, if they'd found Shawn hurt or – otherwise, they would have called me instantly. If they were going to the hospital, they would have called me. But Shawn is not hurt and he is not dead. He's just fine and I'm sure Lassiter will call shortly and tell us what an idiot Shawn is and that he's sitting on his couch watching some stupid show from the 1980's!" Henry stopped, out of breath, and prayed that what he'd said was the truth. Gus' words had totally freaked him out and now he was thinking the absolute worst.

"I'm sorry." Gus forced himself to sit down and looked at Henry and cursed himself again. What had he been thinking to scare Shawn's father like that? "My imagination runs away with me sometimes", he admitted.

Henry snorted. "Yeah – I've gathered that. You and Shawn are quite a pair."

"Or at least we were." There was a short silence. "I'll never forgive myself if anything happens to him. He's the closest thing I have to a brother – closer probably – and he could always count on me, but this time – this time I betrayed him."

"You did not betray him Gus. You simply told him off when he was bugging you. That's only human and hell, I've done it a million times. He knows we don't really mean it."

"No – this time he did – because I did. I really told him I didn't want to see him ever again, and I was serious."

Henry frowned – uncomfortable with the display of emotion on the other man's face. He could remember lots of times when the two boys, and then men, fought – but he'd never, ever heard either one of them go quite that far. "Uh – can I ask why? It seems a bit of an overreaction to him bugging you. I mean, that's pretty much what Shawn does."

"Yeah – it was." Then he frowned, as he suddenly remembered something. Shawn hadn't been his usual self and his bugging had been – off – somehow. It was almost as if there was something bothering him – but what. He realized then that Henry was waiting for an answer. "Oh – well, I've kind of been – you know – seeing someone", he got out in a rush.

"Seeing someone? You mean dating?"

"No, no – I mean – a professional."

"A – what kind of professional?" Henry looked at him, confused, his mind only half on the conversation, the other half wondering where in the hell Lassiter was.

"A – psychologist", Gus said quickly, his voice quavering. "After the case with Yin I was kind of – upset – and someone – one of the doctor's on my route, suggested I see someone. I started to see Dr. Evans to help with my anxiety."

"And what does he have to do with Shawn?" Henry suddenly sat back, his forehead clearing as he started to figure it out. "You told the doctor about him, didn't you?"

"Yes", the younger man admitted. "He suggested that maybe Shawn – wasn't good for me."

Henry felt a blaze of anger shoot through him, which rather surprised him considering that he'd often had the same thought. He'd also thought that Guster wasn't particularly good for Shawn, sure that the two friends acted as catalysts to each other. But still – for a doctor who'd never met his son to tell Gus to ditch him was – was practically malpractice.

"You should have told him to go to hell! My son is a good man and a good friend. The doctor is a moron."

Gus looked shocked – but after a second a small grin appeared. He'd have to tell Shawn about his father's defense – he'd be pleased. A second later the grin left his face as the worry returned. What if he never had the chance to tell Shawn anything again? And even if Shawn was okay, he couldn't very well tell him what Dr. Evans had said. He'd be crushed that Gus had gone to a psychologist and had told him about his friend.

A hand suddenly landing on his knee startled him out of his reverie. "It's okay kid", Henry said softly. "You'll be able to make it up to Shawn – soon, I'm sure. He won't hold a grudge."

"Uh – yes he will", Gus shook his head. "I mean he held a grudge against -" he stopped suddenly, realizing that he shouldn't say that to the man himself. "I hope you're right", he finished lamely. He opened his mouth, trying to think of something else, when the knock on the door interrupted him. Thank God!

Henry swiftly stood and made his way to the door. "Lassiter – O'Hara! It's about time. Come in." Without waiting for the detectives to even make it in the door he started talking again. "What did you find out? Do you know where he is? Did you get into his apartment?"

"Hold up Spencer", Lassiter held up his hand. "We'll tell you what we know, just let us get in."

"Gus, Mr. Spencer." Juliet looked at them both and said hello, her face not showing any emotion.

"Okay fine." He waited for the two to get into the kitchen, closed the door behind them and quickly walked over to face them. "So what did you find?"

"Nothing", Lassiter said. He held up his hand when Henry went to speak. "Spencer wasn't in his apartment and there was nothing there to suggest anything had happened – or that he was planning on going anywhere."

"And it took you this long to find this out?" Henry said angrily. "What the hell – did you stop for lunch on the way or something?"

"No Henry – we didn't -"

"Mr. Spencer", O'Hara interrupted quickly. "We asked the landlord to open Shawn's door, but his key didn't work. One of his neighbors said that Shawn had had the lock changed just a few days ago so we had to locate the locksmith and get him to open the door. That's what took so long."

Henry sighed and rubbed his head. "Sorry", he said grudgingly. "So nothing?"

"Well – not exactly", Lassiter admitted. "Oh, there was nothing in his room, like I said, but the locksmith told us something interesting."

"The locksmith? What did he have to say?"

"He told us that someone had changed the lock on Shawn's door and he couldn't get in. He'd had to call in the guy to get into his apartment. And no – before you ask – it wasn't the landlord. He didn't know anything about it. Someone else had had it done. When Shawn realized, he had the locks changed again. I guess he didn't want anyone out there with a key to his place.'

"You're telling me that someone changed his locks without him knowing?"

"Yeah, it looks that way."

"But that doesn't make sense. Why would someone do that?"

"I have no idea – but that's not all", Lassiter continued.

"There's more?"

"Yes", this time Juliet took up the train of the conversation. "The neighbor told us that a delivery truck dropped off a whole bunch of furniture for Shawn. He claimed he hadn't ordered it and the company eventually had to come and pick it up, but he was pretty upset about it."

"Furniture?" both Henry and Gus looked confused. "It almost sounds like someone's playing practical jokes on him. It's the sort of thing Shawn himself would do – have done."

"I can't imagine him changing anyone's locks", Lassiter disagreed. "That seems like a pretty dangerous thing to do."

"Except in this case Shawn found out instantly and immediately had them changed."

"I'm afraid I agree with Carlton", Juliet said carefully. "It may sound like nothing but practical jokes, but they're awfully big ones – and I can't imagine why anyone would to that kind of trouble or expense. Gus", she turned to Shawn's best friend. "Did he say anything to you about all of this? Was there anything else that he might have mentioned?"

Gus looked at her guiltily. "Uh – no, but I was busy studying for an interview. I didn't really talk all that much to him."

"Well then -"

"But I think he was going to tell me", he interrupted her. "The last time I saw him – he seemed to want to say something and I – I cut him off."

"Oh. Uh – you don't have any idea what it was?"

"No", he shook his head. "Like I said, I was busy studying. Damn! I should have listened. If something has happened to him -"

"If something has happened", interjected Henry, "then it isn't your fault Guster." He turned and faced Lassiter. "So what now? We have to find out what's going on and where he is."

Lassiter sighed, as if it pained him, but nodded. "Yes, we do. I suggest we make our way over to the Psych office and see if there's anything there. He may have left a clue."

Shawn groaned and tried to lift his head off his chest. It was surprisingly hard, and he instantly felt sick to his stomach. "That's all I need", he muttered, trying hard not to throw up.

His chest was on fire – literally had been on fire, he chuckled without humor. God that had hurt. He glanced down and grimaced at the bubbling, raw flesh, feeling again like he was about to lose the contents of his stomach.

The session probably hadn't gone on for that long, although it had felt like forever and he'd lost track of how many times the sadist had put the burning tip to his skin. He knew he'd screamed like a baby, but he couldn't help it. Human skin was not meant to be torched.

"God", he hissed. It really hurt. Trying to take his mind off the pain and the fear, he again looked down at the pictures still laid out on the table in front of him. He winced when he realized what it was he was using to distract himself. The pictures were so horrible – so awful – that it was hard to comprehend. Still, maybe he could find something – anything – to appease good old Bill.

The man had left him after however long he'd spent torturing his captive. He hadn't said anything, during the session, other than 'tell me who did it'. When Shawn couldn't answer he'd gotten more vicious – moving the cigarette all around his upper chest. At one point he'd even held the burning tip to his face – making him whimper and press his head back in fear. Fortunately all Bill had done was grunt and lower the cigarette and start in on his chest again. He was pretty sure it was only because his daughter had no burns on her face that he hadn't done it. Shawn had figured out that he was following what had been done to her. The thought terrified him even more.

So – back to the pictures. He stared at each one, trying hard to ignore the subject, the little girl, and focus only on any discrepancies in the photos. Each picture was different – showing her lying in a different position. He sat up abruptly – or as much as he could while duct taped to the chair. "What the -?" She was dressed differently in each picture as well. It dawned on him then – these weren't crime scene photos at all. They hadn't been taken by the police or the coroner – they had been taken by the kidnapper. He squinted down at one of the pictures carefully and –

"Oh God!" He closed his eyes. In one of the pictures, at least, she hadn't even been dead. The nausea ratcheted up a notch and he could no longer hold it back. The gorge rose in his throat and the next moment he was heaving all over his burnt chest – and did that ever feel good.

"Dad – Gus", he whispered when it was done. "Lassy – please, someone, find me!"