Don't be a defeatist!

Why was it, whenever he was getting ready for a nice long pout, his dad's voice invariably chose that time to invade his mind?

I'm not a defeatist! He responded mentally, adding a mental crossed arms stance to punctuate his statement. In response, he received a mental replay of his previous thought.

…this position is pulling agonizingly at my side. Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do to relieve it…

That sound like someone who's still trying?

Shawn actually opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if his father was actually in the room berating him.

Finally, he tilted his head to the side. Point taken.

Brushing aside the inner argument, he glanced back at the door.

Thirty minutes, give or take… certainly no less than that, considering their activities just short of an hour ago… Shawn grimaced, desperately wishing for some mental bleach to erase that particular memory. Even watching Gus puke up a half-eaten ham and mustard sandwich in eighth grade was a better topic to dwell on. Wait… topic? Or was that more of a plot? Storyline? At any rate, certainly more appetizing. And why the hell was that making his stomach rumble? No matter, phone first, then James Bond-like escape, then maybe at stop at that pizza place before hitching a ride to the station. Yep, a sound plan. Oh wait, remove the handcuffs first.

Shawn had learned a lot from his father growing up. How to sneak through a house undetected, how to cover his tracks, how to at least pretend he was grateful for the food on his plate even though he hated his dad's black bean and Mexican rice goulash… and how to slip out of handcuffs. The cuffs hit the floor behind him with a solid clunk. It took more time to bend down, while chewing through his lip, to tear off the duct tape. He spent another minute or two just catching his breath while holding his side. Damn… this really sucked!

And he didn't have time to keep putting it off.

His hand shook where it gripped the arm of the chair. Pulling strenuously, he gained his feet. His legs wobbled for a second, and then he was lurching for the little table. His hand was actually holding the receiver midway to his ear when he realized he'd not heard two specific sounds. A dial tone- which would have been noticeable even at this distance, and the distinct squeak-thud of someone ascending the wooden staircase behind the door he was leaning against.

Dropping the phone, he lunged to brace himself against the door, and was blasted back as the door exploded open instead. Shawn hit the concrete floor behind the chair, and immediately tried to scramble to his feet. Andrew was on him in seconds, and Shawn screamed mutely as a fist buried itself in his gut. Another blow struck his already abused right shoulder, while the previous fist drew back to strike his face. Acting without thought, Shawn clawed out with his right hand… and struck something metal. As Andrew's fist made its descent, Shawn twisted fast, and painfully, to avoid the strike. Andrew grunted at his knuckles connected with the unyielding floor. In the same moment, Shawn clapped a cuff around his left ankle, and the other cuff around a crossbeam on the wooden chair. Andrew dove for him, but Shawn lurched aside just in time… and then whirled, expecting to get brained from behind.

Erin just stood by the door… smiling. In one hand, she twirled the keys to the handcuffs. In the other, she held a snub-nosed revolver.

"I gotta say… that was hot." Her smile grew to reveal small even teeth. "I just love watching to guys rolling around together. Tell me, do prefer the top or the bottom?"

Shawn chuckled suddenly. "I guess it all depends. Personally, I like to drive, but I'm willing to compromise if there's chocolate syrup involved."

Erin's grin grew larger. "Ah, you're finally getting a handle on our game!"

Wait a minute… did I just step into something blindly…?

His smile faltered as Erin stepped away from the door. Shawn backed away from her, simultaneously keeping his feet out of Andrew's reach. "Hey, you know, this is the thing. I really like you kids, you've been great hosts, and I'm sure you'll make a lot of money with this whole… kidnapping masseuse therapy thing you have going on… but I was advised by my doctor that I have to watch any activities that involve…you know… guys… doing that…"

Erin laughed lightly, stepping closer. Shawn backed up again, but was halted when his back hit the wall. Erin kept approaching until her body was pressed up against his. "Well now… I guess…" her hand touched his bare chest, and he flinched at the caress, "it all depends", the revolver brushed against his abdomen, "how quickly," she leaned in, licking his ear, "you can run."

Shawn stared at her, his eyes wide. She suddenly stepped away, holding the handcuff key aloft. "Or would you rather not put it off?" Her hand seemed to move slowly as she dropped her arm a little, then lofted it upward, releasing the key in the air. There was a glint of light striking the metal as it rotated in its flight. Andrew's palm reached out methodically to capture it in his heavy fist. And then Shawn's legs suddenly unfroze themselves. As Andrew leaned over to release the cuffs, Shawn bolted for the stairs, ignoring the screaming pain in his midsection. He was almost to the top when he heard the wooden chair being toppled. Throwing open the door at the top of the stairs, Shawn thudded across the carpet in the living room. He hit the oak door hard, and for one, horrified minute, thought it was locked. No, it was open, he was just pushing it instead of pulling! Gasping hard, he wrenched at it, barely noticing the two fingernails he split in the process. He could hear Andrew thundering after him, he had to be right on his heels! And already his body felt like giving out. Each breath burned like acid as he raced across the dirt driveway. A small stand of trees hedged in the foot of the drive, but surely Andrew would find him if he hid there! Head for the road, there had to be someone out! Still dark, but it must be nearing dawn… people would be waking up, getting ready for work… where the hell were the damn cars!? And what was up with the houses! The only residential structures he could see were a few distant apartments… not counting the scattering of shabby dwellings on this block; certainly not the sorts of places that would welcome a bare-chested bleeding maniac through their doors. If anything, they'd become involved as well… something he couldn't bear to risk… Shawn made a rapid course correction… and cried out hoarsely as something latched onto his waistline. He felt himself pulled back, and he immediately lunged with the motion, swinging his head back sharply. There was a CRACK, and the hand on his jeans loosened. Not even pausing to see what damage he may have caused, Shawn dug in his heels and ran for it.

He made it about one more block before his body forced him to stop. He felt like he was dying as his lungs practically begged for oxygen. And with each shuddering breath, his ribs shrieked in agony. His terror still pounded through him… but there was also the stirrings of anger. He could never handle fear well. Sure, irrational fear was actually kinda fun. Running from spooks… screaming at bodies… with Gus involved, it was a rush like he only got from riding a roller-coaster or leaping from a plane wearing a snowboard… which had earned him a broken ankle. But this… this… sickness he felt in his gut… Footsteps echoed down the street, and he felt his heart hammering in response. The retaining wall he was leaning against wasn't a shelter, he'd be spotted immediately. He had to go… he had to run!

His legs didn't want to move… they felt numb… dead. He'd never make it… but the thought of what would happen… how this game would end… he almost retched.

What are you doing! Focus! Think!

He never thought he's so desperately want his father nearby! The running steps were getting closer… his chance of escape was vanishing by the second…

Dammit Shawn… THINK!!

What dad! What am I supposed to… and then he remembered… something he'd noticed, but ignored because a fist had been smashing his insides at the time… but to get there, he had to move now!

Forcing his protesting limbs to move, trying to ignore the thudding feet coming ever closer, he fought against his panicked instincts and ran back across the street… towards the footsteps. At the last second, he dived behind a row of trash waiting to be picked up.

The footsteps closed….

Closed…

Closed…

….

And kept going…

Shawn dropped his head against the plastic bin behind him. Suddenly he chuckled, unable to restrain it. His teeth chattered- but he really didn't care. It was just so ludicrous! He'd started the night with plans to try out the new Thai place… maybe get some slightly heated necking… maybe even let this pretty girl take advantage of his vulnerability… And now he had her steroidal rouge elephant boyfriend looking to insert himself into that daydream instead. He laughed harder. Gus would never let him live this down!

Shawn!

Sorry dad, this is seriously funny!

Kid… come on son, snap out of it…

The gentleness of the request sobered him faster than any screamed order ever could have. He shivered painfully, his laughter drying up as the reality of what he was facing reasserted itself. In moments, even Optimus Prime would figure out he hadn't kept going. He had to move.

Dragging himself to his feet, he forced himself to breath deeply. At the moment, oxygen was more important than comfort. Actually, that was kind of a toss-up… but his body was gonna hurt whether he breathed or not.

Wrapping one arm around his waist, he headed back the way he had come.

0o0o0o0

Twenty minutes of weaving around parked cars. Twenty minutes of terrified panting, thinking that any moment he'd be caught. Twenty minutes of shivering with cold- desperately wishing for even a T-shirt. Twenty minutes of exhaustion, constricting pain, numb limbs, and rolling sweat. Several times he was convinced he heard something behind him… soft shuffling, hushed steps… but every time he whipped his head around, squinting in the darkness… there was nothing.

He really didn't need paranoia on top of everything else.

Finally… after feeling as though he'd stumbled his way across Santa Barbara and a few outlying towns… like Valencia and Los Angeles… Shawn found the building he'd detected earlier by… of all things, his nose. Apparently Gus wasn't the only one with a 'Super Smeller'. Something was missing, and to feel complete, he realized he'd have to take care of it alone. Forming both hands into fists, he smacked his knuckles together lightly. For some reason… that really didn't help at all…

And now he could add pathetic to his list.

Pinching his lips together, Shawn dragged himself onward. Most of the buildings he'd passed had been dark… their doors locked. The few with access had also looked abandoned, boarded up and sunken in. All except for the building before him, leaking the strong odor of soap into the air. Picking up his pace, he practically hurled himself through the doors of the Laundromat. It was empty of human life. The machines were all still, their doors sealed. There was a small office to the side where a supervisor should have been hanging out… but the lights were off, and the door locked. Great. Still, he hadn't really expected it to be quite that easy. And besides, his main reason for coming here was sitting in a darkened corner.

He rapped his knee against a table leg as he rushed to the back. Cursing, he hobbled to the small alcove housing the one thing he wanted even more desperately than pineapple. A phone.

He grabbed the receiver without hesitation, and almost sobbed to hear an actual dial tone. He didn't have change, but calling 911 didn't require it. It only took seconds to connect, and he was starting to speak when something that his brain had been politely asking him to consider started getting through.

Erin.

She had a pathological voyeuristic need that was fed by sadism.

And she'd never let Andrew carry out a masochistic attack unless she was there to watch…

The phone dropped from his fingers and he lurched away… and yelped as is shattered with the explosion of a gun.

Small shards of plastic peppered him as he jerked up his arms to protect his face. After a second, he let them drop. Erin was standing in the doorway, her gun hand hanging by her side. "Hmm, a Laundromat… a bit cliché, but to be honest… it kinda turns me on!"

Shawn's teeth were chattering again, but that didn't prevent him from adopting a little bravado. "I g-get the f-f-feeling a d-dead cock-r-roach would t-turn you o-o-on."

As usual, Erin was unaffected by his wit. It possibly could have something to do with the fact that he couldn't quit stuttering.

He really needed to find a shirt.

A pair of dry jeans wouldn't be bad either. He could even appreciate the irony of his current location.

And then his thoughts froze in his head.

He didn't even notice when his hands started to shake.

Gasping in sudden panic, he felt his stomach try to crawl out his throat.

Erin stepped aside… sliding the revolver into her waistband.

Andrew filled the doorway, his dark hair plastered with sweat, his muscular arms hanging loose at his sides, his chest moving in and out evenly…

And he was grinning.