Sorry for the delay in posting. I've been home sick with flu. I apologize if this is a bit of a confusing chapter - it was a bit tricky trying to explain working out the clues. Hope no one hated it! Reviews and comments (constructive and all) much appreciated.

Gus was worried. After Lassiter and O'Hara left, Henry continued to sit at Shawn's desk looking pale and – old. Well, he sort of thought of the man as old already but not that kind of old. I mean – he had always been old to Gus but now he looked like – like his grandfather kind of old.

"Uh – Mr. Spencer?"

"Henry", said the man, not glancing up.

"Yeah – okay – Henry. We should – uh – do something?"

Henry slowly lifted his head, and stared at Gus, although his eyes looked unfocused. "What? What can we do?" With those soft, and almost hopeless words, his head dropped down as if suddenly too heavy to hold up. With a bitter laugh he then reached out for the pineapple shaped stress ball on Shawn's desk and picked it up. A small square of paper was stuck to the bottom and he reached out to pull it away when a word caught his eye.

"What?" He dropped the pineapple ball and unfolded the paper, quickly reading it. "What the hell?" He stood up suddenly, the chair flipping over behind him.

"What is it?" Gus hurried over. "Mr. – Henry, what is it? Is it something Shawn left?" He wanted to scream at the man for not answering immediately, but then the older man held out the paper. Gus took it, almost fearfully, and looked down.

You failed Psychic and now you are going to die – just like she did – a slow and painful death.

Gus looked up, the blood leaching from his face. Grabbing the side of the desk he held out the paper. "Why didn't he tell me? Why didn't he say anything?"

"I think he already told us why", Henry said softly. He laughed. "You were too busy and he expected me to just tell him off. He reached out Gus but we didn't listen, and now some sicko has my son." He leaned on the desk, looking as if he was going to get sick. After a few deep breaths though, he stood up, a new expression on his face.

Although Gus was terrified – more afraid then he could remember being – that look gave him his first sense of hope, for written across the older man's face was a look of fierce determination.

"I'm gonna find this bastard Gus – I'm gonna find him and kill him – and I'm going to get my son back."

"I'll be right there with you Sir", Gus said softly.

Henry glanced up at him and gave him a small smile. "I know you will be son."

"So what now?" Gus stood up straight. He may not have been there for Shawn before, but damn it – he was now.

"Now? We go to the police with this, and then we start looking."

"But what does it mean that he 'failed'?" Juliet asked, for about the tenth time. "Failed at what?"

"I don't know", Henry rubbed his head. "Gus, did you and Shawn have a case that didn't work out? Something where you – he couldn't find the answer?"

Gus frowned. "No, not that I know of. Shawn is really good a figuring – I mean you know – the spirits always give him the answer so – no."

"There has to be something Guster", Lassiter scowled. "He can't have a hundred percent success rate – no one does."

"Shawn does", Gus answered simply.

"Oh for justice' sake" Lassiter sputtered. "You're telling me there wasn't one little thing – one teeny tiny time that Spencer didn't figure out who did it?"

"Well – okay, maybe", Gus finally admitted.

"There", Lassiter smiled. "I knew it. What was it? A murder? A kidnapping? Come on – tell us?"

"Uh – he never figured out who injected his pineapple with hot sauce when we were at camp."

There was silence in the room. Juliet was biting her lip, Henry looked surprised and Lassiter – poor Lassiter – looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel. "His pineapple?"

"Uh – yeah. He brought a pineapple to summer camp and told everyone he was going to cut it up and share it with them. On the second day he cut it all up while we watched and then took the first bite. I thought he was going to – uh" he glanced at Henry – "uh throw up. It was filled with really hot sauce."

"And he never found out who did it? Shawn? Really?" Juliet sounded surprised. "Wasn't he psychic as a kid?"

Henry looked even more surprised. That was a question no one had ever asked before. "No – no that was something he – discovered – later", his loving father said quietly.

"And he never figured out who did it? That doesn't sound like the Shawn I know." Juliet stopped and frowned. She then turned to Gus. "Wait. it was you – wasn't it?"

This time it was Gus who looked surprised – and guilty. "Wait, how did you -" he stopped dead, realizing that he'd given himself away.

"Because Shawn wouldn't have suspected his best friend. Why did you do it?"

Gus shrugged. "I tried to play jokes on Shawn all the time at home, but he always knew, and he could always get me. At the same time we had a deal that we wouldn't do anything to each other when others were around – it was kind of a – a rule. I guess I figured this was one chance I had to really get him." Suddenly he looked terrible. "I guess I have a habit of betraying him."

"Enough!" Henry stood up. "Don't be ridiculous Gus", he said. "That wasn't betrayal – that was a joke when you were ten. And we're getting off the point here. In case all of you have forgotten, my son is missing and the kidnapper sounds like a homicidal maniac. Whether or not you booby trapped his pineapple over 20 years ago is irrelevant right now."

"Exactly", Carlton stood up as well. "And the point is, Spencer had to have failed at something – recently - and it made this guy mad, so until we find out what that was, we don't have anything in the way of a clue."

"That's not true", his loyal partner said, much to the Chief Detective's irritation. "The note also said he was going to – uh – "

"Die?" Henry said quietly.

Juliet nodded. " - like she did.' What does that mean? Like who?"

Again there was silence.

"Could it relate to how he supposedly failed? Did Shawn have anything to do with a case where a woman died and someone saw that as a failure?" Lassiter frowned in thought. Actually, he frowned all the time but this time he was concentrating.

"That she died?" Juliet pursed her lips and considered that.

"Possibly."

"Or that he couldn't discover who killed her?" Henry interjected.

They all sat and tried to think of a case – any case – where a woman had died or where Shawn could possibly have done something that the kidnapper could have blamed him for.

"Detective", Henry looked at Juliet. "Why don't we have someone pull all the cases where a woman died – as well as any department cold cases?"

"How far back?"

"From when Spencer started working here?" Lassiter said.

"No", Gus shook his head. "He called in lots of tips long before he worked here."

"But would the kidnapper know that?"

Gus shrugged. "How many cases could there be?"

"Unsolved murders of women? I don't know – lots probably."

"So let's pick a time – say ten years?" Henry suggested. "I doubt it would go much farther back."

"And the note said she'd suffered a 'slow and painful death'" Juliet looked sick as she said that. "So it can't have been a quick accident or anything like that."

"Alright", Lassiter said, taking control. "We'll have Buzz check out all the deaths of women from the last ten years that were not – quick and relatively painless with special attention to any that are unsolved, is that right."

The others were silent, obviously in agreement, so he gave a swift nod and turned to tell Buzz. Just as he walked away Gus spoke.

"And girls", he said softly.

"What?" Carlton scowled at him. "That's what I said."

"No, you said 'women'. It could have been a girl – a child, not a woman. The note only said 'she'."

"Right", Lassiter pursed his lips and gave another nod, then left to find Gus.

"Are we really going to find anything like this?" Gus looked at Henry and Juliet. "I mean, what are the chances?"

"Gus, you know as well as I do that this is the only thing we have to go on right now. It may not be a lot, but it's something and Chief Vick has offered us all the help she can. In the meantime, why don't you check out any of Shawn's other friends and acquaintances and see if anything comes up?" Juliet walked up and laid her hand gently on his shoulder.

Gus nodded and stood slowly. He considered Shawn's father and former cop – and Juliet, the woman his friend was crazy about and whom he trusted implicitly. "Okay – call if you find out anything."

"We will Gus – don't worry – we will."

He should have seen it instantly. It was the sort of thing he usually didn't miss. He guessed he could excuse it on the fact that he was hurt and in pain – and terrified to the point of paralysis. He cracked a broken laugh at suddenly hearing his father's voice telling him he was just making excuses. He should have seen it.

The pictures – it was in the pictures but he just hadn't noticed. He was also pretty sure that the police hadn't either. And if they had it must not have led to anything because, according to Bill, the pervert who killed his daughter had not been caught.

So okay, now that he sees it – what does it mean? He tilted his head to look at them differently, but all that did was make him dizzier than he already was. He had grown steadily weaker as the time went by from a combination of blood loss and dehydration. His bladder was also about ready to burst, which made it much harder to concentrate. He hoped Bill would come back and at least offer him a bottle to pee into if not an actual break.

Okay Shawn – again, what does it mean? It was just a series of random letters that meant nothing and he was going to die because he couldn't figure it out! He closed his eyes and concentrated. He had to figure it out.

At first when he'd looked at the photographs the killer had sent, all he could see was an innocent child, cruelly tortured and murdered. He didn't see much else. It was only when he realized the pictures had been taken at different times that he realized. They're weren't just pictures meant to torture the parents, they were clues. Clues to what he didn't know – maybe the kidnappers name or location? All he knew was that once he looked beyond the person in the picture he began to see the patterns her body made. The pervert had posed her body to form shapes. After a few long minutes he'd realized the shapes were letters.

He'd been excited at first but then, once he'd deciphered them it hadn't meant anything to him. They were random letters meaning nothing.

So what had he ended up with? Nothing but ii xxxx nn c l. He tried moving them around, sounding them out and even seeing if they were abbreviations like in that license plate game he and Gus used to play. But nothing made any sense.

Except there was something – something on the edge of his mind that was picking at him. He knew those letters, they meant something and it was there somewhere.

He whimpered – he couldn't do it. He hurt too much. "Please", he whispered. "Please Dad, Gus, someone – help me."

"Come on Shawn", Gus' voice told him. "You know this. I told you about this, explained it to you. You remember, don't you? Come on. You remember everything."

"But I don't Gus – please, I forgot. Just tell me again."

"No Shawn, that's not how we play this game. I told you once now you have to remember or I win and I get all your games and your Baywatch poster of Pamela Anderson."

"Not Pamela Dude – never."

"Yup, cause you'll be dead Shawn and I get everything. So you'd better remember."

"But I can't."

"What have I always told you Shawn?" his father's voice took over where Gus' had left off. "You'll always be a failure because of that attitude. The only way you'll ever succeed is if you keep trying. Whining and giving up will just make you dead and then who will clean the garage? And I'll just have to give all your stuff to Ernie's kid Albert."

"No – you can't give it to Albert. God Dad – he's a – a tattletale. He's the one that always lied to get Gus and me into trouble."

"Sorry kiddo – that's what happens when you give up."

"I don't know", he cried. "I don't know what it means."

"That's right Spencer. You always were a screw up. If you weren't you'd remember. But I knew you weren't really a psychic all along. You're just a fake and I'm gonna make sure that your name and picture hang in the precinct for all to see. Underneath it we'll write LOSER – cause that's what you are."

"I'm not a loser Lassie – I've solved dozens of cases with you – you know I have. We're friends Lassie – even if I tease you sometimes and you pretend you don't like me. Come on, I really can't remember!"

"Of course you do Shawn." Juliet's soft voice spoke this time. "You know it – or at least that's what you told me. You don't want me to think you're a liar do you Shawn? I couldn't love a man who was a liar. If you don't know then I think I'll have to call Cameron Luntz. He still loves me and he would know."

There was no way in hell Juliet was going to go back to that old, arrogant day old prune muffin, Cameron. He had to remember. For Jules he could do it. Think Shawn – relax and think.

He had a series of letters – why did they seem familiar? There were 'I's' and 'x's' and an 'L' – wait – he'd made all the letters small – he couldn't tell from the photos – but the 'L' was a capital, otherwise it would have looked like an 'I' and he already had 'I's'. He shook his head. Okay – again think. If the letters are capitals, what did that give him?

He slowly opened his eyes and again went through each of the letters. This time he pictured them all in caps. II XXXX NN C L. He squinted, as if that could make him think more clearly – see more clearly. It was starting to come but there was still something wrong – something off.

His head jerked back. That was it – not 'N's' but 'M's', that was it. It was almost impossible to make an 'M' with a human body but the killer had tried, Shawn had simply misread it. So now what did he have: II XXXX MM C L. That was it – they weren't letters they were numbers – Roman numerals! The killer had left a clue of numbers. But great – now all he had to do was remember what they were.

"Crap", he muttered. Why hadn't he paid more attention when Gus had tried to explain Roman numerals to him? Just picture something that has a date on it – that's right – old movies use Roman numerals. Think Shawn, think of an old movie and remember the date at the end.

He kept his eyes closed as he tried to picture an old movie – but which one. There were so many. There was Wizard of Oz – no, no, too juvenile. There had to be something better than that. How about Gone With the Wind – chick flick –nope. I know, I know – North by Northwest – that was it. Classic Hitchcock movie. Now think Shawn – remember the credits.

Suddenly, without warning he could see the end of the movie. He often cursed his memory but right now he could have cried his gratitude. "Yes" he hissed. He could picture it: MCMLIX. And the movie was made in 1959, that he clearly remembered. He remembered that because – oh hell, because of something he couldn't care less about right now.

So if MCMLIX was 1959 then M equaled 1000, C – what the hell was C? It couldn't be 900 – that didn't make sense. He could almost feel Gus swat him on the side of the head.

"Okay, okay – so how did the stupid Romans do numbers? "Yes", suddenly he remembered. They sort of subtracted. So M was 1000 and 2 'M's would be 2000 – but this was 1959 – not 2000. So that means 'C' is taken away from 'M' and 'C' is –

"It's 100 Shawn", the disgusted voice of his father broke in.

"Gotcha!" He wished Gus were here for a fist bump – not that he could have done one anyway, not with his hands tied and his arms all chewed up and bloody – but – forget that Shawn. So he had 'M' equals 1000, 'C' is 100. Now, what about 'L'? That was easy, he almost smiled. 'L' had to be 50. That simply left I and X and he knew those. I is one and X is ten. And 'I' before 'X' made a 9. He was doing it now.

Except that left another problem. What order were the numbers in? He thought back to the numbers made by the girl's body and tried to figure out their order.

A date – that was logical based on the numbers that were there. With the 'M's' and the 'C' it had to be a year date – that would help because it would remove a bunch of the numbers and then he should be able to figure out the rest. He slowly worked it through in his mind – even though he was getting more and more tired. The initial rush of the discovery was wearing off and he didn't know how much longer he could keep going.

"That's it", he whispered. "1969". Okay so something took place that year, something important. But when that year? What letters are left?" He'd removed MCMLXIX so that only left 'I', 'X' and a second 'X'. So, the number could be a 9 and a 10 or a 1, 10, 10 or a 10 and an 11. Damn – there was no way of telling, unless …. He looked again at the pictures. Maybe the killer had given another clue?

"Are you ready to tell me yet?" Bill had opened the door so quietly Shawn hadn't even heard him until he spoke. He practically jumped out of his skin and did let out a small whimper. God no ….

"Almost – I almost have it", he whispered. "I – the spirits are slow today but I'm almost there. I just need a bit more time, that's -"

"I gave you almost three hours psychic", Bill said calmly. "That should have been more than enough time if you really were who you said you were. But you LIED! You always lied – you just wanted the money – you don't know who killed her. You can't FIND HIM!"

"Yes, please – I can – really – I told you – look, I figured out the pictures. They're – aargh!" He choked back a scream as Bill's hand hit him solidly in the cheek, leaving a bruise on top of the ones already there.

"Don't LIE. I'm sick of your lies. You don't KNOW. Because of you she's going to die." By this time Bill was weeping, the tears running madly down his cheeks. He frantically grabbed the backpack and reached inside, quickly rummaging around inside it.

"No please – just listen. I'm telling you, I know something. It's the pictures, they're numbers, Roman numbers. There's a -" his voice faded out when Bill pulled out the needle nosed pliars.

"Oh God – no – please – don't." His voice broke as he looked at them, knowing what was coming. "Please, just listen to me and I'll tell you."

Bill walked to him slowly, his eyes never leaving Shawn's hands, even though he had them tightly curled into fists. "Because of you she died", Bill murmured. "We won't find her. You told us you could – you told us you could find her and you lied and now she's going to die."

Shawn closed his eyes and let his head drop. There was no point in trying anymore. The man was so lost to reality that he flipped back and forth from one second to the next, believing one moment that his daughter was alive and Shawn was to find her – to knowing she was dead and blaming him. He whimpered again. "No", he whispered, but this time not to Bill – but to anyone, anyone at all who might be listening – who looked after fake psychics and sons and best friends and irritating co-workers and would-be boyfriends . Maybe someone, somewhere would hear him.

Bill reached out and grabbed his hand, forcing it open. Holding down his fingers he leaned forward, holding firmly onto the pliars. "This is going to hurt just a little bit", he told the tied man, a strange calmness settling on his face. "Just relax."

Moments later Shawn was praying – like he'd never done in his life – that he'd just pass out. Instead he could feel himself start to gasp and then to hyperventilate. The worst moment of all came when he felt the warmth and the wetness soak into his pants. He began to cry – the pain and the terror and now the humiliation too much to bear.

"Please", he whispered, one last time before blessed darkness overtook him.