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elles_lettersRating: PG-13
Summary: When psychic detective Shawn Spencer witnesses a murder and starts receiving horrifying threats from the killer, Carlton Lassiter is assigned to protect him. Too bad Shawn doesn't really want him hanging around. Lassie's a great detective, but his uptight, by-the-books policing is really cramping Shawn's style (and this is one case he'd like to solve before someone gets hurt). Can Carlton, Shawn and Gus find the killer before he strikes? Or will the killer find them?
Warnings: Violence. Murder. Language.
Disclaimer: Psych and all related characters are the property of USA Networks and a bunch of other people in suits. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: Dun, dun, dunnnn! And so it starts. My first attempt at a multi-chapter Psych story. Already this one is proving to be more difficult than anything else I've written, due to the mystery aspect. I want to make sure I have a strong grasp of where the story will go, so I'm posting this with little fanfare. Once I've got more of the story mapped out and more chapters written, I'll post this on FF.net.
So, my fellow readers, what do you think? Comments make for better fic, so please share your thoughts.
Summary: When psychic detective Shawn Spencer witnesses a murder and starts receiving horrifying threats from the killer, Carlton Lassiter is assigned to protect him. Too bad Shawn doesn't really want him hanging around. Lassie's a great detective, but his uptight, by-the-books policing is really cramping Shawn's style (and this is one case he'd like to solve before someone gets hurt). Can Carlton, Shawn and Gus find the killer before he strikes? Or will the killer find them?
Warnings: Violence. Murder. Language.
Disclaimer: Psych and all related characters are the property of USA Networks and a bunch of other people in suits. Please don't sue.
Prologue: Every Single Detail
There were many things in his life that Shawn Spencer wished he'd had the ability to unsee.
There was the time he'd walked in on his parents in the middle of the night. Frightened by a nightmare of zombies and Michael Jacksons, he'd run to his parents' bedroom and threw open the door without knocking. He had not been prepared for the sight that met him. Even at the age of 11, his senses had picked up every moan, every thrust, every bead of sweat. He'd bolted from the doorway, his mother's breathy shout of Shawn chasing after him. He'd ran back into his room and dove under his blankets, his face red hot with embarrassment. The next morning when he was called to breakfast, he found his parents sitting at the kitchen table, dressed and acting as if nothing at all strange occurred the night before. Shawn had played along; he spent the morning talking about the crazy girls in his class and Gus' new habit of thumbing his nose when he thought he was cool. But throughout the entire meal, he'd been filled with self-digust at the realization that every time one of his parents spoke, he'd picture them naked.
Then there was the time he'd tagged along with a pair of older neighborhood boys who had said they had something "fucking sweet" to show him. They'd invited him to an alley behind a liquor store from which they'd claimed to have stolen cigarettes, wine coolers and bags of Funyuns. He watched as the two teens doused a cat in alcohol, then tossed a lit match onto its soaked fur. He'd been 13 at the time, but he could still see the flames, smell the cat's burning flesh and hear its screams of pain as it blended with the sound of the boys' laughter. Shawn had left before the animal died. He'd ran all the way home, straight to the bathroom, where he'd quickly threw up that morning's breakfast. His father had banged on the locked bathroom door, demanding to know what was wrong. Guilt, combined with the smell of smoke that had lingered on his clothes, made him vomit even more.
And then there was tonight. As Shawn stood, pressed against the knobby bark of a wide oak tree, he struggled against his mind, willing it to notice nothing at all.
It was a futile effort. His brain, as it had been trained since his youth to do, highlighted and filed away every detail.
He heard the low mumble of a voice, cursing and grunting from exertion. It was a man's voice, low and scratchy. A smoker's voice, if Shawn was not mistaken.
He smelled the familiar copper scent of blood. The blood covered the ground, the man and the huddled mass lying still at the man's feet. The mass was a woman if the long, bloodied strands of hair on the mass' head were any indication.
He saw a knife, the light of the full moon glinting off its smooth edge. The long blade was covered in blood and its cherry wood handle was being held tightly in the man's left hand.
And when Shawn raised his eyes to the man's face, he saw the bloodshot, crazed eyes of a killer. Eyes that were looking right at him.
To be continued...
Author's Note: Dun, dun, dunnnn! And so it starts. My first attempt at a multi-chapter Psych story. Already this one is proving to be more difficult than anything else I've written, due to the mystery aspect. I want to make sure I have a strong grasp of where the story will go, so I'm posting this with little fanfare. Once I've got more of the story mapped out and more chapters written, I'll post this on FF.net.
So, my fellow readers, what do you think? Comments make for better fic, so please share your thoughts.
