A/N: Hi guys! This chapter has the angst I've been dying to write. Things get better here on. Special thanks to PsychFan1 and TheShulesLovinPsycho for their encouraging and lovely reviews.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Psych or any of the characters in this story. Oh, wait! I DO own the dead guy!
Now enjoy the newest chapter of this story, things got just a little more messy . . .!
Ch 3: Yeah, the Boyfriend's Going to Be a Problem
The next time Shawn woke up, the throbbing in his head seemed to have lessened significantly, and familiar faces were starting to appear around him. Shawn grunted in concentration, catching the attention of the old penguin from 'Happy Feet'.
"Lassi-dophulus!" Shawn sang. "Never once in my life did I imagine you at my bedside!"
"Shut it, Spencer. Right now, you are in boiling hot water up. To. Your. Neck," Lassiter replied, stressing the last four words and raising his own palm facing downwards till his neck. "Besides," he said in a softer tone, turning down the heat of the glare, "I came to see O'Hara. The only thing she's been ingesting is ice cream, and Sweet Lady Justice knows that can't be good for her."
"Personally, I think an ice cream a day keeps the grey hairs away," Shawn said, before turning to Juliet. "Sweetie, I know what ice cream is for you, and I don't want you to eat it because of what it is to you. So eat something more . . . warm, and . . . salty . . ."
"Oooo-kay," Lassiter said slowly, "Never mind, Spencer. You stay put, I'll convince her, at least until you're able to make some semblance of sense."
"Lassie, that rhymed!" Shawn grinned. Meanwhile Juliet took the spoon she had been scooping the last two boxes of ice cream with and plunged it into the present one, and then brought it towards Shawn's lips, saying, "That made sense to me. It's a couples' thing, Carlton, you wouldn't understand."
"Neither do I want to," Lassiter replied without waiting a beat.
Shawn let her feed one spoonful to him and relaxed visibly as the cold, sugary wetness spread in his throat, and cooled his sternum, "Mmmm . . . pineapple-cherry!"
"Hm," Juliet smiled sheepishly. Shawn's obsession with pineapples was being passed on to her, much to the utter horror of Lassiter. "How're you feeling now?"
"About what?" Shawn plastered the carefree grin back on his face, but in his eyes, the message was clear.
"How's your head?" Juliet asked, beseeching his forgiveness through a hidden message her eyes.
"Better," Shawn replied, the grin slowly vanishing. Determination shone in his face as he added, "And as soon as the world stops spinning, we're going to catch the son of a bitch who killed that Jane Doe near SmoothieMan."
"Whoa, there," Lassiter said, just as Juliet retorted, "Over my severed arm!"
Both the guys gave her a strange look, pausing before whatever they intended to say. Juliet narrowed her eyes at them and said, "What? I can't say anything irrational when you guys practically say nothing else? What is this, the eighteenth century?"
Shawn opened his mouth, frowning, and then closed it again, and Lassiter shook his head violently and raised his eyebrows, before turning back to Shawn, "Spencer, you are not going to investigate this case, you're the lead suspect, damn it!"
Shawn sat still for a moment, and Lassiter looked over to his partner in uncertainty. Hadn't Juliet already told Shawn about the DNA and shirt? She responded by a mere shake of the head.
"I'm the lead suspect? Wha . . . I thought you guys were trying to prove my innocence!" Shawn said, incredulous. Lassiter 'Eh'-ed, and Juliet shot him a death glare, before looking back to Shawn, "Shawn, even if you were innocent, we can't let you investigate this case. It's protocol, we were barely able to keep you out of custody. And Forensics was at Psych. When exactly were you attacked, Shawn? Because you didn't call Gus or me. It was just a matter of chance that we appeared at the doorstep and he jumped out of the window."
"My alibi isn't good?" Shawn asked, though it seemed like more of a statement. "Wait, what do you mean— 'If? I didn't kill anyone! Are you actually thinking . . ."
"No!" Juliet said loudly. "We know you're innocent. Just . . . force of habit or something . . ."
"Uh-huh . . ." Shawn nodded, unconvinced.
"Well, that wasn't fun! O'Hara? A word," Lassiter nodded towards the door and Juliet squeezed Shawn's hand before following her partner outside.
Once outside, Carlton turned towards Juliet and confronted in a hushed voice, "What was that all about?"
"What was what about? Why are you whispering?" Juliet asked, confused. And a bit amused.
"You know, the—the IF part. It was almost like you're expecting Shawn to be the killer. Not to mention you are the one who connected him to the case in the first place," Carlton added, raising an eyebrow. "Something on your mind?"
"No." Lie. That was a lie. There was a lot on Juliet's mind, and most of it was a burden she did not want to carry. Dark, murky thoughts were clouding her head . . . . .
Shawn was a con man. It sunk in. He was a con man. He still was a con man. As an officer of the law, she should have notified the chief of Shawn's scam the moment she found out the truth. But the pain in Shawn's eyes had looked so genuine at that time. But he was a con man. A liar. A fraud.
He was Henry Spencer's son, he was trained, and he was a genius inside an overgrown child. He could easily pull off a murder . . . several murders . . . and get away with it. He wasn't psychic, and no one knew―
Stop it, Juliet O'Hara. Just stop. Stop. That is your boyfriend, and he loves you very much.
Juliet cleared her mind of these suspicions. She had been wary of Shawn for a few months after they had gotten back together 'officially'. Then she'd lost herself to his jokes, witty puns, sudden and unexpected 'I love you's and romantic gestures which made her feel like she was the most special person in whole of Santa Barbara.
"Juliet," Lassiter's voice jolted her back to reality. Carlton had used her first name. Maybe she should've cut short the daydreams a bit sooner. After assuring her partner of her well being, Lassiter left with the promise to update her on further developments.
Back inside Shawn's room, she found him sleeping on his side, an arm tucked between the pillow and his neck. Juliet made her way across the room and put her head under the crook of his arm, smiling up at his sleeping face. Then she took a deep breath, and let it out. That felt nice.
Another deep breath. It's fine now. Exhale..
Inhale. Shawn's almost ready to start dancing. He'll be fine. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
For the first time that day, Juliet felt her worries melt away, if only briefly. She stood up and walked around the room, laughing quietly as she realized that the only times she had been to this room, it had been under bleak situations.
Today.
The day the Yin-Yang fiasco ended.
The night when Shawn came here when Carp shot his dad.
He'd sat down in on the bed, one knee up, the other leg stretched out, staring blankly at an old, used silhouette used for target practise beside a BB gun. Then he'd taken the gun, and had shot the cardboard, without break. While he was firing his second last shot, Juliet had found him there, and had stood behind the door, waiting for him to finish. After one last shot, he'd turned his head slowly towards the door and had beckoned for Juliet to come inside.
Somehow, he knew she was there. His senses were too sharp, and his brain worked too quickly. It would be easy for him to kill hundreds of people . . . and not leave a mark.
And in this case, they had found evidence of him committing the crime on the victim's body. Juliet flashed back yet again to when he'd covered up his presence in Dorian Creech's office the night he'd died. He had done an excellent cover up. Maybe he'd been sloppy on purpose. Maybe he didn't want to make Gus suspicious.
And what about Gus? He passes out on the sight of blood. Was he acting too? Was he in on this? Did they kill Creech after all?
Juliet shuddered when she realised that she was thinking about Shawn being a murderer again. And then she realized that while her mind had been working out the motive, means and opportunity, her hands had found something.
Tucked carefully behind a layer of old records, hidden from view, was a letter. It wasn't Shawn's handwriting . . . but his name was signed at the end. She read the letter . . . once, twice, thrice, and started shaking. Fourth time, she gasped, pushing it back behind the records as she felt a slight movement from Shawn. She panicked.
It was natural. She had to panic. A sane person would panic.
But a sane person wouldn't do what she did next. A sane person wouldn't grab the first aid kit, take a hell lot more morphine than required, in the syringe and plunge it down against her boyfriend's arm.
Then she cleaned the needle, stumbling out of the room, feeling very unsafe in the Spencer household at that moment. Before Henry could catch her running away, she sprinted to her car, jumped in, and sped away, to the police station, towards safety.
What she didn't see was the truck speeding towards her car . . . at least, not till the last moment . . .
And she swerved hard to the right, off the road and into a tree.
And thank God for that tree, because she would have died if not for it. Beyond the edge of the cliff on which her car had been trapped, stretched the endless ocean, huge, jagged rocks visible on the surface from afar.
Shakily, Juliet grabbed her phone and dialled.
"O'Hara," Lassiter greeted.
"Carlton," she whispered shakily, afraid to move for the fear of broken bones. "I need help."
A/N: Thank you all loyal, amazing people for reading! Sorry for the cliffhanger. I'll try to update in the next two days. But please, please, do take time to review! You know, even guests can review. So pretty please with chocolate muffin on top, DOOOOO . . . review! ;)
