Hello constant readers! In this one there's description of torture and attempted rape. If you don't like it, don't read it. As you know, I'm writing this on the fly, and each chapter is updated as it's finished. Now that I have more time on my hands they'll probably be quite quick like this one, but if I am a bit slow with others, please don't lynch me.


Cold Comfort Farm.

The barn was cold and drafty, and the floor was hard and filthy. Shawn was huddled in a corner. There was blood on him.

Lassiter had been calling to him for several minutes from the opposite corner. They were both still bound, cruelly tight.

The three crooked cops had delighted in making them watch each other suffer. Lassiter had gone first. They had looped rope up over the exposed beams and tied his wrist bindings to it, so he was perched on his tiptoes (which was difficult when your ankles were bound together). Then they began to beat him. Shawn hadn't stopped trying to stop them, alternating between insulting them and pleading with them. Carlton though, he'd been silent for the most part. He hadn't wanted to give them the satisfaction. Maybe that was why they got bored so quickly. They switched him with Shawn, and now Lassiter couldn't stay silent. They fake psychic had been through so much over the last few days, he was suffering enough. He tried to appeal to them as fellow officers of the law, but they laughed at him.

Shawn wasn't as good at staying silent as Lassiter was.

When Colby left for a moment and came back with a thin long stick, both prisoners flinched involuntarily. It was a long switch of bamboo, probably some remnant of a vegetable garden. He motioned to Truman who pulled a knife from his boot and cut Shawn's tattered shirt from his body. They'd taken it in turns to whip his exposed back with the thin switch.

He'd screamed.

The three men had gotten bored when Shawn had passed out after a particularly vicious blow. His back was covered in criss-crossing welts, and blood at this point. They had cut him down and dumped him as far away from Lassiter as the confines would allow, and then they had left, heading to the main house, where a crate of beer awaited them. They were laughing and getting shit-faced and planning what they were going to do to their captives.


"Shawn, Shawn. Please, are you awake?"

"Lassiter... I hurt." Shawn moaned, trying to sit up so he could see Lassiter better, and giving up as it pulled on his back.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"What? Why are you sorry? You didn't hurt me."

"I should have stopped them. I should have been able to protect you." He chuckled humourlessly, and shook his head, then regretted it as a wave of nausea and dizziness swept through him. "To protect and serve. That's why I became a cop. and I can't even look after a police consultant while he's in my custody."

"Lassiter, don't be a guilt hog!" Shawn admonished, his voice rough. "If I'd told sooner, if I hadn't left it till I was literally at the end of my tether, and even then resisted telling anyone, maybe they would have been in jail already. I'm the one who dragged you into this. If anyone should be wracked with guilt, it should be me."

"Judging by the other night, you've got enough guilt already for a convention of Catholics during confession."

"Ha, ha."

"Spencer, your dad's training; did it involve getting out of ropes?"

"Are you serious?" Shawn groaned, glaring.

"Shawn, have you ever known me not to be serious?" Lassiter replied, quirking an eyebrow. He stopped at once, with a wince, as even the slightest motion of his facial muscles really stung.

"Well, there was that one time...."

"Spencer!"

"Okay, okay. Yes, Dad did cover ropes." Shawn frowned. "Lassie, can you get over here?"

"I'm not sure. Why?"

"Because our best bet is to work on each other's bindings. And I don't think I can get over there."


Henry's phone rang. He glared at it. It was about three in the morning, and he was tempted to ignore it. But the caller ID said Gus. Which meant Shawn was in trouble.

"What?" Henry growled as he answered.

"Mr Spencer? It's Gus. It's about Shawn."

"Of course it is, Gus. What's he done now?"

"He's been kidnapped. I got there straight from the airport, and he was gone."

"Shouldn't he have been under some sort of protection, what with the attacks? How damn incompetent are those cops?"

"He was staying with Detective Lassiter." Gus said, then paused. He took a deep breath. "Lassiter was gone too. There were signs of a struggle."

"Of course there were! Why am I just hearing about this now?"

"We were all busy trying to find Shawn." Gus defended.

"How come you haven't found him yet? Those three bastards did it."

"We know. But we don't know where they've taken them. And we can't find any of them for questioning."

"I'm on my way to the station. Tell Karen we're going to have words."


Lassiter had dragged his way over to Shawn, fighting a concussion and the ropes around his limbs. Shawn began working on the bindings, carefully manipulating them, and pulling at the thick braided hemp. It was taking too long. They could hear the crooked cops getting more and more rowdy the more they drank. It was only a matter of time before they came back out and began abusing them again.

The three cops had finally drunk themselves into a stupor. It was early morning, and they'd been up all night beating the crap out of their victims. That could have been the end of it. They were all drunk enough that they could have slept through the daylight hours, giving Shawn and Carlton time enough to escape. If it wasn't for the pressure in George Truman's bladder.

He had had more too drink than the others and awoke, walking outside to relieve himself (the water and electric in the farm house having long ago been turned off). Once he was done, he started stumbling back towards the house, but then, he glanced at the barn. Maybe it was still the alcohol in his system, but he turned and walked over to where Lassiter and Shawn were housed. He fell over noisily, swearing as he stumbled back to his feet. He opened the door, laughing as it creaked ominously.

"Hey, boys! You ready to party!" He grinned. Shawn and Lassiter were each curled in their respective corners.

"Shawnie, I can't wait to show you, you fag." He said in a sing song voice as he crossed the barn. He pulled his service revolver, unbuttoning his pants with his other hand. He soon reached the incapacitated fake psychic.

"Shawnie, come on, wakie wakie! I want you to be up for this."

He grinned in a grotesque parody and reached around Shawn with his empty hand. He began fondling the tied man, who made a small noise in his throat and tried to worm away. Truman pulled him over onto his back and looked into his wide, frightened eyes.

"There you are! I got to show you. You filthy faggot." Shawn shuddered. Truman's tone almost made it sound like an endearment. "You're disgusting, you and the Head Dick." He pressed the gun into Shawn's ribs, and started to ease down his captives trousers, reaching into his boxers. Shawn wriggled backwards, stifling a cry as his back burned at the movement.

"Aw, poor Shawnie. All helpless, and tied up. We're gonna have some fun. Well, I'm gonna have some fun anyway." He put the gun down and used both hands to turn Shawn over, positioning him. Truman then moved a hand to his own dick and started pumping.
"Gonna show you, gonna teach you, you filthy faggot. Show you the error of you ways."

There was a swish, a crack and a high, harsh scream.

Shawn opened his eyes and rolled over. Lassiter was standing over him, his eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. He brandished the bamboo switch in one hand, and had recovered the gun with the other. George Truman was unconscious.

"Are you okay?" Lassiter asked gently, and Shawn felt like crying. He took a deep breath and nodded.

"Dude, what did you do to him?" He asked, looking at the passed out man.


Let's try that scene again....

Shawn finally managed to untie the stiff cords from around Lassiter's wrists and ankles, taking a lot of skin, and blood, with them.

"Finally!" Shawn grinned. He held out his hands and Lassiter reached for the ropes, but before his fingers even touched them, there was a loud noise outside, followed by swearing.

"Shit." Lassiter said succinctly.

"Go back to your corner."

"What? No! I'm going to untie you."

"No, you don't have time. They're coming."

"Then I'll hide behind the door and jump them."

"All three of them? Armed with their guns?"Shawn shook his head. "Excellent plan! If you want to get us both killed."

"What do you suggest?"

"Play opossum. Why is there an o in opossum?"

"Spencer...!" Lassiter growled at the non-sequiter even as he rushed across to his corner, taking the ropes with him. Truman entered the barn. Lassiter watched him covertly. The man was stumbling along, obviously drunk, and apparently alone. I can take him, the detective thought. Then Truman pulled his service piece. Balls. Lassiter thought. Maybe not.

He watched the man get closer to Spencer, talking such filth, and then actually touching the psychic. Molesting him. Lassiter wanted nothing more than to run over there and knock Truman off his friend. But he couldn't. The gun was pressed against Shawn's chest. If Lassiter tried to interfere, Shawn would almost definitely be dead. He forced himself to keep watching. He owed Spencer that much. He was supposed to be protecting him! Then, wonder of wonders, Truman, in his drunken state, put down his gun!

Moron. Lassiter grinned. This was the chance he was waiting for. He jumped up and rushed across the room, picking up the switch from where it lay abandoned from the earlier festivities, and raced towards the bastard holding his fake psychic down. He didn't even think, he just swung the switch hard, bringing it down in a crushing blow to Officer Truman's exposed privates.

He felt it was no less than the would-be-rapist deserved.

He picked up the gun and watched as Truman slumped into a faint from the pain of the blow.

"Are you okay?" He asked Shawn, not bothering to hide his anger that this had happened.

Shawn nodded, and put on a brave face.

"Dude," He asked. "What did you do to him?"

End.


"Karen!" Henry stormed through the police station like a hurricane. He slammed into The Chief's office. He didn't even consider that she wouldn't be there, even though it was half three in the morning. Sure enough, there she was behind her desk, organising her troops. Never mind the fact that she hadn't slept in 24 hours. Never mind the fact that she had a toddler at home. Never mind that she hadn't seen her husband in days. One of her people was missing and that was all that mattered.

"Henry? What are you...? Gus called you?"

"Yeah. What are you doing to find my kid?"

"Henry, you know I can't discuss an ongoing investigation." Karen sounded suitably apologetic.

"It's my son, Karen." He smacked his hand into the top of her desk. "I need to be doing something."

"I'll keep you informed, as much as I can. But you can't be here if you're going to run off half cocked and ruin my chances of a conviction."

"Conviction? Do you think I care about that? My son is out there! With God knows what being done to him!"

"I know! Do you think that I don't care about Shawn? He's a good friend of mine, and he's one of my people! But think, Henry. You were a cop. If you interfere and block my chances of a conviction, those three bastards will be out on the streets and free to attack Shawn whenever they want. We have to do this right."

"I...I do know that Karen. But that's my boy out there. I know we don't get on as well as we could, but I do love him. And if you tell him I said that, I will shoot you." Karen smiled sadly at Henry. "So, what can I do to help?"


Lassiter used the bloody ropes Shawn had pulled from his flesh to tie Officer Truman up. He then carefully untied the psychic, massaging the blood back into his numb fingers and feet.

"Why Carlton! A foot rub? Are you trying to seduce me?" Shawn fluttered his eyelashes, but with the blood on his face and the swelling and bruises around his eyes and nose, it didn't really look right.

"Can you walk?" Lassiter ignored the desperate, joking flirtation. It was just Shawn's way of hiding, as Lassiter well knew. The Mask was back in place.

"Yeah, I have to, don't I?" Shawn replied and struggled to his feet. He took some time to fix his pants.

"Let's blow this pop stand." Lassiter smiled.


So, what did you think? Was I too graphic? Not graphic enough? I wrote several versions of the rape scene and this was one of the middling ones. Review! Let me know how depraved I am!