A/N: November. Was that really the last time I updated this story? I AM SO SORRY! I can't believe it... I promise I'll really try my hardest not to do that to you again. But rest assured, I will never leave a story uncompleted. No matter how long it's been since I last updated.

I really hope you guys like this chapter. I hope it was at least somewhat worth it. It's kinda short, but fairly average for me.

6/22/11: Whoa. That was a lot of editing. And now I can finally say I'M DONE! This chappie has been edited :)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Psych. If I did, well, it probably would've been canceled due to a very odd, dramatic, and altogether crazy plotline (All of which would involve Shawn getting hurt in some way or another). :D

ENJOY!

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"Shawn!" Juliet cried. They hadn't heard anything for at least a minute now. She yanked the phone from Lassiter's hands, saw that the line had gone dead, and proceeded to throw it across the room. She whirled around and started pacing, running her hands through her blond locks in frustration.

Lassiter could only blink. It took less than ten seconds for Juliet to steal his phone, and less than that for her to begin losing what sanity she still possessed since the start of that morning. He cringed as he heard an unsettling noise, it was jarring to his ears. It was coming from his left, by the large window in the Psych office, and when Lassiter looked to see what was making the awful noise, he was surprised to find that it was coming from Guster. The consultant was grinding his teeth relentlessly, as if determined to turn them to dust. There was no other outward sign of emotion; Gus had been getting much better at emotional control since the start of this whole fiasco. It wasn't surprising for him to be transferring emotions to a physical action, but it was surprising that he only showed frustration and nothing else. Guster was, after all, the most sensitive of the group.

Then a voice rang out into the sudden, uneasy silence, "Were you able to trace the call?"

It was Vick. She was the only one completely unfazed by the sudden turn the case had taken. Determination shone in her eyes, and the others took as much reassurance from her as they could. Right now, she was their rock that held them together and kept them from going completely insane. For a while, no one answered her. The tech apparently hadn't heard her, so she repeated herself, this time growling the words straight into his ear, "Were. You. Able. To. Trace. Trace. The. Call?" She added the pauses for emphasis, which caused the computer tech to jump in his -Spencer's- chair.

The kid stared at her with wide eyes, afraid to even breath for fear of being shouted at again. Then, he took a breath, preparing himself to answer them. As he took that breath, the others held theirs, fearful that even the slightest movement or noise could dissolve what little progress they'd made in their quest to rescue Shawn. Even Juliet had stopped pacing, though she was still positioned to take a step. Her hands were frozen where they'd been before Vick spoke: On her head, tangled in her hair.

Gus stopped grinding his teeth. He stared at the back of Vick's head as she stared into the eyes of the frightened computer whiz. He willed her to force the kid to speak. He wanted his best friend found. Now. And surely Henry felt the same way, there was no way he'd be doing anything other than two things: One, staring holes through that kid, willing him to respond, or getting in his face, screaming at him for an answer. Since he wasn't doing the latter, he must be... Gus glanced to his right, where Henry had stood, but saw nothing.

He turned in a complete circle, but Henry wasn't anywhere inside of Psych. He was gone.

Disappeared just before the tech gave anybody an answer.

"Hey," Lassiter said after watching Gus do what he thought looked like an odd little dance in a circle and having finally caught on to what he was doing, "Where'd Spencer go?"

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Back in the interrogation room, Ramona Clarke stared at the little camera in the corner opposite where she sat. She smiled at it, knowing by the little red indicator light that someone was watching her. Her brother had taught her many things about the inner workings of law enforcement, so when she'd been interrogated hours ago, she'd known exactly what to expect. Her sibling had trained her in the art of interrogation and subtle body language.

By the way the older detective -Lassiter, she remembered- spoke, she could tell that he'd done this numerous times before, and rarely made mistakes. His body language told her that he was experienced, hardened to the horrors policemen faced on a daily basis. It also told her that he was anxious. She'd seen the way his shoulder muscles had bunched up and his lips pressed into a thin line when she didn't speak. It didn't fit with the image and personality of the experienced cop she knew he was. That is was let her know that this particular detective was close to the case. Her brother hadn't told her specifics about the people she'd encounter. He hadn't even given her a group profile. She knew that Alexander had known exactly who he was targeting, not just the singular person, but all the men and women, friends and family, co-workers and others that surrounded him. Alex did excessive research while he was "away". There was no way he'd let a foolish mistake cost him his newfound freedom.

The other detective, the woman, she had only seen for a moment, but that was all it took. Ramona suspected that when the woman had gotten dressed that day, her clothes had been clean, perfectly ironed, and her hair had most likely been pulled into a tight pony-tail. However, when she'd stepped into the interrogation room, she had dirt on the left knee of her pants, from kneeling to pick up evidence no doubt, and strands of her hair had escaped from the elastic band used to tie it up. Noticing these things, Ramona had deduced that the woman was trying to be as actively involved in this case as she could. By her stance, which was rigid, she could tell that she was nervous, frightened almost. The way she spoke was distant. The distance in her voice could possibly mean that she was forcing herself to keep emotions at bay. And you only needed to keep your feelings away if they were too strong to control. All that meant this case was personal for her. Very personal.

For the second time, Ramona glanced at the camera, but this time the indicator light was off. Then she glanced at the mirror; she knew she'd never be able to tell if someone was watching her just by looking over there, but the red light on the camera was a sure sign. It was off now, which meant that either she was being watched from just behind the glass, or no one cared to record her anymore and no one was there. She doubted it was the latter. Right now, she was the single witness they had to their case. She was far too important not to be observed by anybody.

Suddenly the door to the room was flung open. Ramona smiled when she saw who it was; because this was the one person she did know. She leaned back in her hard metal chair and crossed her ankles under the table, "Well, well, if it isn't..."

OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO

The tech kid had opened his mouth just as Lassiter had voiced his question. He stopped himself while Vick straightened and she and Juliet looked about. There was no sign of the man in question.

Vick, who had momentarily forgotten that she, in fact, was the Chief of Police, remembered her position. She locked gazes with her Head Detective, "I'm going back to the station to look for Henry. There aren't many places he could've gone. Let me know if this," she looked pointedly at the tech, "leads anywhere." Then she strode out the door and into the late morning sun.

Now it was just Juliet, Lassiter, and Gus that remained. The computer tech was there too, revealing just as little information as before. Though, now that Vick was gone, and some of the pressure was lifted from his shoulders, the kid could breath easier. He felt ready to reveal his findings to the others now.

"So?" Gus asked, his already thin patience snapping. He crossed his arms over his chest and began tapping his foot, which made the kid swallow nervously.

"I, um, well," he stalled, earning glares from the others. "I, f-found, ah, um, I found, uh."

"Oh, for Justice's sake!" Lassiter exclaimed, ready to slap the kid senseless, "Just get on with it already! We don't have any more time to spare!"

"Okay! Okay!" The tech, whose name tag Juliet noticed said 'Roger Jenkins', put his hands in the air on either side of his head in a gesture of surrender. "I was able to triangulate the call. It was bouncing between these three cell towers." Roger pointed to three green triangles on the computer screen.

"Which means what, exactly?" Juliet questioned. She was nearly bouncing in anticipation. She wanted to be out the door and in the car as soon as possible. They just might be able to find Shawn now.

"It means," Roger had gained quite a bit of confidence now that he knew the people around him weren't angry with him anymore, "that Shawn has to be somewhere either on Sycamore street or the road adjacent to it: West Avenue. That's all I can say for sure."

"It's Sycamore." Lassiter said, already heading to the door.

"What?" Gus asked, clearly confused. Lassiter was already out the door by this time though and didn't hear him.

"Don't you remember?" Juliet questioned as she and Gus followed Lassiter. "The note that I found in the parking lot? The one that McNab decoded? It said..."

By now Gus remembered. He remembered clear as day now, hearing McNab say "Emergency site: 1933 Sycamore." He hadn't been able to understand what it meant then, but now he understood perfectly. 1933 Sycamore Street was the emergency dump site.

OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO

"Henry Spencer." Ramona stated, a wry smile playing on her red lips. She toyed with her dark curls coyly, hoping to irritate the old man; play with his psyche a little. Her brother always told her that mental warfare was her strong suit.

Henry stormed over to the table, somehow refraining from slamming his fists on the cold metal table between himself and Ramona. He wanted to just wring the truth from her. He knew she was his only real chance of finding his son. They had no hope otherwise.

"Where is my son?" He growled. He put his fists on the table and leaned forward slightly, invading Ramona's personal space. Therefor making her uncomfortable and uneasy.

"You're lucky, Mr. Spencer," Ramona said, that smirk on her face just another reminder of how hard it was going to be to break her and how little time he had to do it. "You're lucky that William didn't get his way." She knew she spilled a name. She also knew that without the proper information, which she knew the SBPD didn't have, they'd never be able to make a connection.

He suspected exactly what Ramona knew, so he didn't pay much attention to the name. Instead he moved on, "How's your daughter, Ms. Clarke? Still with the sitter on Sycamore?"

The revelation of her daughter startled Ramona. What possible reason did he have for bringing her up? And how did he know who her sitter was? Rather than feed him more information, she just stared at him. Eye contact was one of the most important ways of communication. Eyes told someone anything they needed to know. And what Henry's told Ramona was that he knew more than he was letting on. It wasn't smart for her to play any mind games right now. Not yet, anyway.

"No," Ramona said quietly. She didn't think one-word answers were enough to let anything slip. No; she was safe with one-word answers.

This time it was Henry who smirked, "I didn't think so." He turned to leave, but before he did, he looked back at the ex-nanny, "Thank you for your time, Ms. Clarke." She shot him a death-glare. He knew he was antagonizing her, but he couldn't help it. His son was missing and he had to take his frustration out on somebody.

He exited the interrogation room, but didn't get very far away from it before he ran into Chief Vick. She had a scowl plastered on her face, and as soon as she spotted the elder Spencer, it deepened. "Where the hell have you been?" She asked, hands on her hips.

In her high heels she was about the same height as Henry. She was trying to intimidate him, but it just didn't have the same effect as being taller than the person who was being interrogated. He crossed his arms, "I just found out where Shawn is. He's somewhere on-"

"Sycamore." The Chief answered for him, waving a hand at him to signal him to stop. "Lassiter just called and told me. They were able to triangulate the call. They're headed down to the address we found on the note right now."

Then Henry started walking past her. She followed him, soon caught up, and asked, "Where do you think you're going?"

"To get my son." Henry answered simply.

Together, Henry leading the way, the two began their descent to the SBPD parking lot. They would get in a car and proceed to 1933 Sycamore Street, where Lassiter, Juliet, and Gus where headed now.

They thought this was the end of their journey, but little did they know what really lay in store for them at their destination. They weren't aware of the Pandora's Box that they were about to open. They would soon find out though, and it was sure to be unpleasant.

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