Summary: Lassiter and Shawn have never been the closest of friends, well, ok, that word isn't even in Lassiter's dictionary. But when Shawn Spencer is kidnapped and a ransom is left at Lassiter's house, Carlton begins to realize just how much the Psychic means to him and the team. It's a race against time to find the department's favorite psychic, but will they find him in time and will Lassiter be willing to pay the price to get the always annoying Shawn Spencer back?
Warnings: None. There is no slash. As this is a Shawn/angst fic, there may be some gruesomeness later on. But for now, suspense and violence is the only thing you need to worry about. Also, I know nothing about mysteries, policemen, or psychics. Whatever is in this fic, I am taking from the show- so please, keep that in mind while reading. Name of the story may change later, so keep that in mind. If you want to follow it, make sure to author alert me or the story or write down my pen name. Don't write down the name of the story. Thanks!
A/N: SO, here's the deal. To my LOTR readers. I love you all so much! Ya, I know I haven't shown it of late. But seriously, I just don't feel the desire to write LOTR fan fics anymore. I don't know why, I guess maybe I'm just burned out. I am going to leave My last LOTR story on here so that people may still read it and, if I ever get the urge, so I may update if this writer's block get's unblocked. I am sorry. I never wanted to be one of those people who starts a story and leaves it hanging but, unfortunately, I am. So- with that in mind- be forewarned reader's of this story, if I get bored, I may stop and ya… so let's pray that doesn't happen. It is very hard and somewhat tedious to update stories, but I will do my best. Maybe I will give myself a cookie every time I update. LOL. Anyway- enjoy the story and again, I am truly sorry for the leaving the other one unfinished.
Black, white, and… red!
He couldn't ignore the shrill ringing and though he desperately wanted to, Lassiter quickly sat up in his bed, eyes blinking owlishly.
He let the alarm go on, not caring that it blared angrily.
Carlton couldn't remember the last time he'd been so tired.
Usually he was so chipper- so ready to go, but this morning he just wanted nothing more than to curl back under the blankets and go back to sleep.
But Lassiter knew better.
He had a job and he'd be darned if he missed work today. He'd never missed a day of work before, not ever as a teenager, why start now.
Rolling to his side, he scratched his side and stumbled to the front door to grab the paper.
Opening the front door, he stooped to grasp the paper, stretching out his long frame and yawning.
Retreating inside to get coffee, Lassiter opened the paper and put it on the counter without giving it a glance.
The smell of the wonderful chocolate vanilla scent made Carlton smile and he breathed it in, bringing it close to take a nice swig.
Turning on his heel, Lassiter's sharp blue eyes moved to the paper and he stopped, cup to his mouth and eyes wide as he now saw the red writing scrawled over the inside of his paper.
Tightening his grip on the cup, he put it on the counter and approached the paper, swallowing the coffee he had already drank.
But he didn't even notice the coffee burning his throat or the fact that he hadn't put his coffee cup on the counter at all.
It crashed to the floor, but he didn't notice the burning splatters of hot brew all over his bare feet, all he saw was the deep, dark red scrawl:
We have the psychic. Follow our demands and you can have him back. We will contact you with our price. Involve the cops if you want, but don't try anything funny. We will know about it. We have the psychic, remember.
Grabbing up the paper quickly, Lassiter ran for his bedroom, completely unsure of what he was going to do.
Groaning, Shawn rolled onto his side and instantly regretted the action.
Sharp pain shot through him and he cried out softly, shutting his eyes as tightly as he could and trying to still his shaking.
It felt like he hadn't eaten in days, though, that didn't bother him too much at the present because he felt like anything he might eat would come straight back up the tube.
He was groggy and for once, he couldn't concentrate and he couldn't remember anything.
It was as though he was in some sort of horrible dream.
In fact, he would have thought it to be a dream except that every fiber of his body was searing with some form of pain; especially his side.
Moving his arm slowly, he touched his ribs carefully and when he pulled his hand away, he felt something smooth and liquid-like covering his fingers.
He opened his eyes slowly and moved to look at his hand, but could not see anything at all.
Wherever he was, it was completely dark- and cold.
Shawn hadn't noticed before but the floor was concrete and freezing concrete at that.
It felt almost as if his skin might stick to the ground he was laying on, and at the moment, that was not a very reassuring thought.
He tried to gather strength, even a little, to shout for help.
But every time he tried, it came out more softly than a mouse or a whisper of wind. He wasn't sure what was wrong with his vocal cords, but every time he tried to speak, they hurt and sometimes shuddered. Actually, if he didn't know any better, he would say that he felt some sort of low voltage shock run through him, almost like one of those dog collars. The de-barking things. He didn't know what they were called and at the moment, he couldn't have cared any less.
Unsure of how to proceed in this predicament, Shawn swallowed hard, pushing back the pain and nausea and curled tightly in on himself. He tried to warm himself a little, to keep his body from sticking to the floor, but each moment that went by felt colder than the first and soon, all he could concentrate on was the fact that it was completely and utterly cold.