65. Horror
Lassiter swallows, his throat and mouth suddenly dry, and licks his lips. Tastes the sweat on his upper one. He can feel the sweat beading on his forehead and already his shirt is sticking to his back and underarms under his jacket.
He is surrounded. There is no escape. He has no choice but to stay and face this down. Do his job. Anything else would be unacceptable.
His heart is in his throat, pounding so hard he feels like he is choking. All he can feel in his chest, where his heart should be, is tightness, slowly squeezing the life out of him. Killing him as surely as the monstrosities around him would, if only given the chance.
His extremities are cold, tingling, and he clenches his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.
Lassiter forces himself to take deep, steady, even breaths. He has to appear calm. No weakness. Not here. Not now. No one can know how terrified he is.
Somewhere behind him, he can hear Spencer's amused voice ring out.
"Who murders someone in a freaking snow globe museum?"
Kristin: If you're planning a trip to Vienna anytime soon, there actually is a snow globe museum there. I don't know if there's one anywhere else in the world, but it seems the sort of thing that would pop up in Santa Barbara.
Also, a huge thanks to gnbrules, who's been so kind in reviewing pretty much every single Psych related thing that I've written. I adore you as much as you can adore someone you've never met and have only been aware of for a couple of weeks. ;)
6/10