When Shawn arrives at the old lumber yard, he instantly second guesses himself. Normally not in his nature, the level of doubt he's experiencing is nearly overwhelming.
Glancing down at the stopwatch, the digital display innocently declares four minutes left.
He doesn't have time to be wrong, so he reassures himself that he must be right. The old tool and lumber yard, Bear and Allen, on Liberty Square. It fits the clues. It has to be it.
His doubts disappear when he spies the back of Juliet's car around the corner.
He dismounts and walk/jogs the distance to the nearest entrance. As his feet crunch on the gravel and dilapidated pavement, he wishes he'd have had time to stop and arm himself. It's been a long day, and Shawn isn't sure he's going to be able to keep his cool enough to talk this latest psycho out of killing someone he loves.
Someone he loves.
'Thanks, brain,' Shawn snaps. 'You don't think that maybe there's a better time to do this deep, soul-searching stuff?'
Properly chastised, Shawn's brain focuses on the task at hand. His years of training snap into place, and his eyes rapidly scan his surroundings as he approaches the door.
The door is old, its hinges thoroughly rusted. Even if it's unlocked, Shawn will lose the element of surprise as soon as he opens it.
But the element of surprise is overrated - they both know he's here.
As anticipated, the door protests movement with a loud, prolonged creak worthy of a horror movie. Shawn slips inside.
The building is dark, save for the reluctant moonbeams shooting past the scattered storm clouds and through the large overhead windows. They give the empty expanse a dreamy, indigo hue.
Shawn wishes it were a dream, and he could just close his eyes and wake up on the bed. Or on the couch. The floor, even; he's not fussy.
In the distance, he just barely makes out Juliet's figure, tied to a chair. She's looking down. Next to her, his back to him as he fiddles with something on a table, is the man he presumes is Yang's brother.
Shawn's prolonged blinking and silent, "no place like home" pleas don't magically transport him to safety, and so he begins a long, slow walk to the southeast side.
"Three minutes!" the brother shouts to him. "Cutting it awfully close, aren't we?" He turns to run a hand across the top of Juliet's head. That's when Shawn realizes she's unconscious, her body held upright by the tight ropes across her sternum, stomach, and shins.
"You know how it is," Shawn finds himself saying in a voice much cooler and less shaky than he feels. "You hit one traffic light and you hit them all."
He's still too far away to see the psycho brother's face, but the shadows certainly don't help, either.
"Maybe," the brother says. "Or maybe Sis was wrong. Maybe you don't care for this one like she thought you did."
Shawn swallows, trying to put his body and his mind in check. Anger isn't going to save her. Neither is vomiting.
With a level of focus Shawn's sure his father would be proud of, he makes his final approach, stopping a few feet in front of them. He can see the brother now, and is amazed to discover he looks like Andrew McCarthy after a really, really, really rough decade.
Andrew McCarthy? Really?
Ignoring the wannabe Brat Packer's comments, eying Juliet's hanging head, cruelly cut hair, and ominously blinking red light on a small box on her lap, Shawn demands, "What'd you do to her?"
The other man has the audacity to shrug. "Just a small blow to the head, followed by a mild sedative. Honestly, I expected her to be awake by now. Waiting's not as much fun when one of you is sleeping."
"Drugged and unconscious," Shawn corrects.
"Po-ta-to, po-tah-to," the brother replies.
"What do you want?" Shawn asks, once again impressed that his voice lacks the weariness and fear that currently engulf him.
"I want them to release my sister, or you watch this little lady die, and then I kill you, too."
Shawn's brain ignores the eminent threat to his and Juliet's lives, focusing instead on a plan. If he wants them to release his sister, there'll be a phone call. Shawn'll call Lassiter. He'll try desperately to use some sort of code to clue him in on-
"Sure. It's a reasonable request. I'll call the police now," Shawn tells him, as if they were about to order Chinese carryout.
"Don't think I'm an idiot," the brother warns. "Assume that I'm smarter than you, and this will go a lot easier for you."
Shawn shrugs, unsure what to say.
"Do you want me to go to the station? I can send myself on a psychic plane, but the Santa Barbara police department isn't very open to receiving my astral projec-"
"We're going to make a phone call, smartass."
Shawn nods mutely, slipping his cell phone from his pocket.
PsychoBro laughs, and Shawn involuntarily grinds his teeth at the sound. "No, no, no. I'm not an idiot, remember? I'm going to dial, you're going to talk, and if they don't do what I want, you're both going to die."
"Seems simple enough, but there were a lot of steps. Do you think I could get it in writing first?" Shawn can't help himself. His mouth is operating purely on nerves and without any prior consultation with his brain. Not that there's normally a lot of consultation, but... "Maybe in checklist form? A Honey-Do list perhaps."
The brother casually strides over to Juliet and pulls her short hair back at the roots, producing a ten inch blade and caressing the air just below her jaw. Shawn can only imagine that the fear and anger in his own eyes would be mirrored in hers, were she awake.
Though he doesn't want her to join in on this absolutely amazing experience, Shawn nevertheless wishes she would wake up.
"Did I forget to mention that I don't like backtalk?"
Shawn bites the inside of his cheek so hard he can taste the blood. His fists clench and unclench at his sides.
He wants to rush him so badly. He wants to pummel that sadistic smirk right off his face. But the Yangs like their explosives, and the only thing Shawn wants more than to pummel this guy is to make sure Juliet survives.
"It won't happen again," he forces himself to say. His voice sounds funny in his ears, and he hopes the madman doesn't pick up on the quiver. So much for sounding brave.
The brother puts away the knife, replacing it with a gun. He trains it on Shawn, pulls out a cell phone and dials 9-1-1, clicking it over to speakerphone.
Ring.
Shawn glances at Juliet, then turns his attention to the phone, as if staring at it will transmit his thoughts to the person on the other end.
Ring.
"9-1-1. What is the nature of your emergency?"
Shawn stares at the gun pointed at his head, his mind completely blank. What is the nature of his emergency? A psychotic killer has strapped a bomb to a police officer, is pointing a gun at him, and demanding the release of a crazed killer. Which to choose, which to choose...
His eyes narrow, and the gun cocks.
"I need to talk with Detective Carlton Lassiter. It's an emergency."
"Sir, what is the nature of your emergency?"
Shawn's eyes dart from the gun to Juliet and back to the gun. "It's life or death. Get me Lassiter now."
She must pick up on his tone, because there's a click and silence, followed by another click and Lassiter's angry. "Who the hell is this?"
"Lassie, hi, it's Shawn," Shawn answers on autopilot, his voice calm and casual. "Just hanging out with Jules, wanted to check in and see how everything was going."
"Spencer!" Lassiter growls almost involuntarily before he no doubt puts two and two together. "Where the hell are you?"
The line goes silent.
"Talk!" the lunatic demands, waving the gun. Shawn swallows audibly.
"Listen, Lassie, I was wrong about Yang. You have to let her go. We got the wrong person."
Lassiter's voice is careful, clipped. "She's not the wrong person. And she's not going anywhere."
"I really think you might want to reconsider."
"She's not going anywhere."
"What if we do a trade? Her freedom for me and Jules?"
But Shawn must have said too much, because suddenly the madman lunges. Before Shawn can react, he feels the unmistakable radiating aura of pain coming from the side of his skull, his vision darkening with a hint of fireworks. He crumples to his knees, his hands flying up to cradle his head.
"Spencer! Spencer! What the hell is going on? Talk to me!"
But psycho shakes his head at Shawn, who doesn't even see it, and clears his throat. "Let my sister free, and these two will live. You have ten minutes before I expect to talk to my sister. Ten minutes or they're dead."
He snaps the phone shut and tosses it on a nearby stack of rotten wood.
"They're not going to do it," Shawn informs him, his voice flat. "They're not going to negotiate with you, no matter whose lives are on the line. Your sister is a sociopath who killed a lot of innocent people - maybe you both did. Maybe you've killed more, I don't know. The point isn't sibling rivalry, okay? The point is that the police department is concerned with the greater good. And if Detective O'Hara and I have to die to keep an insane woman behind bars, well, so be it."
Shawn's graced with a big, toothy smile. All he can think of is that the man could really use some whitening toothpaste. Or, really, any kind of toothpaste.
"I'm glad you see it that way."
The delivery of the line gives Shawn goosebumps. "Why?" he asks cautiously, his brain already a few reluctant steps ahead of the rest of him.
"Because-"
And before he finishes his sentence, Shawn knows exactly what he's going to say.
"Because we were never meant to survive this," Shawn guesses quietly, his eyes on Juliet.
"You know," the brother starts, his voice almost friendly. "I didn't particularly care for you. Oh, Sis ranted and raved, was so sure you were bright enough for the fun we had in mind. But I doubted her." He takes a step towards Juliet.
Shawn unconsciously mirrors the action as the brother's hand reaches out to finger her hair. "I think I owe you both an apology. You're not as harebrained as I thought."
Shawn tries to keep his face neutral as he notices Juliet's eyes flutter open. She twitches her face, no doubt in resistance to the duct tape across her mouth, and Shawn can almost pinpoint the exact moment when everything clicks into place for her.
Seeing her awake - at last, proof that she is actually alive! - renews Shawn's energies.
'Get him talking. Keep him talking. Kid, if there's one thing you can do, it's keep a conversation going.' If Shawn has time later, he'll ruminate further on why his inner voice suddenly sounds like Henry, but for now he'll gladly accept his advice.
"So, if your sister is Mr. Yang, does that make you Ms. Yin?" It wasn't his best effort, but it was better than nothing.
Shawn is hoping to get a rise out of him, some kind of reaction, so that he can make a move. But the brother remains cool. Aloof.
"Our parents didn't dress us alike. We weren't those twins. We have our own personalities. My sister, for instance, has always had a thing for authority. That's why she likes these mind games and puzzles with the police. Personally, I don't care for it. I much prefer..." he trails off, pretending to search for the right words. "the one-on-one approach."
Shawn shakes his head slightly. They're twins. Of course they're twins. That's just his luck.
"That's why she picked yin-and-yang, and I consider myself more of a Shiva."
"The Hindu god of destruction?" Shawn questions. That does not bode well, though it explains the drawings in the book.
He earns another toothy grin from their captor. "My, my, you are a smart cookie. I can see how you might have softened her resolve."
"Softened her resolve?" Shawn parrots. Keep him talking. Keep him talking. "She was supposed to kill me?"
"Heavens, no. Of course not. What's the fun in that?" Shiva walks over to the silent phone, the gun still trained at Shawn.
Shawn shares a look with Jules. Senor Loco hasn't noticed that Juliet's awake yet. Maybe they can use that to their advantage. "She wasn't going to kill me then?"
If Juliet pretends to be unconscious, and Shiva gets close to her, she can try to kick him. Something - Shawn will take any opening he can - and then he can rush him and this madness can stop. Shawn tries as hard as he can to convey that message with his eyes, and, when Shiva turns to look at the phone, Shawn makes a quick hand motion for sleeping. Juliet blinks twice, hopefully in understanding. She shuts her eyes, her head going limp once again.
Shawn hides a smile as the killer's attention swivels back to him. "She wasn't going to kill you. She was going to kill your mom. But she chickened out. I knew she would. So I was prepared."
"So, what? You're going to kill me and Detective O'Hara? Blow up the building with you inside?"
Shiva laughs again, and Shawn fights the urge to grind his teeth. "Just because I enjoy killing people doesn't mean I have a death wish." He strides over to Juliet, once again caressing her hair. Shawn prepares himself, knowing Juliet will make her move.
Shiva walks around to the front of Juliet, squatting down and reaching to check the blinking detonator.
Juliet does her best and lurches forward, kicking both legs out from under her restraints as far as possible. One whiffs air at his shin, the other manages to connect with his inner thigh. Although not her intended target, it's not bad for a blind move, and it distracts him enough. Shawn wastes no time in running and tackling Shiva.
The gun slips from his grasp and skitters across the concrete floor. Shawn manages to land two good right hooks before Shiva decks him straight in the nose and Shawn's head snaps back to connect with the hard, hard floor. Stunned, Shawn blinks while dots dance designs in his eyes. Shiva takes the lull as an opportunity to back up and scramble to his feet. He pulls a blade from a sheath strapped to his leg. Shawn, splayed on the cold floor with a steadily bleeding nose, finally manages to lift his dazed head. His eyes are glued to the glistening blade highlighted in the moonbeams.
Shiva lunges for Shawn, who has just enough time to lift a leg to kick him. Undeterred, as if Shawn's foot missed its mark, Shiva lands on top of Shawn, his weight holding down the smaller man. Shiva quickly places the blade in his teeth, instead pulling a syringe out of his pocket as Shawn attempts to wriggle free. Using his thumb, he pops off the cap and, despite Shawn's best efforts, manages to stick the needle in his arm. Shawn tries to fight him off, but a wave of lethargy washes over him almost instantly.
Shiva gets back to his feet and smiles at Juliet. "You keep an eye on him," he jokes. "I have to go get another chair."
Juliet's face falls as she watches Shawn's eyes flutter. "Almost... had him," Shawn whispers to her. He wants to say more, he wants to tell her important things because he's getting weaker and, for the first time in his life, he can't see how he's going to get them out of this one. But he doesn't have the energy to push the words past his mouth, and then he loses the power to even have the thoughts in the first place.