Late one afternoon, after a full day of searching boats, Henry returned to the hospital. He happened to see Shawn's ophthalmologist was just leaving his room. Henry stopped him in the hall. "How's Shawn doing?"

The doctor nodded. "Very well. I expect him to fully regain his rather impressive vision within a few days. He's nearly back to 20/20 now and has only a slight sensitivity to light. He'll continue with the sunglasses for a while, but I foresee no long-term problems."

Henry smiled and shook the doctor's hand, relieved. "That's good news. Thanks."

The Doctor nodded and continued on his way. Henry went to Shawn's room and was quite surprised to enter and find it almost completely dark. "Shawn?" he asked softly, thinking perhaps his son had decided to take a nap.

But he was greeted by a cheerful voice. "Hey Dad." Shawn was sitting up in bed, clearly not even considering a nap.

Henry frowned and turned on the bedside light.

Shawn flinched and squinted but didn't reach for the sunglasses sitting on his table.

Henry picked them up and offered them to Shawn. "You want these?"

"No," he responded simply, causing Henry's frown to deepen.

Shawn saw it and backpedaled. "I mean they're ugly. Gus promised to bring me some cool ones." He wouldn't meet Henry's eyes.

Henry studied his son. Shawn didn't need to sit in the dark anymore. Why would he? Did he prefer it? Was he more comfortable in the dark? Had a month in the cellar made him so accustomed to the darkness that, given a choice, he'd choose darkness over light?

Before he could consider the issue any further, the nurse came in and the alarm on Shawn's heart monitor squawked. Shawn groaned. "Can't we turn that off?" he complained to the nurse, an older, more motherly type.

The way he said it gave Henry the distinct impression that it wasn't the first time it'd happened.

"Of course, sweetie," the nurse said.

"Wait," Henry protested. "Doesn't he need—"

She put a hand on his arm. "No worries, hon. I'm just turning off the alarm. We can still monitor him from the nurses' station." She smiled conspiratorially at Shawn. "He just doesn't want everyone to know how excited he gets to have visitors."

Henry stared at Shawn, who deliberately avoided his gaze. "Every time?" he asked softly. Come to think of it, he'd heard Shawn's monitor speed up when he'd come in, but he'd been distracted by the lighting issue and hadn't given it much thought. Now, when the nurse came in, his heart had begun to pound even faster, causing the alarm.

"No!" Shawn protested. "It's just… I…"

"He's happy to see you! He gets excited about everyone except that Guster." The nurse interrupted, then turned to Shawn. "Now you buzz if you need anything, love." And she left.

Henry looked at Shawn. His son was so terrified every time someone entered his room that his heart pounded fast enough to set off the alarm.

Shawn picked at his blanket, hating the scrutiny. First, Henry had found him sitting in the dark. It wasn't that he was afraid of the light; it was just easier. He refused to examine the reasons why he found the darkness comforting.

And now this.

"It's not that. She doesn't know what she's talking about. She's just mad I don't get excited about her… Now, Nurse Peyton on the other hand… Let me tell you..." He tried to change the subject, but it was too late.

Henry sighed. He'd thought Shawn was getting better, but if he was still so terrified, they had to find Frey and get him safely behind bars.

From then on, Henry spent the nights sleeping on a cot in Shawn's room. That was when he learned about the nightmares. He was there every night when Shawn would wake, trembling and drenched in sweat.

They needed to catch Frey.

oO0Oo

They kept searching the boats.

But they didn't find anything.

Once again, Frey had eluded them. It was certain, because of Shawn's 'vision,' that Frey had once been on a boat. But he had apparently moved on.

Their failure caused a severe setback in Shawn's recovery.

oO0Oo

Shawn couldn't bear the thought of leaving the relative safety of the hospital and came up with excuse after excuse as to why he needed to stay.

And try as he might, he couldn't come up with any more clues as to where Frey might be hiding.

He wanted so badly to be normal again, but it seemed, as long as Frey was still on the loose, that wasn't going to happen. Frey had a power over Shawn no one could explain. That power kept Shawn in a prison from which no one could free him.

oO0Oo

Henry couldn't help but think of how Karen had forced him to walk through the case when they couldn't find Shawn. It was how they'd finally found him. He'd wondered then if he'd ever do it with his son again.

It was time. He knew it would be hard on Shawn, but he had to do it. He pulled a chair to Shawn's bedside and sat down. "Close your eyes."

Shawn scowled. "Dad! No! Don't you have some... fish that need gutting? It's not even your turn to babysit me. Jules is supposed to be next!"

Henry hated the idea that Shawn was comfortable with the fact that he needed a babysitter. He forced himself to be harsh even though it pained him. "Why? Your heart monitor not getting enough exercise?" He pointed at the machine in question, which was still spiking.

"Dad, I told you that's just for pretty girls... and annoying fathers. I don't—"

"Close your eyes."

"No."

"Close your eyes."

"No!"

"Shawn... We need more," he confessed, his voice a tiny bit more gentle.

"Yeah… well… That's… that's just…" Shawn was desperately trying to come up with something to change his dad's mind.

But Henry wasn't having any of it. He began. "How many times did he show up?"

"Four!" Shawn answered angrily, his eyes still open in an act of rebellion. It angered and frustrated him that his dad was right.

He had finally been getting good at just not thinking about it, ignoring the memories when they popped up unbidden. But now?

They both hated doing it—reliving the experience—but it was the only way they were going to find Frey.

"Four?" Henry thought. "Only four? How did you survive?"

"He'd bring water, usually a six pack of plastic bottles." Shawn finally gave in and closed his eyes. "Sometimes he'd include one or two of those horrible granola bars that taste like cardboard." He hated the idea of walking his dad through the memories. He consoled himself with the thought that there was no way he would tell him everything.

Henry watched his son silently. He could tell from the various expressions that were crossing Shawn's face that he was processing the memories. He sat back a bit and let him work.

Shawn had tried to escape, and, every time, Frey had punished him for it. He'd tried everything he could think of. He had used everything Henry had ever taught him. He'd tried to trip Frey coming down the stairs. He'd taken apart the shelves, broken off a sharp splinter of wood. Frey had taken it from him with little effort. He'd broken all his nails trying to dig a hole at the bottom of the stairs. The plan was that it would cause Frey to stumble in the darkness, maybe even fall and break his neck... He'd tried everything. Nothing ever worked. All he'd ever succeeded in doing was making Frey angry.

Henry wasn't going to hear about any of that.

But he knew he had to remember, and to analyze the memories. It was the only way to find a clue. "I learned pretty quick to make the water last as long as I could. Once, I tried to save them. They were heavy. I thought I could use them… as a weapon… the next time he showed up… But… I… I couldn't." He'd gotten too thirsty.

Usually, Frey would take one of the bottles and drink it in one shot, letting water spill over his chin as Shawn watched, unconsciously licking dry, chapped lips. Then he would take the rest of the pack and throw it at him. Five bottles Shawn had to ration the best he could, not knowing when—or even if—Frey would return.

Henry listened silently, taking notes, and trying not to make it worse for his son. He just let him say whatever came to mind.

"After that first time, there was nothing on him—no more keys, nothing," Shawn droned, eyes now closed, one finger pressed to his temple. "Second time, black t-shirt—knock-off Abercrombie and Fitch, if you want to know—jeans…" Shawn tilted his head; at least he'd found a way to make it a little bit funny. His dad wasn't amused. "Pretty sure the jeans were a knock-off too... Boat shoes... I always think boat shoes should look like boats… Nothing in his pockets. Still smelled of cigarettes and marine fuel…" Shawn swallowed a few times. It would have helped if his dad could have forced out a micro-chuckle. "Third time, plaid button down, same jeans, boots. He didn't say anything that time, but he was pissed. He… he..." Shawn had to stop and swallow.

That was the time Frey had found him up by the door, trying to get out. He'd been furious. He'd pushed Shawn down the stairs and beaten him, finishing up with that kick to the head… "I couldn't see him… after that."

Waking up after that had been the worst; his lowest point. He'd already been dealing with the agony in his shoulder and the useless arm that went with it, but now he couldn't walk—and, even worse, he couldn't see. He remembered waking up and thinking it must be night. He'd gotten very familiar with the amount of light that came in around the door. But this had been different. It wasn't just dark.

He'd been in denial for quite a while until he finally had to accept the fact that he was blind. It was at that moment that he'd given up. He'd begun to believe he would never be rescued. Never see the light of day again.

He'd believed he would die in that hole.

Henry closed his eyes.

Shawn doggedly continued, almost whispering. "The last time was day twenty-six. I didn't know why he said it. 'It's day twenty-six, kid,' he said. 'Enjoy it while you can.'" There was a pause. "He didn't bring any water that time." Shawn's breathing hitched.

Henry shook his head. There was no point to this. Shawn was right; there was nothing else, no clue as to Frey's whereabouts. He reached out and laid a hand on Shawn's arm.

Shawn nearly jumped out of bed.

"Shh, kid," Henry soothed. "I'm sorry. It's okay. This guy knew what he was doing. He was careful."

They both fell silent.

Henry was thinking about how horrible Shawn's captivity had been. He knew it was even worse than Shawn was letting on.

But Shawn was still thinking about the case. He couldn't bear to think about his captivity, so he concentrated on Frey. "What about the original case file?"

Henry frowned at him.

"You said it wasn't your case; you weren't even supposed to be there… Can I see that file?" Shawn suspected he was grasping at straws, but he had to do something. He needed more information.

Henry frowned. He couldn't see what possible good it would do, but, on the other hand, it couldn't hurt. He nodded. "I'll get it to you as soon as I can." Henry glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Unless you want to come to the station?"

Shawn knew that tactic. Henry was testing him. But it didn't matter. He couldn't help it. He tried not to react, but he could make out Henry watching his heart monitor which was showing quite clearly that his heart was pounding in fear at the mere thought of leaving the hospital.

Henry let the matter drop. "I'll go get it now. Juliet will be here soon?"

Shawn just nodded, staring at the foot of his bed. "I'll be okay until she gets here."

He was glad when Henry left.

Henry paused outside Shawn's room. Frey was no mastermind. How was it possible that he still eluded them? At that moment, the guilt was almost unbearable.

Shawn's tormentor was still out there, still free.

oO0Oo

It was almost an hour later when Buzz arrived. He brought Shawn the file. He explained that Juliet wouldn't be there for a while yet; she and Lassiter had caught a break in one of their other cases and were out, hopefully making an arrest. He stayed and visited for a while, but when Francine called and asked when he would be home, Shawn told him to go. He was impatient to dig into the file on his lap.

As soon as Buzz was gone, he put on his ridiculous Mr. Magoo glasses that allowed him to read the smaller print. He opened the file and spread it out on his blanket, studying every page.

There really wasn't much to discover. It had been a clean arrest. His dad and the lead officer on the case, Bill "Smitty" Smith, had caught Frey in the act and arrested him. The only thing remotely interesting about the case was that it had been his dad's testimony, not Smitty's, that had put Frey away. He'd have to ask his dad why that was. Normally, the officer in charge would have that responsibility. He supposed it explained why Frey went after Henry and not Smitty. But, other than that, it was a basic, straightforward case.

There was something about the file that bugged him though. He went through it twice more, reorganizing the papers in different piles, trying to put a finger on what was bothering him.

He was concentrating so hard on the file that he barely noticed when a nurse came in and moved to check the chart at the foot of his bed. His heart monitor, for once, didn't freak out.

It wasn't until he absently raised a hand, rubbing his mouth in frustration that he figured out the problem with the file. It was the papers themselves, not what was written on them. The pages Smitty had written had a faint odor. A very familiar odor. The odor of a very specific brand of cigarette.

Then his blood ran cold because he suddenly realized that the papers on his lap weren't the only source of that smell.

The 'nurse' who had come in also smelled like Frey's cigarettes.

His eyes widened. He tried to stealthily reach for his buzzer. He looked up.

It was Frey. He was wearing a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck, and he had a silenced pistol pointed at Shawn's heart.

Shawn froze, his hand still inches away from the buzzer. The room darkened and disappeared. He was back in the cellar. Absolutely terrified, he couldn't move, he couldn't shout, he couldn't even breathe.

He knew he was about to die.

"I promised Spencer I would kill his son. And I will," said Frey calmly. "He deserves it… He just got you for a few extra days, that's all. I hope he made the most of it."

And he straightened his arm and fired.

Shawn watched him pocket the pistol and leave. He was surprised he was awake. He was even more surprised that his terror had finally left him.

He knew he'd been shot—the red stain spreading on his chest was hard to miss—but it didn't hurt. And he wasn't afraid.

He supposed that was because his ordeal was finally over.

It vaguely registered that the machines in his room were going crazy, but he just laid there and listened to the rhythmic sound of his blood dripping on the floor.

oO0Oo
TBC…
oO0Oo

A/N How's that for a cliffhanger?
Don't worry, I won't keep you waiting long.
And for those of you who happen on to this story months from now, I won't keep you waiting at all. In fact, what are you waiting for? Click the 'Next' button! Shawn's waiting!