"Jules, get up."
She blinked at her phone, still not fully awake.
Why was it giving her orders…?
And why did that voice sound so familiar…?
"Shawn?"
"Yeah. Get up."
He sounded impatient, on-edge.
Something was wrong.
She dropped her feet over the edge of her bed into her slippers, suddenly awake.
"What's up?"
"You were at the warehouse scene today, right?" He asked, either not hearing her question or choosing to ignore it.
"The John Doe? Sure. Why?"
"Meet me over there."
"Now?"
"Yeah…Your car has a radio in it, right?"
"AM and FM…" She answered slowly, growing more confused by the second.
"No," Shawn sighed shortly. "Your police radio, Jules."
"Oh. Yeah….do I need it?"
"I don't know…but bring your gun, too. Just in case. I'll meet you there."
"Are you going to tell me what--"
"There's no time. I'll tell you when you get there."
Her jacket was already on and she was heading out the door.
"I'm on my way."
Her mind was racing as she drove to the warehouse, trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong…
What could possibly make Shawn's voice sound like that…
When she arrived, Shawn wasn't there.
She sat in her car for ten minutes outside the yellow police tape, waiting for him.
When he didn't show, she finally grabbed her flashlight and ducked under the tape, not really sure why even as she did it. She knew she wouldn't be able to get into the warehouse. They had locked it down that afternoon after the forensics team had finished with the John Doe murder scene.
But if Shawn told her to meet him here, there had to be something inside…
She gasped as the flashlight beam fell across the broken window, smeared with still-congealing blood.
"Shawn?" She called, stepping carefully through the glass into the dark warehouse.
She moved forward cautiously, her flashlight constantly scanning the floor in front of her.
Her footsteps echoed off the walls and ceiling as she walked through the large, empty room.
"Shawn?"
Suddenly, she stepped on something.
Something…almost crunchy under her sneakers…
She quickly pointed the flashlight at her feet.
It was a broken bottle of some kind.
She knelt next to it, examining the red-tinted shards.
The label said it was scotch, but her nose had already told her that much.
Where did it come from?
It wasn't here this afternoon…
She stood up again and took another step, but stopped as her flashlight fell across a small object on the floor just a foot or so away from the broken bottle.
Something about it looked vaguely familiar…
She quickly picked it up.
It was a green ballpoint pen.
She turned it over in her hand, but she already knew she recognized it.
It was one of the personalized pens she had given her partner for Christmas because he was always complaining about people around the station stealing his pens.
Sure enough, as she rolled it over in her fingers, the words Detective Carlton Lassiter appeared, etched into the side in silver lettering.
But what the heck is it doing here…?
She dropped it back on the ground where she had found it and stood up again.
"Carlton?" She called into the darkness. "Shawn? Hello?"
There was no answer.
"Shawn!"
She quickly made her way back to the broken window and stepped back through it into the cool night air.
She went back to her car and sat behind the steering wheel for another five minutes or so, trying to process everything.
Trying to figure out what to do next.
Shawn still didn't come. She called him twice, both on his cell phone and at home, but there was no answer.
She even tried calling her partner.
No answer.
What the heck is going on?
Finally, she picked up her radio.
"This is 4-Adam-7." She spoke into it.
"4-Adam-7 go." The response crackled back a moment later.
"I need a unit at the warehouse on Crenshaw for a possible 10-86…" She said slowly, then added a second later, " And call the Chief at home. She's going to want to come down here for this."