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Bright orange star appeared multiple times from a barrel standing out against the car —the star flickering in the few seconds that it were being registered— that the murderer was driving. Bullet shells flying in the air with each press of the trigger. Shawn stepping aside upon registering the gun fire. Big, dooming, muffled sound that contrasts no sound. The trigger being pressed, the drift was all there in the sudden moment that unfolded. The murderer's eyes full of intent on knocking them down like bowling pins. Without a single care to them in the entire moment that it transpired. The barrel falling out of his line of vision.
Pitch black canvas from above. Contrasted by rooftops, tinged by different shades, notable, clashing, that framed the night sky. The little specks of airplanes with their red tiny lights flying over ahead in the distance. The loud bang still echoing in the air. The sound of wheels squealing against the pavement loudly, high pitched, infamous shriek, speeding off from the scene. He could see the side of the wall from across belonging to the nearby building.
Shawn couldn't get up.
As if a bunch of invisible bricks were toppled on to him keeping him down.
He can feel his feet, his knees, his legs, his chest, though, was an entirely different story, severe pain, similar to have been relentlessly punched repeatedly in the chest by someone on hell bent on murdering him, Shawn wouldn't be surprised if his rib cage was obliterated.
He had seen Yang murder Yin. He had seen so much, seen families be reunited, seen the gratitude of clients, seen gun shots heading toward him, but this time, he hadn't seen it coming. Neither had Gus. Caught completely by surprise seeing a familiar face staring right back at him from earlier during the investigation. The face seared into his memory.
Every single inch of him felt heavier.
Dread dripped down his mind in a rather uncomfortable way that melted the comfortable known walls of his existence. A long loud silence. One that drove Shawn down an uncomfortable road in his mind. He remembered Gus was by his side at the time of the shooting after leaving the crime scene for the second time that day.
He didn't hear Gus.
Shawn's eyes closed, tightly. Remembering how Gus's parents talked about him. They didn't quite approve of him being in Gus's life in this fashion holding him back and tugging him into bad trouble. Now, they were going to blame him in their grief and despair so hard it'll make what happened between him and Henry look like child's play. The long moment felt like an entire hour. Remaining there silent.
Maybe, he deserved to join Gus. Not live in this post-Gus world? He deserved that. Not a cruel, heartbreaking, sad aftermath. The appeal of his best friend being in his life had the appeal of a lifetime. To march on helping people and preventing the head detective from putting away perfectly innocent people.
"S-s-s-Shawn!"
Shawn's right hand stretched out taking Gus's hand and squeezed the shaking hand.
"Help's coming, Gus." Shawn said.
It was a struggle to move his left hand for the phone in his pocket. Forcing it out. Going uncomfortably slower than it had many times before. Why was it so hard to do that? He took out the flip phone then went down the contact list.
"They're not coming, Shawn." Gus cried.
"Gus, don't be the burnt ramen noodles in the microwave." Shawn replied, arrogantly.
"It's been five minutes!"
"Stop counting down your life, it's not the last day of the year yet!"
Shawn hit the button then pressed the phone against his ear.
"Carlton Lassiter."
A familiar voice that brought some comfort.
"Heey Lassie!" Shawn summoned enough strength to have all the gusto when delivering the line.
"Spencer."
Shawn could hear it in Lassiter's voice, the act slightly dropped, something that hung around the head detective during that state, he recognized The Act, the tone carrying some mild irritation.
"Are you drunk on duty?"
"No."
Shawn let go of a loud laugh.
"You're drunk!"
Lassiter groaned.
"Not. yet." Lassiter said. "Getting there." A little drunk. Shawn reflected, coughing, laughing. "You went back to the crime scene." He could hear a cup clatter on to the table. "Explicitly after it was said to be a dead end." Lassiter was quite disgruntled over the line. "And you got a lead."
Shawn swallowed, hard. Fighting back tears. His eyes were stung. Feeling tired. So. So. So tired. The clutches of death gently taking him away over the phone call, perhaps? He just wanted to sleep.
"Spencer?"
Shawn was quiet thinking it over.
"No 80s reference? No 90s reference?" Lassiter laughed over the call as Shawn visualized him leaning back. "That is a shocker!"
The phone was shaking against his ear.
"There's..." Shawn's voice was soft, small, tiny. "there... there's no lead here."
Lassiter laughed over the call.
"See, Spencer." Lassiter was quite smug about the case. "It's not rocket science." The happiness in his voice. "A very easy case that has a murderer who is in the box and not out of it. Investigation don't always have loose ends to tug down..."
Shawn cleared his throat, hard. The rest of the commentary when it came to the routine that was established over the years going on past him. Fading in and out of consciousness. Shawn was pretty sure he was bleeding out.
Catching only the beginning of the rant.
"Shawn!" Gus was calling for him, his grip must be loosening. "Shawn!" He tightened his grip against Gus's hand. "S-s-s-s-s-shawn!"
Lassiter was going on and on about how lucky that Shawn and Gus were and it were simply a matter of time before their luck went out.
Shawn groaned, painfully. Ironic, it already had. A really nice monologue going on letting go of some steam. Shawn opened his eyes —when had he closed them?— then closed them.
"Carl..." Shawn whispered, weakly. "Carlton..."
Shawn normally had words to say. He didn't have any to share. Lassiter was drinking with some friends from the police department.
"Music to my ears." Lassiter said, chipper.
Shawn could imagine the older man with the peppering hair wearing a grin waiting eagerly for a different sort of confession in the long loud silence.
"I ..."
Lassiter was hanging on to every syllable looking aside ordering another drink.
"Say it, Spencer."
Shawn closed his eyes for a moment then opened them with a shaky breath then hacked before weakly replying.
Lassiter could wait the longest time. He was trained to wait for several hours. He waited for years before opening the cage to his heart and let someone in, he was the slowest man in existence when it came to the heart. The man who had the feasible possibility of living with regret in his mind. He waited for years for Shawn to admit he wasn't a psychic and tried figuring out the most clever ways to make him confess. Maybe, he was still on that train. Maybe, he wasn't.
Celebrated when he was off the case a number of times. The head detective might not be celebrating tomorrow any time soon the way that he usually did when Shawn wasn't in the picture of the investigation. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.
Gus's crying was punctuating the air.
About to break Lassiter's world in half.
Juliet's world cracking open.
His father's world crumbling.
The chief's world dissolving.
"I need..." Shawn coughed some blood on the phone's keyboard. "I need..." His fear slowly dropped into his voice in those two words and the hurt immediately followed after. "I need you to call the ambulance for us."
The single series of words that caused the head detective to drop the glass on to the table as the entire air around him froze.
"I think ..." Shawn's voice became upset, shaky, high pitched, really scared. "I'm dying."
The head detective was still, motionless, listening to something quite unexpected.
"When ... w-w-w-w-we... left..." The head detective's eyes darting back and forth. "The crime scene..." A big loud sound normally played in the background where the music cut would played in his mind. "we didn't have a lead...." Shawn cracked a laugh and grinned at the amusing picture. "But now..."
Shawn coughed multiple times.
"You do."
Shawn reflected over the case in the golden loud long silence.
The case with a dysfunctional family... The faces, the names, the details of the case flickering across his mind. Terrible beat cop, Officer Wilks, teenage son not convinced he blew his brains out willingly, mother abandoned marriage and son long ago. He had to help. He saw a direct similarity between the two families.
Something that he wished he could do for the past version of him in directly different circumstances. And tell him that his father loved him, flaws and all, trying his hardest, except he wasn't being trained to be a cop. The teenager wanted to be a cop ever since he was a little boy —his dad had known Henry for the little time he had returned to the force— and his father was vehemently against it.
He can imagine the head detective straightening up from whatever he was doing as his head bobbed up, becoming sober, the traces of alcohol evaporating from his breath. The chair scooting back against the floor was a loud indicator. All the humor had died withdrawing the curtain to a unsettling serious life changing and dreary mood. The sound of the chair being scooted back against the table clashed against the silence.
"Baby, listen to me..." Now, Lassiter sounded sober raising his voice. "just... this... once..." then he hissed, "Stop talking!"
"And do not try to move!" went largely unspoken from the head detective who hung up.
Shawn closed the flip phone over the crying from Gus echoing the air.
"They... they're on their way." Shawn's voice didn't sound strong, didn't have the volume, lacking the energy, it was simply low.
Gus's crying was becoming softer, upset.
"Please, don't leave me behind." Gus plead.
Gus sounded stronger than he did.
"I won't." Shawn promised.
Shawn saw the reflection of red and blue lights clashing against the darkness. The wailing that contrasted against the police car. There were two ambulances. The sound was echoing in the air. The sound of police sirens joined in the chaotic wailing. Shawn saw the lights alongside the building from across highlighted by it. The pitches contrast against one another. The small puddles of water highlighted quite significantly.
At some point, Shawn had to let go of Gus's hand.
Poetic, wasn't it?
Gus was taken away.
"Shawn!" Lassiter called, distantly, getting closer.
The two medical professionals set him on to a gurney then wheeled him toward the ambulance quickly.
"Carlton..." Lassiter appeared over him looking down. "It was Mr Fozzipress."
"What did I say about talking?" Lassiter asked, glaring down.
Shawn grabbed a handful of Lassiter's shirt then tugged him down.
"I'm ... not...." Shawn was breaking up on the gurney, emotional, his voice weak. "I'm not a psychic."
Shawn let go, free of the weight, able to go on, to what he felt was the end of the road.
Whatever Shawn whispered to Lassiter's ear, it went by largely, the head detective watching him be taken away. Lassiter immediately forgot what Shawn said. That information wasn't important according to his mind. The visual of Shawn on a gurney, bleeding, his dark blue plaid covered in holes, blood trickling down his neck. Weak and down. Covered in his own blood.
The shock of the psychic being shot down still fresh on his mind. Horrifying from his perspective. Not remotely real. A part of him numb to it all due to the horrors that he had seen in his career.
Lassiter stood there for a long moment watching the ambulance speed away.
His shirt speckled in Shawn's blood. That was the only evidence left that he had tugged him down, just for a private word. Lassiter turned away spotting the phone on the ground. Crime scene techs already setting up the scene. He pressed his back against the side of the car and hung his head.
Lassiter sighed lifting his head up releasing a troubled sigh as his heart stopped racing.
The longest moment of recent memory had ended.
He took his phone out then began to make another call, this time to O'Hara, regarding the stunning development in the Wilks case.
Tomorrow morning, Lassiter was going to be aggressively investigating Mr Fozzipress and spend the rest of the day waiting for Shawn to wake up just as Gus. Lassiter knew he was going to naturally find Gus seated alongside the bed. Shawn had taken a great sum of the bullets. Gus looked better off than Shawn did regardless of having a heavily stained shirt.
But first. O'Hara.
"Do you know what time it is, Carlton?"
Then his report.
"I do, O'Hara." Lassiter said, his voice was soft and lowered, all deflated, shaken. He cleared his throat finding the words to speak with. "Felt you should hear it from me instead of finding out first thing in the morning after coming to the office."
After that.... a well deserved shower.