A/N: Last part is comin' up!
And I'm back for the first time since then
And I'm standing on your street,
There's a letter left on your doorstep
And the first thing that you read…
It had happened on the way to the lake two weeks later.
Nobody really knew the gunman's motive for randomly shooting the fake psychic. It could have been a number of reasons, but after the gunner had downed the brown-haired man, he took himself out. Which led to yet another round of investigations. But none of these really mattered to Carlton.
As long as Shawn makes it out okay, I'll be fine not knowing why the guy did it.
Now…
Lassiter was sure that he had broken about a dozen speed limits on his way to the hospital, but at this point he could care less.
He dashed into the hospital, asked for Shawn's room number, and then rushed to the elevator. The doors slid openly noiselessly, and the head detective swore that the only noise that was audible in the hallway was his panting and the clatter of his shoes on the tile.
As soon as he reached the door handle, Carlton couldn't bring himself to touch it. The optimist in him was screaming, "There is a way that he could still be alive! You've gotta keep believing!"
But since when did he listen to that voice?
It was because of this that he had to quickly brush away his tears as Henry opened the door.
"You're finally here, Carlton. And you look horrible."
12 hours ago…
Lassiter had that night all planned out. He had bought iPod speakers just for the occasion. Shawn had promised to furnish the iPod and therefore, the music.
The music, and that song.
Especially that song.