musicalluna

Title: You Have the Right to Remain...Dead? Part 7
Fandom: Psych
Author: MusicalLuna
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: All the regulars/None
Genre: Gen, Mystery, Suspense
Warnings: Little tiny bit of gore.
Complete: Yes
Summary: When an officer is murdered late one night while on duty, Karen forbids Shawn from getting involved, afraid he won't take the case as seriously as he should. But since when has a little thing like being banned from a case stopped Shawn Spencer?
A/N: I've been working on this story for over three months now. Up until three weeks ago, however, it was coming out really rather crappy. That was when I met my Psych fanfiction soul-mate centipede. She helped me work out all the kinks in my story and helped me realize the full-potential of this story. Thanks to her, this story is the best it can be. She was my encouragement, my grammar-nazi, and my holy-crap-I-have-to-do-that-because-that-idea-is-brilliant girl.

Thanks so much for rocking my Psych world!
Disclaimer: Psych and all related characters are unfortunately not even marginally owned by me. How tragic is that?
Additional Disclaimer: Oprah is not my property. Gosh darnit.
I also do not own Mountain Dew.

Shawn’s stomach dropped out of the bottoms of his shoes. He squeezed the keys in his hand anxiously and managed to say in a slightly higher pitched voice, "Hey…Dad…"

Henry turned to face him, and Shawn couldn’t help shrinking away from the cold fury in his face.

"Guess who called me ten minutes ago, Shawn," he said in a tightly controlled voice.

Shawn shrugged weakly. "Oprah?"

He continued, ignoring Shawn. "James Halloway. And do you know what he said to me?"

Shawn didn’t say anything, knowing it would likely get him into more trouble at this point.

"He told me," Henry continued, still speaking in that tightly controlled tone that Shawn knew would erupt soon, "that a detective called him this evening and asked for his alibi for the morning of the fifth. He said the detective mentioned something about a ‘stupid psychic’ claiming that he was responsible for the eleven murders of officers from one of his Academy classes." Henry paused, stepping forward to tower over Shawn, before continuing in a quietly, "Do you know of any other ‘stupid psychics’ in Santa Barbara, Shawn?"

Shawn shook his head wordlessly. Dammit. How could he have managed to screw up this badly?

"Me neither. What the hell were you thinking, kid? I tell you to back off, and what’s the first thing you do? Go straight to the police with your half-baked little theory! How could you do something so stupid, Shawn? I taught you what the relationship between officers is like! Were you trying to commit professional suicide? Did you get bored of this job, just like all of the others, and just want to go out with a bang? Is that it, Shawn?"

"No, I—"

"Because I can’t see any other reason for you to act so foolishly. You do realize that you are essentially finished with this little job of yours, right? You managed to single-handedly destroy this whole endeavor and any credibility you may have managed to build up. Not to mention the fact that I endorsed this madness Shawn! My reputation is going right down the drain with yours. Do you ever think about the consequences of your actions?

"I thought you had done everything in your power to disappoint me when you started this whole scam, but I was wrong." He clapped Shawn on the shoulder, and he winced, shrinking away like he had been punched. "Way to go, kiddo, you’ve hit the all time jackpot of disappointment."

"Dad, I—"

Henry held up his hands. "I don’t want to hear it, Shawn. I don’t want the excuses or the apology or whatever it is you have to say. You really screwed up this time and there is nothing short of a miracle that’s going to get you out of this. I hope you’re happy with yourself." He shook his head, disgust written in every line of his face and Shawn knew he had hit rock bottom.

Henry brushed past him, and Shawn flexed his hands, muscles in knots as he loosened his fists. There were deep, red indentations from his fingernails in his palms.

He flinched, but he should have been expecting it (why didn’t he ever expect it?) as his father called back one last time. "I’m going to warn you now, Shawn. Life here won’t be easy for you, now that you’ve pissed the police off. You might want to consider a move. Run away again, Shawn."

With that last brutal dig, Henry got in the cab of his truck, and drove away.

Shawn stared rigidly at his door, a foot above the scruffy Welcome! mat, stare hollow. He breathed in through a tight chest, shoulders tense and neck stiff, the clenching and unclenching of his fists his only movement. He felt like he had been run through with a dozen rough edged blades, his insides completely reduced to hamburger meat. His dad was the one person who knew exactly which blows would hurt the most. And he hated it—hated it so much—because this time, he was right.

He turned, leaning against the door to his apartment and sliding to the ground, staring out at nothing, his insides churning and aching. And as he sat there, staring into the growing darkness, his anger began to grow and throb until he was having a hard time breathing because his chest was so tight, his vision impaired by the vengeful burning behind his eyes. He was furious, mostly with himself, but there was always a little room for his dad when he was angry.

He had let himself get out of control. His dad had gotten under his skin and his resentment had made him irrational. He knew better. That was what really killed him. There were some things he knew you just didn’t mess with and the police and their comrades were one of them. And Gus, Gus had warned him, he had done exactly what Shawn needed him around to do, and he had ignored him, so consumed by his anger that he hadn’t even listened to Gus’ rationality. Gus was supposed to be his failsafe and he had been in such a state that he had overridden him.

And because of it, he was on the verge of losing everything he had gained in the last few months. He had found a place where he felt needed, at home, fulfilled even and he was going to lose all that.

He had to solve this case. For the sake of the dead cops, yes, but even more so that he could get his life back.

~ * * * ~

Shawn didn’t even wait until morning to start his investigation anew. As soon as he had gotten himself enough under control to focus on driving, he had leapt on his bike and zoomed off to Psych Headquarters. Once there, he had ordered take-out from a Mexican restaurant, along with a case of Mountain Dew, and he had sat down in front of the board, intent on deducing who the killer was if it took him the next two weeks. He stared at the board, flipped it upside down, looked at from the wrong side, scribbled hundreds of nonsensical theories and connections on it, and seven and a half hours later realized that he had absolutely no idea who a suspect could be, let alone who had defintely done it.

By that time, he was starting to get jittery from all of the caffeine, and despite his best efforts, he was having a hard time concentrating, drifting off occasionally and doing things like using mousse found in one of his drawers to style his hair in a variety of wacky ways (including a faux-hawk), using the glass markers to draw silly faces on his reflection in the mirror, and individualizing each of the stick figures on the replication of the graduation photo. Unfortunately, these things didn’t give him the pleasure they usually would have, instead only serving to make him more frustrated with himself.

In between all of these distractions, he spent time on the internet, researching the graduation class, James Halloway, and anything else he could even think of that might connect to that particular class. It was going on six o’clock in the morning when he finally gave up on that route too. There just wasn’t enough information about the class on the internet. There was nothing that insinuated that there might be more sinister motives behind any of them. He chugged down another two Mountain Dews at seven-thirty, hoping that at least having to pee every five minutes would help keep him awake.

He returned to staring at the board, trying to come up with someone or some clue he was missing. He knew there was a clue somewhere…he just had to find it. It was at eight oh-seven, as he stared zombie-like at his drawing of the photograph (which was now beginning to swim before his eyes) when he realized where the information he needed was going to be. He needed to get all the information on the class, including the people who had been dropped from the program for one reason or another, and the only way he was going to get that was by going to the police station.

And wouldn’t they just be thrilled to see him.

It was then, staring dazedly at his toes—it was anyone’s guess as to where his shoes had gone, he certainly had no idea—that he received his first brilliant (meaning incredibly risky and stupid) idea: he needed to sneak into the police station.

Two minutes later he was struck with the second fantastic (horribly, horribly bad) idea: stealing his father’s old uniform would provide enough of a disguise that he could manage to pull off the first plan.

And Shawn grinned to himself, suddenly feeling wide-awake. He knew what he had to do, and now it was just a matter of doing it.

He arrived at his dad’s house in record time.

He parked his bike nearly five blocks away on some small side street, not wanting to give his dad any opportunity to find him out. He would almost certainly literally die if Henry ever found out what he was about to do. When he got within two blocks of the house, he ducked into the neighbors’ backyards, careful to stay low and move quietly. In its own way, the idea of infiltrating his dad’s house and actually taking one of his prized possessions was exhilarating and absolutely terrifying all at once. He was sure he could do it, but at the same time, there was that seed of doubt that his dad always managed to plant in him, and he was afraid this might be one of the times when he was caught off-guard. In view of the situation, he was particularly careful, doing everything he could possibly think of to keep Henry from being any the wiser.

Upon reaching the perimeter of his father’s house, Shawn hid between the fence and the neighbor’s bushes, keeping sharp eyes focused on the windows, checking for any sign that Henry was there. He finally spotted his dad in the kitchen, puttering around, and Shawn took the opportunity afforded him when Henry turned his back and sprinted for the bushes along the side of the house. He practically slammed up against the exterior wall, miraculously managing not to make any noise and he froze, his heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears while he waited, half expecting his dad to come out, waving a spatula and screaming about what a disappointment he was. When he didn’t come for several minutes, Shawn risked the tiniest peek in the window. He nearly groaned aloud when he saw him seated at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and filling out the crossword. This could take forever.

Shawn stayed, uncomfortably squashed between the bushes and the exterior wall of the house, craning his neck every once and a while to check and see that his father was still seated at the table, completing the crossword. Around the half hour mark, he began leaning heavily against the house, his eyelids growing painfully heavy, and he kept having to jerk himself awake to check the window. He had been half-standing, half-crouching there for almost an hour when he was startled awake, pulling the now tingly side of his face away from the house, as the sound of his dad’s truck roaring to life came from the front of the house. He quickly shook himself awake, slapping his face a couple of times, before moving toward the front of the house to get a look.

Henry was just pulling out of the driveway as Shawn peered surreptitiously around the corner of the house and he allowed himself a small grin. Perfect. Now he just had to get inside, quick like a bunny, grab the uniform and get out before his dad got back. He waited until Henry’s truck had been gone around the corner for almost two minutes before he risked running up to the front door. He yanked a spare key he had made a while back for just such emergencies out of his back pocket and quickly unlocked the door, slipping inside. He was awake again, nearly giddy from the adrenaline rush.

Finally inside, he wasted no time in getting to Henry’s bedroom, where he remembered seeing his father put the box containing his uniform into the storage space at the top of the closet. He was careful to remember exactly each and every detail of the spaces he passed through so that he could make sure he left no traces of his presence behind. The box was on the left side of the closet, beside a box that Shawn was pretty sure held a few mementos from his time on the ‘force.

He got it down, opening it as delicately as he could and pulling the uniform out. It was in pristine condition. Shawn was pretty sure it got a regular trip to the cleaners just to keep it extra spiffy looking, although why, he would never quite understand. He quickly recapped the box and then placed it carefully back on the shelf, tucking the uniform beneath his arm. Excellent. Mission half accomplished. He retraced his steps back to the front door, careful to get rid of any hints of his presence and once outside, locked the door behind him before sneaking off the same way he had come, clutching the uniform like a baby to his chest.

Oh, this was all going to be too easy.