A/N Sorry this took longer to post than I anticipated. I already had this chapter written out, but some elements weren't working for me and I had to almost totally re-write it. Thanks for your patience! I have no beta, so sorry if there are any glaring errors. And I don't own Psych.

Carlton Lassiter's thoughts were thick and slippery. He was having difficulty even forming a string of thought. As soon as something coherent began to form, it slid away into the oblivion. As a result, most of his thoughts came in the form of one word questions: what? how? where? why? He had no idea, therefore, how long he'd been sitting in the dark before his mind finally caught up to the present. The only thing keeping him upright was the fact that he was propped up against some sort of post with his hands behind him bound around it. Everything felt sluggish, and disconnected. I've been drugged, he thought.

That answered "how?" But left many other things unanswered. His head was swimming, and he kept blinking involuntarily, as if that action would somehow shine some light on the situation, both in the figurative and in the literal sense. What was the last thing he remembered?

O'hara's wedding. But no, not quite. He couldn't remember the actual ceremony at all. He remembered being at the venue. He remembered heading back to the parking lot to get Lily's backpack from the car. But that's where the recollection ended. He wasn't sure he'd even finished the errand.

He blinked a few more times, trying to ignore the feeling that he was missing something obvious. Maybe if he wasn't so wet and cold he could think better. Wait, he thought, why am I wet? I'm sitting in a puddle of water! There was probably less than an inch or two of water, but it was enough to sap him of his body heat. Not being able to see very well made him unaware of his surroundings, but now that he was more alert, he could distinctly hear the sound of more water rushing in from somewhere to his left and above.

He took inventory of himself. His head was pounding, but it felt more like a nasty hangover than a concussion. He was wearing a suit, so the wedding story could check out, if not for the fact that he wore suits most days. They'd even taken his watch and shoes, so he could only assume everything else he'd had on him was also confiscated. But whoever had taken him had used duct tape, so he had that to his advantage.

Carlton shifted so that the gap between his hands was at the edge of the square post and moved his wrists against the post. Almost immediately, he could feel the tape beginning to fray. He worked for another minute until he was able to rip the rest by forcing his arms apart. His wrists hurt, but he was free. And if he was free then he could figure out how to get the hell out of here.

He decided he start by trying to find a wall and work his way around to hopefully discover a way out. Not knowing what was in the room, Carlton decided to stay low to the ground. He picked an arbitrary direction, and shuffled forward on his hands and knees. The cool water relieved some of the burn in his wrists. He kept his pace slow, not wanting to accidentally meet the wall with his face at any great speed. He'd only crawled about four feet before his hand landed on something. He jumped back immediately, heart racing.

What was that? It almost felt like … a body. Why am I freaking out?! I deal with dead bodies all the time, he tried to rationalize. Then again, finding a dead body in the room you were found in after you've been kidnapped was probably a bad omen.

He took a few calming breaths, and then tentatively put his hand back. This was definitely an arm under a sleeve. He followed the arm down to the wrist, and held his breath as he pressed two fingers to the pulse point. The skin was still warm and a strong steady pulse was beating beneath his fingers. He released the breath. That was a better omen.

He followed the arm back up to the elbow, his other hand finding the shoulder and he gave his new roommate a firm shake.

"Hey, pal. Wake up!" He said loud enough the other person could hear, but not so loud as to inform his kidnappers that he was awake. This elicited no response. "Come on! Wake up!"

He coughed when his voice cracked through the harsh whisper. He wasn't sure why he was so desperate. Though, if he were truly honest with himself, Carlton was scared. Waking up in a dark room with no memory of how he'd gotten there, his only company an unknown unconscious person. Maybe if he could wake them, they'd be able to figure out what was going on together.

Maybe a soft slap to the face was all his friend needed.

Lassiter misjudged where the head was and his hand came down right above the other person's hairless temple. To contrast with his own cold, wet fingers, this skin was warm and sticky. As grossed out as that made him, it did earn him a deep groan from the prone form.

"Ya, that's it," Lassiter said, rinsing his hand in the water around him, "Rise and shine."

The other figure didn't stir. Carlton was no longer able to keep the panic out of his voice.

"C'mon, I heard that grunt! Wake up!"

There was still no response.

He knew he shouldn't move someone with a head injury, but a voice in his head, Marlowe's probably, reminded him that a person could drown in only two inches of water. That was likely why this man hadn't been bound as Carlton had, the kidnappers were probably expecting him to drown before he'd ever get the chance to regain consciousness. Making a snap decision between brain damage and death for his unknown companion, Lassiter grabbed the other man around the chest and pulled him to the post and situated him in a mostly upright position.

"Who are you?" He asked, thinking out loud, not expecting an answer. "You're wearing a suit. So, probably one of the wedding party?"

That meant this person was potentially a friend. He thought about the bald head he'd accidentally touched earlier, and wondered if it was Guster. Most of him hoped it wasn't, and that Gus was with Shawn and Juliet trying to find him, but a small part of him selfishly hoped that it was Gus, so he wouldn't feel so alone.

"Stay there."

He stood, using the post to balance as he fought a dizzy spell, then returned to probing the dark room. He took cautious baby steps, hoping not to trip over anything, or anyone, else, and soon reached the wall. It was smooth and cold, and curved under his hands. He followed it towards the sound of water flowing in. He could tell, when he was nearly below it, that the water was coming in from high above his head, and he wouldn't be able to reach the opening to block it. Without standing directly under the deluge, he reached out his left arm to feel the wall behind in case it was hiding something useful. It wasn't.

He stepped around the offending waterfall and continued his course until he found himself roughly where he had started. He estimated the diameter of the room to be between eight and twelve feet across. There were no doors or windows or switches or knobs. Nothing. The way out must be above. They were going to drown.

He leaned against the wall and then slid down to his butt. Cold water splashed onto his lap and sent an involuntary shiver running through him. He stared into the blackness, hoping his eyes would eventually adjust. He couldn't remember ever experiencing such piercing darkness. He wasn't afraid of the dark, and he wasn't claustrophobic. But being stuck in this bunker? tank? in the pitch black was starting to get to him. It was like the dark was pressing in on him, making the tight space smaller, and making it hard to breathe. He felt vulnerable. He felt alone.

"I really wish you'd wake up," he muttered.

The other man didn't respond.