This is for ep. 12, season 4. Takes place right after the 'Psych'-team has left the room.

I do not own any of the characters. Copyright has NBC.

*** Story is dedicated to all people who sat / sit illegally in jail and have no one to prove their innocence ***

=== A penitentiary in California ===

Deal."

Still, the word seemed hovering in the room and penetrating the impermeable walls of the penitentiary complex with its underlying hope. A fast transient illusion, broken by the guard's harsh command: "Up, Waring! Wanna sit here the whole fuckin' day?"

His breath smelled after garlic and sounded after barely kept frustration. This guard in particular hated it, that the prisoner did not behave as a prisoner should, in his opinion. He grabbed him at the arm and pushed him around roughly, waiting for a rant, a little struggle – everything other inmates had in storage at this occasion, and what would give such a perfect excuse for a little counter-violence! But no, John T. Waring was all discipline!

Clack. The handcuffs were closed again.

Where do you think I would escape, with four armed guards around, bulletproof glass and concrete walls, John thought. The guard shoved him forward. Five steps to the door. On the otherwise painful white wall was a little whale-shaped spot, where the plaster had fallen down.

Will these weird guys prove my innocence? Will they even try it? Will they be able to try it?

The door squeaked. How often had he gone this way already? He could hear the nuances of the door after fresh oiling and without in his sleep. Five years, 2 months, one and a half weeks. Dozens of sessions with lawyers, police officers, curious press scribblers. And yes. His daughter. And his son.

20 steps to the next door. A little spider moved over the skirting and ended its life a moment later under the boot of the guard.

"Couldn't ye move your ass a bit faster?"

The prisoner complied mechanically, without giving resistance a single thought. His mind was elsewhere, five years, 2 months, one and a half weeks ago. The last time he saw his family under normal circumstances. He had brought Elizabeth to her high school, because her own car had just been in repair. She had jumped out of his black Mercedes, checked her new hairstyle in the car's mirror; then had turned again and waved, before she joined her friends. It had been her graduation day, and he had promised to be there for the celebration in the evening. Well, he had already been in custody by then…

Will they prove my innocence? This sounded pathetic – but these weird pals were his last hope…

The electronic key-system made a beeping sound, when the guard swapped his card. On the other side, another armed warden waited.

"So who were these visitors? Some psi-guys, I heard? Just like in Babylon 5?"

"Dunno, man. Some wackos! Believed in an instant the shit Waring gave them!" The guard shook his head. "Innocent! We have an eye witness for the murder!"

"Yeah, bullshit! In another state he would've been executed already!"

The second guard closed the door behind and followed his colleague and Waring down the steps and to the next floor.

In another State… maybe… But we are in California. And I did not kill this FBI-fellow!

John's thoughts wandered back again to the conversation with these two… well… what the heck where they? Someone to be taken serious? They were much afraid for the life of this witness Scott Seaver…

The hint of a smile crossed his lips when he thought at the allusion HE could still pull some strings from behind the bars! Good, he had tried to direct some money into some hands, in order to get some information which could shed light on the REAL killer. Good, he had managed the discovery of some unpleasant things from the past of one of the jury members. But all the rest – was greatly exaggerated myth! Granted, a myth he cherished. It was his last line of defence, his last strength he still could count on.

Seaver, this young idiot! What had he thought? If I had been the assassin of this Marshal – would I have hesitated to kill HIM too, if he stumbled right onto the scene?

65 steps along the corridor to the next door, which led to the wing with the holding cells. The guard next to him scratched his neck and yawned. Another breath full of garlic. Through the narrow grilled windows beneath the ceiling, the sun painted white stripes on the ground and 'sliced' the passing men. Except at the end of the corridor, were another building hindered the light from entering. Another door, another electronic beeping. The observation camera above the entrance made a minuscule move. Then, the control light went green. The doors to the high-security-unit swung open. J. T. Waring's cell was at the end of the wing, and just as every time when someone passed the others' cells, hurls, whistles and stupid remarks swept through the little bulls eyes out in the corridor. Like an ever repeating tide. The guards answered with shouting threats back or kicking against the doors.

Five years, 2 months, one and a half weeks. I don't want to pay for something I have not done! John had made several sinister deals in his business career; some to kick an opponent out of the race, others to keep his company and the jobs alive. – A lot of his business colleagues had done the same. World was a tough place! And there were a few deals with a few people which he had not checked enough, yes, this was true. But I'm not someone who kills people!

The guard had opened the door of his cell and now opened the handcuffs. In doing so, he looked at him as if he wanted nothing more but finally luring the violence out of his prisoner.

John only turned around and stepped into the so-hated tiny room. The door fell shut behind him, with a deep, metallic sound, which echoed through the silence within.

One day, I'm going to march out of here…