I'd like to start off by again apologizing for the utter shortness of the first chapter. I'm listening to a sappy french song (Gai Desespoir) done by Ali Project (a Japanese band. Please don't get confused.) and feeling quite self loathing. But oh well, this is the second chapter. I've mader an internal oath to myself to make it longer and just all together better.

Disclaimer: I am a rabid yaoi fangirl with a twisted personality. If I owned Psych, you would know by now. And I would not be here, writing a DISCLAIMER. I would be off spending time with my two favorite actors in the world. (Shawn and Lassiter...if you need to read these bracketed notes you should know that you need to work on your anticipatory skills.) OH YEAH. I own the mystery guy at the very end of the chapter. He's mine. All mine. If you take him I will sue your ass silly.

Warnings: Some Shawn bashing. Literal, not verbal...well maybe some verbal, but not from me. And do not forget this is a SHASSIE fic. Lassiter x Shawn. Slash. Yaoi. Shounen ai. No like-y no read-y. Homophobes ye be warned.

The suggested listening...is currently blocked from my "receptors" (Hah. Lindsay Lichen sucks at the whole psychic act. (...Refer to the 2nd episode on the first disc of Psych season 2.))

NOTE: This chapter hasn't been proof read yet either. Literature critics ye be warned... But it will be. Soon. The frst chapter should be by today or tomorrow. I've just recently started using a new key board...I don't know about you but changing to a new key board drives me NUTS. It will be a short while before I get accustomed to it, and thus, I am more prone to make spelling mistakes. I prefer to call them typos. The term "spelling mistake" somehow demeans my language skills. I do not like it.

End of note.

You may now begin reading.

- - - - - - - - -

9:56 AM

Sounds. Keys jingling. Two sets of hurried foot steps. A vehicle door opening.

Sights. A frowning head detective. A worried blonde trying to keep up. A red car.

"It was only this morning so the perp can't be outside the city and if he is, he can't be far." the detective said while hastily getting into his car. Whether the grumpy detective wanted to admit it to himself or not, this case, for some reason, meant much more to him. He had to solve this one, and as quick as possible. Something was pushing him, urging him, telling him that if he screwed up it would scar him for life. Fear maybe? Surely he wasn't that afraid of something happening to Shawn...I mean...it was only Sencer right...he could handle himself somehow...right?

"Lassiter, we don't even have any leads! Where are we even going?!" Juliet protested loudly. She wanted to find Shawn just as much as Lassiter if not more. Maybe...But panicking and rushing off to nowhere without any clues at all wasn't going to help Shawn. They needed to work as a team. They needed to harness all their mental powers together and break this case before it was too late.

"You're going to talk to Henry Spencer, I'm going to talk to Guster." he replied snappily. Juliet Ohara stopped and just stared. 'Since when do we split up? Why is Lassiter acting so worried? I've never seen him like this...' she thought. "Wait...Why do I have to go talk to ? Wouldn't it be better if I went to Gus and you went to Henry? And how will I get there? Are you dropping me off? How do I get back--" "Ohara this is NOT the time to argue with me, do as you're told, now!" her partner snapped, "Get McNabb to drive you to Spencer's house, Henry is probably there, tell McNabb to wait for you outside."

And without another word, just the starting of an engine, Detective Lassiter was gone... 'I'm starting to wonder if he wants to find Shawn to save him or to lecture him on getting kidnapped...'

- - - - - - - - -

10:31 AM

Knock Knock. Who's there? Oh...Lassiter. Maybe they found Shawn!

Gus runs to the door of the Psych office and opens the door, hoping, praying that they have good news. He opens the door, but Lassiter isn't smiling. Not that he much does...but..."Did you find him? Do you have any news? Is he okay?" "...We haven't found him yet, Guster. I came to ask you some questions."

Where's Juliet? She's not with him?

"...Oh...come in..." Gus steps away from the door and returns to his seat, rubbing his temples. He's not at work. How can he go to work while his best friend is missing, maybe even.....

Lassiter sits down with his paper and pen ready, looking dead serious. It's almost scary..."I need to know any and all enemies Sha--...Spencer might have had. Anyone with a grudge against him." the Detective stated sternly. He was obviously not in a good mood. "That could be any number of people...He's a psychic. Some people think he's a devil worshipper. There are lots of people who are skeptic, even haters. Although...there was a man..." "What man..." Lassiter questioned, cobalt eyes fixed and mind set on solving a case he had no leads on.

"Three days ago...We were in a starbucks...Shawn was...'reading' the mind of the girl at the counter. This man in line started laughing his head off. Then he got right serious...came right up to us and told Shawn that he knew the truth."

"...The truth...?"

"He said...that he knew Shawn wasn't a psychic, and that he was treading on dangerous grounds pretending to be." Gus stated worriedly. "...And neither of you thought it wise to report this?" Lassiter said, as if it was obvious to do so. "...He didn't threaten anyone's life or pull out a weapon...he was just a skeptic guy waiting in line for coffee...what's so criminal about that?" Gus asked nervously. Maybe they should have?

"..."

'Potentially everything...' Lassiter thought. Whipping out his cell phone, he dialed the chief, waiting for her to pick up.

"Santa Barbra Police Departm--"

"Chief."

"Lassiter? Yes?"

"The woman that was found this morning, has she been ID'd?"

"Yes, why?"

"Do you know if she was psychic?"

"...Yes. She was. It was Lindsay Lichen...the psychic working for the National Treasury in Washington. You met her before."

"Damn."

"..."

Dial tone.

Quickly and sloppily jotting some notes down on his pad, the detective turned his attention back to Gus. "I need a full description. Detailed appearance, personality traits, a description of his voice, who he was with, if anyone...Do you know what he was driving?" he finished, impressively all on one breath.

Gus stared for a moment until his brain caught up on everything Lassite rhad said. "Yeah...A black four by four dodge ram."

- - - - - - - - -

10:54 AM

Juliet Ohara was nervous. She was stressed. For more reasons than one. First of all, a good friend of hers was missing, which was never a good thing. Secondly, she was standing at the door of said friend's father's house. If someone, anyone else had been with her, she would have been more comfortable, but there was no one. She was alone with this one. Henry Spencer was a good person, she knew that, but...'I'll be damned if he isn't the hardest man for a woman to confront on her own about something like this...'

Knock Knock. ... Knock Knock.

'He isn't home?' she asked herself mentally. Looking around, she noticed his truck was still in the driveway. Twisting the door knob slowly, she also discovered that the house was not locked. 'He has to be here...'

Cautiously, she let herself inside the home, looking around and listening carefully for any signs of a human presence. Once inside, she closed the door behind her.

"?" she called half quietly, something about this whole situation unnerved her. Something was off. She coudn't tell what, but it was something. " it's detective Ohara, are you home?"

Sounds. Glass breaking. A snicker.

The junior detecive whipped out her gun quickly, now more unnnerved than ever. Maybe the killer--...kidnapper...had come for Shawn's dad as well?

She slowly advanced further into the house, gun pointed, ready to fire. ", are you home? Answer me!" she called, this time in a more firm tone.

Rounding the corner of the wall and looking at the living room, she found Henry Spencer, sitting in his arm chair. He was alone. There was no cold blooded killing kidnapper with him. He appeared to be uninjured. Nothing was out of the norm--...except for the fact that there was an empty 12 pack of beer bottles and one or two smashed on the floor. And the bottles were not the only thing smashed. Henry Spencer was as well.

"Sir..."

Not in all her encounters with the senior Spencer, did she think he was the type to drink excessively. While stern and rather overbearing and what some would call a bit of a "control freak"...he simply didn't seem to be the kind of man to drink away his problems. All his life the former cop had faced his problems head on. Maybe this was the final thread to snap...Had Henry Spencer had finally broken down?

"Sir..."

She didn't know what to say. What could she say? She herself was worried sick about her psychic friend. She could only imagine how the man's father felt.

"Sir, look. It's going to be okay. We're going to find Shawn. The department is doing everything it can. Even detective Lassiter is working his hardest on this case." she spoke softly, trying to offer what comfort she could. Henry just laughed weakly, not bothering to look at the woman. Instead he took another swig of beer. "It's my fault." he stated casually. Juliet's features softened, she bit her lip sadly. ", it isn't your fault. It could have happened to anyone at anytime--" "But it didn't, did it..."

Juliet stopped and just looked at the grieved man sitting in front of her. She tried to think of something to say but failed.

"It happened to Shawn. My 'psychic' son..." Henry stated, letting out another weak laugh, "Shawn Spencer. Psychic detective. It happened to him. Some maniac religeous skeptic found him and took him away, probably to burn him alive like a witch doctor, and it's my fault..."

"Sir...how is it your fault?

Henry forced a drunken smile onto his lips. "For playing along. For pretending I believed he was a psychic. Shawn isn't a psychic, he's just hyper observant, and that's because of me too...Ever since he was a young boy...I raised him to be some crime solving machine instead of letting him have a normal life...instead of just letting him be a kid..." Henry said, eyes now welling with salty tears. Juliet bit her lip harder. She wanted to say something so bad, but there was nothing. She was blank, her tongue was frozen. "Why couldn't I just let him be a kid?"

And that was it. The beer fell from his hand, smashing onto the floor and allowing it's contents to seep into the fibers of the carpet. Tears. Sobs. Wails of the deepest kind of grief there was. It was so moving that Juliet felt tears forming in her eyes as well. She couldn't stay and watch him fall apart, she needed to be strong, for him, for Shawn, for herself. But she couldn't leave him either.

Quickly pacing towards the police car outside, she told McNabb to go inside and stay with until back up arrived to take him to a hospital, just in case...

The young officer nodded worriedly and rushed inside. Juliet leaned against the car, trying to regain her composure. It wasn't working. As she stood there, the man's words played through her mind repeatedly...'...burn him alive like a witch doctor...burn him alive like a witch doctor...'

Images came to her mind. Terrible images...and sounds...She could see Shawn...he was engulfed in flame, screaming and shreiking in horror and pain. Alone. It was too much...too much...

Her emotions shone clearly on her face, and Lassiter who had just arrived to find his junior partner in a trance looking mortified, was now also disturbed. Shaking her gently, he called her name, atempting to snap her out her train of thought.

She did. She clung to him, letting her tears flow and her feelings pour out into the air. "I'm so scared..." she admitted. Lassiter hesitated, but wrapped his arms around her in a hug. "I know..." he said quietly, now staring off at nothing. Similar images were in his head...the young Spencer being tortured to death by some psychotic murderer... He didn't even want to think about it. That was not going to happen, not as long as he was running this case. Not on his watch. Annoying psychic or not, no one, no one, was dying.

Buzz. Ring. Buzz. Ring.

The head detectives cell phone went off like an alarm, snapping him out of his dark thoughts.

"Lassiter." he answered, as usual.

"Detective, we have a new lead."

"Chief"

"Yes. The black van has been located. It's been spotted at the warehouse where the last victim was found."

"..."

"Also, we now know that this isn't the first of this perpetrator's crimes. He's killed 4 other people in another state."

"..."

"Detective, are you listening? I need you down there right now, I've sent back up, they should be arriving there shortly. There may be a hostage situation. Be prepared, Carlton."

The chief hung up.

Lassiter just stood there. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it had something to do with not wanting to know what he would find inside that van...Regardless, he had to go. It was his job.

Shoving his cell back into his pocket, he looked at Juliet. "We've got a lead, Ohara. Let's go."

Wasting no time, the two were in the car and driving to the hopeful close of the case.

- - - - - - - - -

12:06 PM

7 guns pointed their noses at the still black van. Two belonging to an anxious pair of detectives.

Seconds remained.

They might be shot at.

They might have to shoot at someone.

They might find only a body...

Time was up.

One officer yanked open the driver's door as his partner swung himself in front of it, gun aimed.

No one.

The rest of the doors were opened one by one with the same proceedure.

Juliet Ohara wanted to close her eyes, she wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere but here. She couldn't bare to have the horrifying images in her head become reality.

Carlton Lassiter stood his ground, gun still aimed, eyes fixed on each door being opened. Each door that opened made his heart tear a bit more. Each door that opened revealed no dead body, which was good. But with each door opening, it became clearer that Shawn wasn't there either, dead or alive.

"It's clear sir. No one's inside."

...

Damn.

- - - - - - - - -

12:10 PM

It's so...so dark...The air is moist...It's quiet...Very quiet...

He's standing up somehow, his back flat to a wooden surface. His feet are bare, the ground is cold...It feels like cement or concrete. He can feel rope. Rough, splintering rope...it's tied tightly around his middle. He tries to move, to shift himself into a more comfortable position.

Then pain. Deep pain, sending surging waves of pain through his limbs...his arms. And warmth...warm...liquid...

Drip.

Blood.

Drip.

His blood.

Drip.

Panick. He's not fully conscious, but he can feel his heart speed up. He can't see anything, or hear anything but the quiet drips of crimson hitting the unforgiving floor.

He has to get out...Where is he? How did he get here...

Foot steps. Heavy and slow...painfully slow...almost meditated...

They come closer and closer until they stop, right in front of him. A deep intake of breath...then a droned out sigh.

"So, psychic."

"..."

"Are you ready to confess your sins?"

- - - - - - - - -

Oki day...I'm not AS pleased as I thought I would be, but any other author can relate to how I feel. You start writing, and half an hour later you stop and realize you've written a chapter and you barely remember writing it, but it is what it is.

It's longer than the first but still too short for my liking. However, I thought, since I am adding a chapter daily or bidaily, they don't have to be super long. If they were I would probably get fed up and have a break down. (That means the story never gets finished.) So I won't push myself.

I'm changing the rating of the fic to M, JUST in case. I do plan on having fun with my psychotic murderer here. I think I'll name him Bill. Bill is always a good murderer name. (Joking.)

I warn you, I won't go to extremes, but I do have a pretty daring mind when it comes to bringing out the best (or worst) in crazy killers.

Review, please. I'm hungry. I need soup. Writer's soup. Reviews. PLEASE?!