"…Hey, buddy." said Shawn, a relieved grin tiredly tugging at his lips.

It had never sounded so good to hear his best friend's voice.

Shawn leaned more of his weight back into the corner of the closet. Talking took a lot more effort now than it did ten minutes ago. And effort was tiring.

"Shawn!" Gus' voice was the epitome of the relief Shawn felt in his own chest. "Are you alright?"

That was a loaded question.

Shawn swallowed, attempting to think about that. But thinking hurt. He was going to need way more clarification to answer that question. "Define… alright," said Shawn honestly, brows wincing.

Gus' voice suddenly switched to Henry's, and Shawn barely took notice. "Shawn, where are you, son? Are you safe?"

Suddenly, someone with a voice very similar to the Chief's yelled, "Someone get a trace on this call! Now!"

"I'm… I'm in a closet," said Shawn, still not opening his eyes. His little safe haven was cold and quiet. He could rest.

"A closet?" asked Henry, utterly perplexed. "Shawn—"

What information was he supposed to give them?

Kidnapped... ransom... money—

"Our money is now in the hands of the Santa Barabara Police Department. Some cop—Lassiter."

Shawn's eyes snapped open.

"Is—is Lassie with you?" asked Shawn quickly. Words felt even shallower now than they were a second ago. He blinked, but even those were slower. Actually, everything felt a great deal heavier. It felt kinda... good, actually. He started to give into it.

No—

Shawn's heart stuttered in his chest, and he snapped his eyes back open, panicked at how close he'd just come to slipping away.

What was going on with him?

"Spencer! What the hell were you doing at a sketchy cab station?"

That was Lassiter, no question about it.

"In my de-defense," said Shawn, his words beginning to slur again, "I di'n't know… it was sk-sketchy… at the time," said Shawn, trying to catch his breath. Words weighed too much. He felt his eyes drift shut again of their own accord. With effort, he cracked them back open. "Lassie," he rasped. "You—you met my kidnappers."

There was silence on the other line, followed by a hissed curse word that Shawn barely caught. A conversation was going on over there, but Shawn didn't have the energy to focus on it.

"Do you know why they took you, Shawn?" asked Vick suddenly.

"Something…" whispered Shawn, trying to think. But thinking hurt, and he winced as a stab of pain struck somewhere behind his temple. "Something," he said, shutting his eyes again, trying to find another cold spot on the wall. "Something... about money," he managed tiredly. "At the... station."

Shawn heard Lassiter and Vick talking to the others, but Shawn didn't have the strength, or the interest, to listen. The pain was finally giving him a break, the sharpness calming down the smallest bit, the littlest cooling of a fire. He sank further back into the wall, his head starting to fall to his shoulder. Rest. Finally.

"—Spencer!"

Shawn jolted upright, his eyes flying back open. A strangled sound tore from him, hand shooting for the ribs that were not ready for such a sharp movement. He breathed hard—no, damn it, breathing makes it hurt worse—

—when will he stop forgetting that—

Shawn's eyes, tightly shut, cracked open, the blurry closet coming back into fragmented view.

"Shit," he hissed out, waiting for the pain to settle. He pressed his back into the wall, trying to stay absolutely still.

It finally began to calm, a tsunami to a rough current, and Shawn let out a shallow breath, determined not to drown.

The pain, though quite a bitch at the moment, did however wake him up.

With a little more panic, he realized how close he'd just been to passing out.

It was getting harder and harder not to do that.

"I'm here," he forced out, to cease the shouting of his name through the phone.

He heard several relieved breaths on the other line.

"We know what they're after," said Lassiter. "We—"

"Son, you said you were hurt," said Henry suddenly, interrupting Lassiter.

"Mhm," mumbled Shawn. Shawn's eyes were closed again. Not that he remembered closing them. He was too tired to care.

He could listen while he rested.

Maybe he could just nod off for a few seconds—

"Shawn!" Henry nearly shouted, making Shawn's eyes crack back open, jerking him above the surface of the murky pull to sleep. "Stay with us, kid!" demanded Henry. "Now, where are you hurt?"

"M'head," slurred Shawn, feeling his head tilt dangerously close to his shoulder again. Exhaustion's waves were stronger now; harder to fight. The heaviness was even more potent. He sank a bit more into the wall, eyes fluttering shut again as he mumbled, "I'm…. I'm really tired."

"No, Shawn! You have to stay awake!"

Shawn's eyes snapped opened.

That wasn't his dad's voice.

Not Gus'.

Not Lassiter's.

Not even the Chief's.

His breath hitched.

"J-Jules?" he breathed.

A pause, then: "Yeah, Shawn. It's me."

Her voice was small. Hesitant. Yet somehow just as broken as he felt.

A mix of emotions rushed through him, agony of its own.

"Are you telling me this is all a lie?"

"I think—I know... I need space."

He needed to tell her something. He needed to tell her...? What was it?

He winced with the attempt to think; thoughts were dissolving faster than he could string them together.

Exhaustion was so heavy.

So heavy.

"Where are the people who took you?" asked the Chief.

Shawn answered without opening his eyes. "I dunno," he said, tiredness slurring his words even more.

"We've got a trace on him!" an unfamiliar voice shouted suddenly.

They tracked his phone?

Distant relief coursed through Shawn's veins, adding more water to douse the fire scorching every vein. Cold, beautiful relief. More words were said on the other line, and he thought he ought to say something. But words didn't come, too far away to reach. He felt himself slipping down the wall as his body felt very, very heavy.

"—hear that, Shawn?" asked Gus distantly. "We're coming for you, buddy!"

Relief from the words eased his hands from the reigns of control. He could finally let go; they were coming. He'll be safe soon. He could rest.

"Shawn?"

Shawn's head slowly fell to his shoulder again but he didn't have the strength or desire to lift it. He could vaguely hear someone trying to get his attention, but his hand was pulling away, the phone no longer by his ear.

After what seemed like only a moment, Shawn jolted at a voice, eyes snapping open.

Voices were yelling.

They weren't the only things yelling, however.

Pain exploded.

Jolting angrily woke the fire in his ribs, and he lost his breath, grabbing at them to uselessly alleviate the pain.

He breathed harshly, waiting desperately for the pain to calm to a more manageable level.

When it finally did, Shawn's eyes cracked back open, trying to recount what just happened. He'd been on the phone, and then...

He must have passed out.

But how long was he out?

And what happened to the phone?

Dazed, Shawn fumbled with his hands along the closest floor, looking for where he dropped his practical lifeline.

Until he realized what it was that woke him up.

The door to the apartment he was hiding in burst open, and Shawn flinched, catching a groan in his throat as jerking shot pain through his ribs and shoulder and god, his head was going to—

"—hiding in one of these damned rooms, isn't he?"

Shawn froze.

The voices were perfectly clear now—feet away from him.

Panic seized his chest.

"I've already searched the others," answered another voice. "He's got to be in this one—"

Shawn couldn't breathe.

"This is why I shouldn't have left you in charge, Trent!" snapped the first voice. "Useless! Completely useless!"

Shawn felt the floor creak underneath their weight as they began to search the room.

They were walking toward the closet.

Shawn clamped a hand over his mouth, utter fear paralyzing him. He pushed as far as he could into the back of the closet as if he could disappear into it, pulling himself as tight as possible.

The footsteps stopped outside the closet door.

Shawn's heart hammered in his chest and thudded in his ears, making his head throb and spin viciously. He pressed harder into the wall, his eyes wide.

Another step closer.

"He's inside the closet."

Panic like ice struck him like a gunshot as the doors were shoved open, daylight streaming in and blinding him. Shawn threw up an arm to protect himself from the glare.

"You son of a bitch!" growled the man, grabbing Shawn by the arm, dragging him out of the closet, throwing him to the floor of the apartment.

Shawn cried out as he landed on injuries, turning fires into infernos.

"What's this?"

Shawn's eyes cracked open, still trying to get a handle on the explosion of pain when he realized the man he knew as Javier picked up his cell phone from the floor of the closet.

Oh, no.

Javier's face was contorted in rage.

But it was nothing compared to Randall.

A hand suddenly grabbed Shawn by the shirt collar. He was lifted sharply off the ground and roughly thrown against a wall with a speed his dazed mind could barely register. His back hit the wall, exploding light in his vision, jarring every broken bone like they were being broken all over again, and Shawn couldn't help the cry that nearly sounded like a sob-

A hand was at his collarbone, pinning him to the wall, and a blurry face dropped into his vision. Two eyes, black with fury, glared into his.

"You," spat Randall, shoving Shawn further into the wall with the force of the word. "What. Did. You. Do?"

It was too hard to process words.

Pain wracked his skull.

Thoughts were all wrong puzzle pieces.

He was too dazed—too... confused—

Dazed and confused.

That was familiar.

The name of the memoir he'll write if he ever gets out of this.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?"

The shout jerked him like yanking him from underwater, and suddenly Randall was in front of him, and he did not look happy.

"I di-didn't—" gasped Shawn, but the man pulled him abruptly from the wall and slammed him hard back against it. A strangled yell escaped him.

"Did you call them?" the man demanded, shaking Shawn when Shawn didn't know what to say. "The cops. Did you call them?"

Shawn took a shuddering breath, cringing through another wave of utter agony. It hurt. Everything hurt. He swallowed hard and forced out, "N-no."

"He's lying!" hissed Javier somewhere behind the man.

"N-no…signal," rasped Shawn, trying to keep his eyes open, hoping the man would buy his lie.

He just needed to buy the SBPD time to get here.

They tracked his location; they knew where he was.

He just needed to survive long enough for them to save him.

"Is there signal in here, Trent?" demanded Randall, his eyes never leaving Shawn's.

Somewhere beyond Shawn's vision, there was some shuffling, and then Trent answered, "Well, no, his phone doesn't have signal here."

Randall glared at Shawn, seeming almost reluctant to release him. But he finally did, and Shawn fell back against the wall.

They bought it.

Shawn nearly smiled.

Relief coursed through his veins.

Until—

"SBPD!"

Several distant voices were yelling out, somewhere in the lower floors of the apartment building.

Shawn felt relief hit him even stronger, ready to shut his eyes and relax.

The SBPD was there.

He was going to be fine.

It was over.

"Dammit!" hissed Randall. "You did call them, didn't you?!" he demanded.

Shawn's eyes snapped back open.

Uh oh.

"Get him up!" demanded Randall.

Javier and Trent suddenly yanked him sharply to his feet.

Pain—

—PAIN—

Shawn doubled over as agony struck like lightning, but he wasn't given time to recover. Shawn's voice broke off a yell as he was dragged across the room to the window.

"Come on, there's a fire escape," said Randall, and blearily through panted breaths and black spots in his vision, Shawn saw it through the window. Glass shattered as someone broke it. "Get him out of here, he's our only bargaining chip!" growled Randall.

Shawn was roughly shoved toward the window.

No, no, Shawn felt himself beg. He dug his heels into the floor, jerking against the grips the men held on his body as they shoved him toward it.

Pain suddenly erupted in his abdomen.

Someone just—

—hit him—

The wind knocked out of him, his legs buckled—gave out—

Both men increased their strength, and Shawn could no longer stop them as they dragged him toward the window—

NO.

"No—!" screamed Shawn through his teeth, eyes snapping open, trying to yank his arms out of their grasp, but suddenly felt a sharp blow to the back of his head, sending his vision into sudden darkness.

When he blinked his eyes open again, he dazedly realized he was in front of the window.

Randall was on the other side of the window, standing on the rusting fire escape, reaching out. He grabbed Shawn's jacket and pulled, but Shawn threw out an arm against the wall of the apartment, holding onto it as the man continued trying to tear him out of the room.

He just needed—

—to hold out—

—a few minutes—

—longer...

Shawn groaned, his voice sounding unhinged as the muscles in his arms screamed.

"Stop fighting!" demanded Randall, yanking harder, making Shawn's arm buckle and he fell forward through the window, his back striking the metal railing of the fire escape.

Pain erupted and he thought he heard someone scream—was that him?—but a hand was suddenly clamped over his mouth, muffling his cry. He tried to push himself up, but was suddenly lifted by the back of his jacket and an arm was around his neck, forcing him to bend an agonizing angle, his voice breaking behind the hand over his mouth.

The men started down the narrow staircase, the man and Shawn behind them. His vision was little more than a mess of color no-he had no idea how high up they were. He saw a wash of gray below—the parking lot?—and flashing lights of the squad cars pulling up at the apartment building.

"Shawn!"

Shawn froze.

That voice was unmistakable.

Shawn blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blurriness from his vision and examined the ground.

There she was.

Juliet.

Juliet was running up the fire escape.

Newfound determination burst through him.

Shawn struggled against the grip on him, trying his best to get out of the chokehold. Randall abruptly stopped running down the stairs, tightened his hold on Shawn, eliciting a choked groan from him as the man yelled, "Back up! Get back up!"

Shawn tripped over the stairs behind him as the men retreated, running away from the cops ascending the stairs. Shawn desperately tried to get his feet underneath him, but the man was going too fast. He was dragging Shawn with him, the arm around his neck crushing him.

"Shawn!"

Everything was suddenly a blur. A gunshot went off, followed by an agonizing cry of pain. Shawn was thrown as the man holding him was attacked.

"We've got them!" exclaimed an officer.

Shawn hit the ground hard.

Everything was pain.

Yet suddenly, Juliet was at his side.

Jules.

"Shawn!" she cried, kneeling next to him, her hand traveling gently behind his head.

Shawn lifted his eyes, meeting hers. He tried to respond, but he was too tired. Too heavy.

He shut his eyes.

"Shawn!" exclaimed Juliet, gently shaking him.

He didn't open his eyes.

"Shawn!"

Shawn jolted upright. He blinked his eyes repeatedly but… he couldn't see anything. Darkness. Nothing.

He turned his head, looking for Juliet. She wasn't there. It was only darkness.

Pitch black.

Shawn tried to sit up when he realized something terrifying.

He was sitting up.

In the corner.

In the closet.

Heart threatening to rip out of his chest, Shawn whipped his head around, ignoring the stab of pain in his head.

Four walls.

Cool air.

He was still in the closet.

He'd been asleep.

It had all been a dream.

"Shawn! Shawn, answer me!"

The phone. The phone was still in his nearly-numb hand, still by his head.

"J-Jules—?" Shawn choked out.

"Shawn, thank god!" he heard the relief coat her words, in such contrast to the relief evaporating from he himself. "I've been trying to talk to you for the past fifteen minutes—"

Shawn shut his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall, eyes burning with frustration.

He'd been saved.

It felt so real.

"Shawn, what happened?"

He could mourn it later.

Right now, he needed to get out of here for real.

"I think I passed out," he admitted in a hoarse whisper, still trying to get his bearings again, half of him still caught in the events of his dream.

Shawn suddenly picked his head up off the wall, ignoring the stab of pain that came with the too-fast motion.

A sudden realization dawned on him.

That was it.

He may have missed that detail, but his subconscious hadn't.

The fire escape.

There was a fire escape.

Kicking himself for not noticing something so blatantly obvious, Shawn pushed off the back of the wall without bothering to brace himself-what good would that do anyway at this point-a growl escaping his clenched teeth as his his ribs sharply protesting at the movement. His face contorted in pain as he made it to his hands and knees, or hand and knees, keeping one on the phone to his ear, shutting his eyes as he waited for the word to stop tilting too far too the left.

Damn concussion.

"Shawn?" came Juliet's urgent voice.

"I… I think I know… a way out…" rasped Shawn. Just speaking those words alone deemed to be too much for him. God, he was so tired. Shawn took shallow breaths as he struggled to keep his balance as he reached for the closet door and roughly slid it open. Daylight blinded him, and he screwed his eyes shut, nearly dropping the phone as he squinted, eyes adjusting to the too-bright light.

Wasn't Jules mad at me? thought Shawn suddenly. He hadn't spoken to her since… since...

"I need space."

"We're on our way," said Juliet, interrupting Shawn's thoughts. "You're in a complex called Lennox Apartments. It's a rundown apartment building that got shut down a few years ago," said Juliet quickly. "No one's decided what to do with the building so it hasn't been touched."

Did she forget she was mad…? wondered Shawn blearily as he dragged himself slowly out of the closet, feeling a pull at his chest, hating the idea of leaving his safe haven. He crawled to the other side of the room, every jarred movement stabbing pain through his ribs, adrenaline his only cushion against it. His sense of gravity was still majorly messed up, pressing down too hard on him, flipping his sense of up and left—that doesn't even make sense—pure desperation forcing him across the room, a handful of jerky movements at a time. Finally across what felt like a mile but was only a handful of feet, Shawn leaned against the wall, panting hard through a grimace as fire raged in his torso, his ribs and shoulder competing for the Most Agonizing Pain award.

It's a tie, he decided, slumping even heavier into the wall. Trophies for everyone.

"Shawn, talk to me!" said Juliet suddenly.

His eyes opened at the sound of her voice, heart surging.

Damn it, he missed her.

He missed her so much.

Maybe she's forgiven me, thought Shawn.

But just as quickly as that thought came, the coherent half of his mind suddenly snapped, Don't be stupid. She's trying to save your life, moron.

He'd made the same mistake during the Elin case, after she'd saved him from being stabbed by the crazy Swedish girl.

"You saved me," he'd told her, hope having flared in his chest.

"I'm a cop, Shawn," was her only response.

She didn't forgive him.

She's just doing her job.

Shawn suddenly couldn't tell if the pain in his chest was broken bones or his heart.

"J-Jules, I'm—" he began, her name making his eyes burn only hotter, but suddenly he froze before another apology could make it to his lips.

There was some sort of loud commotion down the hallway.

"—the hell is he?"

Oh, no.

Shawn felt a horrible sense of deja vu.

That was Randall's voice.

"Shit," he gasped.

"What is it?" asked Juliet desperately through the phone.

Terrified now, Shawn reluctantly pushed himself away from the wall, and using his free hand, pulled himself up by the window sill. It was a slow process, relying on adrenaline, sheer will, and a million curses slipping out between clenched teeth.

Damn it, when he got out of this mess he was never moving again.

He couldn't feel anything except pain now, clutching onto the window sill for dear life—because, hell, if he fell, he was not getting back up—wishing for once the world would just stay still.

Close to panting, his eyes cracked open, and he looked through the dirty glass.

Sure enough, there was a fire escape.

He'd noticed it when he first came into the apartment, but it didn't register in his screwed-up mind. At least his subconscious was paying attention.

"Talk to me!" exclaimed Juliet desperately, and Shawn realized he hadn't responded in... He couldn't remember. But talking was difficult—it used energy and air and Shawn was running low on both.

Shawn looked outside. He was about... four floors up? Three? Five? His eyes shut again as trying to count only made him feel sicker.

The best he could tell, he was in an apartment on the side of the building, and spread out below was a sea of gray, and a sea of dark green. The parking lot, and... a forest?

Shawn cautiously looked behind him, checking to make sure he was alone, cursing as the movement sharpened and splintered his headache. He grasped the window sill firmly to keep his wavering balance, seeing spots before his eyes. Don't pass out now, he begged himself.

When he could again, he opened his eyes.

He was still alone in the apartment.

He sighed with shallow relief and turned back to the window.

Shawn raised his free arm, feeling his balance tilt slightly.

He didn't want to do this. It was going to alert them.

But he didn't really have much of a choice.

Shawn broke the window with a jab of his elbow, just as the thugs had in his dream.

The glass shattered and rained down on the sill and the fire escape below.

And just as Shawn expected, he heard shouting and heavy footsteps in the distance.

They weren't on his floor.

But they soon would be.

Juliet yelled something through the phone, but Shawn didn't hear it. He'd pulled the phone away from his ear to use both hands to hoist himself onto the window, swaying dangerously, cursing. He carefully placed a hand over to the other side of the window, grasping at the brick of the building, and dragged himself forward. He felt a sharp pain in his knee, and with a gasp, realized he'd just scraped himself on a shard of broken glass.

Not letting it stop him, Shawn clenched his teeth against the new pain, lifting his legs over the glass with more caution, perching himself on the sill, and looked down.

The metal floor of the staircase seemed only three or so feet below him, but that was much more of a feat when it was moving.

Here goes nothing.

Taking a breath, Shawn pushed himself off the ledge, hoping the ground was where he thought it was.

Turned out he was wrong.

It was more like six feet, and Shawn fell fast, coming dangerously close to catching his head on the railing. He hit the ground in an explosion of pain, crying out, throwing his hands up to cushion the blow to his head…

Forgetting that he was holding the phone.

Out of the corner of his vision, Shawn saw the blur of the small device fall through the steps of the fire escape, and plummet to the ground.

"Damn it," he hissed, voice tight and rough as he gasped, the pain throbbing everywhere-sharp and hot and god, everything HURT-

You need to MOVE, he heard from somewhere in the back of his mind.

Weak adrenaline coursed through, forcing his eyes open again.

He had to keep moving.

Reaching out a shaking hand, Shawn grabbed the railing and yanked himself up, feeling twice as heavy as he did a few minutes ago. Back on his feet, he leaned against the rusting railing, panting.

Holding the railing tightly, Shawn descended the stairs, shutting his eyes when the movement increased his nausea. His movements felt sluggish and uncoordinated. His warped sense of gravity shoved him to the side as he ran, knocking him into the rail every other step. His attempt to rush down the stairs felt like he was trying to run underwater, some outward force was determined to fight him. At his painfully slow pace, Shawn descended almost ten more steps, when…

"Hey!"

Shawn whipped around, pain spiking from the transition as he saw Javier's head poking out of the window Shawn had escaped from.

Tripling his speed, probably only moving from a snail's pace to a sloth's, Shawn stumbled down the staircase, holding onto the metal rail with so much force his knuckles were white.

He stumbled passing the third floor, his heel missing the next step, and Shawn fell forward, barely catching himself on the railing. Shawn let loose a cry. He stopped, trying to catch his breath. He held on for dear life, wanting to let go so, so badly. He just wanted to fall straight into oblivion.

Shawn suddenly jerked as the entire fire escape jolted.

Shawn reluctantly lifted his head and looked behind him.

Javier was running after him, his heavy footsteps shaking the entire staircase as Randall climbed out of the window to follow.

Ignoring his pain, ignoring the fact that the world was spinning stupidly fast, Shawn sprinted down the steps, groaning through his teeth at every stab of his ribs, every throb of his head, keeping a hold on the rail, his vision nothing but a blur. He took step after step, stumbling his way down the rusty stairs.

Shawn blinked repeatedly, trying to clear the blur. His adrenaline was helping but it still wasn't easy to see.

He passed the second floor.

Halfway down to the first floor, Shawn felt the metal beneath him shudder. It took him a split second to realize what was happening, his eyes darting to where the metal was fixed to the wall. The pixels left of his vision pieced together just enough to show the rust that had eaten through the metal fixing the fire escape to the building.

Oh, no.

Pushing himself to go faster, Shawn tried to run down the steps, but didn't get far enough.

The metal snapped off, the staircase breaking off and pitching down, and Shawn fell the ten feet to the ground.

Pain exploded in his side and knee, ricocheting everywhere else, bursting light behind his eyes—

He cried out, barely recognizing the agonized voice as his own, throwing his hands up to protect his head, luckily cushioning the blow.

He hit the ground hard, rolling and skidding across the concrete.

PAIN.

PAINPAINPAIN—

Every part of his body was screaming now, his teeth snapping shut to keep his voice from doing the same—

It hurt—it HURT—IT HURT—

He coughed with the dust torn up from the fall, tasting blood from a bitten tongue, his voice breaking as the coughs wracked his broken frame—

Tears sprung to his eyes.

He heard the two men yelling behind him, both in pain and anger.

A broken sound escaped Shawn's clenched teeth, his eyes reluctantly snapping open.

Shawn's heart and mind somehow gained enough of a sense to get him to keep moving, and he was roughly pushing himself off the ground, coughing and dazed, unable to wait for the world to stop spinning with the sound of the thugs behind him.

He stumbled over his hands and knees, feeling sharp, fresh pain in his side and knee and an loud encore from every other injury that had already been there, but he growled through it, pushing himself to keep going.

If he stopped, he was dead.

He had to move.

Shawn ran forward, limping badly, blindly heading in whichever direction was right in front of him. His legs felt like lead; his knee bursting with hot pain with every step. His head was pounding so hard—too hard—

Shawn vaguely heard his own staggered breathing, the broken-off sounds of his voice with every new stab of pain as he staggered forward, trying to move fast but he could have been at a crawling-pace for all he knew.

His world was suddenly enveloped by different shades of green and brown, and a fragment of a memory suddenly came back to him. He'd seen a vast blur of dark green-there was a forest behind the apartment building. He must be inside it. Shawn sighed internally, blinking rapidly, feeling his vision start to slowly piece itself back together. He made out the trees around him, twisted roots and branches on the floor and Shawn only hoped he didn't trip.

Shawn suddenly heard the men shouting in the distance behind him.

Oh, come on! thought Shawn angrily.

His eyes flicked around the forest, tiredly trying to pick a direction.

"Now, Shawn, what do you do when an assailant is chasing you?"

His last kidnapping.

Shawn's father's words echoed in his head.

That memory could help him now just as it did then, right?

"Zig-zag, Shawn! Never go in a straight line! A straight line is the shortest distance between two people!"

That was right. Shawn took a sharp turn, heading in a new direction.

But… wait a minute. His dad's lesson taught him what do do when an assailant was chasing him.

Not two.

Shawn sighed.

Did the zig-zag rule still apply?

But hot pain suddenly flared even sharper in his newly-injured knee, and his leg buckled and gave out, sending him crashing to the ground.

This time, he knew the scream was from him.

Every injury erupted with molten fire at the impact, his voice breaking off into what he'd never admit was a sob.

Get up, get up, get UP—

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

It hurt too much.

Fire sped through him, agony's fingers pinning him to the ground.

He...

He had to get up...

Blackness danced at the edge of his vision.

"SBPD!"

Was that...?

The calls were faint. But they were there.

They were here.

Help was here.

Shawn almost smiled, so overjoyed. The cops were here. He was going to be rescued.

Relief rushed through him, cool and soothing, almost enough to take away all of the pain.

But the relief suddenly halted.

The thugs.

They were somewhere in here, too.

The SBPD might be here, but he wasn't saved yet.

Because if the thugs found him first—

Weak fear cracked his eyes open.

The world was a jumble of color and light.

He just had to get up and go back to the parking lot.

Sounds faded, in and out.

He just had to find help.

He blinked, eyes heavy.

He just had to get up.

He just...

...had to...

...get...

His eyes drifted shut, the darkness of unconsciousness finally pulling him under.