A/N: I'm really sorry for the super long wait! I really didn't mean for it to go on this long. I will try my hardest to keep it from happening again.
I hope this chapter makes up for it though. Because it's the longest one I've ever written for this story.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Psych... but I absolutely loved the double episodes on Wednesday!
ENJOY!
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Lassiter casually walked into the cold room that was the morgue. Though his deceptively calm walk gave away nothing of the inner turmoil he was feeling, his eyes showed just the barest hint. He was practically a master at concealing his emotions, but though he believed in it, there was no such thing as perfection. No matter how badly he wanted everyone to think he was in control, the truth was that thoughts in his mind whirred about from one crazy theory to the next. It was all wildly out of control. And nothing like the Lassiter the rest of the police force knew.
He glanced over at his partner, taking in the hunched shoulders and glazed look in her eyes. His mouth formed into a tight line, he knew what this was doing to her, and he knew that there was really very little he could do about it. Lassiter suspected that in a matter of hours, about the time Spencer had left in this world, she'd be completely broken. He didn't want it to happen, but being a cop meant facing even the harshest realities.
Taking his eyes away from Juliet, Lassiter pushed open the doors to the actual place where the autopsies were performed. He saw Woody, the resident coroner, standing beside the cold metal slab the currently housed the body of Stephanie Lillard. The woman's eyes were closed, and she looked almost peaceful, but Carlton knew how she'd died and couldn't stop himself from seeing a grimace twisting her pretty face.
Stephanie Lillard had been having an affair with their suspect, Ivan Sadusky, and it hadn't ended well for her. She'd been leaving a bar with Sadusky when she'd threatened to confront his wife, Nina, about the affair, and then he'd killed her. Her death wasn't sudden, though. With the new information concerning Spencer's stabbing, and poisoning, they'd found the cause of death of Stephanie.
She had been poisoned.
Lassiter's original theory had been that Sadusky had stabbed her to death, and she had been stabbed, but it apparently wasn't the real reason she died. Sadusky had practically turned her into Swiss cheese. They hadn't been able to find the murder weapon until Spencer was "staked". It seemed completely obvious now, considering that the bar the two had left was a known wannabe-vampire hangout. Of course, they'd still been wrong in that line of thinking. Sadusky had poisoned her; just like he had with Spencer. Now it was Lassiter's job to prevent another body from entering the morgue.
"Ah, Detective Lassiter," the coroner greeted, then, noticing Juliet's small form, "and Detective O'Hara! I would say it's great to have some live company down here, but," he glanced at Stephanie's body, "that would be disrespectful to my companion here."
Lassiter ignored the impulse to just turn around and leave; it was extremely important for him to be here, no matter how much Woody gave him the creeps. He approached the coroner with faux calm and asked in his most authoritative voice, "What do you have for us?"
"Well," Woody reached for a clipboard on a nearby table, "I've identified the cause of death."
O'Hara's head snapped up, suddenly on alert, and she pounced on this new piece of information like a starving tiger, "What is it?"
"Poison," Woody said satisfactorily, as if he'd just solved all their problems.
Lassiter saw his partner's shoulders droop again, and the look in her eyes go distant. He knew he had to work fast, lest he loose her completely.
"We already know that." Lassiter spoke quickly, "Anything else?"
There was a pause that seemed to last forever. "I did find something strange," The coroner's words couldn't have come any slower.
"Well, what was it?" Lassiter's patience was already thin, but if this man kept him waiting like this much longer he'd shoot himself.
Woody moved around the table Stephanie currently occupied so that he was next to her head. Lassiter saw O'Hara quickly gain interest, and he was grateful she was still aware of what was going on.
"The inside of her throat," Woody began, "contained traces of a white powder. Almost undetectable, but once the news of Shawn's," he paused, unsure of how to say it, "condition reached me I decided to take a closer look."
"Has the residue been identified?" Lassiter questioned.
The coroner shook his head sadly, "Our lab is lacking; I'd need something to compare it against to say for sure what it is."
Suddenly Juliet spoke up for the first time in what seemed like hours, "Thanks, Woody. We need all the information we can get if we're going to solve this." She sounded determined, which Lassiter deemed a good sign. If she had a purpose, then she had a distraction from the reality they were in.
"Come on, Carlton," she said, catching the older detective by surprise. No one ever ordered him around, except the chief, especially a Junior Detective. Lassiter started following her out anyways, knowing that if he tried to take control just now she'd sink back into her depression.
"Where are we headed, O'Hara?" He had a suspicion, but he needed clarification so he could report to Vick.
"You and I are going back to Ivan Sadusky's place."
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The Hospital: Shawn's Room
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Henry followed the young nurse down the hall to his son's room. Apprehension settled in his stomach, a well-known feeling now after all the times Shawn had been admitted into the hospital, but it seemed different this time. Maybe it was because this time, Shawn might not walk out.
The father imagined Shawn walking out of this wretched place. He could just see the the cocky smirk on his face as he sauntered out the doors. He would look back at the hospital and laugh. Laugh at the absurd notion that he could be kept anywhere, least of all a hospital. Then, despite everyone telling him not to, he would snatch his helmet away from Gus, who would be telling Shawn how stupid he was being, and he'd walk over to where his motorcycle was parked. Gus will have brought the bike because Shawn had begged him to, there was no way Henry's son would be driven out by someone else. He wouldn't want to appear weak; so he'd hop on the bike, give his father and best friend his signature grin, and speed away into the awaiting traffic.
The image dissolved into nothing but the whimsical dream of a hurting father as soon as Henry neared the door. The door that led into the room Shawn was in. He grasped the doorknob in a white-knuckled grip as the nurse gave him a sympathetic smile, teary eyes and all, and walked away. He stood there for a minute, preparing himself for what awaited him. Then he stopped and turned so his back faced the door. He leaned against it heavily, whispering nonsense as he slid down the length of the door.
"Why?" Henry mumbled to no one in particular, "Why him? Why Shawn? Why now?"
He waited, almost like he expected someone to answer. "Why couldn't you have just waited till I was dead? At least then I wouldn't be around to feel this." Henry's hands curled into fists at his sides and he brought his knees up to his chest. It was frustrating, being able to do nothing, yet feeling everything.
The feelings ranged from heart-wrenching grief to burning anger. The anger Henry was all to happy to accept, it was the grief that he couldn't bear. It was a soul-sucking emotion that left him hollow, like nothing had ever lived in his shell of a body. It made Henry feel helpless, which he was. He couldn't do anything thing to help his son. Not a single thing.
Suddenly, in a single movement too fast for a man his age, Henry shot up from where he sat. He whirled around, turning to face the foreboding door, and at the same time brought his left hand, in a fist, to meet the cold, hard door. A resounding noise rang through the hall, and Henry felt a white hot pain in his hand. The pain helped, though, and it banished most of the sadness that had been dwelling in his heart. It cleared his mind enough that he thought he was ready to face what laid ahead.
Henry once again gripped the doorknob in his right hand, but this time he turned it and pushed the door open.
There, lying in a hospital bed, lay Shawn. There was an IV attached to his hand that dripped clear liquid, and a tube inserted down Shawn's throat. His skin was pale and a sheen of sweat coated his visible skin. It all made him look so vulnerable, so small in the hospital bed.
Henry moved closer to Shawn, wanting to be near him while at the same time wanting to run as far from the room as he could get. He was soon sitting in the lone chair beside the bed, and he reached for his son's hand, the one that didn't have the IV in it.
He grasped Shawn's hand, it was cold and limp. Completely unlike what it should be. Kind of like what Shawn looked now. He was the polar opposite of himself. The real Shawn was bright and enthusiastic; this Shawn was cold and almost lifeless. It just wasn't right, it was rubbing against nature itself.
"Oh, Shawn," Henry whispered, "how did we get here?"
That's easy, Shawn's voice said.
"Shawn?" Henry looked at his son, unconscious before him. He shook his head in confusion. First he went bald, now he's suffering from delusions?
I'm in your head, Dad. I'm not really here. Not in your mind, and not in the real world. Shawn's voice had taken on a slightly cryptic quality.
"Oh, great," Henry dropped Shawn's hand and rubbed his own over his tired eyes. "I'm going crazy. See what you drive me to, Shawn?"
It wasn't your fault, Dad, Imaginary Shawn sounded sad now. I went looking for trouble one too many times, and I found it. Karma, I guess.
"It wasn't your fault, son," Henry squeezed his eyes shut against tears, and a mental image of Shawn appeared in his mind. "You didn't ask for this."
No, Shawn's image ran a hand through his messy brown hair, but I got it anyway, and I deserve it. I've lied my way through life. Lied to the police, my friends. The imaginary Shawn seemed to look straight at him, though it was all happening within Henry's mind, and he added sadly, My family.
"You did what you had to do," Henry opened his eyes, Shawn's mental figure dissipating, and he looked at the actual body of his son. Shawn's eyes moved rapidly beneath his eyelids, like he was having his own internal battle with himself.
The voice didn't speak anymore, and for that Henry was glad. He didn't want to spend what could be the last moments he had with his son in his own mind. Again Henry grasped Shawn's hand, tighter than before, and realized that he never wanted to let go.
"You did what you had to do," Henry repeated, "and I did what I had to do to protect you. I didn't tell the cops that you were lying to them all these years, and I won't when... when you..." He was struggling now, his throat constricting, never wanting to voice these words, "When you're gone."
Then Henry broke. He bent over his son's form in the bed, crying. He clutched Shawn's hand in a fierce grip, so tight he could've broken the tiny bones in it. The tears fell onto him, and as each one fell Henry felt like it took a piece of his soul with it.
He took a deep breath, calming himself and loosening his grip on Shawn. Then he looked right into his son's face and said hoarsely, "What I'm trying to say here, Shawn, is that... I love you, son."
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The Hospital: ER Waiting Room:
A Few Minutes Later:
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Henry walked into the room they'd all been waiting in earlier wearing a mask of control. He didn't need anybody to see him how he'd been with Shawn. It would only make it more real for the others.
When he reached his destination he noticed that it was empty. That was odd. He'd left all of them here when he'd followed Lorraine, the nurse, to Shawn's room. He looked around, peering at the faces of strangers for the familiar ones.
He spotted a nurse standing near a door at the other end of the room. She was elderly with gray hair, but a quick and kind smile. He swiftly walked over to her, interrupting the conversation she'd been having with another younger nurse with blonde hair and green eyes. He asked her about the whereabouts of his companions.
"The two police officers left through those doors," she pointed to the ones on the right side of the room, "at about the same time as you left."
Henry nodded, he hadn't really expected them to stick around. They had a job to do, after all. "What about the other man?"
"Oh!" The nurse exclaimed suddenly, her eyes brightening, "You mean the delightful Mr. Guster?"
Henry was taken aback, he didn't expect Gus to be referred to as "delightful". Not in these circumstances. "You know him?" He asked her.
"Oh, yes," the nurse smiled, "we were discussing pineapple smoothie recipes. My grandkids absolutely adore anything pineapple!"
Henry snorted, it sounded just like Shawn and Gus. The subject of the two mad Henry remember why he was talking to this nurse and he asked, "Do you know where he went?"
The nurse looked bemused for a moment, her smile fading as she thought. A look of concentration settled over her features, then she said, "Why, I don't believe I saw him leave at all."
"What?" Was all Henry could say.
The nurse looked around to make sure Gus really wasn't there, "I have no idea where he went. I never even saw him leave." She frowned, "I would've thought a polite man such as himself would've at least said a simple goodbye."
Henry wasn't listening anymore though. His thoughts were scattered all over the place. Shawn was in the hospital, dying, and Gus was nowhere to be found. Henry didn't really know him all that well, but that didn't sound at all like Gus. He wouldn't just leave when a loved one was in the hospital, whether it was a broken wrist or someone was dying, Gus wasn't one to bail on them.
So where the hell is he? Henry wondered silently.
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