"All right," Lassiter says swiftly as they speed up the gradual hill, "we don't have time to argue about this. Henry, I'm giving you a gun, and you're staying in the car. You're in no shape to be running into an unknown situation like this."

"Like hell," Henry snarls.

"Need I remind you, again, that you're a civilian? Obviously, that goes for you, too, Guster. And Jaeger…" He trails off, suddenly unsure. If anybody in there is hurt in a way that he can help… what if the time that bringing this man in with him could save would mean the difference between life and death?

"Are you injured?" Jaeger asks suddenly, and Lassiter realizes after a moment that the question is directed at Henry.

And immediately Henry is twisting his body as far as he can manage to fix his eyes on the healer. "Motor issues following a near-drowning. Could you do something about that?"

"I'm not sure," comes the man's voice after a moment of hesitation. "I've never tried anything like that. It sounds like it could be very tricky. I bet I can at least get your arm out of that sling though."

"Great, give it a shot," Lassiter says quickly. It's a perfect excuse to keep them both out of the way, for a time at least.

He's pretty sure Henry is fully aware of what he's trying to pull, but he doesn't argue. All he says is, "You keep your extra gun; I brought my own." It is at this time that Lassiter comes to a stop directly in front of the building. It looks like the perfect setting for a Halloween haunted house, simply by how large and dark it is. There's no way anyone he knows would ever be able to afford this place, even in its current state.

"And Guster—" he starts, only to be interrupted by the sound of a car door being flung open.

"Damn it!" he grunts, responding by opening his own door, stepping out, and surveying the situation. Guster is about halfway to the front door. "Guster!" he shouts in frustration after the man, but his call falls on deaf ears, and presently Guster has disappeared into the house, leaving the front door ajar.

"Come on," says O'Hara, already out of the car and cocking her gun. She looks so pale, and her hands, not to mention most of her clothes, are still stained with her own blood. And Lassiter is sure he's not imagining the way she sways slightly in place.

"You okay?" he asks in concern, already knowing her answer, and the real answer, and the disparity between them.

To his slight surprise, her candid response is "Doesn't matter." And she starts for the front door.

Lassiter quickly casts a look back at Henry and Jaeger—the latter has already gotten out of the car to stand next to the former's open door, laying his hands on his shoulders with his eyes shut in concentration. Henry's glance up at Lassiter says all that needs to be said, and he tosses Henry the car keys and turns and bolts after O'Hara without another word.

Upon reaching her side just inside the house, he's about to start strategizing, but first has to take a moment to glance about his surroundings. They stand in a large foyer area lit naturally through enormous windows in the front. To the left a grand staircase leads upwards, hugging the wall, and turning into a long balcony that leads out of sight. On either side of the large entryway is a hallway leading off to the side into more sizeable rooms, and directly across from the threshold where they stand, under the balcony, is another large door. Despite being illuminated, and not bearing any signs of destruction, the area looks gloomy. The tile floor is a creamy marble spotted with black diamonds but covered in dust—except for two areas where the dust has obviously been recently disturbed, one larger and going straight ahead to the door, and one leading to the hallway to the left, where Guster now stands.

"Guster!" Lassiter hisses, and the man turns, clearly terrified of the general situation but not having any plans to remove himself from it.

"They actually left a trail," O'Hara says, staring down at the floor.

Lassiter grips his gun. "He doesn't expect to have been pursued. He has no idea we're here." Despite the massive size of the house and the low probability that anyone else is within earshot, he speaks in low tones. "We have to assume there are at least two hostiles in this house. At least one is armed and dangerous. Guster, get behind us."

Guster approaches them slowly, looking where O'Hara is looking, and seems to finally notice the trail in the dust. He dutifully waits for them to pass, and Lassiter takes the lead, slowly and cautiously pushing on the large door. It swings open easily, having not been latched, and he peeks through.

Immediately it is more than evident why this house is condemned. Before him lies a wide open space, with a large window across the fine creamy marble floor—which is almost absolutely covered in natural debris from the enormous hole created by the tree that's utterly demolished the left of the room. The wall is mostly destroyed and it looks like there used to be at least a couple more rooms in that direction that have now been leveled. The tree itself appears to be rotting but still very strong, its branches extending for quite a ways, though fortunately the room is large enough that they don't reach the walls. Shards of wood are scattered around most of the room and a carpet of old, wrinkled leaves covers most of the floor.

"All right," says Lassiter after a perfunctory moment of awe, during which O'Hara and Guster peek in around him as well, "the dust trail's useless now but they entered this room. I can't see any clear path through the leaves but it looks like there may be more visible floor between here and that door." He points to indicate the door across from the wall that's been destroyed by the tree.

O'Hara nods and starts towards the door, gun at the ready. Lassiter follows immediately with Guster right behind him. The leaves crunch loudly underfoot as they quickly cross the room, but there's nothing for it.

They push the door open and peer around the corner. A wide hallway, this one quite dark, except for a window that illuminates a patch of floor at the end. Various doors stand on either side. Guster leans around Lassiter, and after a moment the flashlight on his phone flickers to life, lighting up the floor.

There are no leaves in this hallway, but there is more dust, and it's been disturbed.

They follow the trail, O'Hara keeping a close eye on the floor and Lassiter following her lead while brandishing his gun, watching for any sign of life at the end of the hallway or appearing in any of the doorways they're passing. Every once in a while he quickly glances backward to check behind them, but he knows Guster is keeping an eye in that direction.

The trail of disturbed dust leads them all the way down the hall, where they realize it turns a corner. After a moment of gathering themselves up, they peer around it, but still nobody is in sight. The hallway continues briefly before leading into another enormous room they can't see fully through the doorway.

Upon entering that room, several things enter their realm of perception, either simultaneously or in quick succession. The layout of the room is similar to that of the entrance hallway; there is another large staircase, though closer to ordinary dimensions, leading up to a balcony which heads into a hallway that is hidden from view. Standing in the middle of the floor underneath that balcony is a woman. She stands at about five foot five and her blonde hair is pulled back tightly, revealing large grey eyes which perform a quick scan of the three of them. She is clothed simply in black leggings and a pale blue jacket zipped all the way up. Curiously, she wears no shoes but indeed has on a pair of plain white ankle socks, although this does not seem to inhibit her progress as she turns and bolts through the door directly behind her.

Even as she takes her first step, there is movement up on the balcony, drawing all their attention rapidly upwards.

Dashing out from behind the wall where the balcony hallway begins and skidding to a stop after two strides… is Spencer. Looking perfectly fine. For the briefest instant Lassiter feels absolutely crushing relief.

But Spencer's movement hasn't stopped, just boomeranged back, as he takes one look in their general direction, swings his arms out wildly to keep balance as he changes his momentum, and dashes back in the direction he came from, disappearing from their sight.

O'Hara immediately leaves his side and runs as fast as she can towards the stairs, Guster at her heels. But Lassiter's looking in the direction of the doorway on their level. "The acrobat!" he calls, and O'Hara stops in her tracks, turning to face him. "The one Shawn told us about!"

"But he went this way!" O'Hara cries, desperate, eyes wide, while Guster skids to a stop beside her, his expression mirroring hers.

Lassiter cocks his gun. "I'll go after her, you get Shawn."

Immediately they're both running again, and so is he. What he wouldn't do for an entire team of officers right now—but Shawn warned them about this woman, and her mere presence in this house means that she must be apprehended.

She's vanished from his sight, so he's on high alert as he enters the doorway he saw her disappear through. He walks in cautiously, gun sweeping the area in front of him, taking in the doorless opening across the relatively small room, and the instant he registers that there's nothing and no one there, a blinding pain explodes in the back of his head, sending him to his hands and knees. But he manages to keep hold of his gun, and he grasps at his head with his other hand, trying to push the pain back. It's rapidly going dull but it still hurts like the devil. It felt like a kick. A kick? How could she have gotten the drop on him? She was nowhere to be seen.

He looks wildly around, trying to locate her. Dark spots dance before his eyes, but they're receding swiftly. If he can just get himself together to avoid more attacks, he thinks he'll recover his faculties rather quickly.

"S… SBPD," he pushes out, trying to sound as authoritative as possible as he continues glancing around, trying to find her through the darkness of the room and his current perceptive issues and coming up dry. "Identify yourself."

He feels his gun being snatched out of his hand. It happens too fast for him to stop it and he looks wildly at his empty hand, behind him, in front of him again. He cannot see anyone, and it's filling him with wild anger. What can he say to try to inspire compliance? To trip her up, draw her out? Does he have any idea as to who this is?

There was a name. A woman's name, on Shawn's list. He said she was a friend, and though he didn't imply that she was the acrobat he warned them about shortly afterward, that doesn't mean she couldn't be. What was that name? It began with an L… Lydia? No…

"Livia," he says quietly, more to himself than anyone else, and just as he does, the door behind him slams shut, leaving him in near-total darkness.


Henry sits in the shotgun seat of the car with his legs hanging out the side, a man he just met less than an hour ago standing in front of him, slightly bent over, eyes shut tight, hands on Henry's shoulders, not saying a word. It would be awkward if Henry's mind weren't preoccupied with far more important things than awkwardness. He stares over his shoulder at the enormous house, until something catches his eye from off to the side of the building: a car. It's not the same car he saw pulling off of his property, but it just about gleams with its newness and he can easily deduce that it's been there only since very, very recently. It's facing towards the road, in an ideal position for a getaway.

The dull ache in his shoulder begins to fade. Or was it already fading, and he's just now noticing? He flexes the muscles in his arm, testing for pain, though careful not to move too dramatically lest he disturb Sebastian's process. It's receding more and more with each passing second. Soon enough he can't feel it at all. He blinks in disbelief at the face before him, but the man's eyes are still closed in deep concentration. Henry knows that his motor problems are still there; it's just the GSW that's been cleared away.

His gaze returns to the mansion. He should be in there, right now. Do they know what to look for? His mind keeps flashing back to the time his son was kidnapped by those conmen after the ice cream truck incident. If Gus hadn't called him, if he hadn't been involved in the investigation, Lassiter would have missed the broken glass on the road, the piece of Shawn's shirt tied around the branch, the meaning of the wind chimes clue. They would never have found Shawn, and he would likely have been killed.

He needs to be in there.

"You. Sebastian," he says suddenly after about one minute of total silence. "You got a feel for things yet?"

The silence continues a few moments further, and the man murmurs without moving, "S… starting to."

"Can you or can you not fix me at least almost as fast as you fixed Juliet?" Henry asks bluntly.

Sebastian's eyes open then, and Henry notes how exhausted he seems. He releases a slow breath, apparently considering how to respond, and meets Henry's gaze. "No," he says frankly.

Henry nods promptly in acknowledgement. "Now how about you hand me one of those knives you've got in your pocket?"

Sebastian blinks, alarmed. "How did you—"

"'Cause I'm not an idiot." He holds his hand out, palm upward.

After a moment the sword swallower withdraws a knife and places it in his hand. It has a six-inch silver blade that curves slightly at the end, and it's clearly very well taken care of, polished and sharpened to perfection. Under any other circumstance, Henry almost wouldn't want to use it.

He grips it by the handle, climbs to his feet, and heads as fast as he can for that car. It takes longer than he'd like to get there, of course, and he nearly trips on the way, but he makes it without mishap, immediately circles to the side that's facing away from the house and towards the woods, and slashes both tires.

He misses his Swiss—he hasn't seen it in quite some time. He doesn't know if Shawn had it with him when he was taken and it was removed from him or if it's stashed somewhere among Shawn's things, but it hardly matters; it's not here. And anyway, this knife works just as well for his purposes.

He returns the way he came, sliding the blade into his pocket. Yes, he has a gun, but the element of surprise is their greatest asset here. If he encounters… well, that man who looks exactly like Lassiter, and has to defend himself, he'd rather have the option to do it silently, if he can.

Although he hasn't been in a fistfight in many years, and he doesn't even want to imagine how such an encounter would play out with him in his current condition.

Sebastian is sitting on the ground facing the seat where Henry was previously, leaning forward, breathing hard. Worry stabs through Henry. "Hey. Get up."

"I need… a few minutes," the man heaves.

"We don't have a few minutes," Henry presses, fanning his frustration into anger, trying to spur him to move. "My son is in there. This is it."

Sebastian keeps his head down for another couple of long seconds, barely moving except to breathe heavily. Finally he gropes for the edge of the seat above him and uses it to pull himself up, and there he stands, swaying slightly. He looks like he'd fall over if you breathed on him.

They are not in good shape.

"Come on," says Henry brusquely, and at their respective subpar paces, they start across the grass towards the front door.


Gus has no idea why Shawn is running, but it's not like the situation is allowing him the opportunity to try to logic through the issue. The obvious course of action is to keep after him. But he doesn't like it at all. He saw who they are; he should know they're here to help him. The thought enters Gus's mind that he may be trying to protect them from something, somehow. But couldn't he at least shout back an explanation?

Normally Juliet would be able to catch up to Shawn with weights tied to her feet, but she's so pale and huffing slightly with exertion and even Gus is a step ahead of her. She should not be out in the field. She should be resting in a hospital bed with a steady stream of donated blood entering her arm.

"Shawn!" he shouts in frustration after the retreating back of his friend as they round a corner. "What the hell are you doing?"

At this Shawn finally and abruptly skids to a halt, and doubles over, hands on his knees, panting. He probably hasn't had many opportunities to exercise in the last year, leaving him even more out of shape than usual.

Gus keeps barreling on full speed until he reaches Shawn's side, where he skids to a stop as well, and immediately he pulls Shawn into a quick hug. His friend readily hugs him back, just as Juliet stops behind him.

Gus pulls away after a couple seconds and asks, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Shawn replies, and aside from the sweat beading on his forehead this does seem to be the case. "I got away. I don't know where he is."

Gus sees the joy in Juliet's eyes at seeing him whole, and she steps towards him, but something suddenly seems to cloud that joy as she draws her eyebrows together and withdraws her hand. "Why did you run?"

"I didn't realize it was you," he responds after a moment, and Gus nods. He could've sworn Shawn had looked straight at him before he turned tail, but he must have been wrong.

But there's something coloring Juliet's voice that reminds Gus of the way she speaks in the interrogation room. "So you thought we were with the Master. So there is somebody else here. The person who took you. What does he look like?"

Shawn hesitates.

For about one second the two of them just look at each other, Shawn blank-faced and Juliet searchingly. Gus glances rapidly back and forth between them, waiting on Shawn's reply and wondering why Juliet looks so suspicious.

After that one second passes her gaze suddenly hardens even further, and she tilts her head. "Why aren't you surprised to see me on my feet?"

Now that… that is a good question. Gus turns to Shawn, anxious to hear his explanation, some part of his mind whispering that he just seems to know too damn much since they got him back. He expects him to appear lost as to how to answer, but what he sees is… it's more than that. His eyes have stretched even wider, and he doesn't move a muscle. He looks… caught.

Juliet had holstered her gun, but now she steps back quickly, putting a decent amount of distance between her and Shawn, and pulls it back out, cocking it and pointing it at Shawn. Gus automatically jumps away from both of them. "Jules, what the hell are you doing?" he cries in alarm, as Shawn jumps back, his hands going up and eyes going wide. Juliet points the weapon straight at his chest, hand trembling, but only slightly.

"You're not Shawn," she says.


Lassiter spends several seconds straining against the door, but it feels like something has been wedged against the handle, and the door is fairly solid; especially while he's still reeling after that blow, there's no way he can knock it down. He steps back, turning around, and is just deciding that he needs to see what he can find in the other direction when unexpected encouragement comes in the form of the words "I'm sorry," spoken in a feminine voice and coming from the empty doorway across the room.

He walks, cautiously, almost steadily, through the darkness and emerges into a short hallway, which quickly turns into a balcony of the same style they saw before. He blinks blankly at the area for a moment, confirming to himself that he's still on the ground floor, before recalling that this house is built into the side of a hill. It's still some rather unorthodox architecture, but at least it makes sense.

What surprises him far more, and what he sees when he advances a bit further, is the woman he's pursuing standing straight on the gleaming silver and black rail laid atop the banisters which line the balcony. A quick glance down tells Lassiter that it's a two-story drop to what appears to be a marble floor. She's not holding his gun, so she must have thrown it away somewhere, which is actually somewhat encouraging, but that's not what he's focused on right now.

It is a stupidly dangerous place to situate oneself and for a split second he is totally clueless as to how to address it, until the situation is made far stranger when she bends her knees slightly, and leaps straight backwards into the empty air.

"Hey!" he shouts automatically as he strides forward, gears in his brain already spinning to figure out how he's going to safely get down and apprehend her, as if she is in fact an acrobat it's not out of the question that she'll be fine, but all that grinds to a halt as he slowly registers that she hasn't fallen.

She hasn't fallen.

She's hanging in the middle of the wall about five feet out and a few feet below where she was just standing, feet and palms pressed flat against the flat surface perpendicular to the floor far below her. For a moment he thinks there must be some sort of platform there. But as much as he strains to look at the position in a way that has a logical explanation attached to it, he can't puzzle one out.

"How the hell…" he starts, dazed, his head still pounding, but he can't find it in himself to finish the question.

And though she must know what he means to ask, she offers no explanation. All she says is, "You heard me a minute ago, right? I really am sorry."

She starts to ascend the wall, climbing up like there are footholds, but there are definitely no footholds, it's like she's goddamn Spider-man or something. He doesn't know, he doesn't know anything—all he knows is that he can't let her get away.

She's picking up speed, gone up almost a full story already, and soon she'll be out of his grasp entirely and he'll be stuck here, and since he's too mentally taxed at this point to conjure up any new information he automatically defaults back to the location of his mental bookmark and blurts, "Livia? Are you Livia?"

She pauses in her ascent, hands curling into fists. "That—is not—my name," she hisses.

If she hadn't recognized the name at all, she'd have reacted with confusion. Her relationship with the name implied by the response inspires Lassiter to do a little deductive reasoning. Encouraged, finally feeling somewhat close to having the upper hand, he asks, "The same way Arashk isn't Shawn's name?"

She freezes, eyes wide, looking down at him with a hint of shock, a dash of disbelief, and a touch of desperation in her features. "Sh… Shawn?" she rasps after a long moment of silence. "His… his name is Shawn?"

"Livia… He told us you were his friend." This is insane. She's hanging from the middle of the freaking wall like she's stuck to it, and he's supposed to carry on a conciliatory discussion like this is normal? "Then again, he also told us to keep an eye out for you."

She releases a mirthless laugh of disbelief. "Keep an eye out for me? Try for him. He's dangerous. You don't know how dangerous. You don't know how much… how much he suffers."

"Suffers? From what?"

"Visions!" she snaps impatiently, actually descending back down the wall a bit, apparently not comfortable with talking down to him. A bit strange. "From his visions. They… they were too much for him, and eventually they overwhelmed him and he did something—" Her voice rises dramatically in pitch and she cuts herself off with a strangled sob. "—something… something unforgiveable." For a moment she just shakes her head, blinking back tears, trying to compose herself, and she manages to continue, voice shaking, "I believe… that he didn't know what he was doing. I believe that it wasn't his fault. But he needs help."

"Help." She's clearly at least as screwed up as Shawn is, maybe more, but maybe she's not violent after all. Maybe they can come to an understanding. "Look," he says, voice soft, placating, "let's figure this out. We can talk about this. But first, I need you to tell me where he is, right now."

She purses her lips and responds promptly, "I can't do that."

"Ma'am—"

"You don't understand, I can't. You can't go down there. If you disturb what he's doing, it could kill him. It could kill Arashk."

"His name's not Arashk. His name is Shawn Spencer." He enunciates each syllable carefully, gripping the rail in front of him tightly. "And I'm here to save his life. He is in terrible danger. If you really are his friend, you will take me to him. If you care a smidge about him, you will not leave him alone with that man without knowing exactly what he is doing to him."

She's silent for a long moment. Finally she asks again, like she still can't quite believe it, "His real name is Shawn?"

"Yes," he answers, lowering his voice to be as quiet as hers.

She considers this, a large knot between her brows as she stares at the empty space between them. After a moment she raises her eyes again to meet his. "You're his friend," she says, this one sounding less like a question.

"Yes," he affirms, more forcefully, not hesitating.

She regards him, lips pressed tightly together, seemingly every muscle in her body tensed. Her eyes flicker away from him as she appears lost in thought. After a few seconds she resumes eye contact, and says gravely, "My condolences for that."

And she begins to ascend again, much faster than before. Lassiter has a split second to work through his options. Diplomacy has failed. He is unarmed. She's leaving him here with no way to get down or out. He can't stay stuck here, and he can't let her get away. There is nothing between him and the cold, hard floor about thirty feet below.

Except Livia.

Not giving it any more thought, knowing it's now or never, Lassiter pulls himself up over the rail and leaps as far as he can across the empty space. For a moment he hangs in the middle of the air, touching nothing, just listening to the blood roar in his head, and it's as if time is standing still.

Then he feels gravity pulling him down, and he makes a single desperate grasp at Livia's foot.

He thought there was no way he could make it. But his fingers close around her ankle. Just as he'd hoped, he feels resistance as they both begin to fall. Already his descent has been slowed. He yanks her down as hard as he can, and maybe she can do impossible things but he's still bigger and stronger than she is, so he manages to put her between him and the floor as they both plummet downwards, Livia screaming in his ear but somehow seeming to be slightly slowing their fall.

In the second before they hit the floor, Lassiter dimly wonders when he became willing to do crap like this for Spencer.