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I OWN NOTHING...

Psych

Shawn's stomach rolled, his vision blurred, when his chair was pulled back onto all fours. It took all his self-control not to throw up on himself. When his bout of nausea passed and his vision snapped back into focus, he found Stretch and Lindsay standing directly in front of him.

"Hm, I thought you'd be worse off than this," Stretch commented with a small shake of his head.

"I'm just getting started," Lindsay replied flashing Shawn a quick smile.

"Look," Shawn started getting both his kidnappers' attention, "this has been great. All this catching up. And I'd hate to spoil all the fun, but don't you think framing Gus was a little overboard to get me. I mean you had a dozen or more chances. Why not just choose one of them?"

"Guster's framing was a very necessary part of this plan. Aside from O'Hara, he would have stopped at nothing to get you back. But I can assure you, once you're dead, Guster will most definitely be acquitted."

"Why's that?" Shawn asked suspiciously.

"Because I am going to make your death look as if Stretch killed you in self-defense. He's going to tell everyone you killed those two women, letting poor, poor Gus take the blame." Lindsay seemed happy to be sharing the plan with Shawn, while Stretch had a look that couldn't quite be placed. Although the faux-psychic had seen it before.

"That's bullshit," Shawn protested seeing several major flaws in the half-assed scheme these two came up with. "Nobody will believe you."

"'Maybe it was the stress of the job,'" Stretch started sounding almost solemn. "'His fiancée has been on him about their wedding. Maybe he just snapped, killed Gigi Gray. Maybe afterwards he had to kill again. So he killed Regina Taylor, too. And Gus, the perfect patsy, so loyal, was willing to take the blame.' How's that for convincing?" Stretch threw him a quick smile.

"I can see the headlines now," Lindsay started with a slight glazed look in her eyes. "'Acclaimed Psychic turned Murderer.' It rolls off the tongue." she laughed, a half-crazed crackle, her hair falling into her eyes.

"How are you going to explain my disappearance then?" Shawn honestly thought he had the detective, caught him at his own game. Until the guy pulled out a knife from his pocket and shoved it between Lindsay's shoulder blades. Finally Shawn was able to place the look, a look of betrayal he had seen several times in his line of work.

The con-woman screamed, falling to a heap on the floor. Shawn's eyes widened in shock, his mouth drying instantly. He didn't need to be a psychic to know what came next. Stretch pulled out his gun, pointing it directly at Shawn's chest.

"You have always been a pain in my ass, Spencer," the detective said slowly, "and now I won't have to deal with you again. So, good-bye Shawn." his finger tightened on the trigger, Shawn's eyes automatically slamming shut. He awaited the sharp pain of the bullet entering his flesh, breaking through his chest cavity and piercing his heart. But it never came.

He heard a scream of pain, his eyes flying open. He watched the detective fall to the floor, a bread knife stuck in his foot. His gun landed with a loud thud, the thing going off when it impacted with the floor. The stray bullet entered Shawn's calf, a flash of white, hot pain making him nearly cry out.

For a few seconds things were confusing, the faux-psychic not sure what had exactly happened. But when a second gunshot rang out, he was brought back to reality with a sickening crash.

Stretch was laid out on the floor, blood pooling around him. Lindsay stood over him, breathing heavily, the detective's gun in her hand.

"Asshole," Lindsay spat pocketing the gun and yanking the knife out of Stretch's foot. She stumbled toward the faux-psychic, the detective's knife still stuck in her back.

"How are you not dead?" Shawn asked trying to ignore the pain in his leg. He watched as Lindsay cut him loose, not sure what she had planned.

"He didn't stick it in deep enough to kill me," she replied reaching back and yanking the utensil from her back. She tossed it aside, along with hers, and yanked Shawn to his feet. "Come on," she snapped taking the gun out and motioning him to the door.

The room was spinning dangerously, every time Shawn put weight on his leg he could barely tolerate the pain. Nausea kept rolling through him, waiting for the moment to strike. His vision threatened to go gray several times, but he managed to stay conscious.

"Wait," Lindsay called, ducking down to dig around Stretch's pockets. She pulled out his keys. When she straightened she almost fell, but managed to grab the chair Shawn had been tied to before she did. "Let's go."

The stairs nearly killed him, the pain so bad at times he nearly collapsed. He hated being shot, it always lead to him getting captured by someone. It never lead to a lifetime supply of pineapples.

"Where are we going?" he ground out between clenched teeth.

"As far...from here...as possible," Lindsay puffed out, he own wound taking its toll, too. "Someone was...bound to hear...the gunshots."

It took a few moments longer than it should have, but both of them managed to get outside the small, green, two-story. Shawn had noticed the lack of furniture in the place, despite the crap in the attic. His eyes caught sight of the For Sale sign hammered into the front lawn. It now explained the location.

"Get in," Lindsay snapped pushing him toward a black car parked two houses down. Shawn guessed he could have ran, but the prospect of another bullet hole had him doing as he was told. Plus he doubted he could get really far on his leg.

He pulled the car door open, lowering himself into the seat. He was grateful for the chance to sit down, the pain slowly ebbing away to something manageable. Lindsay slammed his door, stumbling over her own feet as she went around the front of the car and got in the driver side. She started the car, and squealed away from the curb.

Neither spoke for the first couple minutes. They were barely a block and a half away when a cop car sped past them, sirens wailing. It was a close call, Shawn could see it on Lindsay's face.

"You realize you're fingerprints are probably all over that house," Shawn pointed out glancing down at his bloody jeans.

"Burnt them off a few years ago," Lindsay commented not even looking at the faux-psychic.

"Must have been painful." he pulled his pant leg up, the bullet hole bleeding profusely. It didn't go all the way through, panic gripping Shawn when he realized a piece of lead was still stuck in his body. That was far from good.

Lindsay took a left, heading out of town. Shawn looked up from his wound, noticing how deathly pale she looked, her gray hoodie turning red with her crimson blood.

"Where are we going?" he repeated figuring he probably didn't look any better. Lindsay, however, didn't reply, her eyelids drooping slightly. She jerked awake, managing to get the car under control before it swerved into the next lane.

"Should you be driving?" Shawn really didn't want to add several more wounds to his already battered body.

"Shut up," the brunette con-woman snapped. Shawn sighed, turning to look out the window instead. He watched as houses turned into trees, remembering having to run through the forest as Garth Longmore (or whatever his name was) chased him.

The car swerved again, getting his attention. He turned his head, watching as Lindsay's head fell against the window. Her eyes had slid closed, her breath was fogging up the glass. Shawn reached out, taking a hold of the steering wheel.

He tried to keep the car on the road, keep it from crashing into anything, but there was only so much he could do before the vehicle veered off the road. It slammed into a tree, throwing Shawn sideways. His head slammed into the window, cracking the glass, and sending him into a sea of black...