Soon, the old farmstead was crowded with several police cars and an ambulance. Officers went about their business processing the scene. The forensics team got busy. Everyone hoped some clue would turn up as to the perpetrator's whereabouts.

Oddly, almost everyone avoided the center of the action: the cellar of the old house. The victim had yet to emerge, and EMTs had not yet been allowed in to tend to him.

O'Hara was wringing her hands in front of Lassiter. Gus stood silently at her shoulder. "Why can't we see him?" she asked. "If he's hurt, why aren't the EMTs in there?"

Gus had guessed why they weren't being allowed in yet. His respect for the head detective had grown quite a bit when he'd realized Lassiter was actually protecting Shawn. He didn't say a word.

Lassiter nodded to himself, looking out over her head. "Just be glad he doesn't need them in there yet. He's been through a lot, O'Hara; just give him a minute."

She stared up at him, biting her lip. She, like all of them, had some idea of what this prolonged solitude could do to Shawn. She was glad Henry was in there with his son, but she desperately wanted to see him for herself. "I'm at least going in the house. Gus? You coming?"

Gus followed.

oO0Oo

In the cellar, Shawn's sobs had finally subsided into choked gasps and then into silence.

But he hadn't let go.

Henry was glad to hear Shawn's breathing was now somewhat even. He'd felt the bloody mess of Shawn's back as he'd held his son, but Shawn barely seemed to notice.

Henry knew well that his son didn't get a papercut without putting on a huge display and wringing all possible sympathy out of anyone nearby. What had happened over the days of his captivity that he could sit here bleeding, injured, and clearly in pain and not say a word?

Henry was careful when he finally settled Shawn into a more comfortable position against the wall. "That okay?" he asked, knowing it wasn't.

Shawn just nodded, staring at the floor. "Where's Gus?"

"I'm sure he's here by now… You want to see him?"

Instead of answering, Shawn whispered tentatively, "Did you... did you get him?"

Henry really didn't want to answer that one, but the pause told Shawn all he needed to know.

Henry felt the tension suddenly ratchet up in his son. He grasped Shawn's shoulders reassuringly. "Hey, hey, you're safe now, and that's all that matters. You hear me?"

But Shawn's breathing had once more become gasps.

"Shawn... Shawn! You're safe! I've got you."

Shawn's wide and empty eyes darted around the room. His hand latched like a vise onto his father's arm, his body as taut as a bowstring. "Dad?" he whimpered. "He's out there…"

Shawn heard himself. He knew he sounded like a crazy person. Having first Lassiter and now Henry with him was emphasizing the fact that, while they were still their normal selves, he… wasn't. He wanted desperately to be normal too, but he was just too terrified to do anything about it.

Henry tried a different tack. "You wanna go see Gus? Juliet is upstairs, too. You wanna see them?"

"Gus—" came out on a tremulous wheeze as Shawn grabbed ahold of the centering thought of his best and truest friend. "Jules? Upstairs?" He knew what his dad was trying to do and desperately wanted it to work. He needed to stop freaking out.

"Yeah." Henry forced his voice to sound casual in order to reinforce the distraction. He gently grasped both Shawn's arms, helping to ground him. "You ready to go see them?"

The distraction was working. Shawn fought to slow his breathing and focus on something—anything other than his fear. "I can't."

"Shawn…"

"No. I mean… I can't climb the stairs." Shawn cleared his throat and explained, "I kept trying to get the door open—get out. Almost did it a couple times. After that, Smoky"—a momentary hitch as he very nearly lost control again—"made sure I couldn't climb the stairs anymore." He rested a hand on his injured leg.

"Is it broken?"

"I don't know. Don't think so... Just can't put any weight on it. I still scooted up there on my butt, but he… discouraged that, too," Shawn finished quietly on what was surely a horrific and painful memory. "He seemed to just show up… whenever he was having a bad day and needed to… to take out... some frustrations…" A pause then as Shawn closed his eyes and tried not to remember. "I didn't know why… I didn't know…" He swallowed, desperately trying to silence himself. He didn't want his dad to know how horrific his captivity had been. Days—weeks—alone in the dark, in the silence. No one to talk to.

Henry closed his eyes in sympathy and regret.

"I can't climb the stairs," Shawn stated bluntly, trying to bring them back to the matter at hand. He hadn't meant to tell Henry any of that.

"Okay… What do you want to do?"

Shawn surprised his father by chuckling. "Well, we can't let the Super-Smeller come down here, can we?"

Grateful that Shawn was at least willing to try, Henry played along. "Probably not a good idea. But, on the other hand, I don't think Gus will wait until you've had a shower, do you?"

"C'mon, Dad," Shawn whined. "Please tell me I don't smell quite as bad as this room does."

The corner of Henry's lip quirked upward, and he wished Shawn could see it. He forced some humor into his voice instead. "You're fine, kid. In fact, right now, you're about the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

There was a moment of silence as neither man had expected that. But it was true. That morning, Henry had been pretty sure he would never see his son alive again. Never talk to him. Never be annoyed by him…

Shawn's instinct was to tease his dad mercilessly for the compliment, but, somehow, he couldn't make himself do it.

"You've got two choices here, kid," Henry continued as if the previous sentence hadn't been uttered. "The EMTs come down here with a stretcher or you let me carry you." He tried not to think about how pitifully easy it would be to carry his son in his current condition.

"Is there a third option?"

"You tell me."

"I could stay here," Shawn whispered so quietly his dad almost missed it.

Henry sighed. "Shawn…"

"Um…" Shawn continued, trying to hide his slip. The last thing he wanted anyone to know was that the thought of actually leaving the cellar absolutely terrified him. "If you help… I think… I think I can do it."

Henry looked at him. "If you help," Shawn had said, and Henry wasn't at all sure he was referring to the physical challenge of climbing the stairs.

Blind, crippled, and in pain—leaving the only reality he'd known for the better part of a month to face the rest of a world he couldn't see, a world where a man waited to kill him. It would be one of the hardest things Shawn had ever done.

But he did it.

In the end, Henry very nearly had to carry him. It wasn't hard to support Shawn's weight, given how little of it there was. They had to stop three times on the way, although Henry couldn't be sure if Shawn had to pause because of fatigue or fear.

"Fourteen," Shawn had told him. "There're fourteen steps." Then, quietly, with a firm grip on the steadying presence of his father, "I can do this."

They stopped on number thirteen. Shawn felt fresh air for the first time in twenty-seven days, and, in spite of the pain from his bruised ribs, took in a deep, slow, steadying breath of clean, sweet air. He closed his eyes and let it out. He didn't know, yet, that both Gus and Juliet were silently watching—Juliet, with tears of both joy and sadness streaming down her face at the sight of him.

Seen in daylight, Shawn looked even worse than he had downstairs. His filthy, torn jeans were now about three sizes too big. His belt was cinched as tight as it would go, and it was barely succeeding in keeping his pants up. His shirt was tattered, and, through the holes, it was hard to tell where scrapes and bruises ended and dirt began. The entire left side of his face, especially near the temple, was badly bruised and swollen beneath a scruff of beard. His hair was matted and wild as if he had been grabbing fistfuls of it, and, now that he saw him from behind, Henry could see where it was matted with old, dried blood.

But it was his eyes that made Juliet weep. Eyes that were always so bright, that twinkled at her even when things were bad. Those eyes were dull and stared sightlessly at a point somewhere in the middle distance.

But Shawn wasn't thinking about his looks.

This was upstairs! A place Shawn had dreamed about for the better part of a month. He extended his senses as Henry had taught him. Was it laid out like he'd imagined? Judging by the echoes telling him where the kitchen and front room were, he congratulated himself. He'd been pretty close. He also knew there were four people present. Gus was in front of him; Shawn could feel the reassuring warmth, sympathy, and unconditional friendship flowing off the man. Slightly smaller, Juliet was standing behind Gus's right shoulder. The other two felt like strangers, and he guessed those were the EMTs.

"Are they there?" he whispered to his dad for confirmation.

"Yeah, kid. They're happy to see you."

Henry frowned because he could feel Shawn change. He was bracing himself, putting on an act, a false front. His shoulders went back, and he straightened his spine, although Henry knew the movement had to be painful. He plastered on a smile and took the last hop into freedom.

"Hey guys! Gus, you'd better prepare the Super-Smeller. My dad says I stink."

Gus never hesitated. He walked up and hugged his buddy. Shawn forced himself not to wince and hugged him back with his good arm, closing his eyes and even laying his head against Gus's shoulder for a moment.

"You do stink!" Gus's forced laughter was awkward but welcomed, especially by Shawn. "But, dude! Your shirt makes you look just like Bruce Banner after he changes back from The Hulk."

Shawn chuckled at that even as tears came to his eyes. "Thanks, buddy," he whispered. He should have known he could trust Gus to give him his first genuine laugh in nearly a month, and it felt good. It felt like a promise, like healing.

Trusting his dad to keep him from falling as he balanced on one foot, Shawn put his hand on Gus's face and felt the wetness there. "Sympathetic crier?" He felt Gus nod against his hand. "Then where's Jules?"

She stepped closer to him.

Henry frowned because he felt Shawn suddenly tense when she approached. He knew Shawn was happy to 'see' Juliet, so the reaction had to be an instinctive fear of anyone approaching him. Everyone was a threat right now. Henry would have to remember that.

She took his hand, and he smiled for her. "Here, Shawn. Are you…" Realizing how idiotic that question was, she changed tactics mid-sentence. "It's good to see you."

"We all thought you were dead," Gus blurted.

"Gus, don't be the last bit of ice cream in the bottom of the cone. I never even came close to that! Now where's that stretcher? I want a ride!"

Only Henry knew that if Shawn didn't get on that stretcher—right now—he was going to collapse. He had pushed himself well beyond his current limits.

oO0Oo

Once they had him on the stretcher, the EMTs immediately started an IV. In the absence of any obvious life-threatening injuries, treating Shawn's dehydration and malnutrition were of first importance in stabilizing him. In his fragile condition, he could easily go into shock, and that could kill him.

But Shawn wasn't interested in what they were doing. He was staring blankly, thinking. He knew the others were hovering—worrying—but he couldn't stand to think about that right now. He was thinking about everything that first Lassiter and then his dad had told him.

Physically sidelined, his mind was the only tool he had to combat the terror that was threatening to overwhelm him. And it was working; the harder he concentrated on beating Frey, the more he beat back his fear.

"Lassie?" he croaked when he heard someone enter. It sounded like Lassie's shoes, and he was right.

Lassiter rested a hand on Shawn's arm so he'd know where he was.

Shawn turned his head in that direction. "How many?" he rasped.

Lassiter frowned. "How many…"

"Cars!" Shawn clarified impatiently. "What kind of police presence did you bring?"

"There's—"

"Too many," Shawn whimpered almost desperately. He squirmed as he wished someone could keep up with his thought process. "Today's day twenty-seven, isn't it?" he asked.

No one responded.

Frustrated, he continued, bluntly stating what they were all too afraid to say. "Frey's kid was killed twenty-seven days after he went away. That means I'm supposed to die today."

Henry stared at his son. How did he know any of that? Frey hadn't told him anything. And for that matter, how could he speak of his own death so casually?

And then Henry realized Shawn knew because he remembered.

He didn't even know Shawn had been paying attention when he'd arrested Frey. That had been years ago when Shawn had wanted nothing to do with police work. How did he know anything about Frey or his kid or the amount of time that had passed?

He remembered.

Shawn always observed; he always remembered. The fact that he was putting it all together so quickly was impressive, even to Henry.

Lassiter knew Frey hadn't explained anything; Shawn had said as much.

Lassiter had told him the name of his captor, and he vividly remembered Shawn's had put everything together in those few seconds. Maybe he really was psychic. Lassiter briefly shook his head at the thought.

"C'mon!" Shawn whined, wanting everyone—someone—else to catch up. "Smoky told me yesterday that it was day twenty-six. It was the first time he'd told me anything. I didn't know what he meant at the time, but…"

"He's coming here!" Juliet suddenly exclaimed. "We can catch him!"

Shawn, finally relieved, waved a thumbs-up in her direction.

Lassiter exchanged a look with Henry and then turned to Vick who had come in just in time to hear her detective's exclamation.

The Chief nodded. "Let's move, people!"

Everyone except Henry, Gus, and the EMTs who were still busy trying to stabilize Shawn left to clear the area and try to put together a trap for Frey before he arrived.

The EMTs weren't about to worry anyone, but Shawn was far from out of danger.

Shawn hissed as an ice pack was applied to the side of his head. The other EMT flashed a penlight in his eye.

Henry saw his eyebrows shoot up. "Did you see that?" he asked hopefully.

Shawn responded softly, "I think so? Sort of?"

The EMTs looked at each other. "I'm going to do it again, Shawn. Watch closely."

This time, Shawn smiled.

The EMT nodded. "That confirms it. It's most likely concussive. There's no reason, right now, to think your vision won't return completely," she comforted, resting a hand on Shawn's shoulder.

Henry watched Shawn take a deep breath in relief and wince.

The EMT on the left shook his head. "Yeah. Pretty sure you've got some bruised or maybe even cracked ribs, so keep breathing even and steady, but not too deep, okay, Shawn? I'm going to give you a mask to make sure you're getting enough oxygen."

Shawn turned his head, still unseeing, toward the man. "Hey, you're getting pretty familiar there. Can I at least get a name?"

The EMT smiled. "Name's Mark. The person on your other side is Justine. She's really good at her job, but you don't want to piss her off, so do as you're told."

Shawn did his best to point his eyes in her general direction. "Yes, ma'am, but if there's any sponge bathing to be done—"

"Shawn!" Henry rebuked firmly while silently cheering his son's resilience.

Justine smiled at that, and Shawn could hear it in her voice as she spoke. "Time to go, gentlemen."

Henry put a hand on her arm. "We're not going anywhere."

Both EMTs looked outside. All the vehicles, including their ambulance, had disappeared while they were focused on their patient.

"If we're going to catch the man who did this," Henry explained, "we have to make it look like nothing's changed. He's—hopefully—going to drive into an ambush."

The EMTs exchanged glances. Shawn was fairly stable, but, in spite of his quips, they knew the man in their care was more fragile than spun glass. It wouldn't take much to send him down a spiral from which they could not save him.

Their reaction was not lost on Henry.

"You're sure there's no way—" Justine began.

Henry grimaced. "No," he said, knowing he might be putting his son's life in danger again. "No way."

It was Gus's turn to pipe up. "But-"

"No," Henry said, ending it. He knew that, if they took Shawn out now and Frey drove up and saw them, the criminal would either turn and run or stand his ground and start shooting—with Shawn in the crossfire. There was no way Henry would let that happen. Staying in the house, he might be putting Shawn in danger. Leaving, he definitely would. He moved closer and grasped Shawn's hand, knowing this would be hard on him.

They stayed as they were for four agonizing minutes. Shawn becoming more tense with each drip of his IV.

Gus tried to think of something clever to say to distract his buddy, but he couldn't get past the thought that Frey was on his way.

Then there was the sound of a car.

Shawn's eyes shut, tears squeezing from the corners. His grip on his father's hand became a death grip. Panic was beginning to take over. "He's here," Shawn whispered, terrified.

Gus moved to where he could see out but stayed well back from the window so he couldn't be seen.

"It's Frey," Gus reported. He understood instinctively that Shawn needed to know.

At the announcement, Shawn's breath hitched.

Justine put her stethoscope against his heart. "Hang in there, Shawn," she murmured to him. "You're safe. Just keep breathing."

"It'll all be over soon," Henry added. But the sound of Henry drawing his weapon was not lost on Shawn.

"Daaad..."

Henry wanted to get into firing position at the other window, but Shawn's death grip wouldn't allow it. He couldn't risk leaving Shawn. Not right then. For Shawn, blind... helpless... his captor returning…

Henry stayed right where he was and held on.

Gus also understood what it was like for Shawn and continued to quietly report everything he could see. "He's stopped his car… He's looking around, but I can't tell if he's suspicious or not…." He watched some more.

Shawn's body was rigid, frozen with fear.

Mark was preparing a sedative.

"Nope! He's putting it in reverse. He's running!" Gus reported excitedly.

"Breathe, Shawn," Justine whispered underneath Gus's commentary. "Just breathe. In. Out. You're safe. Your father won't let anything happen to you. You're safe. Just breathe."

"The cops are moving their cars to block the road. He's turned his car around… They're not going to get there in time!"

Shawn stopped breathing.

Gunfire erupted.

"He's shooting at them!"

There was a crash of metal.

"McNab tried to get in front of him, but he just crashed past. He's still shooting—"

A window shattered… The window through which Gus had been watching.

At that, Shawn gasped and sucked in enough air to shout, "Gus!"

Fearing a bullet had come through the window and struck his best friend, Shawn, unable to see what was happening, shouted again, "Gus!" He actually tried to get off the stretcher and go find out, struggling against the EMTs and Henry, who held him firmly in place. "Gus! Please! Let me… No! Gus!"

Then Gus was there, grabbing him, keeping him on the stretcher and telling him, "He got away, Shawn. He's gone."

"But we're going to get him, Shawn. Don't you worry about that." Henry leaned in, glaring at Gus.

Shawn, ignoring his dad for something more important, grabbed onto Gus and didn't let go. "You're okay?" he gasped desperately. "Please tell me you're—"

"Yeah, Shawn," Gus told him. "I'm okay. Not even close."

Mark injected the long-overdue sedative into the IV line. Sedatives were a bit risky in Shawn's condition, but, under the circumstances, the benefits outweighed the risks.

Then, gradually—for quite possibly the first time in twenty-seven days—Shawn, grounded by his father and his best friend, slowly relaxed into a deep sleep.

oO0Oo

The SBPD went after Frey. Juliet quickly stopped to promise Henry they would keep him updated then ran after Lassiter to their car.

As soon as it was safe, Shawn was rushed to the hospital.

oO0Oo

Hours later, Juliet found Henry and Gus in a waiting room. "How is he?" she asked.

"Anything on Frey?" Henry demanded.

They spoke simultaneously, then stared at each other as they decided who would respond first.

Juliet just shook her head.

Henry grimaced, then answered her question. "It's bad, but it's a whole lot better than we have a right to expect…"

When his pause dragged on, Gus jumped in. "The worst problem, according to the doctors, is his shoulder. Frey must have pulled it out of joint, but it was never reset. He's in surgery now to get that fixed."

"The pain he must have been in," Henry murmured, mostly to himself, "for weeks…"

With a sympathetic glance in Henry's direction, Gus continued, "His leg will be okay. It's not broken, just badly bruised—like bone-deep, damaged-muscle kind of bruising. The doctor said with enough rest and some therapy he should be fine in a few weeks."

"His vision?" she asked, knowing how horrible it would be for Shawn if his blindness was permanent.

"As far as they can tell, his vision should return within a few days. It'll be blurry at first, and he'll be really sensitive to light, but eventually it should get back to normal. As for the rest of his injuries, some of the cuts are badly infected. They'll be treating those aggressively since he's lost a lot of his ability to fight infection. I suggested some new meds that might help." Gus's voice turned soft. His gratitude at finally being able to offer concrete help to his buddy showed. "But the doctor was confident they'll heal in time. Only a few of the worst cuts should scar."

Henry picked up the report, nodding at Gus's. He spoke rather bluntly and a little faster than usual, as if he had to get it out while he could. "Long term, he'll have to work on building up his immune system. It looks like Frey occasionally brought water, but rarely, if ever, any food. That level of malnutrition... lack of sunlight, fresh air…it did a number on his immune system. Leaves him prone to any infection. They'll keep him here a couple extra days just for that. Otherwise, he just needs to get his strength back." He didn't mention that getting his strength back could take years.

Juliet only nodded, wondering which was worse: the weeks of not knowing or the reality of knowing a friend had been tortured. She wanted to ask about Shawn's emotional state, but she wasn't at all sure she could handle the answer right now.

Henry changed the subject. "Nothing on Frey?" he demanded. "Really?"

She shook her head. "He knows those back roads a lot better than we do. He was pursued for a few miles, but it's like a maze. He pulled around a corner and disappeared. When those in pursuit backtracked and found where he had turned off, the car was empty, and Frey was gone. They've got dogs out now trying to track a scent, but nothing so far. Lassiter and I are heading to the address his parole officer gave us."

Henry shook his head. "We scoured that place ages ago when we first found out it was him!"

"I know," she admitted. "But Carlton thinks it's worth checking to see if he's been back. We're leaving no stone unturned."

Henry stared at her, his jaw working. He desperately wanted to be able to tell Shawn that Frey was no longer a threat. It didn't look like that was going to happen for a while. They were back where they'd started as far as finding Frey was concerned.

"We're doing everything possible—"

"Don't tell me that," Henry growled. "I have said that too many times, and I know exactly what it means."

Juliet calmly nodded her understanding. "I'm going to get back. I just wanted to let you know."

Henry had turned away, so Gus responded, "Thank you, Juliet. We'll let you know when Shawn's out of surgery."

She gave him a small smile and left.

Henry turned and looked at Gus. "I didn't want to do this. I wanted to be able to tell Shawn that Frey was behind bars."

Gus nodded. They just looked at each other, both of them thinking about what Shawn had endured because of this man. Both of them had seen his fear.

"There's only one person who's spent enough time with Frey to figure out where he's hiding."

"He's going to have to solve this himself, isn't he?"

Henry nodded slightly. "I don't know if he can… under the circumstances… What he's been through..." Henry's voice faded. "I don't know if he can."

They both believed Shawn could do it, but they both knew finding a clue to Frey's whereabouts would mean Shawn would have to relive every moment he'd spent in the cellar in minute detail. He'd have to reexamine every moment he'd spent with Frey, every cruel thing Frey had said or done to him.

He'd have to remember all of it.