Thanks to all who reviewed and kept my muses prodding when I would have left this story labeled 'Complete' as is. This, the final 'final' chapter, kept growing until it was longer than all of the previous chapters combined!

Some of the dialogue quoted in this story is from the actual episode, and belongs to the creators of 'Psych.'

Rather than ramble on, I present:

SHOT IN THE DARK – More missing scenes

By Beth Green

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Shawn went from unresponsive to awake in a pain-filled instant. For one panic-stricken moment he thought that he was still in the hands of his kidnappers. Shawn could not help the cry of pain that escaped as was moved from the ambulance stretcher to the Emergency Room gurney. His shoulder felt as if someone was trying to saw his arm off. Shawn's unhelpful brain supplied only one immediate fact: he needed to get away. His weak struggle for freedom was interrupted by a rapid series of sights and sounds that joined together to form a coherent picture.

"He's waking up!" Flash of white light, white ceiling … "What are his vitals?" … "Son, can you tell me your name?" Another flash of white, this time of white cloth on blue, a lab coat over a scrub top … "Take it easy." Hands reaching, tugging, and pulling as clothing was removed … "Can you tell me where you are?"

Shawn calmed down as he put the fragments together and reassembled the puzzle of his life. In a voice so breathy and weak that he half-doubted it belonged to him, Shawn was finally able to answer the latter question, "Hospital." The lab-coated figure's half-smile in response told Shawn that he was correct, even before the lady confirmed, "That's right. Do you remember what happened?"

Before he could verbally reply, Shawn's brain supplied him with a flash memory recall of the longest hours of his life. In the span of a few hours' time, he had gone from elation at having put together the pieces of a crime before it ever occurred, to the pain of being shot and kidnapped, to the helplessness of being restrained and the fear that he was going to die when a stone-cold killer shoved a gun into his face, to hopelessness and despair as he had been forced to listen while his Dad and Lassiter, close enough to be seen and heard, believed the lies that they were told and left Shawn in enemy hands; and finally, to relief at being rescued.

Shawn whispered an answer to the question: "Yes."

Shawn would have loved to have been given the opportunity to answer more questions. Instead, the doctor proceeded to torture him by examining his shoulder in excruciatingly uncomfortable detail. Shawn gasped out a pain-filled "Ow!" followed by an impressive string of curse words. The subsequent physical examination was yet another item added to the growing list of things Shawn's eidetic memory would give him no choice but to remember. Shawn promised himself that the next time someone (Gus) expressed envy regarding his ability to recall minutia regarding past events, Shawn would share the memory of this pain by kicking that someone in the 'little gusters.'

The minutes seemed to pass in hour-like increments as the doctor continued to poke and prod. Shawn was beginning to think that there would be no end to the abuse heaped upon him this day, when the doctor finally, thankfully, decided to stop and share her findings.

"Okay, Shawn, all things considered, you're not doing too badly. While getting shot is never a good thing, the bullet that hit you seems to have taken the path that would cause the least amount of damage. The wound still needs to be cleaned out, and you're going to need antibiotics to head off any infection from the open wound, and obviously you're going to be sore for a while, but right now I see no reason why you shouldn't be able to make a complete recovery."

The doctor's optimistic prognosis was good news, but her next words were the best immediate news: "We'll get you something for pain before we do anything else."

Shawn would have ignored the wedding ring on the doctor's hand and gladly kissed her at that moment if he had been physically capable. Of course, if he were physically able, he wouldn't be in need of her services. He settled for a simple, but heartfelt, "Thank you."

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"Abigail, this is Gus. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Shawn's in the hospital. He's been shot."

Abigail received the news that Shawn had been shot with the same disbelief she'd felt before her first real date with Shawn, when she had been told that he and Gus were on the trail of a serial killer. The carefree, fun-loving Shawn she went to high school with could not be involved in something so dark and terrifying. It could not be true; yet then, as now, the truth could not be denied. Shawn had been shot.

Abigail chose not to think about the subject of the phone call on the drive over to the hospital. Instead, she remembered the last time she'd seen Shawn, just a few short hours ago.

They had spent the evening together. Dinner and a movie had led to more interesting pursuits afterward at Shawn's apartment. Shawn had suggested that she spend the night. Abigail had been tempted, but kept the image of herself surrounded by a roomful of energetic children uppermost in her mind as she declined the offer. "I have to get up early for school, and if I stay, there's no way either one of us will be getting any sleep."

Shawn smiled seductively in response. "You say that like it's a bad thing." He reached out a hand and began a slow, gentle massage of her nearest shoulder. The hand was followed by an arm, and the arm by another hand as Shawn's touch became more intimate.

"God, you have great hands." Abigail let herself enjoy the moment until slowly, regretfully, she pulled away from Shawn's loving embrace. "I'm sorry, I really, really am. As much as I'd love to continue this 'conversation,' I need my sleep so I don't fly into my classroom on a broom and do my best impression of the Wicked Witch of the West, instead of Teacher of the Year."

Last night, leaving Shawn had seemed like a good idea. Now, Abigail cursed herself for the decision. Her rational brain recognized the futility of the "what ifs" and "if onlys." Love overrode logic, and insisted that she should have stayed.

Abigail gripped the steering wheel tighter as she followed the direction signs for the hospital's Emergency Room parking and pulled into the nearest available space. She sat and stared at the imposing building and bright red-lettered "Emergency" sign above the entrance, needing to consciously relax her tense hold on the steering wheel before she could reach for the car door handle. She paused again before the door latch disengaged.

Once she saw Shawn, the last faint hope she held onto in her heart that this was all part of some elaborate prank would be negated by the grim facts. Abigail was not certain that she was ready for that much reality. But … she loved Shawn. She had chosen not to spend the night with him, and now would have to forever after wonder if her presence last night would have kept him safe. She absolutely, positively, for capital-D-Damn sure would be there for him today. Her spine straightened, her hand moved, and the door opened.

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Abigail pushed against the closed door of Shawn's hospital room. It opened easily beneath her trembling hand.

The harsh fluorescent lighting, unflattering under the best of circumstances, did Shawn's appearance no favors, emphasizing the paleness of his skin. Dark circles underlined his closed eyes. A bulky bandage was visible on his left shoulder, peeking out above the neck of the overly-large hospital gown that had been substituted for his ruined clothing. His hair lacked its usual towering height of artfully-arranged curls. Shawn's brown locks were dirty and untidy, and lay flat and lifeless upon his head. Shawn's left arm was propped up on pillows. His good arm was handicapped by the presence of an IV line.

Abigail thought she had been emotionally prepared for this visit. She had met Gus outside of Shawn's hospital room. Her fear for Shawn's well-being, aided and abetted by her lack of knowledge regarding his condition, must have been evident in her body language. Gus' worried expression lessened and he gestured back and forth with his right hand as he began to ease her concern. "No, Abigail, Shawn's okay, I mean, he's going to be okay. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you more on the phone, but I hadn't seen the doctor yet, and I wasn't sure, but I am now.

"They're only keeping him in the hospital because they're worried that his concussion might be more serious, but I'm sure it won't be; it's not. You know Shawn's got a hard head. His shoulder –" Gus waggled a hand at eye level as he continued, "Not quite as good. It's pretty sore, because of having been shot and all, but they've got him on some pretty strong pain medication.

"Detective Lassiter and Juliet are going to be here soon to take Shawn's statement. His Dad is in there now, but you can go on in. I'm going to get some coffee."

Abigail entered the room and moved to the foot of Shawn's hospital bed, continuing her silent observation. Shawn's father sat in a chair nearby, leaning forward with elbows resting on knees, his chin resting on top of fisted hands. He looked up when Abigail entered, then looked back at his son, seeing what she saw.

Abigail opened her mouth to speak, but instead of words, a harsh sob escaped. Shawn's closed eyes opened at the sound. Abigail raised her hands to her face to stifle any further outcry, but could not stop the trembling of her body, or the sudden rush of tears. She wanted to throw herself onto Shawn, to hold on tightly and never, ever let go, to make him swear that'd he find a safer line of work. She knew that if she did so, she would only hurt Shawn by her actions. He had been hurt enough for one day; hell, he'd been hurt enough for one lifetime. She couldn't do this.

Abigail turned away and found herself heading for the door without consciously deciding to leave. Her pace quickened as her feet propelled her on a near run out of the room and into the brightly lit corridor. She only got as far as the hallway wall before she stopped, too unsteady to stand unassisted. She let herself slide along the wall and down onto the floor.

Henry had followed Abigail out of the room. He joined her on the floor, and held her as she sobbed. Taking the place of her absent father, he began a soothing, rocking motion, and told her what she so desperately wanted to hear. "It's okay, Shawn's going to be okay; sh-h-h, it's all right, he's going to be okay." She buried her head in his shoulder, and wept.

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Shawn did not mind seeing the obvious evidence of Abigail's breakdown when she finally returned. He described her appearance – the roughened voice, the reddened eyes, the pale face combined with pink-tipped nose – as "cute," and offered words of comfort. "I'm going to be okay; really, I am," then added, "But … it's good to know you care."

She declared, "I *do* care!" and bent to kiss him carefully, tenderly, gently, conveying her love with a lingering kiss as he raised a hand to cup her face and return the feeling. Afterward, no further words were needed.

Gus returned carrying coffee for both Abigail and Henry. Before they could take more than a grateful sip, they were joined by Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara.

Abigail noted that unlike herself, Juliet had taken the time to freshen her hair and makeup. Abigail frowned when she realized that Shawn appreciated the other woman's appearance, and combed a hand through her own hair in a futile attempt to smooth the disheveled strands.

Juliet did not waste time in taxing the injured man's limited resources with idle chitchat. She got straight to the point. "Shawn, if you're up to it, we're here to take your statement."

Henry stood up and prepared to leave. Shawn objected. "If you don't mind, I'd like everyone to stay, so I only have to say this once."

Lassiter opened his mouth, ready to declare Shawn's request legally unacceptable. Henry spoke before the detective could get out his first word. Lassiter shook his head and silently gave thanks that he would only have to deal with the younger Spencer and not his father for the rest of this visit.

Henry explained, "Son, as much as I'd like to make this easier for you, I know that you know that legally there can't be anyone else present who might influence your statement." Henry did not give Shawn the chance to respond. "Gus, Abigail, let's go."

Abigail leaned down and kissed Shawn's unshaven cheek. "I'll be back. Love you."

Shawn reached out a hand as if he was going to try and hold her back, but let it drop to the bedcover as he repeated the words he had been unable to say directly to her during his captivity. "I love you, Abigail."

Juliet couldn't help tensing as she heard the familiar words; the words that she thought hours ago would end with Shawn speaking her name instead of Abigail's; the words that had nearly caused Juliet to speak the feelings held close in her heart: "I love you, Shawn."

She was glad when Lassiter began to speak, drawing Shawn's attention so that he would not have the chance to observe any discomfort that Juliet might have revealed.

"Okay, Spencer, this is how we're going to proceed. Both Detective O'Hara and myself will be recording this conversation. In addition, Detective O'Hara will be taking notes. Let us know if you need to stop at any time. We understand if the medication that you're on makes it hard to recall details."

Shawn reassured the detectives. "Believe me, I don't think I'm going to have any problem remembering what happened; I was there, even though I wish I wasn't. I really, really wish I wasn't. Besides, I knew that you were coming, so I had them cut back on my pain medication. It would be kind of embarrassing if I fell asleep in the middle of a sentence, or started talking about elephants because your ears remind me of Dumbo."

Lassiter shook his head. "I'm going to give you a 'get-well' present, and not acknowledge the last part of your statement."

Juliet hated the idea that Shawn might be experiencing more pain than he should have to tolerate. She interrupted Shawn's Lassiter-baiting with her concern. "Shawn, getting shot and kidnapped is a big deal; you don't have to make light of it. If you need to stop for pain medication, let us know right away. We don't have to finish this today. One of the perps is dead, and the other is behind bars. Your statement can wait."

Shawn frowned. "I just want to get this over with."

Juliet stepped away from her partner and closer to the bed. "I understand, but I want you to promise me that you won't let your pain get as bad as it was when I saw you out on that highway." They both winced at the too-recent reminder of Shawn's untreated agony.

He nodded in agreement. "I promise." Shawn raised his right hand, and in a poor attempt at a Southern Belle Scarlett, stated, "God as my witness, I shall not do anything that might cause me to feel that much pain again - ever." He continued in a normal tone of voice, "I mean, never. I am not a fan of pain, especially when it's my own."

Lassiter knew that the longer they talked, the greater the odds were that whatever pain medication Spencer had floating around in his body would be used up. "Okay, then, let's get started." He began by recording basic details such as times and dates and names of persons present, before asking Shawn to make his statement.

Shawn obliged. "On the morning of October 16th, 2009, I experienced a psychic vision that connected a not-so-random traffic rollover involving an ice cream truck to a crime involving an armored truck." Although he took the time to maintain his cover as a psychic, Shawn was too exhausted to point so much as a single finger at his head when he made the reference to his 'vision.' Shawn did not move, the lines of pain creasing his face silent evidence of his discomfort as he told his story. The head of the bed was elevated so that he could see his audience as he continued.

"I went online to try to figure out if there had been any recent crimes involving armored trucks. My research told me that the crime hadn't happened yet, and a psychic flash told me that the answer to everything would be found at the Berman auto yard. At three thirty-five in the morning, I called Burton Guster, and Detectives Carlton Lassiter and Juliet O'Hara, and asked them to meet me at the auto yard."

Juliet nodded. She had seen the evidence of Shawn's research on his computer. As Shawn continued to provide a precise accounting of events, Juliet was impressed with Shawn's ability to remember everything that had happened to him, even down to minute details such as the name of the auto yard and the timing of phone calls. Despite the trauma he'd been through and the pain medication in his system, Shawn's recall was truly amazing. She only had time to jot down the highlights as he spoke.

"I was the first to arrive at the auto yard. When I got there, I recognized the sound of welding. I'd heard the same sound just two days earlier, and was curious to find out whether the same guy I'd seen at the maintenance shop was the man doing the welding at the auto yard. I guess I thought he'd be too busy working to notice me, but I was wrong.

"He moved really fast for a big guy, because I swear not a minute passed from the time the welder stopped to the time he was standing in front of me and holding a gun instead of a welding torch."

Shawn's narration was so detailed that Lassiter readily believed the pretend psychic was quoting dialogue verbatim. He couldn't help the words that escaped as the trained detective part of his brain put together the pieces of the puzzle that Shawn Spencer presented and came to an inescapable conclusion: the bastard had a photographic, or near-photographic, memory. "Son of a bitch!"

Shawn nodded, "Yeah, that's pretty much what I said when I got shot."

Lassiter folded his arms across his chest, both embarrassed that he'd said the words out loud, and grateful that they hadn't seemed out of place. "Yes, right, sorry; please continue."

Shawn paused for a moment. It was getting harder to keep his emotions in check; emotions that had no place in a police record. The problem with an eidetic memory is that you didn't get to pick and choose what to remember and what to forget. With remembered actions came remembered pain. He distracted himself by riffing on Lassiter's last comment. "For the record, Detective Lassiter only said the word 'Please' because this conversation is being recorded." Neither Lassiter nor Juliet responded to his weak joke, so he continued.

"After I got shot, my legs gave out and down I went. The shooter (who I'm going to call 'Alias Garth' for the rest of this statement) left me there alone, but he didn't leave for long. Alias Garth came back with a 1970 yellow roadrunner, license plate number 2DDT-465, and parked a few feet away from where I was laying. Lying? No, I'm telling the truth, so I'll just say 'from where I fell when I got shot.' Alias Garth got out of the car, opened the trunk, and attacked me again, this time with a roll of duct tape. He taped my wrists together, and then taped my ankles together. I tried to kick him, or head butt him, or *something,* but he covered me like a big, sweaty octopus, and I couldn't move. He dragged me over to the trunk of the car, picked me up, and threw me in.

"There's a bit of a gap in my memory from that point on. I'm guessing I passed out from the pain of landing on my shoulder when he tossed me into the trunk. I don't remember the trunk lid closing. I do remember waking up in the dark trunk of a moving car. It's not something I recommend to anyone. Fortunately, it wasn't the first time in my life that I found myself trapped in the trunk of a car."

Lassiter half-listened as Shawn's narration continued. While Shawn described kicking out the taillight so that he was able to leave clues to his location before he managed to escape from the trunk, Lassiter was pondering the implication that Shawn had been locked in the trunk of a car prior to the most recent incident.

Lassiter had a pretty good memory himself, and he remembered Henry Spencer's assertion that the piece of broken taillight they had found was from the kidnap vehicle courtesy of Shawn, and the elder Spencer's comment that he knew because he was the one who had taught Shawn. Despite the evidence, Lassiter did not want to believe that a father would lock his own son in the trunk of a car. Yet, it seemed that he had. Perhaps Shawn Spencer had good reason for his rocky relationship with his father.

Lassiter silently scolded himself. 'What am I thinking? I'm no Dr. Phil.' He had no desire, nor intention of involving himself in the complicated relationship between father and son. After all, there had been times in the past, and probably would be times in the future when, if given the opportunity, Lassiter would gladly confine Shawn Spencer to the locked trunk of a car.

The more he listened to Shawn's narrative, the less likely it became that Lassiter would ever do anything so drastic. As a detective, he was used to redirecting witnesses and asking questions to clarify their statements. With Shawn Spencer, no such intervention was necessary. The pseudo-psychic was incredibly attentive to detail, so much so that Lassiter was actually finding himself feeling sorry for the younger man as he described his ordeal.

Shawn continued, "They were arguing about –" He paused, not wanting to remember the next part.

Juliet noticed his discomfort. "Are you okay? Do you need something for pain? Do you need to stop?"

Shawn shook his head, and pointed at the water glass resting on his bedside table as he verbalized his request: "Water."

Juliet quickly retrieved the glass and handed it to Shawn. He sipped slowly, trying to loosen the tightening muscles of his throat. The water didn't help. Remembered fear kept his jaw clenched.

He couldn't stop the replay of events going on in his head, so he shared what he was seeing. "They were arguing about whether or not they should kill me. Bad guy number two, who from here on in I'm going to refer to as 'Scumbag,' said, 'I say we just shoot him in the head, dump the body, and get on with this.'

"I thought that was a terrible idea, so I suggested that they draw a hot bath instead."

Juliet asked, "Did you really say that?"

Shawn answered with an affirmative nod, "Yes, I did."

Lassiter winced. He knew how irritating Spencer's alleged sense of humor could be, and suspected that his kidnappers would not be an appreciative audience. He was right.

"Scumbag didn't like my answer, because his answer was, 'You're a smart mouth, huh?' and he and Alias Garth came up to me and got up close and personal.

"Alias Garth said, 'I got it under control. You want me to shoot him right now myself, I will.

"Well, I couldn't let that statement go unchallenged, so I pointed out, 'Not to be a stickler, but you did shoot me once already.'"

"Oh my God!" Juliet could easily picture the events playing out just as Shawn said. She couldn't help verbalizing her surprised reaction that Shawn was still here to tell his story, and hadn't been killed right then and there.

Shawn explained, "I guess Scumbag didn't want to give Alias Garth the chance to shoot me again, because he leaned over me, cocked the trigger of his gun, and put it up to my head." Shawn raised his right hand, thumb up with first and index fingers extended in the shape of a gun, and clarified, "Actually, he stuck the muzzle right here."

Lassiter clarified for the recording, "Let the record show that the witness indicated the right side of his neck, just below his chin."

Shawn continued, "Because he rejected the hot bath idea, I tried to think of something to distract Scumbag from his homicidal urge, but really, as I explained to him, I was having a hard time concentrating on anything but the gun. I told him it could've been my ADD acting up.

"I was serious, but Scumbag thought I was joking. He was close enough to blow his rotten onion breath in my face, and said, 'I want you to imagine a bullet, coming from that gun, penetrating your skin and lodging in your brain.'"

Shawn could imagine it all too well. He had to stop and take another sip of water before he could continue. "Scumbag asked me if I knew how easy it would be for him to do what he said. He stared at me, waiting for some kind of answer, so I said, 'Physically...? Yes. But I would imagine that it would give you pause … emotionally? No?'

"I guess that was the wrong answer, because he shoved the gun into my throat hard enough to leave a mark. I have to say, Scumbag has a twisted idea of luck, because then he asked me if I knew how lucky I was.

"I knew Scumbag didn't like me, but I found out he didn't like Alias Garth, either. Scumbag's next words were, 'My idiot partner here screwed up big time. Hey, that's par for the course. Now, we pull this thing off, and we're outta here. BUT Einstein here screws up again, you're gonna be my ticket. Now I got a hostage sitting in my back pocket, just in case. But know this: one stupid move, and I've got more than enough plastic bags for your body parts. Got it?'

"What could I say except 'I got it?' Well, that, and: 'Note to self: Call Hefty with commercial idea.'

Shawn stopped talking, huffed out a breath of air, leaned back into his pillow, and closed his eyes, taking a moment to calm his unsteady nerves.

Juliet said nothing, knowing that Shawn had just been forced to relive what was undoubtedly one of the worst moments of his life. She watched as his right hand slowly moved up to his neck and began to rub along the area where the ghost imprint of a gun lingered.

Shawn allowed himself a brief respite before he continued.

Juliet watched, concerned as the frown line between Shawn's eyes became more prominent with each additional recalled event. When Shawn stated, "I told Alias Garth, 'I can say, without a doubt, that this is the most pain I've ever been in, in my life,'" Juliet could read the truth of the words in the tense way he held himself still, as if the slightest move would reawaken that pain in the here and now.

Lassiter's envy of Shawn's excellent memory lessened as the fallout from his detailed recollection of events became apparent. Shawn was hurting both emotionally and physically.

Shawn's voice began to falter. "And, uh, I heard you … you and … and my Dad. I … I could see you, through the dirty glass of the window. I couldn't talk, I couldn't make a sound. I wanted to, believe me, I really tried. The more I tried, the tighter his grip got around my neck.

"Look, I know it's hard to see into a dark room, especially when you're outside in the bright sunlight, but if just one of you had turned around, had bothered to really look … I mean, I understand Scumbag being able to fool you, but my Dad …"

Shawn raised his right hand to grab at his throat, his Adam's apple working as if he was back in that dark room, trying desperately to make a sound as the access to the air that he needed to survive was slowly choked off. His eyes were suspiciously bright, as if they were filled with unshed tears.

Juliet raised a hand of her own, wanting to offer any comfort that the injured man would accept. "Shawn …"

His voice trembled, showing how close he was to tears as he stopped Juliet by speaking over her, "I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore. Please leave. Now."

Lassiter felt more than a little uncomfortable after Shawn's revelation that not only had he and Henry missed the evidence that was practically in front of them, but their presence had nearly gotten Shawn killed. Lassiter agreed that they had heard enough for one day. "Okay. This interview is officially over. Give us a call when you feel up to completing your statement."

Juliet nodded, having already shut off her tape recorder, while Lassiter did the same. She and her partner were heading out the door when Juliet, her steady voice providing no hint of her turbulent emotional state, held back long enough to say, "I'll let the nurse know you need something for pain. Okay?"

Shawn didn't trust himself to speak without letting a sob escape. He simply responded with an affirmative nod of his head.

Thankfully, Shawn's nurse was quick to respond to the request for pain medication. He let the drug pull his troubled mind down into oblivion.

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Juliet had stopped by the nurse's station to convey Shawn's need for pain medication before she joined her partner by the bank of elevators.

Unable to comfort Shawn, Juliet turned her attention to comforting her partner. "You know that there was no reason for you not to believe the perp when he told you that Shawn wasn't at that gas station."

Lassiter disagreed. "No, you weren't on the scene. I was. And I have to tell you, it's Spencer's fault.

Juliet could not believe her partner's words. "Carlton!"

Lassiter raised a hand before she could object further. "I'm talking about Spencer senior. If I hadn't been distracted by Henry Spencer acting like he was still on the force, there is an excellent chance that Shawn would have been rescued a hell of a lot sooner than he was."

Lassiter continued his rant as they rode the elevator down to the ground floor. "That man is a menace. Thank God he's retired. Let's hope he stays that way, and joins all of the other old folks in some senior center out in Florida, safely on the other side of the country."

Juliet was glad that Lassiter had not been present when Chief Vick had praised Henry's conduct on the Yang case. The Chief had confided to Juliet that she was thinking of offering the elder Spencer a job. For Lassiter's sake, Juliet hoped that would never happen.

~end