His mind went completely blank. He simply stared at the man in front of him, not feeling fear, nor anger, nor hatred. He felt nothing.
After what felt like an eternity, but was probably no more than mere seconds, the 'nothing' morphed into a strange sense of inevitability. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he'd known this day would come. A part of him, the tiny part that was still functioning, recognized that he could have wished this had happened when he wasn't still so crippled.
The next thought that followed was that he was probably going to die any minute now. His father would be angry at him for that. A cop would know what to do, wouldn't let it happen. Lassiter would say that it just proved he wasn't psychic. Gus would cry – and then probably get on with his life. Juliet – well, he hoped she'd cry too but he figured would soon get over his death. He just wished he'd asked her out – even once – but now he'd lost that chance.
And what a bitch that was! Instantly he could felt a surge of anger replace the strange lethargy he'd been experiencing since he'd first opened the door.
He blinked and realized that everything had gone through his mind in less time than it'd taken Bill to shift from one foot to another. Well hell, he'd better snap out of it and do something before it was too late. Maybe he could make his father proud after all. I mean, miracles did happen, didn't they?
"No", he said simply.
Bill looked confused, which strangely made Shawn want to laugh. At least he hadn't lost that.
"What? What are you saying?" Bill hissed at him.
"I said 'no'. You asked me if I missed you, and I said 'no'. Wasn't I clear?"
Bill opened his mouth to answer, when Shawn did something he should have done as soon as he'd recognized who was standing on his father's front step. He slammed the door in Bill's face and then quickly locked it. He then stole a look out the window in the door to see his kidnapper and torturer standing there, a shocked look on his face, which quickly turned to anger.
Shawn knew he had to get to a phone, and quickly. Bill would be able to get in if he really wanted to and there'd be little he could do to defend himself. He wished he could run, but instead he forced himself to hobble over to his father's phone, cursing that he'd left his cell on the couch.
"Note to self", he muttered. "Never leave home – or couch – without it!"
As he stumbled his way slowly to the phone he could feel his heart practically pick up and run screaming from the room. He was scared. Hell – he was terrified. But as that was mixed with an equal dose of anger he refused to let it get the better of him. He was not going to let this bastard get away with terrorizing him – or killing him, for that matter. Nope – he was done with that.
He managed to get to the phone and quickly dialed 911. He told the operator what was going on and then hung up, even as she continued to speak. He knew she'd send help immediately and he had to see what was happening. He had to know if Bill was still around. Shaking almost uncontrollably now, he looked around the room. For once he wished his father kept a gun down here – but Henry was too much the cop. He knew the dangers of having weapons in the house and kept his carefully locked in his upstairs bedroom.
Casting his eyes around the room he tried to find something, anything to use as a weapon. He finally lit on a walking stick his father used on his rare hikes. It was solid wood and would make a formidable club and defense against a knife. Now if Bill brought a gun then it would be pretty useless.
Shawn stood for a few seconds, unsure what to do. Should he go back to the front door? Was Bill even now circling around the back, trying to make his way in? He couldn't remember, suddenly, whether the back door was even locked. He knew his father was a touch paranoid about that, especially since Shawn had been kidnapped, but it could still be open. He could feel himself start to sweat.
Still debating, he eventually swiveled – and almost fell – to face the front door. That was the best. If Bill did get in, he could flee out the front and there might be enough people outside to keep Bill from trying anything.
"Yeah sure", he hissed, his leg deciding that it had gone too long without making him aware of it and he began to feel something like hot daggers jabbing into his thigh. Oh well, at least it would keep him alert. As if he was in danger of falling asleep when there was a homicidal maniac running around!
He almost stumbled as the muscle in his leg cramped, but he forced himself on. He had to get out to safety.
Now sure that Bill would burst in any moment, he scrambled as fast as he could – even though he probably looked like something out of the walking dead, a very slow walking dead guy. He had to get out of here. He could feel his heart speed up even more, his breathing become shallower and his whole body get weaker as the terror grew. He hadn't heard anything, anything at all and that was creeping him out even more.
He had to make it. He could make it. It was only a few more feet and then he'd be outside. Come on Shawn …
He reached the door and groaned in relief. He reaching out and touched the handle –
"Ringgggg".
"Awwww!" he screamed, falling back so fast he landed on his ass on the floor. He was here. Bill was standing outside, ready to come in and kill him. "Oh God, oh God, oh God!" he whispered, sure he was about to die.
He could hear the key turn in the lock and knew the end was here. It didn't dawn on him that Bill wouldn't have a key to his father's house. Instead he was sure he was going to die on his father's floor and there was nothing he could do about it. "I'm sorry Da-"
"Shawn? Oh my God." Gus swiftly knelt on the floor beside him. "Are you okay? What happened? Oh my God, I'll call for an ambulance."
Just then sirens could be heard approaching the house and Gus looked surprised and then afraid. "How did they -?"
"It's – the – police", gasped Shawn. He was seeing spots and thought for sure he was going to black out. The only thing that kept him conscious was a niggling thought – so niggling he couldn't quite remember what it was. "Gus", he panted.
"What Shawn? What?" Gus was sounding panicked himself, even though he didn't know what was wrong.
He didn't know! Shawn closed his eyes, his vision getting a slight bit better, even though he was still faint. "Bill", he finally huffed, as his memory started to return. "Was here. Be – careful!"
"What?" Gus frowned, unsure as to what Shawn was trying to say. "Bill? Bill – oh my God! You don't mean the kidnapper?"
He nodded. "Yes – here – knife – closed door."
Thankfully, at that moment the police and fire department all arrived at once. To no one's surprise – least of all Spencer and Gus – the first person, or people, on the scene were Lassiter and Juliet. He could always count on them, was Shawn's only thought. His brain was still pretty much mush!
"Lassie!" he called, although faintly. "You came!"
"Of course I came Spencer", the detective snapped. "You called the police. We're supposed to come. Are you alright?" Lassiter seemed to suddenly realize that the psychic was lying on his butt on the floor. "Why are you on the floor? Are you hurt?"
"He fell", Guster explained, "when I opened the door. I don't know why."
Shawn continued to lie there, looking up at the concerned faces of Juliet and Gus and the irritated face of Lassiter. He didn't say anything, not sure what to tell them.
"He said that Bill was here", Gus continued.
"Bill?' Lassie frowned.
"Not you too", Shawn sighed. "You remember – the guy who kidnapped me and tortured me."
"And he was here?" Lassie was surprised, but that was followed swiftly by him turning to the officers behind him. "Check everything out – now. And be careful. This guy is probably armed and is extremely dangerous." He looked down at Shawn. "Do you need an ambulance?"
"Uh –no. I could use a hand though."
Both Gus and Lassiter helped him stand and move towards the couch with Jules offering whatever assistance she could. They finally got him seated, and in good time as he was ready to collapse.
Jules watched him briefly and then headed into the kitchen and filled a glass of water. "Here", she handed it to him. "Are you sure you're okay Shawn?"
"Yeah", he drank the water. "I'm sorry", he said, handing the empty glass back.
"What are you sorry for?" Lassiter walked back to the couch after having told the fire department everything was under control. "What did you do?"
"I – nothing. I'm sorry you had to come out like this."
"Are you sure you saw him?" the chief detective asked. "Could it have been that you were sleeping and maybe dreamt it? Sometimes dreams are pretty vivid."
"I didn't dream it Lassy", Shawn spoke quietly, looking down at his hands. "I was up when the doorbell rang. I answered it and he was standing there. He asked if I was glad to see him. He had a knife in one hand."
"Oh Shawn", Jules said gently, kneeling beside him and looking up into his drawn face. "What did you do?"
He blinked down at her, again thinking how beautiful she was. "Uh – I slammed the door in his face."
"You what?" her eyebrows flew up and she half laughed. "You just – closed the door. Didn't he try and stop you?"
For the first time in a long time Shawn could feel a grin start to force its way onto his face. Maybe it was the reaction from the terror of a few moments ago, but suddenly he found it funny. Soon he was chuckling – which was soon followed by out and out laughter. The next thing he knew he was hugging himself, trying to keep from hurting as a result of his hysterical laughter.
He missed the looks that passed between Gus, Jules and Lassiter – and he wouldn't have cared anyway. It felt good to laugh, even if it was as much about relief as it was from anything truly being funny. Still, he couldn't … "you should have - seen", he laughed again, "seen – his – face! He didn't – expect me to – shut it." He had to bend over and he could barely catch his breath. But it was so good.
"Shawn – are you okay?" Gus finally asked. He was looking at him with concern, but Shawn didn't care.
"Yup – just – fine", he chortled. "I just keep – thinkin' about – old Bill. He didn't – expect – that!"
Lassiter watched him, his head shaking, and then made his way out the front to check on things.
"We couldn't find anything Sir", one of the police officers walked towards him. "We checked all over and there's no sign of anybody. If he was here he managed to escape and not leave any clues. There's nothing."
"Thank you officer", Lassiter answered. With a quick look around – and a ferocious scowl – he finally walked back inside.
"Did you see anything Spencer?" Lassiter walked over to the couch again, determined to figure this out.
"No – all I saw was him – standing looking at me."
"And you're sure it was him? Could it have been someone else who just looked like Bill?"
"Like who? A vacuum cleaner salesman? A Jehovah's Witness? I doubt if either of them would show up with a knife in his hand, asking if I'd missed him?"
"Spencer – look, there's no evidence that anyone was here and without further proof there's not really anything we can do. One of us will stay here until your father is back, but that's about all I can do I'm afraid. If you remember anything – or if the uh – spirits talk to you, let me know."
"You don't believe me Lassie", Shawn said quietly. He'd recovered from his fit of laughter and was now feeling exhausted, and still frightened, by his earlier encounter. On top of that he felt hurt that the detective would doubt him. He glanced at Jules and then Gus, hoping to see their belief in him and was further hurt by the looks of doubt that flitted across their faces. "None of you believe me", he muttered. "Fine – then just go. No point wasting police resources on me." He closed his eyes and leaned back against the couch. He just wanted this all to be over.
"Shawn", Jules gentle voice reached out to him, as did her hand which she placed on his shoulder. "It's not that we don't believe you, it's just we're not sure what to do. Lassiter called it in and they're notifying everyone to be on the lookout for him. And we're not going to leave you unprotected. One of us will be here with you at all times."
"Even in the bathroom?" he asked, feeling slightly better.
She rolled her eyes, but grinned. "I think we can stand outside the door."
"But what if he's hiding in there?"
"Where Shawn?" Gus asked. "In the toilet tank?"
"You never know about maniacs. He could be anywhere."
"I'm sure he's not in the john Spencer", Lassiter told him, sounding disgusted.
"But what about under my bed? Will you check under my bed for me Jules?"
Suddenly her face cracked into a beautiful smile. He tilted his head – wondering what had caused her to look so happy all of a sudden. His joke hadn't been that funny. "What?"
"You're back Shawn."
"Back?" he looked between her and Gus – who was also grinning. "Where did I go?"
"You've – not been yourself", she said carefully.
"What she means is that you haven't been your irritating self lately", Lassiter broke in. "You've been quiet and sensible and polite. I really don't understand why she's so happy."
Shawn grinned. "You love me too Lassy, don't deny it."
"I may have to shoot you if you say that again Spencer", he growled. "Now, let's figure out where this madman could have gone. You're sure you don't remember anything?" he pulled out his pad of paper and sat down opposite Shawn. Both Jules and Gus also sat, looking expectantly at their friend.
Shawn stared back at the three of them. He did feel a slight bit better, but there was no way he was back to the way he had been. He couldn't be, not after all that had happened. Still, he'd wanted to make his friends feel better and knew that appearing to be his usual ridiculous self they'd think he was on the mend. He wanted to sigh – it was going to take some energy to keep this up – energy he was pretty sure he didn't have.
"So?" Lassiter was sporting his 'grumpy' face, so Shawn figured he'd better pay attention. No point pissing Lassiter off if he didn't have to.
He nodded and closed his eyes. Surely there was something he could remember. He was good at this – he'd been highly trained in observation by none other than Henry Spencer. Surely his skill hadn't deserted him, not now, not when he really needed it.
He touched his fingers to the side of his head. He'd have to give at least a little psychic show if he wanted them to believe he had it in him. It helped him concentrate anyway – something he needed to do right now.
Think Shawn, think. He'd only seen Bill for a few seconds and his mind had definitely been elsewhere. But not his eyes! His eyes were good at finding clues. There had to be something, anything. He thought back to those few brief moments.
"He was wearing a red shirt", he muttered. "A red button down shirt – open at the top. He had jeans on and he was holding the knife."
"Anything else you remember?"
"Uh – no." He opened his eyes and wanted to groan. What was – wait! He frowned. There was something but what …? He touched his head again. "I'm seeing – "
"What? What are you seeing?" Lassiter looked at him anxiously. "What is it?"
"There's a car – a white car -" Shawn's eyes were focused, not on the present, but on that white car. It was sitting out on the street, almost in front of his father's house. He was sure it didn't belong to one of the neighbors so it must have been Bill's. He thought back to that car until he began to see the license plate. "it's CA 2B7 3GK."
Shawn collapsed back onto the couch, wanting nothing so much as to sleep. It had been a terrible day – but was now showing signed of improving. "Are you going to look for the car?" he asked Lassiter.
"Damn right I am", the detective told Shawn. "We're gonna capture this bastard if it's the last thing I do."
Shawn stared at him, his face serious for once. "Wow. You really do care", he whispered. He felt surprisingly emotional, although a part of him wanted to laugh at Lassiter's sour expression. The detective hated to be caught being nice. "Alright - let's catch him!"
Jules put out her hand and laid it on top of his. A moment later Gus added his. He was humbled at the loyalty of his friends, although he wanted to laugh at the 'Three Muskateers moment'. He knew he didn't deserve them, but right now he didn't care. He needed them. "So – about looking under my bed Jules ….!"