A/N: Well I got my five reviews so you get your next chapter. :D

It had been almost three weeks since Shawn had discovered the new addition to his powers. His ability to sense people through their clothing. And it had been a bumpy ride. It seemed to be getting even harder for Shawn to keep acting out in his old ways. He very soon was just going to have to just stand up in the middle of the station and tell everyone that he sees ghosts. At least then they would be quiet at the crime scenes so that he could actually concentrate. Not that he had been doing very many murder investigations as of late. Shawn had found that he liked finding people and such through their clothing. In fact he had just turned down a murder case that very morning to work on another project.

The front door to the Psych office slammed open and Gus came storming into the office.

"Shawn," he snapped, "what are you doing? The Chief just called me and told me that you turned down another case."

"Gus, calm down. I turned down their case because I was hard pressed to work another one."

Gus pointed angrily at a blue collar that was in Shawn's hand. "You're looking for a dog! How does that compare to finding a murderer?"

"Gus, have you ever been inside of a dog's head? It's amazing," Shaw said, putting the dog collar down on his desk.

"Shawn, up 'til now I have been very lenient with your behavior, but now, I've got to put my foot down. You can't give up a case, that pays actual money, just so that you can get into a dog's head."

"Gus, they're my powers. I can do whatever I want," Shawn said standing up and walking over to a filing cabinet that didn't hold any files.

"Shawn, you need to get serious about your— what are you doing?" Gus demanded when he saw his friend break off a leaf from a pineapple, that was on top of the filing cabinet, and stare at it in deep concentration.

"Sulking," Shawn said, his concentration on the leaf still fierce.

"What?"

Shawn sighed and broke his concentration on the leaf. "It's really sad that I can't feel inanimate objects," he said, "because it would be really cool to know how a pineapple feels."

"Shawn," Gus snapped, yanking the leaf out of his hand, "I'm only going to tell you this because I care."

"I know why you're going to tell me," Shawn informed him, "in fact, I know what you're going to tell me. So save your breath. You don't understand."

"What I understand, is that you've grown an unhealthy addiction to your new power. I don't like you walking around," Gus snatched the dog collar off of the table and waved it in front of Shawn's face, "feeling false feelings. They're not real and they're not yours." Gus then threw the collar to the other side of the room.

"Well that was childish," Shawn said, looking to were the collar had been thrown and then back at Gus.

"No you're acting childish."

"Says the guy that came in here screaming and then started to throw things," Shawn shot at him.

Gus took a deep breath. Shawn was right, and he needed to calm down.

"Shawn," Gus said, once his temper was under control, "just hear me out and please, no psychic stuff. I don't care if you can hear my thoughts. I want you to hear me say it. Okay?" Shawn nodded. "Okay," Gus said, and he continued, "I don't like you feeling people through their clothing– and I'm not done, don't interrupt."

Shawn clamped his mouth shut.

"I don't like you feeling other peoples' feelings. And I haven't since you felt that bullet."

Shawn remembered that. He had been helping the police find a man who was taken hostage. He had just been using a sock, because the man felt no affinity for any of his clothes. Which turned out to be a very good thing, because the kidnaper had decided against keeping the hostage alive and had shot him. Shawn had, unfortunately, been holding the sock when the man was shot, so he got to experience the pain of a bullet ripping through his body, without the lethal-ness of it all. Fortunately though, he had been in the Psych office when it happened, and Gus had been there to rip the sock out of his hands.

"I know–"

"I'm still not done!"

Shawn sighed, but let his friend continue.

"I don't like that you can't control what you feel from the clothing."

Shawn knew that Gus was referring to earlier that week, when Shawn had been talking with his father just as someone that Shawn was looking for, through a watch, got particularly angry. If Shawn and his dad hadn't already been at odds, in that point of their conversation, then things could have gone a lot worse. Meaning that at least Shawn and Henry weren't having a pleasant conversation when Shawn started to call him all those names. Henry still wasn't talking to him.

"And," Gus continued, "I don't like that you can't just break your connection with the clothing. You get pulled into it and someone else had to pull you out."

"All I need is practice," Shawn informed his friend, "and once I get some, then I will be able to control this power."

"But how much practice?" Gus inquired.

"I don't know," Shawn admitted.

"Shawn, you see, that's why I like your other power. That's why I'm getting frustrated that you're not taking the chiefs cases."

"That's why you like me seeing the ghosts?"

"Yeah, because if you need to you can break the connection with them like that," Gus said, snapping his fingers on the last word for emphasis. "And they don't control how you feel. I don't understand why you don't like that."

Shawn shoved his hands deep into his jean pockets and then looked at the ground. How could he explain to Gus what he was feeling? How could he explain that even though the murders were muffled and shadowy, that he was still seeing the murders? And that watching them wasn't what was bothering him. What was bothering him was the knowledge that what he was seeing was real. It was knowing that he was watching a real murder that actually happened. Shawn wanted to tell Gus that, but he had always been so strong before and he didn't want to start appearing weak now. Besides, Shawn figured that he would get used to it...someday.

Shawn was saved from having to answer Gus, because Gus's cell phone started ringing.

"Just a moment," Gus said to Shawn. Then he answered his phone, "Hello, Burton Guster speaking. How may I help you? Oh, hi Juliet." Shawn's ears perked up. "Yeah. Uh huh. Uh huh. Really? Yeah, I guess. Yes. Definitely. We'll be there. Okay, bye."

"What was it? What does she want?" Shawn asked.

"There's been a murder," Gus said softly. "Several, in fact. At the Holdslum's mansion. They were having a party down in the main living area. And when it was over, Mrs. Holdslum went upstairs and found someone murdered in her guest bedroom. And when the police got there and searched the house...they found six more bodies."

The color visibly drained from Shawn's face. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to do this.

"And you said I'd come?" Shawn asked, his voice cracking a little.

"Shawn, this is mass murder. Seven people were killed in four hours. We have to help."

Gus grabbed Shawn by the elbow and (because Shawn was already to far into his panic attack to protest) led him out of the office and over to his car.

It was probably one of the busiest crime scenes that that Shawn and Gus had ever been to. One of the strictest too. They weren't even let inside the front gate until Juliet came and let them in personally.

"Gus," Shawn gasped, tears actually starting to well up in his eyes, as the two headed up to the front of the house, "please don't make me do this. I... the spirits are..." Shawn gave a shuddered sigh.

"Shawn it'll be okay," Gus said encouragingly as they entered the house and Shawn shuddered violently, "you can break out of it anytime you want to." But even as Gus said that, he was starting to have second thoughts about bringing Shawn there. If Shawn was being effected so badly already... Gus shook his head. Everything would be okay. It just seemed worse because there was more than one dead spirit present.

"Aw Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster," Lassiter said when he saw the two, "I'm afraid that you won't be able to work around the bodies. Only those who absolutely have to are allowed up there. And we also won't be able to let you have access to the crime scene photos."

Shawn let out a small whimper that no one was entirely sure that they actually heard.

"So this is where the party took place?" Gus asked, looking around the cavernous room.

"Yes," Juliet said.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

"Well we'll just be going over here then," Gus said, grabbing Shawn's arm and leading him over to the middle of the room, to an area that was less crowded with police officers.

"Okay Shawn," Gus said, turning to his friend, "think you can do your stuff down here?"

Shawn took a deep breath and gave a firm nod. He could do this.

"Yeah. Just stand back."

Gus complied and let Shawn do his thing.

First he started to concentrate. He tried to take in his surroundings and, as usual, the ghosts appeared. But there were so many of them. There were almost twice as many shadow people, as there were police officers and they were all melding together. They were walking through and into each other causing everything to become blurry. And the voices, both in and outside of his head, were really loud and were starting to give him a headache.

For a moment Shawn tried to keep the connection, but it was getting to hard so he let go. But the moment Shawn tried to let go, the whole room started spinning. Colors and shadows spun together and the voices were no longer distinguishable. Then just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

Blinking his eyes a few times and giving his head a little shake to clear it, Shawn straightened up. And then gasped. For he was not looking at a room of blue-outfitted police officers, but a room of vibrantly dressed party goers.

"What the..." Shawn started to say, but trailed off when he looked out the window. It was dark outside, like it was night. Not the early morning that it had been just moments ago. Shawn quickly looked up at the large clock that hung at the front of the room. Eight o'clock is what it read.

"No," Shawn said, shaking his head in disbelief, refusing to accept what he knew was true, "no, no, no, no! Sir," Shawn turned to the man next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Only his hand didn't stay there. It went right through his shoulder.

Shawn could only make a small whimpering noise. He wasn't sure how, but he knew what was going on. He knew that because so many people had been killed, that they were able to make Shawn's connection to them even more powerful. He was now a ghost in their memories. And he wouldn't be able to escape until they decided to let him go.

Shawn suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see a young woman in her early twenties with long brown hair and a yellow dress on. The woman would have been very pretty if her face hadn't been hardened into a mask of pure anger with dark, black-hole like eyes.

She was one of the murdered girls.

Suddenly another hand was on Shawn's shoulder. And then another one and another one until six very angry girls were holding onto him tightly.

Shawn was half-expecting the seventh girl to latch onto him too, but she didn't. Instead the six girls turned him to face a handsome young man, with a chiseled face and fluffy light-brown hair that you could take a nap on.

The man was flirting with the young girl. The girl was about twenty-five and had long wavy, light-blond hair and a petite figure. But she also had the cold dark eyes of the murder victims that were wielding a death-grip on Shawn.

She was the first murder victim.

Using all of his charm, the young man finally convinced the young blond to go upstairs with him.

Suddenly Shawn was in motion. The six girls were forcing him up the stairs (with inhuman strength) to were the man would commit his first murder of the evening.

Shawn struggled and twisted in their grasp. He dropped his weight, but they just carried him. He kicked out and screamed, but to no avail. It didn't matter what he did, they did not let go and they didn't stop their precession.

"Please," Shawn begged. He didn't want to watch the girl get murdered, but it seemed that he was going to have to anyway.

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Gus had been wandering around the room, trying to catch snippets of conversations, to help him piece together what exactly was going on. But none of the officers seemed to know anything useful, so Gus returned to his friend's side.

"Shawn are you getting anything useful..." Gus trailed off when he saw that Shawn was standing stiff-backed, as still as a statue, and was staring blankly ahead with a glazed look in his eyes.

Gus waved his hand in front of Shawn's face, but received no reaction. So then he tried to shake his friend out of his stupor, but Shawn was so rigid that he didn't move at all.

Gus was just about to call over a paramedic, to come and look at his friend, when Shawn suddenly gave a strangled cry, his face breaking from its expressionless mask, and then he collapsed.

Gus was able to catch Shawn before he hit the floor, but the momentum had brought both men to their knees. But the pain in Gus's knees was forgotten when Shawn gripped the front of Gus's shirt with one hand and he clenched Gus's arm with the other and then started crying.

Gus froze. What had just happened? What had just happened?! Shawn was always very careful to not show any emotion around anyone. Even Gus, who had known this guy his whole life, had only seen Shawn cry on three different occasions. And only one of those times, was Gus actually meant to have seen it.

By now Shawn's whole body was wracked with sobs, and everyone had noticed what was going on.

Juliet and Lassiter had started over to the two men (everyone else was giving them wide berth) but Gus held up a hand to stop them, before they got to close. Gus didn't want anyone to see his friend in this weakened state.

"Shawn," Gus whispered softly into his friend's ear, "are you okay? What happened?"

Gus was mentally kicking himself. He never should have made Shawn come here. They should have left when Shawn had wanted to. It was just... Gus had been worried about Shawn. He didn't like how quickly Shawn had taken to his new power. It hadn't seemed healthy and in all truthfulness Shawn's dad could have called them and invited them over for an afternoon of fishing and Gus would have made them go there. Anything to get Shawn away from that particular part of his work.

"They...made me...watch," Shawn choked out, so quietly that Gus had almost missed it.

"They what? They made–"

But Gus was cut off when Shawn took a deep (and loud, hence the cutting off) breath. And then Gus watched as, one deep breath after another, Shawn slowly smoothed out his face. Erasing all emotions until his face was a mask of cool politeness. There was absolutely no indication of his breakdown. And when Shawn finally opened his eyes, they also held no indication of what had just happened.

Only one metaphor came to Gus's mind, that would explain how his friend looked and it was: his face was carved of stone.

In one smooth motion Shawn stood up. And then he turned around and went over to where Lassiter and Juliet were waiting cautiously, for Gus to indicate that they could come over. They were surprised when Shawn, himself, got up and came over to them. His expression stoic.

"Shawn are you o– ?" Juliet started to ask, voice full of concern, but Shawn cut her off.

"Detectives Lassiter, O'Hara, I know who the murderer is."

Neither Lassiter or Juliet answered for a moment. It was strange, but they both were more thrown by Shawn's formal tone, than by what he had just told them.

"His name," Shawn continued, in the same tone of voice, "is Jamison Bagwell. He's 5'6", sharp nose, but is broader in his other facial features. Clean-shaven. He also had light-brown hair shag-style. And has light green eyes. I do not know where he lives, but I do know that the only evidence that you're going to find against him, is a lock of hair that he stole from each of his victims. Now if you'll excuse me," Shawn said, and he turned around and started out of the house.

"Shawn wait," Juliet nearly shouted, grabbing Shawn's arm. "Don't go yet," she started to say, but she was cut off by Lassiter placing a firm hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him in confusion, but he wasn't looking at her.

"Jamison Bagwell, 5'6", brown hair, green eyes, clean face, and we'll find locks of the victims' hair?" Lassiter repeated/asked looking at Shawn.

Shawn nodded, still looking straight ahead at the front door.

"Okay," Lassiter said, then he gave Juliet's shoulder a squeeze and she knew that he meant for her to let go of Shawn. She did.

Now free again, Shawn headed out of the house.

"Shawn," Gus said, walking beside his friend, "what was that? Where are you going?"

"Home," was the one worded reply.

"I don't think that you should be alone right now," Gus said, but he was ignored. "Shawn!" Gus grabbed onto Shawn's arm and the next thing he knew, he was sprawled on the ground, with his jaw aching where Shawn had hit him.

Gus looked up at his friend, in shock, but was surprised to find that Shawn was already beyond the front gates of the house and was running down the street.

A/N: Don't hurt me! I'm not completely sure why you would, but I felt like I should make the plea anyway. And don't be mad at Gus. You have to understand (and the second chapter explains it) that Gus believes that crime scenes don't bother Shawn. He doesn't know how much it was affecting Shawn.