Thanks again for everyone who reviewed! You are the reason this story keeps updating :)
fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
Previously
Shawn surreptitiously picked up a raft that could be blown up at the pull of a cord. He didn't have any money. It didn't matter. Shawn hid the raft under his shirt and casually strolled out of the store. The clerk noticed nothing.
Stumbling over to the ocean seemed to take forever on his injured ankle.
Finally, Shawn made it. Pulling the cord on the raft, he climbed onto it and quickly pushed himself into deeper water.
A strong current pulled him out to sea, and Shawn drifted farther and farther away from the shore. Soon, Hawaii was out of sight.
Shawn fell asleep.
fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
Juliet woke to the soft rocking of the boat. She saw Lassiter sitting at the opposite side, looking up at the sky. He looked horrible.
"There's a storm coming," Lassiter muttered into the waves.
"A storm?" Juliet couldn't believe their bad luck.
Lassiter jerked up at the sound of her voice, and finding her awake, responded, "You can see the clouds rolling in, and the waves are getting higher."
"What should we do?"
"There's nothing we can do." Lassiter sighed. "We can ride out the storm and kiss our chances of catching the criminal good-bye."
Juliet thought about their predicament. It didn't look good.
She promptly vomited over the side of the boat into the churning ocean.
Lassiter never took his eyes from the clouds overhead.
fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
When Shawn woke up, he was surprised that he wasn't dead.
He certainly felt dead.
The small raft holding him afloat had seemed to get smaller during the night, or at least, more flimsy. There was dried blood caked at the bottom of it, proof that he his bullet wound had not yet healed over.
His bullet wound.
Shawn tried not to think about it, but a curiosity overwhelmed him and he couldn't help but look down and inspect it. Luckily, it seemed to have stopped bleeding. Unluckily, it hurt like hell and stank of puss. It was probably infected.
The rest of his body seemed to be covered in bruises, and his ankle could bear no weight (although, neither could the raft—as Shawn discovered when it flipped over).
Drenched in seawater and shivering, Shawn saw no way he would survive. Finding Santa Barbara seemed to be an impossible feat, and he was way too weak to try.
Shawn's parched throat gave a weak cry as he understood the enormity of the situation: I am about to die.
Curling up on the bottom of the raft, Shawn didn't see the small boat that was headed in his direction.
fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
Out on the Pacific Ocean, floating in a little boat with his best (and only) friend, you'd think Carlton Lassiter would be completely at peace. But he had a job to do, a job that had to be done no matter what—which created a slight problem, given the fact that he was lost at sea with a storm approaching.
But someone else was approaching as well. Lassiter rubbed his eyes. Could it be? Yes.
Approaching the boat in a raft was Lassiter's biggest irritation—psychic detective Shawn Spencer.
Lassiter winced. He may not like Spencer, but the man looked to be in terrible condition.
Juliet, thinking quickly, pulled Lassiter's jacket off and threw it across so that it landed on Shawn's raft.
The fake psychic, however, seemed to be sleeping—or was he dead? For a horrible moment, Lassiter thought that was the case, but as the raft drew closer, he saw the intake and outtake of breath.
Still, Spencer was covered in blood, and one of his ankles was swollen up. His erratic breathing and the sweat dripping down his face suggested an infection, and probably a fever as well.
When the raft was close enough, Juliet pulled in alongside the boat. Tears were dripping down her face, but she paid no notice to them. "Shawn? Shawn!" she cried out, but the body in the raft remained motionless.
"Let's try to lift him in with us," Lassiter suggested. "That raft is unsanitary and may attract sharks if any of that blood gets out."
Juliet nodded and tried to compose herself.
Together, the two detectives lifted Spencer's body into the boat with them. "It's cramped enough as it is," Lassiter muttered, but his heart wasn't in it.
At the sound of Lassiter's voice, Spencer stirred.
"La—ssie," he mumbled, each syllable forced out. Shawn cracked his eyes open. "Ju—les. Geor…taken…bo—dies…"
"What is it, Shawn? What are you trying to tell us?"
At Jules' voice, Spencer seemed to fully regain consciousness. He forced himself into a sitting position, wincing at each small movement.
In a dry, raspy voice, Shawn spoke again. "George Ewell…crashed into me…kidnapped me…Hawaii…" He trailed off, blinking slowly.
"Ewell did this to you?" Lassiter asked in disbelief. "We've been after him for years—that's why we're on this boat!—but Spencer manages to find him before us anyway!"
Spencer winced away from his voice, and Lassiter was reminded of the condition the fake psychic was in.
Taking a bottle of water from Juliet's backpack, he opened it carefully and handed it to Spencer, making sure the semi-conscious man had a hold on it. As Spencer slowly took a sip, Lassiter looked over at Juliet grimly.
"We have under an hour until this storm hits. Let's tie ourselves and our supplies to the boat, but make it so that if we are thrown underwater, we can undo any knots."
Juliet nodded and pulled off her shirt, tearing strips of it to make rope. "One of us should hold Shawn," she added. "I don't think he'll survive in his condition without our help. It's actually very lucky he found us before the storm."
"I can keep him alive if necessary. You can take the supplies."
Juliet looked surprised. "I didn't think you cared enough about Shawn."
Uncomfortable, Lassiter shrugged. "He can't die. Not on my watch."
Spencer turned his head over to Lassiter.
Lassiter automatically glared, expecting the fake psychic to say something like, "Oh, Lassie, I didn't know you cared!"
However, Spencer said, "Got…shot…" and fell unconscious.
Lassiter cursed at himself for forgetting how badly injured Spencer was. He looked over at the man, and saw where the blood had come from. Spencer's shoulder.
Juliet leaned over Spencer and tried to take his shirt off, but it was glued to him with blood. "We'll have to leave it for now. After the storm, we can worry more about his wounds."
Lassiter agreed. They had to prioritize. Picking up the half empty water bottle lying next to Spencer, Lassiter screwed the top on and handed it to his partner.
Juliet took it from him and put it inside the backpack. Sighing, she knotted herself to the boat with a strip of her shirt and handed another to Lassiter.
"It's now or never."
fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
Shawn heard words coming from very far away. "Now…or…never…"
Jules, he tried to say. But his mouth wouldn't move.
In fact, his body wouldn't move.
He could feel the rocking of the boat and the wind beating around him.
But pretty soon, he felt something else.
A raindrop hit him.
But not just one.
The storm had begun.
fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
So sorry for another cliffhanger!
Lots of Shawn whump coming up…And Lassie may hear a confession from a delirious fake psychic!
Please review, good or bad!
I will try to update as soon as possible!