A bit of a short one tonight - I got too tired and had to close down

"Anything?" Juliet was checking in the kitchen area, doubtful that she'd find anything but not wanting to miss an important clue just in case. Gus was looking around his desk, Lassiter over in their 'waiting room' and Henry checking Shawn's desk.

"There's something here", Henry pulled open a drawer and pulled out notepad. The writing was Shawn's, but looked unusually organized for him. The points were numbered, and there were little hand drawn diagrams in the columns. "What the hell?"

"What is it?" Lassiter hurried back into the room. "What did you find?"

Henry was staring at the page looking as if he couldn't quite understand what was written on it.

"Henry!" Lassiter said sharply. "What does it say?"

Instead of answering, the older Spencer simply handed over the tablet. Juliet was looking worried, as was Gus, who sidled over to stand next to her. "What? What is it?"

"Spencer", Lassiter looked up. "I assume this is his writing?"

"Yeah", Henry nodded.

"Well, Spencer has jotted down a bunch of notes. It seems to be referring to a number of incidents over the past couple of weeks, followed by a list of possible things he looked like he was planning on doing." Lassiter frowned. "Did you know about this Guster?" He passed over the pad of paper.

"No – he didn't say anything", Gus answered. "I mean, he gets weird stuff all the time but he usually just laughs at it. I don't know why he didn't tell me about these." He looked down at the page and quickly read them, his face blanching at what he read. Immediately his guilt skyrocketed. He suddenly thought back to the last time he'd seen his friend. Shawn had wanted to talk to him about something – this is probably what it was. "Oh God", he dropped the pad of paper and grabbed his head. "What did I do?"

"Maybe", Lassiter answered, "although we'll have to find out much more. These could mean nothing – simply a nasty prank."

"You'll check them out?" Henry said sharply.

"Of course. We'll take them in and have them dusted for fingerprints. We'll also read them over carefully to see if there are any clues in what this guy's written."

"What does it say?" Juliet asked, the only one not to have read Shawn's notes.

Gus handed the paper back to Lassiter, who read it out loud.

Felt like I was being followed but didn't see anyone. Strange.

Tripped – no one suspicious

Furniture delivery and changed locks – prank or more serious?

Alone on beach – hit across the back. No one there

Phone calls – threatening. No clues as to who

Last call – threatened to kill me

What I should do?

Talk to Gus. Important interview – too busy. Don't bother him

Talk to Jules - mad at me (beside this were a series of little hearts drawn which Lassiter didn't mention, nor did he mention the sad face that was drawn after that.

Talk to police – Lassy? – he'd laugh and tell me I'm ridiculous. This line had a teeny stick figure obviously holding a gun and a deep scowl on its face.

Captain Vick? – mad at me another sad face

Dad? – last resort. He'll say it's: my fault; I asked for it; I'm irresponsible; imaging it; take it to police This was a picture of a stick figure with a scowl, holding what Lassiter thought must be a fishing rod

Other? Handle it myself. The last point was circled and followed by an exclamation mark.

"None of us were there for him", Juliet said quietly. "I told him to go away."

"So did I O'Hara. It wasn't your fault. Shawn would be enough to drive a saint crazy. How could we know that he really needed our help?" Lassiter was trying to help, but by her expression, and every else's, he wasn't doing a stellar job at it.

"Because he asked us?" Gus said quietly. He looked over at Shawn's father and was surprised to see a look he couldn't fatham cross the older man's face. At that moment Henry looked up and caught his eye.

"He shouldn't have been afraid to tell me", he said simply. "What kind of father am I?"

"One who loves his son", Gus told him. "We'll find him." Unfortunately that last line was said more as a question than an assurance. He was terrified.

"O'Hara and I are going to take this down to the station and see if we can find anything on anyone that would want to hurt Spencer. Henry, you and Gus keep looking here, and try and think if there's anything – anything at all – that you can remember. There's got to be a clue somewhere.

Shawn forced himself to look at the photos again. There was something about them that bothered him – something besides the horrific subject matter – but he just couldn't seem to figure it out. That may have been because he felt sick and his chest was in agony. He knew he was suffering from mild shock and tried to remember about burns. He'd read that if they covered more than a certain percentage of your skin it was really dangerous. Although the burns covered a good six inch square of chest, he hoped that because each individual burn was small, it wouldn't be as bad as the entire area was burned. Still – even if he wasn't that bad off in the grand scheme of things, it hurt like hell.

He tried to refocus his eyes, positive that dear old Bill would be back soon. He had to figure out what it was about the pictures that disturbed him. There was a clue here, he was sure of it. Now all he had to do was find it!

He realized a moment later that it wasn't just the pain that was distracting him. He was horribly thirsty – so much so that it was almost worse than the pain. And on top of all that, he had to pee really, really badly.

"You're already thrown up all over yourself", he muttered, "so what difference will it make if you whizz in your pants?" Except it did make a difference. It didn't matter that he was being held by a madman, or that he was probably going to die without ever seeing his friends or family again – the thought of wetting his pants was horrifying. He laughed ironically. The things a person thinks are important! It was just that it was too big a societal taboo and he really didn't want to break it. Except if he didn't get relief soon, he'd end up having no choice.

"Photos, photos, photos", he muttered, trying to keep his mind off his body. "What is it about you - ?"

"Shawn!" Bill opened the door quietly and Shawn jumped at his voice. "Hey- you're so jumpy. What's wrong?"

He looked at Bill incredulously. "Uh – I'm tied up and you're torturing me – that's what's wrong."

"Torture? No, no, - that wasn't torture. There was just a little prodding to get your psychic juices flowing. I can show you real torture."

"No – no that's okay", Shawn rushed in quickly. "I'm fine. I think I've got it – NO – I have got it."

"Got what?" the other man asked pleasantly. He then glanced down at the table and his face instantly clouded up. "You've got the answer", Bill stated. "So tell me – who killed her?"

"No – I don't have the answer – not yet. But I'm getting closer", he shouted as Bill advanced at him angrily. "I was just - uh – letting the spirits wash over me when you came in."

"And what did they say?" God the guy's voice was creepy, thought Shawn. It sounds way too normal for the guy to be – well – normal

"They told me that these pictures were taken by the kidnapper -"

"Murderer", hissed Bill. "He was her murderer."

"I'm sorry – murderer. Am I right? He was the one who took them."

"Yes – yes, that god-damned bastard sent us one every day. My wife practically went insane."

Shawn briefly closed his eyes, unable to imagine the pain of that. No wonder this poor guy was crazy. How could anyone deal with that kind of thing happening to their child?

"And what did the police find out."

"Not a thing. They were useless. That's why we -"

"Why you?"

"Shut up", growled Bill. "Just shut up. I need you to tell me who killed her and as soon as you've done that I'll find him and then he'll wish he'd never been born."

"I can – ur – kind of relate", Shawn whispered. He was terribly disturbed when his abductor just smiled.

"So – what can we do to prod your memory this time", he asked, turning toward the backback and opening up the top. "Let's see – what's next?"

"Hey – you don't have to do this", begged Shawn. "I'm trying to help here and but I won't be able to if you continue to hurt me. Please, don't do it."

"You should have thought of that before you told me you could find her, before you promised. You shouldn't have promised. It was all lies – you're nothing but a con man."

"I – but I didn't promise to find her. I'm afraid you have me confused -"

The blow knocked his head back against the hard wooden chair – again. "Ow", he said, although softly. He didn't want to tick this guy off anymore, or he'd end up with a serious head injury – if he didn't have one already."

"You promised! But I knew you were a fake. That's why I gave you a test – to see if you'd pass it. I knew you wouldn't – I knew you'd fail!"

"Test? What test are you talking about?" Shawn hoped that if he kept the guy talking he'd eventually have to leave, or simply give up.

"To see if you really are psychic", Bill told him, sounding totally reasonable. He continued to peer into the bag as if he was having trouble deciding.

Shawn tried to think of some test that he supposedly failed, but couldn't think of a thing. Nothing particularly interesting had happened, other than the Scheffer case and the fact that he was being stalked by a madmen. So what could it -. Wait! Hell no – it couldn't be, could it? He wouldn't do that just to prove a point – would he?"

He looked over at the insane man who finally reached in and pulled something out with his hand.

"No", he whispered. He stared at the knife as if mesmerized. God how he hated sharp, pointy things.

"So now – you can prove to me once and for all you weren't lying by finding her!" Bill spoke softly, almost gently. "You don't want me to have to use this, do you?"

"No – no I don't. In fact, I think you should put it back in the backpack and instead we can talk about the latest baseball scores. Did you see those Dodgers? They look awesome this year. I wouldn't be surprised if they make it to the World Series."

Bill shook his head and took a step, then another, then another towards Shawn. "I don't care about baseball", he hissed. "I want you to tell me who he is?"

Shawn didn't know what to do. The man was so far beyond crazy that he didn't know how much it would help him even if he did know something. "I need more time", he said desperately. "If you bring all the materials from the case – or at least anything you have, it will help me to figure it out – uh – divine the answer."

"I think maybe I need to go digging for it." Bill held up the knife and stared at it. "I think this might do just fine." He looked down, straight into Shawn's face. "Unless you tell me now."

Shawn could feel himself shaking – and wasn't sure if it was as a result of the burns and head injury or whether it was pure terror. He finally decided it was both. He tried to think, but he was so confused. Why did the guy keep switching back and forth between wanting Shawn to find his daughter and then her killer? Was there something that was making him do that or was he just so crazy he didn't even know what reality he was in?

"Uh – do you want me to find your daughter or her – kidnapper", he finally asked, hoping to snap the guy out of whatever state he was in.

The man's hand flashed in front of him. It all happened so fast that it took a few seconds before Shawn realized he was bleeding from two knife wounds – one on each arm. He stared down at them for a moment watching the blood slowly ooze and then drip down his arms.

"I want you to tell me what you know psychic!" Bill whispered. "You claim to be able to know things – then prove it to me!"

"I – I can't do it like – aaargh!" The knife flashed again, leaving two more cuts a bare inch above the first one.

"Yes. You. Can", Bill told him, his eyes narrowed and his face pale. "Who killed her? Tell me – who was it who destroyed my life. I want to know!" Again and again the knife flashed, cutting more and more of Shawn's arms until he could barely see skin for all the blood.

"STOP! STOP!", he screamed. "Stop doing that – I can't think – I can't – oh God", he sobbed, "please stop."

Bill got a strange smile on his face and leaned forward, pressing the tip of the knife directly under Shawn's left eye. "Do you need your eyes to 'see', Shawn? Can you still tell the truth – can you still feel what happened? You don't need your sight, do you?"

"Yes", Shawn spoke softly, afraid to cause the man's hand to move. "Yes, I need it. That's – that's how my power works", he hasped out. His head was throbbing, his chest was burning as if it had been doused in acid, and now his arms throbbed like crazy. He was pretty sure they'd do more than throb in a few minutes.

"That's how your power works?" Bill asked curiously, sitting back and removing the knife.

Shawn breathed a sigh of relief and tried to relax. "Uh – yeah. I receive psychic visions through the things I see. For example, I'm getting some sense of the kidnapper by looking at those but I need more."

"More?" Bill's eyes narrowed. He still held the dripping knife although he didn't seem to be aware of that fact.

"Yes – if you could bring me anything else I might be able to read the clues. I know there's something here – I've 'felt' it already. It's as if the spirits want me to find him, but are telling me there's more."

Bill continued to regard him and then finally nodded. He carefully set the knife down on the table and then slowly walked towards the door. "I'll give you a bit more time. When I come back you'd better have something for me."

"Right – Kay – I will", Shawn called after him, trying to sound confident. Instead he had gone beyond terror into a new realm of fear. He could tell he was starting to hyperventilate and concentrated on slowing down his breathing. It was hard though – he was in too much pain and fear to control it completely.

He looked down again at his arms, slightly alarmed at how much blood he'd lost, and was continuing to lose. Crap – this could be bad.

And then there was the problem of dehydration and the fact that he still had to pee. Drat –he should have said something. Right – as if the man who just tortured you is going to release you and let you go to the bathroom!

He could feel himself growing faint and knew he was on the verge of passing out. But then Bill's words came back to him and he knew he couldn't afford to do that. He had to figure this out.

He forced his head up and looked over at the table with all the photos. There had to be something there – he just knew it.

"Holy crap", he finally murmured after almost two hours. "That's it."