don't bite back at the dragon, for it's bite back may be menacing

this story was it's own thing due to the focus and the tale

Had to finish it before returning to the monster sized psych fic because if I kept writing it then when it was done the Muse might not be willing after the cathartic and full fitting ending.

Work Text:

O'Hara tossed the contents of her drink at Shawn's face.

Then she rushed on by as Gus lowered the phone and looked at his direction, quite concerned. His mouth slightly agape. Shawn met his gaze dripping in her drink.

And then there was a loud explosion from across as Gus lowered the phone starting to walk in his direction. Then he watched Gus's brown eyes start to flash open and make a pained terrified scream as he began to bolt in slow motion after him. Running down the steps after Death.

"SHAWN!"

It would be perfect if there were a violin and piano playing.

Shawn looked to his side as the approaching fireball headed his direction from the room across him ( and in front) and stared at it nonchalant.

Pitch black knocking him back and falling into oblivion.

Darkness cleared as his eyes opened hearing fire and smoke as the stars hung above his head in the night sky. A large hole in roof above his head. Everywhere about him felt numb. He was a bit further away from the entrance of the wedding venue and everywhere about him... Had to be burned or decorated in rubble.

"Gus?"

Shawn called out.

"Guuss?"

Hearing his own voice stroking the air over the sounds of screams and panic but no sound of the pharmaceutical salesman returning the call in the fright.

"Guuuuuuusssssssssssss!"

"I'm right here.. Shawn.. "

"Guuuusss!" A cry of relief resting his head on the floor. "I can't.." lifting his head up then lowering it. "can't get up!"

"I am almost there!" Gus sounded close by.

Shawn looked on spotting a moving figure in the smoke.

"Shitty way to end a weddding," Shawn laughed it off.. "am I right?".Shawn saw the figure sink then collapse that made his heart race. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Gus dismissed squeezing his eyes close over a clash of pain. "We are totally... going.. to... make this clown pay dearly."

"Gus, you don't sound right." Shawn said.

Gus was grunting getting closer and closer.

"It's nothing." Gus replied.

"Come on, son." Shawn beckoned

"I'm always.. going. To be right here... For you.... Shawn..." Gus was having trouble that could not be seen. "No...matter... What."

"I love you, man." Shawn's voice was at ease wearing a grin.

Gus took his hand and squeezed it, a squeeze that was reciporcarted, before sighing.

"Gus?"

He looked over to his side spotting Gus close by staring at him.

"GUUUUUUSSSS!" A long anguished scream and a sob.

He looked over toward the direction of the chaos raging outside screaming.

"Dad?"

Calling out his name between a cough in-between a cry.

"Chief?"

His cries going over over the groans littering the air.

"Marlowe? Lassie! Lassie!" Shouting into the air. "Detective," a scream. "DETECTIVE! DETECTIVE!"

A scream that haunted the air as figures moved in seeking for the dying and the injured His calls for them ceased as his eyes closed and cried and sobbed feeling his heart ache so loud. Enormous and agonizing in comparison to the sounds left by the explosion. The staircase was missing. A enormous crater with pieces of wood from the edges of various rooms and hanging doors.

Two figures loomed over him

"Well shit it's Santa Barbara's finest psychic."

"Damn, it is the detective's wedding night."

The two men were their down by his sides.

"We got you, relax... We got you.."

"Jules! Jules!"

"He is Jewish," the black paramedic gestures toward the paramedic with a small hat on his head. "not me."

"Jules!" A shout of pain and confusion and concern. "What about Jules? What about Juuuulllees?"

"Merlin Bergiono," the other whirred his head towars him. "He is saying Jules."

Bergiono looked over toward the fake psychic shaking his head.

"So that must be the remains of the woman that we found with the jacket. Sorry pal."

He was lifted onto the gurney that was set up by his side then watched the side profile of the familiar solved fox that gave him strength to stretch his hands out. His eyes hot and stinging watching him be taken away from his finger tips as white sheets decorated the floor.

"Lassie!"

Then his hands lowered as he passed out.

Philip Rider parked his black car in the parking lot then gout of the car. He applied another sticker of Vader and Luke fighting with their sabers to the side of the car. An entertaining view reminding him if redemption as part of a epic tale between father and son that involved fighting. The fierce tale of good vs evil. He twirled the key putting it away. He went to the trunk then removed his box of stuff that involved largely few things. His own plague card that he earned a few days ago and the police commissioner hounding him to come here in light of a head detective role recently vacated.

He hummed his way to the inside of the building that felt less grand than the entrances to various stations that he had seen in his life. Walking up the second set of stairs then directly to the corner of the department where the new round of officers were gathered picking their desks like it was turnover day 'or choose your room'. He came to a pause halting in his tracks by a young black woman who was setting her desk up with sparkly unicorns and sailor moon decoration figures and Sponge Bob. He looked away continuing his venture to find the perfect spot to perch for the rest of his time as head of detectives. Whether it be short lived or long. Given he was well off white guy who had nary an interest in being a captain but as a investigator, it was probably going to be for a long time.

He found a emptied desk at the corner of the room alongside the window. It was perfect. Asides to a unmarked envelope that he subsequently put into the trash. He gently set the plague on to the edge then set about scattering pictures of his two dads, Vader and Luke fighting as action figures, a little piece of New York, a nice cupboard replica full of figures from a very specific movie, among other things. A bit of his nerdy half all exposed with some professionalism. That was actually hidden behind the wall of nerdiness.

He put the box away into the drawer then moved his way to the chief's office wearing a smile.

"Hello, I am Detective Philip Rider. The new head detective."

The chief, a middle aged black woman with blonde hair that was graying, wearing glasses on the bridge of her nose. She had a file in her hands and a mug of warm chocolate on the table that was warmly stewing. A couple photos resting on the table. A black phone resting on the edge of her desk. Several elephant decorations laying in the wooden desk standing in a seat of power that has been knocked off its stand and broken only awhile agom

"I heard." Chief Dogwood said.

Rider wore a big professional smile in front of the woman who's first impression mattered and he felt like a idiot making a fool of himself with the smile.

"Is there any on going cases going on that need to be continued?" Making up for the small smile with a equally as friendly and chipper question.

Once he summoned the smile then it was hard to get rid and hard to slip on the professional mask. Five years and he still hasn't got the hang of it after making detective. He needed to get a grip.

"There is just one." Dogwood replied. "You heard what happened to the last head detective and the past department."

He lifted his head up, so brazenly cheerful.

"No." Rider beamed.

"No?" Dogwood asked, perplexed.

"Really wasn't interested in asking questions." Rider replied.

"The commissioner personally lobbied you and that didn't ring any alarm bells."

He lowered his head then lifted his head up.

"Chief Dogwood, I have discovered very early in my career to get filled in with information from people very familiar to cases. Prying too much tends to have the eyes closed with one story. Currently under the direct impression some interval affairs was involved."

"It was a bombing on the wedding night of Carlton Lassiter."

The smile faded with that revelation and a hard gulp.

"A bombing?" Rider asked.

"Two weeks ago." Dogwood added

"This city has gone without a police department for weeks!" Rider sat down into the chair beside him taken back. "How?"

"We managed perfectly fine with in-training cops from the academy..." Dogwood began to explain. "Meticulous photography done by internal affairs. Very thorough investigation. The report is it was targeted."

"After a man's wedding." Rider said.

"Pre-planned. " Dogwood was grave.

Rider shook his head quite disgusted.

"Awful."

"The bombs were timed to start. Someone came in and took credit."

"What was this guy's name?"

"Eddia Macguffin." A very unusual name. "The psychic tried to clear the guy circling over the lead suspect that internal affairs were investigating but he reportedly had a nervous breakdown and hasn't recovered from it. His mother. A psychologist , long time approved consult, personally admitted him for a long term stay at a mental health hospital and made it very clear..."

"That he is off limits," rubbing his chin. "Got it."

Dogwood's nod was utterly grave.

"It is better that way... Coming here and not seeing them was very hard."

"So this department believed in the supernatural and lost its best on one fell swoop."

"Thanks to the psychic, the department had an exemplary arrest record and a very stellar reputation." Dogwood held her hand up slightly down casting her face facing the younger man quite honest. "Flaws aside."

Rider was perplexed by the small note that had been made.

"What kind of flaws are you talking about?" Rider asked.

"Bad arrests from time to time." Dogwood answered sipping from the chocolate mug. "Nothing that major," she looked aside. "Except for the alien case."

"And this 'psychic'," the air was stiff stumbling over the words so skeptically. "tell me..." Playing with his thumbs. "is he one of those people who dreamed them."

"That is a medium." Dogwood replied.

"I heard it both ways." Shaking his head in protest lifted his hand giving it a good shake. "They are practically the same thing "

"Anyway...." Dogwood resumed where she had gotten sidetracked. "the psychic lost his support net. Most of it. His father. His childhood best friend... "

"Wow. That is overkill." Dogwood nodded in agreement to the report that trailer off. "Soul destroying enough to kill an career."

She leaned back with a nod facing the head detective.

"The point of the discussion is to tell you that case is off limits. It is solved. Sentencing is in a couple weeks."

He was quiet for a moment thinking about what the relationships were probably like, bitching about being unable to do anything watching him suffer and being angry about it. Upset on the other side of the veil being unable to be seen. Ripped away from their lives unfairly. Angry spirits that could make a man go mad.

"Understood."

"There also a detail that no one knows."

"One of them survived and faked their death."

"No, no, nothing like that. It's a detail that we are going to drop in a few days."

"Chief, I would appreciate..." he stopped himself outright from sounding mean lifting his head up and clasping his hands briefly closing his eyes then opened them. "Stop dangling the detail over my head and say it."

"Your predecessor personally called forensics immediately after the explosions..." His hands gripped the arm rests of the chair. "who in turn called 911."

His brown eyes rested on the chief who stared at him for a long moment. Her darker eyes exceptionally professional.

"First thing he thought of was securing the crime scene instead of calling 911." Rider tapped on his lips looking down on the desk mulling over the detail momentarily lifting his eyebrows. "Big boots to measure up to.."

"And also, about your partner." She got up from the chair the approached the door and opened it. "A new junior detective from San Diego."

He turned toward the door observing it be opened revealing the same young black woman turning toward him.

The young woman wiggled her fingers back at him wearing a pretty smile.

"Her name is Maggie Glasgow." Dogwood said . "Meet your mentor, Philip Rider."

His phone rang with the x-files theme.

"One moment, chief. I have to take this." then he withdrew it and swiped it. "Hello." He listened then got up to his feet and ran toward the door and swung it open revealing the young woman. "First crime scene!"

He was speeding out of the officer so giddy for his first scene investigation as a head detective.

Atla Dogwood leaned back and sipped from the mug watching the pair leave. It still left a nasty taste in her mouth being in this role under these circumstances. She could be in Boston as a police chief. Her heart still ached for the prior chief's family.

"Detective Rider, there is a suspect from a attempted burglary of your crime scene." Eixardson announced from afar.

Rider was up to his feet being torn away from writing a crucial report from an entire day of investigating crime scene of various foul plays that were barely connected. Ordinary crimes of various nature's that made life complete routine and boring and he loved boring. Uneventful matter when it came to chasing down suspects and on a manhunt or sealing with a bank robbery.

A deep sigh was inhaled then exhale as if a familiar thorn had somehow followed him all the way from Miami. A brief fear that settled down at the back of his head. He adjusted the checkered black and green tie made of dueling sabers hen walked past the hallway. Walking through the hallway growing a pronounced frown the further that he got away from the desk. Preparing himself for a disgruntled ex who wandered to his crime scene drunk and wanted to blame him for the way her life turned out. Happened way too many times to count.

He walked all the way down the stairs then opened the door.

He stopped and stared at someone worse than the person he imagined.

"No!"

"Oh?" Wearing a delight smile looking up toward him. "Hello sweetie."

A familiar black man with a bushy mustache faced him.

"Not you!" Oh, this man made him so angry.

"Why isn't it incredible that we went to the same city!" Slapping the table with a hand and laughed.

"Doctor Percamp--"

"Phercamp." Phercamp corrected with a chuckle lifting his head up leaning against the side of the chair.

His steaming stormy blue eyes rested on the man's light brown eyes.

"Get out." Rider ordered.

"I was caught in the act." Phercamp said

"Attempted." Rider rebutted. "The crime scene didn't have any valuables!"

"Collectibles are going to be costing a lot in the near figure." Phercamp leaned back lifting his eyebrows.

"All those dolls cannot gather thousands of dollars." Rider argued.

Phercamp pointed back at him with a snap of his fingers

"Combined, honey, they can." Phercamp said.

"You are a psychologist," He walked around the room with his words steaming in anger. "a doctor," Gripping the edge of the resting chair. "a well respected career professional who happens to have a past that involves breaking in and entering and still does it!"

"Magic hands be magic hands." Phercamp held his hands up proceeding to wiggle then wearing a smile.

His dark blue eyes rested on figure.

"Ran out of rich people to rob blindly."

"My long distance girlfriend who finally got a job on Santa Barbara recently." He started to panic quite quickly knowing his type. "A photographer."

"After I told you I was leaving for California!"

"Didn't say where. Struck me as a Las Vegas detective."

"That is in nevada!"

"I was thinking Los Angeles."

"We are not pulling our routine here."

"Why would I be interested in doing that?" His eyes were wide open looking offended and scowling. "It was a honest mistake. Wrong house."

"Does she know that you have a hobby of breaking into suspect's places and finding pieces of evidence. And stealing valuables?"

He leaned back resting his hands in his lap.

"It paid me well."

"And you broke patient confidentiality all the time about your patients!"

"If I did either of those things, might be losing my license."

"We have a psychic who does these things!" Then he paused for a short moment. "Had!" Hands resting on his hips. "We don't need you!"

Phercamp leaned back resting a hand on his chest gawking at the man.

"So offensive." Phercamp's eyes were wide open.

"I don't want you back in my life." He rested a hand on the back rest of chair. "We are doing things right on major cases."

Phercamp nodded digesting it all with his fingers tapped together then looked up facing him.

"And what about the psychic?' Phercamp asked.

"Least he had spirits helping out." Rider was harsh.

"Like the elements of the mind helping me?" Rider went to the door and paused for a moment.

"No similarities what so ever." He turned and faced the man who had aided the New York police department as a consulting psychologist in the field of criminology. "Get out of my city and rob some rich people on San Francisco." Pointing over his shoulder. "The city never runs out of it."

He rushed out the doorway.

"Fool!" Phercamp poked out the door defiant as ever. "I am not going to let go of this gal so easily!"

Rider returned to the desk then found the blank envelope once more laying there waiting to be open then he looked around and threw it away. Stalker message.

The envelope reappeared in the desk the next day when he came in. The envelope fell into the trash can a few moments later setting up his spot that features a mat and a warm bowl of Fezzik's stew. A small one that he finished in a few minutes sliding the small bowl into a travel container.

Another call and two days after, he was at another crime scene, gruesome and bloody one, fast detective work, then the day after there was a suspect brought in. Someone hiding behind being mental illness, as Rider suspected. And there wasn't a damn that could be done. His arms were folded staring at the man behind the window who didn't act the slightest insane.

"Rider, we got a psych consult coming in." Glasglow announced.

"Okay, okay," he turned in the direction of the junior detective. "is it the one that got the psychic referred?

Some bit of hope the psychologist would see right through the performance.

"Not her." Glasglow said

The door to interrogation opened and in came a familiar face that was smirking facing the window for a moment.

"No! No!"

He was unfortunately stuck with Phercamp.

"Detective, you keep throwing away a blank envelope."

Rider was in the middle of paperwork when he gazed back up toward the source of the voice from a man who was notably older than him. Pointed baggy eyes. Looked like one of those old detectives who retired then immediately went bald.

"Not meant for me.'

The kind of guy who makes the air go cold and everything to go still.

"What gives you that impression?"

"Anonymous hate mail.and stalker experience."

"Aaahhhh..." nodding his head as it sunk in. "That makes a lot of sense."

"Not me."

"I rather leap into a lava pit then start a series of games with a serial killer. Miss me with that. I went through it and..."

"Would rather be mauled by a bear high on cousin and a tiger then do it again. "

"Rather be abducted and thrown into the river tied to cement and chained." He leaned forward clasping his hands together wearing a smile. 'It was the most chaotic experience. Distressing."

The older man held his hand up.

"I get the point." He leaned back into the chair facing the older man. "Has it occurred to you that someone might really want you to read it?"

"It has," Rider admitted.

"Annnnndd?"

"I am not risking reading someone elses mail. It was on the desk before I choose it." Tapping his finger on the desk. "It is illegal."

The comment was enough to satisfy the question.

"Rider," Glasglow called out from afar. "bank robbery!"

Rider git up then rushed on after her passing by the figure.

A year later, between getting rid of unwanted envelopes on his desk that became routine, Rider stood at another crime scene with another very dead body. That was perplexingly hard to start with. There was no murderer there who unwittingly revealed their role in the crime. Mother of four who's head was caked in blood and her back had several stab wounds. Four kids had recently came back from middle school and got traumatized for life seeing her this way. Their other mother being there earlier than expected found wailing with her in her arms. The body had been nearly set down as requested by a bear cop just the way that she was found.

He looked over toward the photographs hanging on the wall showing the darling family with her darling wife all smiles on each and every single one of them.

He looked down upon the body that was a perfect demonstration of a crime of rage. Relatively untouched rage that couldn't be cooled down by water.

Stab wounds in her arms and legs. Really wanted the woman dead. There was no trash can filled on the articles of clothing that were worn. Crucial evidence and more to be lost if he didn't find a lead. He rubbed the back of his neck facing a uphill battle of a crime that was peculiar gruesome. He walked over to the kitchen then saw there was a long kitchen life was missing from the wooden platform.

He walked out of the crime scene then to the front where the lead suspect of the case was in the back of the cruiser looking really guilty. And yet at the same time looked deeply innocent. Wearing the face of a victim.

Children collected by one of the women's siblings and driven away only moments ago.

That following day after Rider was at his desk filing away pieces of a case when a dust coated letter landed on his desk. Still heavily blank, paling now, a nice shade of yellow, stained here and there with the edge curling up, As if it had been hidden beneath a desk for awhile. He chucked it into the trash and resumed writing.

After twenty minutes of writing, he looked back up, and it was there, resting, on the edge of the desk. He leaned back in the middle of his startle then leaned forward. Rider looked at the envelope then opened it and withdrew a letter. He was up to his feet reading the letter taking a big folder full of files off the counter walking past the younger detectives desk. She got up looking at him in concern and followed at his abrupt departure.

He made the fast pace drive to the metal health hospital paying very little attention to his surroundings. He parked the car then made his way into the building.

"Who are you visiting?" Harley asked.

The name tag read Harley Quinn. One unfortunate name given to someone working in a mental health setting.

"Shawn Spencer." Rider said.

"Relation to the patient?.." Harley asked.

He held up his shield that shined in the brilliant and bright harsh light.

"My badge is a relation." Was the response.

"He is outside on the patio." Harley answered.

He moved with surprising ease finding him parked there. Silent.

Staring off into the city limits as if engrossed into something far more entertaining and time consuming. That was better than the hollow world. He had a feeding tube plugged into his nose. His face was so hairy that it had gained a beard. 90s hair bangs dangling that were well trimmed

"Hi, I am Detective Philip Rider." Slowly approaching the figure and seating himself in chair alongside the fake psychic. "I got a letter that my predecessor sent." Then lowering his head with a sigh and up. "Timed for after his death." He slid the envelope out of his suit pocket then tapped it against the palm of his hand. "Really well timed..." Looking down and up squinting as the sun shined in his eyes. "It took me awhile to open it."

He looked afar toward the beautiful lawn with a pond and trees, a small bridge, flowers of various types, then back.

Detective,
Hello. I am Carlton Lassiter. The man you just met at the crime scene pulling a absurd act with his equally immature and ridiculous companion are Shawn Spencer and Burton Guster. Really good psychic detectives. Harbor some strong suspicions they are not psychics and I cannot prove it. If they solved my murder then this might be a little bit redundant. Spencer and Guster follow where the spirits lead them and sometimes it leads them to some illegal and very stupid things.

Rider inhaled.

But if not... If Shawn Spencer can't solve the case then no one can. You have inherited a psychic who always solves cases.

Rider rubbed his face looking toward the lawn and back toward him. He inherited nothing in hindsight. Then resumed reading the letter. The impossible case that couldn't be cracked.

And if.... They got a guy and he confesses, and Shawn Spencer can't prove it isn't him then it is him. He will take this hard. He has a heart that is soft and it bleeds on his sleeve and he believes in people at their lowest. He is a lot to take in and will greatly test you. You are probably well acquainted to O'Hara and Spencer by now. A good woman and a eccentric 'conduit' of the spirits. News flash, if it isn't apparent: They are a couple.

He looked up toward the man who was older than him by a few years. He was older but the way that he had been written have the direct impression that he was a young man at heart. He let that silence hang there between the two of them.

Rider cleared his throat.

"Clears up the pain for one thing." Rider noted.

Have his back and he will have yours. Through fire. Through your worst day. People like him are hard to come by. Don't throw that away no matter what comes up; if he is framed or his reputation ruined beyond repair. He changed my life and for the better as you'd see around the department in the days of my absence. Respected. I didn't have that seven years ago. He saw something in me and helped. I suspect a lot through the tip line.
He turned my life around.
He is a good man.
don't try and prove he's not a psychic.
It's a waste of time.

Even if he wasn't there, his voice long gone, his words were there, it was like he was standing there speaking from beyond the grave.

Rider folded the letter then stuffed it into the envelope, setting it onto the side of the chair, and set a thick folder onto the table that sent files falling out.

"I have a case that is difficult, Mr Spencer." Rider began. Rider inhaled then closed his eyes for a moment taking a moment to brace himself to info dump. "A wife who blames herself for murder and increasing motive and evidence pointed toward her. Evidence that she had tainted upon finding her wife. Pretty sure she is innocent, but in her mind: she is the murderer."

Another inhale then exhale before making a promise that he could keep.

"If you take one look at it then I will take a look at yours." Rider promised.

"Can you do that?" Glasglow reminded him with her arms folded looming over by his side.

Rider was startled for a moment as he looked over spotting her then faced him.

"I can't reopen it." A confession of something so hard that was made of wanting as the man's mind was engrossed in reruns. "My hands are tied." he faced the psychic holding his hands out as if they were tied. "The difference is having another pair of eyes comb through the evidence."

He moved the chair then made him face the table having a good view of the files that were all spread out quite elaborately with several interviews.

"And my sincerest condolences." Rider patted on the shoulder of the older man, but there was no reaction, not a man shaken out of a catatonic state, a mind numbing stupor, as if the light in his eyes had been taken down by a hue pile of trash that crashed. "No reading?" He looked back and forth. "No senses..." he looked back and forth. "He did say if you can't..."

Rider picked up the files and folders leaving the scene.

"Phil, leaving out evidence in brazen daylight!"

"Relax, no one was watching."

"You have some serious blind spots. There is patients everywhere."

They walked into the building passing by a man who moved his hands as if reading a newspaper. A woman stirring a spoon thin air as if she was stirring soup staring on. Another man parked in the corner of the room making small talk to someone who wasn't there.

"I saw a dog resting on the lawn, a cat sunbathing, a horse grazing on the lawn, a artist painting you naked, a tiger pacing around in a cage hissing at us, woman knitting a afghan, a mime pretending he is in a box that is shrinking and there is a man pretending to be a knight."

The pair came to a halt outside the building.

"That is not what I saw." Glasglow hissed.

"These are mentally ill people who are not being treated harshly or really medicated being allowed to exist like the end of Stonehearst Asylum. They have guard rails that keep people outside safe from them and vice versa for example the orderlies, the security, the fence, the cameras.."

Glasglow folded her arms furrowing her eyebrows.

"Did you seriously whip out a movie reference to justify having important information out." Glasglow chided him.

"I can make a direct comparison to Shutter Island in regard to Spencer." Rider was so casual over it.

"A line too far." Glasglow hissed with her voice lowered. "He wasn't sent in there for killing someone!"

"They are harmless."

"Then why are they wearing ankle bracelets?"

Glasgow looked over observing the ankle bracelet on a passing by patient playing a flute that wasn't there and a funny clown hat that rang.

"Probably to track them down easier if they get off site either willingly or unwilling." was the response by the head detective.

The pair walked off to the white vehicle as the doors shut behind him.

Dogwood approached the desk of the head detective wearing a look on her face that easily said that she wanted to speak with him alone in her office. The pair moved from the corner of the department back into the office staring at one another that was stiff and silent.

"The case is closed." Dogwood reaffirmed. "What part of closed isn't in that no digital vocabulary."

He sat down into the chair finding a reason to smile.

"It isn't being reopened." Rider protested.

"Going over key pieces of evidence screams otherwise." Dogwood pointed out.

"He was emotionally compromised." Rider insisted.

"And internal affairs wasn't?" Dogwood lifted an eyebrow.

"Looking at it from someone who isn't involved is a entirely different perspective." Rider reframed that with his hands then clasped them.

"If Internal Affairs had Internal Affairs it would be qualified and justification but that is not the world we are working, Rider."

Her voice had a tinge of annoyance.

"I am just looking into it." Rider protested.

"The last case you looked into New York...." Dogwood reminded.

"I was really bored on a really slow rainy day without being promoted to! Can people stop bringing that up?"

Dogwood looked at the detective who was quite bothered by his big record being poked at. She wore doubt that was heavy and thick like the clouds that the fake psychic lives in making it hard to see him.

"No." Dogwood denied as she shot a glare over pacing around the room. "You reopened it and personally arrested the man who pressured the captain to not let you go after that nasty bank robbery and hostage situation."

The detective looked smug at the accomplishment.

"Who asked you that day to take a look at the case?" Dogwood squinted back at him. "The one with the dead husband. And two fatherless kids."

"They had another dad."

"Whoa was still in rehab."

"Who had it hard finding a job because of being wrongly convicted for his partner's murderer and it was adding to his problem."

"He asked you."

"Officially. No one asked me. Unofficially, I got a letter and the victim from beyond the grave pointed his finger at someone that I respected and didn't want to believe. It took me awhile to swallow it. To process it. To bring him in."

"Bullshit."

"A man came in and told me to read a letter, that I really had to. I would really want to."

"It was his ex."

"It was the victim."

"His ghost."

"Which story is the truth. The ghost one or the one where I brought in his kid for stealing a car and said what is the point of being out there when he didn't have a chance of seeing his dad face to face?"

She stared at him for a long time absorbing that information that was heavily annoyed and frank.

The head detective stared up toward her for a long moment. No deception written across his face. Dogwood can ask him over and over again but he wasn't going to answer it with the one that she wanted. Here sat down beside her was a spinner of tales. Detective did that when came to solving a mystery. His stories were incredible when it pertained to the reason why.

"Inclined to believe none." Dogwood replied. "No one asked you."

A simple nod was all that she got.

"No one." Then Rider shrugged "I was bored." He cupped the side of his face looking on. "Rainy day. Thunder."

"A very deep and rich cliche."

"Working over time.."

"Cliche.

"sometimes before I go home and read old solved files. And I noticed a lot of loose ends that hadn't been ironed out so I thought.." he took his hand off the side of his face. "Why not tie them up?" Looking up toward the chief. "I like good mysteries."

Dogwood found a reason to smile and chuckle at his reply as she sat on the edge of the desk shaking her head in a moment of amusement.

"I believe this one." Dogwood said.

Two days later, Rider reappeared at the mental health hospital in his off duty clothing that featured a black short sleeved shirt with a Darth Vader print on it and a black equally as matching jacket that clashed with those around him that were bright and vibrant. The only thing that wasn't black was his pants that were a deep shade of blue.

He found the fake psychic gazing out the window quite depressed staring on paying very little attention from a observer's perspective. Looking like he had stopped paying attention long after his emotional ordeal had ended that was cruel and harsh to the heart. Rider could see how tortured the man was from a distance looking toward the small forest. Staring on so blankly.

He sat down alongside the fake psychic.

"Patterson Jefferson."

It was a name that he got.

"What about the name Eold Wolf?"

Nothing was stirred.

"Eric Torres?"

Not a wink.

"I found the book for the venue and did some sleuthing behind them."

He was silent for a long moment.

"Investigated the names that had signed to attend the event."

A long sigh as if he had been running around for a long time.

"Only three were alive, only there weren't there at the time of the event. Two of them were unable to attend due to being sick. Only one claimed he was watching a marathon of the Lord of The rings."

His dark blue eyes were on Shawn.

"Only one of them had expertise to set up the bombs. None of them came forward... "

His eyes paused on Shawn for a long moment.

"And you got stuck on the suspect Eddia Macguffin who had every reason to be the guy."

The younger man snickered.

"I talked to him."

His eyes rested on the figure.

"I can see why you were convinced that Eddia was innocent..."

He set a bag of skittles on to the table.

"All those letters he wrote and threw into the trash threatening Lassiter for arresting his dad." He rubbed his face looking aside then back and chuckled combing through his dark wavy hair. "Those terrible attempts at making a bomb. Guess the weight of wishing significant harm got to the kid."

There was nothing he could say that would satisfy the hunger and need to know the case was being pursued for the right man.

"I can see how and where you got stuck."

He rubbed his hands together for a long time letting the silence hanging there in the air. Very long and uncomfortable without someone talking back. Someone held back and prevented from talking back was all psychological.

Something a psychologist could untangle yet could not simultaneously. And he wasn't talking so that left his wild card obsolete. He looked down then up facing the slumbering force of nature and chaos that had ended agb complete stop living in the quiet ending that was a blur. A awful sight that made him take another breath.

"I am seriously looking at Patterson Jefferson..."

Not even a stir or a sign from the silent man not a grin through the fog of thick depression emerging out of it. Had the spirits looked at Patterson Jefferson? Seen nothing worth writing home about that wasn't interesting to them personally.

"Before I accuse him, I need evidence." He stared at the man who wasn't listening. "If the spirits have something to say.." his hands were clasped together. "I am all ears."

He waited for a long time there and got nothing.. .not even a slap that was sudden and abrupt turning away. Not even a shout how the entire effort was useless and a giant waste of time. It was getting dark out in the city and outside of the building.

A orderly arrived joining the fake psych's side then wheeled him away from the window wearing a name that read Bermont.

"It is time for his treatment." The orderly, Bermont, announced, softly.

The head detective gaped at the reply.

"ECT." Rider said. "Thought that.." swallowing bile down at the imagery. 'it was discontinued long ago."

"Back then it was cruel and inhumane." Bermont acknowledged. "It is largely successful for people in this condition..." Soft words and a snicker gazing down upon him and patting on his shoulder. "Well, we are not giving up on him like he has."

The orderly scooted away the catatonic man.

"... So... Its safer these days." Was the only assumption that could be made.

Another orderly, Blue'yon, approached him handing over the envelope.

"I found this in the chair this afternoon." Was the orderly's comment. "Crumbled. Flattened. He sat on it for a long time."

Rider looked back and forth between the window and back in the direction that the fake psychic was in.

Tony Blue'yon was a orderly who found that this place had a kinder taste of insanity. Not gazing out and finding them heavily sedated with their minds numbed and intellect dumbed down like a shroud covering their madness. They were still people that had quirks. One did gardening for free believing they worked there. Who were they to add misery? Their jobs were to take care of them.

"Think he still is sitting on it," Rider noted. " and it's.."

The psychic was one of the quiet ones who didn't speak or do any thing. As if the only way to reach him was one of those forehead temple buds into a virtual reality free from the spirits that drove him insane. He read about the psychic and seen some videos to get a good impression of the man that he once was. A mere shadow of what had once been.

"Pretty hard to have hope of someone making progress after reaching an dead end. Repeating what was already known. Hope that feels false. The dead end that also can drive a man here, too."

Some days Blue'yon forgot to bring him inside due to his mutism.

Everyone looked at him that one time when the psychic was left out in the rain.

He was like a doll that was alive and yet was not animated. Easy to forget that inside the husk of a shell was a man that was alive and still there but so difficult to reach in his mind. Someone obviously very troubled compared to the rich folk that came in and pretended to be insaneto avoid prison time. Their act so easy to see through for what they were. Taking up precious space for people who really needed it.

Blue'yon looked upon Rider thinking about his attempts to cheer up the psychic. Like bringing him over to his place with permission and putting in some classic black and white romance movies. Good helping of Alfred Hitchcock. And facing a new visitor for the psychic who suddenly waltzed in.

"You read the letter to him." Blue'yon noted.

Rider lowered his head in a moment of regret and grimaced.

"Bad idea." Rider admitted.

Blue'yon shook his head in the middle of a smile.

"On the contrary, it sounded really lovely and heartfelt. Anything like that that celebrates the man he was outside .." looking over solemnly toward the direction that the figure was moved. "is good medicine."

It is like the heart was stitched up and buried so deep.

He turned away then left walking past a man with an actual newspaper-- Doctor Phercamp.

"Who are you here to visit?"

He was tall and skinny as a stick with baggy eyes, his face looked ordinary lacking any superstar vibes, red curly hair that was thick and deeply rich. Harley was taken back by how big the bob of hair was.

"Shawn Spencer."

"Relation?"

"Third party concerned about him."

"What is your name?"

"Eold Wolf."

"The horror movie director! Where do you get such inspiration for your films from?"

"Just walking around in the park." Leaning forward on the counter then smiled, so cheerfully. "Enough about me what about the psychic?'

"He is being treated right now..." Harley said.

His lips lifted from corner to corner.

"I have all the time in the world to spend." Wolf replied.

Wolf was directed a means from the desk and seated. Waiting and waiting for a long time seated there in the silence until the psychic was wheeled in then taken out. He was parked beneath a tree facing the little bridge over the small pond that had a white picket fence. A beautiful garden from up ahead that was sprawling and a piano being played off key.

The tall red head descended down the patio approaching the figure who's mind was else where. He dragged along a chair behind him through the glass passing by a young woman who was painting but there was nothing in her hands. She looked happy painting the thin air as if creating something.

Wolf sat down beside him.

"Remember that offer I made to you?"

He leaned to his side peering back at him.

"Being able to exist in the same space as your loved ones?'" He wore curiosity yet he were grave. "That one. It..." he briefly bit his lip. "it is still open."

Shawn stared on and on.

"Call me, Shawn Spencer before I make a psychological horror movie about a woman called Sharon Doe who deserves all the torment."

He patted on the psychic's back over a smile then got up and walked away.

Rider parked the black car then got out dressed on civilian clothes that featured a polo and nice jeans. He had a envelope in his pocket peeking out. He walked a means away through the cemetery then paused in his tracks spotting the two graves side by side. Married till the end of there after. He stood there for a long time in front of the two anticipating good word about him.

He knelt down then set the letter on the head stone of the detective.

"He is fine."

Speaking from the heart with words that had been written.

"It's been a year since the incident and.. " he lowered head taking off his baseball hat. "Still there. I met him. Face to face. I didn't expect a lot but he was still overwhelming."

Snickers here and there came from the man.

"It's hard seeing him knowing the people the people that he left behind and trying to reach him.. but just not having it. I know thar he is justified being this way. But i wish that I knew him before the explosion. It didn't just destroy his life."

He patted the hat against the palm od his hand.

'It destroyed a chunk of his soul. The kind that is warm and resilient after hitting a significant hurdle. His heart.'

He looked up toward the grave stones pausing for a long time.

"We met, twice."

A beat hung there for a moment.

"After a police conference. Your sleeves were rolled up, jacket somewhere, the chief was close by, at a bar, we talked.."

Lifting his head up, chuckling.

"You heard something both ways then after my reply you said you couldn't talk to me." He squinted in the sun putting on his hat. "And I can't help but wonder if that turn of phrase came from the psychic since...."

He clasped his his hands together.

"You were different from the first time around so I bother asking..."

There was a long moment facing his imagined projection of the pair together side by side looking like their last picture together. Pure white and radiant beings that are unstained from crime.

"Detective Rider, it was nice to speak to you, Detective Lassiter."

He turned away then walked off back into the distance.

A man with thick dark curly black hair and dark shades picked up the envelope dressed in black. Dressy looked on toward the figure then turned around and headed back the way that he had came being glared at darkly by two figures dressed for a wedding.

Phercamp entered the facility the following two nights after then came back out with the psychic in wheelchair and a mobile packet for the feeding tube to supply him for the overnight trip. Just a few words and Blue'yon dumped him on at the single inclination of a unscheduled field trip that wasn't his place. All very cheerfully.

Phercamp opened the door then with very little effort slid the wheelchair in.

A simple careful extraction of the feeding tube out of his nose was all that was necessary.

"Perks of having the most loveliest photographer for a girlfriend." Phercamp said.

The door was closed then he hopped in and started the car.

"Hello, sweetie! You can call me the doctor!"

He drove out of the parking lot spinning away from a security guard who jogged out of the building with a gun.

"By the way, my lovely friend made some progress on your little nasty case all very unprompted!" Phercamp laughed looking over toward the silent figure driving down the street.l and beamed "I use the word, loosely."

Phercamp's rich laughter carried through the car that was light anf joyful.

"Got a couple of his friends to confess that he was playing dungeons and dragons all day."

The psychic was silent.

"Really pushed on them and told them that their silence was giving their friend the needle and... claimed they weren't really his friends at all."

His laughter roared on the air.

"Lied to them about his execution date being today. Really shook them hard."

Phercamp looked over so giddy toward the psychic the looked momentarily offended by the imaginary reply.

"I am a liar, a thief, and a scoundrel!" his laughter was rich and joyful wearing a beaming grin. "However, this is no lying matter.."

He turned on the radio that played music.

"Tonight I am going to rob a suspect blind and replace his jewelry with pasta!" Flipping through the stations until finding an upbeat rap song and nodded his head. "He has a random schedule so taking you along is my personal life insurance." He looked over toward the psychic wearing a apologetic smile. "It is that case that Rider is dragging his feet on.. "

His eyes returned to the road.

"Don't deny it."

A very soft request.

"My colleague is a man who goes to desperate measures to close a case when psychology doesn't work."

There was a ringing sound in the air.

"Siri, answer the call." Phercamp ordered.

"Phercamp, where are you taking the patient to?" Glasglow's voice boomed in the air (in large part to the speakers planted in four parts of the company car that played).

"To the zoo, darling." he looked over, shaking his head, frowning, solemnly.

""Turn around and put him back before Philip finds out!" Glasglow hissed.

"Nope." His delighted demeanor returned.

"He brought in a new lead suspect and is about to crack him open." Rider announced.

"Who is it?" Glasglow said.

"Patterson Jefferson, he's a chemist, has a history of being a federal defense contractor. He made grenades." The sounds of footsteps rang around her and the sound of phone calls. "He has no connection to Carlton Lassiter."

"I got him!" Rider announced loudly. "I got him!"

"Got who?" Glasglow asked.

"Maggie, I got him to confess and break." Phercamp could hear the grin from the man's voice.

"That was fast." Glasglow acknowledged.

" I didn't cheat." Rider protested.

"Was the chief watching?" Glasglow asked.

"Calling the mayor, the prosecutor's office, and the wrong guy's family." Rider was beaming so loud that it could be heard.

"Why did he do it?" Glasglow inquired.

"Glad someone asked. Big revenge plot against Lassiter's wife Marlowe." Smacking his hand on the table that could make a man jump.

'How hard were you on him?" Glasglow prodded.

"Not that hard."

"A spontaneous confession." Glasglow was deeply skeptical.

"He is a son of one of her brother's victims!" Stepping back so thrilled and bouncing on his toes wearing a big pleased smile. "Didn't even need to be a psychic to solve this one. He is going to love this! And jealous!"

Phercamp was laughing in response to the statement.

"Good old Philip!" Phercamp cackled, overjoyed. "I knew he could crack it!"

"Not the Wilderson case," bitterly lowering his head and shaking his head.

"Rider..." Glasglow started.

"Got to arrest the wife." Rubbing the back of his head then resting his hands on his hips. " She keeps trying to come in and confess. Everything points toward her. The chief is breathing down my neck to close the case."

"Rider!" Glasglow hissed.

"The press is calling me over and over about any developments and I need to close the book on it and what is it."

"Cool yourself down." Glasglow requested.

There was a short pause.

"What did Phercamp do?" Rider asked.

"Rider, my office!" Dogwood's well aging rich feminine voice of authority and anger carried in the air so loud that the phone picked it up.

"Siri, hang up." Phercamp ordered

There was a pause that was long. The silence replaced by music to the ears of the duo. Nice and upbeat music that Phercamp bobbed his head along to singing along. The ringing returned then it was answered the same way as before.

"Brian Phercamp the second! You did not just kidnap an psychic!"

His voice booming there in the air.

"Relax, Philip, I will return him."

"Where are you taking the psychic?"

"Nothing illegal!"

"My god, Phercamp!"

"We are getting some fast food then driving around."

"Turn around and return that mentally ill man to a very safe place that cares for him very well."

"Siri, hang up." Phercamp looked over toward the man then back on to the road. "You are not mentally ill, aren't you," shooting a smile back at the silent figure. 'psychic?'

He looked back then adjusted the mirror and faced glaring dark brown eyes.

A scream and a spin of the wheels then the eyes were gone.

"Oh.. my... living... shit."

He looked over toward the figure beside him that wasn't shaken out of the stupor. Simply still calm and collected. Not screaming or gripping the hand rest beside him. He looked back, panting, scared, heart racing, but there was no one in the back seat.

The psychic was parked in one of the rooms of the sprawling house that had hanging items on the wall behind cases and several soft themed paintings. Masterpieces that hardened back to another era. Scenes of ordinary Victorian life. Fancy and very stylish.

There was darkness outside the windows. The only light in the dark from the interior of the house. A real decent house that had three floors and a unique build to it being rectangle and long and a lot more windows and curtains. So open and open and transparent to the given eye that screamed wealth rather than a closed off nest that had walls and few windows. Taking in the fine details of the rooms that had walls made it paramount to admire. The beautiful wallpaper that had marvelous paintings of flowers and well installed decoration made of gold. Family photographs hung there filling the good that paintings could not fill.

There were wedding photographs that gave the direct impressions of which a child free couple lived there. Various pictures of the couple in their lives decorated the walls bringing both their lives together into one household. 'Tis a shame one of them committed murder.

The psychic was brought to individual rooms by the errant psychologist and brought to different points even the walk in closet. Opening and closing drawers hoping to get sooner psychic rise out of him. He saw everything and didn't say a word. There was none of that so he was naturally left at the wall of nice decoration.

The door to the house clicked open then the suspects entered the house.

It went down pretty fast from there with one of them holding a gun at Phercamp and another aimed at the psychic which was all too familiar. The detectives showed up.

"How did you find us, detectives?" Phercamp questioned.

"The ankle monitor, Doctor Phercamp!" Glasglow answered.

"Darling," Phercamp turned his attention toward Rider. "tell the psychic again what you told her."

"Phercamp, this is no time to change the subject!" Rider was overly tense.

"It is about the case of who blew up through that wedding last year." Phercamp relayed.

"The one where all the cops died." Gaskoe, suspect 2, dual national, former cia agent turned health trainer, looked back and forth.

"That one." Glasglow replied.

"Didn't that MacGuffin guy do it?" Alipoor, suspect 1, former hit woman, asked.

His stormy blue eyes met the eyes of the psychologist who merely beckoned him.

"He confessed..." Glasglow admitted.

"But Eddia Macguffin didn't do it." Rider added, stiffly.

"He had an air tight alibi." Glasglow said.

"But---" Alipoor was cut off.

"He is a nerd currenly bring released from death row right as we speak." Glasglow announced. "The real killer confessed."

Stormy blue eyes met the eyes of the psychic's hazel ones quite sincere.

"Mr Macguffin is a programmer not an engineer and that is why we found terrible bombs in his apartment."

"Prove it." Alipoor inquired.

"Alexa, who blew up Carlton Lassiter's wedding reception?" Gakoe asked.

Phercamp beamed.

Rider found a reason to smile.

Glasglow had her eyes on the pair wondering if this was planned from the start.

"Patterson Jefferson was just arrested today for a mass fatality event that occurred on April 10th 2013 after the wedding of Carlton Lassiter and Marlowe..."

A loud cry of horrific pain came from across drawing their attention that was like life roaring out the door without the intensity of fire and smoke and force sending people flying away at the music of chaos infurling.

"There is a knife!" The couple aimed their guns at him. "A murder knife! The spirits are insistent! It is ...... in a case!"

Alipoor looked over slowly toward the wall.

"I see!..."

"Who would put a knife in a display case...?" Phercamp looked up and stared at the case that had a clear imprint of a gun that instead had a knife that had blood on it. "A gun is supposed to be in there."

Alipoor stared blindsided at the knife's presence as Rider's jaw fell open.

"A man staring at two women at a restaurant !"

Glasglow looked back and forth.

'"That is not one of our knives.'" Alipoor said.

"They are fighting! This man... selling.. secrets! Debts! Losing things but not really!"

Alipoor turned the gun on Gakoe who's eyes flipped open wide facing him. Gakoe's finger started to press on the trigger as Phercamp's grin faded into absolute fear and the detective's eyebrows lifted.

Glasglow tackled the woman down. The psychic stared at Death watching the star appear and the bullet fly out toward him in slow motion spinning and twirling for his forehead. Very slowly. Like hearing a jet take off fill the air.

The psychic naturally ducked clasping his head due to the intense psychic pain falling to the floor missing the bullet in the nick of time. The psychic panted lifting his head up watching the detective cuff Gakoe.

"Where ... Am.. I?" Shawn asked, confused.

Phercamp knelt down to the psychic's level.

"Not in a mental hospital, honey." Phercamp grinned.

"You are under arrest for murder and the attempted murder.." Rider cuffed Gakoe against the wall then jail him awa.

Shawn's face fell staring toward Phercamp.

"I crashed hard." Shawn acknowledged, gaping, his voice softened, heartbroken. "the spirits made me crash out and be out of the land of the living.. how long has it been?"

"A year." Phercamp responded, sympathetically.

Shawn hung his head staring down at the floor wearing a long and hard stare that wasn't too different from the one that he wore.

" A year..." Shawn muttered looking up then gazing toward the door.

"Hey, hey." Grasping the side of his arm drawing his attention back toward him. "You got a mummy."

Shawn started to smile that tired and sad with his lips not lifting up as high as it used to.

"True," he had a hard swallow. "I still got her..." He turned his attention away having an inhale then got up to his feet. "And a house."

Shawn stumbled forward but was caught by Phercamp.

"Easy there, psychic!" Phercamp steadied him for a moment. "you have been sitting for over a year doing nothing!"

He looked down at his legs that looked different as demonstrated by the comfortable pajama pants. Then he looked up.

"I.. I'm..." Starting to speak quite flabbergasted. "I gotta learn how to walk again without them?"

The psychic looked upset at the prospect and torn apart by it that seemed so deeply unfair.

"So much metaphor deep in there it isn't even funny!" Phercamp walked down the hallway then tugged the wheelchair and shoved him down in there.

"Hey, I can still walk!"

"You are way too dense to support."

"Not that terribly dense."

"Tell me where do you live. I can drive you to rehab until you can leave the city and do whatever you would please after this case..." His hazel eyes looked up toward the psychologist. "And return this wheelchair."

Shawn squinted back at Phercamp.

"What do you get out of this, Doctor?" Shawn asked..

"A good guy needs help getting up." Phercamp responded

"The spirits.. " he had difficulty lifting his hand up to the side of his temple briefly closing his eyes. "they... say..." Then looking up toward him. "you pitied me."

There was nothing but joy so much joy on the doctor's face.

"My heart and hands know nothing but kindness." He came to a pause then looked on toward the detective who shoved in the murderer into the black car. "Even when they do other things," a small smile watching the detective face then smugly. "they are good at supporting until they are not needed anymore."

Shawn looked up toward him for a moment.

"The spirits say.." he was having a hard time speaking as if the year long activity of doing nothing was sinking into him. "you are... good at cutting hair and they are strongly recommending your service."

"Funny way for the spirits to nudge their sole connection to the physical world to get better but I will bite." was the response over his laughter. "Is the bedroom upstairs or downstairs?"

"Upstairs."

His eyes flashed open at the response.

"Oh, you need outpatient care." He moved toward the car. "Bad."

"Phercamp, get him back to the hospital! He isn't discharged yet."

"Hair cut sweetie then I will take him back."

"Promise?" Rider asked.

"I promise!" Phercamp reassured, beamingly

The hair was chopped off with relative ease using. A reference picture that acted as a guide for the psychologist doing the task in the kitchen who also did a lot of small talk along the way keeping him from keeping his mouth shut through out it. Some form of early therapy from waking up.

Nice brown hair scattered on the floor.

Some shaving shaving cream and a electric razor, the beard was gone.

Phercamp beamed resting his hands on his knees then held the mirror up.

"How do you like the hair cut, Shawn Spencer?" Phercamp asked

Shawn winced lifting his hand up and rubbed his soft chin taking the mirror through pain and stiffness admiring his looks.

"Call me .. Shawn." Shawn requested.

Phercamp knelt down then in a few short moments had the ankle monitor off and held it up.

"Dude." Shawn started. "how... did.... you.. do that?"

Phercamp wiggled his fingers.

"Magic hands." Beaming in pride and gusto. "I am Magic Hand Man."

"No, you are... Magic Hands.." a struggle speak . "and that is.. less.. wordy.."

Phercamp's beam became more radiant than before that shined and glowed.

"And call.. call.. call me Shawn."

"Everyone calls me Phercamp, even my girlfriend. My parents call me Brian."

"Okay.." Shawn whirred his head toward Phercamp. "Bri."

"Oh no, that is a ugly nickname!"

"It's .. practically... fine."

"Call me Pher. You are the only one allowed to do that."

The door to the office opened letting in air and warmth. All the furniture was coated in along white sheets. A wheelchair driven in by the a blonde with short hair. A figure remained silent staring in into the room

The lights were off. Dust hanging there in the air. The door to the office opening then the couple went in deeper into the fog of memories.

"I never stopped paying the bills for the office.. it has too many good memories."

He saw Gus's desk lacking his personal things but still having critical need to know files.

""I.." Shawn reached his hand up through pain. "Miss him..every much."

She took his hand then gave it a squeeze.

"Me too, goose."

The door to the chief's office opened. A wheel chair hanging behind him acting as a means of reassurance as something to fall back on. His grip on the handle was trembling as if full of uncertainty. Three whole days since the events of a case being closed, not one, but two. Two cases in one day.

He looked in expecting a familiar blonde instead faced the jarring presence of a black woman wearing glasses. It had been two days since being discharged and started getting outpatient care

"No." Dogwood said.

"I am.. not ... asking."

She looked up facing him.

"Demanding your old job back? Your mother hasn't cleared you."

"Nor that."

Shawn walked in without support.

"Explain to me what you are asking in simple words."

Shawn halted in front of the desk then leaned forward.

"I am going.." Shawn started to explain. "to see.. my loved ones... Again... "

"Catatonia complications are high?" Dogwood asked.

"They can." A whole big lie.

"That is deeply unfortunate having bad odds.

"I ask.. because I know..." He lowered his head as he gripped the edge of the desk admiring the elephants. "How... After a while.. one day.. calling and they never pick up."

"Because they are dead." Dogwood said

Shawn lifted his head up.

"It is.. so.. hard.." Shawn reflected.

Dogwood simply nodded quite serious over the issue leaning back.

"So don't make it a habit." Dogwood said. "Got it."

"I.. everything.. last year..that wasn't .."

"Psychic episode that had distraught spirits quite cross that an innocent man is getting the death penalty. I got it."

"Least he got the .. man." Shawn said

"We almost sent another innocent person to death row."

He took his hands off the desk then walked away

She looked down at a file then gazed up looking towed the psychic starting to open her mouth.

"Spencer, if you need..." Shawn turned toward her and there was another figure by his side facing him glaring at him gripping the door handle

She froze staring at him at the visual faded fast.

"What....what?"

"Is there anything we can do for you?"

"Dad left... A .. lot.. of money."

""I think your loved ones would want you to outlast them then the other way around. Not their memory to outlast you." Shawn faced the chief for a moment with his mouth hanging open not knowing what to say. "Aftermath of a psychic episode induced catatonia be damned. Your spirit is stronger.."

"Not always ..." Shawn reminded the chief, shaking his head. "stronger than ... " Painfully speaking slow with paused between them. "the body.."

"I see a man who wants to crumble down and not get up again."

He opened the door then walked out and stumbled over the wheelchair.

"Ow!"

It took awhile but Shawn recovered enough to stand on his own two feet and lose the rigidity on his joints. The pausing took time to get rid of. All of this took time between people showing up dead during his recovery and Rider going after the wrong people for the duration of the case that upset him. Because these were people that he knew and summoned a part of his old spirit to the surface.

He stood on the edge of the street then lifted his phone up.

"Eold Wolf, how can I help you?"

"The spirits told me you..." He let it hang there. "Made an.." scared of being lead on but his heart ached for her so dearly. "Offer."

"Yes, I did."

"Too good to be true."

"It is as genuine as it gets."

"If I say yes would you end up not killing me so I can see them? Or not bringing in actors who look like them?"

"Neither of the two are capable of happening unless you wronged me in some fashion, Shawn Spencer."

Shawn lowered his head then looked over spotting Rider coming out of a store with a box full of doughnuts and weaving around the car then opening it. His hazel eyes gazed toward the restaurant that Phercamp was at leaning forward hanging by a thread to Sabitha's words wearing a adoring smile facing her.

"I.. want.." Shawn started.

He looked over spotting a event being held by Chief Dogwood about a missing child.

"Want what?" Wolf asked.

His gaze sweeping over to the motorcycle.

"I want to see my dead girlfriend again." Shawn admitted

Wolf's laughter decorated the air quite warmly.

"Your wish is my command. I'll send for you very shortly."

Shawn hung up as the black car drove up.

"Hey Spencer, how is it going hanging out at night when you should be home and sleeping?" Glasglow asked.

"I should ask you the same thing. Attending some conference or balls that make overtime something.."

"We are detectives, we don't have balls." Then the detective course corrected. "We got balls of steel."

Glasglow looked over toward the older man then back towed the psychic.

"Did anything turn up about this Eold Wolf?"

"He is currently under investigation for the murder of a actor. Rudolph Curity."

"That soap actor?" Shawn asked, incredibly

"He was in a soap." Equally as incredulous head detective.

"The young and the restless, David Boreanez with blue eyes instead of brown." Shawn replied

Rise frowned at the very specific reference.

"Anyway very suspicious death." Rider stated.

"Guy was going around claiming he is insidious and does not deserve to create anything in the entertainment industry because he has already done it." Glasglow resumed.

"Claimed that in hindsight buying tickets to his movies is just rewarding him to go out there and do things he could get away with." Rider added.

"Claimed he was a very abhorrent man." Glasglow concluded.

"And then he ended up dead." Shawn assumed.

"We got our eyes on him." Rider replied, smirking.

Shawn opened his mouth then closed it then opened it again.

"You have making better arrests without me lately." Shawn pointed it out.

Glasglow and Rider exchanged a surprised glance at the remark then faced him.

"What changed your mind about leaving?" Glasglow asked.

"You can make an arrest tonight." Shawn said.

"What arrest?" Glasglow asked.

"The man in discussion, Ex-Phile." Shawn answer.

"Spencer, do you know what you are doing?" Glasglow asked, harshly.

"Its a good offer." Shawn out on the dark helm the hopped aboard the motorcycle and drove off.

Rider took his phone out then made a call.

The perfect scene of harmony fell apart right then. As if a single bullet had been fired long range from a silent sniper. Phercamp took his phone out wearing a smile then answered it. He was silent resting the phone against his ear then paused listening to the concerned detective. He hung up then called Madeline who proceeded to book the next flight back to Santa Barbara from Louisiana.

Shawn parked the motorcycle alongside the white picket fence and withdrew his helm setting it aside facing the darkened building. A building that once belonged to his dad who was never going to be there when he settled down like. But he already had and his roots were yanked out then burned flaws after being left out in the sun.

A house that seemed to just be another rest stop.

Shawn hooked the helmet on to the handle of the motorcycle then turned away.

He went inside then set up various food in the kitchen to be donated to the local homeless shelters and other places that serviced families in need.

A simple text and bagging articles of clothing.

Then he turned and saw Phercamp who looked toward quite dark.

"I am not leaving until you start talking, Shawn.."

"Come on, man."

"Lost too many friends who did this routine to count not to known what it means."

"It's not death."

"If that is true then what is up with the trash bags?"

"I am moving to somewhere so much better, Pher."

"A better place to your heart is your loved ones. Known you for over.. a year and.. you.. you are high maintenance and remember all that financial trouble you were in after a six months? Where you go, someone had to pay your taxes and there are little to no one interested in doing that in the entire world!

Shawn gripped the side of the younger man's shoulders.

"Trust me when I say my death isn't in the cards." Shawn reassured.

"Listen to me."

"No, no, you listen..."

"Fine, i'll hear you out."

"i am going to a place where they are alive," pinching his two fingers together. "it sounds insane and I know it. Would a man going mad say that?"

"... what convinced you it is real?" Phercamp asked

He handed a tiny little note then the younger man's eyes flashed open.

"I rather not think about why or the how just the fact that she is alive." Phercamp looked up toward Shawn for a long moment. "I am going to be okay..." he put a hand on the shoulder of the doctor. "and I have so much to thank you for."

"Did you even read it?"

"I stopped reading reading it when I saw her handwriting and the date. The contents don't matter." He withdrew his hand then rubbed them together on the verge of tears wearing that big kind and optimistic smile "Only she does."

Phercamp handed the letter back then sighed.

"Whole lot of respect doing that for your girl in her emotional distress." Phercamp lifted his head up. "Consider... the donations...". Letting go of the breath. "done."

Shawn beamed back at Phercamp, happily.

"You are a good friend, doctor." Shawn replied.

His eyes flashed open in response taken back looking up and down so insulted as his mouth hung.

"Take those words back! I am a cat thief."

"Who robs the rich."

"Insult me one more time and I will throw you out the window, break your legs and your back, face cut up by glass, and stop you from leaving."

Shawn gasped in shock and alarm taking a once over of the man.

"You won't do that!" Shawn exclaimed.

"I have thrown a man out the window during a undercover case in New York during a party at a mansion for my friend Rider. And guess what he did? He offended me."

Shawn hugged Phercamp with a hearty laugh.

A long black limo parked along the shoulder of the road and the door withdrawn automatically. No chloroform or a pipe used to knock him out for a extraction.

"Come in, Mr Spencer." Eold beckoned.

Shawn hopped in without a protest then closed the door beside him.

"Sooo, is this a magic school bus ordeal, or a little glowing pond with tall blades oe grass, or is there some enormous machine capable of bringing us to her?'

"None of the above." Wolf replied.

The drive was at least thirty minutes long in the stunned silence and fear and anxiety. Heart pounding in his ears in the long and heavy silence. Swallowing hard finding something to keep his cool. His mind wandering around.

"How long has it been since you opened the business?"

"It'll be a decade next year." Looking aside tapping his foot in the floor. 'Two years since I lost my business partner."

"Two years.." Wolf reflected.

"A psychic swallowed me whole... and gave the outside world an awful display of how they could convene me at will."

"So you personally remember nothing."

"Everything is static." He held his hand up giving it a twirl. "I managed this last year. Made a lot of accomplishments..

"A psychic accepting help: impressive."

The drive came to a stop then the men got out facing a house.

"Right this way, Shawn Spencer."

'"My name is Shawn."

"Don't lag behind me." Was the instruction that was given as Shawn stuck to his side. "We need to be in close proximity for this to be pulled off... Don't need a lost Shawn Spencer wandering this dear and dark wonderful place."

Shawn followed the man directly into the forest then came back out facing the way that they had come. Shawn stared in confusion gazing back and forth staring in shock observing another Mr Wolf on the patio with a stack of paper and a old fashioned typewriter that dinged. dear and dark wonderful place...the word swarmed in the mind. His mind coming to a incredible idea that made him have a delighted gasp and a laugh.

"Shawn Spencer."

Shawn followed the man with a jog.

"Supervillain energy!"

Wolf smiled in response pausing in his tracks.

"And if I were?" Wolf asked, shifting toward the approaching psychic and lifted his red eyebrows. "What then."

Shawn snickered getting closer to him shaking his head.

"You are doing me a favor." Shawn halted by his side. "We are cool."

Shawn followed the man to the limo as his dark thoughts about the night melted away. Sitting down wearing a grin feeling happier and on cloud nine. Grinning softly and brightly. He looked at himself at the mirror seeing a man who's burn wound scars had long healed and faded away so gently. He was practically glowing in so much.

The drive took close to an hour. Returning to the familiar city that hadn't changed changed a lot. Passing by a crime scene with a graying detective looming over a corpse with Buzz in a suit instead of a beat cop outfit that made Shawn smile through tears. The other detective's head slightly bobbed up as his attention lifted and turned to his side revealing the side of his profile as that of one head detective..

"Lassie..."

The detective shook his head then turned his attention back onto a witness who he was interviewing.

The windows to the limo were dark tinted as he peered out spotting Gus coming out of a theater alongside the woman who's name was some variation of the name Rachel. He had a goatee growing. That made him look so different if not for his familiar brown eyes with a smile that reached to his eyes. He looked happy and loving life to the fullest with a black car that he opened.

The limo slowly passed by the pharmaceutical salesman who paused and sniffed the feeling feeling something was off. As if his Shawn Spencer senses were tingling and his smile faded as he looked around glaring into thin air. His smile returned at full force at the sound of his girlfriend. His girlfriend stepped into the car then he walked around --not at all weary and tense on a case risking his life-- and opened the door hopping in the car then started a discussion with her. Whatever it were, Shawn wasn't interested. Watching the couple kiss was the treat that kept on giving seeing his best friend alive and happy as his eyes stung. His mind was planted on one person.

His heart aches so full at seeing how getter off that Gus was. He had a new company car. A long term girlfriend. Probably worked for a new company entirely!

The limo passed by a little restaurant that had Henry and Madeline on a date commemorating some occasion that was meaningful clinking glasses together. Had to be their anniversary. Shawn didn't remember when it was. When was it? He better ask them after reuniting with O'Hara.

The limo drove through the city for a bit until pausing on the parking lot. Cars passing by then the duo exited.

"Where is she?" Shawn asked.

"Look around and you will find her." Wolf said

"You are such a tease!"

"It isn't even a tease!"

"Have you toyed with me?"

"I came across this world and thought.. why not give her exactly what she wants."

"So, you have."

"Is it wrong ?"

"No.. because I need it, too."

Shawn dropped a pineapple blizzard --that had been giving during the trip-- into the nearest trash can. He felt full going up the steps and emotional.

"After the week you had after her, I think the same to quiet a grieving heart and slot up a wish."

"That is not a thing." Shawn replied over his joy shaking his head. "Thank you."

Shawn opened the door then rushed up the curves series of stairs peering in from room to room (and floor to floor) searching for her. Wolf not that far behind.

He came to the fifth floor that had darkened office rooms and felt it. Her presence that was loud and commanding. Honest and beautiful that sent him stumbling onto the floor colliding with the nearest door then regained a grip upon himself quite disoriented by the entire affair. He lifted his head up and braced himself as Wolf walked behind him then ahead.

Shawn entered the long and wide chamber of the floor that had numerous desks.

One half of it was a entire office that has dark tinted windows.

Shawn squinted.

He could see through them. A man screaming not to break her who resembled him a deal but it wasn't easy to determine who he was due to how upset the he looked. Ugly, to be accurate. He looked so rough.

"Don't hurt her!"

He had a strange doodad around his neck and two men flanking his side.

"Don't hurt her!"

No scream could be heard. If he heard his voice then he might know the answer. He wasn't going to break her. Let alone hurt her.

He approached the blonde, slowly.

"Jules?..". Shawn called.

She turned away facing him looking angry then approached him.

"You fake your death the day after I break up with you?"

His mouth hung open shaking his head.

"Er.. what?"

"After I kick you out of my house!"

She shoved him back from her, hurt.

"I..."

His heart was stung by the reveal.

"What the hell, Shawn!"

"I.."

"Blowing yourself up at Lassiter's place after claiming someone was after him and his wife! Patterson something!"

"Patterson Jefferson and could you repeat that?" His pitch raised a bit .

"You cut your losses and skip town, faking your death,"

"Never happened."

"getting away with a felony,"

"Oh, you think running away solves ALL MY PROBLEMS!"

"knowing I knew the truth and could prove it and could unplug your entire life without regretting it!"

"What evidence do you have that points in the general direction of faking my death, Juliet?" It felt weird to call her by her first name but it made her stop and think.

She shoved the lettre into his hands in disgust.

"God!" She looked unable to face him turning away from him. "Lassiter got the letter from your Rider friend. He called him from New York. He is covering your ass so hard because he believes in you like I did."

Her face was.red and she wore so much hurt.

"I grieved for you, Shawn. We all did."

Shawn stared at the letter.

"And you broke our hearts blowing yourself up like that!"

Her roar of sorrow and anger rages in her eyes and face.

"Disappointed everyone!"

Words that held fury.

"They decided I was to come here and speak in their behalf!"

Her words hurt as he looked up and down quite emotionally. blindsided

"After tonight I am bringing the evidence to the chief and I am getting every single person we sent to prison out!"

McCallum was not murdery anymore as far as Shawn knew. The rest though..

"I will destroy you!" O'Hara finished.

Her words made of iron.

"Do you understand?" O'Hara became calm

Shawn was silent staring at the letter then smiled and looked up. Knowing. Really knowing. Remembering how he showed up and it made so much sense why he appeared. He looked over to his side at the audience members and shook his head, frowning, puckering his lips, then lowered his head and lifted his attention.

"Do you want me back?" Shawn asked

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously."

"I don't need you! I don't even want you! You deserve 20 years and more! Gus told me that he didn't know you weren't a psychic and was just as fooled as everyone!" Shawn couldn't blame his best friend, not at all. He would be waiting for him outside the the prison old and wrinkled and there so alive willing to give him one last chance. "I rather see you come out as an old man who is never believed by any authority, ever."

Phercamp appeared from the distance.

"I didn't fake my death." Shawn said.

"Why should I believe a single word out of your mouth?" Juliet asked

The doctor ran and joined his side as Shawn absorbed the magnitude of her comments. Rendered mute but hurt and sad. His sadness reaching to his eyes as high as her anger. Phercamp looked hairer than before with deep sleepy bags perched on his normally light and youthful face.

"Shawn, honey..." Rider turned a corner then punched Wolf down to his knees as Phercamp gently grabbed him by the arm. "We need to go."

"And you are part of a con crew!" O'Hara was appalled.

Phercamp took the letter out of his hand then read it as Rider and Wold shared some words.

"Oh, this is the letter that Philip was writing for Lassiter's grave two years ago." Wearing a delighted smile.

Shawn looked over toward him

"Pher, why do you look so disheveled."

"Sweetie, your absence makes the city become a haunted house."

"Not literally!"

"Oh, oh, I mean it!" Wiggling his index finger as O''Hara took a picture of them. "I am going to need therapy! Intense therapy! That is what all paranormal horror movie stars deserve after the paranormal hauntings they had!"

Shawn looked back and forth between him and O'hara

"This is my friend, Brian Phercamp."

"Shawn," Phercamp said

"Pher meet Jules." Shawn introduced. "Jules meet Pher."

"Oh. Hello Detective," shaking her hand with chipper eyes. "now as I was saying.." he turned back toward Shawn. "Your loved ones don't want you putting yourself through this and it is a fact!"

"In matter of fact they do." Shawn countered.

"I have had them haunting me at night: terrorizing." Phercamp continued.

"Sounds bad." Shaking his head quite annoyed then lowered it and shook his hands. "Not budging."

"Even my waking moments when I am alone!" Phercamp replied.

"Pher," Shawn started.

"Do not Pher me, I did not brave the wilderness and find Philip just to be scared to death like The Ring!" Phercamp looked over then screamed, jumping behind him making himself shrunk. "Oh my black Jesus, it is her!"

Vivid memories of the blackened blonde with a tattered bloody dressed once white and scar tissue, exposed bone, and a jacket on her shoulders crawling on the bed toward him with silver eyes missing a leg. Seeing her standing in the middle of the street. Seeing her beside him in the car when Sabitha was getting inside.

"How did you find me?" Shawn asked.

Rider approached them.

"Burton did, said he saw you and him go in there."

"That isn't possible," O'Hara said. "he didn't come with me."

Shawn stared to his side as Phercamp got up to his feet seeing the realization.

"Gus?" Shawn said.

Staring at his side and he saw.

"He had always been there." Phercamp remarked. " Literally always. It's fine. Most people can't hear them full time even mediums and psychics. Spirits aren't that strong."

"I told you it was a bad idea, Shawn! Now Juliet.. is going to get her heart crushed. And mine, too! This is soo unnecessary!"

And he could hear Gus.

"I think I am actually a psychic." Shawn stated between stinging tears.

"Oh, the spirits rally wanted to rattle you so hard "Phercamp said.

Rider knelt down and picked up the crumbled up letter that has been dropped.

"Hey, it's that letter I wrote a year ago ago while you were in that catatonic after that awful psychic episode!"

"And now he is joining in on the lie!" O'Hara gaped on in hurt.

Glasglow appeared then cuffed Wolf pinning him against the wall right as he started to leave and gave the Miranda rights. The head detective turned toward the young junior detective.

"Maggie, I told you to stay behind!" Rider shouted.

Glasglow looked over toward them wearing a furious expression.

Then he looked up facing O'Hara and paled. He took out a yellowed letter from his suit.

"Give this to Lassiter." Was his request. "I made copies." His voice sincere. "Do not read it."

"Give me one moment to prove your commanding officer that you were here." O'Hara said.

O'Hara took a picture with her phone of the scene.

Shawn teary eyed proceeding to laugh at something that he thought that he had lost but hadn't. Rider and Phercamp exchanging a glance. Glasglow walking out of their line of sight in the background. O'Hara took multiple pictures that had motion on then a video.

"Can you see him??" Shawn asked.

"Not anymore." Phercamp said

"I.... I... I.. can't do this with her right now," he looked back and forth. "You're absolutely right," rubbing his hands together. "they wouldn't want me to do this to myself."

"Welcome back, Shawn!" Phercamp said.

"I know who had the missing eight year old."

"how long have you known this and hadn't told me this piece of information."

"You would have figured it out the next day."

"Phercamp."

"On it!"

Phercamp walked away with Shawn in hand heading for the elevator and Rider faced the detective.

"You are lucky that we stopped this in its tracks." Rider seethed.

O'Hara turned the video off.

"What happened to you?"

"I got to know Shawn Spencer."

"He is not a psychic."

"What did you say?" He cupped the side of his ear. "I didn't hear that." Rider turned away then walked on. "Bye, detective."

She grabbed him by the arm stopping him in his tracks.

"He is not a psychic!" O'Hara shouted.

He turned and faced her for a long time.

"I don't care."

"What?"

"I.. don't care about your opinion."

"It isn't opinion!"

"Then where is the evidence?"

"It's at my apartment waiting to be brought in and Shawn with it." Shawn being given the perp walk was an awful image to the head detective. "I gave my cats up for a charlatan."

Rider turned back and forth mulling it over

"O'Hara.. how familiar are you to the multiverse?"

"Anything can and will happen."

"Like a certain wedding reception being blown up. And everyone dying. But Spencer..."

"This isn't up for entertainment."

"Now.. just hold on to that thought.. and hold it..." He held his index finger up then wiggled it from side to side. "and share it with the class after the letter is read."

He turned away then ventured down the hallway dropping the letter.

From the other office was a devastated man with shoulder lengthed messy dark brown hair lowering his head unable to be seen or interrupt the play. His chest aching and sore. Heartbroken and screaming at his loved ones being set up for an avalanche of hurt. And a wail that had no sound weeping for their pain.

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