Disclaimer: I don't own Psych or To Kill a Mockingbird.

A/N: Spoilers for "Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark" in this chapter. Thanks for reviews, favorites and follows! Extended A/N and anonymous review replies at the end of the chapter. Enjoy; please review! :)

The Finch and the Mockingbird

Chapter Seven: Sleepless in Santa Barbara

It was getting close to 8:30 when Henry got back to the police station. He and Gus had been tagging along with Detectives O'Hara and Lassiter, who had immediately started working on the case as they searched for any clue of where Shawn had been taken or of who could have taken him. But no one had been near his place when he'd been abducted so there were no witnesses, the guy had obviously worn gloves, so there were no fingerprints other than Shawn's, and Henry, try as he might, couldn't think of anyone he'd arrested who had a grudge against him and had a weird obsession with To Kill a Mockingbird, or even literature in general.

The chief had placed some calls to detention facilities where felons arrested by Henry had been released or paroled in the past several years, but to no avail. Most of the people Henry had put in jail were still there (a life sentence, or two, or three, could do that to a person), and the few who had gotten out had been successfully rehabilitated and were now considered functional and productive members of society (there were very few of those).

He had no idea who was doing this, and it was driving him crazy. He would have been frustrated even if his son hadn't been in the clutches of this bird-killing psychopath, but since Shawn had been taken, he was furious. More focused than ever. But there really was nothing to focus on, since this guy was obviously an expert in covering his tracks.

They kept the crime scene tape up at Mimi's Fluff-n-Fold and went to the Psych office, hoping that there might be some kind of clue there, but again, nothing.

Finally, after going over to the dry cleaner's one more time, they'd gone back to the police station, only to find that the handwriting analysts were having no luck with getting any clues from the poem, and there had been no fingerprints left on Henry's mailbox or the envelope, pictures and notes that had been placed inside. They also learned that Woody had rather gleefully conducted a mini-autopsy on the two mockingbirds and discovered that they had been handled delicately up until they had been strangled, and they'd been killed in a way that would have been instant and painless. Unfortunately, that didn't provide them with any viable information, either.

They would keep working, of course, but it looked like they were just going to have to wait for the kidnapper to make contact with further instructions. This irritated Henry to no end. This was his son out there, for crying out loud! There couldn't just be nothing to go on!

Henry now said as much to the chief and detectives (and a rather frightened looking Buzz McNab), and Lassiter snapped back irritably, "You know as well as I do, Spencer, that we can't just pull leads out of our asses! We're doing our best, but you need to back off and let us work."

Henry was about to growl something back in response when he caught sight of Detective O'Hara, who looked seconds from bursting into tears, and he managed to regain control of himself and simply walk away from the grumpy head detective. He knew that if he kept arguing with Lassiter that in the emotional state he was in right now, he'd probably start throwing punches at the detective for his waspish responses and his demeanor in general. He wasn't in the mood to deal with any smart-assery right now, and the head detective simply exuded it, especially when he was stressed.

Karen gave him a tight smile and said, "I don't like this situation any more than you do, Henry, but there's nothing else we can do right now, except keep on alert. This guy is good, unfortunately, and we're going to have to play along until we find a lead or he slips up." Henry knew this, obviously, but it was getting harder and harder to keep a clear head and treat this like any other case. How could he pretend that this was another victim, when it was his son? This was even worse than the fear and anxiety during the ice cream truck fiasco; Shawn was being targeted by someone angry at Henry, and if there was one thing that went along hand-in-hand with revenge, it was violence. He wouldn't admit it, but he was terrified for Shawn.

He kept seeing his son's face, hearing his voice after Lassiter had pulled him off of the hood of the car. Henry had reached for him, finally reunited with his son, and Shawn had been trembling, worn, exhausted, clutching his bloody, duct-taped shoulder. He'd simply said, "Dad," and the relief in his voice smothered the pain and the fear. Shawn had depended on him. Shawn had been glad to see him. Shawn had trusted him to get him out of his situation, because Henry was his father, and that's what fathers did: They protected their children, no matter how dysfunctional their relationship might seem at times.

But how could he protect Shawn, how could he rescue Shawn, if he didn't have the first idea of where to look or how to start? He was stumbling around blindly in the dark, hands outstretched, hoping beyond hope that his fingertips would brush against something, anything, that would help him find Shawn. So far he'd grasped nothing but air, and he was helpless.

He'd beaten himself up for a long time after he'd found out that Shawn had been in the gas station all along, and that he and Detective Lassiter had spoken to the kidnapper, while Shawn had watched them out the window, unable to move or speak or call out, and had been forced to watch as his rescue walked away, leaving him in the hands of his tormentors. As his father walked away.

Shawn had told him not to worry about it; it wasn't his fault, but there'd been a lingering fear in his eyes that had only made Henry feel worse about himself, his fault or not.

How much worse this was, knowing that Shawn had been taken because of him, and he had no leads, and while he was just sitting around, twiddling his thumbs, Shawn could be going through only God knows what.

Gus joined the conversation then, thankfully pulling him out of his dark thoughts, reminding him gently but surprisingly firmly (Gus was a bit of a wimp) that Shawn wasn't only important just to him, but to everyone else too. Lassiter grunted non-committally and stalked away at this, but Henry had managed to get his emotions and anger relatively in check by this point, something that he was almost always good at doing, except, it seemed, when someone he cared about was in grave danger. It was then Henry remembered that Shawn and Gus had been best friends practically forever, and Gus was probably having as difficult of a time as Henry himself was – almost.

And then he realized he hadn't called Maddie. He decided not to – not yet – until he had more information. He couldn't make that phone call, not now.

He hung around the station, helping out wherever he could, barking orders to the bewildered and skittish officers helping on the case, and generally just driving everyone, even the normally long-suffering Karen Vick, just a little bit crazy. They finally, several hours later, managed to convince Henry to do the impossible and go home to get some sleep and eat something, with the promise that if anything changed, he'd be the first to know. He only agreed because the chief had all but threatened to have him arrested for harassing her officers and interfering in a police investigation.

This was around 11:45. About four sleepless hours later, Henry's cell phone rang from on his nightstand, and he didn't recognize the number.

"What?" he snapped, both hoping and fearing that it was the kidnapper.

The voice that responded sounded vaguely familiar, but Henry couldn't put his finger on who it belonged to. Whoever it was was rude and patronizing, and he made it obvious pretty early on in the conversation that yes, he had Shawn, and yes, he was looking for revenge, but he hadn't let on anything about his son's condition.

"Henry, Henry, Henry," the voice said in a patronizing tone. "Quite the temper, I see."

Henry seethed in anger at the sickly-sweet sound of the kidnapper's voice. Mind spinning, heart pounding, Henry demanded, "Who is this? Where's my son?"

"Still haven't figured it out yet, old man?" the voice taunted. "Getting soft in your old age, huh? Pity. Your idiot son has already got it all figured out."

Something inside of Henry snapped, but not at the insult to himself, but just the man mentioning Shawn, confirming that he had taken him, and being so casual, so pleased about it. "WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO SHAWN?" he roared. "I swear, if you've hurt one hair on his head–"

The smugness was almost palpable in the man's response. "Temper, Henry."

"Don't you dare–"

The next thing the man said sent chills down Henry's spine, causing his blood to run cold. "If you want to talk to your boy, you need to calm down, Henry. Shawn's under enough stress as it is. He doesn't need you giving him anything else to worry about. Trust me."

Feeling sick, helpless, and more enraged than he could ever recall being, wishing more than anything that he could take Shawn's place, knowing that he would give himself up in a heartbeat if it kept his son safe, if it saved him from even the tiniest bit of pain, he had to force himself not to yell as he said, "Let me talk to him."

"Sure thing," said the kidnapper, too eagerly, but Henry was too anxious to talk to his son to care at the moment.

He immediately stopped threatening the man on the other end and spoke to his son, desperate to hear his voice, to know that he was alive. "Shawn?" he asked, and when Shawn didn't immediately respond, an unprecedented wave of panic started to build up inside of him and he forced himself to be calm as he repeated, "Shawn, are you all right?"

Shawn's voice was slurred when he finally responded, but otherwise he seemed coherent enough. Fear fluttered in Henry's chest at the sound of his son's voice, and the unsettling sense of deja vu that accompanied the weary, "Dad."

Henry asked if Shawn was hurt, although judging by the state of his apartment, he had sustained at least a few injuries, but Henry had no idea the extent of said injuries or if he'd been hurt more since he'd been taken.

His son was obviously lying when he responded, still in that weak, strained voice, "Nah. You know me. Tough as nails." His ridiculous answer was immediately discredited by a gasp of pain.

Anger flared up in him at the sound of Shawn's pain, but he managed (barely) to contain his temper, knowing the kidnapper was listening in, and not wanting to do anything to cause him to hurt Shawn more. Instead, he asked a question that he already knew the answer to. "I assume you can't tell me who abducted you?"

Shawn's response was disconcerting and didn't make sense, but it didn't make sense in a way that was much more ominous than the faux psychic's usual nonsense. "My kneecaps say no, I can't."

At a loss of what else to say, feeling utterly useless, he tried to reassure Shawn. "We're going to find you, kid. We're not going to stop 'til you're back home." He meant every word; it wasn't just a reassurance, it was a promise. "Just hang in there, Shawn."

Shawn seemed to find this extremely funny, as he burst into laughter. "On it, Pops," he chortled. Henry deduced with searing rage that the kidnapper had Shawn strung up somewhere. When Shawn spoke again, his voice was even weaker than before. "You at the Psych office?"

Why was Shawn asking about that? Henry thought back, for what seemed like the fiftieth time since Shawn had gone missing, to when Shawn had been kidnapped by that Garth Longmore character – he'd managed to covertly leave critical clues with Detective O'Hara. The question about whether he was at the office seemed out of place, and Henry realized that Shawn might be hinting that there was a clue there. They'd searched his place shortly after discovering Shawn was missing, of course, and they hadn't found anything, but that had been hours earlier. With Shawn's words, Henry knew that he would have to check it out again, just in case.

He was thrust out of his musings abruptly when suddenly, it wasn't Shawn speaking anymore, but the kidnapper. "Okay, that's enough catch-up. Henry, I have a promise to keep. I assume you got my poem?"

The line His wing will break but still he'll sing melodies of misery had been doing cartwheels through his head all day, and with a deadly calm voice, he told the kidnapper to leave Shawn alone, that it was him he had a grudge against.

But the man simply said, "This is your doing, Henry."

There was silence in the background. Blood pounded in Henry's ears as he waited, terrified. Then he heard, barely audible, Shawn's voice. He wasn't speaking to Henry; he was addressing his captor. "No..." He was scared. Henry realized he was clenching the hand not holding the phone so hard that his fingernails were drawing blood from his palm. What was that maniac doing to his son? "Aaron, man, you're better than this."

Aaron. At least he had a name to go on.

And Aaron was about to hurt his son. "Leave him alone!" Henry shouted into the phone.

"I told you," said the madman named Aaron, but he didn't seem to be talking to Henry. "No names."

Oh, no...

If Shawn had broken a rule, it meant consequences. Henry wished that Shawn hadn't said the name, even if it did end up helping in the investigation in the long run.

More silence for a few moments. And then–

The most agonized scream Henry had ever heard from a human being. He jerked the phone away from his ear, horrified. The scream was long and sustained, and ended with a heartbreaking sob. For a second, Henry was too shocked to say anything. He'd never been this scared before. Ever.

Another scream ripped through the speaker, this one hoarse, desperate, tortured.

"STOP!" Henry yelled, losing all semblance of control at the sickening sounds of his son's suffering. "STOP!"

One more scream, this one weaker but no less terrible. A whimper.

Silence.

"Shawn?" Henry ventured, his voice shaking uncontrollably. What the hell was this monster doing to his child?

"Sorry, Shawn's... indisposed... at the moment," came the biting voice. "You'll have to settle for me right now."

"You son of a–"

"Language, Henry."

Henry gripped his phone tightly, almost as if by strangling it, he was strangling the person on the other line.

"Here's what's going to happen, Henry," the kidnapper called Aaron said icily. Henry strained his ears for any sound from his son in the background, desperately needing to confirm that he was still alive, but he heard nothing. "You're going to stay on the phone with me. You're going to go outside, and if you see anyone, you will not alert them to your situation, or try to call attention to yourself. If you do, Shawn will lose a finger." Bile started to push its way up Henry's esophagus. "You're going to get into your truck, and drive where I tell you. You are not to disconnect this call during your journey; I will know if you try to contact any of your police buddies. If you try something anyway, Shawn loses two fingers. When you get where I tell you, don't hang up, but leave your phone in the truck. Get out, put your hands on the truck, and don't move.

"Are we clear?"

Henry bristled. "Crystal." While the man had been giving his orders, however, Henry had grabbed the small notebook he kept on his dresser, the pen in his nightstand drawer, and had scribbled a quick, frantic note. He knew he was taking a chance, but he knew if he didn't, then the police would still have absolutely no leads and he and Shawn would have little to no chance of rescue or reinforcements.

"Now, are you dressed and ready to go?" Aaron spoke to Henry as if he were a small child getting himself ready for his first day of school.

"Yes," Henry growled.

"Go out the front door and get into your truck. And remember, if our call is disconnected for any reason, I'm cutting off a finger." Darkly, the man added, "Better hope your battery is charged."

World crashing down around his ears, Henry hurried down the stairs, to the porch. He left the door unlocked. The note he quickly tucked under the welcome mat, one corner sticking out. He hoped he wasn't being watched, but he didn't think he was. That's what the perpetual phone call was for – to keep tabs on him. This meant that the kidnapper was probably working alone and didn't have the extra hands or muscle to do his dirty work for him.

In one way, it was good, because it meant that they were only dealing with one man. But on the other hand, it was not good at all, because it meant they were dealing with one man who was very good – too good – at what he did.

Henry made his way to his truck, opened the door and got in. As soon as the door slammed shut, the kidnapper ordered, "Start the truck." He did. "Now drive to the end of your street and turn left. I'll tell you where to go from there."

Henry backed out of the driveway, hoping fervently that someone would stop by his house soon and find the message, because if not, he had a terrible feeling that neither he nor his son would be getting out of this one on their own.

Gus tried calling Henry at six in the morning to see if he'd heard anything new. He realized it was early, but he also knew that his friend's father hadn't slept a wink. He knew this because he himself also hadn't slept.

There was no answer. The phone kept ringing until the voicemail picked it up. Gus frowned, not bothering to leave a message. Henry was almost religious about answering his phone when his son wasn't missing, but with the current situation, Gus knew that he wouldn't dare miss a call in the event that it could be news about Shawn.

Warning bells went off in Gus's head, but he hung up and tried again.

Voicemail again. And was it just Gus, or did voicemail-Henry sound even angrier on the second try?

Gus quickly went back to his contacts, found Lassie's number, and called.

The detective answered before the second ring.

"Lassiter."

"Lassiter, I think something's wrong."

"No dip, Sherlock," the detective snapped irritably. From the sound of it, he'd been working all night and hadn't slept either. In fact, it seemed like the whole of the Santa Barbara Police Department was Sleepless in Santa Barbara as they worked to turn over any lead that might point them in the direction of their missing psychic. Shawn might not have been a cop, but over the years, he'd wormed his way into the hearts of many at the station, and he was as good as one of them in their eyes.

Yes, he drove them bananas, and yes, they sometimes wanted him to disappear. But not like this. Everyone wanted Shawn found and returned, safe and sound. Even Lassiter.

This was personal.

Gus rolled his eyes. "Seriously. I tried calling Mr. Spencer, twice, but he didn't answer. There's no way he'd not answer unless something was wrong."

Gus fully expected Lassiter to tell him that he was being paranoid, to stop it and go back to sleep. Instead, after a long pause, he said, "I'll call O'Hara and we'll head to his house, check things out."

Relieved, Gus said, "I'll meet you there."

"No, Guster. Stay put. We don't need to put another civilian at risk." It was a stupid argument, considering all of the dangerous non-civilian exploits Shawn and Gus had tagged along on over the years.

"Civilian or not, Shawn's my best friend, and I'll do whatever it takes to find him. I'll meet you at Mr. Spencer's house."

He hung up, probably leaving an indignant Lassiter fuming on the other line.

Gus didn't care one bit.

He grabbed his keys, rushed out to his Echo, and sped off in the direction of his best friend's dad's house.

Henry's truck wasn't in the driveway, but there was a very angry looking raccoon in a cage in front of the porch, and everyone gave it a wide berth, not quite sure what the deal was with the hissing, snarling masked captive. Lassiter said he'd have McNab call animal control about it when he saw him.

Juliet and her partner had arrived at the elder Spencer's house just a few moments after Gus had, making it clear that he wasn't about to back down and wait in the car. Honestly, Juliet didn't blame him. She herself was worried sick about Shawn, although she managed to hide it better. A little better.

She still wasn't entirely sure how to act around Shawn, despite their resolution not to feel weird around each other. But Juliet knew that she still had feelings for the psychic. But Shawn was with Abigail (sort of), and even though Abigail was in Uganda, it was still awkward for Juliet.

Now she'd give just about anything for that awkwardness, if only she could have Shawn back safely again.

Juliet had read To Kill a Mockingbird, and as horrible of a character as Bob Ewell was, she knew that any real person who took their inspiration from the twisted man who had tried to kill a man's young children for revenge would be much worse.

Not too long ago, Juliet had thought that most of the time, the world of fiction was darker than real life. But more and more she was realizing that some stories were tame in comparison to reality. And this was no exception.

No matter how confused the detective was about her feelings for Shawn, she wanted him safe. She was terrified about what could be happening to him. What had already happened to him. But she kept that terror safely contained behind her professional mask.

Lassiter glanced her way, put a hand on her shoulder briefly, and said, "Come on, Detective. Personal feelings will only get in the way of the investigation."

Well, maybe she wasn't containing it quite so well. She nodded stiffly and pushed back her worry. Worry wasn't going to help Shawn. It was only going to impede her investigation, and that would only hurt him in the long run.

She and Lassiter led the way to the house, making Gus stay a good distance behind them, just in case. She hadn't ever seen him this anxious before, not even after she and Lassiter had met him in the middle of the night to find that Shawn had been shot and kidnapped.

Guns drawn, they made their way up the steps to the front porch. Lassiter knocked. "Henry?" Nothing stirred. Lassiter stepped onto the welcome mat, tried the door.

Unlocked.

"He doesn't leave his door unlocked unless he's in the house," Gus said. "Do you think he was taken, too?"

Lassiter glanced back at the driveway. "Not likely. Looks like he left on his own. But something's still not right."

He stepped off of the mat, frowning.

Something crinkled under his feet.

He stooped down. Juliet and Gus looked over his shoulder as he tugged at a corner of a wrinkled piece of paper that had been put under the mat. He unfolded it, read it, and then handed it grimly to Juliet, his mouth set in a straight line.

Ewell – Aaron – called for meet – trap. No contact. Check Psych.

"Looks like Henry left on his own, but not of his own free will," Juliet observed, gut clenching in worry.

"This wack-job's plan is coming to a crescendo," Lassiter agreed. "If you are right about the book theory, and this is all about getting vengeance on Henry..." He let the sentence hang, but they all knew that this did not bode well for Shawn at all. They didn't have long.

"Looks like he was at least able to get a first name from the guy," Juliet said. "Not sure how much just 'Aaron' is going to help us, but at least it's something."

"He wants us to check the Psych office," Gus said, sounding confused. "But we looked yesterday afternoon."

"Then we look again. Something must have changed," Lassiter replied shortly.

Juliet nodded her agreement, worrying her bottom lip. "Let's hope whatever it is is enough to point us in the right direction," she said softly. "Otherwise, we're at a dead end."

Replies to Anonymous Reviewers:

To Guest: Thanks for the review! More soon... and we're getting to the Shawn and Henry reunion, so stay tuned! :)

To Hope: Thank you so much! I'm so glad you're enjoying it so much! I hope this chapter was to your satisfaction as well! :D

A/N: Remember what I said last chapter about how the chapters were going to be shorter? Well... I lied. Unintentionally. Because when I started going over the chapter and editing it, I ended up adding to it and writing about another thousand or so words to it! So yeah...

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed chapter six: Guest, Leahelisabeth, Polaris'05, Liberty Hoffman, Vinividivinci, Clara Brighet, ShamrockNinny, Feather32, Hope, ChutneyMarie and PhantasmicFire323! And thank you so much to everyone who followed and favorited the story!

I know we didn't get any Shawn this chapter, but don't worry, he'll be back in chapter eight, and we'll get to see Henry and Shawn reunited, and Henry's reaction to Shawn's injuries, and all that good, juicy hurt/comfort-y goodness. XD Tiny bit of Shules in this chapter (squee!).

In other news, the episode last week was... interesting. I liked it, and I loved the return of Magic Head and all the psychic craziness we haven't seen since like season 2, but at the same time, it was so over-the-top, and the preview for the next episode also looks so over-the-top, that's it's got me worried that they're going to wait to do any of the serious closure-stuff for the very last episode, cram it in there, and leave out important bits that we Psych-os NEED to have for closure! I'm sincerely hoping this is not the case, but I need my serious h/c, friendship, father/son, Shules-y moments!

Anyway, I did enjoy it, and I wouldn't mind seeing more of Brannigan, she was kind of awesome, like a female hybrid of Shawn and Lassie (and that sounded really weird and awkward, so... never mind).

Anyway, sorry for the giant rambling A/N! Thanks so much for the reviews, favorites and follows!

Please review, and I'll see y'all on Tuesday! :D

~Emachinescat ^..^