This chapter is different, but I've always wanted to write one where you are in Shawn's mind when he figures everything out. I hope you like the way this turned out. Like I said, it's different, but I've been planning it for a bit now. Hopefully, I earned this...if not, sorry...:-)
"You walked into a door?"
The nurse pressed an icepack wrapped in a clean cloth against Shawn's still bleeding nose, clearly trying to suppress a laugh though her voice never broke the professional monotone.
"It walked into me." Shawn sulked, wincing as the cold mingled with the pain.
"Maybe it was in cahoots with your shoelaces," she suggested with the faintest traces of a smile, sitting back down at her desk as Shawn sank onto the small cot in the corner of the tiny office and rested his head against the wall behind him.
"Don't lean your head back," she added. "Lean forward."
Shawn sighed and tipped his head slightly forward, letting the blood drip onto the cloth.
"I know I said most recruits end up down here at some point, Mr. Spencer," she continued, scribbling away on a notepad without even looking up at him anymore. "But I didn't mean they all end up down here every day."
Shawn grunted, but didn't say anything.
His eyes were running over the walls, memorizing every detail of each certificate, diploma and picture.
Finally, he came to the small, red pennant with the word TIGERS etched across it in gold lettering that hung in the corner of the office.
That must be from the high school she worked at…he realized.
She said she worked at a high school…
It looks fairly new, too...
She must have worked there recently…
He tried to tear his eyes away from the pennant and continue his thorough memorization of the office, but for some reason his gaze kept being drawn back to it
High school…
She worked at a high school…
So what…?
He pressed the cloth more firmly against his nose, his brain firing off connections almost faster than he could process them.
She was still at her desk, writing notes on her pad furiously, apparently unaware Shawn was watching her every movement now.
…She said sooner or later, everyone ends up down here…
…Did the victims ever end up down here…?
…Did she know them…?
And she was a nurse at a high school…
She must have dealt with medication…
She must have dealt with ADD kids…which means she must have dealt with Ritalin…
But that doesn't mean…
He opened his mouth, about to follow his hunch and have a huge psychic revelation right there, but he stopped himself when something from his Investigative Procedures class came back to him.
…When you're interrogating a suspect, the most important thing is to keep them talking…
…Sooner or later, they'll slip up…
..Sooner or later, you'll catch them in a lie…but you have to keep them talking…
He closed his mouth again, the words echoing in his mind.
…Keep them talking…
…Keep them talking…
…I've seen my dad do this a thousand times…
…Don't rush it, don't tip your hand…
…As long I'm pretending to be a cop, I might as well do this like a cop…
"Is that from the high school you worked at?" He asked casually, gesturing to the pennant with his unoccupied hand.
She looked up from her work.
"Good memory, Mr. Spencer," she nodded. "Yeah. It is."
"Man," he laughed. "I couldn't work at a high school. I hate teenagers."
She shrugged, gently placing her pen down on the desk and turning her chair so she facing him.
"It wasn't so bad…but I want to go back to medical school to get my M.D., and I can't afford to do that on a school nurse's salary."
Shawn slowly pulled the bloody cloth away from his face and dropped it onto the cot next to him.
She was talking.
"Does the Academy pay that much better?" He asked, leaning forward with interest.
He shuddered when it struck him that this was it.
This was his first suspect interrogation.
Oh, God…
I feel like a cop…
But I'm not a cop…
I don't want to be a cop…
I hate blue!
What the hell am I doing…?
"Not much," she smiled. "But the hours are better. I'll have more time to study."
"…But you have to deal with heart attack victims." Shawn added, carefully gauging her reaction.
She blinked, and for a long moment didn't say anything.
"I have to deal with klutzes, too, Mr. Spencer." She snapped finally, turning back to her desk.
I definitely struck a nerve…
Keep her talking…
…Dear God, I'm starting to sound like my father…
…I'll be bald in a year…
"Sorry," he apologized, standing up as if he to leave. "I didn't mean to offend you. Did you know them or something?"
In that instant, her manner had completely changed. She was no longer the friendly professional. She looked up at him, her jaw clenching.
"Your nose stopped bleeding, Mr. Spencer." She intoned gravely. "You can leave now."
"Right." He nodded, heading out the door.
Just before he left, however, he paused and turned back around.
"Just one question." He said quietly, meeting her gaze firmly.
"What?"
"When Darren died, did it even occur to you to stop selling Ritalin before someone else got hurt?"